A Shot in the Dark (Thilbo - Bagginshield)

Chapter 3

Dwalin had never met a Hobbit before.

Hobbits rarely left their homes, and he had never stopped at the Shire on his way to Ered Luin, so it was understandable why he had never seen one. Not that he cared. He had met enough races in his life at that point, and all of them turned out made of the same cloth - a greedy, hateful, ugly cloth.

But Bilbo Baggins was different.

It was not his kindness or generous behavior that threw him off. He had met others who were kind to Dwarves - stemmed from pity more than anything else, bastards - and it was not his willingness to go along on their quest either. Being promised a reward from the coffers of Erebor would motivate anyone, after all. No, what threw him off were not the actions or words from the Hobbit.

It was simply the way he looked at them.

For most of his life, Dwalin had been regarded by other races as a stupid and greedy barbarian. He had grown used to being seen as something lesser just because he was shorter than Men and sported a beard that he was sure the weed-eaters were simply jealous of. He never liked it and never would, but he accepted it as just another fact of life.

But Bilbo Baggins did not look at him as if he were scum or trouble. He did not look at him with pity or mistrust. He did not flinch in fear of his weapons, beard, or many scars. No, he did not do any of the usual things that Dwalin had come to accept and even expected on some level.

Instead, Bilbo Baggins looked at him like a lad looked at his first weapon as if he was something wondrous and unreal.

It was unexpected.

He did not know Bilbo Baggins. He had done nothing to earn such a look from the Hobbit. He had not been friendly or even kind to the Hobbit! Dwalin did not understand why he deserved such a look.

However, for all his confusion, he could not deny that some part of him was pleased. It had been long since anyone - even his kind - had given him such a look. It made him feel as if he was worth something again, that he wasn't just a wandering old Dwarf looking for a home but a mighty warrior with the blood of an ancient line running through his veins.

Rather funny, he mused, glancing behind at the humming burglar riding on his pony. I never thought a Hobbit could make me feel like a Dwarf again.

~*~

Bilbo had never enjoyed riding. He liked the animals well enough and had grown fond of a few ponies while traveling. But the riding itself he did not find enjoyable. Hobbits were not to be removed from the ground in any manner.

Unfortunately, he was stuck riding for the time being. They had left the Shire behind and were well on their way to Erebor. During that time, Bilbo had found himself growing more and more used to seeing his once-dead companions alive and merry. The sharp ache in his heart had died into a tolerable pinch, and the memories of another life no longer plagued him at every turn. Now he could at least face Fili and Kili without flinching or wanting to burst into tears.

But for all his progress, he found that he still could not face Thorin. The leader of their Company hadn't paid him much mind and had spoken no more than a few words to him in passing, but even those few words had been awkward for him as he struggled still to see this Thorin as his person instead of a memory. It would be not easy, but he wanted to move past his memories and feelings to build a new relationship with Thorin. They would never have the same friendship as they did before, but he did at least want a decent relationship with the Dwarf.

Oh, but it was hard. It was still tricky for Bilbo to look at Thorin, and the Dwarf himself was incredibly difficult to get close to. The last time, he had to throw himself in front of a group of Orcs to get the king to smile at him. He was sticking to talking this time, with the latter being a last resort.