Arrival

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The journey back to the Lonely Mountain was long and exhausting. Rain had been pounding the ground for several days now, making the footpaths and wooded roads quite difficult to traverse even on pony back. Bilbo had toppled over several times this morning, his bum covered in mud. The wet, itchy feeling had begun to irritate him more and more as the day progressed, but Bilbo refused to slow down or stop when they were so close to their goal. It'd been well over a year since he'd seen the Lonely Mountain and the tired hobbit was going to arrive there by nightfall, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

"Uncle," said a small voice next to him, "I'm cold."

Bilbo looked up at the pony beside him, hands automatically reaching out for the small hobbit that sat atop Molly. "We're not too far now, my boy. Only a few miles east and we'll be in the warm halls of Erebor." He patted the young boy on the back. "Come here, darling, lil' bit of carrying will warm you up. Tuck your hands into my collar, yes, that's it. Golly, you're about froze up!"

Frodo buried his tiny face into Bilbo's neck, soft curls dripping with water despite the hood pulled over top of them. They were all by themselves now, the other part of their travel group having already headed off to Lake-town. Bilbo wasn't too concerned about a few miles journey alone, mostly because the areas directly around Erebor and Dale were now well-protected by both dwarven and human patrols. The roads had been empty due to the terrible weather, but a number of small farms were now present along the stretch, which had been restored in the eighteen or so months since Bilbo had left for the Shire.

"We'll be giving the dwarves quite the surprise, my boy," said Bilbo, tucking the small child into his own thicker cloak. "They've probably figured I'd not be coming back at this point. Long journey, this has been."

"I just wanna bed," mumbled Frodo. He hadn't been very fond of sleeping on the ground, the poor little hobbit. "Nice and warm, like back home."

"You'll have that and more," assured Bilbo. "I have a feeling that the dwarves will make quite the fuss over you."

"Hungry, too."

Bilbo chuckled, amused by his nephew's simple, child-like desires. The poor boy had had a rough last couple of months, what with his parents' deaths, having to live with the Brandybucks, and now traveling hundreds of miles to a strange dwarvish city that had just recently been restored. Frodo had every right to be a bit tetchy and demanding, as any small child would be in his situation. They'd been moving at a pretty fast clip with nearly all of their travel groups, anxious to leave the dangerous and uncharted regions that led to the eastern reaches of Middle-Earth. The Quest to Erebor three years prior had been rough, but Bilbo would be the first hobbit to admit that traveling with a small child amplified all of those problems ten-fold. Even a sweet-tempered faunt like Frodo could only take so much in a single day's travel before petulance started to set in. Bilbo would be very, very glad to have a warm, safe place to sleep, too.

"We should be close enough to..." Bilbo paused to squint through the rain. "Ah ha! There it is, my dear Frodo! The mist makes it quite difficult to see, but there it is, just as high and strong as I remember. The Lonely Mountain."

Frodo shifted in his uncle's arms, big blue eyes widening when he finally caught his first glimpse of the majesty that was Erebor. Bilbo couldn't stop the huge smile that crossed his face, chuckling in delight after placing a quick kiss on his nephew's downy-soft head. They'd finally made it.

"Welcome to Erebor, Frodo. Your new home."

The little hobbit didn't turn around even when Bilbo started to walk again. He'd always been a quiet child, from what Primula's friends had told him, but Bilbo was a little surprised that Frodo's reaction had been this sedate. He may have been quiet, but Frodo was also very curious, as Bilbo had learned from the red mushroom incident last month. Frodo usually had a small comment for any -

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