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Once, not so many years after Bilbo inherited Bag End, the lock on his door jammed and no amount of banging or fiddling had been enough to repair it. Of course, such annoyances had occurred before, but the last time had been when his father was still master of Bag End. Now it was Bilbo's sole responsibility, not to mention chore, to unbolt the mechanism and take it down to the market to find someone to repair it.
He was still a fairly young hobbit at the time, not so many years past his majority, and every merchant he'd brought the lock to had taken one frowning look at it and quoted him an outrageous figure. What was worse, they all said it would take a week or more to return it! Well, there was no having that, or the hole it would leave in his door, exposing his fine home to the elements, so he had taken his lock and his leave.
It just so happened that a group of traveling dwarves were passing through, and with the sun high and his hopes low, Bilbo had made his reluctant way to the smithy where they had set up shop. He had been far too frightened to look any of them in the eye, but he could feel their steely disapproval of the soft little hobbit who made his fidgety way through the door, all the way to the counter where their leader stood.
"S'jammed," Bilbo said to the floor, staring down at the heavy leather boots that made dwarven feet appear almost as large as a hobbit's. He clunked the lock down on the table, and a callused, smoke-stained hand picked it up. His gaze drifted up despite his better judgement, and he caught only a glimpse of black hair and a severe expression before he dropped it again.
"It will be ready in the morning," the dwarf said. There was no kindness in his voice, there was no emotion at all really, only flat practicality as he quoted a figure that was in fact less than what the other hobbits had asked.
"That's all?" Bilbo blurted, and flushed to the roots of his hair to be such a pathetic failure at bargaining of any sort.
He could tell from the dwarf's body language that he had looked up before he said, "Unless you wish to pay more to have it this afternoon? It's a simple enough mechanism, you would be lucky to keep a determined thief out for five minutes."
"There are no thieves in the Shire!" Bilbo said, outrage prompting him to sneak a quick glance at the dwarf's face. Blue eyes was all he caught, and they seemed very fierce in that brief instant before he ducked his head again, adding, "Only high-spirited tweens and nosy relatives, thank you very much. I will take the price and return in the morning. Good evening!"
It was only late afternoon, he realized belatedly as he scurried back into the sunlight. But he could hardly be faulted for that, he was still quite out of sorts from his encounter with those big, fearsome folk.
He returned the next morning as promised, giving his payment in much the same manner as he had given the lock, eyes downcast as he dropped the coins on the table with his muffled thanks. He turned on his heels as soon as the lock was returned to his hand, all but racing out again before he could catch more than a parting, "You're welcome," from the dwarven smith.
The lock worked beautifully after that, better than it had previously, with nary a squeak or stick. But as is often the case, we do not notice the good in our lives nearly as much as the bad, so Bilbo spared hardly a thought to the fine craftsmanship except to be relieved that he would not have to talk to another dwarf again. Which of course turned out not to be true, though not for any reason he could have expected at the time.
It was a shame, really, that it worked so well because many years later Bilbo was once more contemplating his lock and wondering who he would have to see to replace it, albeit for entirely different reasons. By then he had spent enough time with those "big, fearsome folk" to make his younger self quail, had faced dangers that would make that same hobbit faint dead away, and suffered more heart-ache that he would have imagined possible for one small hobbit to bear.
Now the fine craftsmanship was as much an annoyance as the original jam had been, because at some point during his absence Lobelia had managed to copy the key, and as much as she protested that it was for his own good and that she had given him all the copies, Bilbo was not convinced. The whole mechanism would have to go, and a new key made up if he was to feel any security in his own home again. It was a shame to replace what wasn't broken, and what was worse, with Erebor reclaimed all the dwarves that usually passed through the Shire from Ered Luin were going right past, making all speed to the mountain, which meant he'd have to rely on the relatively shoddy work of his fellow hobbits. Worse, once the word got out that he was doing so, it would only add to the scandal of Mad Baggins and his newly mistrustful nature since he came home from his adventure.
Then again, he could try to repair it himself, Bilbo considered as he crouched down to examine it. He pressed one hand to the yellow lacquered wood on the inside of his door, peering through the keyhole to the outside world. Beyond it ran the cobblestone path from his door that led to the greater road, and from there to... well, anywhere. To the Sea, or to the Mountain, eventually. But the Sea was still a great unknown, and those hobbits that traveled there never returned again. The Mountain...well, there was one reason to be glad that dwarves no longer passed through the Shire. News of his banishment had not yet caught up with him as he made his speedy way home, and he doubted any dwarf would care enough about any hobbit to single him out of the crowd. The Shire was the best place for him... always had been...
After all, Thorin had made it very clear that the theft of the Arkenstone was reason enough for execution, that he had been quite lenient in letting Bilbo leave the wall on his own two feet. There'd seemed little reason to stay after the battle, as Thorin was still unconscious. He'd bid his farewells to the rest of the dwarves, and Glóin had suggested that he look into the troll hoard on his way back, as a sort of group apology from the Company for the ill turn of their venture. An acknowledgement that Bilbo did deserve his fair share, even if it was all rather out of their hands, what with Thorin and his heirs still recovering.
There was no use dwelling on it. There was still much work to do be done around the house before he'd even have the time to consider what to do with his copious time and wealth, or in what manner he'd fill the empty place in his heart that bore the shape of thirteen dwarves. He set to work, fetching his tools and opening the door so he sat straddling it, his nose wrinkling as he concentrated on all the fiddly little bits that made up this truly excellent lock. He'd just about removed all the screws when he heard the creak of the gate and footsteps up the path. Not wanting to lose his place or concentration, Bilbo did not look up.
"Ah, Hamfast!" he exclaimed, for who else could it be? No doubt he'd come to see what his mad employer was up to so early in the morning. "Could you give me a hand? I just about have the blasted thing out-- aha!" He gave a satisifed little laugh as the lock popped free. "Have to change it to keep a few dratted folk, who shall not be named, out. I'm sure you know who I mean. Just put out your hand, there's a lad, and I'll--" The lock fell and a brown, callused hand snatched it from the air, but it was certainly not his gardener's.
Bilbo looked up, and up again, feeling suddenly rather blank to see dark leather, armor, and furs despite the fact it was almost summer and such clothing seemed an excellent way to get heatstroke.
Thorin Oakenshield examined the lock in his hand, turning it this way and that as he appraised it. "It seems to be in good working order since I last saw it, but I too will sleep better knowing you have a proper lock on your door." He looked down, and at seeing Bilbo's shocked his expression, his own softened. "Hello, Bilbo."
"What are you doing here?" Bilbo said, a bit stupidly.
"I have come to deliver a full pardon, along with my apologies and an invitation to return to Erebor if you should so choose. At your own convenience, of course. I thought it best to deliver in person, as I understand propriety is an important consideration amongst your people," Thorin said. he looked very stern in his formal clothing, which was rich enough to make his first appearance at Bag End seem bedraggled by comparison. "I will understand if it is not enough, but you did run off before I could deliver them in Erebor, and the Shire is a goodly ways off the road from my destination, so perhaps that will make you better disposed to my suit?"
"Suit?" Bilbo echoed, his brain working at top speed to catch up to what his eyes beheld. His hand was still outstretched from when he had dropped the lock into Thorin's hand.
"I am currently traveling to Ered Luin to deliver the news our success. I thought, perhaps, you would be amenable to another journey? Though this one will likely be far less perilous than our last, which I hope will not lessen your interest," said Thorin.
"Ered Luin?" Bilbo said, and Thorin did the oddest thing... the corner of his lips turned up in what looked like, but could not possibly be, a fond smile. And at his expense! That snapped him out of it quicker than a bucket of cold water. "You want me to go with you to Ered Luin?"
"If you will have me," Thorin said. "It would give us time to discuss all that has taken place since we last parted ways."
"And... after that?" Bilbo said, not quite sure he believed what he was hearing.
"After that is your decision. You may return to the Shire or, if you wish, you may continue on with us back to Erebor," said Thorin. "But I would welcome the chance to take back my words at the gate."
"Well," Bilbo blinked. "I cannot just go running off into the blue again, I am a Baggins of Bag End, after all." Thorin's expression flickered, his amusement threatened by solemnity, and understanding, and perhaps a bit of shame. "And these days that means I can't even go to the market without Lobelia coming to sniff around my door. I shan't sleep a wink along the way knowing she might come in and steal away with all my silver spoons."
"I see," Thorin said, his expression brightening as the humor returned to his eyes. "You do know they're not all silver, I trust?"
"Bite your tongue, they most certainly are!" Bilbo said.
"As you say," Thorin smiled, inclining his head. "Well then, such treasures deserve a proper dwarven lock. Though I'm afraid I cannot offer the same price as before."
"How much more are we discussing here?" Bilbo said, and felt himself being drawn into a game of sorts, and was too flabbergasted to immediately draw out of it again.
"I'm afraid it is considerable," Thorin said gravely. "I am a king now, after all, and my labor costs somewhat more than when last I performed such work. I would require something of great value as compensation."
"Such as?" Bilbo said dryly at the sight of the sly look in Thorin's eye. He felt light, and rather fluttery at the ease of the banter, at exactly who he exchanged it with. It may all still turn out to be a dream, for never in all their time together had he seen Thorin smile quite like this, light and teasing and utterly comfortable within his own skin. "Surely you cannot require gold, last I checked you had plenty."
"Of little value compared to my current price," Thorin said. "After all, I do intend this new lock to be of the highest quality."
"And what, O King under the Mountain, could possible be worth such esteemed craftsmanship?" Bilbo said.
"Well, if you begin packing, I will set to work on this immediately, and we may depart this afternoon," Thorin said. "After all, the value of the time and companionship of the burglar who saved a kingdom is far more valuable than any price in gold a mere king could ask."
This afternoon? Bilbo blinked at the thought, of re-packing his leather satchel, this time remembering his handkerchief and pipe, and setting out once more into the wild world with Thorin Oakenshield. Granted, the road to Ered Luin was much safer. Why, it would almost be a summer holiday!
And he thought, yes, he was quite ready for another adventure. After all, he was already considered odd, and his reputation quite beyond repair.
Thorin's expression slipped at Bilbo's continued silence, and beneath it Bilbo saw a well of uncertainty and trepidation that belied the easy confidence of his earlier banter. The king looked down at the lock in his hand, weighing it, as if to distract himself from Bilbo's mulling by focusing on something concrete, the complex mechanism far more straightforward than the simple hobbit before him and his considering gaze.
"One of these days, we're going to have a long talk about the fact we've met before and you never said anything," Bilbo said frankly. Thorin looked up, his expression smoothing again. He arched an eyebrow.
"At the time, one hobbit looked very much like another. Especially when he would not look me in the eye," Thorin said.
"And now?"
"Now, I would be very foolish indeed not to recognize their quality," Thorin said. He bent, extending a hand to help Bilbo to his feet. "But I am learning."
"In that case," Bilbo said, accepting his hand and allowing Thorin to haul him to his feet, "let me get my things."
The lock did work beautifully after that, and it was many decades again before it needed any care at all. But by then Bag End was in the hands of a different owner, as it had been for many years. Lobelia did eventually get the spoons-- much good it did her, since she'd already replaced most of them with tin-- in the document that left Bag End to Drogo and Primula. Bilbo certainly didn't mind, after all, the official burglar of Erebor had better things to do than count his silverware.