Chapter Text
Bilbo entered the assembly trailing behind Primula and Lobelia, the girls exclaiming excitedly about all the young men who were already gathered at the edges of the dance floor. They quickly joined the crowd, abandoning him to make his way to the refreshments table alone.
“I’m afraid it’s without any proper kick, but I brought a flask of something a little stronger if you’d prefer it,” a voice said near his ear. “Then again, no respectable Baggins would want to be caught drunk at a dance.”
Bilbo spun around, face lighting up at the sound of his dear friend, Bofur Wright. Bofur was the eldest son of a small family of mine owners. He, much like Bilbo, had no need of a spouse to secure his future, but often came to escort his younger relatives in their search.
“You should also know by now, that this is my fourth dance in as many weeks. I doubt I will make it through the evening without a bit of fire in my veins, respectable Baggins or not,” Bilbo replied, laughing and embracing his friend. “Have Hildur and Hestur been nattering about the new tenants of Ered Luin as much as Prim and Lobelia have?”
Bofur groaned, shaking his head. “They have spoken about nothing else in days; Bombur and I will lose our minds if it keeps up. I am keen to meet these Fundinson’s and their company just to tell them of such.”
Bilbo grinned and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Don’t despair my friend. Perhaps the ladies will find them so unpleasant in manner, they will never want to speak of them again.”
“It is not kind to tease me so, Bilbo. We likely shan’t have a moment’s peace so long as they reside in the Shire.” A murmuring overtook the crowd, drawing the friends’ attention to the entry where stood a large party of finely dressed, and thoroughly out of place, gentlemen. Stood at the front was the short man with a jovial air whom Bilbo had met the week prior. Mr. Balin Fundinson was older than Bilbo by at least twenty years, but he had aged well and was thoroughly gentlemanlike; he had a pleasant countenance, and easy, unaffected manners. Even now, his bright smile remained unaffected by the attention now directed his way.
Behind Mr. Fundinson was a rather tall, well-built gentleman with a shaven head dressed in the military regalia of a high ranking official. The solidness of his body was matched by the sternness of his face, and though he did not smile so clearly as Mr. Fundinson, his eyes betrayed his amusement at the gaping of the crowd. Another man was stood next to the second, and Bilbo could not help his stare. The man was dressed in a deep blue waistcoat and jacket, the richness of which complimented the dark and wavy hair knotted at the nape of his neck with a simple ribbon. As he stood, the man exuded a confident air, the manner of a person who knew his importance and was assured no one would question his presence. A cravat was tied around the man’s neck, and it served to accentuate his strong chin covered in a fashionable amount of stubble. But most striking of all were his eyes, which flitted to and fro over the crowd, seeming to absorb everything all at once. Perhaps Bilbo could persuade Mr. Fundinson to introduce them. There could be no harm in a simple conversation gentleman to gentleman.
With Mr. Fundinson’s company were five other men, who all appeared as jovial as their host, and eager to begin mingling with the people of the county.
“Please do not stop the music on our account!” Mr. Fundinson said.
His speaking appeared to break the spell that had settled over the dancers, and music and conversation were soon flowing once again as Mr. Fundinson and the two first men made their way towards the assembly’s host. The rest of the company dispersed into the crowd to take part in the revelry.
Mr. Took, the overseer of the county, welcomed Mr. Fundinson and his companions to the Shire with a jovial greeting and quickly began to introduce the party to notable members of the community. As they moved closer, Bilbo observed the mysterious man. Beyond a polite greeting, he took part in no conversation and seemed more concerned with staring at corners of the room than getting to know anyone.
“Well now Bilbo, no need to ask what, or should I say who has caught your eye,” Bofur elbowed him, snapping Bilbo out of his gaze.
“I’ve not the faintest idea what you’re on about, Bofur.”
“Oh come off it, my friend. I have been your companion since childhood, and I know your type. That brooding stick-in-the-mud over there is a perfect specimen of ‘Bilbo’s Type’.” Bofur pushed the rest of his own spiked punch into Bilbo’s hands. “Go on and drink it. We know how flustered you can get sober.”
Thinking that it could not hurt to partake in a bit of liquid courage, Bilbo downed the punch, setting aside the glass just as Mr. Took led the party their way.
“Mr. Baggins, Mr. Wright. I am pleased to introduce the newest residents of our community, Mr. Balin Fundinson, his brother Captain Dwalin Fundinson of His Majesty’s Royal Army, and their cousin, Mr. Thorin Oakenshield, heir of Durin and Lord of Erebor. Gentlemen, this is Mr. Bilbo Baggins, one of the county’s landowners, and Mr. Bofur Wright, heir to the Blue Mountain Mining Corporation.”
Lord of Erebor? A great man, indeed, to own half the lands of the River Running. “The pleasure is ours, Mr. Fundinson. Your arrival has the caused quite the stir amongst the people here.” Bilbo said nodding his head and offering his hand in greeting.
“Ah, yes! Mr. Baggins!” Mr. Fundinson said, vigorously shaking Bilbo’s hand. “What a pleasure to meet again, please do just call me Balin. Mr. Fundinson has always sounded so formal. I was actually hoping that we might talk later as I could use some advice from a native of the county on the lands that came with Ered Luin estate. I’m afraid I’ve devoted my life to politics rather than farming, and would be thankful for your council.” Mr. Oakenshield looked up at this request, eyes flitting between Mr. Fundinson—Balin—and Bilbo.
Bilbo was as shocked at the request as Mr. Oakenshield appeared to be, but to so openly show his disbelief! Bilbo was a fine landowner, had even worked the fields himself in his youth. What right did Mr. Oakenshield have to doubt his skill?
Bilbo stood up straighter and forced a smile, “I would be delighted Balin,” he said, giving a sharp glance at Mr. Oakenshield. “Please do come find me after you have met with the rest of the hall.”
As the group moved on, he caught Mr. Oakenshield’s eyes once again. Rather than mysterious, Bilbo now saw only impertinence, and as his own face began to flush, he knew it was only alcohol and anger which made it so, rather than any attraction.
“I don’t know if that was the worst first impression you’ve ever had, Bilbo, but it definitely belongs in the ranks.” Bofur said as he led him away from the group to a near-by bench with a view of the dancers. Lobelia was somehow dancing with her own partner and flirting with another in the middle of the floor, and he could hear her comments from where he sat about the handsome men from town. The girl was hopeless, there was no way she would ever hold down a single man long enough to obtain a proposal.
He sighed heavily. “But did you see the way Mr. Oakenshield looked when Mr. Fundinson asked for my advice? I could have been a bug under his shoe for all the pleasantness he showed me.”
“You never know, perhaps he was simply surprised about how your reputation precedes you. Or maybe he fancied asking you for a dance later on and resented his cousin for taking up your time with questions on farming.”
This last was said in a straight voice, Bofur meeting Bilbo’s eyes conspiratorially before the two burst into laughter.
“Oh I’m sure that was it. But it is his loss, as I would not dance with him for all of the lands of the River Running,” Bilbo says, dabbing at his eyes. He looked up as a group of several young women, and one brave young lad, approached Captain Fundinson, in an apparent invitation to dance if the faint blush rising up his neck—evident even from across the room—was anything to go by. The Captain’s gruff reply did not appear to sway the determined admirers who remained adamant he join the party. His brother eventually gave him a nudge into the waiting gaggle of partners and they dragged him into the next dance. Mr. Oakenshield seemed to take his cousin’s absence as his own excuse to leave the welcoming introductions, and he moved to stand against the far wall where he remained most of the evening despite several invitations to dance.
Such manners for a gentleman, Bilbo thought, and it appeared much of those in attendance agreed with him. For though Mr. Oakenshield spoke every so often to one of the members of his own company, he refused every invitation for dance or conversation offered to him. His character was decided. He was the proudest, most disagreeable man to have lived and everybody hoped that he would never return to another revelry. Amongst his chief protesters was Lobelia, whose dislike of his unfortunate countenance was made all the stronger by his refusal to dance with her.
As he soothed his cousin’s ire, he managed to overhear a conversation between Mr. Oakenshield and his cousin, the Captain, behind the nearby pillar.
“Come now, Thorin,” Dwalin pleaded. “I hate to dance as much as the next soldier, but surely you could dance with one or two and spare me the attention of every unwed person here? Or even occupy them and yourself for a bit with some conversation. Anything instead of this brooding against the wall like a statue.”
“I certainly will not. You know how I hate to make small talk or worse, to dance, unless I am already acquainted with my partner. At a party such as this, it would be impossible to avoid. Your brother is engaged and the others are all busy with their own merriment. There are no others here with which I could endure the punishment of conversation.''
“Thorin, you will meet no one with whom to become acquainted if you keep on this way. I we were not blood, I fear that even I would not warrant your attentions. These are a genial folk, and both men and women are uncommonly pretty. You needn’t even speak with them, just get off the wall for god sakes,” cried Dwalin
“You are the only person worth talking to in the room and I shan’t be made to dance with some flirty stranger.”
“But what of the gentleman Balin asked after, the only one with courage enough approach us and invite our company to this affair—that Mr. Baggins. Surely he could suffice as a conversation partner for a moment or two?”
“He was tolerable, but not enough to tempt me, courage or no. Now off with you and enjoy your admirers; you are wasting your time here talking with me.”
Captain Fundinson turned with a resigned sigh to re-join the dance and Mr. Oakenshield walked away; as he exited the room, Bilbo was left with no kind feeling towards the gentleman. When he made it back to Bofur’s company, and later in the evening to Prim, he recounted the story with much fanaticism as he possessed a natural gift of storytelling, delighting in the absurdity of Mr. Oakenshield’s character.