Chapter Text
Bilbo Baggins certainly didn’t look like your stereotypical heroic adventurer, nor an ordinary or even realistic adventurer either. No, he looked entirely the way an underappreciated employee of the museum’s department for translation and archiving (though it officially ran under a fancier name for the sponsors) that he fancied himself to be, much loved suspenders and cardigan notwithstanding. He was short, a bit soft around the middle and his hair was in a constant state of curly disarray that he couldn’t do anything against.
No, Bilbo Baggins didn’t look like an adventurer at all and was mighty glad of it, because he didn’t want to be one either. Maybe he had had that spark of adventuring in his youth, when he still had tried to gain the attention and approval of his parents, but he had grown out of that long before growing into his limbs.
The few times he had seen his parents, they had always been talking about Erebor, the Lost Kingdom, as if it was real and not an absolute myth. Their claims had earned them laughter and ridicule and, as the easier and only available target, it had always been unleashed onto Bilbo although he had thought it just as ridiculous an idea as his tormentors. It had ruined his parents’ careers and almost ended his own as well. Not that his was a career worth mentioning, but it paid the bills with a bit left for an indulgence or, heaven forbid, an emergency.
The linguist would admit, though only under force and very reluctantly, that even now he still might harbour a certain morbid fascination with the topic, as others would with deadly animals, but ...
Gandalf Greybeard was an old friend of his mother’s, or at least the other. Bilbo couldn’t remember ever hearing his name before, though that didn’t say much considering how little time he had actually spent with his mother. The book the older man revealed, however, made it easy to ignore that little doubt. The `Journal of the Hobbit´, though why the author was referred to as such was unknown, was filled with detailed drawings and runes of the likes Bilbo had never seen before and that had to mean something considering he could write and speak enough languages, both dead and alive, to find his way through every country on this planet if he would ever feel inclined to travel.
It woke a dark greed in him. He wanted the journal, be the first and only to decipher it and on any other day the linguist would have killed (metaphorically; he despised violence) to get his hands on these pages, a chance like this, but ...
The book was authentic, he didn’t need any scientific experiments to tell him that, and he didn’t need to translate it to recognise that it contained coordinates and landmarks leading to the legendary Lost Kingdom of Erebor, though he put every emphasis on `legendary´, as it was probably based on some small kernel of truth which had been embellished over the years. To some this kernel was more than enough and Mister Greybeard even offered to pay for the whole expedition. He had already prepared a ship and a crew, everything they could possibly need, with one exception. He still needed a linguist, the best, which was where Bilbo was supposed to come in.
It was a good offer; would have likely convinced someone even less enthusiastic about the whole Erebor business than Bilbo if such a person existed, but ...
“No.”
If it would have been such a serious matter, seeing Mister Greybeard choke on his pipe might have been a bit amusing, but it was serious and Bilbo generally found no joy in the ills of others. He liked to think of himself as a better person than that.
“My dear boy, I know this is all very sudden and the prospect of an adventure might scare you, but ...”
“Oh, I’m not scared, Mister Greybeard, not at all, but the answer is still no. You will have to find another linguist for this. If you give me a few days I might be able to give you a list of likely candidates, but I am most certainly not available. Now, I’m not fond of your assistant’s driving style, but if it gets me back home fast, I’ll be quite happy to put up with it again. Thank you for the tea and good luck with the expedition. The door was this way, yes? It’s quite late and I absolutely cannot have my son arrive to an empty flat.”
“Your ... your son?”
“Yes, my son. He’s a good lad and really smart when he wants to be, but also a bottomless pit. Why, he must be downright starving after his own little adventure and I really ought to start cooking.”
Mister Greybeard actually paled and swallowed dryly.
“You have a son.”
“I have, yes. Took me forever to convince him that just because he goes on a field trip, our home and I won’t just vanish and I’d be grateful if you wouldn’t stand me up a liar, and get me home before him.”
“Bilbo, lad, you ... you might want to sit back down.”
Bilbo did, though with growing dread, and listened calmly as Mister Greybeard admitted that he had not expected this, not from Belladonna’s and Bungo’s son, and had already prepared everything and not just regarding the expedition. He had, in fact, been so sure Bilbo would not hesitate to take this offer that he’d had his employment and the rental contact of his flat terminated, as well as stopped the gas, electricity and even the newspaper subscription. He had been very thorough in dismantling Bilbo’s life and all with the very best intentions, of course.
When the older man was done, Bilbo nodded slowly, put down his teacup and folded his hands in his lap.
“So, what you are telling me is that as of today I’m unemployed and that my boy and I are homeless, because you had the unfounded assumption I might agree to this ... this madness?”
“Bilbo ...”
“No! You will not speak to me. You destroyed everything I built up for myself, for us, all in the inane presumption I’d be as batty as Belladonna and Bungo and go running off after a most likely fictional kingdom under the ocean. That is madness and you have no right to be so familiar with me! You don’t know me and I most certainly don’t know you and don’t wish to. You are a horrible, horrible person. Do you actually enjoy ruining people’s lives? Well, congratulations! Two in one go; you must feel quite accomplished.”
“No, I ... you could ...” Mister Greybeard started, fishing for words, but Bilbo was furious and only just beginning to work himself into a right fit and stood from his chair.
“Could do what? Leave the lad, leave my son with relatives who wouldn’t want him even if they knew of his existence? Leave him to forever wonder what he has done to be punished so, and if I will ever return, as has been done to me?” he snapped enraged. “I was abandoned, unwanted, and certainly didn’t need the other children to tell me that. If you had paid attention to anything in my life beside the unfortunate circumstances of my parentage, you would know that I try everything in my might to be nothing like the one who bore me of the one who probably sired me. I will absolutely not let my child suffer like that, least of all for their stupid legacy which no one gives a damn about! Nothing is more important in my life than my son and thanks to you we now truly have nothing but each other. Oh, how am I to tell him? My poor boy; he will be so scared and I have nothing to comfort him.”
“I was going to suggest that you could take him along. There is enough space for one more and the team ...”
Bilbo didn’t hear anymore what `the team´ would or would not think or do, his ears ringing with the reality of his situation and the endless possibilities of how his boy could come to harm as his mind slowly drifted towards darkness.
“Nope” the small man finally concluded and fainted dead where he stood.
*~*~*~*
“If my boy doesn’t agree to this madness, you fix the mess you created and leave us alone, forever. If he agrees, and if the gods are truly just and merciful, he won’t, you make sure that the lad’s education will be guaranteed, no matter how the expedition goes.”
“Bil- Master Baggins, you have my word, and my signature, on that.”
Bilbo nodded grimly, still shaken to the core. The hastily-written but legal document stating these terms, signed by them both and a lawyer Bilbo had picked at random out of the phone book, was the main reason he was anything resembling calm, but it was a close thing. Then he added, “If my son comes to any harm, I will find a way to pay you back tenfold,” before he slipped out of the car and approached a group of young men. One with wild dark hair separated from the group and hurried towards the smaller man, bending down and hugging him with the awkwardness of one not yet fully grown into their limbs, but with much more enthusiasm than most children on the verge of maturity were wont to display in public, even if they were allowed to.
“Hello, my lad. How was your trip?”
“It ... it was nice, but I missed you. Is everything alright? You look pale and didn’t we agree I’d come home on my own?”
“Oh, I’m fine, really, but there’s been a pipe burst, so we will have to stay with an acquaintance for a few days. He lives a good deal out of the way, so I took a few days off and we can spend the time together. What do you say? Sound good? Come, I will introduce you” Bilbo said softly and let the younger hold his hand. He hated lying to the lad, but in this case it was truly for the best. Everything was better than telling the boy they were homeless and he was on relatively friendly terms with everyone in the house. If necessary he would likely have no problems convincing them to play along.
By the car Mister Greybeard looked for all the world as if he wanted to comment either on having expected a much younger child or the complete lack of any family resemblance between them but their untameable hair. However, a single glare from Bilbo told him in many colourful words that he was in no position to question anyone’s life choices, least of all theirs.
“Now, my lad, this is Gandalf Greybeard. He has an ... offer for us. I want you to listen carefully and tell me honestly what you think of it. Mister Greybeard, this is my son, Kíli Baggins.”