Bilbo is overwhelmed. That much is certain.

*"No—stop that! Not the pantry—that is not meant for throwing!"

The dwarves have taken over Bag End, and Bilbo, flustered beyond belief, scrambles to restore order.

"Gandalf—who are these people? Why are they here?!"

The wizard, unbothered, sips his tea while Fili and Kili raid the cupboards, Bombur hums between bites of cheese, and Bofur balances three plates at once.

"You cannot barge in, eat my food, drink my ale—put that down!"

A loud crash. Bilbo winces, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Then—

A door creaks open.

Small feet pad against the floor.

A tiny hand clings tightly to fabric, pressing close in quiet distress.

The room falls silent. The dwarves stare, surprised.

"Well," Balin murmurs, stroking his beard. "Seems our burglar is not so alone after all."

"Married?" Dwalin grunts, arms crossed.

"That’s not the shocking part," Ori pipes up, eyes wide. "That’s a fauntling!"

Quiet murmurs spread—dwarves rarely had children, few had seen one this small.

"A pebble," Bofur grins, tipping his hat back. "Thought we'd only be dragging a burglar. Seems we nearly stole a whole family."

"You are not stealing anything!" Bilbo snaps, voice sharp. "Not my bread, not my ale, and certainly not my family!"

Clutching your arm, he exhales, eyes flickering down to his child.

"You woke them up."

A few dwarves glance at each other, some apologetic, others smirking.

"Ah—well, that was unintentional," Gandalf remarks, setting down his tea.

"Unintentional or not," Bilbo huffs, "I will not have my home torn apart—or my fauntling distressed. So if you are to remain here, you will do so quietly!"

A beat of silence.

"No promises," Kili mutters, earning an elbow from Fili.