Chapter Text
It was a mostly normal day in the Shire. Birds were chirping, the sun was shining, nothing new at all, as usual. Everything stayed the same here, except for me. I was the only thing and person out of place. Me, Lucia Maria Baggins of Bag End. Me, the only elf out of a village of hobbits. Interesting, isn’t it?
I was lucky enough to at least have a roof over my head, even though it was controlled nonstop by none other than Bilbo Baggins. He wasn’t my father, and he mostly made it clear that I wasn’t his child. I was more of a….housemate, with his last name.
I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. Bilbo was the closest thing to family that I had, and he did treat me well. He simply limited me to the life of a hobbit, the same routine every day. As boring as it could be, I did manage to find joy within it. I kept myself happy, when possible, and I was used to it as it was.
As I stated before, it was a normal day in the Shire. A Tuesday, I believe. A beautiful Tuesday morning. I was sitting at the desk in my room, writing some irrelevant things down, when I heard some voices from outside. I stood up and walked over to my window. Bilbo was outside, that much I knew. He had walked out with his pipe a few minutes prior. I looked out the window, but wasn’t able to see anything useful. I walked quickly out of my room, making sure not to run. Bilbo would kill me if he found out that I was running in the house. My red dress almost got caught on a rough spot on my door, but it luckily didn’t. I adjusted the back corset vest around me, since I knew it would be crooked from the way I was sitting. I started to speak loudly, right as I put my hand on the doorknob of our circle-shaped, green front door.
“Bilbo, who are you talking to?” I asked, opening the door. I cut myself off when I saw I tall man with a staff, dressed all in grey. He was an older human, towering far above Bilbo. He was probably around six feet tall, with Bilbo reaching almost four feet. I, myself, was taller than Bilbo already and this was something we knew would happen anyway, but I was still treated as something I technically wasn’t; a child.
“Hello, Lucia,” the elder greeted.
“How do you know my name?” I questioned, looking between him and Bilbo.
“I know your name, as you should know mine.”
“He’s Gandalf the Grey, Lucia. He used to make Old Took’s fireworks that were displayed every Midsummer’s Eve,” Bilbo explained.
“Oh, I remember. They were always so pretty to watch.” I stepped forward and extended my hand to Gandalf, as an offering of a proper introduction and greeting. Gandalf and I shook hands, and he returned my smile.
“I’m looking for someone to share in an adventure,” he said. His words immediately perked my interest.
“An adventure?” I repeated, feeling a smile form on my face.
“Lucia, go inside,” Bilbo nearly cut me off.
“Why? I want to hear about this.”
“Because I am the adult and you are the child. When I tell you to do something, please do not question me.” I narrowed my eyes a little bit, but didn’t say anything, as I entered the hobbit-hole again. It wasn’t a dirty or small place, as one may think of when they hear the word ‘hole’. No, a hobbit hole is extremely tidy and pristine, remaining as clean as possible, furnished with all the things one may consider to have at home. Our hobbit-hole on the highest hill was the biggest in the Shire, with a large tree continuing to spread and blossom above it. I stayed near the window, attempting to listen in on any part of the occurring conversation that I could hear. Unfortunately, I wasn’t granted any luck. Bilbo entered the house, quickly moving towards the window where I was standing.
“What did he offer?” I asked, stepping back from the window a slight bit. Bilbo and I both watched Gandalf take his staff and mark something on our door. Neither of us could see what it was. Once Gandalf started to walk away, back towards the path leading away from the house, Bilbo moved away from the window. He started to walk away completely, heading down the hall. “Bilbo? What did he offer?” I called, moving in the direction he walked away from.
“Forget it, Lucia!” he called back. I stood there, unsure of how to respond. I paused for a few seconds, but then headed back to my room, making sure to slam my door.
That evening approached quickly and Bilbo started my daily lesson about how to cook food.
“Don’t keep it on its side for too long. Fish burns very quickly,” he told me. I flipped the fish over in the pan. The doorbell rang a few seconds later. “You get it, I’ll finish this.” On my way to the door, I grabbed an old shawl, feeling cold, and wrapped it around my shoulders, making sure to tie it as well. I opened my door and was slightly started. A dwarf was standing in front of me. He looked war-torn and seemed to also be carrying a shield.
“Dwalin, at your service,” he greeted with a bow.
“Lucia Baggins, at yours,” I replied unsurely. Dwalin’s gaze drifted to my pointed ear, which immediately made me very uncomfortable.
“Where is it, lassie?” he asked me.
“Where is….what?” I answered, watching as he took his shield from his back. He moved to somewhat hand it to me, so I took the initiative to take it from him. “Careful, easy now.” Although the shield weighed probably more than half my own weight, I managed to gently set it down off to the side. Dwalin stepped inside.
“Lucia, who’s at the door?” Bilbo asked, walking into the room. He and I shared the same expression.
“Bilbo, this is, um, Dwalin,” I told him, taking my shawl off and throwing it over a chair. I didn’t feel that cold anymore.
“Is it this way, laddie?” the dwarf asked.
“Is what….?” Bilbo started to question, just as I had.
“Supper.” Dwalin walked into our dining room, leaving Bilbo and I to stare at each other.
“Why would you let him in?” he whispered to me.
“I didn’t, he let himself in,” I defended myself, following him into the dining room.
We watched from a minimal distance as Dwalin consumed the fish dish that we had been preparing. The room was dead silent and it was an extremely uncomfortable silence.
“Very good, this,” Dwalin broke the silence, having cleaned the plate. “Any more?” Bilbo and I both jumped up.
“Oh, um, of course,” the hobbit answered, nodding to me. I grabbed a plate of scones, but slipped two of them into Bilbo’s pockets, as I passed him and set the plate down on the table. Just as I did, the doorbell rang. Bilbo moved to go get it, but I moved faster and ahead of him.
“I’ve got it,” I told him, dreading what I was going to find when I opened that door. Bracing myself for almost anything, I opened the door to see another dwarf. This one looked much less war-torn, and had long white hair and a beard of the same color. He smiled at me warmly, which differed from Dwalin.
“Balin, at your service,” he greeted, with another bow. I couldn’t stop myself from smiling a little.
“Lucia Baggins, at yours. Good evening.”
“Yes, yes it is. Although, I think it might rain later.” Balin stepped inside before I could say anything else. “Am I late?”
“Late for what?” I asked, already feeling like I knew the answer. His eyes drifted and landed on Dwalin.
“Evening, brother!” he called, walking over. Bilbo turned the corner, seeing the new visitor. He gave me a look that signaled all of his emotions at once. I shrugged defensively, motioning with my hands that it wasn’t my fault.
“By my beard! You’re wider and shorter!” Dwalin replied.
“Wider, not shorter.” The two headbutted, catching Bilbo and I off guard.
“I hate to interrupt, but I’m not sure if you have the right house,” Bilbo started to argue. It was pointless. The two dwarfs started to raid our pantry, much to our dismay. They were starting to carry on a conversation about cheese or something, while Bilbo still continued to try to argue. “It’s not that I don’t like visitors, I like visitors as much as the next, but I would like to know them before they come visiting. The thing is, we don’t know either of you. I don’t mean to be blunt, but I, uh….I have to speak my mind, I’m sorry.” Balin and Dwalin both turned to look at Bilbo.
“Apology accepted,” Balin responded. I just about died inside. As I was internally dying, the doorbell rang once again. I was already at the door by the time Bilbo had processed that it even rang. I opened the door to reveal two more dwarves, both heavily armed. They had to be brothers, it was nearly obvious.
“Kili,” the darker-haired one spoke first.
“And Fili,” the light-haired one continued.
“At your service,” they concluded in unison with a bow.
“You must be Miss Baggins,” Kili said with a smile.
“Please, call me Lucia, but I really think you have the wrong house,” I started to say, placing a hand on the door.
“Has it been canceled?”
“No one told us!”
“No, nothing’s been canceled….” I instantly regretted what I had said, knowing I made a mistake.
“That’s a relief.” The brothers let themselves in and I had no way of stopping them.
“Careful with these,” Fili said, handing me a wrapped bundle of swords. I nearly dropped them, but he waited until I had a firm enough grip. “They were just sharpened.” I nodded and placed them on the ground as gently as possible.
“Nice place, this is,” Kili commented, placing a booted foot on a wooden box. “Did you do it yourself?” The boot on the box sent sheer panic through my body. Bilbo was going to kill me.
“No, it’s been in Bilbo’s family for years, but please don’t do that! That’s his mother’s glory box, please don’t touch it!” Dwalin entered the room, right as I was in mid-plea.
“Fili, Kili, come give us a hand,” he ordered. The brothers immediately followed him to the kitchen. I sat down on the nearest stool, rubbing my forward. I had no idea what was going on. I could also hear Bilbo yelling from the dining room. The doorbell rang again, and I was about ready to lock it and not let anyone else in.
“No, no! There’s nobody home! Go away and bother someone else! There’s far too many dwarves in my dining room as it is!” Bilbo yelled as loud as he could, storming towards the door. I instantly stood up, afraid that his frustration would be quickly turned on me. “If this is some blockhead’s idea of a joke, I can only say that it is in very poor taste!” Bilbo grabbed onto the doorknob and swung the door open. A bunch of dwarves fell through and directly onto the floor. I counted eight, but in the moment, I wasn’t sure. Gandalf poked his head in through the door a few seconds later. He had a small smile, but no one else did. I walked past all of them, bracing myself for a night of complete and utter hell.
Listening to Bilbo’s yells and arguments was more trouble than trying to keep twelve rowdy dwarves from tearing our house apart.
“Excuse me! Wait, not that! Put that back, please!” the hobbit’s voice was heard above everyone else. I sighed, trying my best to tune it out. The dwarves, at least, did have enough manners to say please and thank you to me. Some seemed hesitant, mostly because they had glanced at my ears. I didn’t blame them. As far as I knew, dwarves and elves had never gotten along. However, that was as far as I knew. I could hear Gandalf counting off each dwarf’s name.
“Fili, Kili, Oin, Gloin, Dwalin, Balin, Bifur, Bofur, Bomber, Dori, Nori and….ah, Ori! We seem to be one dwarf short.”
“He’s late, is all,” Dwalin reassured the wizard. “He traveled north for a meeting with our kin.” I gave Dwalin another mug of ale, mostly so I could hear the conversation going on. “Thank you, lassie.” Most of the dwarves had moved into what they now made our ‘new’ dining room.
“Bebother and confusticate these dwarves!” Bilbo complained to himself.
“My dear Bilbo, what in Middle Earth is the matter?” Gandalf questioned.
“What’s the matter? I am surrounded by dwarves! Look at the state of my kitchen! There’s mud trod in the carpet, they’ve pillaged the pantry! I’m not even going tell you what they’ve done in the bathroom, they’ve all but destroyed the plumbing! I don’t understand what they’re doing in my house!”
“I feel like a wench in a tavern,” I added to the conversation, placing one hand on my hip and the other held two mugs of ale.
“And you won’t be using that language in my house, young lady,” Bilbo snapped at me.
“Oh, so now I’m a ‘young lady’ instead of a child? Perfect timing for me to suddenly grow up in your eyes, isn’t it? Besides, it doesn’t seem to be our house anymore.” I walked away, already tired from how long the evening had carried on. I walked over to the table, where all the dwarves had seated themselves. I placed the two mugs on the table, sliding them towards their recipients. In return, I received four mugs in return, which I took over to rinse them out. Kili, Fili and Bofur were already at the wash station, cleaning some of the mugs and cutlery already. “Thank you for starting them,” I said, moving in between them to start helping.
“I have a question for you, Miss Baggins,” Bofur asked.
“Please, call me Lucia. Ask away.”
“Why are you the only elf in a village of hobbits?” I paused, internally questioning whether or not I should tell the truth or remain vague.
“I was left here, fourteen years ago,” I replied, keeping my eyes focused on the rinsing out the mugs in my hands. “Right out there, at the front door. Bilbo had nowhere to send me so he kept me here.”
“Ah, I see.”
“So you’ve never been with your own kind?” Kili asked, having heard the entire conversation.
“No. I’ve been in the Shire all my life. Farthest I’ve been is just before the row-post that will take you to Bree.”
“Can you not do that? You’ll blunt them!” we heard Bilbo call out. The dwarves in the new dining room were using the cutlery to create some type of music. Kili was the one who started a song.
“Blunt the knives, bend the forks!”
“Smash the bottles, and burn the corks!” Fili continued.
“Chip the glasses and crack the plates, that’s what Bilbo Baggins hates!” the party shouted in unison. “Cut the cloth and tread on the fat, leave the bones on the bedroom mat, pour the milk on the pantry floor, splash the wine on every door, dump the crocks in a boiling bowl, pound them up with a thumping pole! When you’ve finished, if any are whole, send them down the hall to roll!” Much to my surprise, the party was in fact cleaning up while they were singing. All of the plates and mugs made their way in the sink and had been cleaned off. “That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates!” As the music and singing quickly died down, I took a seat in the closest chair, feeling exhausted. It had been a long evening, and it was far from over. The excitement in the room was quickly cut off by two loud poundings on our door. I was about to move to get the door, but Gandalf quickly stood up, cutting off my path.
“Prepare a meal, and some ale,” the wizard told me. I had to bite my tongue to keep quiet, but still did as I was told, working quickly. I peeked around the corner to see the newcomer.
“I thought you said this place would be easy to find,” the dwarf’s deep voice seemed to echo through the house. He looked stoic, hardened by war and internal battles. His hair was long and dark, but his beard was a bit short. He entered the new dining room without seeing me. Gandalf, however, motioned for me to quickly bring over the food I had quickly prepared. I balanced everything and had a mug of ale in my other hand. The dwarf had taken the seat at the head of the table. I placed the plate and mug in front of him. “Thank you, Miss Baggins,” he said, turning to face me. His expression changed when he saw my ears, and it wasn’t a positive change. I looked to Gandalf, and he motioned with his head for me to exit the room, which I did quickly. “You didn’t tell me there was an elf with the hobbit,” I heard him say to Gandalf.
“There are more relevant matters at hand. Bilbo Baggins, may I introduce to you the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield.”
“Tell me, Mister Baggins, have you done much fighting?” Bilbo looked taken aback by the question. “Axe or sword, what’s your weapon of choice?”
“Well I do have some skill at conkers, if you must know,” the hobbit replied. I wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. I leaned against the archway entrance to the new dining room, putting most of my weight on my left hip.
“His size and stature would make a sword a better weapon for him,” I spoke up. All eyes went to me. “An axe would be heavy for a hobbit to carry around or use. A sword is lighter and could provide more defense points.”
“And what would you know of swords and axes? Have you ever had one in your hands?” Thorin questioned coldly.
“I learned what I know from reading books. And although you might dislike me because of my race, I am still, by technicality, the mistress of the house, not a servant that you can dismiss and ignore.” I made sure to keep my tone sounding confident, even though I wasn’t. I wasn’t about to let Thorin or Bilbo or anyone talk down to me in my house. Thorin didn’t answer and turned away from me. I knew he wanted to say something, but it was probably better that he didn’t.
“What news from the meeting in Ered Luin? Did they all come?” Balin asked, trying to break the tension.
“Aye, envoys from all seven kingdoms.”
“And what did they say? Will Dain help us?”
“They say that this quest is ours, and ours alone.” The dwarves all looked visibly upset.
“Bilbo, my dear fellow, could you fetch us a little more light?” Gandalf asked. Bilbo moved to go get a candle or two, motioning that I could take his seat next to the wizard, which I did, crossing one leg over the other.
“Is this quest the adventure you offered us?” I asked Gandalf. He nodded in return, sending a signal that I needed to pay attention to what was going to be said. The wizard placed a map on the table, just as Bilbo brought in a candle. “The Lonely Mountain,” I read aloud, looking at a mountain peak drawn at the top of the map.
“Aye,” Gloin replied. “Oin has read the portents and the portents say it’s time. Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain, just as foretold. When the birds of old return to Erebor, the reign of the beast shall end.”
“What beast?” Bilbo asked.
“That would be in reference to Smaug the terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age,” Bofur answered. “Airborne fire breather, teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks, extremely fond of precious metals and gems.”
“Yes, I know what a dragon is.” The sound of a dragon both terrified me and peaked my interest.
“The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us, but we number only thirteen, and not thirteen of the best or brightest,” Balin added.
“We may be few in number, but we’re fighters!” Fili counterclaimed. “All of us. Besides, we have a wizard in our presence. Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time!”
“Oh, well, I, uh, wouldn’t say….” Gandalf began to object.
“Well, how many then?” someone asked. I wasn’t sure whose voice it was. “Go on, give us a number!” The other dwarves joined in speaking all at once, demanding the amount of dragons that Gandalf had slayed.
“Enough!” Thorin yelled, making everyone instantly go silent. I shrunk a little in my chair, intimidated by the party’s leader. “If we have read these signs, do you not think others have, too? The vast wealth of our people may now lie unprotected. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Do we sit back and allow others to claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to reclaim Erebor?”
“You forget, the front gate is sealed,” Balin said. “There is no way into the mountain.”
“That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true,” Gandalf spoke up. He held up a key.
“How did you come by this?” Thorin questioned.
“Your father gave it to me for safekeeping. Now it is yours.” He gave him the key.
“If there is a key, there must be a door,” someone else stated.
“The runes speak of a door that leads to the lower halls. The answer is hidden somewhere in this map, but I don’t have the skills to find it. However, there are others in Middle Earth that do. The task I have in mind will require much stealth and even more courage. If we are careful and clever, I believe it can be done.”
“That’s why we need a burglar,” another person stated. I sat up a little bit straighter, knowing that I could do it. I was somewhat of a thief myself. I had never stolen anything major, just more to pull practical jokes. I had courage, though. I wanted to join them on this, even though it was going to be dangerous. With Gandalf and a small pack of experienced dwarves, though, how dangerous could it be? I could figure out how to handle myself. I could do this.
“A good one, too. An expert, I’d imagine,” Bilbo commented.
“And are you?” Gloin asked.
“Am I what?”
“He said he’s an expert,” Oin stated, pointing at Gandalf.
“Me? Oh, no, no, no, I’ve never stolen a thing in my life.”
“I have,” I spoke up, but no one seemed to hear me.
“The wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves.”
“I can fend for myself,” I spoke up again. The dwarves started to speak over each other, all of them either ignoring me or not hearing what I said in the first place. Looking for a way to assert myself, my eyes landed on Thorin’s mug. Moving swiftly, I picked the mug up and slammed it on the table, standing up from my seat. A little bit of ale spilled from it, but not that much. Everyone went quiet and all eyes landed on me. “I’ll do it. I’ll be your burglar.”
“Absolutely not,” Bilbo started to argue. I held up my free hand to silence him, since I hadn’t taken my hand off the mug yet.
“You need a burglar, I can do it. I can take care of myself. Think about it, the dragon would be so accustomed to the smell of dwarf, imagine its confusion when it picks up the scent of an elf. And if you don’t want me as your sole burglar, I can be a….a distraction burglar. Further aid the sole burglar by providing a distraction that can draw any attention away from them. And if my race really comes into play with your acceptance of me, then all of you need to sort out your priorities.” I took my hand off the mug, leaning on the table instead. The dwarves were all exchanging looks.
“Show them the contract,” Thorin finally ordered. Balin passed a folded piece of parchment to Thorin, who shoved it into my hands. Bilbo and I both stepped back, opening the parchment, which rolled out onto the floor.
“It’s just the usual summary of out-of-pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth,” Balin explained. I was speed reading through the contract, while Bilbo was taking his time. I knew what I was getting into already, I didn’t need to read it over.
“I cannot guarantee their safety,” I heard Thorin whisper to Gandalf.
“Understood.”
“Nor will I be responsible for their fate.”
“Agreed.”
“Total’s cash on delivery, up to but not exceeding, one-fourteenth of the total profit, if any,” Bilbo read from the contract. “Seems fair. The present company shall not be liable for injuries inflicted by or sustained as a consequence thereof, including, but not limited to…lacerations, evisceration…. incineration ?”
“Oh, aye, he’ll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye,” Bofur clarified. All of the color drained from Bilbo’s face. I quickly grabbed a quill from a shelf, dipping it in ink, and placed the contract on the table. At the very bottom of it, just below the word ‘Burglar’, I wrote ‘Distraction ’, then signing my name.
“You alright, laddie?” Balin asked Bilbo.
“I feel faint,” the hobbit answered. “I-I need air.”
“Think furnace, with wings,” Bofur continued to clarify. “Flash of light, searing pain, and then poof! You’re nothing but a pile of ash.” Bilbo looked like he was thinking for a second, but then completely passed out onto the floor with a very loud thud. I put my hand up to my head, rubbing my temples.
“Thank you for that,” I said. “That was just such a great help.”
We eventually got Bilbo in a chair and he was conscious again soon.
“I’ll be fine, I just need to sit quietly for a moment,” he told Gandalf and me. I was standing by the lit fireplace, my arms folded across my chest. I knew I had to start packing my necessities, but I figured that it could wait just a little longer.
“You’ve been sitting quietly for far too long,” Gandalf answered, his tone filled with conviction. “When did doilies and your mother’s dishes become so important to you? I remember a young hobbit who was always running off in search of elves in the woods.” I smiled a little bit at the comment, but it quickly faded. “He’d stay out late and come home trailing mud and twigs. The world is not in your books and maps, it’s out there .”
“I can’t just go running off into the blue! I am a Baggins of Bad End.”
“As am I,” I cut into the conversation. “By the laws of the Shire, I am as much of a Baggins of Bag End as you are.”
“And you are also a Took,” Gandalf added. “Did you know that your great, great, great, great uncle Bullroarer Took was so large that he could ride a real horse?” Bilbo nodded his head. “Well, he could! In the battle of Greenfields, he charged the goblin ranks he swung his club so hard, it knocked the goblin king’s head clean off, and it sailed a hundred yards through the air, and went down a rabbit hole. And thus the battle was won, and the game of golf invented at the same time.”
“I believe that you made that up,” Bilbo replied.
“All good stories need some embellishment. You’ll have your own tales to tell, when you return.”
“Can you promise that I will come back?” I looked over at Gandalf, knowing that I was also facing the same question.
“No. And if you do, you will not be the same.”
“That’s what I thought.” Bilbo stood up from his chair. “I’m sorry, Gandalf, I can’t sign this. You have the wrong hobbit.” His gaze shifted over to me, and I could see the anger and disappointment in his eyes. I looked down towards the floor, hating that look. “As for you….I don’t even know what to do with you, Lucia. You finally got your wish of wanting to leave. Maybe you’ll see how lucky you’ve been.” Bilbo stormed off to his room, leaving Gandalf and I standing there.
“Lucia,” the wizard started to say.
“I have to pack,” I cut him off, walking towards my room quickly. I closed the door to my room gently, almost without any sound. I didn’t know what I was really supposed to bring. How long would I even be gone? I grabbed my packsack. It was a little raggedy, but it was the best I had. I grabbed four different outfits, not that I would be changing clothes a lot. I also packed a cloak, laying a second one out on my bed. I wasn’t sure what I’d be using a cloak for, but I just had a feeling to bring it. I didn’t have many things that could be considered a weapon, either. The only decent thing I had was an old dagger that I found by the river, right on the border of the Shire. I had sharpened and cleaned it over time. It would have to do. Someone would have to teach me how to actually use it. I packed away a few more things, then putting on my cloak that I had laid on my bed. I was as ready as I’d ever be, but I found that a part of me was nervous. It wasn’t a big part, but it was still there. No. I had to push it away. This was what I had wanted and needed for so long; to get away from the quiet life. I exited my room. Most of the candles had been blown out, keeping the house dim. I placed my packsack on the floor, next to the pile of weapons and other items. The dwarves were gathered around the fireplace, each one humming to some type of ballad. I didn’t recognize it. A deep voice slightly startled me, as I sat in the closest chair. Thorin had started singing.
“Far over, the Misty Mountains cold. To dungeons deep, and caverns old. We must away, ere break of day. To find our long forgotten gold.” The other dwarves joined him. I listened closely to their voices, staring into the fire. Fire was supposed to offer warmth and comfort, but I found none.
“The pines were roaring on the height, the winds were moaning in the night. The fire was red, its flaming spread. The trees like torches blazed with light.”