Despite his friendly and outgoing personality, Bofur did not have many close friends.
It was a strange idea to many who knew him because Bofur was the type who could make friends with anyone. He enjoyed drinking and singing and laughing and was always willing to sit and talk if asked. He liked most races—though Elves still left him weary—and could tolerate even the most annoying of people. He never lost his temper, was always willing to hear a good joke, and could drink an Elf under the table.
But despite all of these traits, Bofur still had a problem with friends.
He had his acquaintances and comrades, of course, and Mahâl knew he wasn't short on kin. But he couldn't say that he had anyone that he trusted or liked enough to stick around with. Perhaps it was his high expectations that made it so difficult, but he honestly believed that a friend was to be loyal, kind, honest, and reliable. Anything less and they weren't worth it.
Bombur was his brother and his first friend in life. After him had been Bjor and Asvald; two childhood friends who had died when Erebor fell. For a long time after he had not sought any friends; preferring instead to heal the wounds that Erebor had left behind. It wasn't until he moved to the Blue Mountains that he befriended a guard named Inge, and then eventually Dwalin.
Bofur never thought that someone of high birth would ever even speak to him let alone become a good friend, but Smaug had changed more than just him. Dwalin didn't care about his blood or his job as a miner and was simply happy to have someone to drink with. From Dwalin he had met Balin, who had introduced him to Dori, who in turn was happy to have someone to keep his brother Nori out of trouble.
Dwalin and Nori were unexpected friends, but he didn't regret meeting them for one second. Because with them came the expedition and the Company, and with the Company came the best twelve Dwarves he had ever known. And with all of that came Bilbo Baggins, who fascinated and impressed him daily. He never imagined that any of them would become so precious to him, and yet...
Bofur treasured them all. He treasured each of them like the gold so many of his kind sought and would happily fight to the death for any of them. He never thought he would have so many Dwarves as friends—not to mentions the king himself—and he never imagined he would even come to care for a Hobbit. But it happened and they were his now as much as Bombur and Bifur were, and Bofur was going to protect them all no matter what.
Because that? That was what friends were for.
~*~
When Bilbo took his first step out of Mirkwood, he realized they were running out of time.
"Oh no," he moaned as he took in the bright red and orange painted across the tops of the trees. The grass was beginning to become speckled with shades of brown, and there was now a noticeable chill to the air.
Fall had arrived.
"We're running out of time," muttered Ori at his side. His wide eyes were scanning the horizon with equal worry.
"We are," he agreed, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. "We're going to have to step it up if we want to get there on time."
"There's still the walk to Lake-town to get through," Ori fretted, playing with one of the beads in his hair, "and we need to replenish our supplies still. And we still don't know where those Orcs are..."
"The Elves will take care of Azog and his minions," the Hobbit reassured as Dori and Nori joined them on either side. "We just need to focus on getting to Lake-town."
"Our burglar is right," agreed Nori as he proceeded to use Bilbo's head as an arm rest. "The Orcs are not a concern. I'd be surprised if they could even get through the forest to begin with."
"And even if they do find us again, we won't let them live," Dori added, wrapping an arm around Ori and pulling him close.
Bilbo elbowed Nori in the ribs until he huffed and relented his perch. "Exactly! Remember how well you fought them last time? It was thanks to you that we were able to save your brother and the others."
Ori blushed from his neck to the tip of his ears. "I-I-I d-didn't do-do mu-much—"
"Don't sell yourself short," Dori interrupted. "I saw you in the trees. You were blinding the Orcs for us. That gave us a great advantage and was a big part of the reason we won. I'm proud of you."
The young Dwarf was slowly turning into a shade of red never seen before. "D-D-Dori..."
"It's true. Don't think I didn't notice how all the Orcs around me went blind first," added Nori, reaching over Bilbo to ruffle his little brother's hair. "You made me proud too."
At that point, Ori had pulled his scarf up to his nose and was trying to disappear into it. "I-I just wanted to p-protect y-you both. L-Like how you p-protect me..."
Bilbo felt his heart warm at the stuttered confession, and it made him want to sweep the Dwarf into a hug. But before he could act, Dori beat him to it. The Dwarf pulled Ori into an engulfing embrace and began crooning something in Khuzdûl as he rocked him back and forth.
Next to him, Nori released a great and loud sigh as if in pain. "And it begins! Well, come along then, burglar. Dori isn't going to be letting up anytime soon."
"He does that often then?" Bilbo wondered as he dutifully followed the thief to where the rest of their companions were.
"Only with Ori. He used to try and hug me when we were younger, but I quickly put a stop to that," the Dwarf explained.
"Not fond of hugs, are we?"
"Not if it's Dori. He forgets his own strength."
The Hobbit flinched. He had seen Dori pick up an Orc and throw it like a sword at another. He knew how strong the Dwarf was. "Ouch."
"Exactly." Nori nodded. "It's a painful experience and I rather just avoid it all together."
He glanced over his shoulder to where Dori was still holding Ori captive. The young Dwarf was enduring it without complaint and was even smiling as he patted his eldest brother on the back. Bilbo's respect for the scholar suddenly grew.
"Ori seems to be handling it well," he pointed out.
The thief scoffed. "Of course. It's Ori. He's always been the strongest one."
Bilbo didn't doubt it. Ori had been willing to take on Moria after all.
When they finally joined the rest of the Dwarves, they found them in a circle squatting over a map. He recognized it as the one Gandalf had given Thorin in the beginning of their journey. The king was using it to show their progress and where they needed to head to next.
"—we need to follow the River Running north," the Dwarf said, trailing a finger down the river drawn on the map. "It will lead us to Lake-town and from there we can enter Erebor."
"Only there's a problem with that plan, O Great Leader. There is no road left to follow," drawled Dwalin, gesturing to the area.
The Dwarf was correct. The road they had followed had abruptly ended at the edge of the forest. There was no road to follow now, only overgrown trees and the rushing river.
Bilbo wanted to kick himself. He had forgotten, over the years, that the road had not been accessible at the time. It was why their barrels had turned out to be so important in the end; it had been the only way to get to Lake-town. But by being so focused on diverting Thranduil's capture, he had created yet another problem to deal with.
"We'll still need to follow the river," said Balin, rubbing the end of his beard in thought. "But to do that we'll need a boat."
"And where are we going to get a boat? The Elves? They would rather watch us drown," Glóin pointed out.
"We could build a raft with the trees here and the rope we have left," Bofur offered as he rested his chin on the head of his mattock.
"And who among us knows how to build a raft?" wondered Óin.
In unison, Bofur and Bombur pointed to Bifur. The Dwarf in turn gave them a dirty look and snarled something in Khuzdûl.
"But you're the only one here who was an engineer," Bombur reminded, paying the look no mind.
"And if you don't do it then we'll have to backtrack into the forest and waste more time," added Bofur.
Bifur gave them a gesture that Bilbo didn't understand, but he had a feeling it was a curse as it made both Dwalin and Nori snicker. The Dwarf then mumbled something in Khuzdûl and gave Thorin a grudging nod.
"Thank you, Bifur. Your help is appreciated," the king replied, bowing his head slightly. He rolled up his map and waved a hand to the rest of them. "Come; we'll do as Bifur says. Dwalin, Dori, Nori and Glóin will help him chop the wood, or whatever is needed. The rest make camp and try to see to our food supplies. I have a feeling we will be here for a good while."
The rest of the day was spent planning and gathering supplies for their raft. Bilbo helped with sorting through the food and water they had left and found that they were nearly out. He realized they would need to leave as soon as possible if they wanted to make it to Lake-town before they starved. When he informed Thorin of this, the king could only sigh and shake his head.
"We will need to work into the night if we want this raft done quickly," he said, rubbing his jaw as he watched Dori and Dwalin cut down another tree. "We will need to work in shifts now. I will inform Bifur of this and see if it will work."
Bilbo sighed and nodded along. There was little else he could do.
As the sun began to set, seven of the Dwarves stopped their work and were allowed to finally rest while the rest continued on. The Hobbit was not surprised to see that the three youngest members were a part of the group that stopped.
"I'm so tired!" Fíli moaned as he stretched his arms as high as he could. "I think I'm going to sleep for a thousand years after all of this."
"Think I might join you," Kíli added as he dropped to the ground in a dramatic sprawl. He yelped and quickly rolled away as Fíli tried to kick him in the side, and then sprung to his feet and tackled his brother. The two were soon off in another wrestling match that left the rest of the Company sighing or grumbling.
Bilbo shook his head and turned to Thorin, who was watching them with a look that said he was far, far too used to such antics. "Do they resemble her?"
Thorin turned to him and blinked. "Who?"
Bilbo nodded to the two brothers. "Your sister's sons. Do they take after their mother?"
Thorin blanched. "Dís? Mahâl, no. They take after their father even if they do look like Durin's sons. I thank the stone for that every day. The world can only handle one Dís."
"Is she that bad?" the Hobbit wondered, trying not to smile.
"She is not bad, she is just... intense. Passionate. And clever, oh so very clever. She could always find a way to get out of trouble and leave Frerin and me to hang." The king scowled, obviously recalling those horrible memories. "It didn't help either that she was the only girl and the youngest. Our father allowed her to get away with everything."
"She sounds quite impressive," he admitted. "I'm surprised she didn't join you for this."
"She was needed at Ered Luin," the Dwarf explained. "If not then she would have come along. She was... not pleased that I allowed Fíli and Kíli to join me."
"I would think not. She is their mother," Bilbo said as he recalled what Balin had told him the first time around. When she learned of her sons' and brother's deaths, Dís had not killed herself with grief but it was a very close thing. She became much like the stone she was born from; hard, unrelenting, and so very cold. He had always felt horrible for her because he knew that she had lost the most in the Battle of the Five Armies.
"She must be very worried about you all," he commented to the king.
Thorin shrugged his broad shoulders. "I'm sure she is. But Dís is strong; she can handle it."
"Maybe," the Hobbit admitted as the king walked away, "or maybe you just underestimate how much you three means to her."
~*~
It took three days for them to build the raft. They seemed like a long three days to Bilbo as they were all constantly working. Though he could not help with building the raft itself—he had sadly not inherited his father's carpentry skills—he could help with sorting through their supplies. Bifur had instructed them to get rid of anything they didn't need in order to conserve space and weight. With this in mind, Ori and he had sat down and begun the long task of riffling through the belongings of the others.
"Why does your brother carry so much wire?" he wondered as he sorted through Nori's weapons.
"I don't know. I try not to think about it," Ori admitted as he tossed some tangled yarn from Dori's bag.
Bilbo took a moment to wonder why and then wrinkled his nose. "Agreed. Let's ignore it and avoid it in future discussions."
"I usually do," the scholar promised with a grin that made him look disturbingly similar to the thief in question.
On the third day Bifur finally declared that the raft was ready and that they could leave.
"Do you think it will hold our weight?" Bilbo asked Bofur as they watched Bifur explain to Dwalin and Dori how to steer with the oars they had made. They had pushed the raft into the river and tied it to a nearby tree. So far it was floating, but Bilbo didn't think that counted as there was no weight on it yet.
Bofur shrugged. "Bifur was always a good engineer so I don't see why it wouldn't."
"But there's a great deal of us," he reminded, not feeling reassured, "and I don't know how many of them can swim. Not that it would matter with all that armor to weigh them down."
"We all know how to swim," the miner promised as he threw an arm around Bilbo's shoulders. He pulled the reluctant Hobbit closer until he was settled against the Dwarf's side. With the massive height difference, Bilbo felt much like a child seeking comfort from a parent.
"We'll be fine," the Dwarf said softly, patting his shoulder. "I promise that none of us will drown in this river. And if it makes ya feel better, I'll tell the others to take off their armor for now. So, they don't drown in them."
"Drowning in armor is a legitimate concern," he sniffed, but still allowed himself to lean against his taller friend. The Dwarf was rather warm after all.
"Of course, it is," Bofur agreed, somehow managing not to sound patronizing.
"Bofur! Quit groping our Hobbit and get over here and help me with the food!" Bombur suddenly yelled from behind them.
Bofur groaned but dutifully released his captive and turned around. "Why don't ya yell a little louder, Bombur? I don't think the Dwarves in the Blue Mountain heard ya!"
Bilbo rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the raft that was, admittedly, staying afloat as the Dwarves ventured on to it. Glóin was standing without any problem and was helping his brother and Nori load their packs. Nearby Fíli and Kíli had staked out a spot while Ori tried to convince Dori to let him sit on the outside. When his gaze landed on Thorin, he was surprised to find the king staring at him with a scowl. When he raised his brows back in question, the Dwarf quickly looked back to Balin and Bifur as they peered over the map.
What was that about? he wondered before dismissing it. There was no point in trying to guess the king's mood considering how frequently they changed. He had realized that the first time around.
"Bilbo! Come join us!" Kíli suddenly called, waving for him to board the raft.
He sighed but leaned down to pick up his pack before making his way to the raft. He hesitated for a moment before bracing one foot on the unsteady surface and then pushed himself onto the raft. It shifted for a moment before settling, and he let out a breath of relief.
So far so good.
"Isn't this exciting?" asked Kíli, looking at him with bright eyes. "We're about to leave and soon we'll be at the Lonely Mountains!"
He nodded and gave the Dwarf a smile that he hoped didn't look too fake. "Indeed."
As long as we don't drown first.
"Are we ready to leave?" asked Balin as Bofur and Bombur joined them on the raft. When the cook took a step onto the raft, Bilbo felt his heart freeze as it dipped and threatened to sink. But Dwalin pulled the heavyset Dwarf further onto the raft and closer to the middle, and the flat boat evened out again.
"You're to stay in the middle so we don't sink," ordered Dwalin, releasing the cook.
Bombur rolled his eyes but dutifully sat himself down in the center of the raft. "Fine, but the rest of you need to take off your armor. Bofur says it's making Bilbo nervous."
All the Dwarves turned as one to stare at the Hobbit. Bilbo met the looks and raised his chin stubbornly. "If you fall into the river then you may sink with the extra weight. Watching one of you drown is not something I would like to experience!"
The Dwarves just kept staring.
"I'm not even surprised at this point," admitted Glóin as shared a look with Nori.
"We should have seen this coming," the thief agreed, nodding his head.
"This is getting ridiculous. How are we ever going to get close to Smaug with him here?" Dwalin demanded of Thorin, who in turn ignored him in favor of rubbing his forehead.
Balin made a 'tsk' sound and lightly yanked on his brother's beard. "I think our real concern is how are we going to keep him from Smaug."
"One of us will have to go with him," Óin suggested, rubbing his chin. "Maybe bring some rope along just in case..."
"Just when I think he can't surprise me anymore with his antics, he goes and pulls something like this!" Dori complained to Bifur.
"How are you still alive?" Kíli demanded while his brother just kept staring.
At that point, Bilbo honestly had no idea what the Dwarves were complaining about, and he really didn't care. What he did care about was that none of them had listened and were not taking off their armor.
"If you lot don't take off your armor before we leave then I'm taking it off for you," he threatened, pushing his hair out of his eyes.
The Dwarves didn't look intimidated by his threat, but they did begin to strip down to their tunics and slacks. He watched them all carefully until he was certain they were all no longer wearing their heavy leather and metal.
"Right. We can go now," he declared, moving to sit between Kíli and Ori.
"Thank you for granting your permission," Thorin replied with a remarkably straight face. "Dwalin, Dori; get your oars ready. It's time to leave this blasted forest behind."
~*~
To Bilbo's honest surprise, the raft did not sink and drown them all that first day. It held together even with all their weight and was easy to navigate up the river even with the currents pushing at it. Dwalin and Dori took turns rowing with Glóin and Thorin for hours at a time. He didn't know how they all managed to keep up such a cycle, but he was honestly impressed with their strength and endurance.
With nothing to do on the raft except wait, Bilbo turned his attention to preparing for the upcoming battle. It occurred to him that, in the event that he failed to protect his friends, then he would need to know how to help them. Since Gandalf was still gone, he turned his attention to the next best healer around: Óin.
"You want me to teach you about healing?" the Dwarf repeated, staring at him with disbelief. "Why?"
"Because I want to learn?" offered the Hobbit.
Óin raised a bushy white brow in answer.
"Okay, maybe not just because of that," he admitted, scratching his neck. "I want to be able to help the others if they get hurt. I know about different herbs that I could use, but what I don't know is how to stitch up a wound or cure an infection. I'm useless in this form and I don't wish to be any longer."
Óin sighed and shook his head. "That's why you want to learn? To help the others?"
"Yes?" he said slowly, unsure why it was a concern. Who else would he use the skills of healing on? The Orcs?
The Dwarf muttered something in Khuzdûl before switching back to Westron. "Very well, lad. I'll teach ya what you want."
"Thank you, Óin," he said, giving the Dwarf a smile. "I promise to listen to everything you have to say."
"Hmp. We'll see about that," the healer mumbled. "We'll start now with you telling me everything you know about herbs. Leave nothing out. I need to know what I'm working with here."
And so begun his studies into healing. For the rest of the day, he listed all the herbs that he knew of and their many uses in medicine. Once done, Óin began to teach him about other uses that he had not known, and then showed him some of the new herbs that he carried. He then ordered the Hobbit to look for the new plants on their journey in order to learn where they were commonly grown.
"When you find some, pick them and add them to your collection," the healer ordered, gesturing to his pack. "Once you have enough, I'll show the best way to use them."
The Hobbit nodded as he repeated everything, he learned in his mind in order not to forget any of it. "Understood. And thank you again for doing this for me. I do appreciate it."
Óin shrugged. "It's fine. Not as if we have anything else to do while sailing down this bloody river."
"True," he granted, grinning. "It does make the time pass faster."
The old Dwarf chuckled. "Indeed, burglar, indeed."
"How did you ever get into such a trade?" Bilbo wondered as he crossed his legs under him to sit more easily. "Glóin is a warrior, yet you are a healer. What brought about such different professions?"
"Actually, Glóin is a banker by trade." Óin laughed when Bilbo looked at him in disbelief. "Don't look so surprised! My brother is a lot smarter than he lets on. He's always been good with numbers so our parents encouraged him to build on that. He had just finished his apprenticeship when Erebor was attacked."
"But... he's always going on about fighting! I thought for sure that he was part of the army or guards like Dwalin," the Hobbit replied, straining his head around the others to get a look at the redhead. It was Glóin's turn to row, and he was concentrating on his task, and was thankfully paying them no mind. He didn't want the Dwarf to know how surprised he was to hear that he was trained in such an intelligent trade.
"All Dwarves are warriors, lad. It is mandatory for both males and females to train in combat for a number of years before we are allowed to start on our trade of choice," the healer explained patiently. "But after Erebor fell many of us had to give up our trades and take other jobs to survive. Glóin decided to work as a guard for traveling merchants and has stayed with it since the pay is good."
"I... I never knew that." As with Nori, he had not given much thought to what sort of life the others had before Erebor fell. He did not think they would be so very different from what he knew. "Then what is your trade? Were you always a healer?"
"Aye. I got lucky. A healer is something that is always needed no matter where ya go," the Dwarf confirmed. "Others were not so lucky. Balin went from a scholar to a merchant; Dori was a weaver but gave it up for manual labor; and Thorin was a prince who became a blacksmith."
"Thorin was a blacksmith?" he repeated, stunned. He knew the king had experience with crafting weapons, but he never knew it went so far. Thorin had certainly never made any mention of it the first time around.
"Best you'll ever meet," boasted Óin. "If you ever need a sword or an axe made then he's the one to go to. He makes the metal sing."
"Óin, stop lying to him," Thorin suddenly ordered from where he sat. He had gotten stuck between his nephews and was now acting as their bed. Fíli, with his arms crossed, was leaning against his uncle's shoulder to sleep while Kíli had simply sprawled across his lap like a pup.
Óin waved a dismissive hand at him. "They're hardly lies. You are the best blacksmith around and we all know it."
Thorin rolled his eyes as the others around them agreed.
"I believe it," Bilbo added honestly because he knew that Óin didn't lie. The healer saw no point to it.
Thorin sniffed and looked away, but Bilbo could still see the faint curl to his lips.
~*~
The days continued to pass in a slow cycle. Soon one day became two and then eventually three until finally four. The raft was still remarkably holding up, but Bilbo noticed that the currents were beginning to grow stronger as they journeyed further and further north. When he voiced his concern to the others, they admitted to noticing the same thing, but were waiting until the river became too rough to navigate through before they returned to land.
"We save more time riding the river over walking it," Balin pointed out when he asked why. "We need to take advantage of it for the time being."
"But what if we don't get off the river in time?" Bilbo pressed, ignoring the groans and sighs around him. He didn't care that the others were most likely finding his worry annoying at that point. He would rather have them alive and annoyed with him than dead and silent.
"We won't," Balin reassured with eyes that were soft and warm. "We will land soon enough. I promise."
The Hobbit sighed and his shoulders slumped. "If you say so."
It took another two days before they finally decided to make their way back to land. The east side of the river was clear of trees and overgrowth and boasted enough room for them to walk again. The currents were also beginning to grow stronger and rougher; making it much harder to navigate through. The slow trickle of rain also paid a part in the decision as it threatened to flood their raft.
"We need to get off the river before the rain picks up," Bofur pointed out as he tugged his hat lower.
"But how? I don't think we can get the raft close enough to the banks to land," Kíli said, pointing to the jagged rocks that blocked their way.
"Fíli, use what rope we have left and a hook and throw it to one of the trees," Thorin ordered his nephew. "Dori and Dwalin, try to get us as close as possible. The rest of you get ready to jump."
The Company did as command with Dori and Dwalin pushing against the currents while Fíli tried his best to hook onto one of the trees. Eventually he managed to hook it onto a branch and then tied the rope to the raft. Slowly they drifted closer to the banks until the rocks blocked them and they had no choice but to jump.
"Ori, Fíli, and Kíli will go first," the king ordered, gesturing to the three youngest members. "The rest will follow after. Quickly now, move!"
Bilbo watched as one Dwarf after another leaped to the shore. Each jump made his heartbeat faster only to slow down again when they reached the safety of the banks. When Thorin turned to him, he shook his head and stepped back.
"I will go last—" he begun to say only to be interrupted by the Dwarf.
"No, you will go now," Thorin declared before hoisting him up by his coat and tossing him off the raft and towards the shore.
He couldn't help but screech as he flew through the air before landing harshly in the arms of Fíli and Kíli. The three of them hit the dirt in a tangle of limbs and groans and bruised flesh. Bilbo rolled off of Kíli and got to his feet awkwardly; all the while glaring at the king on the raft.
"You're going to pay for that!" he yelled as Bofur leaped from the raft next. "I mean it!"
Thorin ignored him but Bilbo could see his sharp smirk even from the banks.
"Aww, don't be like that. He was just trying to help," Kíli tried to console as he climbed to his feet with his brother.
Bilbo simply gave him the same look his mother used to give him whenever he used her good sheets as a canvas for painting. In return, Kíli went wide-eyed and ducked behind Fíli.
Eventually all the Dwarves made it safely to the shore with Thorin coming last. Once the king was safe on land once more, Bilbo marched up to him and poked him in the chest as hard as possible. He would have kicked him, but the Dwarf was wearing steel boots and his feet were not up to it.
"Never. Do. That. Again," he growled, glaring up at the royal warrior.
To his frustration, Thorin didn't look at all remorseful or threatened.
"If you keep insisting on risking your life for others then be prepared to have them do the same," the Dwarf retorted, poking him back in the forehead. Bilbo batted his hand away in annoyance as the others snickered around them.
"We'll make camp here for now," Thorin announced, turning to the rest of the Company. "See if we can set up some sort of shelter from the rain. We also need to replenish our food and water supplies. Get as much rest as possible for tomorrow we continue on foot."
~*~
At the first hint of dawn, they walked on.
They followed the river as it twisted and turned and continued on as far as the eye could see. Bilbo could not estimate how far it stretched but he hoped it was not as far as it felt. In the distance he could see the Lonely Mountain at it stretched out toward the sky, sharp and jagged with snowy tips. It stood out like a lighthouse in a raging sea; a source of light to guide them through the perils to come.
"The Lonely Mountain... it's really beautiful," Kíli admitted to him as they trudged on under the afternoon sun.
"It is," Bilbo agreed, pushing his hair out of his face, "very lovely. I'm sure it's even better up close."
Kíli nodded; still staring at the mountains with a look of wonder. "Yeah, I bet it is. I didn't think I would ever see it like this."
He had to raise his brows at that. "You didn't think your uncle wouldn't try to reclaim Erebor?"
"No, I knew he would one day," the Dwarf admitted. "I just never gave it much thought. I grew up hearing stories about the glory and beauty of Erebor, but that's all they ever were stories. Seeing it now has finally made it real to me. Something more than just a story my ma would tell me before bed."
Bilbo had not thought of that. "That's... actually quite understandable. It is hard to miss something that you have never known."
"That's what Fíli said," the brunet agreed, brushing his dark hair out of his eyes. "Me, him, and Ori—we were all born outside of Erebor. Me and Ori were lucky 'cuz we were born in a house, but ma had Fíli on the road. It was only her and our father and she always said they were lucky he survived. Dwarves have a hard time in childbirth."
"That's possibly the saddest birthing story I ever heard," the Hobbit said honestly. "I think it almost beats out my cousin Flambard. His mother didn't even know she was pregnant at the time and had passed him off as the runs. She was in for a surprise when she went to the privy and ended up with a baby instead."
Kíli cackled. "That is sad! You have to tell that story to Fíli! Maybe now he'll stop pulling that card on our ma."
"I will." He paused, thinking of how to phrase his next question without being intrusive. "Your father... I've never heard any of you speak of him."
Kíli looked at him with surprise but didn't seem defensive. Instead, he shrugged and said, "Yeah, well, he died a long time ago in a battle. Happened a couple years after I was born. Me and Fíli don't really remember him."
Bilbo winced in sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear that. I'm sure he was a fine Dwarf."
"That's what Thorin always says," the Dwarf agreed, grinning. "He always tells us stories if we ask him, and he says that Fíli got his glare, and I got his smile."
"Was it hard growing up without a father?" he wondered because he honestly never had to experience that.
The brunet scoffed. "Of course not! We had Thorin around for that. He's a good enough father to us."
Bilbo had thought as much. "He seems to agree. He treats you both as his own sons."
To his surprise, Kíli frowned and shook his head. "I don't know about that. He treats us good, yeah, and me and Fíli have always thought of him as our da. But Thorin always reminds us of who our real father is and makes us visit his grave and family. I don't think he likes the idea of being our da."
"Or maybe he's trying not to replace your father in respect for his memory," the Hobbit pointed out because he had heard this story before. He had struggled with finding a balance between uncle and father to Frodo for a long time. It was not until his nephew was nearly grown that he finally stopped feeling guilty for loving the lad as his own.
Kíli still didn't look convinced. "Maybe."
"You should ask him yourself if you don't believe me," he suggested. "I'm sure he'll tell you the same thing."
"Err, I'd rather not. Those types of talks are awkward."
"What, you mean talks that involve feelings?"
"Yeah, those! Rather just avoid them," the Dwarf explained.
"Shame. I've found that those conversations are usually the most important."
"Kíli is no good with words," explained Fíli, joining the conversation without an invitation. "It's a wonder Balin was able to teach him how to read at all."
In response, Kíli casually kicked his brother in the back of the knee. Fíli tripped but managed to keep himself from falling.
"I know how to read," the younger Dwarf insisted, pouting slightly. "I just don't like to. It's boring! I always fall asleep in the beginning!"
Bilbo patted the prince on the arm. "It's fine; not everyone likes to read. It doesn't make you stupid or bad with words no matter what your brother says."
Kíli stuck his tongue out at Fíli in victory.
"He's only being nice to you to make you feel better," the blond shot back with a look of mock pity. "Our burglar doesn't want to say the truth 'cuz he knows you'll cry."
Bilbo sighed as Kíli finally gave up on subtly and simply tackled his older brother. As the two began to curse in Khuzdûl and roll around in the dirt, he drifted off to speak to the next Dwarf nearest to him.
"What do your tattoos mean?" the Hobbit asked, smiling brightly up at the tall Dwarf.
Dwalin scowled and refused to look at him. "Don't you have someone else to bother?"
"Not yet. You're the next one on my list," explained Bilbo, trying not to smirk.
"I'm not going to tell you my life story, burglar," the Dwarf said bluntly.
"I'm not asking for it. I'm asking about your tattoos."
"My tattoos are my life story."
"Oh!" Bilbo had not thought of the tattoos as that, but it made sense when the Dwarf put it that way. "So, each one is about a certain event in your life? Or maybe a time? How do you decide on the tattoo for that matter?"
Dwalin finally sighed and closed his eyes. He looked like he was searching for patience that probably didn't exist.
"The quicker you answer the faster I'll leave you alone," he pointed out because common sense wasn't exactly a common trait even among Elves.
"Fine," the warrior growled, opening his eyes. "A Dwarf gets a tattoo for special events that happen in their life. The first is when they come of age. The second is after the mastery of their trade. Others are the victory of their first battle; the bonding to your One; and the birth of a child. Finally, they may ink themselves in memory of the deceased."
"But you have much more tattoos than the ones you listed," he noticed. "What are all those extras for?"
"They are for battles that I have fought. As a warrior it is acceptable to tattoo my victories or defeats in combat," Dwalin explained with a bored tone.
Bilbo studied the interlocked shapes on the other's skull. They were dark green and faded but the patient artistry of the tattoos was still clear. He could not imagine how long it had taken the artist, or how much pain Dwalin had endured for them.
"The others... do they have tattoos? Because I haven't seen any," he wondered, realizing for the first time that the others could also have tattoos.
The warrior grunted. "They have them. They're just covered at the moment."
"Do they all look like yours?"
"The shapes are likely to be similar, aye, but they're different." Dwalin paused and then added, "Unless it's the name of a clan, or guild then it's always the same."
"So, every Dwarf gets a tattoo when they become an adult. What if they don't wish for one?"
"Then they don't get one. It's not a mandatory thing to do; just traditional," clarified Dwalin. He looked Bilbo up and down slowly before meeting his gaze.
"Hobbits don't have tattoos," the Dwarf pointed out. He didn't sound disapproving or mocking; simply stating a fact.
Bilbo nodded and explained, "My people find it improper. Tattoos, piercings, and even a bad haircut is thought of as indecent."
"Sound like a bunch of tight asses," the warrior replied with a snort.
"We can be at times," the Hobbit admitted easily, "but every race has their flaws."
Dwalin smirked. "Really? Then what's ours?"
"Your lust for gold," he answered without hesitation.
"What?" Dwalin spat, looking outraged. "That is not a flaw! It is a gift!"
Bilbo rolled his eyes and simply said one word: "Smaug."
The warrior stopped short. After a few seconds he nodded grudgingly. "Fine. I'll give you that."
"Thank you," he replied cheerfully, "and if it makes you feel any better, I find Elves to be worse with their superiority complex. Very annoying."
Dwalin stared at him for a moment before he threw his head back and laughed. "Well said, burglar, well said!"
Bilbo smiled back and basked in hearing the gruff warrior laugh and laugh.
~*~
It had been a long time since he had a nightmare. Bilbo had forgotten how unpleasant they could be.
—the fire burns through cloth, hair, skin and bones until there is nothing left but ashes. He screams and tries to move to his friends, but he can't break through the chains that hold him back. He can only scream and watch as Smaug burns his friends alive one by one as the ring laughs at him in the back of his mind.
"Failed them again," the ring taunts, and then laughs and laughs and laughs—
"—lbo! Bilbo! Wake up!"
His eyes snapped open, and he sat up in one motion and cracked his head against the Dwarf leaning over him. Bilbo hissed and grabbed his head as a sharp pain raced through his skull. He heard a low curse before two strong hands wrapped around his wrists and pulled them down away from his head.
"Damn. Think it's gonna bruise," he heard the other mutter. "Last time I get close to you when you're asleep."
Bilbo finally opened his watery eyes to glare at the king before him. "Why were you leaning over me to begin with?"
"I was trying to wake you up from your unpleasant dream," Thorin explained, still examining the Hobbit's forehead. He rubbed at the spot and Bilbo hissed as a spike of pain hit him again. The Dwarf immediately dropped his hand.
"Sorry," Thorin apologized, looking sheepish. "I thought it would help the pain."
"No, I think touching it just makes it worse," the Hobbit admitted. He peeked around the campsite and found that the rest of their companions were still sound asleep despite all the noise they were making.
"What are you doing up?" he wondered, turning his eyes back to the king. "I thought it was Bifur's turn tonight?"
"He was tired, so I took his shift," the Dwarf explained.
Bilbo scowled at that. "And when are you planning to sleep?"
"When I'm dead," Thorin deadpanned. When he saw the look Bilbo made at his answer, he lost his expressionless look and rolled his eyes.
"I've been pushing everyone to move faster so it's natural that I should let them rest," he explained simply.
Bilbo still didn't approve and had no problem showing it with a scowl. "If you fall asleep on the road tomorrow then I'm kicking you awake. In the ribs."
"I'll try to land on my back to make it easier for you," the king promised.
He groaned but couldn't fight the smile that replaced the scowl. "You're ridiculous, but you have my thanks for waking me up. I don't enjoy nightmares."
"You kept tossing and muttering in your sleep," explained Thorin with a frown. "You looked very upset. What was your dream about?"
Bilbo bit his lower lip and glanced around the camp again. "I dreamt that Smaug killed everyone. I was forced to watch it all while bound and helpless. It... It was a horrifying dream."
"That does sound... unpleasant," the Dwarf agreed, furrowing his brows. "It was not what I was expecting to hear, but it makes sense considering it's you."
"I don't understand. Why does it make sense now?" the Hobbit asked. He honestly did not understand where Thorin was coming from.
The king waved a hand to their sleeping comrades. "You value our Company very much. I've seen how you willingly put yourself in danger for each of them as if they are your very kin. You respect us, listen to us, and silently adore us from afar. That is why I am not surprised that your greatest fear would be to see us die."
Bilbo felt his face slowly turn red. He knew he had been less then subtle with his attempts to protect the Dwarves, but hearing it laid out by Thorin was a bit embarrassing. Hearing it from another made him realize that he sounded a bit off in the head.
"What I don't understand though," continued Thorin, paying no heed to his blush, "is why. Why do you risk so much to protect us? From the very beginning you made it clear that you wouldn't hesitate to give your life for us. Why do that? What did we do to earn such loyalty and devotion?"
Bilbo closed his eyes and released a heavy sigh. "There is a reason for that. But it is not one I can share with you just yet."
The king scowled. "Why? What is holding you back?"
"I can't say. It's part of the reason why I want to protect you all," the Hobbit explained, giving a half shrug. "But what I can say is that after Smaug is dead and Erebor has been reclaimed, I will sit down and tell you everything. Does that sound acceptable?"
"I hate waiting," the Dwarf said bluntly, still scowling, "but I will grant your wish and leave it alone for now. But it better be a damn good reason."
He laughed and then quickly smothered it with one hand as the Dwarves around him shifted. "It is a good reason; one I think you will find unbelievable."
"I lost my home to a dragon," the other reminded, rolling his eyes. "Nothing is unbelievable to me at this point."
I'm counting on that.
"You should go back to sleep. I'm sure you won't have any nightmares now," suggested Thorin as he got to his feet.
Bilbo wrinkled his nose and wiggled out of his bedroll. "Nope. I'm going on watch with you. If you insist on being a martyr, then I will be one too."
"We don't need two people on watch," the Dwarf pointed out, glaring at him. "Go back to sleep. We have hours still till dawn."
He ignored the look and got to his feet. "Not happening. I'm joining you whether you like it or not."
"Stubborn little thing, aren't you?" the other mumbled to himself as he stalked off to his post. Bilbo simply grinned and followed after him.
"Complain as much as you like; I know you're pleased for the company," he teased, taking a seat next to the king and stretching his legs out before him.
"I happen to enjoy my solitude," retorted Thorin. "I like the company of my kin, of course, but I also need space from them lest I strangle them."
"I understand. I like to be with friends and family too, but I also prefer my own company at the end of the day."
"Yet here you are. With me. Interrupting my solitude," the Dwarf reminded him.
"I'm not leaving so give it up," he advised the king, rolling his eyes. "Now, tell me about Erebor."
Thorin stared at him. "What?"
"Erebor. Tell me what it was like. I know so little about this city other than it's your home. It would be nice to know what to expect," Bilbo explained because he really didn't know much about the city. He had never gone back to it after it had been reclaimed, and he had avoided any books or rumors of the place for a long time. It was too much to hear about the city that housed the bodies of his fallen friends.
Thorin continued to stare at him for a moment before casting his gaze out to the horizon. "Erebor... Erebor was not what most would consider beautiful. It was too cold for the Elves and too dark to the Men. There were no plants or windows or sunshine. It was all stone and jewels and sharp edges. But it was beautiful to us. The stone the Elves called cold was a source of comfort and protection. The darkness the Men feared was a challenge to dig deeper and further. The uncut jewels were our plants and the sparkle of gold our sunshine. We lived everyday with the warm whisper of our mother stone in our ears, and in the protective shelter of her embrace. There is no place in the world quite like it and there never will be."
Bilbo closed his eyes and tried to imagine the city that the king described. He tried to see past the decay and ruin that he recalled and pictured a bustling mountain with a glittering ceiling of jewels and metal. He imagined the warmth and closeness of so many livings together in such a small space; all going about their business while basking in the protection the mountain offered against the outside world. He thought of the artistry of Dwalin's tattoos and imagined that same talent being used to create homes and books and weapons. And he imagined the powerful and dutiful king that would give his life to bring it all back again.
Eventually he drifted off to sleep with Thorin's deep voice in his ear, and the memory of a lost city in his dreams.
~*~
Seven days later and they still were not at Lake-town. Bilbo found the days passed in a blink and they still seemed so very far away from the Lonely Mountain. He watched the distance every day; hoping that soon they would see the end of the Forest River. But at the end of the day, he found himself disappointed and anxious as time marched on.
He tried his best not to focus on his worry and turned his attention to his companions. He continued training with Glóin—who had deemed his swordsmanship passable and moved on to teaching him hand-to-hand combat—in the evening when they had time. Training how to throw punches and kicks turned out to be more brutal than he had expected; soon he found himself with swollen knuckles and skinned knees.
"I feel like a child," he complained one night as Bofur helped him wrap up his bruised and swollen hands.
"You just started," the miner reminded him. "Give it time and your hands will get used to it. For now, keep the bandages on. It will help with the swelling."
He sighed but did as told and tried his best to ignore the pain in his hands.
It took another three days before they finally—finally—reached their destination.
"Is... Is that it?" Ori asked softly, tugging on Dori's arm. The rest of the Dwarves all stopped and stared with mixed expressions.
Bilbo swallowed the lump in his throat as they all took in the town built on water with the Lonely Mountain looming behind it. "Yeah. Yeah, that's it."
Here we go again.