Chapter Text
Bilbo had keen eyes, keener than anyone else in the small traveling party. Even keener than his mother Belladonna, which was no small statement. He noticed things no one else did and asked more questions than he ought. He asked Gandalf, of course, because his mother wouldn't answer and his father didn't know. Gandalf answered him as well as he could, even when he asked his more bothersome questions such as "Why can't we stay at Rivendell?" Or "Are there goblins in the mountain?" Or even "Why can't we just go around Mirkwood?"
But Bungo, his father, was starting to grumble every time Bilbo got a faraway look in his eye or when he hurried ahead to walk in stride with the Wizard. So, he stopped asking questions, no matter how badly they burned in his mind. A silly one was brewing at the borders of Dale - one he doubted there was a true answer to. But why were the city and the mountain so very grey? Furthermore, why did the world turn from the cheery yellow-greens of the Shire to drab, depressing greys as they went further East?
How he missed those Western greens! He dreamed of them with great fondness. The last memory of the green Shire before this dreadful "uprooting" business was at Cousin Drogo's wedding. He had stood in the Party Field, smiling as he watched his young cousin dance with his new wife. Primula was the perfect image of a blushing bride, dressed in white taffeta and adorned with pink flowers and baby's breath in her hair. Bilbo himself was in a pink waistcoat with a sprig of baby's breath in his breast-pocket as a member of the bridal party. He was closer to Primula than he ever had been to Drogo, but he was thrilled for them both.
Cousin Lobelia had not been nearly as thrilled. At the party, she could often be heard grumbling about how the wedding was far too expensive and above the station of the Brandybuck bride. It was plain to anyone she spoke that she was only jealous that her own wedding several months prior had not been quite so merry as this one.
Well bebother and confound Lobelia, he thought to himself as he stood a little ways away from the merrymaking. That was before she made her way over to him to bebother and confound him with her sentiments.
"You seem bored, Cousin Bilbo," she said as though prodding him to confirm.
"Not at all!" Bilbo said, adamantly. "I'm only a little tired is all. It's to be expected after making so merry! And besides all that, I'm a little too old for such ornaments as this." He fingered the baby's breath in his pocket.
He had hoped that she would take this as a hint that he was also a little too grownup for making bitter comments about wedding expenses and go away. She did not, however, and so he felt compelled to make some comment. Besides, he had been pondering it for a while. "When I get married," he said. "I would like to wake up on a sunny morning, put on my favorite waistcoat and a nice jacket, and simply walk to the Justice's offices and sign the contract."
Lobelia's eyes widened at such a ridiculous notion. What kind of hobbit didn't want a wedding? Still, she could turn the comment however she wanted if she had the mind to, which she did. "I take it, then, that you're not fond of an extravagant wedding?"
Bilbo laughed. "I am, only not for myself. I think it suits Primula and Drogo, don't you? Oh, I love them both so dearly, but I shall be glad to return to Bag End. Things are more comfortable and quiet there."
Lobelia's eyes glittered at the mention of Bag End. The few times she had been invited there, she had poked her nose into every place it would fit. "Ah, Bag End," she said. "You cannot be kept away. Though, I suppose if you were to marry, you may feel inclined to leave your parents' house."
"No," Bilbo said pointedly. "I cannot be kept away. So, it is a jolly good thing that I am not ready to marry anyone." With that, he walked away, leaving Lobelia to glare after him.
Had he known then of his mother's scheme to take the family away to the East, he may not have acted in such a way to Lobelia. When she and Otho purchased the hole, she would not stop sending him pointed smirks and sidelong glances. He might have spared himself some embarrassment.
Now, he found himself far away from the Shire on the borders of Dale. His father was sitting on the edge of the lake, gazing pathetically at their luggage. "We shall be on the streets. Or, even worse, in the tunnels of the mountain," he muttered, "without any friends or any help at all."
"Father," Bilbo said with a sigh. "We'll stay at the inn until we find a house."
"Yes, a house," Bungo said. "Not a proper hole. Perhaps I had better stay here with Gandalf while you and your mother look. For my health." He added this as an afterthought.
"Oh, no, Mister Baggins," Gandalf said. "I shan't be staying on the coast, so unless you wish to make camp here by yourself, you had better buck up and make ready to brave the streets of Dale."
"Besides," Belladonna added. "Your place is with us, and it won't be long before we find a house. And Gandalf has made all the arrangements as far as the school goes. I shall do plenty of teaching, and Bilbo will help."
"How are you going to do any teaching?" Bungo lamented, wringing his frail hands. "Dwarves aren't interested in Elvish letters. Hobbits are hardly interested in Elvish letters."
Bilbo and Belladonna shared a glance. It was true that out of all the hobbits in their acquaintance, they were the only two that had achieved fluency in Sindarin, and Bilbo doubted very much that any Dwarves would have an interest in accomplishing the same. Still, Bilbo reached out to his father and grabbed his hand. "We shall manage, father," he said. "We're still on the same Earth, after all."
Yet, same Earth or no, Bilbo could not help but share a little of his father's sentiments. The Shire was long behind them.
ooo
The bargemen took the Bagginses and Gandalf across the lake to the foot of the Lonely Mountain. There lay Dale. It's hustle and bustle was unlike anything Bilbo had seen before. If Gandalf were not with them, the poor hobbits would surely have been trampled underfoot by the Big Folk who seemed to be unable to heed anything beyond their destinations. Carts of goods rolled through the streets, pushed by merchants - Man and Dwarf alike. Though it was still grey, it was also sprinkled here and there with gold and glittering jewels.
The grey of everything is making the even the gold look dim, Bilbo thought though he dare not say as much aloud.
Bungo, however, did not have his son's discretion. He clung onto Gandalf's robes like a child. "Oh, why did we come here, Gandalf?" he moaned. "It's going to be awful! I know it is!"
Gandalf snatched his robes away.
Once Bungo was comfortably settled at the inn, Gandalf left to take care of some affairs he had in the mountain. Belladonna and Bilbo went to go find a house. There was a list that Gandalf had given him of places he might look, and Bilbo withdrew it from the inside pocket of his jacket. The very first address led him to a neighborhood where the atmosphere seemed almost familiar to him. It certainly wasn't anything like the Shire, but it could be compared to Bree easily enough. Immediately, Bilbo hoped for the place. It would put his father at ease to be in a house that was similar to somewhere he'd been before. With a deep breath, he walked up the steps into the house.
Already, there was a man and a dwarf inside one of the rooms, and neither took any notice of Bilbo. "The living room is quite spacious, as you can see," the Man was saying.
Drat, Bilbo thought, it's already spoken for.
"The house isn't for me," the dwarf answered, sounding almost defensive. "I'm making inquiries on behalf of one of the king's business acquaintances. Well, one of the king's acquaintance's acquaintances. She's a halfling from the West, so she's used to living simply. Hobbits are not usually of great property or fortune. It does make me wonder, though, why a Hobbit would leave the Shire. And come so far! But they are traditional folk."
The Man considered this. "Perhaps then, this halfling was a little untraditional. And not in an admirable way. Well, no matter. She'll certainly find things to be different in the East. What a business! For a lady to uproot her husband and son to come all the way to Dale. Tradition or no, that is strange behavior."
At this, Bilbo had heard enough, and he stepped into the room.
"Hoy there!" said the Dwarf, his eyes widening as he saw Bilbo. There was no mistaking that Bilbo was a halfling, and there was no reason for a halfling to be in Dale unless he was in connection with the very halfling that had just been the subject of gossip. He bowed low and hid his reddened cheeks. "Dwalin, at your service."
"Bilbo Baggins, at yours and your family's," Bilbo returned stiffly. "Might I ask your business here?"
Dwalin cleared his throat. "I am the King Thorin Oakenshield's overseer. He asked me to look out for properties for your mother."
If Bilbo was shocked at the mention of the king, he didn't show it. Instead, he stepped further into the room, past Dwalin and the man, and looked at its tall furnishings and even taller ceilings. "How much is the rent for the year?" he asked.
"Er, the king will discuss that with your mother. There's no need to concern yourself in money matters, Master Baggins."
Bilbo shook his head. "I have no idea what business your king has in this. I thank him for his trouble, but my mother and I are sharing the task of securing a property. I think you'll find I have quite a good idea of price."
Dwalin was beginning to look even more uncomfortable than before. "The king thinks this will do very well for your mother."
"And where exactly is your king?"
Dwalin tilted his head. "Excuse me?"
Again Bilbo shook his head and marched past Dwalin towards the door. "Take me to see the king. If he won't deal with me, I'll have to deal with him."
"Now, hold on," Dwalin said as he followed the hobbit out. "Who do you think you are that you can just demand an audience with King Thorin Oakenshield?"
Bilbo tilted his head and rolled his eyes upward. "Well if King Thorin cares enough about my family to arrange housing for us, no doubt he'll hear what I have to say."
Dwalin shook his head. "You don't know him, lad. He's not quite like that." Nevertheless, Dwalin began to lead him to the doors of the mountain.
Bilbo turned his nose up at being called "lad." Fifty years may not be many to a dwarf, but it was quite enough to make him mature enough for his own people. But then, there were none of his people about.
The doors of the mountain opened as Dwalin approached them, and the cool air from inside blew Bilbo's hair back. He may have been more adventurous than any hobbit in the Shire when he decided to follow his parents to the far East, but he had yet to go inside a mountain. Nevertheless, he gulped and stepped inside.
The whole place was dark - nearly darker than the woods of Mirkwood had been. Then, he turned a corner, and the whole inside of the mountain seemed to burst with light. If Bilbo thought that Dale had glittered with gold, it was nothing compared to Erebor. The whole place glowed with the shine of precious metals and gems. Crystal lanterns of every color hung from diamond chords on every path. Strange music poured out of the taverns that were carved into the stone walls, and everywhere the buying and selling of goods overtook the comings and goings of every dwarf in Erebor.
"This is Erebor," Bilbo breathed. There was no other word for it. All the legends he had heard had made the name synonymous with beauty and wealth. Here, he saw both tenfold.
"Aye," Dwalin said. "The king will be at work in the forges. Follow me to the throne room, and I'll find his majesty."
The throne room was comparatively quieter than the city, though the distant sound of the royal forges could be heard. Once Dwalin left, Bilbo had the chance to look around. There were two lesser chairs on either side of the great throne, and these he was particularly curious about.
Twenty minutes passed with neither hide nor hair from Dwalin nor the King, and Bilbo was growing restless. Suddenly, he decided that Dwalin had quite abandoned him, and he left to follow the sound of the forges.
He found the forges without difficulty, and he found himself in wonder of what he saw. There were anvils lined in neat rows, each with dwarves hammering metals in perfect sync. Sparks flew from place to place but they did not disturb the workers. A stream of coolant flowed into troughs that were shielded from the fires. The air was thick with gasses, and Bilbo could not help but cough, even as he stared in awe.
And there, above the workers, stood a dwarf that could only be King Under the Mountain. His raven hair was braided back from his face, his beard was trimmed shorter than most dwarfs, and he wore nothing fine and royal. Yet, that did not obstruct his regal bearing nor the way his piercing eyes wandered over the workers. His strong hands gripped the railing of the platform he was on as he moved to and fro on it.
Then, suddenly, his visage changed, and his serene face turned red. "Binur!" he shouted. "Put that pipe out!"
Bilbo tore his eyes away from the king to see a young dwarf by the coolant stream pocket his pipe and run away. Then the king ran down the stairs off his platform, pursuing him, shouting, "I saw you! Binur! Binur! Come here!"
The chase went on into the next room. What could Bilbo do but follow? When he caught up, the king was laying punch after punch on poor Binur, and for a moment Bilbo could only stare in horror. Then, he regained some of his senses. "Stop!" he cried.
The king didn't listen, and planted a kick on Binur that sent him to the ground.
"Stop!" Bilbo cried again. "Please, stop!"
For the first time, the king turned around and noticed Bilbo. "Who are you?" he questioned, wasting no time with pleasantry. "What are you doing here?"
"Bilbo Baggins!" Bilbo said, forgetting to bow or offer his service.
It was then that Dwalin ran up behind Bilbo. "Master Baggins!" he said. Then, he bowed to the king. "My apologies, your majesty. I told him to wait in the throne room."
The king rolled his eyes. "Get him out of here!" He turned back to Binur who had inched away from him. "Aye, crawl away on your belly, and don't come back!"
"Please, your majesty," Binur wheezed. "I have bairns."
This earned him no pity from the king. In fact, it earned him another kick. "You know the rules!"
"They'll starve, your majesty, please!"
"Better they starve than burn to death!" the king returned. "Get out before I have you imprisoned!" He turned again to Dwalin and shouted so loud that Bilbo jumped. "Get that Halfling out of here!"
"Please, Master Baggins," Dwalin said. Then, putting his hand on Bilbo's elbow, he led him away.
Bilbo could not leave the mountain soon enough. The King Under the Mountain had frightened and shocked him terribly. So, this was how dwarves conducted business?
"Well," Bilbo said. "They can keep their ways, but I can't say I care for them a bit!"
Still, the memory of the regal king before his rage compelled him to look back as he left through the doors of the mountain. There, standing on a balcony above the doors, a dwarf woman with a dark, grey-streaked beard was watching him leave.