Chapter Text
The night after Bilbo Baggins saved the life of Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, was much like any other. The dwarves and Bilbo gathered around the campfire and makeshift camp they had set up on the Carrock, eating rabbit stew cooked up by Bombur and relishing both the taste and the brief triumph of glory against the orcs, no matter how brief.
The difference in this night, however, lay in the fact that Bilbo finally felt, for once, a sense of belonging. He had found himself growing more and more fond of the group of dwarves as they traveled along, often sharing kind words with Balin, jokes with Bofur, and trading cooking tips with Bombur. But more than anyone, he felt himself growing ever more fond of the line of Durin. This barely made sense to Bilbo himself, for although Fili and Kili, rapscallions through and through, were easily lovable as all young lads are, Bilbo found most of his thoughts drawn to their reclusive leader.
And now, mere hours since Thorin’s abrupt shift in attitude towards him, Bilbo felt pride and warmth continually coursing through him. The hug that Thorin gave him when the eagles first set them down was not something he would ever forget. Indeed, he found himself wishing more than anything for Thorin to hug him again; he had scarcely ever felt more wanted, more comforted, than he had in Thorin’s embrace.
As the merry gathering of dwarves grew rowdier as the evening went on, Bilbo basked in the feeling of inclusion. All tension from earlier in the quest completely evaporated as even Thorin grinned and joined in their jests.
Gandalf sat back against the mountainside where they had made camp, puffing his pipe and examining the company. It seemed that the last stubborn dwarf had finally accepted Bilbo into the fold, as he had always hoped would happen. Thorin sat near the hobbit, chatting with Dwalin and smiling fondly as his nephews teased and taunted Bilbo with stories and jokes. Bilbo too looked to be enjoying himself far more than he had so far on the quest. The rest of the company chatted and teased each other, all enjoying their small respite.
A shout brought Gandalf’s attention back to Bilbo and the young dwarves sitting with him. Kili had leapt to his feet, a look of shock on his face, while Fili wrapped his arms around the bewildered hobbit. The rest of the company immediately fell silent.
“Whatever seems to be the matter?” Gandalf said, rising and picking up his staff, which had been leaning against the mountain face.
Fili gripped Bilbo tighter, eliciting a squeak from the hobbit, but it was Kili who spoke first.
“He’s Adapting!” the young dwarf exclaimed. “Look at him! Uncle, look!”
The others all made noises of confusion and shock. Thorin rose quickly and knelt in front of Bilbo, gently prying him out of Fili’s grip.
“Do you see his hair, Uncle? It’s thicker, I know it is!” Kili insisted.
“And he understood me when I made a joke in Khuzdul!” Fili added. “And I didn’t explain, he just laughed!”
“He was complaining earlier about eating greens!”
“He said his feet were hurting and they kept getting cut, and that doesn’t happen to hobbits, their feet are too tough!”
“Uncle-“
“Can’t you tell-“
“Do you really think-“
“Enough!” Gandalf tapped his staff twice on the ground and all voices subsided immediately.
“Burglar,” Thorin said, his steady voice laced with urgency, a hand grasping Bilbo’s chin. “Bilbo. Look at me. Where are your parents? What of your family?”
“My family? Why?” Bilbo stared, eyes wide in confusion and not a small bit of fear. “What are you talking about? Why is everyone acting so strangely?”
“Your family, Bilbo. Answer me,” Thorin commanded.
Bilbo shook slightly in the king’s grasp, but didn’t dare disobey. “My parents are dead, if you must know. I’ve no siblings nor any close relations, although many in the Shire are still considered my kin.”
“But no one close to you?” Thorin pressed, his gaze fervent.
“Not really, not anymore,” Bilbo said, his confusion tinged with a hint of bitterness.
“See, he’s Adapting, like I said!” Kili pointed wildly, bouncing on his feet.
“Adapting? What’s that?” Bilbo asked, panicked.
“Hobbits rarely leave the Shire, and are even more rarely orphaned or left without kin. I daresay this is an entirely new concept to our poor burglar,” Gandalf said to the group at large. “Would you care to explain, Thorin?”
The king wiped a hand across his face and resumed his intent staring into Bilbo’s face, urging the hobbit to focus back on him.
“It’s like this,” he began, his voice wavering only slightly. “In every race, even yours, there lies an ability to Adapt when necessary. To change oneself when circumstances are dire enough, when one has nowhere else to turn to. A man who has been abandoned by his kin and found by elves would begin to take on elvish features – not so much in face, but in his own creation. An elf whose heart has been broken may forsake his long life and live as a man. An orphaned dwarf with no kin may also change himself for whatever race takes him in. This is not done consciously, or even purposefully. It is merely survival. Do you understand?”
“I think so,” Bilbo said slowly. “And you think the same is happening to me? I’m turning into a – a dwarf?”
“No, you’re Adapting,” Thorin stressed. “You’ll not change how you look, with the exception of small features to ensure your survival, but rather you’ll change what makes you a Halfling deep inside. Your lifespan will grow to match that of a dwarf. Your appetite, your sense of home, of kin. Your interests may change slightly too. Whatever must happen to ensure your survival with the race that has taken you in.”
“But…have you taken me in, then? I must say, I don’t remember renouncing my own race, nor do I remember being accepted into yours!” Bilbo exclaimed, his voice slightly hysterical. “I was living quite comfortably on my own, thank you very much!”
“My dear Bilbo,” Gandalf drew Bilbo’s attention away from Thorin. “I am so sorry to have put you unwittingly into this position, but if you have started to Adapt, then truly you were not surviving so well as you think. I had no idea you were so alone. I would guess that some of your kin have cast you out, if it has escalated to this. You must listen to me when I tell you that you will be so much better off with your new family.”
“New family?!” Bilbo looked more confused than ever. He felt a rushing sensation inside his mind, a great noise that seemed to eliminate all other sounds. It was hard to concentrate, to hear what the dwarves around him seemed to be saying…he couldn’t tell if they were still talking to him…what in the world could they possibly mean, a new family? Him, a dwarf? Preposterous…he was a hobbit, through and through, and nothing could change that, this was utterly ridiculous…!
“Bilbo!” A deep voice called him back to the present. “Look at me, Bilbo!”
Bilbo acquiesced, his wide and stunned eyes turning once again to Thorin, who had grasped his chin again and was forcing him to look into his earnest expression. It was strange, Bilbo had never seen Thorin look so desperate, so open, not even when he was thanking Bilbo for fighting Azog. It seemed that this strange new occurrence, of all things, was more important to the king. With some degree of difficulty, Bilbo tried to focus on Thorin’s words.
“I accepted you, Bilbo,” Thorin was saying, very gravely. “After what you did for me standing up to Azog. I did not know I was accepting you as family, but that changes nothing. I would be honored to call you my kin. You can rest assured that you will be taken care of as one of our own.”
A cheer went up among the dwarrows, led by Fili and Kili. Bilbo smiled shakily in return, his head still reeling from the conversation. He couldn’t seem to find the words to express what he was feeling, and when he finally did they poured from his mouth in a rush that he couldn’t stop.
“It is true that my own kin have disowned me,” he began, unsteady and quiet. “Some of them dearly wanted my property and disliked my parents, especially my mother, her being a Took and all.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I…I had not been feeling well at all, these past few years, and I didn’t know why. I’ve felt better every day out here with you all, on this quest, but I had no idea, no idea whatsoever…I don’t want to impose, or force myself into your family, Thorin. I wish no consternation or difficulties upon you because of this.”
“Nonsense! He already accepted you, cousin!” Kili cried, grabbing Bilbo’s hands in his own.
“Cousin?” asked Bilbo, his eyes wide.
“Aye, as I said, I would be honored to have you as my kin, Bilbo,” Thorin said warmly. “There is a small matter, however. How old are you?”
“Why, fifty,” Bilbo answered.
“Fifty?!” shouted Fili.
“Oh, Mahal,” Dwalin muttered.
Ori looked about to cry. The rest of the company stared on in comical disbelief. Fili and Kili clutched each other, and Thorin’s face turned briefly dark before he sighed and moved to sit beside Bilbo.
“What’s wrong? Fifty is a perfectly respectable age for a hobbit!” said Bilbo, rather affronted at their reaction. He had quite enough confusion for one day, and confound these dwarves if they couldn’t just say what they meant!
“Your lifespan will change to match our own, as I said before,” Thorin reminded. “But your age won’t change.”
“We live near 250 years, sometimes more!” Kili said.
“Aye,” Balin nodded. “Dwarrows come of age at seventy.”
“Seventy?!” Bilbo’s mouth dropped open.
Thorin stared at him solemnly. “There’s nothing for it. You are to be Adapted and adopted as my son.” He tugged Bilbo into his arms, cradling the small Halfling in his lap. His grip was tight, but not painful, and Bilbo soon found himself relaxing into the dwarf’s large, warm body. He was reminded of the hug Thorin gave him earlier that day, and couldn’t stop the small voice in his head that whispered, now you can have this all the time…
After much too short a time, Thorin released him, and Bilbo found he was sniffling slightly. He immediately tried to stifle it, to no avail.
“Aww!” Fili and Kili cried in tandem, wrapping themselves around their uncle and the hobbit. Bilbo liked their embrace no less than Thorin’s, and he felt a kinship he hadn’t experienced in years, not since he was but a child.
Once they released him, he looked around, surrounded by his new family, and all the dwarves of the Company that he had come to think as family. Nervously, he cleared his throat. “I do have a few questions, if I can.”
“Of course. We shall answer them as best we can, and what I might not know can fall to Balin or Gandalf,” Thorin said.
“All right, well, I guess what I want to know is, if I am not yet of age by dwarf consideration, will I become less…mature? By hobbit standards, I’m comfortably middle-aged,” Bilbo began.
“You won’t entirely revert to tweenhood, if that’s what worries you,” Gandalf replied. “But you will begin to act more or less like one younger than yourself. More reckless, for example. But I believe we have seen that already,” he finished, his eyes twinkling.
Bilbo ducked his head, his mind immediately conjuring up images of talking back to trolls, running from orcs, throwing himself in front of Thorin’s body in a meager attempt to protect him...
Kili grabbed Bilbo by the shoulders and slid himself close, so that Bilbo was wedged between Thorin and the younger dwarf. “I’m not the youngest anymore!” He said excitedly. “I’m 77 and Fee is 82! We’re both of age and you’re not, little cousin!”
“I’m not little!” Bilbo said so indignantly that the other dwarrows laughed.
“Sure you’re not, my son,” Thorin patted him on the head.
Bilbo looked up at him and suddenly felt somber. “You truly mean for me to be your son?”
“Of course,” Thorin nodded, peering down at him. “I accepted you, and as you are not of age, you need a guardian, Bilbo, son of Thorin, son of Thrain.”
“I have a father again?” Bilbo’s lip quivered, much to his dismay.
“Oh, laddie,” Balin sighed sadly.
“The poor thing!” Dori cried, clutching his brothers.
“Yes, and I have a son at last,” Thorin said. Bilbo wrapped his arms around Thorin who responded in kind, and the others sighed to see their embrace.
At long last, Bilbo pulled away, his eyes red. His back straightened and he quickly looked to Thorin. “But, I don’t have to ever be king, right? You wouldn’t take that away from Fili!”
“Do not worry, little one. Fili is next in line as king, and then Kili,” Thorin reassured him. “I have made them my heirs and nothing can change that. Adaptings don’t count for royal succession anyway, or else many would try to force such an occurrence. But if something were to happen to me before you come of age, Fili will step in as your guardian and my heir.” Thorin looked over to his nephew, who sat immediately to Kili’s right. “Do you understand and accept this responsibility, Fili?”
“Of course!” Fili nodded eagerly.
“We’ll take good care of our baby cousin, Uncle,” Kili agreed, grasping Bilbo’s face in his hands. “Isn’t that right, little Bili?”
“Bili?” Bilbo asked dazedly.
“Oh yes,” Kili said with mock seriousness. “Bilbo isn’t a proper dwarf name, but Bili is, and it sounds like ours!”
“Do you like it?” Fili asked hopefully.
Bilbo’s face broke into a grin. “I really do.”
Another cheer went up around the camp, and Bilbo blushed contentedly.
“All right, it’s grown quite late,” Thorin said, ushering in silence to the camp. “I believe it’s time for young dwarrows to sleep. We march early tomorrow.”
“Yes, uncle!” chorused Fili and Kili.
“Yes, father,” Bilbo said shyly. It sounded strange on his tongue, and for a brief moment he thought back to his real father, his first father, now only a portrait above his mantel in his home long deserted. A sense of guilt ran through him but evaporated as quickly as it had come. His real father, Bungo, would never hold such happiness against his son, would he? And besides, Bungo was long buried, was spending the rest of his days in Yavanna’s garden with his mother, and hadn’t both of them wished him all the happiness in the world before they passed on? No, he didn’t need to feel guilty. This was a good thing. And he couldn’t deny the yearning in his heart for family, a feeling he hadn’t fully acknowledged in many years, not since his parents passed and he drifted apart from his neighbors in his grief.
Well, if it was one thing his mixed heritage had given him, it was a sense of confidence in his own instincts. He felt his mother, bless her soul, would approve.
Thorin smiled down at him and gave him one last squeeze. “Sleep near your cousins tonight, I’ll be over after I finish first watch.”
Bilbo nodded and turned to catch up to Fili and Kili, who were already dragging his bedroll over to theirs and fussing over who got to sleep closest to the dying fire.
Bilbo settled into his blanket directly between the warm bodies of his new cousins. Fili, having one the brief argument with his brother, lay down to Bilbo’s right and flung an arm over Bilbo’s stomach.
“Good night, cousin!” Fili smiled.
“Good night, cousin,” Bilbo said.
Kili plopped down on Bilbo’s other side and snuggled up close to him, placing his own arm over the smaller creature. “Good night, Bili!”
“Good night, Kili,” Bilbo said with a yawn.
As he drifted off to sleep, he felt warmer than he had in years, both inside and out.