Chapter Text
It was then that our Bilbo Baggins life was officially changed. You see, he had just walked back into Bag End, hefting two large harvest baskets full of tomatoes, strawberries, onions and other things. The front pocket of his cream shirt (visible now as he had unbuttoned his waist coat) was stuffed with basil and rosemary, his face was red and glistening with beads of sweat, his sleeves were rolled up to the elbow and his large hands were still dirty despite the gloves. Utterly unpresentable by hobbit standards, to say the least. But it was still only three-forty, and he had thought that he would have plenty of time still to go wash up before his friend arrived. Unfortunately for him, almost as soon as he closed the door he heard a knock on it.
“Good heavens!” He jumped, and looked horrified at his own door. Gandalf was early, it would seem, and becoming all too aware of his appearance Bilbo looked around wildly for a few seconds despairing before finally grumbling in defeat and going to open the door with haste. If it were, say, Lobelia or any other proper hobbit he would have much more to worry about, but since it was Gandalf, his appearance weighed a little less on his mind and he would not leave him waiting on the doorstep just for something like the state of his clothing.
“Gandalf, I'm sorry to keep you waiting and you must forgive my mess, you're very early you know!” He said as he swung it open with a smile. To his complete and utter surprise, it was not Gandalf who was waiting just outside the door. Instead of a familiar grey robe he was met only with the sight of a large green hood, ornate with small embroidered geometric patterns without being especially extravagant. In fact, it would be difficult to spot the pattern at all from a distance, as the threads color was only slightly off from the color of the cloth. He looked up, mouth having parted in surprise at the figure. From under the shadowed hood a beard jutted out, parted in two, streaked with a few strands of grey, and very piercing grey eyes stared unabashedly at the hobbit from the darkness. A dwarf.
Bilbo was hit with many many different feelings and thoughts all at once. One thing being for certain in summary of them- that all of them at once rendered our Mr. Baggins rather speechless, in not knowing which one to settle on.
The first feeling, if it could be translated into thought, was: This is not Gandalf at all, and I look too horrid to be in front of an unfamiliar guest- this is AWFUL. To him, the natural hobbity first reaction to having an unexpected guest, dwarf or not. And yes he went rather red in cheek and ear at the heightened awareness of his appearance, something like embarrassment creeping into his chest, making him stutter and fidget with the end of his unbuttoned waistcoat. So much for first impressions.
The second was: I've never seen a dwarf before! And truly he was filled with a sense of awe at the novelty, drinking up the sight of difference and foreignness that looked too stooping and dark against the backdrop of the Shire in the afternoon.
The third was the sharp and cold spike of fear. As far as first, or third, impressions went the stranger exuded a very intimidating one indeed. Especially when the dwarf, with no hesitation or breaking of eye contact, stepped into his home with such seriousness that it was impossible not to think: intruder! His mind went briefly to Lobelias earlier words. ‘Criminals! Thieves and ruffians!’ She had said. And even though he had denied such accusations he found himself thinking that there was a possibility that this dwarf had pushed their way inside with no permission to ransack Bilbo's childhood home, which he was already very protective off.
The dwarf, whose name is Dwalin, managed to be just as surprised with the host, despite him being the one who knocked on the door. Bilbo smelled heavily of the Market- that is to say, of homely and delicious food. He stared at the round, soft face of the hobbit, at the redness of its freckled cheeks, at its harvest basket of plump fruits and vegetables, its pockets overflowing with random greens, its sun hat (which had some flowers stuck onto it), its jittering nervous hands, wide eyes and dirty knees from food-growing and had only the distinct and condemning thought of: useless and there has been a mistake.
In fact, he turned his head to look at the outside of the still-open door to see if it was perhaps him who made the error. But no, it was right there clear as day. The eraborian rune for the ‘g’ sound. Gandalf's scrawled initial, in the writing of Dwalins people, could not be mistaken. He turned his head back to his host and decided not to question it. Instead he grabbed the edge of the round door and stepped forward deeper into the smial to close it behind him, practically yanking the door away from Bilbo's own hold on it.
“Dwalin, at your service,” he grumbled with a deep baritone, and bowed deeply.
“Er… Bilbo Baggins, at yours…” he managed, but still a little dumbstruck. He had banished the thought of ‘thief and ruffian’ as soon as he was bowed to and given an introduction, and he now only looked him over with all the curiosity of a sheltered soul. After all, thieves do not humbly introduce themselves to their targets.
‘At your service, genteel hobbit, I will be having a look around your home and taking whatever I deem valuable. Pray you don't mind or I'm afraid I'd have to cut you all to pieces.’
‘Oh no, do go ahead, Master Dwarf, as long as you take off your boots at the door.’
The exchange in his head would've been enough to make himself laugh had he not been so preoccupied with running his eyes over this new creature. Dwalin had put down his large pack with a loud thump then taken off his hood and hung it on one of the many hooks lined up on Bilbo's wall, exposing his forearms. He could see that they were covered in numerous scars, some noticeably more recent, deep red slashes layered over faded white lines. The clothing he wore under his hood were traveler's garb, thick and simple material that, layered, clung to him with the ease of something familiar and well worn. And with the hood now removed the hobbit could also see that his head was completely bare on the top, unusual for dwarves, and that etched into the skin there were intricate blue symbols. An enigma to a hobbit, who had never before seen tattoos in the flesh. Dwalin turned to face his host again to see that he was still being gawked at by the little creature. It made his hackles rise and he grunted to get its attention. It shook its head as if trying to gather up all it's stampeding thoughts and come back to the situation at hand.
“You, you, are a traveler then? An adventurer?” Bilbo stuttered, rather dumbly, as he was still recovering from the intrusion.
The dwarf furrowed his brow. Was that a trick question? He was of the mind that this hobbit was very much in the loop already. And in asking this question, he must be a bit dim, forgetful or still too shocked to think clearly. All very bad impressions. Dwalin also felt surprised at being called something like an ‘adventurer’, which sounded somehow too childish and storybook. As if this whole business was a thing very much to do for fun instead of duty. Reclaimers was a more fitting word. People who would walk a thousand miles just to fall to their knees at the door of their lost home.
“Why else would a’ be here, Master Hobbit?” he said sharply, his thick accent giving Bilbo the impression of rocks being scrapped and tumbled together in a not altogether unpleasant sound, and he looked around Bilbo's hobbit hole with a neutral expression. At least, it would be known as a neutral expression to those who knew him. To Bilbo it looked more like a scowl and he wondered what could be wrong with his home and what could have been wrong with what he said.
“Oh, Ahem, well, of course then. Can I help you then? Or… is there a reason you're, er, here, that is?” he wrung his hands, not knowing what it was that was expected of him and bubbling over with anxiety because of it.
“Supper,” the dwarrow said very simply, and again wondering if he would be forced to spell everything out. “He said there would be lots.”
“He? He who?”
At this, Dwalin reached behind himself to unclasp his battle axes from his back. They were made of heavy steel, identical in every way save for the engraved geometric runes on their heads, which Bilbo could see through his own reflection in the metal. Dwalin swung them with ease to his sides, the weight only an extension to him, which caused Bilbo to let out both a small high pitched whimper and also stare in wonder at the skill and familiarity of the motion. The dwarf then set them down heavily by the door, the sound of the steel hitting the wood floor echoing through the hobbits halls. He didn't answer him, only grunted in annoyance and hunger. This was enough to get the message across. Bilbo had the fleeting thought that this dwarf reminded him very much of Lobelia.
Sufficiently intimidated, Mr. Baggins smiled nervously and squeaked out a strained “...right. I've made cake, do come in and I'll put on the kettle and start on a proper meal,”
It seemed that Bilbo had finally provided the dwarf with a satisfactory answer. Dwalin made a sound of approval and followed Bilbo into the east hall and to the dining room, where he was seated to wait while he disappeared into the entrance of the kitchen to smother the top of the cooled cake with lemon icing. His harvest baskets were set neatly on the large wooden table and once he brought out the cake for his guest, along with two pies and a plate of nut muffins, he also moved to put the kettle on for tea. Dwalin could hear the clinking and clunking of pans from the dining room.
“Might I ask where you hail from, Master Dwalin?” Came the curious question above the racket.
“West,” he said. And then after a few moments of consideration, “East.” The cake was very very good.
“Well, which is it then?” Bilbo poked his head through the entrance with amusement, one hand holding half of a green tomato and the other a knife. It seemed his curiosity had taken over now, and Dwalins intimidation tactics did not stick for very long. “Can't be both at once! Unless I've been wrong all these years and East and West are actually synonyms for the same direction.”
“Born East. Moved West. Now’m here,” he answered with a mouth full of cake, crumbs falling into his beard and onto the table.
“Ah, I see,” the hobbit said and disappeared again, the sound of chopping resuming. “Why the move? East too hot for you?”
The sounds of loud chewing stilled, then came: “Too hot for anyone, Master Baggins.”
The tone of the reply was not registered by our Bilbo who was busy washing his face. “Oh, well, we all have our preferences, I suppose.” It was then that the kettle let out its shrill alarm. “That'll be the water!” The hobbit said and went to quiet it.
When he came back into the dining room he was carrying set of tea on a tray. On it also was a large plate of sliced red tomatoes that were dripping with olive oil and herbs, topped with a soft and pillowy cheese of the like that Dwalin had not seen before.
“I hope that Black tea is acceptable,” he chirped when he set the cup down in front of him.
“Mm,” Dwalin hummed and immediately dumped his half-eaten muffin into the drink to then pop into his mouth. The hobbit took that as a yes and happily set the rest of the things down onto the table.
Dwalin eyed the tomatoes and cheese with suspicion, as if it wasn't suitable for dwarven consumption. He went to cautiously pick one up but then noticed that his host had not immediately hopped back into the other room and had instead taken to standing still and watching him like he was some sort of animal to ogle at a zoo, hands fiddling unconsciously with the apron he had tied around its waist. His waistcoat was rebuttoned and his face and hands were clean, even his wild curls were patted down in an attempt to control them. It seemed that he had tried to make himself just a bit more presentable in what little time he was in his kitchen. And now he looked to be bursting with held-back questions. It made Dwalin uncomfortable and he retracted his hand from the plate with a grunt.
“What?” Dwalin barked.
“I, ah, It's just that, I wasn't expecting you-” he stood clucking, eyes not darting this way and that. It seemed he had settled enough now to think a bit more clearly. “You are with Gandalf?”
Dwalin slowly looked around the dining room and then turned back to Bilbo.
“Not currently,” he said and took a gulp of his tea, the cup too dainty in his scarred hands.
The hobbit laughed, the sound like a wooden wind chime, having been once again caught completely off guard with the humor, and pleased as well, as he had taken it as a confirmation. It made sense to him, that Gandalf had something to do with this- and he was not also less on edge knowing that this stranger had some sort of purpose and connection to him in being in his home. If Gandalf had vouched for him, Bilbo would no longer feel to be in any danger. With it too came his willingness to lean into his curiosity. He opened his mouth as if to ask another question, much to Dwalins exasperation.
It was then, to Dwalins relief, that another set of loud banging echoed throughout the smial. Bilbo glanced at a clock that had been fashioned to the wall. Four.
“That should be him now!” - “That'll be the door.”
They both said at the same time. Bilbo scurried out into his hallway towards his entrance room and with him gone Dwalin went back to cautiously eyeing the tomatoes.
When he reached the door, adjusting his waistcoat for the fifth time, Bilbo swung it open saying, “Right on time!” But it was not Gandalf. It was another dwarf! This one looked even older than Dwalin, their beard having gone completely white and much longer. It was also parted in the middle, but it's fullness made it completely different. The ends swirled up, almost whimsically. He was taller than Bilbo but not quite as tall as Dwalin, who he had to crane his neck up to see.
“Balin, at your service!” He greeted and bowed. Balin, Bilbo noticed, seemed much more amiable than Dwalin and smiled at his host good-naturedly before stepping inside without prompting.
“Thank you,” he replied incorrectly, forgetting his own manners and stepping back to give Balin room to come in. He studied him with renewed surprise and wonder. To think, now he had two dwarrow in his smial! What a novelty. Besides his actions and the fact that he was a dwarf, it was also obvious that Balin was a traveling with Dwalin because of his hood. It was of identical style, embroidered patterns and all, except for the fact that it was red and cut for Balins size, which was smaller and rounder and altogether shaped like a potential friend.
Bilbo was hit with the thought that this dwarf seemed like one who would have the patience to explain everything to him clearly, and he became excited to ask.
“I see they have begun to arrive already,” Balin said as he hung up his hood, revealing his halo of white hair, very kind small eyes and a large red nose. He calmly unclasped the sheath of a sword from his hip to set it down by his and Dwalins bags. The blade was still hidden but Bilbo could see that it's silhouette was very strange. Its shape was striking and star-like on top, and made him think that it was some symbol that belonged on a flag or family crest. Its handle was very long, its groves of intersecting leather bands tightly woven and ending with a heavy copper shape.
“They?” Bilbo squawked, eyes wide. The more time went on the more cross he was becoming with Gandalf. To think that his friend had gone and invited not one, not two but possibly even three or more of his traveling companions to supper in Bilbo's own home without giving Bildo even a word of warning to properly prepare for them. Leaving him to flounder about last minute, without any idea of how many were coming or how much food to make. “How many-”
He was interrupted by Dwalin, who had stepped into the entrance hall when he heard Balins voice. Dwalins lips and beard looked to have some oil and herbs on them, remnants of tomatoes past. The older dwarf smiled at him.
“Ha, ha! Evening, brother! I see you’ve begun stuffing yourself already, has it already begun?” Balin said with a twinkle in his eye and chastising voice.
“Has what begun?” Bilbo cut in, physically unable to stop himself from blurting out whatever question came into his mind.
The brothers ignored him.
“By my beard! It has not been long since I’ve last seen you, brother, and yet you are still shorter and wider than last we met,” Dwalins face, which Bilbo had begun to believe was set into a permanent scowl, broke into a very wide smile. It made him look exponentially more friendly and warm. Suddenly Bilbo could see the resemblance between the two, where before he could only register their differences. Dwalin walked towards the other dwarf with arms outstretched for an embrace. Balin went forward similarly into it.
“Wider maybe, but not shorter. At least I’ve kept my brains- I need enough for the both of us, seeing as you don’t have any!”
They hugged and gripped each others shoulders very firmly before bashing their foreheads together with such force Bildo thought that it was a wonder that either of them had any brains left in them at all! They laughed amicably and with much obvious brotherly love that his very presence felt an intrusion. Bilbo could only look at them in wonder, standing under the entranceway to the east hall, two foreign and travel-worn figures plucked from the strangeness of the outside world and set down right in his home. It felt very much like watching the scene of a book or story play out right in front of him, a very elaborate play, of which he was asked to act a part in but had never received a script.
Bilbo clucked and fumbled just outside their conversational reach, looking for a proper moment to intercede and perhaps ask Balin to clarify a few things for him like: Where is Gandalf? How many are there in your party? How long will you be staying? Where are you going? Where do you come from and do not just say ‘West’? The opportunity never came. The brothers went back and forth without stopping, the conversation easy like a strong and steady river, and Bilbo could not swim. Without breaking their words they both simultaneously walked further down the east hall and towards the pantry. Did they share a brain? That without communicating it both their bodies fell into step and went forth with a purpose that they both were aware of without having to voice it? He went after them, feeling very out of place in his own home.
“Have you eaten?” Dwalin asked his brother as they stepped into the large pantry (It was bigger than Bilbo's own guest rooms.)
“Um, excuse me, actually I’m making dinner so you don’t have to-”
“Some but I could certainly eat again, oh would you look at that, that looks fresh,” Balin said picking up a large tray of bread that Bilbo had made himself, the crust was a perfect golden brown.
“Actually, its my pantry so, I do think it should be up to me, er, ahem, you are my guests, after all, and really I would be much more comfortable if you allowed me too-”
“What’s this then?” Dwalin said picking something up that Bilbo couldn’t see. Balin turned to the other dwarf and sniffed.
“I’m not sure, Dwalin, I think it might be cheese. It’s gone blue.”
“Riddled with mold,”
The block of cheese went flying and Bilbo ducked, nearly hit in the face. He huffed in offense, rather overwhelmed at his lack of control, the unintended assault and the continued disdain. He also gave up the hope he had of Balin explaining things to him, at least not now when his brother, who he cared for more than a stranger and who he had not seen in a good while, was here. Yes, the more he observed them together the more he was convinced that Balin was very much like Dwalin, only with a friendlier face and a couple more words. And obviously, words meant less to them than action- so Bilbo only went around them, grabbing as many things as he could put into a large crate and scurrying off into the kitchen and out of reach so that he might actually have things to make a hot meal with.
It was rather a lot like a race, for they had begun also to balance and grab as many already-made items as possible to take to the dining room. Whenever Bildo rushed by them, to grab another crate from the pantry as fast as a rabbit, he heard broken pieces of conversation.
“...he’s rather fast!”
“...should be joining us with the Urs, soon as he gets back from…”
“... the portents don’t guarantee…”
“... ot our only problem, lest we forget the echoes of the presence of drago…”
“...ill it up, then, if we’re going to start drinking already!”
They had managed to roll his very large barrel of ale into the dining room as well, and were filling up their mugs. Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief when he looked around his kitchen and saw that he had managed to steal (he reminded himself that this was his own food) a good bit, and that he would have enough in here for ten dwarves and himself! Which should be much more than enough, unless he was gravely mistaken, which he was. He opened his window to let in the breeze, knowing that once he started his cooking that it would get very hot. There he was, chopping, slicing, dicing and just beginning his stir frying, when he heard fists pounding on his door once again.
He turned off the stove top and rushed into this entrance hall again to open the door. On his way he caught another snippet from Balin and Dwalin.
“What is this?” Balin said, probably about the tomatoes. “To eat just like that?”
“It's not entirely bad,” he heard Dwalin say quietly. Not entirely bad indeed.
Gandalf for certain this time, he hoped more than believed, quite incorrectly, as he puffed along the passage and gripped the golden doorknob. Outside, were two more dwarrow, clad in the same style hood that he had seen on Dwalin and Balin. They both wore the same light blue color, and instead of subtle embroidery the geometric patterns were threaded with shining silver. Compared to the others before them, they looked very young and bright eyed. Bilbo could not bring himself to be surprised at the lack of wizard this time.
“What can I do for you, my dwarves?” he asked with an amused smile and raised eyebrow as he leaned against his green door in defeat, already knowing what was coming.
“Fili,”
“And Kili-”
“At your service!” they both said together cheerfully, bowing deep and letting down their hoods. The hobbit appraised them, now that he could get a proper look. They were like the sun and moon, both shining brightly but with different lights.
“At yours and your family’s.” Bilbo replied properly and stepped back so that they might enter, assuming that they would also not ask for permission. The boys smiled at each other and then at him as they entered without permission (at least, without hobbit permission, for by the standards of the dwarrow, Bilbo’s body language had waved them eagerly inside).
“We sure hope you will be, Mister Boggins!” said Kili cryptically, who had very dark hair and the shortest beard that Bilbo had ever seen on a dwarf (not that he had seen many), which he presumed meant that he was especially young. His hair sported no ornament save for a silver clip on the back of his head that pulled back those long strands that would’ve fallen into his face. Somehow, he looked rather undwarflike.
“It’s Baggins, actually, Bilbo Baggins,” he corrected and waved a hand at his wall of many hooks for them to hang up their hoods.
“You see, I told you it was Baggins! I specifically heard Gandalf say it, you just never listen,” Fili said, rather triumphant that he was right, and with no real venom in his voice. Kili whined in reply, as little brothers were wont to do. (Brothers, Bilbo assumed, by their similar names.)
Filis long golden hair was braided in front to keep it away from his eyes, as was his mustache- which would not have gotten in his eyes, but the braids were still very fetching. The beads in them clinked together as he and his brother shrugged off their hoods and set down their things with noisy clangs. The clothing underneath was not so travel worn or used like Balin and Dwalins. In fact, they looked clean and new.
Kili set down a bow, quiver of arrows and simple sword. Fili, however, seemed covered head to toe in weapons. First, dual swords, strapped together in an intricately made beautiful leather sheath, were set on a table. Then, a very large warhammer, shaped into the geometric pattern of dwarrow aesthetic, and seeming to Bilbo like some sort of very important weapon. And then two throwing axes of the kind that he had never before seen even in his stories.
“Is that all?” Bilbo smiled, eyeing the handles he could still see on an inside pocket of Filis clothes.
“Oh well, just a few knives, I don't mind keeping on me, Mister Baggins,” he said diplomatically.
“I'll be having none of that, now. You are here to rest before going back on your way aren't you? I'll not be having you armed in my home. There is no perilous danger here yet, Master Fili, and the only knives you'll be needing tonight are the kind used for eating!” he cheerily insisted.
Fili paused to think on his words for a few moments, apparently not expecting to be parted from all of his weapons. Kili, for some reason, also looked hesitant. But with a look at Mister Baggins very serious face, and with a couple other thoughts, Fili nodded his head and, sporting a defeated smile, drew his knives out to place them, very carefully and with much hesitation, on the table. The were very beautiful blades. The wooden handles perfectly smooth, their shining gradient ending in a polished metal pommel that displayed a prominent and important-looking rune.
Bilbo gave him a satisfied smile and watched as the boys looked around with curious eyes that trailed all through his entrance hall.
“You have a lovely home, Mr. Baggins!” Kili said, sounding very much like he was trying to be polite like he was told and rehearsed.
“A great smelling one too, could smell dinner halfway down the road and it was making our mouths water,” Fili nodded in a similar matter as his brother.
These two are trouble , Bilbo thought with a smile and not at all thinking that it was an entirely bad thing.
“Thank you, I would ask you not to trail mud through it,” he looked down at their boots, which were considerably more dirty than Dwalin or Balins. Had they gone through his garden? “Have you gone straight through my garden?!” he asked, unable to contain either his question (as usual), or the horror in his voice at the thought of his destroyed marigolds.
“Err...” Fili looked down at both their sets of boots in surprise. Either they had not even noticed or they did but didn’t know that it was a wrong thing to do. Kili stared at Fili in alarm, relying on his brother to save both their skins. They were saved instead by Dwalin who had poked his head in from the hall; he was carrying two chairs in each arm.
“Boys, come give us a hand!” he called. “Join the throng and get to work, now that you’re here.”
“Mister Dwalin!” they gratefully cheered and quickly took up the excuse to extricate themselves from their predicament. Bilbo let out an ‘oh dear’ as they pushed by him to take up Dwalin's chairs and bury themselves under his arms to replace them. Dwalin put a hand on both their shoulders with informality and guided them down the hall and out of sight.
Throng! The word worried him. A throng was a crowd. More than six, if you counted himself and Gandalf, and that was getting dangerously close to the limit of his pantry. Not to mention that a hobbit was worth at least three dwarrow when it came to food consumption. He had the dawning realization that there might be the possibility of him having to go without to feed his unexpected guests. The thought was acutely distressing but he put it out of his mind as not to feel even more overwhelmed than he already did, which was quite a lot.
Mister Boggins (Baggins, excuse me), stepped out his door for a few moments to investigate his garden. Bootprints were left imprinted clearly on his dark soil all around his yard and leading towards his front door. They hadn’t done any considerable damage to the flora but his cobblestone path and steps were streaked with mud, and the grass was upturned like a pack of dogs had gone sniffing and digging through it. Not unfixable but he still took pride in the state of his garden. It had also been his father's and seeing it so messy made him exceptionally nervous, as he could not go about fixing it now. Hamfast will be very disappointed if he got to seeing it. And if Bungo was also alive he would have been very upset, which in turn meant that Belladonna would be out for blood. Bilbo was all of these at once.
Still, he only stepped back into his smial and stomped towards the kitchen, unwilling to let such a diversion stop him from feeding his dwarrow properly. On his way, he also took a very full mug of ale for himself, needing it quite desperately. They cheered when he did, clapping hands on his soft back and complimenting his brew. Now with four dwarrow, the conversation had become very loud. He listened with interest at their friendly words with each other while he fried the green tomatoes, and whipped together a creamy sauce in the other room. It was hard for him to understand what they were talking about. They mentioned many places with strange names, and people who he did not know. Every once and awhile one of them, likely Fili or Kili, would become indistinguishable, their words twisting in excitement and dipping into their accents too quickly for Bilbo to pick up. When this happened they would be quickly quieted and told ‘You’re not at home, are you? You are in the house of an outsider and you will speak the outsiders words.’
He gathered also that this was Fili and Kili’s first adventure from an early snippet:
“Oh, hello, boys, don’t you look like proper princes, in those clothes? Look at that. Dis made them for you new before you left, did she? Turn around, let me see all of it,”
With this cooing came the shuffling of bashful feet and protests at being coddled in voices that didn’t actually seem to mind very much.
“You look like your father and mother so much- so brave and young,” such a grandfatherly tone could only come from Balin. “Feels like I only just saw you as little pebbles and now you’re all grown!”
“Balin, please, don’t cry- Durins name, we’ve only just got here!”
“Aye, I remember showing you how to hold a sword at only fourteen, and now you’ll be cleaving goblins all by yourself,” said Dwalin. “Mighty proud, I am.”
“Dwalin, not you too, oof- ” there was the sound of Dwalins hand clapping Fili in the chest in an affectionate attack. “ Thank you.”
Their host listened to their chatting like he would music. Somehow, he left very much less alone with the sound of their dwarven voices filling his halls and making the place much less desolate and quiet. Even if he was talking to no one and out of sight of everyone, he didn’t feel lonely at all. It was when Bilbo had entered the dining room again, bringing with him balanced plates of beef hand pies, roasted wild mushrooms and fried green tomatoes that he heard banging again. The dwarrow had been starting at the plates with surprise and wondering if hobbits had some sort of food magic that allowed them to whip up meals out of thin air. Bilbo laughed but did not answer them directly to leave them wondering.
When the banging came the dwarves listened with intent.
“Sounds like there’s four at the door,” said Balin with certainty.
“ Four more?!” Bilbo said, a mixture of both despair and excitement. And how could they possibly know how many were at the door in the first place
“Might be the Brothers Ri! We saw them out in the distance behind us when we were walking up the hill and could see further,”
“We’d av stopped to wait for them but then we smelled Mister Bilbo’s cooking and found ourselves racing up the hill to the house fast we can instead!” Fili said around his mouthful of mushrooms and beef pie.
“That’ll explain the state of my garden then,” he said to himself, imagining the brothers jumping over his fence in an attempt to make it to his door faster. “Have you still not taken off your boots?!”
They had not, and all their shuffling had ground dirt into the carpet. They guiltily handed their boots over to Bilbo so that he could go put them by the door and when he disappeared out into the hallway the conversation picked back up again.
“How did he make all this?” Balin sounded impressed.
“Fried patties ? ” a crunching sound from Kili. “Its more tomato! ” the deception was palpable. How could Mister Bilbo do this to him?
“Mahal, it's not even ripe!” Fili studied one for himself.
“...actually it’s very good,” another crunching sound.
“Hm!” came Dwalin’s victorious grumble, directed towards a disbelieving Balin.
He set the dirty boots down in a clean corner, while the banging continued to reverberate in his sensitive ears. “Coming! Coming! Do have patience!” he shouted and threw open the door, hoping to all that is good that this would be the last batch. Any more and there wouldn’t be enough food at all. It was not four dwarrow at all, but FIVE. Another had joined the throng (and throng it now was), while he was confiscating the ili’s shoes.
He hadn’t even fully opened the door before they all pushed to come inside, chatting amongst themselves and adjusting their hoods. One of them, a proud looking dwarf with perfectly braided and put together white hair and full beard, ahemed very loudly so that the others quieted down.
“Dori, at your service, Master Baggins, of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield,” he bowed. “With me are Nori ( At your service ), Ori ( At your service ), Oin (... huh? ), and Gloin ( At your service. )”
Bilbo blinked at Dori and the rest, not expecting such regal formality and at a loss on how to respond to it and wondering if he was already supposed to know who Thorin Oakenshield was. “Er, At-At your service and your families,”
“We thank you, our gracious host for allowing us to-” As he began he could see the other dwarrow internally groan. Dori was interrupted by Oin, who failed to hear him by choice and pushed past to dump his gear into the hobbits arms. Gloin was right behind him.
“Careful with those they’ll give you a good knick,” one of them said, he wasn’t sure who because his vision was suddenly obscured by the large pile of weaponry and bags that had been unceremoniously dumped into his arms. It was so heavy that he buckled over onto his knees and let out a surprised yelp.
“Good gracious!” he said, straining under the weight.
“Now, you buffoons, that’s our host! I told you I would do the talking and now look at what you’ve done! Sir, are you alright?” He felt half the weight be quickly relieved of him, though he still could not see. A brown hood was suddenly draped over him, making things even worse, and a barking laugh close to his ear made him jump.
“At least we don’t have to stand around, brother. That smell has been making us all ache with hunger ever since we caught whiff of it down the road and I’m not going to wait a second more to get my hands on it! Come on, Ori, I’ll make you a plate-”
“Alright, er, just let me put my things down first,”
Bilbo could hear multiple voices and boots layering over each other and slowly fading away. He tried to scramble over to where he remembered the table was and dumped his burden on it. When he finally removed himself from the folds of the hood he took a puff of air and looked around. Dori was fretting over neatly lining up all the bags and hanging his grey hood up correctly so that there wouldn’t be any wrinkles. Ori, who looked about the same age as Fili and Kili, was doing the same with his white hood, albeit not as neatly, and setting down his gear much more slowly than the three ‘buffoons’.
“I apologize for them, Master Bilbo, that was very very rude, I am appalled, I do hope that you could forgive them,”
“Oh, please don’t worry, I’m sure they’re just very hungry. And I must admit, I’m a bit flattered since Fili and Kili said much the same thing,” said, patting down his now-messy hair.
“So the young princes are here?” Dori seemed flustered as he smoothed out Noris brown hood with delicate hands. He heard Dwalin and Balin refer to the boys as such earlier, but had thought that it was just a term of endearment. Dori seemed much more serious about the label- which made Bilbos train of thought derail and spin off into many wild ideas. “Ori do not be nervous, they’re just regular dwarrow like you and me,”
“I’m not nervous!” Ori said, and it looked to be true. In fact, it was clear that Dori was mostly saying it to himself. The young dwarf turned and smiled at Bilbo. “Thank you for having us, Mister Baggins,” he said politely, the first properly voiced word of genuine and unrehearsed gratitude that he had received all day. He put his hands on his hips and smiled back, his anxieties diminishing slightly with the kind words.
“Thank you for coming, I must say! It’s all been very exciting…!” he said and picked up the two purple hoods that Oin and Gloin had dumped on the floor.
And once the hoods were all hung up well (Dori having redone Oris), Dori stepped back with something like pride. Ori put a congratulatory hand on his brothers shoulder and said, “They all look fantastic next to each other. Like one team,”
“Oh thank you, yes, I think they came out rather well, and they all wore them today too even if they didn’t have to,” Bilbo was curious and thought to ask what he meant but Dori piped up again before he could. “Alright then, let’s get you some food before it’s all gone!”
And yes, the food was very quick to be eaten, Bilbo saw when he peeked into the dining room, where the dwarrow had pushed together multiple of his long tables so that everyone might have room to sit. Not that many currently were. Instead, the nine were walking all about his house.Nine, dwarrow. Nine! no matter which way he turned his head he was likely to see one in his field of vision. Pushing past each other and shouting greetings and hugging and eating and making his empty hobbit hole feel very full indeed. They called for more food like a mob. More seed cake! That lemon bread was good, let’s have another! I want rabbit stew! Let’s have some wine, hah? What the hell is this?! Tomatoes?! It’s actually very good- must be his hobbit magic. More tomatoes! What does a dwarf have to do to get some tea around here? Well, I’d like coffee actually. Bilbo, red-faced, went running about his kitchen stirring and checking and brining and cutting and slipping and sweating. It was getting to be rather hot in the kitchen, and it smelled heavenly. Enough that more than a few dwarrow had come in to investigate. Namely Nori, Dwalin, Fili and Kili and even Dori. He shooed them all away and caught more than a couple trying to steal some dishes that were not quite done yet. Nori, who had come in to 'apologize' for his behavior, he had yet to catch red-handed, but he was sure that he had smuggled at least three of Bilbo’s meat pies because every time he sauntered back out of the kitchen he had a very pleased smile on his face.
"Hullo, Mister Baggins!” came a very sweet voice from Bilbo’s open window. “What are you making? Do you have guests over? Can we come in?” When he turned to see who it was he saw the smiling face of one Miss Primula Brandybuck, peeking over his window sill and examining all of his foods. Next to her was Drogo Baggins, looking just as curious. They both had dark shining curls and bright youthful faces. Neither had come of age yet despite being grown, though Drogo was nearing his time, so Bilbo could only see them as what they were- little fauntling cousins that weren’t above begging for scraps yet.
“Now, now, I barely have enough for all these dwa-uhh-ahh- these decent fellows, so you’ll be getting nothing from me today!” he waved a wooden spoon at them and put two more pies into his hearth and chopped off the head of a fish with one bang of his knife.
“Decent fellow, Mister Bilbo?” Drogo questioned when one of his guests apparently said something very naughty which made all of the rest roar in laughter. “There must be a whole lot of them with the noise they’re making.”
“I counted nine whole ponies!” said Primula and Bilbo blanched. “I’ve never seen so many in one place, and stamping all in the yard and on the road. Why on earth would a group of people need all of them ponies for, except to plow a field?”
“To go a very far long way away, I imagine,” said Drogo and they both smiled very mischievously and pointedly at Bilbo.
“Didn’t your parents ever teach you that curiosity was a very bad trait amongst hobbits?” Bilbo said, throwing the fish into a greasy pan and letting it sizzle. The sound made some of the younger of the company of dwarrow whine and cry ‘ It smells so goooood! When is it going to be done?’ The window hobbits laughed.
“You’re parents didn’t teach you anything of the sort either, cousin,” Primula said. “The others told us to come see what it was you were making and see if they can have any, Mr. Baggins,”
“Yes, and we can go back and tell them about all these great things and you can deal with people with looser mouths than us coming to peek into your windows- OR, you can give us a taste and we’ll let everyone know that it’s a private party and that you would refuse to invite anyone to any future parties if they came close without an invitation,”
Bilbo growled at them, but was also very impressed with their cleverness. He turned up his nose and took out a tray of fresh chocolate nut cookies, the batter still practically melting in with the chocolate. “Fine, you’ve twisted my arm! Not a word of this to anyone- you are going to keep away anyone that comes around to stick their noses into my business, that that includes yourselves! No peering into my windows,”he lectured with false strictness as he used a grabber to place ten hot cookies into a cloth bundle. He threw in one of his fresh meat pies for good measure. They snatched it with great triumph.
“Happy to provide our services to you, cousin!”
“You’re welcome, Mister Baggins!”
Off they were to perform their duty.
Bilbo spent a good while slaving away in the kitchen. Whenever a couple dishes or five were complete he would call for some of the dwarrow to come help him take it to the table. Usually it was the three youngest that came rushing in to take the trays from him and a great bit of cheering would rise up from the others when more to eat was brought out. After about an hour, in which Bilbo was sure that he had cooked more food than he ever had before all by himself, another knock sounded on his door. It was hard to hear over the commotion, but after awhile he did catch it. And it was no ordinary knocking either. Someone, it seemed, was beating on his door with a stick! Gandalf ! With his staff! The nerve!
He set down what he was working on on a cool surface and marched to the entrance, not noticing the noise of the others lull very slightly. Bilbo rushed along the passage, very angrily, and altogether bewildered and bewuthered, yanking off his dirty apron and wringing it in his hands. To think that Gandalf would go banging on his newly painted door with his overgrowth branch, after being so horribly rude to not only Bilbo but his own guests!
The hobbit yanked open the door and for a few moments he was able to glimpse a hood of luxurious dark blue. However, just as his eyes were about to follow the extravagant trail of embroidered silver and gold up to see who it was he was suddenly pushed to the floor and buried under a crushingly heavy pile of dwarrow. The embarrassment! The shame! The pain! He could see nothing. In fact, only Bilbo’s poor flailing arms were visible from underneath the pile. He tried to cry out but the only sound he could make were very strained whines. He could hear people shouting what sounded like apologies and insults. Eventually the weight was lifted and Bilbo spent many moments gulping for air from his place on the floor. Above him he saw that same blue hood, which he now noticed had a silver tassel, and watched as the dwarf who wore it rose up slowly, somehow managing to look majestic after being so shamefully smushed. It was as if he had only risen from his solemn kneeling, and that he had meant to be knocked down the whole time. Not so for our Mister Baggins, who had apparently been pinned under him and was still trying to catch his breath on the floor and wondering if he would have to be scrapped off.
“Oh goodness, I’m so so sorry! Please do forgive me, I feel just awful!” a hand came swimming into his vision to pair with the very warm voice. He took it. It was soft and pillowy but pulled Bilbo up with great strength. Not that any great strength was needed to lift a hobbit. He groaned and blinked, head spinning a bit. The dwarf that helped him up was very handsome. A round face, creased with laugh lines, and blushing in embarrassment, greeted him. Flame red hair framed the smiling visage, very thick and luxurious. So long, it was, that he had to weave it into a braid thicker than any rope and drape it around himself like a scarf. The dwarf was also very large, in girth not in height, which wasn’t a negative at all to a hobbit. In fact, Bilbo was rather shy and smiley. As this new guest stuttered and humbly apologized to him, still holding his hand with great respect, Bilbo could feel whatever anger he had fading away. How could he be angry with someone like this?
“Oh, no, please, sir, don’t worry! I’m just fine, as you can see, and really, it’s no trouble, just had the wind knocked out of me,” he blubbered and blushed right along with him. He could see that this dwarf was wearing a very fetching yellow hood, of the same dwarvish design. This one would make a very good hobbit, Bilbo thought. “Might I know the name of the person who has taken my breath away, quite literally?”
The dwarf gasped and sputtered in relief and flattery. “Bombur! At your service, Master Baggins!” he clucked and bowed.
“Yes, Bilbo Baggins, I am glad you are alright, but it’s not like you at all to leave your friends waiting on the mat and then open the door like a pop gun!” And there was Gandalf, very pleased with himself, ducking under Bilbo’s door and crashing into his hanging candles.
“Gandalf the Grey!” He scolded, and before he could start Gandalf cut in again.
“Why don’t I introduce you properly? Here we have Bifur,” he gestured towards a tall dwarf with a pale green hood. His full head of thick black hair had begun to go white in some uneven patches. In fact, his whole beard was mostly white, with only enough black to braid into interesting patterns going down in front. The dwarf put a hand to his heart and then, palm up, moved it as if to offer to him. Then he lowered his head down to his palm in a bow. Here was when Bilbo noticed the axe buried deep into his forehead. Despite the injury, somehow the dwarf was still walking, and apparently still seeking adventure! How admiral, he thought, this must be a warrior of old. The sparkle of intelligence in his fierce eyes would not go unnoticed.
“At yours and your family's?” he said, assuming that the gestures that Bifur made meant what everyone had been parroting to him all day.
“This here is Bofur,” Gandalf pointed to another dwarf, who Bilbo had not noticed before, that had apparently had a hand on Bombur the whole time and was camouflaged very well against him with his similar yellow hood.
“Aye, that’s me, Mister Baggins, at your service!” he bowed. His presence was just as warm as his brothers and laugh lines just as prominent. He did not have the added blessing of extra soft padding, but he still radiated friendliness. His silhouette was very memorable as well, with his braided pigtails and large hat. “Thank you for having us, and being so kind as to forgive us after nearly making you into jelly!” he did look very grateful, maybe not for himself but for his brother.
“Well, you are my guests, Master Bofur, and obviously too friendly not to forgive!” he said, which made Bofur beam.
“Of course, you know Bombur,” Gandalf moved on and Bilbo smiled at him again. “And here is, especially, Thorin Oakenshield, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror. The leader of our company.”
Now Bilbo had the chance to actually look at what he could only assume would be his final dwarrow, unless Gandalf was hiding one under his cloak. He had gotten a small glimpse of him before, but so far he was only able to register him as ‘someone who is very good at standing up’ and ‘very long name.’ But Thorin Oakenshield was much more than those things, dear reader, as you may already know. And even though he hadn’t any of the facts, Bilbo could see that there was something more. Thorin was an exiled king, who would soon be leading those brave few souls that were willing to follow him into dragon fire. And he carried himself that way too, maybe even without realizing it, but every fiber of Thorin's being looked weighed down with potential and destiny and heavy tragedy. His hood, made of very fine and sturdy dark blue material, was threaded through with silver that slowly transitioned into gold when it reached the top. The gold sits on him like a crown, thought Bilbo, or like a halo .
He seemed to be standing on a pedestal, even if Bilbo could see that he was only a dwarf made of flesh standing right in front of him- still, of all the dwarrow that had entered into his home this one was different, the most like some fated hero of old from his history books, whose presence dominated the room even more than Dwalin, who was taller. Thorin only stared at him, a cold and piercing judgement in his eyes, and said nothing of service.
After a moment too long of waiting for the greeting Bilbo squinted and bowed with great exaggeration to the leader.
“At your service and your family's, Especially Thorin!” Bilbo joked through his reemerging nervousness. He had felt that Thorin was a more serious dwarrow than the rest and squirmed under a gaze that so obviously found him lacking. He also didn't appreciate it. In fact, when Thorin heard Bilbo say this he only grunted in skepticism- as if to say we shall see about that.
“Quite sorry that you were almost smashed to pieces. I do trust that dwarven sturdiness has kept you unharmed,"
The corners of Thorin's mouth went up in a nearly indistinguishable smile of bemusement and was then lost again.
“Just Thorin,” he said, voice steady as a mountain. “I am alive, but after many days of traveling on top of being crushed, I admit that I am weary, and have a bump on my head from where I hit the floor, and a bruise forming from someones sharp elbow.”
“Probably mine- at least you weren't on the very bottom, Just Thorin.” Bilbo laughed and stretched his back with a loud crack. “You are looking a bit flushed, can I get you anything?”
Thorin's face remained neutral and his hand came up in a command to stop. “Pray don't mention it,” he said and then his eyes shifted to Bilbo's left.
Suddenly, Bilbo realized just how quiet his smial had become and when he looked over to the entrance of the east hall, following Thorin's gaze, he saw that the rest of the dwarrow had gathered, standing as if this was some important event. When the leader of the company gave them him attention they all bowed to him at once, save for Fili and Kili, who stood very seriously at attention, trying to look as grown as possible (although, it looked to be very difficult not to go running at Thorin in greeting instead.)
“I would, however, not turn down what remains of the feast... Do not let me stop your cheer, my friends!” he declared to the throng with a warm smile, as if it was an order or proclamation. It broke the spell of seriousness as it was an order that they were all more than happy to follow. They lifted their heads and cheered, turning to each other and greeting the other new dwarrow and patting each others backs with how fortunate it was that they were all finally here. Fili and Kili broke free of their horrible standing and rushed forward with arms out, as the company milled.
“Uncle!” They cried, hair flying about them wildly and socked feet making little noise on his carpet. Thorin caught them in an embrace, allowing them to sink into his hood and bury their faces in his chest. He was smiling, and this time it seemed more genuine.
"Uncle, how did it go?!”
“Will they be coming?!”
“How many?”
“Tell us!”
“Did you smell Mister Baggins food too?”
“You have to try- even the tomatoes!"
“Did you see how still we were standing?!”
They talked over each other rapidly like an overflowing dam, and Thorin's gaze calmly went back and forth between them, just listening. Something about looking at them made Thorin sollum. Eventually he cut them off.
“That will be discussed after we eat. I will reveal nothing to you until I gather the company.”
Bilbo managed to catch most of their small reunion, still only watching in great wonder at this very unexpected party. However, he was then reminded of his crossness with Gandalf and turned away from the private conversation to look up at him. “Now, Gandalf, I am very-!”
“Now we are all here!” Gandalf had caught the look in Bilbo's eye and now he spoke to the settling crowd and gestured at their many hoods, which hung prettily all together on Bilbo's wall. He then looked to Thorin. “Quite a merry gathering!”
“A merry gathering indeed,” bellowed Thorin, looking ready to make a speech, and they all went quiet, expecting one. Bilbo grumbled and glared at Gandalf, who chuckled. “First let us all thank Dori for gifting us his skills in the making of our company's garb. The finest work I've seen!” He waved to the hoods on the wall which in turn made the embroidery on his own shine. The dwarrow cheered their approval and those who were close enough to, slapped Dori on the back and shook his hand in thanks. The dwarf in question had gone completely red, and although tried to remain regal and serious, could not help clucking and sputtering.
“Thank you, Dori,” Thorin continued with a grateful nod. “And what a gathering it is. Of some of the very best dwarrow I could have asked for. I will not keep you long from your celebration, but I wish to say here... that when I asked you to follow me, you followed. This ‘merry gathering’ is one that will go down in legend as the beginning of the eraborian revival, of our great quest, and I am grateful to share it with all of you,” Here he bowed to his company, who had puffed up like proud ravens and had become misty eyed at his words. Even Bilbo had become entranced by the speech, and shivered at the thought of being present for something that was so mysteriously important. He was bursting with curiosity, he wanted for Thorin to explain it all. However, when he rose again he did not.
“But let us not speak of such things yet. I hope there is still something left for us late comers to eat and drink-” here he waved them all away and they burst out into noise once more. This time directed towards their host.
Raspberry jam and apple-tart. Mince-pies and cheese. Pork-pie and fruit salad. Ale. Coffee. Cake. With so many people shouting at him his ears were ringing and he could barely make out what any one was saying. As he pushed through to make it back down to his kitchens, Gandalf patted him on the head like he would a fauntling.
“Put on a few eggs, there's a good fellow. And bring out the cold chicken and pickles!”
“You seem to know the contents of my larger better than I do myself, you blasted wizard!” He cursed, swiping at the hand that pat his head, much to Gandalf's amusement.
For a moment, Thorin watched him disappear amongst the rest of the dwarrow, already regretting the trust he put in Gandalf and trying to imagine such a soft and excitable creature in the darkness of the bigger world. He found that he could not.
If Bilbo was overwhelmed before, then I do fear for our excitable little friend when he is forced to deal with all thirteen dwarrow at once. And a conniving wizard.