"Spread your feet a lil' bit wider. There, that's it."
The training fields of Erebor were built atop the huge outer walls, small patches of grass and dirt dotting the long fortifications so that the dwarves wouldn't have to step out from the city to practice on something besides hard stone. Bilbo was currently sitting on a bench beside one of those grassy patches, a stack of old blueprints resting to his right side and upon his lap, all of them in desperate need of restoration. The hobbit had restored his fair share of documents back in the Shire, so this was familiar business that could then be used by the reconstruction crews down in the mines. Apparently, these blueprints mapped one of the oldest and most fertile shafts in the Lonely Mountain, so Thorin and Balin had been ecstatic when Bilbo had offered his knowledge on how to restore all of them without any lasting damage.
"If you keep your knees straight, then your enemy can kick them and blow out the bones there," explained Dwalin. He was standing in the middle of the training patch with Frodo. "So always keep them bent, like this."
Bilbo smiled at the pair. "I think Dwalin's actually enjoying this."
"He's always been good with children," said Balin. The older dwarf was sitting to Bilbo's far right, carefully applying the chemicals he'd bought and collected to restore the diamond mine blueprints. "Few people expect it from him because of his appearance and gruff demeanor. He trained Fíli and Kíli, you know."
"Really? Well, that would certainly explain why they look up to him so much," said Bilbo around the new pipe he'd found in his room. It had the loveliest dragon-esque design to it. "It makes sense that he would've been their primary instructor whenever Thorin couldn't be there."
"Aye, and I think Dwalin missed it, after the boys no longer needed daily training sessions," Balin explained. "Guarding a palace in the Blue Mountains can become rather monotonous and tedious after several years. Very little action. And if there's anything my little brother enjoys, it's action."
"Now, if someone ever tries to grab you around the front like this, reach out for an ear and give it a sharp twist. That'll send them screaming."
Bilbo cringed at that statement. "Well, these last few years have been chock-full of action. I personally think the lull is quite nice right now."
"Or jam them in the eyes! Don't matter the species or size, if you stuff your finger or a knife into an eye, they'll topple right off of you."
"I'm honestly hoping Frodo never has to use any of this," sighed Bilbo. "It'd be really nice if he didn't have to fight for his life in his own home. Hobbits aren't made for fighting, as I proved so well on our journey."
"But you are very good at sneaking," Balin reasoned. "And everything my brother is teaching the lad focuses on jab and escape, a fighting style that I personally believe can be quite useful for hobbits like yourselves."
"We can be very quiet when we want to be," admitted Bilbo with a grin. "Frodo's been pilfering Kíli's arrows all week and he still can't seem to find them."
Balin laughed at that. "It's delightful to finally see that rascal getting some of his own medicine for once. A worthy opponent for him, one could say."
"Uncle! Look, look!"
"I'm looking, Frodo. What is it?"
The little hobbit was standing in front of Dwalin, expression focused and hands at the ready for an attack. Bilbo had a difficult time suppressing a smile, thoroughly amused by the way Frodo kept glancing up at Dwalin for confirmation that he was doing the deed or action correctly.
"Five main points of attack," said Frodo, pointing to Dwalin's body parts for each of them. "Twist the ears, jam into the eyes, kick the knees, smash the groin, and break the nose. And if that doesn't work, just bite them."
"All quick, efficient, and hobbit-friendly," added Dwalin.
"That's excellent, Frodo."
"Good work, laddie."
Frodo gave them all a proud smile and turned back to Dwalin, demanding another round of tackling to practice his newly learned moves. It was apparently quite rare to even see dwarf children anymore, a direct result of the high mortality rate that had plagued the dwarven cities and overall population in the last hundred years. Frodo was one of the few youths left in Erebor of any species, most of the others belonging to dwarf mothers who'd migrated to the Lonely Mountain on the last caravan. And even though Bilbo had not seen a great deal of the population yet, it was very clear that males vastly outnumbered females and children.
And that was never a good sign in any population.
"I've finally finished them," said a familiar voice to Bilbo's left side. "A dropped stitch or two in the left glove, but I've fixed those pretty well, I think."
"They look wonderful, Ori."
The young dwarf had been diligently working on several sets of knitted clothes for Frodo, each of them with unique designs and specially fitted to the little hobbit. Bilbo had tried to tell him that such finery wasn't necessary, but Ori had insisted upon it. In order to show his gratitude, Bilbo had been baking the dwarf his favorite mixed berry scones once a week. It seemed that every member of the Company had a particular baked food that all of them loved, so Bilbo had taken to repaying each of them for their services or child-care help with buttery foods.
"Owww! You've got me!"
Bilbo looked up and watched as Frodo smacked the warrior dwarf in the groin. It was a defensive exercise, of course, but that did little to lessen the sheer hilarity that was Dwalin getting beat up by a hobbit child.
"Now go for the eyes!"
So far, his list included pumpkin cupcakes for Dwalin, vanilla cupcakes with lots of icing for Fíli, mixed berry scones for Ori, blueberry tarts for Bifur, blackberry muffins for Óin, honey cakes for Dori, raspberry sticky buns for Nori, strawberry cheesecake for Kíli, pumpkin cobbler for Balin, red velvet cookie sandwiches for Bofur, apple crisp for Bombur, lemon meringue pie for Glóin, and then chocolate and raspberry mousse for the King Under the Mountain himself. It seemed that dwarves were devoted lovers of berries and Bilbo could barely keep his jam jars full with them coming in and out of his kitchen during the day.
"Frodo will love these," said Bilbo as he examined one of the pairs of blue gloves Ori had made for his nephew. "They'll be perfect for winter."
"I padded the inside of those for extra insulation," explained Ori. "And these ones here are fingerless for autumn. And I've been working on a blanket, too."
The dwarf reached into his pack and pulled out a beautiful blue and silver knitted blanket, perfectly hobbit-sized and wide enough to fit both uncle and nephew during one of Erebor's chilly nights. Bilbo ran his fingers over the intricate silver pattern that lay on the dark blue yarn, amazed by the young dwarf's thoughtfulness and astounding talent for detail. A small pile of knitted hats, scarves, arm and leg warmers, over-shirts, and gloves were resting on the ground between them.
Bilbo pointed to the pattern on the front of the blanket, curious as to why half of the garments were decorated with it. "What does this symbol mean?"
"That's the insignia of the line of Durin," said Ori. "I thought it'd be a nice touch given the circumstances."
The hobbit blinked in confusion. "Circumstances?"
"You're living in the royal wing," stated Ori, "Across the hall from both the royal princes and directly beside the King himself. In our society, that automatically makes you an honorary member of the Durin family. It's extremely rare, of course, since not even an important dignitary or visiting royal from another kingdom would be permitted to stay in such a residence. Circumstances like these are generally viewed as..."
Bilbo frowned when the dwarf trailed off. "Viewed as what?"
"Well, you see..."
The hobbit turned to look at Balin, who was being mysteriously quiet compared to his usual full-of-explanations self. But a tiny smirk was on his face, something that made Bilbo all the more suspicious of the situation.
"I'm not going to be thrown out of Erebor for violating some odd kind of dwarven royal code or something, am I?" asked Bilbo. "Because if I am, then I'd really like to find out ahead of time so I can make a quick getaway."
"Oh, most certainly not," said Balin immediately. "I've tried to tell Thorin and the boys that hobbits do things very differently back in the Shire, but we dwarves are a thick-headed lot at times."
"He's truly been going about it all wrong," Ori said to Balin. "I offered him some of the books I found on the matter, but he refused them."
"Ahhh, so that's why Fíli and Kíli have been chasing him around with those dusty ol' things," mused Balin. "Books usually aren't their pastimes of choice, so I was starting to worry about their sanity."
"He threw them out of the counsel room last night," sighed Ori with a shake of his head. "Quite the sad state of affairs, if you ask me."
Balin nodded in agreement. "And on a subject as simple as this."
"It's been quite entertaining seeing Fíli and Kíli attempt to figure out a solution, though," admitted Ori with a small grin. "I personally doubted their initiative at the start, but they've become quite determined this last week."
"Well, if it's not handled soon, then I'm sure one of them will be sending out for some new advice from their mother," Balin assured the younger dwarf. "Dís always was the brains and common sense behind the Durin line, after all."
"What in the world are you two talking about?" asked Bilbo. He hadn't been able to make heads nor tails of the purpose behind their sigh-filled jabbering. "Am I missing something here?"
The two dwarves shared a long look before Balin said, "Well, you see, there's an unfortunate issue that's been handled quite—"
"If you've a comment to make," snarled Dwalin, "Then I suggest you make it to my face, you filthy elf-lover!"
All of their heads shot up, surprised eyes looking at the now abandoned piece of training ground with confusion. Turning a little to the left, they soon spotted Dwalin and Frodo off to the side, the warrior dwarf pinning another dwarf to the outside wall with a knife to his throat. Kíli suddenly appeared from the nearby arrow range, snatching Frodo up and whisking him away from the angry dwarves. The unfamiliar dwarf was yelling in Khuzdul, spit flying from his mouth and onto Dwalin's face.
"I've slit throats and smashed in skulls for far less offense," growled Dwalin, his huge arms slamming the other dwarf's head into the wall. "Filth like you should've never been allowed to reenter this city."
"What happened?" demanded Bilbo when Kíli finally arrived at their side. "Is he okay? Frodo? Darling, are you alright?"
Frodo looked more puzzled than anything. "I'm okay."
"What happened?"
"I don't know," said Frodo, both arms wrapped around Kíli's neck as the shouting in Khuzdul got louder and more violent. "Dwalin was showing me how to wiggle and bite out of a chokehold and then I heard something, and he just charged after that other dwarf. Why's he so mad?"
Bilbo couldn't understand a word they were saying now. "I don't know, darling. Is it serious, Kíli?"
"From what I can hear," said the prince, "It's very serious."
"My brother does not take insults against the King lightly," explained Balin, face a grim mask as he watched Dwalin drag the other dwarf towards the edge of the wall. All of the stranger's companions were standing back, obviously too scared or cowardly to try to intervene against the King's strongest warrior. "And threatening a small child will earn you the wrath of any respectable dwarf worth his beard. Dwalin's retribution stands well within our laws."
All heads turned to the prince.
Dark eyes hard and face eerily grim, Kíli said, "I've heard the words he spoke, and I have no plans to interfere in such a clear-cut matter. Let Master Dwalin pass justice unto him."
Ori and Balin nodded in agreement. None of them said a word as Kíli walked off with Frodo still in his arms, the prince a harsh shadow of his usual cheery self. Bilbo and Ori trailed behind him, both stopping just outside the training ground entrance as Dwalin raised his voice again.
Balin continued to look on with stone-cold approval.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't throw your filth from this city?" asked Dwalin, the other dwarf dangling from his hand above the ground outside the walls. "You live here under the protection of King Thorin and the House of Durin, and yet you dare to mock him inside the very halls he almost gave life and limb to reclaim? I should slice out your traitorous tongue and feed it to the buzzards for such an offense!"
"That dwarf and his kin have been instigating dissent within the mines ever since their arrival eight months ago," explained Ori. "Whatever punishment he receives will be very well-deserved."
Other guards were now rushing to the scene, the anger of the King's top enforcer and an obvious threat to Thorin's life a grave matter that drew many from inside the city. The violence in Dwalin's voice was unfamiliar to the hobbit, this absolutely vicious display of anger and protectiveness something Bilbo had never seen from the large dwarf before. It was a very frightening sight to behold, even for someone like Bilbo who was quite firmly within Dwalin's circle of protection.
"Let's see how many insults and threats you can fling without a tongue, shall we?"
Ori gently took Bilbo by the arm. "Come, my friend, I've yet to show you some of the knitted stockings and sweaters I've made for Frodo. I'd like your opinion on a few of them. They're in my rooms."
"Oh, umm, of course."
Bilbo tried to ignore the muffled screams as they walked back into the cavernous halls of Erebor.