Work Text:
Long, uninterrupted journeys on ships are much more boring than long, danger filled journeys on foot. You quickly run out of things to do and the ocean isn't as interesting to look at after a few days. It was really a stroke of luck that Frodo could catch up with Uncle Bilbo for the first leg of the journey. He tells Bilbo of his adventures and is in turn told stories by Lord Elrond and a number of other passengers. They're halfway to their destination when Frodo realizes his uncle is moving with an ease he hasn't had in years, like his muscles has lost their stiffness and his joints aren't giving him trouble anymore. He's laughing a little more and seems to be having an easier time remembering things and by the time they can see land Bilbo has the energy of a hobbit half his age.
There's a group of elves waiting on shore, all buzzing with excitement at seeing their kin but still retaining their poise and grace. Frodo and Bilbo have hung back to allow the elves off first and he's watching elves greet one another when he notices, just a little ways off, a rowdy group of dwarves that's laughing and at least two of them are on the ground wrestling.
When Frodo starts down the ramp with his uncle its one of the wrestlers that spots them and let's out a jubilant whoop.
“Bilbo! Its our Bilbo!” Suddenly the entire group turns as one and are practically climbing over each other to reach them. At the shout Bilbo turns to look and a wide smile spreads across his face and then he leaps off the ramp and breaks into a run. With each step forward the years seem to melt away and when the group swallows him he's a young hobbit again. Its impossible to tell which dwarf is saying what since they're all talking at once and then Bilbo is in view again when two of them lift him clear off the ground and tote him around like a prize.
Bilbo is laughing and flushed and happy in a way Frodo has never seen him. He's reaching out and slapping shoulders and shouting at the top of his lungs and Frodo can't help but laugh himself at the sight of his tiny uncle ordering these rough dwarves into some semblance of order while riding around on their shoulders. Then one of them at the edge of the crowd is yelling something and Bilbo is set down and the most handsome dwarf Frodo has ever seen is making his way down a hill and into the center of the group.
They part easily to let him through and he's looking at Bilbo with such intensity that Frodo is almost worried for his uncle. Then the dwarf reaches him and he has an arm around Bilbo's waits and a hand tangled in his hair and-
Oh.
Oh dear.
That's-well. That's different.
The dwarves are jeering goodheartedly at them and laughing and, when they finally separate, Bilbo laughs with them as he buries his face in the dwarf's shoulder. Frodo startles when a hand lands on his arm and he finds Gandalf smiling at the group.
“I think its time you meet our company.” Frodo is led over to the dwarves and he's surprised to realize that for how loud and large they seem there's only seven of them.
“Gandalf!” One of the dwarves who had picked up Bilbo, the dark haired one with no beard, is smiling at them widely. “You silly wizard! Sure took your time, didn't you?”
“You will forgive me, Master Kili, I still had things that needed seeing too.”
“Our Bilbo I bet.” Said the light haired dwarf that had carried uncle. “He can be such a handful.” The dwarves all laugh at that.
“Oh, who's that with you?” The dwarf in a well knitted coat asks.
Bilbo steps away from his dwarf to wrap an arm around Frodo's shoulders. “Lads, this is my nephew Frodo. Frodo, this is Fili, Kili, Balin, Oin, Nori, Ori and Thorin, King Under the Mountain.”
“Look at how cute he is!” Kili snatches Frodo up in a hug and lifts him off the ground. “Oh uncle, can we keep him?”
“We already have a hobbit.” Thorin looks just as amused at the other dwarves.
“You have a hobbit.” Fili corrects as he pats Frodo on the head. “We all know you won't be sharing so we need a hobbit of our own.”
“Yes, can we keep him?” Ori plucks at Frodo's sleeve when he's set back on the ground. “I think he need some mittens.”
“I-” Frodo looks at Bilbo for help but finds his uncle laughing behind his hand.
“Do you like adventures?”
“How seriously do you take laws? Are you as good a burglar as your uncle?”
“Am I-”
“We don't need another burglar. We got ours back.”
“But Thorin's going to steal him away, we need a burglar for when they're off being disgustingly in love.”
“Can you pick a lock?”
“How fast can you climb a tree?”
“Any good in a fight?”
“Do you like reading?”
“Are you good at sneaking?”
“I'm sure he's a fine burglar.” Balin gently steers the younger dwarves away from Frodo. “But perhaps give him time to settles before taking him on an adventure?”
Frodo, for all his experiences and adventure, has never felt more overwhelmed. There's only a moment between the questions stopping and him being swept up and led away with promises of stories and a feast better than anything those pretentious, tree shagging elves could ever offer.
“Nori!” Bilbo scolds him like a mother does a child that won't keep out of the cookies.
Somewhere, between the first round of drinks and the roasted pig, Frodo looses track of Bilbo. Its not until dinner is on its ninth course that he catches sight of him again. He's sitting off to the side in a secluded corner, pressed comfortably into Thorin's side and whatever he's whispering to the king is earning him a quiet smile and soft kisses and a gentle hand brushing through his hair.
He can't remember Bilbo ever looking so content and, when Thorin presses a kiss to the back of his hand, so incredibly pleased. Frodo thinks back to the stories Bilbo told him as a child and knows he'd never in a million years have guessed the near mythical King Under the Mountain was his greatest adventure.
But it certainly explained a few things.