Well, here it is, my first Hobbit fanfiction. This is set after the actual story; Bilbo is home, and quite unhappy. That will change soon enough, however; but you'll have to keep watch to see what happens. c: (Though the summary kind of gives it away...) Anyway, without farther adieu, here it is. I hope you like it~

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or settings; I don't own anything, it all belongs to the wonderful J.R.R. Tolkien. (If I thought of this stuff, I would worship myself.)

Chapter One - Prologue - Time's Unforgotten Tales

A quiet, unhappy sigh slipped through Bilbo Baggins's lips as his soft blue eyes drifted from the uneaten plate of food before him to the quaint, circular window beside his table. The window framed a seemingly monochrome sunset partially hidden by an oppressive fog that had recently rolled into Bag End. It had begun to rain several hours earlier, blending the minutes together into an unending train of boredom for the young Hobbit; a perfect time for him to wallow in his remorse and sorrow.

Since returning from his long journey with Thorin and his company, Bilbo had been quite the opposite of his usual innocent, happy-go-lucky self. He had taken to locking himself away in his hole and avoiding any contact with the outside world, choosing instead to cast his thoughts backwards, back to his grand adventure. Those months had been by far the hardest, most grueling and terrifying months of his life, and yet he could think of nothing he would have rather been doing in that time. He had gained more than he could ever have hoped for; experience and skills he wouldn't trade for the world, courage to conquer any foe, friendships that would last for ages to come, and, possibly, something a little more…something Bilbo wouldn't admit to, wouldn't think about and undoubtedly would not act upon. At least, that's what the poor Hobbit had thought as he left the newly revitalized Kingdom of Erebor.

Now however, weeks after returning home, Bilbo thoroughly regretted his decision to keep certain feelings about a certain member of the Dwarven company to himself. Bilbo was quite sure the King Under the Mountain was getting along just fine without a useless Hobbit trailing him and the other Dwarves around in their own kingdom, but this did nothing to ease the nagging doubt in his mind or throbbing ache in his chest. There was no will to do anything anymore, and nothing held his attention for long; he was always drawn back to his journey, and the many moments held in his heart that he couldn't shake away. The look on the Dwarf's face when Erebor had finally been reclaimed; watching the King Under the Mountain sit upon his throne for the first time in many, many years; the moment when Bilbo had first seen the Dwarf.

A raw, choked laugh ripped from the Hobbit's throat as he pushed his chair back from his unfinished dinner. Thorin had been late, that night so many months ago. Time, it seemed, was of no matter to Bilbo anymore; everything seemed so long ago, yet perfectly preserved, untouched in a chest of gold, and locked away in his own dragon-guarded heart. Yes, the Dwarf had been late, and quite an entrance he had made. Thorin's first words to Bilbo had been an insult, the Hobbit remembered. It seemed funny now, in an odd sort of way.

The little Hobbit had been in quite the sour mood, and with good reason; having your house invaded by hungry Dwarves was most certainly not the most pleasant experience one could wish for. Everything was going to the dogs, and there seemed to be no end in sight, until Thorin made his entrance. This new addition to the troupe of Dwarves seemed at least to be able to control them, and Bilbo was thankful that all he required for supper was a small bowl of stew. However, it seemed the Dwarf had no good words on Bilbo's behalf, and the Hobbit was just as fed up with him as all the rest in good time. But just as he was lying down for some much needed rest, Bilbo heard the singing.

He remembered every step to the small den where Thorin was standing over the fire; he could recall with perfect precision every dip and waver in the Dwarf's haunting voice as he began to sing of his peoples' past. But most of all, Bilbo remembered Thorin's eyes; deep blue wells of memory and feeling, opened to the world by emotion that seeped forth from a place in Thorin rarely bared to the light. Even as the other Dwarves began to join the song, the Hobbit's eyes stayed on Thorin, unable to look away from those bottomless orbs; he felt he could slip into those unfathomable wells and fall for all eternity, watching scraps of the Dwarf's heart and soul fly by. It seemed quite an appealing notion, in fact, to keep those gems all to himself, to hide them away where he could lose himself in them whenever he wanted, to peel back the many layers that Thorin had built up around his inner soul in all his years of hatred and loss. In that moment, there was nothing the Hobbit wanted more than to take away the Dwarf's pain and suffering, if only for a moment, just to get a glimpse of the pure, raw essence of Thorin, and the power, strength and sentiment he was sure was concealed there. Bilbo had known Thorin for only a few hours, but already the mystery of the Dwarf-prince's soul had captured his heart.

Lost in his thoughts, Bilbo hadn't noticed where his furry Hobbit feet were taking him; he now found himself kneeled beside his bed, a large, fur-lined coat clenched in a death grip to his chest. He drew a ragged breath and curled up in a small ball, allowing himself to flop awkwardly onto the floor. Soft fur caressed his face and carried with it a familiar scent; the smell of pine trees and cold nighttime wind, bright summer days and the deep, rich scent of living earth. A painful sob racked the Hobbit's petite frame, and large tears began to roll down his cheeks, only to be lost in the fur held to his nose as he savored Thorin's scent and cursed himself for not telling the Dwarf-king how he felt. All he had wanted was to see the Dwarf's heart and soul, to give the king some reason to open himself to him, and he couldn't open his own mind to Thorin. At the moment it mattered, Bilbo couldn't give what he himself wanted most, and now the thoughts of what he had lost were slowly killing him.

Whelp, prologue finished. Please follow and review (I'll love you forever), and thanks so much for reading~!