Chapter Text
“An adventure? Really Gandalf?” Bilbo gave the wizard a firm glare, hustling him inside the front door so he could slam it shut and give them some privacy. “This wouldn't have anything to do with a certain greedy lizard, now would it?”
Gandalf, for his record, looked a little sheepish as he nodded. “Of course. You always knew it was going to happen eventually. And now, I have a company that can take you there.”
Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Yes, I used to think it was going to happen. But then I spent two centuries in the shire. Nice, quiet, peaceful days in the shire. Besides, what kind of group would be willing to go anywhere near that crazy bastard? No thank you, Gandalf. No adventures for me.”
“Do you truly mean to say that you prefer this form over your true one? What would your kin say if they knew the last of the great ice drakes of the southern glaciers had been stuck in the form of a hobbit for so long that he became more hobbit-like than even the hobbits?”
“Why, Gandalf, I'm sure that my being a hobbit would come as no surprise to Belladonna and Bungo Baggins, nor to my many hobbit family members.”
Gandalf chuckled, shaking his head. “You've really taken your adopted surname to heart, haven't you? What happened to the eager young drake, recuperating from near death and determined to reclaim his real body?”
Bilbo snorted at this. “He realized that continuing to breathe is more important than getting all fat and scaly. In fact, I think I remember back then,someone telling him that the trek to Erebor would be a hopeless fools errand? I think the words were 'you'll be torn limb from limb before you even reach Mirkwood'?”
“Yes, I did say that, and it was true- back then. You didn't have anyone to accompany you, and you weren't healed yet. It takes many years of rest for a dragon's core to recover. Even more so when the core was so close to destruction that you had to be forcefully shape shifted. Now however, you are healed again. I could feel your energy even at the outskirts of Hobbiton. And equally important, you wont have to make the journey alone”
Bilbo snorted again, louder. He turned his gaze to the side. “You assume too much.” Then he paused, rubbing his throat with a finger reflexively. To tell the truth, Bilbo knew Gandalf was right. For the past decade, he had increasingly felt his power returning, edging closer to his skin. How long had it been since he last called on the ice of his soul? Just the idea made him nervous. Using one's inner ice when it wasn't completely healed was deadly. It was the very reason that most of his kin perished, the very reason that Bilbo was in this hobbit body now.
“What is this company you speak of?” Bilbo asked finally. This earned him a smile and a pair of twinkling eyes. “Why, I'm surprised you haven't figured it out already. Who do you think has the motivation to travel all the way to the lonely mountain?” Gandalf stood up from his seat, carefully picking his way to the door again, his head bumping into an archway in a rather un-wizard like fashion despite his efforts.
Bilbo froze for a second before jumping up after Gandalf like a fire was lit under him. “Dwarves!? Gandalf, are you mad? A bunch of dwarves escorting a dragon to the very home that was taken by a dragon!?”
Gandalf laughed openly as he reached a hand to the small round door. “Don't worry, they don't know your true form. So long as you keep your frost to yourself, you'll be fine. I'll be over later to work out the details, if that's fine.”
“Wha- that is very much not fine! Gandalf, my answer is still no, you hear me!?” Bilbo sputtered as Gandalf ignored him, stepping out of the smial. Bilbo groaned, knowing that the crazy wizard wouldn't be leaving it at that. “Look,” he whispered, lest any of his hobbit neighbours were nearby. “I appreciate you looking out for me, but I'm really rather comfortable as I am. I would much prefer to leave well enough alone, especially if dwarves are involved.” Gandalf raised an eyebrow, still irritatingly not speaking. “Well then, I hope I have made my point clear. You are welcome to stop by later, but I'm afraid my answer will still be no. There will be no working out of any details. So, if you will, good morning!” And Bilbo shut his door behind Gandalf. He could only hope that was enough to settle things.
Why Bilbo thought there was any chance at all of anything that wizard did being settled in a way that wasn't dreadfully complicated was beyond him. His real title shouldn't be “grey pilgrim”. "Grey shit disturber" was more like it.
Which was precisely why, when Bilbo's night was disturbed by a burly dwarf introducing himself as Dwalin, son of Fundin, Bilbo was both surprised and entirely un-surprised. Because of course Gandalf was going to send his dwarves over to Bilbo without asking first. Otherwise Bilbo would have been able to refuse. But as it was, hobbit sensibilities had truly rubbed off on him in a big way, and Bilbo couldn't just turn them out. Especially when it was revealed that Gandalf had promised them food and a place to rest at Bag-end.
So Bilbo couldn't do anything but mentally yell at Gandalf while offering Dwalin his supper and disappearing into the pantry to pull out more food. He had to assume now that they would all be coming. Then it struck him- how many dwarves were there? He slipped back out to the kitchen to ask, noting as he did that Dwalin was tearing into Bilbo's offered dinner as if he hadn't eaten for a week.
“There's thirteen of us, not counting the wizard.” Dwalin responded gruffly between mouthfuls of fish and greens. Bilbo sighed inwardly. If they were all as hungry as this one, his entire food stock would be ruined. Maybe he would take the ensuing grocery bill as a loan against them. They could pay him back with all of that dragon gold.
Soon enough, Dwalin's brother Balin came in, and then two energetic lads named Fili and Kili. Bilbo had no idea when the rest would be coming, and set to cooking immediately, trying to ignore the dwarve's rudeness. Really, they were guests of a host who was being extremely generous, given the circumstances! Even if he were just a regular hobbit, this would be unacceptable. But given the circumstances, it was downright absurd. A bunch of dwarves, whose home had been invaded and hoard stolen by a dragon, were now invading the home of a different dragon, stealing a very different hoard.
Yes, Bilbo referred to his food as his hoard, and was quite un-sarcastic about it, thank you very much. It was one of the many ways of the hobbits that Bilbo had grown to love over the years. Nothing to change your perspective on life like a couple centuries trapped in the body of the weakest and smallest of all the humanoid races.
Bilbo managed to get a few dishes done in as large a scale as he could handle before the door was knocked again. It wouldn't be enough to feed all of them yet, but hopefully enough to put off the worst of the hunger cramps. He nodded to the older one- was it Balin?- who had thoughtfully lent a hand in preparing the food for cooking when he saw Bilbo lugging his entire pantry to the kitchen. The other three dwarves only did so much as drag some tables together and haphazardly pile some dishes onto it. Balin thankfully took over Bilbo's job of mincing the vegetable mixture for the meat pies while Bilbo left to the door.
A dog pile of dwarves, along with one grey wizard greeted him upon opening the door. “This all of them, then?” Bilbo asked with resignation, doing a quick headcount. “Oh, nevermind, we're missing one, aren't we?” Bilbo corrected when his count came up short. Gandalf raised an eyebrow.
“I asked. And really, Gandalf? Thirteen dwarves and you failed to tell me? I can scarcely deal with them trashing Bag-end. They're completely decimating my hoard!” The dwarves clearly had better things to do than sit around and listen to Bilbo attempt to lecture Gandalf, and instead made their way to the kitchen. Bilbo bit down an unpleasant comment as he remembered- those pies needed to get in the oven, and his helper needed to go back to preparing the potatoes.
“I think you are dealing with them just fine. And your 'hoard' would have gone to the next hobbit's birthday party, lest it go bad anyways.” Gandalf added unhelpfully. Bilbo vindictively ignored him, turning to his task as the dwarves crowded around the table and tearing into the food that was already there.
The next time that Bilbo brought his eyes to the kitchen table, it was to bring several trays worth of meatpies along with a couple more side dishes to the table. He had to elbow his way in, as not even shouting “hot tray” could get him some space. Finally, he found an opening, and not two seconds after placing it down, dwarven fingers snatched at the flaky crust of a nearby pie, yelping at the heat.
Bilbo turned his eyes up to scold the hand's owner, only to pale as he saw the sight. Dwarves shouting, laughing stuffing their faces, he expected. Dwarves throwing food back and forth, half not ending up anywhere near their mouths, he was not.
“W-wasting food?!” Bilbo squeaked, half caught between horror and rage. “Your wasting my food!” He decided to go for anger. “I'll have you know, I spent quite a lot of effort making that, the least you could do is give a modicum of respect!” He was being ignored. Oh how Bilbo wished he could spit some frost their way, bite their toes with frostburn so they would listen to him. And maybe he could someday, but the crippling fear of pain and death stopped him. No, he remembered quite well the last time he had tried to use his ice while in his hobbit body.
Instead, he did what he could. And that was to flit around the dwarves, attempting to speak over the racket. Bilbo had never felt to out of place. Regardless of being a supposedly strong, prideful dragon, he was in the form of a hobbit. And hobbits were small, weak, non-vicious creatures. He couldn't help being a little intimidated by these creatures, who despite not being significantly taller than him, were still much bigger than him.
And then they started with the knives and the plates. Not belladonna's china! “You'll blunt them!” He finally cried, not expecting to get through to them, but hoping he would anyways. Finally, they did take notice of him. But just because they heard him, didn't mean they were going to really listen.
“Oooh, do you hear that lads? He says we'll blunt the knives!” They then proceeded to get much worse. Bilbo couldn't do anything but flail his arms a bit as dishes went flying through the air as they sung a lively tune about ruining his smial. Those ungrateful, inconsiderate rocks-for-heads. Not even rock with useful ore inside of it. Just plain, dumb rock.
But thankfully, as stone-headed as they were, they did manage to not break any dishes and in fact stacked them neatly in a pile. Bilbo heaved a sigh of relief. He was even more relieved when the door knocked again, and the dwarves settled down. Their last member, and their leader if Gandalf's commentary was anything to go by (unfortunately, such was the case for the majority of things that came out of Gandalf's mouth). Bilbo opened his front door, about ready to forgo his hobbit politeness and make a remark about being fashionably late, but was forced to stop at the sheer presence of the dwarf.
He walked in purposefully, as if he owned the place. He was also quite tall for a dwarf, like several other members of their merry band. How did so many exceedingly tall dwarves end up in one group, anyways? Even if he hadn't already figured out that this dwarf was the leader, he would have been able to tell easily. He commanded an almost regal presence, fit for royalty.
“This is Thorin Oakenshield, leader of this company on their quest to reclaim Erebor.” Bilbo froze, ice flooding his veins in a way that had nothing to do with his core. Mechanically, he turned his head away from Oakenshield- the bloody king under the mountain- to the one who had neglected to tell him necessary information- again.
“Gandalf! Are you-” He cut himself off, because of course the wizard was completely mad. “Of all of the- I was expecting Ereborian nobility, but- Oakenshied!?” Bilbo stuttered, feeling quite faint. If any dwarf had a grudge on all dragons, it would be this man. What if he realized Bilbo's true form, he would be shredded to bits! Bilbo felt a little faint.
Oakenshield only grunted in displeasure at Bilbo's reaction, stepping in further to insult Bilbo's appearance. Almost numb, Bilbo didn't react as Oakenshield strode towards his company and the group began to discuss their quest. By the time Bilbo had composed himself, Gandalf had already passed Oakenshield an old looking key, and they were discussing their need of a burglar. Bilbo immediately knew where this was going, and so tried to nip it in the bud, pointing out how such a soft weak hobbit had no place on such a dangerous journey.
Unfortunately, they all shut up when Gandalf scolded them with a spot of illusion magic, and Bilbo was promptly handed a bulky contract. Bilbo made a short play at reading it- truthfully he was not particularly interested in anything they had to offer him. He had no desire for treasure, that was left to the fire drakes who had the luxury to have the time to hoard baubles mined and refined by weaker species. The ice drakes, on the other hand, lives in the barren southern ice shelves, cut off from the rest of middle earth. It was true that the hoarding instinct was common to all drakes, but it had always been lesser and not centred around humanoid riches for those of the ice. Though truthfully, Bilbo didn't actually know what ice drakes actually hoarded, he had been hatched in the very same war that eventually wiped his race, not exactly a good place for one's frame of reference.
He skimmed over a few of the many terms of his demise. “Evisceration... incineration?” Just the memory of it all- the searing breath, fiery fang and claw piercing flesh, letting the heat in- Bilbo's mind flashed, and he saw it again. His birth mother's blood boiling from the inside as her core was melted in a matter of seconds, then those great golden eyes peering at him, cruelty dripping from them and engulfing him along with roaring dragon fire.
Bofur, the hatted dwarf, thought his shaking and heavy breathing was due to simple fear of the words, and tried to edge him on, describing just how he could be killed by fire. Furnace with wings, indeed. Bilbo bit at his lip viciously to stop himself shouting. He knew very well what it was to face a fire drake, Bilbo wanted to yell. Maybe it was painless to you dwarves, but it certainly wasn't for his kin. It took full minutes under the hottest dragon fire to melt one's ice core. He wanted to scream at them- did they think they were the sole experts on such a death? Had they survived a complete, uninterrupted lungful of fire from the very same dragon they hoped to slay? And then managed to slip through a crevice created from the melted rock, within an inch of their life and crawl to safety while in that state?
Bilbo struggled to get both his memories and his body under control. It wanted so desperately to faint, and Bilbo was half prepared to indulge it. But instead of surrendering to the dizziness in his head, Bilbo called out. “Gandalf, can I speak to you privately for a moment?”
Gandalf smiled and agreed, “But of course, Bilbo. Shall we move to your study for a moment?” Despite his calm words, there was a hint of concern in them. Likely, Gandalf knew precisely what was going through Bilbo's mind.
The second the study's door was shut, and Gandalf had made sure there would be no eavesdroppers, Bilbo let his breath out in a sudden groan. “I can't do it, Gandalf.” He admitted.
“You can, Bilbo. Dragon or not, I wouldn't be here if you couldn't do it. Besides, it does not matter if you think you can or not, for you must.”
“And what if I really am fine with staying in this body? Sure, I wouldn't mind it back, but I don't need it. I would miss all of this.” Bilbo gestured around him. “I may be no Smaug, but I would still be much to large to fit in bag-end.”
Gandalf gave a small, sad hum in agreement. “That is true. But you have to realize, this is your first, last, and only chance to get your body back. You know how much power it took to put you into this form, and you know what it will take to get you back out of it.”
Bilbo shivered. “Yes, I know. It has to be fire, greater than that of any forge. I remember your words clearly back then. Can I not just go after a different fire drake later?”
Gandalf gave Bilbo a stern look. “I thought I also told you there weren't any other fire drakes left.”
“You don't know that for sure.”
“I can be sure enough. Listen to me Bilbo, your only choices are Smaug or Mordor, and the lava of Mordor will kill you even as it restores your form. What will you do, if you don't come and Smaug is slain? You will lose the last path to your body that doesn't guarantee death.”
“And how do you know it doesn't?” Bilbo snapped. “I've been on fire before, Gandalf, and I don't think my core will ever fully recover. What if the second I turn back, it kills me?”
Gandalf sighed wearily, looking very much like his ancient age. “That is a chance you have to take. But for what it is worth, I believe you are wrong. And you know Belladonna would have wanted you to try. As much as you love hobbits now, you aren't one and you never have been.”
Bilbo shifted guiltily. He didn't need to be reminded of her, or of Bungo. They had taken him in, and though it was for a comparatively short time, even to his years as a hobbit, they had come the closest to being surrogate parents. It was true, loathe as he was to admit it, Belladonna would have been smacking his head with rolled up parchment as she shooed him out the door.
“The journey will be perilous enough, even before Smaug. A hobbit is small and weak, even with a dragon inside of it. And unless it's from Smaug's flame, I will go down with this body. Can you even promise that I will make it there?”
“No,” Gandalf answered simply. “No, I can't.”