Chapter Text
The early morning sun was shining through Bilbo's window, promising a bright, pleasant day ahead.
Unfortunately, the sunlight was streaming right onto his fucking face. Bilbo had been absolutely sure he'd drawn the curtains shut last night before he went to bed. But no, it turned out he hadn't and wasn't that just his shitty, shitty luck?
Huffing, Bilbo rose and slammed the curtains closed before he laid down and fell back asleep...
…?
Ahem.
Before he laid down and fell back asleep…
...!
For fuck sake.
Resigned to his unfortunate fate, Bilbo got out of bed and sulked his way through his morning ablutions, his mood only picking up once he sat down for breakfast. (A generous bowl of thick porridge topped with sour cherry jam alongside some rather juicy currants, if you were curious.)
But now that his inclination towards life and all its wonders had vastly improved, Bilbo considered his options for what he should do with his unexpectedly long morning. He’d actually been planning to go to the market this afternoon but, technically, he could go right away if he wished.
However, this early in the day the only stalls trading would be the more... unsavoury ones: Men trading their strange wares, Hobbits of very low standing, peddlers and charlatans etc, basically anyone of that sort.
Still, people of that sort were the only ones selling the rare mathoms he so enjoyed. Granted, he already had a rather prodigious collection already but, well, one should never deprive oneself of life’s treasures. Besides, he was up already.
And so, mind made up, Bilbo headed out, his wicker basket swinging lazily off one hand, his other curled tight around his favourite walking stick. And what a lovely piece it was if he said so himself; rich, lacquered wood engraved with silver dusted runes all the way down the shaft before ending with a supple leather grip.
He'd bought off a trader several years ago. Oh, of course, at the time it'd not been a walking stick at all but an axe, all ghastly sharp metal and raven motifs. Naturally, he'd had the offending head removed and the haft sanded down into its new, far more respectable form. vast improvement if you asked him, which many Hobbits did, often—Bilbo had a knack for this sort of thing, you know.
As he walked, Bilbo began to whistle softly under his breath, taking the longer route around the South end to avoid the more... uncouth areas of Hobbiton. Now, Bilbo was sure they were decent enough Hobbits in their own way but he simply had no interest in the gossiping of young mothers or their little brats.
And, frankly, who could blame him? Yes, this route was far more pleasant and peaceful meaning he reached the Market in even higher spirits than he'd expected to.
This meant he found he could, for once, ignore the strange stench of the Horse-Men who'd come to sell their exotic wares. Not that Bilbo had any objection to the Horse-Men, per se, but did they really need to be so loud? And their horses; utterly ghastly, brutes of animals that, in his opinion, should be kept locked up at all times.
And, another thing he didn’t understand was why the younger Hobbits fawned over them as they did, even going so far as to waste good apples pampering the beasts. But, he supposed, the youth were prone to flights of fancy, weren't they? Even he had been as naught but a fauntling, deluding himself on his mother's fantastical stories. Not that they’d done her any good of course but it was too pleasant a morning for such unpleasant thoughts.
But, he supposed, there was no real harm in their follies, they’d grow out of it eventually after all. He had. Besides, at least the Horse-men kept the rabble away from the stalls he wished to visit.
"Mornin', Master Baggins!" Cried the squat, jolly-faced Man who'd been a feature of the early morning market for fifteen years now. "Lovely selection for you today."
He was nice enough for a Man, Bilbo supposed. All limbs and bad teeth like most his race, but he was a fair dealer of goods, certainly more trustworthy than some Hobbits he could ignobly mention.
And the fellow had quite the selection today. Of course, there were the usual Manish curiosities: huge tools, ugly breeches, over-large wooden phalluses, beaded jewellery, the odd brooch. Nothing much of interest for a meticulous collector like Bilbo.
No, he was a Hobbit of taste.
"Well, these are all very well and good..." he trailed off, realizing he'd completely forgotten the man's name and so he changed course, "...sir. But, come now, I'm a discerning Gentle-Hobbit. Where are your more... exotic trinkets?"
The man puffed on his pipe, considering Bilbo for a moment before nodding. "Right you are, Master Baggins. Recently got my hands on some Dwarven baubles but a few days ago, just a mo."
Bilbo sighed internally. Was it too much to ask for something Elvish? Something of true quality and beauty? Oh, Dwarves were excellent craftsmen, only a fool would argue against that.
But.
Well, they were very brutish, weren't they? Bilbo knew all about their kind. It was common knowledge that Dwarves were lustful, envious creatures, ever bitter that the Elves were the First race and not themselves. No wonder it'd left them so greedy and grasping.
This was why Bilbo was glad Dwarves had stopped coming to the Shire in the last few decades. Oh, of course, as a boy he'd had all kinds of fancies in his head, encouraged by his darling but eccentric mother.
Until the incident, of course. The whole Shire knew about that... Why, it'd set tongues wagging for months.
Even now it was an often brought up tale on slow evenings, of the Dwarvish band that'd come through and been commissioned by Florence Hillingbourne to create her an ornate fish slice.Of course, the foolish dwarves had created her a spatula instead and, quite rightly, she'd refused to pay a single penny. The ensuing ruckus ensured no decent Hobbit would ever do business with a dwarf again and that'd been that.
Still, it did have the one positive side effect, for Bilbo at least, as it dropped the bottom out of the market for Dwarvish mathoms overnight.
And Bilbo Baggins did so love a bargain.
"Right, here yer are," the man said, lifting out a bundle of goods and unrolling them across the grass. "A right set of curiosities here for yer."
Sighing internally, Bilbo resigned himself to crouching down to examine the various trinkets spread out before him. It was a meagre display in truth. There were a few belt buckles that held no interest to Bilbo, the odd hairbead which, again, didn't interest him, and an ear horn of all the bloody things.
There was a rather fetching red neckerchief but, upon further examination, Bilbo realized it'd been spoiled by a tacky dragon that’d been embroidered onto it in gold of all colours. Of course, the blemish could be unpicked but, no, it wasn't worth the effort for such a mediocre piece of cloth.
And then his eye was caught by something else entirely...
Honestly, at first, Bilbo had mistaken it for a rag of some sort, but then the light had caught the fabric, revealing it to in fact be a rich sheen of silk.
Curious, he reached out, picking up the rich fabric to better examine it's quality only to realize...
Oh.
It was...a map.
...
Hmm.
That was a bit disappointing honestly. Bilbo already had plenty, after all, and the silk could've been cut up to make a fetching handkerchief. But no, yet another thing utterly ruined by the dwarves' apparent love of gold thread. Tch, someone was clearly overcompensating for something.
Bilbo sighed, extremely disappointed. No, no this wouldn't do at all.
He went to put it back when he paused, giving the map another look, running his thumb over the fine thread.
Hmm.
Perhaps he was being over harsh? This was clearly an enthusiastic effort,and it would be a shame to come home empty handed, especially after such a taxing morning. Besides, if he grew tired of the map he could always cut it up for placemats.
In the end, Bilbo brought the map and a few other small trinkets, managing to get a fairly decent price for the lot after some intense haggling.
His shopping trip now done, Bilbo packed away his haul and made his way home, his mind already drifting towards what he'd have for Second Breakfast. The rest of the day passed quite pleasantly, and the next few after that, the map long hung up and forgotten.
And there it would've remained until such a time Bilbo grew bored of it or needed a new dish cloth, but then came that ghastly night...
...And the heavy knocking upon his door.
