Chapter Text
“What's a Hobbit?” Kíli asked one evening over supper.
“They're fat little men that hide under your bed, Kee.” Fíli supplied in between mouthfuls of his mince pie. Frerin did his best to stifle his laughter, ending up on the business end of Dís' diamond encrusted slipper.
Kíli's eyes grew wide in alarm. “Nuh-uh! Uncle Frerin checks under my bed every night, Fee!”
“That's right. Uncle Frerin would never let a Hobbit hide under your bed Kíli.” Frerin nods seriously as he rubs his abused shin.
“I'm surrounded by idiots.” Thorin grouses while ignoring Dís' glare.
“A Hobbit is a sprite of Mahal's wife, Yavanna – a child of the verdant garden.” Balin intercedes. “They are said to be gentle beings, the tenders of all growing things on Arda. It's long since been told throughout our history that Hobbits bless the lands around our mountains, for we are hewn from stone and skilled with metal, we lack the appreciation and the expertise for growing things. It's more of an old legend anyway I'm afraid, no Dwarf has ever laid eyes upon a Hobbit.”
A fit of coughing over takes Gandalf, nearly causing him to choke on his wine in the process. The thought of Hobbits hiding under the beds of children like fairytale monsters was quite scandalous. Truly the myths of Dwarves never cease to bring him great amusement.
“Is that really true? I don't like green things.” Kíli whines, scrunching up his face in disgust.
“Of course it's not true. Don't be stupid, Kee.”
Fortunately, Gandalf knew of a few good Hobbits and he was more than willing to turn the little Dwarven history lesson upside down if it meant even more amusement. It would take a bit of convincing, but he was certain a holiday could be arranged for one special Hobbit.
The next morning Gandalf departs with a promise to return to Erebor next summer.
*
Hobbits are secretive about their existence. They prefer to live in seclusion from the other races of Arda, in a sanctuary protected by the Green Lady herself. They do not maintain any sort of contact outside their Shire and no Hobbit ever dared set a furry foot outside of it.
Hobbit parents tell their little Hobbit children of the terrible things that happen to curious little fauntlings who try and sneak outside the boundaries; tales of the big folk who wouldn't second guess gobbling them up for supper.
Belladona Took never believed in those superstitious tales. She dreamed of wide open plains and jagged mountains, deep forests and endlessly stretching seas. Those dreams never faded, even when she was courted by and eventually married to an overly respectable Baggins. Bungo never held those fantasies in the same regard his wife did, but he admired her for having them and he certainly never forbade her from sharing them with their inquisitive Bilbo.
Bungo firmly believed that he would fade away long before ever bearing witness to the day a Hobbit became brazen enough to leave the Shire – until the day Gandalf showed up.
“You want to take our son where?” Bungo said incredulously, harshly setting his teacup onto the table.
“I would like to take your son on an adventure – to Erebor.” Gandalf repeated.
Bella remained silent, but the beginnings of a smirk we're pulling at the corners of her mouth as her husband interrogated Gandalf further on his intentions for their son.
“And where is this... Erebor, may I ask?”
“Erebor is far off to the east, over the Misty Mountains and across the Greenwood, dug deep in the Lonely Mountain.” Gandalf explained as he casually sipped at his tea.
“You don't truly mean to take our son out of the Shire, surely, such an idea is preposterous! No, not respectable at all...”
“Oh, but it isn't ridiculous my friend and I'm quite sure that Bilbo would enjoy it.” Gandalf said, leveling Bungo with a stern look. “He's of age now, is he not?”
Bungo shot up from his chair, face red with indignation. “I'll not allow my only son to travel across the bloody world on some fool adventure –” He said, jabbing an angry finger in the direction of Gandalf.
“Bungo Baggins watch your temper!” Bella scolded. “Now then – if Bilbo would like to go with Gandalf then that is his choice to make, and Gandalf is right to say so. Our son is old enough now to make his own decisions I should think.”
Belladonna never took the opportunity to go out gallivanting in the world, but Gandalf kept her wild imagination well fed with awe-inspiring stories and various gifts from outside of the Shire. She would do everything within her rights as a mother to give Bilbo something she never had herself, even if that meant standing against her husband.
“B-But, Bella! No Hobbit has ever left the Shire boundaries, what will our neighbors think? What about the tales?” Bungo pleaded.
“Sod the neighbors and the tales. You know very well that those silly stories are nothing but balderdash. If you think our respectability is worth more than our son, then you are sorely mistaken, mister.” She growled and every single word promised swift retribution if Bungo dared to comment further.
Bungo sighed in resignation as he lowered himself gently back into his chair. He knew that he'd been beat, and it certainly didn't sit well with him at all, but it would be in his best interest if he did not continue the line of argument further. He gently rubbed forehead and let his shoulders sag in defeat.
Bilbo is eager to travel despite the reservations Bungo has about the whole ordeal, and after a month of preparation Gandalf and Bilbo leave for Erebor.
*
Through their journey Bilbo has learned so much of the world outside the Shire.
He discovers that tall folk like Gandalf don't actually have a penchant to gobble up Hobbits, and while tales of Elves make them out to be ethereal, they are quite grounded for such long lived peoples. He's also learned that the Elves of the Greenwood are far more snooty and aren't as cordial to visitors (or perhaps it was just Gandalf they did not like) in comparison to the Elves that reside in Rivendell.
“We're almost through the forest and soon we'll be in Esgaroth.” Gandalf commented to Bilbo as he guided them towards the edge of the forest.
“I thought we were going to Erebor?”
“Oh, we are my friend, but I've sent word ahead to the mountain and we shall be escorted the rest of the way by a party of Dwarves. We'll be meeting them just outside the Greenwood.”
He had seen plenty of Men and Elves, but Dwarves – Bilbo had seen very few of them and even those they did spot were at a considerable distance away. The Wizard shared very little about the stout people, but it's not enough to sate Bilbo's curiosity and his excitement grew and grew, even now he's vibrating with an overabundance of anticipation.
“What are they like? You've told me very little, and I'd very much like to know what to expect.”
“There will be plenty of time to learn all about them I assure you, but it's best not to overwhelm them right away. Dwarves are more secretive than you Hobbits I dare say, and they're unlikely to answer anything you have a question about.” Gandalf evaded.
“And do they answer a question with both yes and no?” Bilbo snorted, remembering how the Elves took to his grilling of them.
Gandalf didn't say anything more on the matter and soon the trees began to thin and the spacing between them expanded as they neared the tree line. Bilbo could even make out the shimmering mirror of water in the distance, the lake Gandalf was telling him about during their stay within Thranduil's halls.
“Ah, here we are! It looks like our friends haven't made it yet, though I'm sure they won't be too long.” Gandalf said as he moved to sit upon a hollowed out log just off their path, digging his pipe out from the folds of his robe.
Bilbo followed suit, shrugging off his overstuffed pack and leaning it against the fallen log as he sat down beside the Wizard. They remained like that for a long while, Gandalf puffing smoke rings into the air and Bilbo silently polishing off the strawberry tarts he'd nabbed from the kitchen of their Elven hosts just this morning. Off in the distance a blob of moving outlines slowly made their approach, causing Bilbo's waning anticipation to flare up again as the party began to draw nearer.
“And there they are, right on time.” Gandalf murmured to himself, puffing out another smoke ring.
In the time it took for the entourage to arrive Bilbo felt that he now understood what it felt like for Elves to live through entire lifetimes, the time they spent waiting was comparable to an eternity. Eventually the company of armored and scowling envoys and guards stood before them.
Gandalf was looking entirely too happy about this meeting, and Bilbo swore he saw smugness twinkling in those mischievous eyes of his. He dragged his own eyes from the Wizard and back to the new arrivals, there were ten of them in total... twelve he recounted as two small children stepped out from behind one of the Dwarves standing at the head of the group. The shorter of the two, one with messy dark hair and wide chocolate eyes stared back at him intently – as if he were an oddity to be studied.
“Who are you?” The dark haired child asked.
“I am Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.” Bilbo replied as he bent forward in a polite bow. “And you are?”
Before Kíli could answer, the golden haired child, and the tallest of the two, narrowed his eyes and shuffled a little closer for a more discerning look. “What are you?” He said rudely.
The child's eyes carefully inspected Bilbo, from the bronze curls on the top of his head down to his thick furred and very respectable Hobbit feet where his gaze lingered until an older Dwarf swatted him on the back of the head. “Hey!” The child squealed.
“Bilbo, may I present to you his majesty Crown Prince Thorin, Son of Thráin, Son of Thrór – as well as his brother Prince Frerin and their two nephews, Princes Fíli and Kíli.” Gandalf said, motioning to each Dwarf as he spoke their names. “And this my friends is Bilbo Baggins, a Hobbit of the Shire.”
The formal introduction of Bilbo caused the group of Dwarves to murmur between each other in a language that the Hobbit couldn't recognize nor understand. He felt uncomfortable under the curious and seemingly flabbergasted expressions, something that irked Bilbo until he remembered that no one outside of the Shire and Gandalf, and now his more recent acquaintances, would know about Hobbits. He didn't like the way that Prince Thorin was staring at him, like he was some aberration that needed exterminating; he looked a bit... constipated.
“Is this some sort of hoax, Wizard?” Thorin growled accusingly, shooting said Wizard an icy look.
Gandalf sputtered, taken back by the Prince's reaction. “It certainly is not a hoax. The conversation we had over supper last winter inspired me to introduce you to a real Hobbit.”
“This must be some trick of the forest then. Thranduil put you up to this didn't he? Or that ridiculous son of his perhaps.” Thorin said venomously.
“Now see here!” Bilbo exclaimed. “To think that this– that I am some sort of trick played upon you by a forest, t-the nerve!”
Thorin's angry stare slid back to Bilbo then, looking more livid now than he had been while snarling at the Wizard. “Hobbits don't exist, and they certainly don't look like you.” The Prince said derisively, glaring down at Bilbo's feet like the golden haired child had only a handful of moments ago.
“How would you know what a Hobbit looks like if you've never seen one?” Bilbo challenged, crossing his arms over his chest and lifting his chin in defiance.
“Your feet are too big and awfully hairy, they are not written to be so in our history books.” Thorin says harshly in turn causing Bilbo to puff up with anger.
“I'll have you know that my feet perfectly Hobbitish. Though I can't say much for yours, they look rather dainty and are more than likely bare under those ugly boots you wear. Far too small and not at all decent.” He sniffed haughtily.
“What did you say?” Thorin hissed through clenched teeth.
“Dainty feet and hard of hearing too?” Bilbo said with a smirk, rolling his eyes for good measure. “My my, I heard Dwarves were suppose to have great thick beards. Yours is rather scraggly.”
His insult sent the entire group into an angry fit of shouting and snarling. Prince Frerin was doing his best to hold back a tall and bulky Dwarf sporting a mohawk while hiding his own amusement.
“You dare –”
“Enough!” Gandalf shouted, soundly interrupting Thorin. “Bilbo Baggins, your mother taught you better than that! And don't you start again Thorin,” He said as he wagged a disapproving finger at the Prince. “Your father would be very displeased in the way you are handling your diplomatic duty to Erebor.”
Thorin wasn't nearly finished with the argument, he refused to let that Shire rat have the last word, but Gandalf thoroughly quashed anymore attempts at rebuttal.
After a while, when they have all finally set out on the return trip to the mountain, Thorin matches his pace with Bilbo's and leers at the snotty little creature.
“If you think this is over Hobbit, you are sorely mistaken.”
“You're rather presumptuous for someone with such tiny feet and a woefully unkempt beard.”
“I hate you.”
“At least we agree on something.”