Chapter Text
“Do you have any food with you?” Bombur asked, finally broaching the subject long weighing on everyone’s minds, especially Bilba’s since she had missed out on dinner with the rest of them.
Searching eyes peered out from under the brim of his hat. “Why would I and why do you ask?” Gandalf inquired.
“Most of ours got washed away,” Bombur mumbled, “and we’re all due meager portions indeed unless you have anything to contribute.”
Gandalf apologized and shook his head, groans being shared all around, for everyone had been listening in with hopes that the wizard would rescue them further still.
“I can’t be expected to save you from every plight you face!” Gandalf chided, as if reading their thoughts. “I’m a wizard, not a miracle maker!”
“We don’t expect it of you,” Thorin glared, “But your counsel on our next course of action would be appreciated.”
To this Gandalf yielded, and he along with Thorin, Dwalin, and Balin isolated themselves a ways away to discuss in fervent tones the best way to proceed.
With an absent mind, Bilba watched them from afar. It was then that she saw Nori sneaking out from the trees ahead, glancing around, optimistic that he hadn’t been missed.
Oh, but he had, Bilba thought. And she drew her lips into a tight line and marched right on over before Nori had a chance to slip away again.
“I’ll have you know that I got tossed all the blame with the whole troll business,” Bilba huffed.
Nori appeared surprised at first, but any indication of such was flicked away with a cheeky smile.
“I don’t think there would have been any business at all if you had been honest with me about not having a knife. Really, it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said with a smirk.
Bilba crossed her arms. “I made no mention of having a knife and you know it. Where would I have kept it anyway?”
Nori’s eyes travelled to her satchel, and Bilba scoffed. “Even I know that you wouldn’t keep a knife in a bag this thin.”
Nori shrugged. “Burglars make do. And besides,” he interjected, “I never heard you hoot; not once. As far as I was concerned, everything was fine and there weren’t any trolls at all.”
“I don’t even know how to hoot!” Bilba cried out throwing up her hands.
Nori side-eyed her. “I find that hard to believe. And what’s more,” he pursued, ignoring Bilba’s seething frustration, “why in Mahal’s name did you decide to pickpocket trolls? When I suggested the idea, I sure as day didn’t know there would be trolls involved. You made that decision on your own, honey-cake.”
Bilba opened her mouth, then closed it. He had a point. But that still didn’t change the fact that she expected Nori to apologize for abandoning her to be the sole recipient of Thorin’s wrath. And…did he just call her honey-cake?
“Did…you just call me ‘honey-cake’?”
Nori gave her a dashing wink.
Bilba gaped at him. “That is two apologies I expect now. One,” she held up a finger, “for leaving me all the blame. And two,” she joined a second finger with the first, “for the tasteless nickname.”
“Tasteless?” Nori exclaimed.
Bilba nodded. “You could do immensely better.”
“I’ll remember that,” Nori considered, and, upon noticing Bilba’s impatient foot tapping, he rolled his eyes before adding two very well-worded, sincere apologies for his actions, not without muttering under his breath mind you, but it was good enough for Bilba.
“Thank you, Nori. I accept your apologies,” Bilba said in a just manner, and held out a hand to shake so as to put the matter behind them.
Nori accepted her hand in his own, but instead of a shake, he brought his lips to the back of Bilba’s hand and gave it a quick peck.
Bilba widened her eyes and wrenched back her arm, much to Nori’s amusement.
“You enjoy getting me all worked up, don’t you?” she muttered with a blush.
“I can’t deny that it’s a simple pleasure, but yes,” he said with a devilish grin.
Bilba tried not to smile as she shook her head at him, then stalked off to return to the others and be rid of that meddlesome dwarf.
“That was very brave of you, Bilba,” Fili said, appearing at her side.
Bilba at first believed him to be referring to her interaction with Nori earlier, but on account of that making no sense whatsoever she settled that he had to be talking about the trolls. Had he really thought her brave?
“Brave?” Bilba blinked. She wouldn’t say the way she faced the trolls would be considered brave at all, in fact quite the opposite since she almost fainted several times throughout the encounter.
Kili soon bounded to her other side. “I agree, very brave.”
Now Bilba was confused.
“Honestly, I was very frightened! Why, I couldn’t even do anything of consequence! I was definitely not brave.” As much as Bilba wanted to carry the credit of bravery, she in no way earned it and would prefer not having any titles falsely handed to her.
“Bilba, what are you talking about? You faced Thorin head on—didn’t even falter!”
“Yes, he was dangerously mad and you carried on like he was only mildly annoyed.”
Bilba looked between the two of them and their meaning clicked into place. “Thorin? Brave for that?” She stifled a giggle at their insistent nods. “Oh no, he was only concerned for us all, really—I wouldn’t say he was ‘dangerously mad’ and I wouldn’t call myself brave for speaking up when quite frankly it would have been appalling for me not to, what with my position on the line you see.”
Fili and Kili exchanged glances with raised brows.
“Even so, it’s not often that someone takes it upon themselves to speak up to Uncle—not at least while he’s like that and it’s someone of your…stature,” Kili argued, waving his hands in such a way that he was obviously motioning her height.
Bilba planted her fists on her hips. “And what exactly are you implying, Master Dwarf? I’ll have you know that I am a rather average height among hobbits—very respectable and not short at all,” she teased.
Kili played along, putting on a show of backtracking to correct himself
.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply that you were short! No no, not at all! By ‘stature’ I meant, um, well…Fili knows what I meant, right Fili?”
“Yes, he meant you were short,” Fili gibed.
Kili wore an expression of exaggerated hurt, and he staggered as if hit by a blow.
“Fili…I…trusted you,” he breathed.
This got him a cuff behind his ears, courtesy of Fili, and Bilba couldn’t help but laugh aloud.
She had been nervous that after Thorin expressed doubts about her joining the Company, others would step up and voice their complaints as well. But nobody had said anything to suggest that they didn’t accept her, if not grudgingly (she thought of Dwalin and Gloin specifically), and in Fili and Kili’s case they were actively engaging her which came as a huge relief.
She noticed something out of the corner of her eyes, and her attention was drawn to the grass around the now stone trolls’ feet. There, glinting in the sun that seeped through the trees, were her bird-shaped sewing scissors. Bilba gave a cry of delight, and rushed to the spot immediately, picking them up and examining them for damage. Luck was with her it would seem, for they were in perfect condition. Satisfied and thinking that this boded as a good sign, Bilba undid her satchel and laid them gently at the bottom.
“What all have you got in there? I’ve been meanin’ to ask,” a voice called.
Bilba jumped and turned to meet Bofur, who was looking at her bag with twinkling and curious eyes.
Shrugging, Bilba peeked inside, not quite remembering herself just what she tossed into her bag that fateful morning, though she recalled with regret that there wouldn’t be a hand mirror.
She inspected the items. Her embroidery hoop and napkin—which only had a little bit of thread left—and her sewing scissors of course. Nearby lay a magnifying glass without a handle, for practical use of sliding it across a page. She also had a brass canister of face-powder with a poof, which she had yet to use because she simply forgot she brought it. Also a tiny bottle of flower scented perfume, which right then she applied a generous amount of to her wrists and neck to stifle the stench of troll hovering around her person. Extra ribbons for her hair, a flat box of assorted doilies, a hummingbird broach, and…that was it.
It was a proper collection of a woman’s knick-knacks, that much was certain. However, Bilba felt herself redden upon listing off the objects to Bofur, knowing full well that they would be of little if any use at all. For having been rushing about in a state of Tookishness, it was plainly clear that it was her Bagginsishness that packed, and no doubt she had thought them of the most vital importance at the time.
Bofur chuckled, which made Bilba even more self-conscious and embarrassed with herself.
“Sounds like the perfect amount of everything to me,” he said, tapping his nose with a mittened finger.
“If you say so,” Bilba laughed, gratitude relaxing her shoulders. Bofur reminded her a bit of Fili and Kili, she admitted, though he always seemed to retain his high spirits while the other two could somber themselves at times. He also possessed more of a whimsy, as evidenced by his eccentric hat and creative toy whittling, while with Fili and Kili they held more of a good-natured mischief. Nori was mischievous too, but his mischief was for the sole benefit of Nori and had no nature to be remotely thought of as good, Bilba mentally sniffed.
“Is that yours too?” Bofur pointed to something behind her, looking unsure that he recognized it.
Bilba followed his outstretched hand, and her eyes lighted on an oversized, velvet purse.
She recognized it at once, it having been the cause behind her bungled burgling. “Oh, that’s what I managed to get out of Mr. William’s pocket!”
At this point, Thorin, Dwalin, Balin, and Gandalf had finished their conferencing and were returning to the rest of the group.
“Ms. Baggins,” Thorin drawled, “there’s no reason to be proper with a troll. Especially one who was planning to eat us.”
“Oh, right,” she flushed, “Just William then?”
“Bastard would do as well,” Dwalin growled. Balin shot him a look at this, silently imploring him to mind his language. “Mr. Bastard, I mean,” he amended. Balin just rolled his eyes, coming to terms with the fact that his brother was long beyond correcting at this point.
“Well, it would seem our decision has been made!” Gandalf exclaimed, “If I am not mistaken, there will be a key inside that wallet—a key to the trolls’ dwelling.”
He was aiming to pick it up when he noticed Bilba shrinking behind Bofur. “Be careful. It talks,” she warned.
Gandalf looked down at the wallet with keen interest, and whispered an inaudible spell to magic away any sort of trouble it would have given him. “Thank you, Bilba. That should still it for the moment.” And without any defiant utterance from the wallet whatsoever, Gandalf reached in and pulled out the very key he said would be there.
“Aha! What say you, Thorin?” Gandalf pressed, twirling the key between his fingers.
Thorin crossed his arms, seeming to grow tired of Gandalf consistently proving himself right. “Well, let’s go find their hidden cave then,” he conceded. He then called out some orders, and everyone was ready to begin their search.
They trekked up a hill towards an outcropping of rock, where Gandalf assured them must lay the entrance to the troll’s horde, seeing as it was close enough to escape to at the first notice of dawn.
“Maybe they have food stored away!” Ori said with a wistful rub of his stomach.
“If there is any, we would want no part of it—it’s a troll horde! Half of it would be spoiled rotten and the other half would be…well, we would want no part of it,” Dori lectured.
“Nonsense, Master Dori,” Gandalf said, “Trolls can be very reasonable eaters, when they are not eating you or me. I’m sure we can find something in there to munch on.”
At that, everyone started to search the rocks a little more diligently, some of the dwarves going as far as procuring chisels and tools to test the thickness of the stone.
It was Bilba’s hunger that championed in the end, calling to attention a peculiar jagged crack that may or may not have been similar to the seam of a door meeting a frame.
“Proving her worth already,” Balin said, clapping Bilba on her shoulder.
Bilba hardly paid any mind to the fact that she almost buckled under the force of his gesture, for she was overtaken by a giddy rush that someone as revered as Balin had such a positive light to cast on her.
Gandalf inserted the key into the proper place, and with a promising click and a big push, the stone formed a door and swung inward.
It was a wonder any of them decided to enter after a sickening smell curled into their nostrils, ten times worse than the stink of the sacks they were kept in or William’s fat fingers even. Bilba nearly gagged at how putrid it was, and she guarded her face in the crook of her sleeve.
“Here, Ms. Baggins,” Thorin choked out, eyes watering. He offered her a torn sheath of cloth, covering his own mouth with one as well.
Bilba convinced herself it was a handkerchief and accepted it gladly with a thank you and a muffled “It’s Bilba.”
He ignored her though, and ventured to the back of the cave, treading with caution across the floor littered with bones and discarded clothing (from victims, no doubt).
Bilba glanced around, clasping the cloth around her mouth and nose. There definitely wasn’t much of value to be seen, unless you counted the barrels of gold coins pushed against the walls that Gloin, Bofur, and Nori were studiously inspecting.
Bofur was sifting through them all, watching in awe as the pieces slipped past his fingers to clink against hundreds more below. Nori bit one, and gave an affirmative nod to say that indeed, the gold was real.
“There must be six-hundred per barrel, at least!” Gloin accounted, “Nori, get a shovel.”
Bilba heard them mention something about a “long-term deposit” before she spotted Bombur making a mad dash for some shelves. She hurried to follow suit, assuming that he noticed where the food must be kept. Her assumptions were proven correct, and she and Bombur admired the sloppy array of bread, cheese, and bacon—that which hadn’t rotted, that is.
“There’s even ale too!” Bombur cried out, on the verge of happy tears. Bilba could feel herself getting just as emotional; it had been over half a day since her last meal, after all.
“Bombur,” Bilba looked up at him in earnest, “let’s start cooking.”
Both of them carried armfuls of fresh vittles out of the cave, being careful not to drop a crumb so as to conserve every bite.
“I say we make nice, hearty sandwiches,” Bilba babbled, “We fry the bacon, toast the bread, melt the cheese on top—fill us right up.”
Bombur licked his lips expectantly. “I say you’re right! I’ll get Oin to start a fire for us. I’m wearing my pack so I have all my pots and pans with me as well.”
It didn’t take long for the stench of the troll horde to be overpowered by the salivating aroma of Bilba and Bombur’s sandwiches. All the others started to gather round, placing their orders and waiting their turn. Bilba nibbled in content at her third sandwich as she tended to frying the bacon, merely nodding at the compliments the dwarves thrust at her.
“I knew you two were the perfect pair,” Bofur moaned through a worthy mouthful.
Bombur rapped him lightly with his spatula, his cheeks coloring.
After nearly everyone had finished, Gandalf and Thorin exited the cave, the last ones to do so. In their hands they carried swords with jeweled hilts, catching everyone’s attentions immediately.
“Ah, these blades were at the back of the cave,” Gandalf explained.
“There were mainly simple weapons to be found, but there are always diamonds in the rough,” Thorin said, unsheathing his own sword so that all could admire the craftsmanship.
“Aye, a fine blade,” Balin admitted, “though it looks a might bit elvish in make.”
At this Thorin recoiled and his grip on the weapon loosened, but Gandalf advised him against being a fool and abandoning a perfectly good sword. In the end, he kept it, and it served him well for as long as he had it.
Thorin then brandished another weapon, a sheathed knife from the looks of it, and this he carried to Bilba. She hurried to gulp down the large bite of sandwich she had been savoring and flushed as she rubbed her face free of any lingering food.
“I like my burglars to be armed,” Thorin said as he presented the knife to her. He had seen it and thought of her immediately, relieved that there was now a way Ms. Baggins could protect herself should he be unable; he held himself responsible for her fate, as he did with every member of the Company of course.
Bilba took it with wide eyes; though it made a knife for a man, it was as good as a short sword for a hobbit.
“But I’ve never…used a sword,” she murmured, running her fingers along the sheath.
Balin chuckled. “It’s not really a sword, more of a letter-opener.”
Well, letter-openers are still sharp and pointy, she thought with concern. “I won’t have to use it, will I?”
“Hopefully not,” said Gandalf, “but it never hurts to be prepared.”
“You’ll only have to resort to it if you drop your scissors again,” Kili teased. And at this they all laughed, Bilba included, though she felt rather silly. At least they were all looking back at the whole troll incident with light hearts and didn’t harbor any resentment towards her causing them to get captured.
Bilba frowned. That reminded her. She had something she needed to attend to.
Bombur took over in making Gandalf and Thorin sandwiches, so Bilba was freed to search for a certain dwarf. Glancing around, she found Dwalin leaning against a tree sharpening his axes. Pushing herself up, Bilba dusted off any dirt and dust and made her way over to him. He didn’t look up at first, leaving Bilba to rock back and forth on her heels till Dwalin sighed and acknowledged her.
“What do you want?” he growled, eyes flitting to her for a moment before returning to focus on his work.
Bilba cleared her throat, then wrung her hands in her skirt. She was struggling to find the words, and was having a difficult time at deciding where to begin. Dwalin noticed her hesitation, and looked back at her to see her face turn a pure red as she cast her eyes to the ground.
He frowned, not liking where this was going. “Spit it out then,” his voice rumbled.
“I…well, I was wondering, Master Dwalin, that is, if perchance by some chance you happened to maybe have a…well…to maybe have an extra pair of trousers? For me to wear, you see,” she rushed to add.
Dwalin nearly dropped his axe, and he stared at her incredulously. His cheeks began to grow ruddy themselves, and he only noticed that his mouth had fallen open once he moved to speak. “In Mahal’s name, why are you asking me?”
Bilba blinked at him, hands fluttering about in disarray before having them settle and tug at the faded green hood and cloak she currently donned; the set that none other than Dwalin had loaned her.
He rolled his eyes as he forced a groan. “So what, am I your tailor now?”
Bilba continued to grope at her skirt in a fitful fashion. “Certainly not!” she assured. “You had just been so free to lend to me before that I thought maybe you had plenty to spare. And perhaps possibly you could spare an extra pair of trousers so that I wouldn’t have any more, well, you see, any more…episodes…similar to earlier…with—with the trolls.”
Bilba didn’t dare meet Dwalin’s eyes, irritating him considerably. She only stared at her skirt, fiddling with it this way and that. He didn’t even know what it was that had her so disturbed!
“What are you even talking abou—” and it hit him. Her skirt. The episode with the skirt—or deficiency of the skirt in that particular case. Dwalin tensed up, squeezing his arms tight to his sides and clenching his jaw. What was he supposed to say now? He didn’t want to deal with this! As determined as Bilba was to not look at him, he was now just as determined to avoid this as well.
“Does anyone have an extra pair of trousers for the hobbit?” he found himself blurting loudly.
He noticed Bilba freeze. It probably wasn’t a very tactful way to present the issue, but at least it wasn’t his problem anymore. All the other dwarves had already jarred to a halt to turn in wonder at the two of them. In no time at all someone would pluck the problem away.
“Sorry…what?” Oin asked, readjusting his ear trumpet.
“You heard me!” Dwalin said, folding his arms across his chest and scowling, “The lass wants some trousers! Anyone got some?”
Bilba simply buried her head in her hands and shrunk into herself. It had been a terrible mistake to ask Dwalin.
Nori snapped his fingers. “Ohh, is this because of the whole exposing your knickers thing?”
A terrible, terrible mistake.
“Nori, you ass! Of course that’s what it is!” Dwalin growled. “Now, someone fit the hobbit with some trousers!” And with that, he hoisted up all his axes and trudged towards a tree far, far away. He most assuredly thought it an excellent maneuver on his part.
Nobody said anything, but there was a good deal of coughing and beard scratching. It reached a point that Bilba couldn’t take it any longer. “Oh would someone just please lend me some slacks!”
All the dwarves looked at one another uncomfortably, shuffling their feet. Who would be the one to offer their trousers? Nobody volunteered.
Bilba heaved an exasperated sigh. Propriety was about to fly right out the metaphorical window and it looked like she would be the one to throw it. “Fine then. Ori!”
Ori squeaked in response.
“You’re nearest my size, so your fit might be closest to mine. Do you have any you’d be willing to lend?”
Ori turned to Dori in sheer mortification, silently begging his brother to answer for him, but unfortunately for him (and everyone else as well), the wrong brother responded to his pleas.
“Come on, Ori! Be a good sport and let Bilba get into your pants!” Nori sang out.
There was only a moment’s pause between Nori’s lewd comment and Dori punching him square in the stomach, leaving him gasping for air.
“Please excuse Nori, Bilba—I’ll be sure to talk some manners into him,” said Dori, though there was a forced sweetness to his words that suggested he had something a bit more physical than “talking” in mind. He then yanked Nori by the ear and dragged him away to commence his lecture without disrupting anyone.
I’m sure more than one dwarf would have liked to see how that conversation went, if only to escape their present discomfort. Dropped jaws had been a collective reaction to the whole debacle, and dropped they remained and went lower still when Thorin Oakenshield himself was the one to clear his throat and say:
“Ms. Baggins, as it looks like there aren’t any other offers, I will accommodate your request.”
Bilba would have liked to gawk at him, as the other dwarves were doing all too freely, but she felt that it would be rude of her since he was being so charitable.
“Just Bilba, if you please,” she began hastily, “But I—well, I thank you, Thorin. But…I—I couldn’t possibly!”
Thorin frowned at her. “And why not?”
Yes, why not? What were her reservations about this? It’s because he’s a king, she told herself. She couldn’t deprive a king of his clothes!
“You’re a—you’re a king!” Bilba faltered.
“And a king should provide for his people,” Thorin stated firmly.
Now Bilba gawked.
She quickly folded her arms and turned up her head. “Well then, I suppose there’s no arguing against you when you’re this set on something—you’re exceedingly stubborn, after all. Very well, I accept and appreciate your generosity.”
The other dwarves tried their best to hide their amusement at this turn of events, and succeeded on Bilba’s behalf only. Thorin however recognized their dimpling faces for what they were and glowered them into submission; he didn’t approve of what they were insinuating.
Gandalf looked downright delighted with himself, and muttered into his pipe something about smoke rings, though he failed to puff any on account of being unable to keep his lips pursed with all his chuckling.
After everyone calmed down, they realized just how tired they all were with full stomachs and evenings empty of rest, so they doused the fire, packed what leftover food they could, retrieved Dori, Nori, and Dwalin, and trailed their way back to the original campsite. A nap was a much needed repose, and they did nothing more till long into midday.