Chapter Text
Bilbo Baggins was not well known for frequenting the Green Dragon. He had often found that the raucous cheer coupled with the overly saturated smells of pipe weed, alcohol, and food just did not sit well with him in large quantities.
No, Bilbo preferred the peace and quiet of his home these past four years; ever since… well, ever since his mother passed away really.
However, peace and quiet at home was becoming harder and harder to find these days. What with potential suitors looking for any excuse to try and talk with him, not to mention the annual Yuletide celebrations looming (he had been wrangled into hosting a large number of his extended family this year), Bilbo had finally become irritated enough to leave his smial and try to find solace in the bottom of a cup.
It wasn't helping…
Swirling the ale about his mug, Bilbo grumbled quietly to himself and took another disconsolate swig.
He was seated in a quiet far corner, away from most other patrons in an attempt to convey that his own company was all he required, thank you very much. Thus far, he had been fortunate enough to be projecting an unsociable enough bearing that he had been left well alone.
If only the same could be said for when he was at home. He had barely laid his mother in the ground before the vultures came circling. A number of young lasses from different parts of the Shire seemed to have made it their mission in life to win him over. He had tried to be polite at first, enduring their visits and baking and flower wreaths with as good a humour as he could muster, but there was only so long his patience could hold out, and frankly four years of rejecting every suitor that came to call was starting to take its toll.
Perhaps if a few of them had been lads instead of lasses he'd have been more amenable, but still…
And then there was the family… Stars above, what was it that made extended family think they had any say at all in how he lived his life!? If he had to tolerate just one more simpering, clucking elderly relative telling him how lonely he must feel, and how dear Bungo had always envisioned lots of tiny fauntlings when he'd built Bag End; Bilbo was certain he might just expire.
That would certainly sort out the problem, he thought with grim good humour and another unhappy swallow of ale. They could get down to the business of squabbling over his home and belongings right quick then.
He'd even bemoaned his fate loudly to Drogo at the marketplace the other day in a vain and desperate attempt for word to get around that Master Baggins was not interested in any suitors.
In a quieter voice, he had then intoned earnestly. If only he could find someone wild enough to shut them all up, that would surely work. It had for his father at least. He wouldn't even have to marry, he just had to come up with some arrangement to pretend to be courting her…
Drogo had quickly shot the idea out of the sky though, patting Bilbo's shoulder consolingly, before taking a cautious step away from his somewhat wild-eyed cousin and stated that there wasn't any eligible lasses who fit such a description at present, and if there were they certainly wouldn't agree to a fake relationship.
Sighing, Bilbo set aside his mug for a few moments and let his head fall atop folded arms.
Maybe I could just up and disappear… leave Bag End to Drogo or Hamfast; they're good enough fellows. Perhaps I could go travelling, finally go on an adventure. Maybe even to the East!
Hmm, perhaps he'd had just a little too much ale, to be thinking quite such outlandish thoughts. He wasn't a tween anymore after all.
Lips tugging down into a miserable expression, Bilbo pointedly ignored the concerned looks being sent his way by the landlord and instead busied himself with reading the little notices pinned up along the wooden panelling behind the bar. Amongst the usual drivel of 'Lost - one green cloak', and 'Wheelbarrow for sale' were advertisements such as 'Wheelwright wanted' and 'Workers required for postal service'. These were what drew his attention, not least because one slip of parchment looked particularly out of place.
The parchment itself was thicker than the kind they used in the Shire; hardier and yellowing, and the writing upon it was as far removed from anything in the Shire as could be possible. It was Westron sure enough, but the handwriting was not the neatly rounded calligraphy a hobbit was accustomed to seeing; in fact, it was so sharp and angular, had Bilbo been anymore inebriated he might have had difficulty in reading it.
Clearly, whoever the notice writer was, Westron was not their first language.
Leaning closer to the parchment, Bilbo wrinkled his nose in mild interest as he read what was written there; only to blink in shock and nearly laugh aloud.
Casting a surreptitious glance about him, Bilbo leant across the bar and snagged the parchment, bringing it closer to his face in order to read over it again just to make sure it really said what he thought it did…
'Alone this Yuletide? Irritated with prying and nosey family members?
I am an out of work blacksmith currently trying to make my way by any means necessary that does not involve my resorting to thievery (prisons are most uncomfortable, I've unfortunate first hand experience). However, if you would like me to be your strictly platonic companion for any social function, but have me pretend that we are in a serious courtship, so as to torment your family and ward off unwanted suitors then I am more than obliging.
My services include:
Flirtatious overtures towards fellow guests, which you can pretend not to notice.
Start instigative discussions regarding politics or social and cultural differences between the races of Arda.
Propose to you in front of everyone.
Pretend to become more and more inebriated as the evening continues.
Start an actual physical fight with a family member of your choice, though I will warn you now that I might have a rather unfair advantage.
I require no pay, only the free meal I will receive as a guest.
If interested; please send your details by carrier pigeon to the encampment situated in Bindbale Woods, addressed to Thorin and we can arrange to meet at your earliest convenience to discuss these terms.'
Considering the amount of ale he had quaffed, it was very difficult for Bilbo not to collapse into gales of laughter as he read the parchment yet again, then once more just to be certain.
This was too perfect! A solution to his problem right in front of his nose, what luck!
Stuffing his sleeve into his mouth to prevent his joyous laughter from escaping and drawing the unwanted attention of any other hobbit in the vicinity, Bilbo hastily folded the notice and shoved it into the pocket of his jacket.
Grinning foolishly to himself, Bilbo quickly finished off his last ale and slipped out of his chair, tottering happily out of the Green Dragon and back up to his smial in order to prepare his response.