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At some point, Bilbo realized, under his sweaty forehead and thorny rose bushes, that the distant chatter of the neighbor children had become quite close and clear.
“… and then the bloke picks up his gun and yells GAAHAGHGHGHAAHHHHHHHHH!”
Bilbo sat up on his knees and looked over his plants to see two round semi-familiar faces sat on top of the fence around his yard, without any visible bodies. Their little white-tipped fingers had a vice grip into the fence. It didn’t seem like they were standing on anything, which must have been quite the feet of upper body strength for what Bilbo thought were two boys of around the eight or nine range. It was rather impressive.
One of them—Bilbo knew their names to be Fili and Kili after hearing it shouted about the neighborhood with relish, but he was hard pressed to guess which was which—picked up after the other with detailed gun and explosion sounds.
“Chugachugachugachuga eheheheheh ffffffMMMMMMMMMhnnnn chuguchugachugachuga…” and so on.
Frodo nodded blithely from his little sandbox at the heads hanging over the fence, still digging a moat around his castle.
Putting together a mental list, Bilbo guessed that the two boys had popped in and around Bilbo’s new back garden to talk to Frodo at least six times since yesterday. He’d noticed them around, or at least heard their names, before that as well. He had been just learning to put last names to houses, but not quite with faces. He knew the boys belonged to the house next door with the last name of Durin. He was trying to learn everyone’s names without drawing too much attention to his outsider status because, embarrassingly, everyone else seemed to know his name. To be honest, he hadn’t paid a great deal of attention to them. He had been busy adjusting to his new house, still filling out the requisite paperwork, calling people about mail, and trying to not let Frodo get quiet and isolated in the shuffle. Not to mention trying to bring his new garden up to speed this far into summer. But it was apparent now these two boys were trying to forge a friendship with Frodo.
Bilbo was a little wary. His estimation put them at a little older than Frodo’s six years. While he was certainly no expert on childrearing, the books he’d been forcing himself to plunge into seemed to advise against pairing older children with younger ones. It didn’t help that Frodo barely spoke these days. He wasn’t completely mute. He’d answer questions when absolutely necessary and some days were more talkative than others, but if he could get away with nodding or shaking his head or holding Bilbo’s hand instead of speaking, he would. Then again, those books were a confusing unhelpful mire and maybe being around children who had no problem talking would make him more comfortable with speaking more often.
And now that he was thinking of it, the constant din of children he’d heard over the past few weeks may well have only been from these two. He certainly couldn’t remember any other children’s names bellowed down the street every evening. He’d seen a few other younglings walking around, but they looked to be older, teenagers really. Perhaps Frodo was the only other boy their age on the block.
Bilbo stood up from his rose bushes and clapped his gardening gloves together.
Fili and Kili, both of them, started at the fence, apparently not noticing an adult in their midst, but did not let go, either of them.
“Alright. It’s nearly time for tea.” Bilbo was going to ask them anyway, but at their sad little frowns felt doubly compelled to, adding, “Would you two like to join us? Frodo, would you like your friends over for tea?”
Frodo grinned brightly and nodded.
“That’s settled, then. You two go ask your parents and if they say it’s alright, you may pop over for tea. I’ve got a plate of brownies that needs eating and not by me.”
After a moment of hesitation at being spoken to by an adult, the dark-haired one blurted out, “Mum’s in Pakistan.”
“Mum’s going to Pakistan,” the blond one corrected. “She’s in India with Dwalin and Uncle Frerin and Cousin Gloin.”
“Well, who’s taking care of you while she’s away?” Bilbo didn’t wanted to mention a father, given they hadn’t just ran off to ask him. He wouldn’t want to bring it up for them, or Frodo, if he wasn’t in the picture or wasn’t alive.
“Uncle Thorin!” they both said happily.
For a moment, Bilbo thought that could be serendipitous. He was next door neighbors with another caretaker-uncle. But Fili and Kili’s mother sounded to be on a trip. Bilbo had to keep reminding himself that Drogo and Primula were not ever coming to pick up Frodo again. That’s why they had moved away from the country—to stop expecting it to happen.
“Well, ask your uncle then. Oh, I suppose...does he need me to come over and ask? I should really introduce myself,” Bilbo said, dusting dirt off of his knees. “He could come over too.”
“He’s not—“ the brown-haired one started saying before getting quickly slapped in the head by the other one, the elder Bilbo was guessing, and falling off the fence with an oof and a thud.
The golden-haired boy grinned in quite a put on way and said “No problem. He’ll send us over in a tick.”
He dropped down from the fence. There was some quietly hissed arguing wherein someone said ‘ow,’ but then Bilbo could sort of see them run off to the house in the tiny spaces between the fence slats.
Bilbo shrugged and took Frodo inside to clean up and prepare some sandwiches and take the leftover pie out the fridge.
It didn’t take long for the front bell to be rung with Fili and Kili greeting him again with prepared smiles and rather dirty faces. The one with dark hair was missing one of his big teeth, while the other was a little nub just starting to grow back.
“Uncle Thorin said we could be here,” the blond one said, still trying to look innocent for some reason and therefore looking suspicious.
“Er, yes. I thought so” Bilbo said, stepping aside so they could excitedly trundle in. They both started scanning the room thoroughly, including examining the ceilings rather officiously, eyeing the books and bookshelves and plants with faint disappointment. “First thing’s first, which is Fili and which is Kili?”
“I’m Fili and this is Kili.” “I’m Kili and this is Fili.” They both said at the same time.
“Alright, try again.” Bilbo said, pointing at the light-haired one, who responded with Fili, and the dark-haired one who gave a firm Kili.
“Good, now the next point of order is for you two to wash your hands,” Bilbo said, eying the dark lines under their fingernails and surprised their uncle sent them over without making them clean up a little. “Down the hallway, second door on the right.”
They ran off, the noise of their trainers somehow managing to make the noise of four or more boys. Bilbo was beginning to suspect they were the sort of perpetual motion boys who ran everywhere and had boundless amounts of energy. It wasn’t a mystery why their uncle always sent them outside.
Lunch itself was vaguely stressful. Fili and Kili weren’t mean or rude. Well, not deliberately rude. They were however boisterous and extremely talkative, which was quite a change for Bilbo. They asked questions almost relentlessly without much caring to hear an answer. They barely stopped for breath and they definitely didn’t stop to eat, just going ahead with half-masticated sandwich bits in their mouths while laughing or talking about going to the arcade or about sitting in the chair of whatever “the big digger” was. And while Frodo wasn’t talking much—which was not a surprise as it was something he did even less of since Drogo and Primula passed—the lads seemed like they knew that. They weren’t talking over Frodo so much as talking when he didn’t; and while they talked with their mouths full, they thanked Bilbo, even calling him Mr. Baggins. “It’s Baggins, Kee, not Boggins” Fili corrected. They even offered to wash their plates, albeit after trying to spin them on their fingertips. Bilbo couldn’t help but forgive them when that made Frodo laugh loudly in a way he hadn’t for months.
After Bilbo set out brownies, he was going to leave the boys to it for a little while, to clear his head before he had to get back to writing, but stopped in his tracks when Fili started talking about a room full of swords he wanted to show Frodo.
“… and there’s one that’s all curvy and there’s one that’s all broken because it was a real knight’s sword”
“There’s one that’s taller than Fee!” Kili said to Frodo in astonishment, as though it were unthinkable.
“Orcrist,” said Fili dreamily. “But Uncle Thorin says I can’t hold it til I’m older.”
Bilbo had initially thought they were talking about a museum somewhere nearby, but that didn’t make any sense. Did their uncle work for some sort of historical restoration project?
“Maybe Uncle Thorin can show you when he gets home,” Kili said blithely. Fili punched him in the shoulder, and grinned innocently at Bilbo, but it was obviously far too late.
“Wait a minute,” Bilbo said. “Are there bl—are there swords in your house? And what do you mean when your uncle gets home?”
Kili’s face fell. “Ummm.”
“The swords are all locked up,” Fili supplied quickly. “You can’t even get in there when Uncle Thorin is gone and they’re all in cases anyway.”
“Well, I’m glad your uncle has the good sense to lock the door to the sword room when he leaves young children home alone.”
Both the boys started looking thoroughly admonished, even Frodo, who had nothing to do with it at all, which really only made Bilbo angrier. It certainly wasn’t their fault.
“Why don’t you have a babysitter?”
“We don’t need a babysitter,” Fili said, offended by the concept.
“You most certainly do, young man. What would happen if you or your brother got hurt while you were playing?”
“We don’t leave the street when Uncle Thorin is gone,” Kili said for his brother, who looked like he was considering the idea of his brother being mortally wounded for the first time ever. “And normally we go to the Ri’s house but…” Kili clammed up.
“Who are the Ris and why aren’t you there today?”
“Ori’s our cousin,” Fili said, more chastened than before. “But Dori had to fix a problem at one of the stores up north so he took Ori with and no one’s home right now.”
Bilbo sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache come on. “And your uncle couldn’t hire a babysitter?”
Fili and Kili looked at each other rather sadly with wet eyes, which was the last of Bilbo’s intent and was very effectively making him feel like a brute.
“I’m sorry. It’s not your fault and I’m not mad at you, but you’re both two young to be left home alone all day.”
Bilbo may be a next door neighbor, but he shuddered at how easily the boys came over to his house without knowing anything about him other than how to incorrectly pronounce his name.
“Don’t send them away,” Frodo pleaded, all of a sudden, making Bilbo’s heart almost leap out of his chest. Since the funeral Frodo had really only answered questions, not making a statement of his own volition. Bilbo had to repress the urge to scoop him up and squeeze him.
Instead, Bilbo sat down in the chair next to him and ruffled Frodo’s hair, not wanting to embarrass Frodo or discourage him from talking again. “No, of course not.” He looked at Fili and Kili, who met his gaze with poorly hidden pouts. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You will be staying here for the rest of the afternoon. When does your uncle get home?”
“Around five.”
“Five! What were you supposed to eat for lunch? Supper! I don’t—“ Bilbo forced himself to stop and take a breath.
“He made us food!” Kili said, either desperately trying to placate Bilbo or defend his uncle. “It’s in the fridge.”
Fili added, “He made it last night. And we would have had it, but… he’s just not very good at cooking.”
Bilbo sighed. “Well, you’ll stay here until your uncle gets home at which point I am going to have a serious discussion with him not meant for young ears. You can run over to your house if you think you need anything, but you’d better be back here in no more than fifteen minutes. Do you understand me?”
Fili and Kili nodded obediently before tearing out of the house to fetch whatever seven and nine year old boys considered to be vital supplies for the duration of five hours or so.
Bilbo shook his head. “I can’t believe that,” he said even though Frodo was too young to understand why he was so disapproving. He was just too testy to remain silent.
Looking at Frodo’s slightly wary face, he added, “I couldn’t let them just roam free for the rest of the day knowing that, could I?”
Frodo shook his head in agreement dutifully.
“Absolutely. And well, you won’t mind having the lads stay, will you? Do you like them?”
Frodo nodded with a small, sudden smile.
Bilbo thumped the table in assent. “Good, then.”
When Fili and Kili came back, they had a football, a stack of comic books, and a rattling box of Legos between them. Not really wanting them to kick around a ball around the garden near Bilbo’s fledgling plants, he sent them up to Frodo’s room to play.
Bilbo tried to make himself write, but he got little work done. He was a pulp mystery novelist by trade, so the swiftness of his output really was a factor. However his latest series of books were different from his previous work. He was writing an ongoing historical fiction about a plucky heroine in disguise, hired to steal a priceless heirloom, but caught instead in trying to solve the mystery of the lord of the manor’s murder. And the days events provided a drain from his attention. His protagonist kept slipping into diatribes about responsibility at the gruff yet handsome blacksmith when she was supposed to be caressing the gruff, yet handsome, blacksmith’s well crafted biceps.
Occasionally Kili or Fili would run down the stairs followed by Frodo to ask for something to drink or to show him what monstrous thing they’d built. He would interrupt his own research to check on them and find the lads explaining to Frodo the finer points of castle building with Legos, or how to properly pretend a firefight with Frodo’s toy planes.
They got on quite well, which really cut into the imaginary bollocking he had planned for Fili and Kili’s uncle whenever he got home.
Approaching five, Bilbo started to rehearse a few key phrases about responsibility and all manner of things that could go wrong leaving two little ones home alone all day. His diatribe started adding things about punctuality at around half past. Making dinner for himself and the boys, he started wandering to the windows whenever he had a spare second and including phrases like massively irresponsible wanker and utterly unfit to look after children, you monster.
Finally, nearing half past six, just after sitting down to eat, there was the audible sound of doors slamming in quick repetition, and then a voice yelling for Fili and Kili.
The lads looked both keen and worried, and ran out the back door before Bilbo could say anything. He followed them, with Frodo following him. Bilbo made a mental note of getting the children to go back inside at some point because he definitely wanted to swear at this man.
By the fence, it seemed as though Fili and Kili were trying to jump up and wave their arms over the top, but coming up short by several inches and shouting their uncle’s name.
The man himself tore open the door and yelled, his voice obviously strained with worry, “Fili! Kili! Where are you?”
“We’re over here!” “Next door, Uncle Thorin!”
Thorin stopped in his tracks, his body visibly relaxing before almost immediately straightening out again. The man looked him curiously for a moment, but first addressed the boys. Frankly, Bilbo was surprised. Thorin looked to be in his forties at least, with touches of grey along his hairline and in his dark beard, but he was well dressed. Bilbo supposed that was surprising because he’d spent the better part of the day imagining the uncle as a heartless, vaguely lumpy and sweaty ogre. Or as a young idiot. Uncle Thorin, Bilbo noticed with no small amount of distress, was rather striking and fit. And certainly old enough to know better. It was all very unfortunate, as Bilbo had already vowed to loathe him forever.
He marched towards the fence, easily looming down over the lads as an angry bust. “Is this where you’ve been? I’ve been calling the house for nearly an hour with no answer. I was worried sick.”
The boys drooped, with Fili looking especially contrite. “We’re sorry.” “Sorry, Uncle Thorin.”
Bilbo could no longer keep quiet his outrage. “No, no, you—now, just you wait. You boys have nothing to feel sorry for. I made them stay over here after I found out there was no one watching them all day.”
He at least had the decency to look taken aback for a moment, but that was overtaken by a rather thunderous expression darkening his face. “While I appreciate your concern, that’s really none of your business and you needn’t have troubled yourself,” he said curtly. “Boys, you come over here for dinner now.”
Bilbo scoffed. The absolute nerve of him. Bilbo felt a sort of violence building inside of him, which was strange and shocking as he was not a man very prone to violence or anger. Except Bilbo wanted nothing more than to wallop Thorin, despite his unfairly handsome features, perplexing regal bearing and offensively sonorous voice. If he was being perfectly honest, the fact that Thorin turned out to be well-formed made Bilbo want to hit him more.
“We’ve just started eating dinner, actually,” Bilbo asserted, trying to stand taller under Thorin’s heavy gaze. “Fili and Kili befriended my Frodo, so I invited them for tea earlier. When I found out no one was watching them at all I had them stay until you returned home. I think it would be best if they finished eating while you and I talked, don’t you?”
Thorin frowned, but agreed after seeing his nephews looking up at him hopefully.
After walking all three children back inside and making sure they actually sat down to eat instead of hanging around the back door to eavesdrop, Bilbo turned on his heel and pointed at the man across the fence, walking near so he wouldn’t shout.
“You have some nerve—“
“Who the hell do you think you are?”
“You can’t leave children—children!—alone to wander around the neighborhood all day—“
“I don’t know who you are! You can’t just keep children you don’t know at your house just because you live next door—“
“Anything could have happened to them! Anything! No babysitter, no guardian! What was I supposed to do?”
“They know to call me at work if anything happens and they aren’t infants. They’re good boys. They know what not to do when I’m gone. And it’s not your place to make yourself their babysitter. I’ve not even met you yet.”
“They are nine and seven! How they behave has no bearing on what might happen to them. They are far too young to be left alone all day. I don’t care if you think it’s not my place. I wasn’t about to leave two unsupervised children fend for themselves.”
Thorin’s eyebrows, which had been tensely drawn together the entire time, relaxed finally as he sighed and looked at Bilbo with a set of doubt to his features. “I was Fili’s age when I watched my little brother and sister, who were even younger than Kili, when our mother went to work. I know that these days it’s frowned upon--”
“Frowned upon?” Bilbo said incredulously.
Thorin himself frowned. “It’s about responsibility. They are good boys. They have too much energy, but they are responsible. It isn’t the preferable choice, but I know I can depend of them when I have no other option.”
Bilbo was torn. On one hand, that did shine a light on what Bilbo had previously assumed to be staggering ineptitude. He hadn’t wanted to assume anything from the Durins and their Northern accent, but all Bilbo could glean from Thorin’s defense was a hint of a hardscrabble upbringing. On the other hand, Bilbo still wanted to hit him.
“Listen—“ Thorin started, surprisingly softly, scratching at the short beard along his jaw, which Bilbo belatedly realized was a tell. But Bilbo had already been snapped and he couldn’t unsnap.
“No, you listen. You clearly know you shouldn’t have done this. Fili mentioned they normally stay with someone when you’re gone, but he was unavailable. While I’m very glad you and your siblings made it to adulthood, a nine year old cannot be made responsible for a seven year old’s wellbeing, let alone his own. All I hear from that is you grew up too fast and are content to do the same thing to your nephew. I’m sorry, I—It’s not my place, I know that, but anything could have happened. I suspect you told the lads to stay in your yard all day and not to leave, correct?”
Thorin nodded warily.
“Yes well, good boys they may be, but they are still just boys. They got bored and said you gave them permission to come over for lunch. To children, nothing bad could happen simply going over to a neighbor’s house, but you and I both know that being a neighbor does not automatically make a person innocuous. Children don’t understand that and, frankly, shouldn’t have to. And that’s aside from small and innocent dangers like getting a thump on the head or a twisted ankle that a boy like Fili or Kili might not even think is important enough to call you over. So I don’t rightly care that it wasn’t my place as a stranger to you. I thought it my responsibility as, well, as a human. Not to get too grand about the whole thing.”
Bilbo waited, feeling tension mount as Thorin said nothing for a long time. Finally, as Bilbo steeled himself to renew the argument, Thorin quietly said, “Thank you.”
“What?” Bilbo said dumbly, unsure of how this fit into everything Thorin had previously said.
Thorin cleared his throat uncomfortably, cringing slightly before even having spoke. “Thank you, Mr. Baggins, for looking after Fili and Kili. You are absolutely right,” Thorin admitted begrudgingly. “The truth is, I was—There was an important string of meetings today about the fate of Arkenstone—my family’s company. We operate mines and have several holdings in—“ He cut his tangent short, frowning down at the top of the fence. “I don’t have a great deal of family, but they usually watch the boys. The problem with a family business is that one crisis whisks everyone away—But you are right. I should have looked harder for someone to watch the boys.”
Part of Bilbo wanted to remain angry. And part of him was still upset. But there was something very earnest about his voice, even when he’d been fuming. Not to mention there was something about the actual sound of his voice, rocky and rich and—Well, Bilbo wasn’t going to think about that seeing he had previously laid out ‘loathing forever’ plans. Though he was thinking he might have to negotiate the forever part.
Thorin looked genuinely contrite, as well as terribly uncomfortable and awkward. And late day sun was glowing warmly behind him, which had a rather luminous effect, and probably a dizzying one as well somehow. Because Bilbo blurted, much to his own surprise, “I can babysit the lads.”
Thorin remained very still while his dark eyebrows slowly climbed up his brow.
“In future. Should it be necessary.”
Thorin continued not to say anything.
“I mean, Frodo has taken a shine to them and you live next door, I could hardly not offer. It’s simply… a matter of convenience. Seeing as I work from home.”
Bilbo was hoping for a crater in the earth to swallow him up any minute.
“Thank you,” Thorin in his quiet baritone Bilbo had no thoughts about whatsoever. “Thank you again, Mr. Baggins. It is a kind offer. I should—What can I pay you for your trouble?”
“Oh, oh no. I didn’t—That’s not necessary.”
“I insist on paying you back somehow. I owe you.”
“Consider it a favor then,” Bilbo offered. “You can owe me a favor.”
Thorin smiled, which was… Well, frankly it was quite unfair for a man to look that handsome both while surly and while pleasant. “I’m glad Fili and Kili befriended your son.”
“He isn’t,” Bilbo started automatically, even though it hardly mattered, especially in explaining to a stranger. “Frodo is my nephew, actually. His parents passed earlier this winter.”
“Oh, I... I’m sorry for your loss,” Thorin said, and with the way his voice was it sounded very terribly like he meant it.
Bilbo held up a hand, begging off a reply, in lieu of being able to give one. He clapped his hands for lack of a better way to end the conversation, and motioned vaguely to the house. “The boys will probably be wondering if we came to blows.”
Thorin nodded and smiled, but looked strangely sad all of a sudden. “Ah, yes. Send the lads over when they’ve finished.”
Seeing him turn rigidly back to his house, Bilbo sighed, knowing he was about to be stupid about this, possibly for the foreseeable future. But he couldn’t just let Thorin walk away so, so dejected like that. It wouldn’t be cordial. That’s all.
“Wait, Mr. Durin. Come and eat with us.”
Thorin stood on his porch and looked at Bilbo curiously. “Are you sure?”
Bilbo waved him off. “Supper’s already made. And you can explain to me about this room of swords you have.”
Thorin laughed. It was a warm sound, coming from his chest. And Bilbo had no thoughts about that either.
“Call me Thorin, please.”
“Bilbo.”
“And the swords are my hobby. I collect some, but I also make them.”
Bilbo cleared his throat, trying to keep his face from going red. “Your hobby is, er, blacksmithing?”
Thorin looked smugly pleased for some reason and Bilbo thought of his current novel in horror. “Yes. We have a small scale forge outside of the city. I sometimes make replicas for museums that want to display what their original weaponry would have looked like. I could show you and your nephew some time.”
“That’d be lovely,” Bilbo said, trying not to sound like a distressed frog, and wondering when and how this conversation had taken such a turn. “We can talk about it. Over dinner.”
“I’ll be straight over.”
“I should--yeah” Bilbo pointed to his door, and awkwardly walked away, feeling overheated.
Dear lord, his next door neighbor was a gruff, yet handsome, blacksmith.