Chapter Text
The Warm Welcome had been in the Baggins family for years. It was, thought Bilbo, quite the most wonderful pub. He was biased of course, being the current landlord. But the fact was that he'd been to other taverns, checking out the competition and such, and none had warmed his heart or made the tension leech out of his body in the same way that The Welcome did. It was simple enough, he used to confide when patrons asked, the Baggins family had always loved the tavern so the tavern had always obliged in reflecting that back.
Bilbo took pride in the pub, in its homely but neat appearance, in the fire always burning in the grate, in the variety of beers always on tap, in the delicious food cooked in the spacious kitchen, in the amount of people that often filled it. The only thing he felt particularly close to not-fond about was a strangely-marked brick that was part of the edging around the front door. The mark was a curved glyph, such pretty lines. Bilbo hadn't seen such a mark on any other building in Hobbiton.
According to his mother, Belladonna Baggins, it meant Travellers Welcome.
Belladonna had been extremely enthusiastic in her welcoming attitude, particularly towards travellers. Some in the village didn't take kindly to that, claiming that travellers were dirty and violent and to be feared, that they corrupted the young and took advantage of the old and left a terrible mess wherever they camped so they had to be moved on of course. Belladonna allowed any traveller she approved of to camp in the lovely field behind the pub for as long as they liked. Bilbo remembered seeing hotch-potch rows of caravans and cars, funny little trucks, bikes and horses. It had looked like a very strange and unpleasant tangle to his young eyes.
“They'll always pay, in their own way,” Belladonna had told her young son. “Never ask about money.”
Bilbo saw travellers pay back his mother's kindness by chopping logs, clipping her hedgerows, mending furniture, fixing pots and pans. Once a traveller family even laid out new gravel in the pub's driveway for her. Belladonna told them all to call again.
Truth be told, Bilbo had always been a bit frightened of travellers and had never understood his mother's fondness for them. They never wore particularly clean clothing, it was always very patched and worn, and some of them behaved loudly and raucously, unnerving him greatly. They lived loudly, according to his mother, and it was nothing to be afraid of, so long as you treated them as equals. Most travellers who visited the Welcome certainly treated Belladonna with respect. Bilbo had seen several kiss her hand and compliment her husband on his fantastic wife. Bilbo's dad, Bungo, always laughed, and said they were just after more of her famous treacle tart. Bungo used to chat to the travellers as he worked alongside them, singing bits of their songs as they helped him heft casks into the cellar.
Some travellers couldn't be trusted. Belladonna noted down every clan that used her pub, with a mark to say if they were allowed back or not. She once threw out two traveller cousins she’d caught trying to break into the upstairs rooms. She'd chased them outside with her broom, using several colourful traveller phrases that had made Bilbo's hair stand on end. When she'd returned, she’d viciously written an emphatic 'no' next to their family name in her book.
After Bilbo's parents had died, the travellers had stopped coming to the pub. A few anonymous gifts had turned up at the pub – a couple of well-made baskets, some stylishly hand-carved corkscrews, and a very nice portrait of Belladonna herself, stood behind the Welcome's bar and looking rosy and happy as she poured a pint. Bilbo had hung the portrait over the mantle in the pub's main room, so that everybody could see it and enjoy her presence once more. He knew that he did, and he often heard the memory of her voice, piping up with the wisdom she’d had in life. It had been several years but Bilbo still missed her dreadfully.
The painting hung opposite a portrait of Bilbo's old friend Gandalf, wreathed by smoke rings as he sucked on his pipe outside the pub. Gandalf was the only traveller Bilbo saw these days, he turned up now and then for a drink and a meal, and a good chat by the fire. In the winter months, he brought homemade fireworks which he let off in the field outside for the locals to gasp at.
Truthfully, Gandalf was the only traveller that the other villagers liked to see. He was relatively harmless, saying a few odd things – a fact that Bilbo put down to the strange-smelling stuff that Gandalf smoked so often in that pipe of his – and his dress sense was odd to say the least, but he was marvellous with the children and never stayed long. Gandalf, Bilbo could handle, he just hoped that the tradition of travellers dropping in at the Welcome had truly disappeared with the passing of his mother. The Tookish part of him loudly protested at this, telling him most severely that Belladonna Baggins would be outraged that the Warm Welcome was no longer warmly welcoming travellers. Maybe that was why Bilbo hadn't yet replaced the stone by the door.
It was certainly something Loblia Sackville-Baggins intended on replacing, as she loudly proclaimed each time she visited. There were quite a few things that Bilbo's relatives intended on doing to the pub, the first of which was turning it into a high-end eatery if they could convince Bilbo to sell. Hobbiton was an exceptional beauty spot and attracted visitors all year round. Lobelia and her kin were very keen to take advantage and couldn't understand why their bachelor cousin was so adamant that the Warm Welcome would be staying the Warm Welcome for as long as he was alive. Just thinking about the Saville-Baggins getting their hands on his mother's best china made Bilbo grind his teeth. Whilst the Baggins part of him wanted to turn off the lights and pretend to be out whenever they called round, the Took part urged him to grasp the nearest broom and give chase.
“The Took part sounds most sensible to me,” Gandalf told him one day. “You've treaded softly around those relatives of yours for quite long enough.”
The traveller was stretched out contentedly in the sun by the front door, his wide-brimmed summer hat at a jaunty angle. Bilbo refilled his glass and took a puff of his own pipe. Gandalf was always saying things like that, like you should make it known that you still welcome travellers, conditions are terrible in some parts of the country and that back field looks terribly empty, you know. It's a real waste. Gandalf had gotten on famously with Belladonna.
“Maybe you need a hand or two for this adventure of yours,” Gandalf said suddenly as he tottered to his feet.
“Adventure?” Bilbo looked up in sheer confusion, wondering if he'd inhaled some of Gandalf's smoke without noticing. He certainly didn't remember mentioning any adventure. The only kind he liked were the type found in books, thank you very much.
Gandalf looked at him in the same way that Bilbo's old science teacher had whenever Bilbo had gotten an answer dreadfully wrong. “If you think keeping this pub free of Sackville-Baggins is going to be anything less than an adventure, then I really do fear for you, young Baggins.”
Bilbo frowned as Gandalf ambled off down the road. He had been getting more strongly-worded letters from those particular relations lately – three in the past month – and on a couple of occasions he'd thought he'd caught people looking around the pub in a covetous manner that had made his skin itch. It all made him feel decidedly Tookish and such thoughts occupied him throughout the day as he took orders, greeted regulars, and said goodbye to the staff as they left and he began locking up, the rain falling heavily outside. He was just considering sending a strongly-worded letter of his own to Lobelia when there was a terrific knocking at the door.
Bilbo jumped and glanced at the clock – why was anybody calling? Everybody knew that Bilbo shut up the pub promptly at eleven every night. He looked furtively towards the kitchen where he kept his mother's broom, but was startled from such Tookish impulses by another series of knocks at the door. It certainly sounded urgent, maybe somebody needed help?
Propelled by his recent dwelling in Tookishness, Bilbo hurried to the door and opened it a crack. Two young strangers stared back, huge smiles on their faces. They weren't dressed for such heavy weather – both wore battered jeans and vest tops under jackets, denim for one, leather for the other – and both had long hair plastered with rain. They certainly weren't from Hobbiton, Bilbo knew everybody in the village, but there was something familiar about them. Maybe it was the many silver rings they wore, or the worn backpacks, or the set of their expressions, or...oh.
Bilbo's heart sank; his nice clean frontdoor step was currently housing two travellers.
“Good evening,” he managed.
“Evening,” the blonde one said, far too cheery for a person so thoroughly soaked through. “Is there room here for two?”
“Only we were running an errand for the family and before we knew it, the heavens emptied and they'd moved on without us,” the dark-haired one chimed in. “We'd only stay 'til tomorrow.”
Bilbo shook his head for a second, as though trying to clear it, but no, there were still two young travellers stood there staring expectantly at him. Bilbo opened his mouth to say so sorry, but we're completely full up. You'll have to go outside the village to find any room anywhere when there was a peal of thunder and the boys shifted closer together, looking more and more like drowned rats with every passing moment. And Bilbo's mother was making herself very clear in his head, saying that those poor boys shouldn't be left out in the rain where they could catch their death, and it would only be for one night after all.
He could look their family up in his mother's book, she'd never been wrong in it before. And Bilbo had always had a soft spot for the village youngsters. They often came calling for a spare slice of fruit pie and a few of Bilbo's stories. A large part of Bilbo was already itching to scold the travellers for being out so late and in such weather too. His nerves still jangled at the thought of travellers crossing his threshold, though such a feeling was overwhelmed by his bone-deep desire to get the boys in safe out of the cold when the thunder rumbled ominously again.
“A night would be manageable, come in.”
He flicked the lights on as they entered and hurried behind the bar to grab what he'd need from the kitchen and elsewhere. “The sofas will do, yes? They're quite comfortable for sleeping I'm told and the fire's still warm, so please sit down.”
“It's nice this place,” the dark-haired boy mused as he looked around.
The other boy signalled something once Bilbo returned with laden arms and both boys straightened.
“Fili.”
“Kili.”
They bowed neatly from the waist. “At your service.”
It was rather more formal than Bilbo was expecting. He carefully put everything down on a nearby table and twitched in a sort of bow of his own. He didn't remember any travellers bowing to his parents. “Ah, Bilbo Baggins. Thank you?”
The dark-haired one, Kili, looked excited when he caught sight of what Bilbo had brought in. “Is that shepherd's pie, sir?”
“Bilbo will be fine. And yes, please help yourselves.”
The two immediately sat down and began portioning out the food, working together in a very smooth sort of rhythm. There were some shared bone-structure in their faces, Bilbo decided, that spoke of a relation by blood. Cousins? Brothers, maybe? Travellers were a strange mix.
Travellers also liked good ales, Bilbo remembered, though his mother had always cautioned that different clans had different favourites. He cautiously retrieved two bottles and an opener for them from the bar.
“Would this suit...?”
Fili, the fair-haired one, looked delighted. “Yes! Perfect for a Durin. Thank you, Mr Baggins.”
Durin then. Bilbo retreated to his little office beside the kitchen and located the slim green volume that was filled with his mother's slanting handwriting. It still made his breath catch to see her handy work there. Wiping his eyes, he thumbed through until he found the name Durin. It had a bold mark beside it, indicating that Belladonna would have been happy for them visit again. Good. Bilbo breathed out and tucked the book away again before grabbing a basket of blankets and pillows from the cupboard opposite the kitchen. His mother had always kept everything needed for dealing with a traveller downstairs and easily to hand. Not much had changed after she'd died.
The brothers(?) were enthusiastically clearing their plates when Bilbo returned. Kili grabbed a bread roll and poked at the basket’s intricate handle.
“Very nice work. McTaggart, right?”
Oh, Kili had recognised the workmanship? Bilbo didn't know how often different traveller clans crossed paths, he only remembered his mother's warning that some clans shouldn't ever be in the same room. He cleared his throat. “I...er...I don't know, to be honest. It was an anonymous present, after my mother passed away.”
That made Kili and Fili pause, their eyes round and sympathetic. Bilbo rubbed at the back of his neck embarrassed at the attention. Had the boys even been alive when their family had last visited the Warm Welcome? Maybe that was what had caught their attention so.
“She's the one who had the travellers' stone put in,” he explained quietly. “She was very keen on being welcoming.”
Fili's eyebrows shot up. “Baggins! I knew that name rang a bell, didn't recognise this place when we were told about it but was your mother Belladonna Baggins?”
“Yes...”
“Then a thousand thanks to you, Mr Baggins,” Fili grabbed Bilbo's hand and pumped it. “Your mother took our aunt in when her knee was bad and she needed a few days out of the cold.”
“And she always had room for Balin and Dwalin when they were passing through, and Bofur and Bifur,” enthused Kili. “Oh, wait until Uncle hears about this.”
“Mmm, might even make up for us missing the convoy like that.”
Bilbo waved his hands, a little overwhelmed and flushed by what he was hearing. He knew his mother was valued by travellers, he'd seen that very plainly in the way most of them had treated her, but to hear that she'd made a difference to a family, such a difference that she was still talked about, well, that was wonderful.
“Quite famous, your mother,” Kili continued. “She helped out a lot of people.”
“I've been rather busy,” Bilbo murmured awkwardly; rather more aware than before of the sort of needy people he'd been shutting his door to.
Neither of the brothers looked angry or like they blamed him, so Bilbo perched on the nearby sofa and tried not to flinch at their table manners. The table was like a miniature warzone now that Fili and Kili had enjoyed a meal on it, and the carpet would need hoovering to say the least. Bilbo tried hard not to frown, then remembered something else they'd said.
“Ah...you mentioned an Uncle? Do you need to call family about your whereabouts? They're probably worrying.”
Fili nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and pulling a slim little mobile phone out of his pocket. He mashed the buttons with a dexterity born from long practice. He didn't make a move to find privacy for the call.
“Uncle...we've found a spot for the night...Are you still...?...We can make it by lunch tomorrow if we push the bikes...Definitely, you'll never guess where we ended up!”
At that, Bilbo hastily retreated with the dirty dishes, intending on putting them in the dishwasher. Kili's voice stopped him though.
“We'll take care of that, Mr Baggins.”
Bilbo paused, considering the likelihood of waking up to find a sink full of broken crockery and the silver all gone. But his mother had vouched for them and they were offering to clean up after themselves, it could be their way of paying for the meal and Bilbo remembered the severity of his mother's warning to not ask travellers for money. Everything truly valuable was locked up anyway, wasn't it? So Bilbo nodded stiffly and went back into the bar armed with a couple of towels. Fili had finished his phone call and was laying the pillows and blankets down on two of the sofas.
“Uncle says thanks,” he said. “He doesn't usually, so good job.”
Bilbo coughed, not really sure how to take that. Was their uncle very badly mannered? Or maybe he was more strong and silent, Bilbo remembered many travellers like that. He dropped the towels down on a chair.
“For the rain,” he explained, before hesitantly venturing on. “Your Uncle, he's the...ah...head of your group?”
Fili grinned, grabbing a blue towel and rubbing against his wet hair. There was an earring shaped like a silver claw dangling from his right earlobe. “Right you are, Mr Baggins.”
“Uncle Thorin's been in charge since before we were birthed,” Kili added, taking hold of the other towel.
Bilbo wanted to ask what sort of person in authority abandoned youngsters in such terrible weather but he just about kept his thoughts to himself. There'd been horrible stories told in Hobbiton about the terrible things travellers had been said to have done. Bilbo had never seen anything himself but his mother had told him most firmly that no matter what he saw happen between members of a traveller group, he shouldn't ever intervene.
“You've nothing to fear, Mr Baggins,” Fili assured him, noticing Bilbo's troubled expression. “Uncle might not like outsiders, but he appreciates the help you've provided. And you're a Baggins.”
Kili nodded as though that was the end of it and allowed his brother to start towelling his hair. Watching them, Bilbo could now see that they weren't as young as he'd first thought. Both had many tattoos, including the same thing tattooed on their necks and collar bones, a sort of hammer? That was all that Bilbo could make out.
It was getting late and Bilbo was loathe to leave two travellers unsupervised in his pub while he went upstairs to sleep. But he couldn't sleep down here. So checking that the door was locked one final time, Bilbo smiled cautiously.
“I'll be off to bed then. You'll be here for breakfast?”
“Oh, we'll make our own,” dismissed Kili. “We'll be up and out before you know it.”
“We're obliged to you, Mr Baggins,” Fili added, continuing their strange practice of picking up speech wherever the other left off. “Truly. This won't be forgotten.”
For a horrible moment, Bilbo wondered if that would mean more travellers would be turning up at his door. He swallowed down that thought, and nodded jerkily at them. It was only once he'd retreated upstairs and had settled himself down in his nice comfortable bed that he realised he hadn't left them a key to lock up again once they left in the morning. He listened out for anything nefarious, but all he heard was warm silence and eventually he dropped off into a surprisingly restful sleep.
He jerked awake earlier than usual the next morning, his heart pounding. Would he go downstairs to find that his mother had been wrong all these years and that the place had stripped of valuables? Heart in his month, he rushed downstairs without even pausing to put on his slippers. There was not a sound when he appeared behind the bar and indeed, no travellers. Bilbo checked the kitchen hastily – all china and silver present and accounted for, and the money from the till was where it was supposed to be; ready to be paid into the bank that afternoon.
When he ventured back into the bar, he noticed that the formerly messy table had been completely cleaned and the towels, blankets, and pillows were neatly stacked on the sofas. There was also a small addition to the room; a pair of beautifully whittled wood figures – recognisably Fili and Kili - and a note on the table in a sloping hand.
The rain stopped so we left to greet the sun. There's porridge on the stove if you're so inclined and tea in the pot. Thanks for the welcome.
They'd signed it only with their initials, in case somebody else saw it perhaps? Bilbo hurried back into the kitchen; in his haste to check on any potential thievery, he'd completely missed the pot on the low-burning stove filled with delicious-smelling porridge and the waiting tea on the sideboard. Something warm unwound inside Bilbo; it'd been a long time since someone had made him breakfast.
And his mother had been right, which was a very nice relief. Thank heavens for respectable travellers, something Bilbo had never expected to appreciate. He settled down for a good breakfast before his sparse staff turned up. He did love a good start to the day; he could even deal with the latest sniffy letter from Lobelia, imploring him to give up his lovely pub – so scruffy, Bilbo! And think of how much money and esteem we could bring to the Baggins name! In a rather Tookish moment, Bilbo used the letter to start the usual fire in the grate. He put the wooden figures on the mantle and smiled whenever they caught his eye.
Truthfully for the next few weeks he didn't think much about the two rangy brothers who'd turned up in the middle of a rainstorm, asking for room and board. In fact, he didn’t think of them again until the night that a vaguely familiar series of knocks sounded at his door.