Hobbit 1. Chapter 1

It started in Spring, almost a dozen since The Adventure and two since anyone from the Outside had passed through Hobbiton, let alone through the round green door of Bag End (which Bilbo had taken great pains to have re-painted, twice, lest anymore dwarfish feet come along with more dragon related issues). Oh Bilbo grumped about the entire business aloud to himself, on long days when the rooms of his parents smial became too long and too empty, and to small ears who sat before him on his many visits to cousins, whose parents sat nearby and feared their children's wandering feet. But the truth was that he missed it, not the threat of death by warg or troll-snot or more importantly, at the end of a long and very dark tunnel filled with sudden, white-hot flame. Not that. But the companionship. Travelling by pony or by foot with others who shared the same basic fears and trials, the sounds of quiet laughter in the deepest part of night, reassuringly free of the sounds screeching orcs or burning forest or giant spiders.. In short he was lonely.

But Spring. It always brought with it the memories of better days, of hopeful songs and stories as hobbits from all across the eastern and northern regions of the Shire rolled through Hobbiton and Bywater on their way to Tookborough and Michael Delving, their carts laden with goods, from stone samples from Scary to books from the libraries and mathom houses of Buckland. The good folk of the two neighbouring towns would gather, like every Event since the formation of the Shire, and make a festival of the rolling markets with trestle tables heaving with freshly made cakes and plucked strawberries and free-flowing casks of ale.

* * *

Bilbo had wandered down early as the visting traders set up their rough and ready stalls to enjoy the smells from the bakery and (hopefully) avoid certain Bagginses who rarely roused themselves before elevenses unless a free meal or the promise of coin or silver cutlery were offered. He thought to himself, as he passed young Hamfast Gamgee and the fair Bell Goodchild, that this year's market was shaping up to be particularly superb when he caught a snippet of the young lovers conversation '- warf of all folk! And look here at this 'lil toy I picked up for my cousins young 'en. And he jus' gives it t' me!'. Bilbo turned on his heel, stepping up to the pair with a smile and a suddenly racing heart.

'Why Master Gamgee, what a fine device you have there!' Hamfast turned and gave Bilbo a respectful nod, Bell bobbing beside him as he held the toy out for his employers inspection. It was a dragon (of course), all wooden with delicate scales inlaid with what, to Bilbo's knowlegable eye, looked suspiciously like Mithril. A small string joined the tail to the body that when pulled moved the wings to flap as if in flight.

'He jus' gave it to me Mister Bilbo, I ain't done wrong with acceptin' have I?' Poor Hamfast was pale with the thought of disapproval, and Bilbo was quick to reassure the pair with a warm smile.

'Of course not lad! It is a fine gift that I'm sure will be greatly enjoyed. Tell me which stand was this you spoke of?' Bilbo was too excited to be embaressed that he'd just outed himself at eaves-dropping, and it seemed Hamfast was too relived to have been let off for commiting his imagined offence, for he pointed to the Bywater bridge with instructions to find the trader just beside The Green Dragon. The subject of the prescence of any dwarves seemed temporarily forgotten.

With a hasty bow and goodbye Bilbo turned for the bridge, his speed increasing until he was fair puffing along the straw strewn lane! There appeared to be quite some crowd around the inn- which was saying something considering it was the largest structure in the area apart from Bag End. And none of those gathered had a tankard between them- instead all very interested in the overlarge cart parked at the inns side, a pair of sturdy bulls tethered nearby. Bilbo skidded at the rear of this huddle, bouncing on his toes to see over the tops of gaffers and young mothers and their tots, only to be disappointed with no sign the taller dwarves. The crowd seemed to show no signs of parting from this spectacle anytime soon so Bilbo backed away.

_Stupid fool_ he told himself with a grimace. Even if it had been dwarves, it was unlikely to be any from Erebor. Certainly none would travel so far to stop at a hobbit village, they would likely pass straight through to the Blue Mountains beyond, with no concern or interest in this land without any real stone or jewel. Certainly none would be carrying shipments of toys to give away. What _had _he been imagining he would find? Certainly not a be-hatted fellow. With perky braids, warm smile, eyes.. _Stop it._

He moved back towards Hobbiton, his enthusiasm for festivities spent. It was just as well, this sort of thing would likely draw Lobelia out of her hole much sooner then a great many would like. He smiled wryly, the thought that the crowd outside the 'Dragon would soon flee her path as if she were a Great Wyrm fleetingly amusing.

His run and the growing heat of the day had quite worn him out as he made his way along Bagshot Row. He could hear Hamfast and Bell in the garden of no. three, clearly at some task or another and just as clearly enjoying each others company. It had been so very long since Bilbo himself had felt a connection that those two had. It had been some time since he had craved that kind of companionship and focus.. But he wasn't badly off for the friendship of others all things considered, though he sometimes dispaired at Drogo's attitude- he was turning into such a, such a _Baggins._His steps slowed further as he reached the crest, his nice green door was barely in sight and already he could hear a voice, low and lilting from where he stood. He didn't really want to be dealing with uninvited guests, he might be feeling a bit cheerless but he would negotiate that on his own terms! Besides if it was one of his scavenging relatives..

Renewed determination saw him charging up the hill, through his gate and up the steps without even stopping to look at his would-be "guest".

'No thank you, I don't need any rakes, hoes, books or any will's or deeds re-written today so if you'd kindly-'

'Well that's even less charming then my last visit to your fine home! Though at least this time I ain't the loadstone to a pile of me kin this time'. Bilbo stopped and rocked back on his heels, mouth open like he'd just encountered a wall of glass, the other side of which sat an leather and fur fitted dwarf, great boots parked on an upturned (and thankfully empty) plat pot, smoking at his own leisure. Bilbo's mouth opened and closed like the guppies a faunt might catch in the river, before launching himself at the seated figure with what sounded disturbingly like a laugh and a sob rolled into one very un-hobbit like cry. Bofur only just stood and braced himself for the attack, his delighted cackle echoing down thehill to number three, where the courting couple shared a look of surprise, before dopey smiles returned.

* * *

'-and before we knew it he'd grown so heavy he was leaving great big boot prints in the Wack-e-stone! He's already got four poor 'lil buggers carting 'im round, and he's only a-hundred and six! Bifur and I despair at this point, he can't be left alone in Erebors kitchens so I came and Bifur stayed to mind 'im. Oh ta, I've been gasping since we arrived, though that young 'en at your inn there didn't seem to keen to open the doors.' Bilbo grinned (he hadn't stopped since he'd detatched himself, reluctently, from his friends arms), setting the largest tankard he owned before the dwarf. Not five minutes through Bag End's door and Bofur had breezed through his brother Bomburs health and welfare, but hadn't really explained his own prescence or even delivering news of himself. Bilbo found it most un-satisfactory and tried to steer the conversation in his favour.

'But surely you can't mean to be stopping here in the Shire?' Bofur's head snapped up from the plate before him, a flash of hurt across his face disappearing into an easy smile. Bilbo shook his head, confounding his own tongue and reached forward to slide his smaller hand over his companions wrist to stall any response the dwarf could make up. 'I didn't mean it like that, truly. I cannot begin to tell you how, how _pleased _I am to see you,' he met Bofurs gaze evenly, trying to drive the subtext of his words home, 'I just can't belive you're actually here! I had thought everyone had forgotten about me after Balins visit, I've not heard from any of you.'.

'Ah well, it's not easy getting over the mountain passes when we did, there were more of us and they have gone on ahead with trade and supplies an' the like to Belegost. But with the skills of Dale and the Mountain now growin' at such a pace ole Dain and King Bard felt that we could afford a lil detour? Pick up some trade p'raps?' Bofur smiled, genuine this time, turning his hand to clasp at Bilbo's warm fingers with his own. The hobbit glanced down at this and felt the tips of his ears grow warm with the silly smile playing around his lips. 'I've-a-'bin thinking about you, the closer we got to Staddle and Bree. By the time we'd reached The Prancin' Pony the rest of my party had threatened to knock me out with my own mattock I was so keen to get here!'

Bilbo sighed and stood up to get another plate of scones for them. 'And here I give you the most un-welcoming welcome in Shire history. Destined to repeat myself I suppose.' He turned and deposited the baked goods on the table, but didn't sit back down instead leaning against the counter opposite. 'Bofur, I- our parting, heh if you can call such a thing a parting-'

'Hey now,' Bofurs chair scraped back along the wood, causing Bilbo to wince at the potential damage of his nice, poli- a hand slipped along his jaw, tilting his face upwards gently. 'I understand. I've always understood you Bilbo, and it is to me shame that I never made my feelings about you clear in Lake Town, when we had the chance. Nor after The Battle, after we'd laid poor Thorin and the lads to rest. I've let so many chances slip me by and not a single one of them was your fault, you were always the best o' me- better then me even.'

That also was unacceptable. Bilbo's eyes filled angrily. Anger at those lost chances that _neither _of them were to blame for. The distance between them, even the nameless fellows of Bofurs that had delayed this reunion by another week. 'I think we've both been very silly, love.' His fingers reached for and tightened in the furred hem of the dwarfs jerkin, pulling him down and forward and he pushed himself up on the tips of his toes once more. The kiss (had they really been waiting almost a decade for this?) was strange, tickly and made Bilbo smile against Bofurs mouth. A puff of air from the dwarfs nose across his cheek reflected his amusement before opening up to him warm and sweet and heady from the ale. They pulled apart reluctently, smiling at each other abashedly until Bilbo pulled one of the larger hands between his own. He didn't say anything as he tugged on the others arm, moving slowly with purpose past the laden table and its cooling food and warming ale, down the hall to the master bedroom and very carefully and with a determined _snick _closing the door too behind them.


	2. Chapter 2

'Must you go, so soon?' Bilbo leaned up on his elbow, so that he could see his bedmate's face. He and Bofur had spent much of his visit here in this room, making up for the lost time between them. And it hadn't been all about soft touches and the press of hands and lips against flesh. It was easier, here in the warm darkness under the earth, where they both felt so much more comfortable, to say what needed to be said no matter how twisted their tongues became. Speaking of late nights around campfires speaking of home, of cozy fireplaces and rolling fields. Of nieces and nephews and cool caves lit with torchlight cast back amoungst thousands of white gems, like the stars in the sky. Bilbo learnt of the dwarvish practice of loving One person, never finding another even if that love was not returned. The fear, held deep and fast that it was to be a lifetime of pining of longing as endless and cold as the mountain. And then an opening on the next convey to Ered Luin became available and Bofur just _had to know. _

Bofur murmered softly and rolled toward the warmth of Bilbo's body, curling up in the nest of feather pillows and soft sheets the likes of which he couldn't find at home, for all that he loved it. Bilbo smiled and pressed soft kisses to the unbraided tangle of hair upon Bofur's head. He had been amazed at the softness of the dwarfs hair between his fingers as he'd curled his hands through it, tugged on it, and delighted by the weave of grey he'd found the morning after even as Bofur had marveled at the lack of any such change in the hobbits own curls.

'Aye, the journey back would be too dangerous alone, for all the Beornings have kept the High Pass open there are still wargs and other nasty creatures and folk who'll gladly have a pop at a caravan travelling through. And me kin will be here within the week, a fine sight we'll make tramping through your shire what with all those who will be making their first journey to Erebor in nigh a-hundred years!'

'Well,' Bilbo started, forcing a more genuine smile upon his lips and the words past the lump in his throat, 'do be sure to pass through Harbottle on your way, my own family would be most excited to see such group.' Bofur grinned into the skin of Bilbo's collarbone, promising that he would try to stop by and clearly not suspecting any ulterior motive in the request..

A loud knocking on the door interrupeted any further activities Bofur might have considered and had Bilbo cursing as he hastened himself into a shirt and pair of trousers. What a sight he would make, but the rapping on his door became most insistent so he hurried away from his bedroom leaving a cackling dwarf in his nice warm bed. By the time he reached the entrance hall the knocking had turned into bell ringing and a loud voice calling for him, sounding most distressed. Of course it also gave away the visitors identity and Bilbo huffed as he pulled the door open to the cold light of day.

'Oh Bilbo! Thank goodness you're in, I have terrible news!' Drogo leaned against the door, wheezing as if he had run the entire way from Overhill. Bilbo rolled his eyes at his young cousin, waving him through to the parlour and automatically extending the offer of tea, or at least a cool glass of water at the sight of the younger hobbits rather lurid complexion. 'No. No thank you cousin, this is far too urgent for such trivialities- wait is that a muffin? You don't mind do you?'

Bilbo feared for his eyes as he let them roll at Drogo's single minded focus on a plate of baked goods, but turned to settle himself in his armchair all the same. It was so bothersome being the head of the family at times. His belly now slightly less empty then before, Drogo began to lay bare his woes.

'It's terrible, you cannot imagine what mother and father want from me. It's simply unthinkable!'

'Well I would rather like to hear what it is- I haven't spoken to Fosco since Dora's birthday last month.' Drogo sat forward, head in his hands and moaning like he'd received a physical blow. Bilbo grunted and folded his arms, humour rapidly diminishing at the time he was wasting and the thought of Bofur lying naked in the other room, probably wondering what all the commotion was about. Eventually Drogo looked up, his eyes red as if he were about to burst into tears.

'They want me to marry! They have been corresponding with the girls parents _in Buckland of all places!_'

If Drogo had been about to burst into tears it was nothing on what Bilbo's expression surely looked like. He was just about through forcing down his laughter when stomping feet broke the silence. Drogo twisted in his seat, jaw dropping at the sight of half dressed dwarf, before his head snapped around to take in Bilbos blushing face and own state of undress. At least Bofur had had the prescence of mind to but on his boots, laces trailing behind him.

'Oh cousin I- I'm so sorry to disturb, I-' Drogo's stuttering, endearing no longer at the age of thirty-seven, continued as Bilbo jumped from his chair and grabbed him from his own.

'Now now, it's no bother but perhaps you could come back at tea-time? Or supper, yes suppernowgoodbye!' He slammed the door to on the others jittering apologys and turned on the dwarf stalking him down the hall.

'To think, all tha' fuss over a lass.' Bofur leaned down, palms flat on either side of his hobbits head as he pressed a kiss against indignant lips. A low moan echoed in the sudden silence of the hole, and Bilbo broke away flushing anew.

'This'll be all over the farthing by lunch.' He bemoaned as Bofur knelt before him, working the buttons loose on his trousers. It didn't take more then a few nips and licks before a lower, more animalitsic noise carried to the far side of the green door, joined quickly by the sound of feet hitting the gravel path in haste.

* * *

It was little over a week more they spent together. Early on the eleventh day there came a deep rumble from the north road that drew every hobbit along the way from a deep slumber, including Bilbo. He sat in bed for a few disorienting moments wondering what had woken him, the other side of the bed was empty but not cold and Bofur stood by the window, arms folded on the sill in little more then an old nightshirt of Bilbo's and his thick woollen socks.

Bilbo swung his legs over the side of the bed, shivering as they touched the cold wooden floor the rug didn't quite cover. He quickly pulled on his beloved patchwork robe and stepped up behind Bofur wrapping as much as he could around his sturdy frame and hooking his chin on a wide shoulder. The bottom of the hill was alight with many lamps, hundreds if not more, stretching all the way into the distance along The Water. It was clear the rumble came from wagons- wagons of every size and kind. It seemed to Bilbo, standing there hardly daring to breathe at the sight, that every dwarf alive seemed intent on moving through Hobbiton. Bofur shifted, turning in the halflings arms to wrap his own around small hips.

'I have t' go, the others will be ready within the hour.' He pushed his face into Bilbo's curls, inhaling deeply before speaking with a rumble, 'I'll be back. A year at most my love, back again for the spring with the memory of strawberries and cake and sun and you leading me.' He moved so that they stood nose to nose, their breath misting up between them. They stayed like that, motionless for long moments before Bofur forced himself into motion. Bilbo slipped in to the pantry, pulling cheese and apples and scones out, along with some Old Toby and wrapping it in some squares of linen for use when travelling. A neat package ready for the road, however long it may be.

Bofur was ready by the door when Bilbo found the courage to join him. The dwarf took the parcel with a grateful if melencholy smile, tucking it in to his pack and pulling out his old hat. Bilbo plucked it from his hands, thumbs rubbing through the thick, nubby fur before spinning it to face the right way. Bofur grinned and gave him a low bow, allowing his smaller lover to place it reverently on his head, a firm tug on its "ears" to settle it in place. He let his hands slide across warm cheeks as Bofur straightened before reaching for his neatly braided hair, tugging him gently closer for a warm kiss. They broke apart too soon, there were voices- many of them, rolling up to the smial from the bottom of the hill, reaching deep into the earth to call their brother away. Bofur turned and hefted his pack and his mattock comfortably onto his back and into his arms. There was little to be said, only done. Bilbo stood on his porch smiling, and crying too, a little, as Bofur turned with a final wave to join the procession.

He watched as the great convoy passed, as the sun came up and only when the 'Row began to stir with the cockcrow did he turn and disappear into the darkness of Bag End.


	3. Chapter 3

**My Dearest Bilbo...**

_It's dark, mountains looming large and opressive above thick, tall gorse making it difficult to climb up the steep side of the rise. There is a sound beyond, stirring memories of fearsome drumming in deep caverns and the sharp, sour scent of burning flesh and wood. A glow like the sun rising grows clearer as he crests the hill panting and gasping in pain at the stinging cuts to his face and hands. The sights and sounds are clearer now, and all the more terrible for it- animal carcasses torched to almost a cinder being torn apart by grey, wart riddled hands. The drumming is just as remembered and no longer the stuff of nightmares, a rising screech in counterpoint to the rapid beat and stomping of a thousand feet. _

_The Great River runs red with..._

_no_

* * *

Bilbo isn't entirely certain what rouses him. His heart is hammering and his brow is beaded with sweat though his room is quite comfortably warm. He jumps a little at the sound feet rushing hither and thither beyond his door and there is a quiet, but insistent knocking upon the wood itself. He pulls himself from the bed, a heavy langour settling over him as he pulls on his robe and answers the door.

The sight on the other side does a little to raise his spirits though and he pulls on a warm smile for young Primula, who has come bearing a tray of tea and toast and a pot of jam no less!

'Oh Bilbo, still abed at this hour?' She breezes into the room, all sunshine and smiles and settles the tray upon the small beside table before turning to pull the curtains wide open. 'You've been all out of sorts since that letter arrived yesterday, is anything the matter?' She turned, with a sly smile. 'It's not you're dwarf friend is it? He's not been by for some time now has he?'

_**.. These past months have been hard, being so far away from you and your fair country. A necessary precaution, for large parties of Orcs and goblin-scum have been on the march, south towards the lands of the Horse Riders, though trade has been unaffected...**_

'No, no he hasn't.' Bilbo sighed, slumping down on the feather matress, confused by his lingering weariness and worried for Bofur's safety- not at all lifted by the travel worn letter delivered by a shaking young Shirriff who'd rushed into Brandy Hall with it the previous eve (frightened and in awe of the Big Man who had "brazenly" walked up to the Buckland Gate to deliver it to a Master Baggins of The Hill). He sat nibbling on a corner of toast and playing with the gold band hidden upon its chain beneath his night shirt as Primula hurried to and fro about the room, pulling out Bilbo's best waistcoat and cravat, humming prettily as she went.

_**The challenge of getting this letter beyond the mountain has been just as great as if I had made the journey meself, and no small amount of thanks to Nori and Ori's aid. And an elf lad who goes by the name of "Greenleaf"- strange to my mind but he's a good enough sort, though brusque.**_

It was to Bilbo's, and no doubt Fosco's, everlasting relief (and frankly _amazement_) when two years previous, at the annual Spring Fling, upon their introduction Drogo had blushed and stuttered at the beauty of the hobbit-lass before him before Primula had taken him firmly by the hand for the ring dance. The lad had been in a daze for the rest of the evening, a cloying sickly-sweet smile on his face and constantly at Primula's side, though she at least had enough dignity for the pair of them and simply smiled beatifically at anyone complimenting the couple.

_**Great news I impart- King Dain is to have an heir! It was a hard time for Lady Dis, coming back home to nought but the broken swords and cold tombs of her brother and sons, though she saw the regard the King (her cousin) had for her, and after a suitable period of mourning, proceeded to court our Lord. The babe is expected before the harvest, and preperations for the happy event are already underway.**_

_**And Bombur has just sired his fourteenth son, an incredible feat considering his near-constant entourage of heavy lifters! I never dreamed I would be surrounded by so many dwarrows- though Bifur and I hope this is not an indication of his future girth!**_

_**All this leaves me longing for your hearth, your company, as well as your bed. I've missed our talks long into the night, smoking a pipe with you in the your beautiful garden and the feel of warm grass betwixt me toes.. **_

_**I miss you..**_

And now this day they were to be wed! And there was Bilbo just sat about worrying about nought that he could change. And though he would very much wish his beloved here beside him, well, it was enough to be surrounded by such wonderful people, proud as he was to say that he was related to them. He quickly stood and gently took the crisp white linen shirt from the young lady's hands, laying it out so that it wouldn't become creased before turning back and clasping her wrists softly.

'My dear Primula, you are the most gracious lass in the Shire. And to be married before tea-time! What on earth are you doing with this grumpy old hobbit?' He moved her towards the still open door, pausing as yet more fauntlings rushed past like a pack of over-large rabbits. 'What an earth-'

A high, childish shouting could be heard, and Bilbo reached for his side- for Sting, though he had left it tucked away in a chest at home. He pulled Primula behind him and peered out just as Drogo came rushing around the corner. Primula gave a small yelp behind her cousin, pushing the door closed and almost squashing Bilbo between it and the jamb. 'Drogo! It's bad luck to see me before we wed!'

'I know love,' he puffed, pulling back and turning to face the opposite wall. 'but 'tis Bilbo I came for- old Broadbelt hisself is having a mighty fine fit. Your dwarf! He's just bounded up to the front door, all dressed in metal and leather and with three of his fellows!' Drogo had barely finished before Bilbo dived back into the room, shedding robe and nightshirt (with another yelp from Primula) and pulling on his travel clothes left on his pack from the day before. All this in less then a minute before he was pushing past the happy-to-be couple, and hot footing it down the hall to the front door, where Gorbadoc was indeed standing fit to burst and shouting for Master Baggins.

'I'm here, I'm here no need to bust the buttons on that fine waistco-' Before him, standing beyond the portal in the sunshine, stood four heavily armed dwarves. Four heavily armed, tired and not a little gory, familliar dwarves. Bilbo let out a very un-gentlemanly noise and, to the shock of the many onlookers, threw himself at one of the blood encrusted creatures. 'Oh my! What-no, how are you here? You're letter..' He pulled himself away just enough to peer up at Bofur's dirty yet beloved face.

'Oh tha'. It came then?' He was smiling, and completely unconcerned with either his appearance or his _appearance. _Bilbo thumped him on the shoulder, glaring.

'Yes that. I only just got it yesterday! What about the Orcs and whatnot?'

'Oh them. Met some, introduced 'em to me mattock. 'Course I had some help.' he twisted to look behind them, and Bilbo let out another yell as he rushed to embrace Bifur, Nori and young Ori, all of whom equally armoured and bloody but Bilbo found, for the first time in a long time, that he didn't mind in the slightest.

* * *

It took no small amount of scrubbing to meet Gorbadoc's standards to enter the warren of a smial. But once clean and presentable he found his mood much improved, especially when Nori pulled from his pack carefully wrapped, a very fine crystalline bowl. Small by dwarf standards Gorbadoc's wife Mirabella quickly claimed it as the perfect centrepiece to the head table, where the newly-weds would soon be seated to receive toasts to their health.

To Bilbo's relief, Primula seemed utterly delighted by the dwarves. Especially by Ori, who upon learning that it was the pretty lass's wedding day, immediately pulled parchment and ink out of his own gear and set about preparing to capture the moment of union for posterity. Nori and Bifur were settled amid the beer and food tents (with many thanks heaped upon by them to various Brandybucks and Bagginses, who merely sought to keep these guests of Bilbo's away from the main festivities), whilst Bofur was dragged, to his bemusement, from room to room by Bilbo in a desperate last minute bid to find some suitable attire.

'I'll want you up front with me of course.' Bilbo chirped happily, trying to pull a fine, spare brocade vest of Adalgrim Took's across the dwarfs broader chest. He looked up when he was finally done, to find Bofur's gaze wistful and more then a little wet. He paused, hands resting against the silky smooth fabric, before pushing up on his toes to place a soft kiss on his beloved's lips. He had quite forgotten how much the action tickled, but soon became lost in the sensation of a warm, wet mouth. They were so engrossed they didn't notice the door to the hobbits room open, or the vexed groan that followed. They did pull apart with a wet _pop _at the door slamming to again, and Drogo's strained voice from beyond, telling them to hurry along _some of us have a wedding to attend old fellow. _

Smiling at the sight before him, Bilbo tugged the dwarfs hand until they were outside in the ornamental orchard and standing at the front of the party of witnesses. A small band struck up a cheerful, if evenly paced tune. Drogo was stood beside his cousin and Primulas brother Rory, practically vibrating with excitement as the bride herself was led down the aisle by her father.

The magistrate from Michael Delving was well spoken, and a bit of a rarity- for he seemed genuinely pleased for the couple. It was mere moments it seemed before the vows were voiced and the marriage officially sanctified and sealed (with the requisite seven signitures in red ink), when a loud cheer rose from the back. Nori and Bifur, it seemed, had escaped the caterers clutches, and were toasting the happy couple's health whilst covering several of the guests (including _poor _Otho and Lobelia) with sloppy abandon in Gorbadoc's best ale.

But dwarven drunken shennanigans notwithstanding, Primula and Drogo were alight with happiness. Not even their siblings mortifying speeches could dampen their glow. They took to the dance floor, twirling each other gently beneath the happy gaze of their families and guests the stars.

And if anyone noticed one hobbit and four dwarves taking aside the magistrate for a private ceremony of their own, well, most were already too into their cups to speak of it.


	4. Chapter 4

The sun is setting by the time they made camp just outside of Whitfurrows, throwing great splashes of purple and pink across the sky with a brilliant white catching the wispy, streaking clouds racing each other to the horizon on the slight autumnal breeze. It is a glorious Shire evening, even for the time of year, and neither Bilbo nor Bofur saw any reason to signal their prescence to other travellers with a fire, deciding instead that blankets and body heat were far more effective against the cold anyway.

Along with Bofur's hat of course.

In a hollow beneath a sprawling oak tree, where the earth has fallen away from deep roots, Bilbo huddled up against the dwarfs bare chest. That years visit had been something of a special occasion, for not only had Bofur been granted extra leave from the mines by King Dain, but it had also been the couples third anniversary.

Bilbo had hummed and hawed over the gift that he would give the dwarf, realising that anything fancy would be of little use to his beloved- even if he was now Deputy Head Foreman (a _very _important position in Erebor he had been assured).

But after much contemplation he had decided to stick with hobbit tradition in this instance. He made a visit to a tanner and leather-worker in Tookborough and , after much haggling, eventually come away with a pair of sturdy and supple suede gloves, lined with the softest and warmest wool in Eriador.

And it even matched Bofur's hat.

Tomorrow they would part, with many a goodbye kiss and promises of longer and more frequent visits. But for now there was warmth and company and later skin and heat of a thoroughly different sort. If only Bofur could be persuaded to take the gloves _off_ for a bit.

After all it was hard to do _that _with fingers stuffed in gloves, even gloves as supple as these.

* * *

It was Drogo, of all people, who had pointed out Bilbo's oversight. However unintentionally.

'-and blow me down they'd locked the doors! Of course old Gorbadoc could be excused, what with his age an' all. But Prim had made it quite clear that we would be spending the weekend up-river with friends, but that I would be returning early. _Without the key_. I mean, you wouldn't leave your Mister Bofur out in the freezing cold would you? All the while able to hear every toast made within Brandy Hall, smell every roasted meat and vegetable wafting underneath the door..' Bilbo's attention wavered slightly as Drogo went on another tangent, his mind fixed on the small wooden box on his beside table.

Later, after his cousin left to irrit- _look in on _his sister and brother, he sat down upon the soft matress and pulled the little chest onto the bed beside him. He ran his fingers over the carved flowers that ran across the smooth, polished surface before morphing into a delicate relief of a hummingbird sipping at the imaginary nectar.

Inside, wrapped in a small square of silk with _B.B. _embroided in blue at the corner, was a long solid brass key with a spur-like blade at the end. Really it wasn't any different from the one young Hamfast used as gardener and caretaker, or the one Bilbo set in his pocket everytime he left the hole for market of a morning. In fact it was the exact same, minus the frayed and faded brocade ribbon wrapped around its handle.

This had been Belladonna's key.

He had never meant to keep it hidden so, wrapped in one of his father Bungo's old handkerchiefs. But he had loved her so. Both of them had died far too early, his father just three years after Bilbo had reached majority and his beautiful mother less than a decade later. She had been ill for some time, though not of any ailment any doctor could find or treat. She simply seemed to sicken, a little more each day, until she was no longer the hobbit-lass the great wizard Gandalf seemed to remember so fondly (during his all too infrequent visits these days). It had meant nearly ten years of worry and self-enforced solitude looking after her, until even now Bilbo could never entirely let her go.

But that had been Before. Before adventures and trolls. Before mountains and battles and the deaths of a King-in-waiting and two foolish boys, who should now be happily settled down with their wives and their work, with hearth and home.

His fingers tightened around the key involuntarily, before he set about loosening the ribbon with shaking but determined fingers.

It was high-time he moved on. Past the memories of sickness and fire. Of goblins and last words with dying friends. After all this key had someone it could belong to now, someone who was the antithesis of worry and woe. Someone who loved, and had agreed to be joined for life to a foolish and overly sentimental old hobbit.

And it wouldn't do to leave someone like that outside on the doorstep.

* * *

There would not be a single Man, hobbit or dwarf that could resist the charms of young Frodo Baggins. The latter proved true, the day Bilbo introduced Bofur to his first cousin once-removed ('On my mothers side').

Indeed it was quite strange to see the perky little chap in Bofur's hands, for while he was quite used to dwarflings, hobbit babes seemed really very fragile.

'He's three cousin Bofur.' Primula said, laughing lightly as her son began scaling the great dwarfs torso by grabbing enthusiastically at his braids. 'He is by no means fragile! He's a little terror actually- gets into to everything, including a closed pantry.' Bofur grunted a little at the tugging and quickly settled in Bilbo's armchair so as to give the boy purchase on his lap. Frodo and his parents had spent the last several days making the rounds to various relations in the area, and were now in need of some rest before their trip back to Buckland. It had been Bofur's idea to have the child stay with himself and Bilbo at Bag End while his parents walked over to the Green Dragon in Bywater for some non-familial, non-toddler speak conversation.

'It would do Bilbo good to have some time with him.' Primula sighed, wiping a smidgen of dirt off of Frodo's nose. The faunt giggled and grabbed at Bofur's earring next, eliciting a very un-manly yelp. She leaned down to kiss Frodo's curls, before turning to catch the dwarfs cheek. Her own were quite pink as she stood up, giving the pair a small bob of thanks and moving to the front door, where both her husband and cousin were partaking in a last minute smoke, away from sensitive little noses.

Bilbo gave them both a merry wave and turned to close the green door to behind him. He paused at the entryway as a high pitched giggle danced through the arch of the parlor, swiftly followed by a shriek and a yell. He skidded into the other room, almost losing his footing on the edge of the rug, only to be greeted by the sight of his one true love tossing the little boy into the air from his seat! Higher and higher Frodo flew- until he was almost touching the ceiling. Bofur then stood suddenly and, with the great skill shown at a party _so _many years before, grabbed the child out of the air, swooping him around into a low arc before settling him on his shoulders much to the child's delight.

When they'd finally finished their antics it was to find Bilbo leaning, quite weak with fright and clutching his chest, eyes wide and staring as he leaned against the wall for support. Bofur pulled the ever watching babe off of his shoulders and set him in the chair before turning, with an expression of great concern to the older hobbit. All this Frodo immediately took to mean freedom, as he scrambled out of the plush seat, making a beeline for the kitchen.

Bofur didn't notice this, moving instead towards his lover, hands held out placatingly. A small but firm hand landed on Bofur's chest as soon as he was within reach, keeping literally at arms length.

'Aww now love- t'was just a bit 'o fun! He wanted to fly like an Eagle in your stories.' Bofur was immediately quietened with a piercing glare amidst a very red face.

It was quite something to see a dwarf afraid for his life, as it didn't happen often- even in battle.

But then, not many dwarves had ever had to answer to the fury of an overprotective Baggins either.

'HE IS NOT A DINNERPLATE YOU CAN JUST TOSS AROUND TO YOUR FANCY!'


End file.
