Chapter Text
Bilbo was simply overwhelmed.
Overwhelmed was being charitable. He was beside himself. He was wishing for Lobelia bloody Sackville-Baggins to descend upon him.
Dwarves! There were dwarves everywhere. In his pantry, kitchen, dining room, sitting room, office and bedrooms! Not to say he had anything against them, but one dwarf had broken his heart so he supposed he was entitled to a little animosity.
But still, they had come unannounced, which was really more of the problem than anything else.
And then, and then, they started tossing his West Farthing china around. Unexeptable, even if it was to clean it. And now someone else was knocking on the door.
Bilbo was in the back of the dining room but he heard Gandalf mutter almost to himself, “He is here.”
Gandalf, the great big person, made to answer the door. Which despite that being impossibly rude (though Bilbo supposed not half as rude as anything else going on here), he was grateful for.
“Gandalf,” an impossibly familiar voice spoke, “I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way twice and would not have found it at all if not for that mark on the door.”
Now that caught Bilbo’s attention. A mark, impossible! He pushed his way forward, making an effort not to stare at the new visitor.
“Mark! There’s no mark on that door. It was painted a Week ago!” Bilbo declared and looked up at Gandalf.
“There is a mark I put it there myself,” Gandalf answered a little sheepish, “Bilbo Baggins allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield.”
Oh dear.
Bilbo slowly turned to look at the new visitor. It was in fact exactly who he had thought it would be, who Gandlaf had confirmed with one name.
Instead of greeting Thorin, Bilbo looked him dead in the eye and said, “No,” before the world went black.