A/N: This is just a one-shot I thought of one day, hope you like it.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Hobbit

Far to the west, in the green hills of the shire, lived a hobbit by the name of Bilbo Baggins. Mr. Baggins was quite different from other hobbits, and definitely not a respectable one, for a respectable hobbit never strayed far from home, never went long without the company of other hobbits, never went on an adventure, and never ever did anything unexpected. And Bilbo Baggins did in fact do all these things, completely losing any respectability in the sight of his fellow hobbits as soon as he stepped out the door to join a company of 13 dwarves on a quest to reclaim a kingdom from the most feared dragon in all of middle earth.

It was a beautiful early morning in the shire, with most hobbits still asleep, and those who were awake were enjoying a peaceful smoke on a bench. Bilbo, however, was doing neither. He had been awoken just before the dawn by another one of the nightmares that had accompanied him back home from Erebor, a kingdom he once traveled to with a troop of dwarves.

He had just finished drinking a third cup of tea in an attempt to calm his mind, when his feet dragged him out of his chair, through his back door and into his private garden, where a tree with twisting and flowing branches now stood, new morning sun rays filtering through the green spring leaves. The mere sight of the tree sent Bilbo's mind reeling with memories.

'Farewell master burglar. Go back to your books, your armchair,' the fading voice of the dark haired dwarven king, pained Bilbo's heart as he tried to save his friend. 'plant your trees, watch them grow. If more of us valued home above gold, it would be a merrier world.'

the hobbit was fighting a pointless battle to keep the wound from bleeding. As his friend breathed his last breath, the familiar sight of eagles soared towards them.

"Look, Thorin! The eagles are here," The hobbit tried desperately to wake the king from his eternal sleep.

As Bilbo was drawn back to reality, he made his way towards the tree that seemed to hide many secrets, recalling the long journey with his family of dwarves.

'Fili.'

'And Kili.'

'At your service!' The two young dwarves, who were obviously brothers, said in unison, as they stood outside of Bag-End, eyes bright with enthusiasm.

'You must be master Boggins,' The dark-haired brother said.

'No! No, you can't come in.' He attempted to close the door on the two new arrivals, forgetting his manners in all the excitement of the night. that is, until they stopped the door and he saw their crestfallen faces. They looked like someone had killed their puppy.

'Don't tell me it's been cancelled!' the dark haired one exclaimed.

'No one told us.' His blond-headed (and most likely older if the beards are anything to go by) brother, stated curiously.

The hobbit stepped back, bewildered by the actions of the two dwarves. 'No. Nothing's been cancelled.'

Relieved looks took over their faces as the dark-haired brother (Kili?) said, 'Oh, that's a relief.' and they forced their way into the hobbit's smial.

Bilbo sat down in the shade of his oak tree, continuing to recall all the great times he had with his dwarves. From defeating a small group of trolls and spending time in Rivendell with Elves, to running from orcs and goblins, and finally gaining the trust of the leader, Thorin Oakensheild. His mind went through every up and down, all the tears and laughs, even the arguments and harsh words.

'Ya hear that lads? he says we'll blunt the knives.'

'I've got parasites as big as me arm!'

'I don't like green food.'

'The world has no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves.'

'Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you had no place amongst us… Never have I been so wrong.'

The Hobbit sat under his tree enjoying the memories, the sound of the birds, and the whispering breeze through the leaves. He stared off into the horizon, towards a world outside the Shire, a world where his memories roam, a world that held a kingdom far over the Misty Mountains. And he began to sing. It was a tune that had now become a souvenir for his lonesome heart.

"Far over, the Misty Mountain old,

Through dungeons deep, And caverns cold.

We must away, ere break of day,

To find our long, forgotten…. gold."

His throat became tight, bringing his melody to an end. Tiny warm drops fell from his eyes, splashing on the grass, leaving a salty trail on his cheek.

"Thorin, Fili, Kili," His tight throat released a whisper of a voice. "You probably can't hear me, but…. I miss you so very much." Little did this Hobbit know, that they had heard him. Loud and clear.

"And us you, master burglar," Thorin said, his voice unable to reach the pointy ears of their hobbit.

"Aye, very much so, Mr. Boggins," Fili added, a hint of teasing trailing at the end of his sentence.

"And we can't wait till you die too, so you can see us again!"

"Kili!" His uncle and brother reprimanded the lightly-bearded dwarf in unison with cuffs to the head.

"Ow! What I say?!"

"Kili," Fili responded. "You seriously need to think before you speak."

With a small huff from Kili, the three sons of Durin settled around the young oak tree, watching over their beloved friend.