Chapter Text
Beorn's home was as close to a hobbit hole as he'd encountered on this journey, Bilbo decided. Oh, it wasn't a thing like a hobbit hole in reality, and Bilbo knew this. But it was warm and comfortable. Bread and honey might not be appetizing for dwarves, but they were comfort foods for Bilbo. More importantly, it was Beorn's private home. Something Bilbo was missing dearly.
Rivendell had been everything Bilbo had ever dreamed, really. Grand, beautiful, full of life and singing and joy. Elrond was a perfect host, and the banquets had been delicious. But it was, perhaps, too full of life. Activity was everywhere, elves here and elves there, doing whatever needed to be done. It was welcoming... but it wasn't a warm little space filled with meaningful trinkets and the smells of fresh bread and soup wafting into every room.
It wasn't home.
Neither were the inns of men that the company had frequently stayed in during their journey. Certainly the cold ground and a campfire were not.
So Beorn's, so far, was what reminded Bilbo of Bag-End.
Which is probably why, one evening when his belly was full and the crackle of the fireplace had warmed his bones, Bilbo began to share some stories from home with the company. Fili, Kili and Ori listened eagerly to his tales of thieving relatives, kindly neighbors, and rascally youths. The rest of the company pretended to indifference, but Bilbo was a born storyteller, and actually had the attention of all.
By-and-by Kili took up the storytelling - recounting some of his own adventures as a lad, which had Fili blushing with embarrassment. Bofur, too, graced the conversation with stories of his own. Really, the evening had gone a long way toward bonding the hobbit with his traveling companions.
Looking back, no one would remember how the conversation turned to age. But when it did, the two youngest members got a shock.
Fili, in distress, looked toward Gandalf, "How could you have us bring him along, Gandalf?" He said reproachfully, "He's fifty years old!"
Bilbo took this the wrong way, bristling that they thought him too old to accompany them. "Fifty is an entirely respectable age, I'll have you know. And what's more, if I may say so, I have the vitality of a 33-year-old."
"33?" Kili gasped in horror, "Bilbo, where are your parents? How could they let you come with us?"
Now Bilbo was merely confused, rather than upset. Of what possible relevance could his parents have to this conversation? "Uh, if you must know, my parents are dead."
The instant looks of pity startled Bilbo, "Well it's not like it happened yesterday - it's been years. And even though they died younger than I'd have liked, they both still lived full lives."
Bilbo couldn't understand why the looks of pity deepened. He turned helpless eyes to Gandalf, who just seemed amused.
Fili and Kili both suddenly surged from their seats and nearly smothered their burglar in a bone crushing hug, both murmuring nonsensical, soothing things.
When the boys finally released Bilbo, Kili had tears shimmering on his eyelashes and turned to his uncle in anger, "Uncle, how can you let a child come with us? Not just a child, an orphan!" He paused, then vehemently, "And if you were going to bring along a child, why not Gimli? He's ten years older, and he already knows how to fight!"
Gimli was Kili's best friend besides Fili. The two had been devastated on learning Gimli was too young to journey with them. They'd campaigned for months, unsuccessfully.
"Child?" Bilbo squeaked, "Orphan?"
And that did it. Thorin's shoulders began to shake with mirth. Which started all the dwarves laughing.
Kili was furious. "This is no laughing matter!"
Thorin had the grace to try to appear serious, "Bilbo is not a child, Kili, Fili. Hobbits don't live as long as we do. He is a fully-grown adult. Did you not realize that?"
The brothers admitted they hadn't, and were then horrified again to learn the burglar who'd already stolen their hearts would probably die before he reached 100.
"Old Took lived to be 130," Bilbo explained to them, "but most of us pass in our 90s or early hundreds. I'd like to make it to my eleventy-first birthday. It's a special one, and I already know what my party shall be. Extravagant gifts for all, I think. Maybe Bofur shall make toys for all the children."
And just like that, the conversation turned to birth day customs and presents, and then eventually tapered away as the company adjourned to bed.
It seemed such an insignificant conversation. A bit of a laugh at Fili's and Kili's expense. None of them could have imagined the way it would later change their lives.