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I put the plate on the table and sat down. Deeply breathe in the smell of baked fish. The corners of my mouth rose in a smile as the ice ball in my stomach slowly melted. It was always there. But during today's unexpected and unannounced encounter with the wizard, it grew bigger than ever. I couldn't get rid of it all day.
My hands were tired and there was no reason for them to be… I tried everything. Gardened. Went for a walk. Cooked. It was the cooking and baking that finally helped me. I knew that a good dinner, pleasant smells, and honest work would lift my spirits. I already knew what to do so that the ice would not grow dangerously into the rest of the body, into the heart, and into the mind. And when it gets me ... When it gets me, I'll try to stop it. I checked that the sleeves covered my wrist. I'll want to at least relieve the pain inside a little bit. It is better to feel the pain in the skin and to see the blood washing it away than to have it inside, furious and disgusting...
It threatened me today... The wizard and his hints and talks about the adventures ... No, no no. No to all of that. I could feel the ice in my stomach turning into a lump full of thistles. Even my beloved pipe didn't help.
But no. It'll be fine. I have dinner. I'm better now. I won't fail. No.
Not today.
And tomorrow morning I'll go to the orchard to pick cherries or plums. And then I'll bake. Fresh air, picking fruit, and baking pocket pies must lift my spirits. Now I need to have order and routine. Don't be swallowed up by everything. Noticing the daily little things and joys. Seeking joy in my life and creating it too. The frost won’t get this hobbit, thank you very much.
No.
This hobbit will have a pipe and herbal tea after dinner. Maybe one glass of blueberry wine. No more than that.
This hobbit won’t break because of the frost.
I grabbed the cutlery with determination and a pleasant feeling in my stomach.
THUMP. THUMP THUMP.
The ice ball was back in its original size.
Damn. Who is it?
No one proper would come so late and unannounced.
This means trouble.
I whimpered and got up from the table.
Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
"I'm coming. I’m coming!” I called and hurried to the door.
I twisted my face. Who the hell is that?
Why don't they use the bell?
What do they want?
I took a deep breath before opening the door. Keep calm. The ice ball grew up into my throat. Something must have happened. Something bad. Why else would the neighbors come at this hour? This is not good.
You can do it, Bilbo. You can do it.
I exhaled.
Opened the door.
And there were no neighbors behind them.
A huge... dwarf was waiting on the doorstep. He had a tattoo on his shaved head, and a crazy ax dangling at his waist.
I swallowed.
I knew it.
I didn't even have the last dinner.
The dwarf bowed. "Dwalin," he growled. "At your service."
What? At my service?
No no no. That's not happening. That's a very bad joke. Not even Lobelia would do that to me!
"Uhm..." I quickly tied my bathrobe. "Uhm... Bilbo... Baggins." I can not breathe. I can not breathe! "At yours," I managed to say.
The dwarf walked inside as if it was his place.
Oh no. This is worse than killing me. "Do you kno – do we know each other?"
He came closer to me. Too close. He stared at me for a long moment. I could smell sweat and... metal. And his beard was black and bushy.
"No," he said simply. Before I could ask what he was doing here, he asked, "So where should I go, lad? Is it this way?"
"What's where?"
"Dinner," he told me, as if it was the clearest thing, and threw his cloak at me.
All right, let’s find at least one good thing about it. Only one. He gave me a cloak to hang so it wouldn't puddle on the ground? Well, he threw it, but that's just a small difference.
That's a very poor good thing.
After all, he can smash my face like a marmalade tartalette!
But the dwarf continued: "He said there would be food. A lot of food."
"Who said that?"
The dwarf did not answer. He seemed to follow his nose and find my fish. He starts digging into it.
Why was it so hot in the kitchen all of a sudden? Where did all the air go? Why can't I breathe?
Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.
I can’t bear it.
I can’t do it.
I mumbled something and ran to the bathroom. Rinsed my face with cold water and then leaned against the sink and just tried to breathe. I tried to slow it down. And the cold water helped. This was not good. That wasn't good at all. Thé frost will get me!
No, it won’t.
Can not.
I looked at myself in the mirror. The wolves didn't get me. The river didn't get me. The frost didn’t get me. Even though it still tries. Not even a dwarf will get me. He came. He’ll eat. He’ll leave. He came. He’ll eat. He’ll leave.
And what if he doesn't leave? a small voice in the back of my head asked me. Frosty voice.
The ice thorns grew in my stomach.
So I will set him down in his guest room and he’ll leave in the morning. It wouldn't be hobbit hospitality if I chase him out in the middle of the night.
Yeah. I can do it.
I dried my face and straightened my robe.
I can do it.
I couldn't do it.
The first dwarf was followed by the second one. He was older and had white hair. They banged their heads, but apparently, they were brothers? The dwarves were so noisy and confusing and strange.
I couldn’t do it. I was sick the entire time.
I tried to send them away. They didn't listen. Not a bit.
And others came. And then more. And more. And then Gandalf! The old geezer. But at least I knew someone. He could watch them, right?
But it was he who scratched my freshly painted door.
And all the dwarves said they were at my service.
And everyone measured me like I was competing for the best turnip. And that I was the turnip. Except that there was definitely nothing winning about me at all.
And they moved my furniture.
And they ate the pantry.
And they bashed my antiquities.
And they blunt my knives.
And when I tried to stop them, they started singing!
And then they started throwing everything!
It was terrible. I was upset. I felt terrible. I was sick. I couldn’t do this. Nobody could do this. This had nothing to do with the frost. This is just a not nice thing to do to people! I managed to hide in the bathroom or toilet several times during the evening. But what did they do with the plumbing! How, for all the powers of Arda?
It was getting worse. I thought when the first dwarf came, I couldn’t possibly do it. But in the meantime, it had multiplied a million more times!
Powers of Arda, stand by me. Please.
Someone knocked on the door. And it wasn't any of the neighbors who would come to see if I was okay. Because everyone knew I didn't like celebrations. Everyone knew I was sick. That I'm fighting the frost. They were not neighbors or friends. No. The powers of Arda did not listen to me. It was another dwarf.
Another!
And he was the worst of them all.
He looked at me like I was a weed. Like I was a potato bug on his crop. Like I'm the least educated hobbit in the Hobbiton. And excuse me, I might have always been a little odd, but I've also always been a proper hobbit exactly as it should be! No one could reprehend me, let alone a grumpy dwarf. Yeah, if the first one, the... Dwalin, tried to, I'd understand. Dwalin was scary and big.
But this one? Who came late and claimed to get lost?
No. He doesn’t get to look at me like I’m a potato bug.
This inner pep talk gave me some strength. Yeah. I can do it. I'll finally find out what everyone is doing here. I'll give them shelter. And they'll be gone in the morning. Right?
No...
No.
Apparently, I'm a burglar.
I never stole anything!
Apparently, I'll go to Erebor with them.
I haven't stuck my nose out of the Hobbiton in my life once and I'm not going to change anything about it!
Gandalf seems to vouch for me.
He doesn't give anyone a choice.
Me neither.
Dwalin's brother ... Dalin? Palin? Tallinn? Or something like that, he handed me the contract. I thought I wouldn't spoil anything by reading it. I can reject them then. The conditions looked decent. Until I got to the injuries for which Thorin Oakenshield and his company are not responsible.
Incarceration.
Dragon.
He is said to be huge.
Like a furnace with wings.
The walls were spinning. They squeezed me. The air disappeared.
I leaned forward and tried to suck in at least something. Where's the damn air when the hobbit needs it?
Ice thorns grew through my stomach in my chest and legs. Into hands. I didn't feel my fingertips. In to my head.
From a distance, I heard Palin ask me if I was okay.
I straightened up. I have to go to my room. They can't see me faint!
I took a few steps and my eyes darkened.
"No ..." I managed to say, and then everything went black.
I woke up in my room. I was lying on the bed with my pillows propped up. My best pillows!
Damn, don't those dwarves have a bit of sense in their bodies! Embroidered pillows do not belong under the feet!
"Dwarves ..." I breathed. "Oh no ... it surely was just a nightmare."
It wasn't a nightmare, according to the conversations echoing in the hall.
It’s over. This must end.
I went out and headed for Gandalf. Told him I wasn't going on any adventure. It felt like everything was behind a wall. I didn't feel anything.
Gandalf didn't convince me. He couldn’t.
I don't belong on any adventure.
Then I turned and went back to my room.
I closed the door carefully.
And locked tightly.
I leaned against them.
I slid to the floor.
A wave of heat flooded me.
No no no no no no.
Everything bad that happened overwhelmed me again.
Ice thorns pierced me from the inside.
I pulled my legs together and hugged them. I squeezed them tightly. This is not good.
Memories devoured me.
Of the parents. Of the winter. Of their deaths. Of the wolves.
It was as if the old wounds were opening and bleeding again.
I know I do it to myself. All I needed was to stop thinking. Not picking myself apart again.
Out there, they all assume I'm safe here in my room.
But this is true only up to the moment I fall for the frost again.
I don't want to be the one the moments like this always choose. Battles. Fight. Wolves. Dwarves.
Damn. I know I'm doomed. That I'm a tangled-up ball of everything evil with a dash of frost on top.
I know I should fight it. Fight the frost. Fight the fear of the people.
But I just don't know why should I fight. What’s worth fighting for.
Everyone leave me to be at my peace...
I want peace ...
I don't know why I want to yell at the entire world.
But I know I can't.
I don't know why I still care.
Why don't I give up.
And why I say things I don't even mean.
Why I‘m smiling and telling others I'm alright. That I’m okay. That I’m fine.
I don't know why I'm the way I am.
But I don't like it.
I never liked it.
The dwarves will go against the dragon to get their home back.
Why can't I go against the frost?
I heard something.
What is it?
I strained my ears. Such a melodic hum.
I open the door slightly and walk out quietly.
The melody was louder.
I listened.
And then Thorin, their leader, began to sing. About a lost home. About the Misty Mountains. About deep dungeons and old caverns. About the art of dwarves. Pounding hammers. And the songs they sang day and night. About gold. And the night everything was destroyed. Roaring pines and moaning winds. A red fire spreading through the forest and the trees that became torches. About the escape of dwarves from the smoldering mountain. About the desperate promise that they will return one day. Or was it a desire?
I'm trying to catch my breath.
It works.
Not properly but it works.
I tiptoed back to my room.
Close the door carefully.
And I press my hand to my chest. Where my heart was pounding.
It was warming up.
It was strong.
It was as if the song, the sad, sad song, healed me for a moment.
I looked around the room. Around a beloved room in a hobbit burrow, which my father built for his love with an adventurous heart. I stroked the door frame. He carved in a wish with every stroke that she will always desire to return home, no matter where she was. To love the burrow as a home and not as a prison.
Thanks to them, I had a home.
But the dwarves lost theirs.
I breathe in.
It works.
The frost won’t break this hobbit.
Even if it hurts.
Even though I'm scared.
Even though I'm more afraid than ever.
Nothing will break this hobbit.
Even if it was a trip with the damn dwarves to damn Erebor.
I will change it.
Thanks to their song, I felt ... more alive than ever.
Even now... as if everything was clearer. Less sharp and painful but clearer and... right.
What was going on?
But if they leave, what if the feeling disappears?
What if the world will be so strangely dull and gray again? Faint?
What if the frost comes back and I‘ll fight it again by myself? Alone?
What if the frost breaks me?
No...
Not anymore.
I'll help the dwarves find their home.
And maybe in the meantime, I'll find the good feeling from life.
I'll tell them in the morning.
I have to pack now.
So.
And it is decided.
I'm going on an adventure.
With damn dwarves.