The Long Road Home

Summary: (AU) In another lifetime, it is the Shire that is attacked and stolen by a dragon for reasons unknown. Years later, Bilbo Baggins embarks on a journey to Erebor in a desperate attempt to find aid in reclaiming his homeland. But once there, he finds that taking on a dragon will be the least of his concerns as he struggles through trials, his own identity, and the King Under the Mountain.

Pairings: Thorin/Bilbo, Glóin/Cannon Wife, Dís/Cannon Husband, Bombur/OFC, Bifur/OMC. Others will be added as the story progresses.

Warnings: Does not follow cannon. No, seriously, this has nothing to do with cannon. At all.

Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) J.R.R. Tolkien.

Act I: The Nomad

Chapter One

Out of all the places Bilbo had visited in his life, Rivendell was his favorite.

It wasn't really a surprise. The Elven city was hidden in a valley among the foothills of the Misty Mountains, surrounded by lush greenery, streaming waterfalls, and homes crafted with the finest artistry. The Elves who lived there were always welcoming to visitors no matter their race, and their hospitality was really the best when compared to their cousins in Mirkwood and Lothlórien. But the greatest reason that Bilbo liked it best was because it was the only place that he had ever felt truly safe from harm.

"How long will we be staying this time?" he quietly asked the older Hobbit at his side as they followed their clan up the familiar pristine staircase. The white stones were so clean and clear that he had a feeling if he stared at it long enough, then he would go blind.

Uncle Isengrim shrugged his wide shoulders. "I haven't had a chance to discuss it yet with Lord Elrond. But knowing him, I'd say about two seasons. Maybe three if I can send some of the boys out for work. Then we'll have less and they won't mind if we stay longer."

"And if they don't? Where will we go then?" he prodded, glancing up the stairs and counting the heads of the children he could see. The young ones had a bad habit of wandering off in new places, and Rivendell was certainly new to a few of them. Lola in particular was infamous for running off to 'explore.' He would have to keep an extra eye on her.

"I don't know," his uncle replied honestly, lowering his voice slightly, "but we'll find a place. Don't worry about it, lad. You have enough things to think about. Let me handle this."

Bilbo bit his lower lip sharply to keep from replying. He trusted that his uncle would find them a place to go to after Rivendell, but that didn't stop him from worrying about the location or the journey. He'd be a fool not to worry.

When they finally reached the top of the staircase, they found Lord Elrond waiting for them as some of the children scurried around his legs. The Elf didn't seem fazed, and even smiled down at them with open fondness. All Elves—even the suspicious and cold ones from Mirkwood—adored children.

"Hail, Lord Elrond," his uncle greeted, giving a small bow. "It is a pleasure to see you again. Thank you for granting us permission to visit your city. We appreciate your generosity."

Elrond nodded back as the corner of his full lips twitched into a half-smile that showed off the perfect arch of his jaw line. "Welcome back, Thain Took. It is always a pleasure to see you and your kin. I trust you did not have much trouble finding us?"

"No more trouble than usual," Isengrim replied, completely leaving out that they had been attacked by bandits. But considering there were only three, he probably did only see it as a minor nuisance. Bilbo certainly did.

The Elf nodded with gray eyes calm and smooth as liquid silver. "Of course. Please come and make yourselves at home. My people will show you where you may stay."

Isengrim bowed his head in gratitude before following the Elven Lord into the city. Bilbo lingered behind; looking over his kin as they shuffled along after the Elves. When his eyes caught sight of a small and familiar hand reaching up to pull on one Elf's long hair, he quickly moved closer and caught the tiny wrist before it could reach its prey.

"Don't even think about it," he whispered, pulling the child closer to his side. "I've told you about touching every little thing you see, Adelard."

Adelard, his youngest cousin, pouted up at him. "I was onlys gonna touch its a little bit. It's so shiny! Like water!"

He rolled his eyes and hauled the child up into his arms before he could try to make a break for it. "You can't go around touching a stranger's hair. It's not polite."

"What if I asks thems firstly? Thens can I touch it?" Adelard haggled, his small arms going around Bilbo's neck.

"No," he replied, making a mental note to teach the imp about stranger danger at a later time. "It's still not polite."

Adelard groaned and tossed his dark curls back dramatically. Bilbo smirked and quickly dug his fingers into the vulnerable ribs at his disposal. In return, the child squeaked before breaking into giggles and attempted to wiggle away.

"Bilbo, stop!" he pleaded, giggling into his cousin's shoulder. "I gives up!"

"Next time I catch you doing that I won't go so easy on you," he warned as he stopped his tickle torture.

Adelard rolled his brown eyes and curled closer to the older Hobbit. "Bilbo, is this going to be our new home?"

Bilbo flinched. It was a common enough question among the children whenever they came to a new place, but it still never failed to make his chest feel as if all the air had been sucked out. It was a feeling that he had lived with all his life, but that didn't make it easier to endure.

"No, Adelard. I'm afraid it's not," he replied softly, and tried not to show how much those words hurt him to say.

They hadn't always been nomads. According to his mother, Hobbits had a home of their own once. A beautiful and fertile land that was unlike any other place in the world. It was called the Shire.

"It sits in Eriador where the Kingdom of Arnor once lingered," Mother had explained to him when he was still a child. "It is a small but good land with lots of space to build homes and grow crops. Oh, love, it was so beautiful. Rolling green hills as far as the eye can see… streams so clear and clean you could see the bottom... There is no other place in the world that could ever compare to it."

Bilbo could only take her word for it. He had never seen this homeland for himself. No, he was (un)lucky to be born after they were driven out by the dragon Smaug.

"I remember the day he came," Father had once recounted to him when he was older. He recalled it well because it was the year that his father had passed away. "He was so large that he blocked out the sun completely. Fire rained down on us all. The fields burned, the houses burned, the cattle burned… even the people burned. He set fire to everything until there was nothing left but ashes."

"So many were lost that day," Mother had agreed, her beautiful and burned face twisting into a look of haunting sorrow that he could never understand. "More than half of us were killed. The ones who did live were left injured and homeless."

"We never did learn why the bastard chose to invade our home," Father added, his blue eyes turning as cold as a night on the Misty Mountains. "We had no treasure to lure him there. No gold or silver or precious jewels to tempt him. Smaug had no reason at all to come and take our home away from us like that. No reason at all."

"Why didn't you fight to take it back?" Bilbo had asked because he had been born on the road where fighting to survive was all he knew. "Why not go and get help and then drive the beast out once and for all?"

His mother had just looked at him with soft brown eyes that mirrored his own. "Oh, love, our people are no warriors. We lived in peace with the world for so long that when we were finally challenged, we didn't know what to do. We still don't, really. It is taking everything we have just to keep our people going as it is. We could never muster the strength it would take to challenge Smaug for the Shire."

His parents had died believing that their people were doomed to wander the world forever more. Bilbo had no intention of following in their footsteps.

"I think staying here for three seasons would be the best option," he mentioned to his uncle later that night after they were settled into their new lodgings. "It will take me a full season alone just to reach Rhovanion. Coming back will be even longer."

Isengrim nodded as he rubbed his chin. "True. We must also take into account any… accidents you may run into."

Bilbo rolled his eyes, and leaned back into the padded chair that was really too large for him. "Uncle, I'll be fine. I've traveled to Rhovanion before."

"But never by yourself," the older Hobbit retorted, narrowing his hazel eyes. "And never with such a large sum of money."

"I can handle any danger out there," he replied, raising his chin high. "I can also hide the coin just as easily. I can do this, Uncle. Trust me."

"It's not you that I don't trust, Bilbo," his uncle admitted, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger as he leaned back into his own chair with a defeated sigh. Isengrim was the oldest of his mother's siblings, and it was becoming clearer every day that he wasn't going to last much longer. His dark brown curls had long ago turned gray while his skin was paper thin and wrinkled. Even his walk was beginning to grow slower and hunched as the injury he took to his knee from escaping Smaug finally reared its ugly head.

Bilbo felt a prickle of guilt at the sight. After his mother died, Isengrim had taken him in and raised him to adulthood. He loved his uncle dearly and he owed him everything. Making the Thain look so old and defeated was wrong of him.

"I know you're only worried about my safety," he said quietly, lowering his chin and looking down to the floor. "But that doesn't change what needs to be done. If we ever want to go home, then you need to let me go."

Isengrim nodded and sat up straighter. "You're right, of course. Now is not the time to fall apart. We must focus on your journey. Now, have you decided which city you plan to visit first?"

He tapped his fingers against his knee in thought. "Yes, I have decided to first visit Dale and Erebor. Dale is a city of Men but rumors say that the ruling lord there is honorable. I will see what forces I can buy from there and Erebor before moving on to the Iron Hills. I do not know how the Dwarves will take my offer of gold, but I'm hoping the challenge of battle might win me a few warriors."

"What of Gondor? Will you visit there?" the older Hobbit questioned.

He shook his head. "Not unless I'm desperate. The steward there is rumored to be ruthless and cruel. He is more likely to kill me and rob my corpse than he is to help me."

"He did show little sympathy to our crisis when the Baggins went to him for help," Isengrim admitted, nodding his head with a small frown. "You'd save yourself time avoiding it altogether along with Mirkwood and Lothlórien."

"You do not think the Elves will offer us their aid?" he asked quietly, watching his uncle's face.

Isengrim's mouth tightened into a straight line. "We asked for their help once in the beginning and were turned away. I doubt that they would have changed their minds within the last hundred years."

Bilbo thought back to the Elvenking and his expressionless face, and found himself agreeing. "You're right. I will not bother with them unless forced to. Have you decided who will go through Eriador?"

"Yes. I've decided to send your cousin Sigismond to the Blue Mountains," his uncle replied. "I also think I will send a few more of the lads along to find work there, and to make contact with the other clans."

"What for? They've clearly shown what they think of our plan," he said with a hint of iron in his tone.

Isengrim gave him the same look his mother used to give him when she caught him stealing treats from Men. "Bilbo, you cannot hold it against them for staying out of this. This venture of ours is large and mostly riding on luck and good fortune; a state that the other clans cannot rely on. They are weaker and poorer than us, and cannot afford to place everything they have on this mad quest. At least if we fail we still have work and savings to count on; the others do not have such a luxury."

Bilbo snorted but didn't bother trying to argue with his uncle. He knew he was being childish but he couldn't help being angry with the other Hobbit clans for refusing to help them in their attempt to reclaim the Shire. It was their home too so why couldn't they fight for it as well? It didn't help either that the Baggins Clan—his father's family—were one of the strongest oppositions to their quest.

"When shall I leave then?" he asked, changing the subject. "After you meet with Lord Elrond?"

"That would be best," Isengrim agreed, lacing his fingers together over his flat stomach. It was a strange thing to see a thin Hobbit as their kind was more prone to being plump and round. But living on the fringes of society meant that food was scare, and going hungry was all too common. It was very rare to see a Hobbit that was not thin with sharp cheekbones and bony wrists. Sometimes they were even mistaken for Elven children thanks to their pointed ears and lack of facial hair.

"I need to know how long we will be staying before I send you off," his uncle continued, rubbing one of his thumbs over his knuckles. "We also need to prepare you for the journey."

He smiled and shook his head. "Don't worry, Uncle. I've packed what I need and am ready to sew the coins into the secret pockets in my coat and bag. Once I do I can immediately leave."

The Hobbit blinked for a moment before chuckling fondly. "Of course you are. How silly of me to forget exactly whose son you are."

His smile widened and he gave his uncle a wink. "We Baggins may not be the most bold of the clans, but we are certainly the most prepared."

"Sadly, that is the only redeeming feature you Baggins hold," Isengrim replied with a mocking cluck of his tongue. "It makes up for your taste in pies and fabric."

Bilbo gave a loud gasp and clutched his chest as if in physical pain. "Uncle, you wound me! How can you be so cruel to your favorite nephew—"

"I don't see Flambard in the room," Isengrim interrupted, raising both of his bushy brows.

"—who was even going to be so kind as to make you some tea?" he finished as he slid out of the chair with a melodramatic huff. "Well, not anymore, I say. You can get your own tea and your own biscuits and save your own bloody land because I quit this family—"

"Bring some milk and honey while you're at it," Isengrim called from behind as he stalked out of the room.

Bilbo gave another dramatic scoff that finally earned him the chuckle he was aiming for, and secretly smiled to himself. Hearing his uncle laugh was always like swallowing a mouthful of sunshine. Tooks usually had a good sense of humor and were always willing to laugh and smile—even when living as nomads who begged for help to survive at whatever kingdom they came across. But Isengrim was Thain of the Tooks; the leader of their clan and the one everyone depended on to find them shelter and food. He had a lot to worry about and very little time to sit around telling jokes over a pitcher of ale. So it was always a rare gift to get his uncle to smile or even laugh once in a great while.

Soon he'll be able to smile and laugh all he wants, Bilbo vowed to himself as stalked through the halls to the kitchens. We all will.

Their plan to reclaim the Shire was really a very simple one despite what the other clans thought. Hobbits, while being quick and silent, were no warriors. They were shorter than even Dwarves with soft flesh that did little to protect their equally small bones. Even their very culture went against battle; preferring to settle disputes with words rather than fists. They could never hope to stand against a dragon with those odds against them.

So, instead, they would assemble an army to fight Smaug for them.

Anyone who heard it agreed that it was a good plan. The only hitch to it was that it was also a long one. First they had to work and gather the coin needed to hire their army. Since they were already beggars living off of the pity of others, they could only save so much after each job. Isengrim had told him that he had begun the plan years before Bilbo was even born. Now, with Bilbo at the age of thirty, they had finally collected enough coin to buy their army.

"Yah won't find anyone crazy enough to volunteer," his cousin, Fortinbras, said to him the next day as he helped Bilbo peel potatoes. "No one is gonna go against a dragon no matter how much gold ya' throw at 'um."

"I will find willing soldiers somewhere," he retorted confidently, never looking away from his task. "Some warriors will take it as a challenge. Others because they simply love the rush of battle. And then there are those who will be lured by the promise of gold and fame that come with slaying a dragon."

"The only ones who'd fall for 'dat line are dem greedy Men and crazy Dwarves," Fortinbras argued, pointing his knife at Bilbo's cheek. "And ya can't bring back the likes of those. D'ayed kill us and rob us 'for the bodies go cold."

He rolled his eyes and nudged the knife away from his face with his own blade. "Don't be so paranoid. I'm not going to hire just anyone for this. I'm going to investigate first before I make my decision. I'll gather information on them and their reputation before I drag them off to fight Smaug."

"I still say 'dis is a stupid idea," his cousin grumbled, viciously peeling his potato with deep and quick strikes. "We should just use 'da coin to buy land and start over again. What's 'da point of going back to a land that most of us has neveh seen?"

"Do you know of any land up for sale?" Bilbo pointed out, raising both of his eyebrows as he stared at the Hobbit next to him. "Any kingdom that would welcome us without complaint from their people? If you do then please share it with us less intelligent folk, Fortinbras."

"Y'know, it's remarks like 'dat that keep gettin' you in trouble," Fortinbras retorted, tossing back his thick black curls as they fell into his fey green eyes again. His cousin was half Brandybuck and had inherited the wild beauty that his mother's clan was known for. Unfortunately he didn't get their militia tactics and cunning mindset, which was a real shame because he was next in line as the Thain of the Tooks.

"Maybe. But I can handle any trouble that comes my way," Bilbo reminded his older cousin, nudging the other's pale calf with his bare foot.

Fortinbras scoffed and nudged him back with his elbow. "Get 'dat nasty foot away from me! Where's your damn bandages? Y'know how dirty our feet get. Ya wanna offend our hosts by dirtying up their shiny floors?"

He snorted, and threw one of his potato peels at Fortinbras's hair. "They ripped back in the mountains, remember? I'll get more before I leave."

Fortinbras set his knife and potato down in his lap, and turned to face the other Hobbit completely with a frown. "Bilbo, how long you gonna be gone?"

"I don't know. However long it takes," he replied, shrugging. "Maybe three seasons or more. It will take me a good while just to reach the city of Dale, and even longer to visit Erebor and the Iron Hills."

Fortinbras's finely boned face twisted into a scowl that looked wrong on his handsome features. "That's too long to be on your own. Y'ah should have one of us come with ya just to be safe."

Bilbo shook his head firmly. "No. Uncle will be sending you and the others out for work while I'm gone. You need to help support the clan incase this plan backfires on us."

"But dat's even more reason for us tah stick together!" his cousin argued, his scowl turning even fiercer until he looked like a deranged animal instead of a Hobbit. "Y'ah needs someone there to back yah up! Isengrim knows 'dat! He should be lettin' me go with yah instead of sendin' me off tah work in some smelly city of Men!"

"You know he can't send you; you're the heir and eldest among us," he reminded calmly as he finished his potato and picked up a new one. Fortinbras was very emotional so he was quite used to his cousin's outbursts. Sometimes it seemed like he felt too strongly and could only handle one emotion at a time as it consumed him completely. It was a common enough trait among Tooks, but Bilbo had been able to avoid inheriting it, thank Eru.

"If something happens to you then Flambard will be the heir," he continued on, giving the other a side-eyed look. "Do you really want to force our clan through such horror? Haven't we suffered enough?"

Fortinbras's shoulders drooped and his scowl shifted into a pout. "No. Dat's a cruelty I wouldn't wish even on an Orc. But I can't stand that you're leavin' us for so long. We've never been apart for more 'den a season at most! What am I supposed to do with ya gone for almost a year?"

Bilbo felt his heart soften as the puzzle finally clicked in his head. Fortinbras and he had grown up together along with their cousins Flambard, Adalgrim, Sigisimond, and Primula. They had lived side-by-side and had experienced nearly everything together. They had lived apart at times, of course, but never for so long or so far. It was a new experience for them all, and he could admit that part of him was scared to leave his family behind for so long. It was only logical that Fortinbras would feel that same fear even if he would never admit it in a million years.

"Well, you could write me letters. Eru knows you can't spell to save your life," he offered, nudging his cousin in the side with his elbow because humor and flattery was the best way to comfort Fortinbras. Bilbo could do humor and sarcasm but he wasn't about to coo over his older cousin. His head got any bigger than Fortinbras would need grease to get through doorways.

"Oi, you're the Baggins here, not me," Fortinbras scoffed, raising his pert nose high into the air. "You can go on stealin' your little books for 'da both of us. D'hough… I could write a letter or two for yah. Since I know 'yah like to read 'um so much."

Bilbo carefully titled his head to the side so the other wouldn't see his smile. "It would be good practice for you. Maybe soon you will be able to read better than Adelard."

"But Adelard can't read yet," his cousin argued with a frown before his eyes went wide. "Oh, I get it, yur tryin' to be funny again. Too bad it fails as bad as yur omelets."

"Ooh, big word there. Did you hurt yourself learning it?" he shot back, flicking another potato peel at his cousin's hair.

Fortinbras squawked and retaliated with his own stray peels. Bilbo ducked and laughed as his cousin began to rant about his hair. While he didn't care to listen to Fortinbras grumble, he didn't complain or attempt to change the subject. After all, who knew when he was going to hear it again?

"So Uncle says you're leaving soon," Primula—his only female cousin on the Took side that was close to his age—declared later that day as she stood over him with her hands braced on her round hips. She was dressed in loose brown trousers that she had probably stolen from Sigisimond and a white shirt that was only buttoned halfway up her chest. Bilbo cringed slightly as he saw more of her breasts than he wanted to.

"Please button up your shirt. You teats are falling out," he said, pointedly covering his eyes with one hand.

Primula snorted, and shoved his hand away; clearly ignoring his wishes. "Then don't look, stupid."

"Do you have any sort of shame?" he wondered, keeping his eyes on her face.

She smirked and crossed her arms under her chest; shoving her breasts up and together so that they pushed out of her shirt even more. It was clearly a deliberate move, and he kicked her gently in the shin for it.

"You're such a brat," he grumbled without any real heat. "What do you want, Prim?"

"I just wanted to give you something before you left," she replied, reaching for something long and wrapped in cloth that she had strapped to her back. She tugged it loose and then handed it to Bilbo. "Here. Open it up and tell me what you think."

Bilbo did as asked and blinked in surprise at what he found. "A sword? Where did you get this?"

"A Man back in Rohan was selling some odd blades he had collected over the years," Primula explained, squatting down in front of him and wrapping her arms around her legs. "He claimed it's Elven but got no use with it 'cuz it's so small. Do you like it?"

He nodded as he examined the smooth sword with reverence. He had seen many beautiful blades in his life, but this one was quite possible the loveliest of them all. "I do. Thank you, Prim. It is the best gift I could ever get."

Primula's rosebud lips softened into a sweet smile at his words. Nearby, a few Hobbits and even some Elves paused and took a second glance at her. Like Fortinbras, Primula was a Brandybuck from her father's side, and had inherited the same good looks as him. The only difference was that she didn't bask in the attention her midnight curls and soft skin brought her.

"I knew you would love it," she cheered, rocking back slightly on her heels. "As soon as I saw it I knew I had to get it for you! It just matches you perfectly! What are you gonna to call it?"

"I think I'll call it 'Sting' since I can poke people like a bee," he replied, making a jabbing motion with the blade in question.

Prim looked unimpressed. "Really? That's the best name you can think up?"

"You have something better?" he retorted, lightly smacking her in the leg with the flat end of his blade.

"Pff, yeah, how about 'The Cleaver?' Since you're gonna cleave Orcs with it," his cousin replied, pushing the sword away with her hand.

Bilbo snorted, and carefully placed his new gift on the ground next to him. "I'm pretty sure the Dwarves already claimed that name."

Prim hummed in her throat as she cocked her head to the side. "Bilbo?"

"Hmm?"

"You'll be safe, right? Going so far away alone," she said, staring at him through her midnight curls. "You won't take any dangerous chances, right?"

He carefully looked away from her wide brown eyes. "Define dangerous."

"Bilbo," Prim warned, her tone shifting from honey to iron in a blink.

He held up his hands in surrender and leaned back slightly. "Joking, joking. I promise I'm not going to do anything stupid. I'll stay safe and find us our army and be back before you know it."

"And if you're not? What will we do then?" she asked quietly, lowering her gaze to the ground. "What do we do if this doesn't work? Will we spend the rest of our days wandering?"

Though he hated to admit it, he didn't have an answer for her. There was no backup plan if his mission failed. No second chance to hire someone new to help them, no savior coming to assist them in defeating Smaug. The future of his people—his family—was riding on his success in finding an army. If Bilbo failed them, then his clan really would be the nomads his parents died as.

"I'm not going to fail," he said with a confidence that he couldn't honestly claim, "and I'm not going to get hurt or die. I'm going to bring us an army and get our home back, Prim. I won't accept anything else."

Primula peered up at him from under her thick lashes for a long moment before finally breaking out a smile. "You sound so sure of yourself, cousin. It makes me almost want to believe that nothing will go wrong."

"I didn't say that there won't be some trouble," he rebuked, shaking his head. "But I will get through it all one way or another. Sting will probably even help in some cases."

"Not with that name it won't," the younger Hobbit retorted, wrinkling her freckled nose at him. "You're more likely to get laughed at than threatened."

"Either way, it would still get me out of some messy situations," he pointed out, pushing some of his hair out of his face. "Can you do me a favor while I'm gone?"

"Sure. What is it?"

"Take care of Uncle Isengrim while I'm way," he answered, leaning forward slightly and lowering his voice so their younger cousins nearby wouldn't hear. "I won't be around to make sure he eats and gets enough sleep so I need you to do it. If you don't, he'll end up giving his food away to the younglings again, and will stay up all night working."

Primula nodded her head thoughtfully. "You're right. He'll also probably be lonely without you around. Don't worry, Bibi; I'll take care of him."

Bilbo relaxed and leaned back to his former position. "Thank you, Prim. You're the only one I knew I could trust with this. The others… they just wouldn't understand."

Primula patted his knee in sympathy. Like Bilbo, Primula had lost both of her parents at a young age in a fishing accident. She had lived with her father's clan for a short while before their Uncle Hildifons took her in. And much like Isengrim, Hildifons had no spouse or children, and so Prim became his world, and she in turn adored him dearly.

"I know, Bilbo, I know," she said, giving him her sweet smile that drew in the stares and whispers. "I'll keep an eye on him. Uncle Hildifons will probably even help too. He knows how Uncle Isengrim is like if left unattended."

"Just don't leave them alone together for too long," he warned as he felt his heart ease up at her vow. "You know what happens when you leave two Took brothers unsupervised. We really can't afford to pay for the repairs the Elves would demand."

Bilbo didn't tell anyone but Isengrim the day he was leaving. He knew that if he did tell the rest of his family, then they would make a huge fuss in sending him off. Not only would that inconvenience their hosts—and possibly get them kicked out—but it would also weaken his resolve to leave. Bilbo really didn't want to leave his clan; he loved them all with everything he was, and they were the safe and comfortable life he knew. But he also knew that he couldn't allow his fear of the unknown to get in the way of his mission. So, knowing all of that, Bilbo had only his uncle there to bid him farewell for what could possibly be the last time.

"You have your map on you, yes?" Isengrim questioned as he looked Bilbo up and down.

He nodded, and patted his coat pocket that held the map in question. "Safe and sound right here."

"And your knife? You have that too?" Isengrim pushed.

He patted in left thigh in answer. "It's right where it always is."

The older Hobbit still didn't look reassured. "What about food? You sure you have enough—"

"Uncle," he interrupted, trying not to laugh, "I promise that I have everything that I need. And what I don't have I can find on my own. So stop clucking over me before I start calling you Aunt Rosa."

"You offend me. I am nothing like that she-devil," sniffed the Thain, raising his thin nose into the air. "I am appalled that name would ever cross your mind."

Bilbo rolled his eyes, and hefted his pack higher up on his shoulder. "So you say. Well, if there's nothing else, then I should—"

"Wait," Isengrim said, this time interrupting him in midsentence. His hazel eyes flickered over Bilbo before meeting his nephew's gaze full on. When he did, Bilbo saw something wither away like a breeze sweeping away the leaves.

"Bilbo… I'm sorry," his uncle murmured, his voice cracking slightly. "I never wanted to burden you with this. I never meant for you to be a part of my crazy plans. If your mother were still alive, I'm sure she would have punched me for even suggesting that you carry out the plan."

Bilbo flinched. "Uncle," he whispered, his heart clenching up at the sight of pain in the older Hobbit's face. He should have seen this coming. Isengrim had no spouse or children and had lost three brothers and a sister to Smaug's invasion. In the years that followed, he had lost another brother, his two remaining sisters, and a vast number of nephews and nieces and cousins. Bilbo and the clan were all he had left in the world, and now he was about to send one of them off to his potential death.

Slowly, Bilbo reached out and grasped his uncle's shoulders tightly. "Uncle Isengrim, I'm coming back. With or without an army, I will come back to you all. I promise."

"Oh, lad," Isengrim sighed, giving Bilbo a small, half-smile. "You really shouldn't make such a promise so lightly. It may just come back to haunt you."

Author's Notes:

So I always wanted to do a story where Thorin and Bilbo met as different people, but I couldn't get behind the idea of changing their race/gender/social class. So I decided to change their back stories instead. And then I got a bit carried away. Whoops.

Silver pup