Chapter Text
Fourteen dwarves and a wizard sat around his dining room table, Bilbo Baggins wasn’t entirely sure why they were here or indeed how they all managed to fit into the room – not that it was small, however it was usually occupied by far fewer people. Yet there they were, tucking into the contents of his pantry, endangering his mother’s finest crockery and apparently expecting another dwarf to join them.
“He is late.” Said the dark haired dwarf sat at the head of the table, whose name was Dís if he recalled correctly.
“As usual, probably got lost again.” Said the one sat directly to her right with a merry laugh. “You know how he is.”
This one was Dís’ brother, apparently. At first glance you wouldn’t have thought it, her intricately braided hair and beard was as dark as a raven’s wing, whereas Frerin’s significantly less groomed locks were the colour of wheat. Though if you looked closer you could see they had the same proud nose and steely blue eyes.
They were nice enough to poor Bilbo, Dís had apologised for the troupe invading his home – the only one to do so, he might add – and went on to say that if she had known that they weren’t expected then they certainly wouldn’t have barged into his smial the way they did. She then went and told the rest of the dwarves that they were, in fact, unexpected guests and they were to treat this place, and its occupant, with respect.
Frerin had offered Bilbo his seat when he realised there was nowhere for the hobbit to sit and join them, but he waved his hands and shook his head and muttered something about it being ‘ungracious’ if he accepted. The fair haired dwarf then hauled him onto his lap saying that they could share.
“No! No, absolutely not!” Bilbo insisted and immediately removed himself. “I am perfectly capable of standing on my own two feet, thank you very much.”
“And what strange feet they are.” Frerin remarked.
Almost as one the dwarves all clamoured to have a look at his furry feet. If his face wasn’t already red enough from being manhandled, Bilbo could feel even more blood rushing to his cheeks, so much so he could probably rival his prized tomatoes in colour. There was a moment of silence that soon erupted into a cacophonous din of shouts and there were but a few that he actually managed to hear.
“No wonder he doesn’t have a beard, all of his hair is down there!”
“And no shoes, your feet must get terribly sore, Master Baggins.”
“Very strange! You wouldn’t see anything like this in the East.”
Bilbo cast a desperate look to Gandalf who had been sat almost silently in the corner of the room. He offered the flustered Hobbit a smile that might have been apologetic if it came from anyone but the blasted wizard. Then one voice rang out above the rest calling everyone to order.
“Now leave poor Master Baggins be.” Said Dís, her voice stern and hard as iron. “You’ll frighten the wool right off his feet.” Nobody was sure if they were meant to laugh at first but when the corners of Dís’ mouth twitched the dwarves fell about clutching at each other. When Dís calmed down she gave Bilbo a smile. “I am sorry, Master Baggins; that was rude of me.”
Bilbo sighed and retreated to the hallway. “Confusticate and bebother these Dwarves!” He exclaimed to no one in particular. His little outburst made him feel slightly better, but he got a terrible fright when Gandalf spoke up from right behind him.
“My dear Bilbo,” he said, “what on earth is the matter?”
“What’s the matter?” The Hobbit repeated with a humourless laugh. “I am surrounded by dwarves. What are they doing here?”
Gandalf merely smiled at him. “They’re quite a merry gathering, once you get used to them.”
At that moment, a red haired dwarf and one wearing an absurd hat began scuffling over a string of sausages right in front of them. Bilbo sighed again and fixed the Wizard with a glare. “I don’t want to get used to them!” And he proceeded to list the various ways in which his unexpected visitors had disrupted his home.
Everything seemed to fall apart then, any control Dís had on the situation went right out the window and his mother’s West Farthing pottery was flying through the air while the dwarves sang a merry song. Though perhaps it wasn’t as bad as it seemed, but the time their song drew to a close all of the dirty plates, bowls and cups were cleaned and neatly stacked.
An ominous knock at the door called a premature end to the happy mood and Gandalf dramatically declared “He is here.”
Frerin bounded off towards the front door and was just about to open it when Bilbo caught up with him.
“Excuse me, but I am perfectly capable of opening my own door.” He said as he pulled it open to reveal yet another Dwarf waiting on his doorstep. Bilbo sucked in a breath as he stepped past the Hobbit with barely a second glance.
“Gandalf,” the Dwarf greeted the wizard and removed his cloak, “I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way. Twice.”
Frerin snickered and Dís shushed him with, judging from the low grunt that followed, an elbow to her brothers ribs.
Once free of his travelling things Thorin circled Bilbo once, twice and then came to a halt. He crossed his arms and looked disapprovingly at Gandalf. “So this is the burglar?” He didn’t sound very impressed. Not that he should be. This was the first Bilbo had heard of any kind of burglary, and he certainly was not a burglar.
“Tell me Master Baggins, have you done much fighting?”
“I beg your pardon?” Bilbo managed once he realised Thorin was addressing him.
“Axe or sword? What is your weapon of choice?”
“Well, I do have some skill at conkers, if you must know.” He announced, for some reason Bilbo found himself wanting to live up to whatever reputation the Wizard had given him. “Though, I fail to see why that’s relevant.”
Frerin chuckled, Dis shushed and every member of the company tried to look elsewhere when Thorin looked him up and down and said. “He looks more like a grocer than a burglar.”
The poor Hobbit was left in his own entrance hall with little more than an apologetic smile from the Lady Dis as the Dwarves proceeded to take over his dining room once again. Though there was little food left, Thorin seemed happy enough with the soup placed before him, the supposed Dwarf King ate in silence, unperturbed by the small host surrounding him. He pushed the empty bowl away with no word of thanks and Bilbo drew himself up, ready to mount another verbal attack on the rudeness of Dwarves, but a sharp look from Gandalf stopped him, instead he removed the dish and returned with a lamp.
The flickering light fell on a map the Wizard had produced and laid out flat on the table. Bilbo leaned over to get a better look, he had always been fond of maps and other similar things. The bit of land marked out by the parchment was of The Lonely Mountain and the surrounding areas: Dale, the eastern border of the Greenwood, the western-most peaks of the Iron Hills. Not a part of Middle-Earth Bilbo had any interest in, the maps in his study mostly pertained to ancient cities of Men and Elves.
The Dwarves and Gandalf spoke about the old Dwarven kingdom of Erebor, its downfall, the muddy politics surrounding the situation, it all seemed rather interesting and Bilbo found himself asking various questions. There was something about a jewel being guarded by a dragon and that being their need for a burglar - though Bilbo wasn’t entirely sure why, the Dwarf with star-shaped red hair - called Nori - seemed more than proficient at sneaking away things that did not belong to them.
Everyone turned to look at the Hobbit when he absently remarked about the need for the burglar to be an expert, an elderly Dwarf with an ear trumpet asked if that is what Bilbo was and once more, in his own home, he found himself slightly taken aback. Then he recalled Thorin’s first words to him, or rather, about him.
They expected him, Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, an entirely respectable Hobbit, to rob a jewel from a dragon hundred of miles away. There was no time to ask questions or demand why on Earth they thought he was the best candidate for the job as Thorin had just pushed a lengthy contract into his hands. Bilbo glared at Frerin over the top of the parchment as the Dwarf tittered and asked: “Is he actually going to read the whole thing?”
“...lacerations, evisceration… incineration?” Bilbo was saying with an increasingly questioning voice.
“Oh, aye!” Bofur nodded and smiled. “He’ll melt the flesh right off yer bones.”
“Bo, leave him be.” Dis said, swatting the hatted Dwarf with the back of her hand.
“I feel a bit faint.” The Hobbit frowned and looked around.
“Think furnace with wings.”
“Air.” Bilbo gasped, clearly trying to compose himself in front of the audience of Dwarves. “I need air.”
“Flash of light, searing pain and then: poof!” Bofur gestured with his hands ask he spoke. “Yer nothing more than a pile o’ ash.”
And that was the final straw for poor Bilbo. He fell to floor in a faint, the Dwarves stared at his unconscious form for a moment before springing into action. Gandalf commended Bofur on his helpfulness while Dis easily lifted the Hobbit and moved him to one of the comfy looking chairs in the next room, she brushed away any offers of help, and sat with him until he came to. She offered Bilbo a cup of water and apologised for what had happened.
Gandalf came into the room then and asked if he could have a private word with their host. Dis gave him a nod, offered Bilbo yet another apology and left the room only to be confronted by her youngest brother and two sons as soon as she came back to the dining room. She gave all three of them a stern look as she took a seat. The rest of the company had moved to explore the rest of the Hobbit’s lovely home, though many had settled in what appeared to be a reception room, they had already started a fire and pulled out their pipes to smoke, seemingly unconcerned at the state of their burglar.
“How is he?” Frerin asked.
“Bilbo will live, though I don’t think Bofur’s little stunt will have helped convince him to come with us.” Dis told him.
Her brother hummed and tapped the table. “Perhaps it’s for the best.” He said eventually.
Dis nodded. “Maybe, but he is the best chance we have.” She pointed out. “This is a stealth mission and I can’t think of a single Dwarf among those who answered Thorin’s call that would be suitable for the job.” She sighed, absently mirroring Frerin’s actions. “And if Gandalf says he is the one for the job, I will accept no other.”
“It’s not really up to you, though, is it?” Frerin pointed out.
“No.” Dis sighed again. “Unfortunately, I do not think our dear brother will be very enthusiastic about the Hobbit joining us.”
Bilbo didn’t see Thorin or Balin watching him as he escaped Gandalf’s disapproving look. Normally he would have berated himself for abandoning his guest, expected or not, and going to bed without so much as a ‘good night!”, but his mind was too busy to dwell on that. A good, long sleep, that is what the Hobbit needed to clear his head, perhaps it would be too much to hope that the Dwarves will have forgotten about him come morning and would leave without him.
The singing started when Bilbo sat on his bed, all thoughts of sleep were abandoned when the low, solemn notes of the song filled the smial. It was beautiful, it was sad, filled with longing and a goal, one they planned to accomplish. Bilbo gazed into the fire that still burned in the hearth of his bedroom, this wasn’t meant for his ears, or maybe it was. Either way, he felt as if he was intruding upon a very private moment.
It ended, as all songs do, and Bilbo lay back on his bed. He longed for sleep, but he was acutely aware of the Dwarves in his home, they still talked and moved about, even with no shoes on they made a racket as they walked on his wooden floor. Soon the conversations abated and those who hadn’t claimed one of the spare bedrooms found a place to sleep, it was quiet save for the snoring that soon started, quiet except from the soft hum of the song’s melody coming from the room next door.
-
The next morning Bilbo woke with a yawn, he realised he had fallen asleep in his clothes. He also realised that he didn’t particularly care. His smial was empty, as he walked through he noticed that everything had been put back in its proper place and it looked as if the Dwarves had never been there at all. The mud had even been cleaned out of his carpets. Maybe it was all some bizarre dream.
Bilbo never expected to feel disappointed. While the entire evening and the invitation to join a group of Dwarves on a grand adventure had been surprising and completely ridiculous he couldn't help the way the Tookish side of his brain screamed at him to go. The contract sat on the mantle, neatly folded, awaiting his signature.
He didn’t waste any time packing, he simply threw some clothing into a pack, grabbed the first jacket he got he hands on and a walking stick on his way out of the door. Then he ran.
The Company hadn’t made it too far. Bilbo caught up with them just beyond the border between East and West Farthing. He handed the signed contract to Balin who peered at neat signature then welcomed him to the Company. Thorin grunted and ordered for him to have a pony.
“Oh no!” Bilbo protested. “That won’t be necessary, I’m sure I can keep up on foot.”
But his words were ignored and he was hoisted onto the back of a laden pack pony. Gandalf drew up alongside him on his horse and gave him a smile. Small coin purses were being thrown between the Dwarves and Bilbo had to duck a couple of times in order to avoid being hit by them.
“What’s that about?” Bilbo asked the Wizard.
“Oh, they took wagers on whether or not you’d turn up.” Gandalf smiled. “Most of them bet that you wouldn’t.”
“And what did you think?”
The answer to Bilbo’s question came in the form of another coin purse heading his way, Gandalf caught it easily and tucked it into his pack. “My dear fellow, I never doubted you for a second.”
Bilbo didn’t know if he should feel insulted or not so he decided to ride in silence and take in his surroundings. The Dwarves all chattered amongst themselves, their small procession of ponies meandered slowly through the sparse woodland at a leisurely pace. All of a sudden Bilbo sneezed. The sound was enough to make the Dwarves nearest to him turn and look.
“I didn’t know such a small creature could make such a big noise.” Frerin called out.
Bilbo glared at him as he patted down his pockets looking for a handkerchief. When he couldn’t find one he shouted to no one in particular: “Wait, stop! We have to turn around.” The ponies were called to a halt and Gandalf asked what was wrong. “I forgot my handkerchief.” Bilbo stated, still searching his empty pockets.
If he looked up at that point he would have seen Thorin tut and roll his eyes and say “Move on!”
“Here.” Bofur, who was just ahead of the Hobbit, ripped off a piece of his coat and tossed it to Bilbo. “Use this.”
Bilbo caught the rag and held it between finger and thumb as far away from his face as he could. It was filthy. Dis came to his rescue then, she took the rag away and threw it so it hit Bofur on the back of his head, and gave him a thick, plain cloth. “It’s meant for, ah, other things,” she told him, “but it is new and clean.”
“Thank you, but surely you will need it more.” Bilbo said.
The Lady Dis waved him off with a light laugh. “Don’t you worry, Master Hobbit, I assure you we can manage with one less, now clean your little nose, there is snot coming out of it.” And then she urged her pony further up the column of ponies and settled in beside Nori again.
There was talk of camping for the night as the sun began to set, but there was enough of a protest from some of the Dwarves and Bilbo that they decided to press on and stay at an inn in Bree. Promises were made of an early night but it was well past midnight when Bilbo and himself still squashed between two Dwarves and a third pushing yet another half-pint into his hands. He surprised them with how well he could hold his ale, even though he was far more partial to a nice glass of wine, and at this point he was tipsy enough to speak his mind without feeling the need to be embarrassed about it. It was shortly after finishing his fifth drink that he decided all respectability might as well be thrown out the window. Songs were sung and tales were told and one by one the Company began to drift away to the rooms they had paid for.
Morning came entirely too soon for some of the Dwarves, Bilbo was already tucking into breakfast when they started to make their appearance. Thorin walked down the stairs with his nephews, the latter two looked rather bleary eyed as they took a seat at the table.
“How are you not dying, Mister Bilbo?” Kili asked. “You drank just as much as us and you’re-” He held his thumb and forefinger close together.
“I am not that small.” Bilbo said primly. “I’ve had plenty of practice and no creature on this world can complain about a morning-headache unless it is the result of spending all of Midsummer’s Day drinking the Gaffer’s homebrew.” And he went on cutting up the sausage on his plate.
Thorin snorted and shook his head then waved at one of the serving ladies to order some food for himself and his nephews. “How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?” The esteemed leader of their Company inquired.
“Fifty-one.”
Thorin’s eyes widened at the answer Bilbo gave. “But you are only a child.”
“Excuse me, but I have not been a child for more than twenty years, I’ll have you know.” The Hobbit gave Thorin a curious look. “I would have thought as a Prince or King or whatever it is you are you should know that not all creatures age the same. I’m willing to wager Kili here is barely of age and yet here he is!”
“I would not bet against you.” Thorin chuckled. He leaned back to accept the breakfast that had just arrived, thanked the young lady who had delivered it and nudged his nephews to prompt them to do the same.
“Really, brother?” Dis had just sat down, she wore a bright smile that seemed far too innocent for anyone’s liking. “You have known our burglar barely a day and you are already flirting.”
Thorin said nothing and turned all of his attention to his own food while Dis berated her sons. Bilbo watched the entire exchange with a bemused expression on his face, he shrugged and finished off his breakfast as more and more Dwarves joined them in varying states of consciousness.
In his opinion they were back on the ponies and travelling east far too soon. He would rather have read for a few hours, indulged in a light second breakfast and then he would have been ready for a long afternoon of building up saddle sores. Bilbo could only hope that they would stay at another inn that night, the longer they put off camping the better.
Dwarves only have two or three meals a day, because of this the Company didn’t even stop for lunch. Instead, Bombur handed out dried meats, cheese and bread to anyone that wished to eat while they rode with a promise of a nice cooked meal in the evening after they had set up camp. This was a bit of a problem for Bilbo who was used to at least seven meals. His stomach rumbled almost constantly, it got progressively louder as the day wore on. At one point the Dwarf named Dori asked what the peculiar noise was. Bilbo feigned ignorance along with the rest of the Company and ignored Gandalf’s little laugh.
Dis ended up riding beside the Hobbit later in the day, she made polite conversation, asked about his family, the Shire and life in general as a Hobbit. Bilbo was just about to tell her about his eating habits when his traitorous stomach gave a particularly loud gurgle.
“Good gracious!” She exclaimed. “It’s you!”
“Er, yes.” Bilbo muttered, though he doubted Dis even heard him over the sound of her laughter.
“If you’re hungry, just say so, Bilbo.”
“I would be saying so constantly, m’Lady.” He explained. “Hobbit usually eat at least six or seven meals a day! More if they can manage it.”
The Dwarf scrutinized him. It was plain enough to see that he had a belly and his arms and thighs were soft, but she was clearly puzzled. “Where on Earth do you put it all?” She eventually asked.
Bilbo shrugged. “We need that amount food to keep our bodies going, it isn’t out of greed, I assure you.”
“Then you have been starving?” Her eyes were wide now, not out of shock but worry. Dis leaned over to grip his hand briefly. “My dear, if you ever need food you may ask, there is no need to feel as if you can’t.”
“Thank you, Lady Dis, I will.”
“You may call me Dis if you like, in fact, I would forego any formalities if I were you.” She smiled, the air suddenly seemed warmer as she did so. “We will be travelling together for long enough that there is no need for them, and I am sure we will remain friends after.”
Bilbo smiled as well. “That would be nice.”
Dis’ tipped her head to the side and she hummed in thought. “You should smile more often, Bilbo, you look very pretty when you do.”
“Excuse me?” Bilbo spluttered. “Pretty?” But Dis had already urged her pony forward away from him and left Bilbo completely bewildered. “Pretty, indeed.”
The next few days were very much the same. They would travel throughout the day, stop every now and then to rest the ponies and Thorin would send some of the younger, faster Dwarves to scout for a decent camping spot as the sun began to set. A fire pit would be made once they reached a suitable area, they would share a meal and stories and the occasional song before laying out bedrolls, then they would drift off to sleep under the guard of whoever had been assigned watch duty. Early in the morning they would be woken by whichever Dwarf had taken over, have a small breakfast and they would be on their way.
One such day, about a week after they left the Shire, seemed like any other, save for the fact Gandalf and Thorin had spent much of it bickering. Thorin’s siblings had tried to weigh in their opinions but soon gave up. The Company was called to a halt when they reached a tumbled down barn. Thorin insisted they would make camp there, Gandalf urged them to move on, but the Dwarf was stubborn. Stubborn enough that Gandalf decided he wanted nothing more to do with Dwarves that day and left the group.
“Is he coming back?” Bilbo asked.
No one saw fit to answer him and started to clear the ground for their firepit and bedrolls.
Night had fallen and food was finally ready, Bombur and Bofur were dishing out some kind of stew. The latter Dwarf pushed two bowls into his hands and answered yet another query of Gandalf’s whereabouts.
“He’s a Wizard, he does as he chooses. Do us a favour and take those to the lads.”
And Bilbo was off. It wasn’t too far to where Fili and Kili were keeping an eye on the ponies. When he reached them he found them standing next to each other and staring at the ponies looking rather uncomfortable. They didn’t take the bowls when Bilbo held them out, they just kept staring so Bilbo asked them what was wrong.
“We’re supposed to be looking out for the ponies.” Kili started.
“Only we’ve encountered a slight problem.” Fili went on. “Two of them are missing.”
Bilbo counted the ponies and sure enough, instead of the sixteen they had racked-up to the trees there were only fourteen. “That’s not good at all, shouldn’t we tell Thorin?” He asked, attempting to hand the bowls of food to the two Dwarves again.
Once again they ignored him. “Uh, no. Let’s not worry him.” Fili said. “We thought as our official burglar, we thought you might like to look into it.”
There was a bit of back and forth between the Hobbit and two Dwarves, eventually they discovered a light in the distance and went to take a closer look. Upon discovering three trolls bickering around a large fire Fili and Kili decided Bilbo would be able to handle it by himself, took the bowls and left him with instructions to make owl noises if he got into trouble.