Chapter Text
Bilbo Baggins was proud to say that he was perfectly normal, thank you very much.
That is, if you consider being the head of the Shire's main crime family 'normal'. In fact, the only abnormal thing about him was that he preferred to talk about his problems rather than just steamroller over them with violence. Then again, this itself wasn’t abnormal amongst Hobbits, just in most other races across Middle Earth.
Bilbo hadn't wanted to take over the family when he did, which was a widely known fact. The events leading to his ascension at the young age of thirty three were another factor contributing to his reluctance, but needs must. It wasn't as if the dratted organisation could run itself (at least not until after he took it over).
In any case, it had to be him. With both of his parents dead and no siblings he was the primary heir, and the matter was settled whether he liked it or not.
This wasn't to say, of course, that Bilbo didn't enjoy his role. No, no, even with the responsibility left on his young shoulders, Bilbo nurtured the Family until it thrived under his care. Something that satisfied his Tookish nature immensely was proving the gossips and doubters wrong. His Baggins side was simply overjoyed with how rhythmic it could all be, and took pride in how his precise, detailed plans set the gears turning in the organisation, granting them windfall after windfall.
In fact, he was so successful that when a drunken Bracegirdle started spouting about performing a coup in the Prancing Pony one evening, Bilbo’s eyes and ears reported that he was laughed out of the establishment. If the poor lad turned up dead from a boating accident one week later, well, that was simply coincidence. Couldn't take any risks, could he?
As mentioned, since Bilbo had taken over, the organisation didn't really take much running. Being groomed by Bungo and Belladonna to take over one day had to have helped, even if it was earlier than expected. All it took was a threat here or a payoff there, silencing this or that person... The usual. Not that he did much silencing himself, mind! He was the Baggins of Bag End, that would be highly unprofessional.
The only difficulty that arose was the complication caused by rival gangs. Not that they threw much of a spanner in the works. They wouldn't ever be more than a minor inconvenience if Bilbo had anything to say about it. Rival 'organisations' left a bad taste in his mouth. Hobbits, as in everything important, worked together. The Shirelings were his, and the only other gangs in the Shire were the Buckland Bounders and the Thains, whose leaders he was related to, which had paved the way for an easy truce between them.
In contrast, the race of men had more gangs than Bilbo had eaten meals in his life. The closest gang of men to the Shire was the Green Dragons, and they weren't too bad at all. They had several long-running trade deals between them, and had a nice non-aggression pact which granted both gangs safe passage through the respective territories.
Countless bands of orcs roamed the land, forever squabbling and changing sides. Just as soon as one group of them had selected a new leader, one enterprising competitor would rise against their rival, leaving them in near-constant war with each other. They could be dangerous, but no one paid them any mind.
There was one very elusive group formed entirely of wizards which, if rumour was to be believed, contained only five members. They were very rarely seen together though. Besides, could the Maiar really be classed as a gang when they only really went around helping other organisations?
There were also a few elf and dwarf gangs floating around, though only a few were known well. There tended to be one or two dwarven gangs per every mountain range; the most well-known was the Company of Erebor, just known as the Company to most, though they had been exiled from their stronghold years previously. When it came to elves, they were more sensible about the number of gangs that one needed. There were three main groups: the Rivendell Collective, the Mirkwood Few, and the highly elusive Lothlóriens. Personally, Bilbo thought that the elves' names were rather unoriginal, and sounded more like bands than fearsome mobs, but who was he to judge?
Bilbo rarely had cause to leave the borders of the Shire, minus fairly frequent visits to the town of Bree, though he did sometimes travel further afield to speak with other groups, and that was how he liked it. They had very little trouble with intruders, as the Shire was hard to find, and even if anyone did invade, the Shirelings had a considerable home advantage. It was comfortable, and he had absolutely no reason to change the way things were.
Yet, when one of the wizards himself turned up, interrupting Bilbo's weekly meeting with his inner circle of trusted associates, some distant part of him realised that 'normal' was going to fly out of the window wearing nothing but one of Lobelia's ridiculous bonnets and his mother's underwear.
"You need to expand your reach, my boy!" Old grey-robes was saying, settling unconcernedly into Bilbo's largest (and favourite) armchair. "The Shirelings are thriving under your command, it's true, and I respect that a great deal, but I am offering you the chance to make a move on something bigger! Besides, if you don't get some more allies, I’m concerned that interested parties will make their move on your territory."
Gandalf smiled pleasantly at their angry faces, sipping at Bilbo's tea without a care in the world. Incensed, Lobelia leapt from her chair and stomped over, pushing a finger into Gandalf's chest.
"Why would anyone make a move on us?" She spluttered. "We keep ourselves to ourselves. We are more careful than even the elves! Our business is our own, and we keep it that way. Most of Middle Earth doesn’t even know we exist!"
Bilbo laid a calming hand on her arm, to little effect. She shook him off without a thought, directing the full extent of her disapproval at the ancient being in front of her. Bilbo, looking quite embarrassed at her behaviour, covered his eyes with a hand.
"Those who do know about us, besides you and the Dragons in Bree, think what we want them to think about us. To them, we are small and worthless; entirely useless, which is how we like it!" Finally tiring of his relative's screeching, Bilbo slapped a hand over her mouth. Lobelia wisely didn’t do something juvenile in response, like lick him, but it was a near thing.
"Master Gandalf. With all due respect, and as much as I trust your judgement, Lobelia here is correct. We are perfectly happy as we are. Always have been, always will be. No one bothers us, because we are careful to cover our existence. How could anyone else possibly know-"
Bilbo trailed off with a hard look at Gandalf as the old man cleared his throat and looked off to the side.
"What, ahem. What have you done, Gandalf?" Bilbo’s voice was perfectly pleasant, but a measure of steel had entered his spine, and his eyes sparked with rage that was utterly at odds with his Hobbit-y appearance.
Tense silence followed Bilbo's question, as the gathered Hobbits shuffled in discomfort. Bilbo's hand strayed closer to his knife as Primula Brandybuck narrowed her eyes and moved from her position near the door to block the exit. A large dog-like creature, Primula’s well-loved pet, shadowed her, beginning to growl lowly.
Gandalf frowned at them, like they were particularly misbehaving children. "There's no need for that, my friends. No need at all. You needn't fret about it too much; I simply let slip to a few friends in unfortunate circumstances that they might find help from you. I mentioned that I knew of folk who could move practically unseen, who appear to bend the Earth itself to their will, and do it so well that few even know that they exist. I told them that you might be open to assisting them in a business venture... After all, it's time you had a bit of adventure!" He twinkled at them, looking every inch a benevolent grandfather who'd just produced sweets from nowhere. The wizard pointedly ignored their shocked and murderous stares, opting to reach for the rapidly emptying teapot.
Bilbo sighed wearily, massaging his temples where a thumping headache was forming. "Who? What did you say besides that?"
He looked suddenly every inch the mob boss that he was meant to be; gone was the sweet young bachelor of moments ago. Gandalf's smile never faltered, rather it grew wider as though he sensed a victory approaching.
"Some dwarves, my dear boy! I believe you'll have heard of them; they belong to a group called the Company? They are few and far between these days though, they used to be the largest group of dwarves in existence, you know. Many of their number are dead now, or scattered across Arda. I took the liberty of inviting them for tea here at Bag End, I do hope that won't be a bother. They'll be here tomorrow, in any case, so you'll have some time to prepare." He explained, well, rambled really, never losing the damned twinkle glinting in his eyes. "Now, I'm afraid that I must dash, as your guests will need my presence to allow them safe passage through Bree, and I don't want their numbers to drop any further!"
With that parting remark, he strode back out of Bilbo's home without so much as a thank you for the tea. Slowly, the most powerful Hobbit in the Shire turned to face his companions, wide eyed. They returned his shock in kind, and spent several short moments digesting the information that had been dumped on them.
"The Company." Bilbo finally spat out with a huff, laying his hands on the arms of his chair. His inner circle glanced between themselves worriedly as Bilbo sighed. "Well, it's no good us just sitting here, is it? There's no stopping that confounded wizard now. If he wants his tea, he'll have it!"
A slow smile spread across Lobelia's face as she glanced at Hamfast Gamgee. "Ham, be a dear and fetch your wife. I'll fetch Otho. I have a feeling that we'll need the help."
Ham nodded stiffly and the two hurried out of the smial to scheme. Esmeralda Took shared a look with her brother Rorimac as Prim scrunched up her nose in thought, scratching the scruff of her pet’s neck absentmindedly. Drogo Baggins simply settled into a chair next to his older cousin, awaiting orders. With a thankful glance around the room, Bilbo Baggins slipped gleefully into his more Tookish mindset and got to work.
In short order, Lobelia and Hamfast had returned, their spouses in tow, and the lot of them began. Rorimac, Bell (Hamfast's wife) and Otho set about with the cooking, churning out dishes that would be refrigerated overnight as fast as they possibly could, whilst Lobelia took Prim to the market to secure as much food as the two could reasonably carry. Drogo settled himself in a side room and went about writing a list of things they'd need should they decided to tag along on this ridiculous quest, whilst Esmeralda went over each and every possible outcome, noting each vulnerable spot in the place's defences. Bilbo simply flitted about his home, first helping those in the kitchen, then trying to help Drogo, before settling resolutely in his father's armchair and beginning to sharpen a small mountain of weapons.
They worked well into the night, before settling into Bilbo's guest rooms to catch a few hours of sleep. Bilbo, now alone, set about writing a list of instructions regarding the running of the gang in his potential absence, though he doubted it would be needed, and wrote up another note regarding what should be done in case of outright war between them and the dwarves, in case the meeting went that badly. Satisfied, Bilbo finally retreated into his own room, sending up prayers of thanks to Yavanna for at least giving him some time to prepare.
As the sun began to rise over the picturesque view of the Shire, Bilbo finally fell into an uneasy sleep.