Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or actors from The Hobbit. Everything belongs to the great and powerful J.R.R. Tolkien.

And here is the short little drabble series I've been promising. Do not expect chapters to be very long at all. Most of them will be short, random, and focus on whatever theme or word has popped into my head. And unlike An Unexpected Addition, these chapters could be from anyone's perspective, not just Bilbo's. Enjoy.

Chapter I - Thorin

Thorin Oakenshield was a possessive dwarf.

For as long as he could remember, the need to keep everyone and everything that was his within a safe and reachable distance had dogged his every waking moment. Such feelings were normal amongst dwarves, who had an infamous reputation for being greedy and jealous of their most prized possessions. The invasion of Erebor had ripped Thorin's once peaceful life to shreds, casting his people out into the unforgiving wilds of Middle-Earth and stealing every ounce of wealth that the Longbeards had worked so long and so hard to build over the centuries. It was unforgivable.

But now, nearly seventeen decades later, Thorin was finally home again. Endless streams of gold, silver, mithril, precious gems, smooth stone, and the finest furs decorated Thorin's bedchambers, a testament to the continued wealth and expected prosperity of the Lonely Mountain. But unlike his three-years-younger and much more foolish self, Thorin now had a better grasp on what items to be possessive of in his life, including the one that he currently held in his arms.

The King Under the Mountain was standing on the balcony of his bedchambers, a warm summer breeze caressing his bare chest and naked arms. All he wore at the moment was a pair of night trousers, the humid heat of mid-summer chasing away any thoughts he may have had about proper royal attire. If an emergency took place and one of his council members were offended by his hairy and naked torso, then Thorin would just tell them to grow a beard and actually make themselves useful for once in their lives. Or he could just sic Dwalin on them. That always worked, too.


Mouth quirking in amusement, the Dwarf-King pretended not to hear his consort's irritated calls from the washroom. Instead, he listened happily to the small puffs of air just beneath his right ear, large hands cradling Frodo's tiny form to his chest. The boy had had a long day playing outside the fortress walls with Donel and Dwina, every part of his little body covered in mud and plant particles by the time Bofur had finally brought the three of them back inside for the evening. After feeding and bathing him, Frodo had quickly fallen asleep in Thorin's arms, the little boy's dark curls and nightshirt all askew as he clung to the royal dwarf's neck.

"Thorin! What did you do with my clothes?"

A small pile of nightclothes lay atop the tall bedchamber bureau, purposely placed there by the Dwarf-King since it was a very warm night and he enjoyed watching his very proper and respectable hobbit run around half-naked looking for them. Another breeze hit the balcony and Thorin felt his tiny passenger shiver, goosebumps breaking out across the little boy's uncovered legs and lower neck. Thorin easily solved the problem by placing a huge hand over Frodo's back and pressing him more tightly to his chest, shielding his youngest nephew from the chillier elements of the night.

"Thorin! I swear, if you've taken my clothes again…"

It still amazed Thorin just how small hobbit faunts were, his left hand completely covering Frodo's entire back without any difficulty at all. Not even Fíli and Kíli had been so tiny as young children, and they'd been undernourished for a significant portion of their early childhoods. Of course, Frodo's small size didn't negate his terrible ability to rip out clumps of Thorin's chest hair in his sleep, which was exactly what the faunt was doing right now.

"Perverse dwarf! Ugh!"

And there went his very irritated and very naked husband, not a stitch of clothing on his pudgy body since Thorin had stolen the wash towels, too. His nephews weren't the only ones in the Durin family with a mischievous streak, although Thorin's tended to be a bit on the perverted side. But only when Bilbo was involved, of course. No one else could bring out the most childish and possessive aspects of Thorin's personality, something that Dís had pointed out on numerous occasions. Bilbo hadn't been too pleased with that tidbit of information, grumbling about terrible privileges and the tendency of dwarves to behave like melodramatic nincompoops.

"Stop looking at my butt! For Eru's sake, you're holding Frodo!"

Thorin shrugged, playing with Frodo's curls while his husband darted around the bedchamber in search of his nightclothes. So long as Frodo had something to cling to in his sleep, then nothing short of an explosion would wake his littlest nephew up. It was a very convenient habit, especially on nights like this. Unfortunately, it also meant that his husband didn't have to worry about keeping his voice down, either.

"Oh, you think this is funny, don't you? Well, the only hobbit you're sleeping next to tonight is two feet tall and drooling all over your back. Have fun with that! Ugh, and to think, I left the Shire for this insanity…"

Frodo just kept drooling on him. Well, at least one hobbit in his life understood a good joke. And Bilbo's disgruntled irritation was always a pleasant sight to behold, even if it meant sleeping in the Blue Room with his nephew. Or Dís could be right, and Thorin really was a possessive lump of pigheaded and haughty idiocy. His sister had an annoying habit of being right most of the time, too.

"The top shelf, Thorin? Really?"

Thorin's a naughty dwarf. Well, around his family and close friends, that is.