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"There it is, the Lonely Mountain."
Frodo looked up from slats of the barge, peering through the never-ending drizzle to finally catch a glimpse of their destination. The mountain loomed majestically over the plain, a small smudge at the base all that was visible of the great city of Dale. Around Frodo the rest of his traveling companions broke out in a quiet cheer, relieved that their long journey was near to its end.
"Do you think Mr. Bilbo will be happy to see us?" Sam asked nervously from Frodo's side. “We didn't think to give him any warning."
"We're family. It'll be fine." I hope, Frodo thought to himself, not for the first time wondering what sort of Tookish madness had set him on this road nearly three months before.
---
Everyone in the Shire knew the tale of Mad Bilbo Baggins who ran off one morning and was never seen again. Mad Baggins left no note, no notice and didn't even lock his door, and the tale was only pieced together through gossip and speculation.
Lina Proudfoot swore she'd seen groups of dwarves and Gandalf of the magnificent fireworks heading towards Bag End and her husband heard a great commotion coming from the hobbit hole all through the night. Marigold Chubb had seen a party of dwarves riding out on ponies early the next morning and Old Gaffer, the last to speak to Bilbo, when deep in his cups one night, told everyone at the Green Dragon that Baggins said he was going on an adventure.
Going on an adventure, who could imagine it? And all the fine upstanding hobbits muttered to themselves that Baggins was half Took, you know, and you never could trust them to be sensible.
---
As the months passed and Mad Bilbo never returned to the Shire, the story only grew wilder as each teller invented new ideas for how his adventure could have gone horribly wrong. The Sackville-Bagginses declared him dead as soon as respectable and took over Bag End, selling off Bilbo's fine furniture, his crockery, and doilies and setting themselves up in high state.
Over time the Shire forgot the Bilbo Baggins it had known and only remembered his tale as a warning to their children of how dreaming wild dreams would lead them to a terrible end. Most hobbits were happy in their comfortable holes, giving no thought to the outside world, and that's how the story would have remained if Drogo Baggins and his wife Primula Brandybuck hadn't drowned in a boating accident some ten years after Bilbo walked out his door.
Drogo and Primula left behind their son, Frodo Baggins, a little hobbitling of twelve who suddenly found himself without parents to protect him from the world. While he was taken in quickly and loved greatly by his Brandybuck relatives, he always felt himself slightly set apart. His relatives never understood his growing interest in un-hobbitish things such as elves and swimming, which he taught himself to avoid the sad fate of his parents.
However, despite this distance, Frodo found a few kindred souls and became friends with number of young hobbits: steadfast Sam, and his cousins Merry and Pippin. These hobbits shared some of his curiosity about the outside world and it was they who would eventually set his quest in motion.
---
It was a bright sunny day and Frodo was sitting under a tree with his friends, a book, a pipe and no cares in the world, when Pippin changed his life forever.
"I wonder whatever happened to old Mad Bilbo," the hobbit mused, puffing slowly on his pipe. "None of the stories ever say."
"Of course they don't," Merry scoffed. "He never came back. He probably met his end long ago."
"I think he didn't. I think he's off somewhere having a grand old time," Pippin responded. "Can you imagine the look on Lobelia's face if he came back now? She'd run him out again in an instant just to keep Bag End."
"True enough. You can't even talk to her these days without her mentioning the long and respectable history of that hobbit hole," Frodo laughed. "But it doesn't matter; Merry's right and Bilbo’s never coming back. No one even knows where he went."
Sam perked up from where he was sitting. "I bet the elves would know. Your books say they know everything... And I've always wanted to see an elf."
"How would the likes of us find an elf to ask? Even if we did, they'd probably run away from Sam's fawning before we could get our question out."
The conversation quickly dissolved into jokes and teasing and the story of Mad Bilbo was put aside. But once asked, the question wormed its way into Frodo's mind and he found he couldn't stop wondering, What had happened to Bilbo? Where was he now? And just maybe, would he understand his restless relative when no one else really did?
---
Years passed and Frodo continued to wonder; he began researching the outside world whenever possible, devouring histories and books of myths, lurking in marketplaces and taverns, and listening to the tales of strangers passing through the Shire. While he never got an answer to his questions, with the aid of his friends Frodo began to get a feel for the shape of the world, and though the wideness of it frightened him at times, it drew him to it all the same. Though Sam, Pippin, and Merry were always quick to draw Frodo's attention when he drifted off in his musings for too long, nothing could take his mind off the mystery for good.
And over time Frodo learned that a group of dwarves could only have gone east, that Gandalf was known as a friend to the elves of Rivendell and when he finally heard the Song of Smaug's Destruction from a traveling human bard he knew what he needed to have peace. Nearly ten years after his parents death first sent him on this road, Frodo gathered his friends and told them of his plan.
"I'm going to find Bilbo Baggins" he stated, as the other hobbits stared at him in shock.
"Are you daft?"
"But you don't know where he is!"
"You'll never make the journey alone!"
"Are you daft?"
Frodo waited out the clamor and finally his friends settled down. Merry still looked shocked and Pippin excited but it was Sam who reached the heart of the matter.
"You'll never be happy if you don't try will you?" He asked softly, looking up at Frodo from where he sat. Frodo shook his head and Sam nodded, "Well that's that then. Where are we going?"
"He made it over the Misty Mountains to Erebor according to the song... but, I can't ask you to come with me," Frodo stammered.
"Don't be stupid, of course we're coming with you. My Old Gaffer will be furious but I'll not let you try and wander off alone when you can't cook to save your life."
"He's right, you know," Pippin chimed in as Merry nodded behind him. "If we don't come along you'll starve and then where would we be?"
"Well then. I guess we better start planning. Just think, after this a Baggins will never be considered respectable again."
So the hobbits put their heads together and began planning their first great adventure, fired with the optimism of youth. Frodo used his inheritance to buy some ponies and each of them began to pack all of the things they felt a hobbit needed out in the world. They packed waistcoats and walking sticks, plenty of food, pipeweed, and scarves; Sam had his crocheting, Merry his whittling and Frodo went crazy with maps.
Finally everyone declared their preparations complete, the group planning to head to the town of Bree and then find their way to the elves from there. The hobbits knew their families would never understand, except for the Tooks perhaps, and so left only notes explaining their search and promising to return someday before they rode out from the Shire at dawn.
---
The journey to Bree was as easy as they come, with fine weather to keep up their spirits. They laughed and joked and smoked and ate and before long they had passed the boundaries of the Shire and were ready to make their way in the world. And after a week of light travel, the companions finally had their first view of an actual human town.
"Everything's so big," Sam said in wonder as they rode their ponies through the gate, gawking at the buildings and people they passed by. Many of the men returned the looks, having never seen a hobbit before, and certainly not so many all at once. Frodo asked directions to the inn from one of the kinder looking folk and the group made their way to the large building. They dismounted from their ponies and passed them to the stable boy before pushing the large door open.
"Hello?" Frodo called out carefully, looking around for the innkeeper. A large face peered down at him over the counter and brightened, smiling cheerfully.
"Hobbits, we don't get too many of your kind about these days. Looking for a room are you? I've got a nice hobbit-size room ready to rent."
Frodo agreed readily, paying for a room for the night. The young hobbits were happy to remove their packs and clean up before heading down to the common room to eat and be merry. It was a raucous environment, men drinking and singing and arguing in all corners and the hobbits had a couple near misses as they made their way through the room. Finally claiming a small table, Merry and Pippin grabbed drinks for the group while Sam and Frodo sat down. Several ales later the group had relaxed into chatter before Sam spoke up:
"That man in the corner. He's been looking at us for nearly a half hour now. What do you think he wants?"
"Hmm, nothing bad I hope." Frodo followed Sam's gaze. There was a man smoking in the shadows, relatively young it seemed, with dark hair, worn leathers, and an intense and penetrating stare. Screwing up his courage, Frodo made his way towards him, ignoring the hissed warnings from his companions.
"Hello, I'm Frodo. Can I help you?" He asked carefully as he settled across from the man.
"Sorry, I was staring wasn't I? It's just been a very long time since I've seen a hobbit. But I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, I'm known as Strider in these parts. What are you doing in Bree?"
"I'm looking for someone, a relative actually. He left the Shire nearly twenty years ago with a band of dwarves and never returned." Frodo explained, deciding that he'd have to be honest if he wanted to learn anything useful.
"A band of dwarves, and a hobbit?"
"Yes, and a wizard. Everyone at home thinks he's dead, but the song about Smaug mentioned a halfling, and it has to be him. No one else has left the Shire in centuries. Well, before us."
By this point Frodo's companions had joined him at the table, crowding in together to hear Strider's reply. At Frodo's last words a grin split the man's face and he responded with cheerful astonishment.
"You must mean Bilbo Baggins. I met him when I was only a child, when his company stopped in Rivendell during their quest. You're right to think he survived; as far as I know he still lives with the dwarves in Erebor. But I'm heading back there tomorrow, join me and I'll take you to Elrond. He'll know what you should do."
Frodo and company couldn't believe their luck and agreed to meet Strider in the morning. That night Merry expressed some doubt about Strider's intentions but the others argued that he seemed trustworthy, at least compared to everyone else in Bree. A heated discussion followed but Merry eventually acknowledged that they really did need a guide and Strider was probably the best they were going to get, and agreed to stick with the plan. In the morning, the hobbits found the man waiting and ready for them with their ponies and a sturdy horse of his own, and they set out upon the Great East Road.
---
As they traveled, the hobbits asked Strider all he knew about the journey ahead of them and Mad Baggins' fate. While the man knew little about Bilbo's life in the decades since Smaug's destruction, he spun them a riveting picture of the hobbit's quest all those years ago.
Strider explained the history of Erebor, how Smaug had toppled the great Kingdom under the Mountain and destroyed the city of Dale. How the dragon scattered the dwarves to the wind for many long years before Thorin Oakenshield and his company returned to reclaim his birthright. Though it was only with the aid of their hobbit and the men of Laketown that the monstrous creature was defeated. On one of Frodo's many maps, he traced the path the hobbits would have to take, traveling through Rivendell and over the Misty Mountains, across river and stream and though Mirkwood, before reaching the rebuilt cities of Laketown and Dale and at last the Lonely Mountain.
Upon seeing the great distance left ahead, Frodo felt fear well up within him, and wondered just what exactly he thought he was doing. But at the same time admiration grew within him for Bilbo Baggins, who had joined the dwarves on their suicidal quest and succeeded, showing that hobbits could be just as brave as the other races of Middle Earth. I'm related to a hero. A real hobbit hero. How can I give up so soon? Frodo thought to himself and resolved to see his journey through.
---
Many days passed in the wilderness until one evening the group came upon an abandoned farmhouse and Strider said they'd there camp for the night. The hobbits unloaded their ponies and started a fire so Sam could begin supper and it was only once they heard his terrified shriek that they realized Pippin had wandered off to explore. Rushing towards the sound, Strider in front with naked steel in his hand, they burst into a nearby clearing and stopped dead at the sight before their eyes.
Up on the top of a great stone troll, one of three monstrous statues in the clearing, Pippin sat cheerfully, waving at them from his perch.
“Look, trolls,” he called down to them. “They startled me at first, but they're stone. See?”
He knocked on the head of the troll below him as the rest of the company finally relaxed, breathing long sighs of relief. Strider scouted out the area as the hobbits gathered around the trolls, poking and prodding in delight.
“They'll never believe this back home,” Sam sighed. “Can you imagine saying we found trolls? They'll think we're as mad as Bilbo.”
“They probably already do,” Frodo responded. “Might as well go the whole way.”
“Frodo, Merry, Sam, Pippin; come look at this,” Strider called. The hobbits ran towards his voice and found him at the entrance to a dark, dank cave. He pointed at some runes etched into the stone above them. “These are dwarf runes. Your Bilbo and his company must have encountered these beasts on their way and defeated them. I'm going to look in the cave to see if there's anything left.”
Lighting a torch, Strider ducked into the cave as the hobbits followed close behind. The long years since the trolls perished had returned the cave largely back to its natural state. Only a few bones and bits of armor scattered around the floor showed that it had once been a troll hoard. And shining brightly in the light of the flames, another dwarf rune carved on the wall.
Calling for a shovel, Strider dug deep into the earth, soon hitting something that resounded with a solid thunk. He carefully reached down and pulled up a wooden chest as the hobbits gathered around him in curiosity. When he opened it, they gasped, looking down on more gold and gems than any of them had ever seen. Strider closed the chest quickly and carried it back to camp before acknowledging the others' excited mutterings.
“The dwarven company left this here. They must have meant to return someday, but perhaps forgot with the rebuilding of their kingdom. Bring it with you and they're sure to look upon you favorably, and if you happen to use some of it on your long journey, well who could say?” Strider told them, tucking some of the treasure into each pack before tying the chest shut once again.
“You really think they won't mind?” Merry asked skeptically.
“Well, Bilbo shouldn't mind. And you may need the money for supplies along the way before you reach your destination. Just remember to keep it out of sight of prying eyes.”
This warning ended the discussion, and the hobbits put their mind to salvaging their supper and settling down for the night.
---
Just over three weeks after the group left Bree, Strider told the halflings that they were finally nearing Rivendell. He led the group carefully across a stream and into a large crack in the cliffs which led to a long and winding path. Finally they turned a corner and the valley spread out before them, shining brightly in the sun. The hobbits could only stare as they took in the finely crafted buildings surrounded by trees and built over and around streams of water, mist from the falls adding an otherworldly air to the scene.
“They really do glow,” Sam whispered in glee as they rode up to the grandest building and a finely dressed elf came out to greet them. Strider swung off his steed and walked up to him, talking quietly in a musical tongue. After a short conversation, he grasped the elf on the arm and turned back to his companions.
“Lindir will prepare rooms for your stay. Elrond is in council, but he will be free in the evening after you eat. I will tell him of your search and I'm sure he will be able to give you sound advice.”
Thanking him for his kindness, the hobbits followed Lindir up the stairs and into the large building. After bathing and dressing in clean clothes, the small company felt like proper hobbits again and they talked cheerfully amongst themselves as Lindir led them to a well-stocked table. Strider was there as well, also washed and newly dressed in elven finery, but he was deep in conversation with an dark-haired elf maiden, so with a brief greeting the hobbits focused on their food. As they finished, a stern-faced elf with regal bearing strode into the chamber, glared at Strider and his companion until they separated and then turned his gaze on the halflings.
“Welcome to my house, young hobbits,” he said, breaking into a smile. “I am Lord Elrond.”
“Nice to meet you and thank you for hospitality,” they answered in a ragged chorus, shifting nervously at his penetrating gaze before Frodo steeled himself to ask. “Strider said you knew Bilbo Baggins and maybe you could help me find him?”
“Strider? Ah yes, Estel. He is correct. I met Bilbo Baggins when he passed through Rivendell with the company of Thorin Oakenshield some years ago. He has been living with the dwarves of Erebor since the completion of their quest and has made a fine place for himself in their kingdom. Much finer than I would have expected. What is your interest in him?”
“He's my cousin. Well, my first and second cousin once removed on both sides, but he's family. And no one in the Shire knew what happened to him. He never wrote back, you see, so everyone thought he was dead, but I never believed that and I want to find him. Why didn't he ever return?”
“Bilbo found, as you may find as well if you go through with your search, that home is not always where you think. His adventures changed him greatly and I do not believe he would be comfortable in the Shire any longer. And he has responsibilities now, to Erebor and to his husband.”
“Husband?” Frodo squeaked.
“Yes. I do not understand it entirely, but perhaps Bilbo saw something in the dwarves that we elves have never recognized. He stayed for love and duty and has comported himself well in the years since his wedding.”
“Oh, oh dear,” Frodo whispered before everything went dark. Sam rushed forward to catch him as the hobbit fainted dead away.
Elrond looked on in surprise, “Is he all right? He was not injured?”
“He's just had a bit of a shock is all. Hobbits generally don't marry larger folk, or other males for that matter, so finding both at once was a bit more than he could handle. He'll get over it when he's had a chance to adjust,” Pippin put in brightly. “There had to be something a little odd about Mad Baggins anyway for him to run off like he did.”
“I see. He must be able to accept this if he is to continue in his quest. Dwarves will not stand insult to their mates and Bilbo's husband is prouder than most.”
“No problem, really. It happens in the Shire from time to time, Frodo's just a bit oblivious is all and no one really talks about it. If he's difficult, we'll remind him about that Proudfoot fellow, and Mirabelle Brandybuck who lives with that Chubb lass who has the pretty hair.” Merry assured the elf lord. “He'll have plenty of time to get used to the idea.”
Frodo woke some time later, alone in his room. He lay there in shock, mind a tumble with these first answers to his long-held questions. Bilbo Baggins married a dwarf? A male dwarf? No wonder he never came back; everyone in the Shire would have had a fit. Do I really want to know the rest of the story? Oh, of course I do. He's still family, and he's still a hero, even if he's a bit more different than I thought. This is probably my only chance to find him and if I go back now I'll regret it forever. Besides, if Bilbo can accept a life with a dwarf, he's bound to accept his one odd cousin, more than the rest of the family at least. Thoughts finally settled, Frodo turned over and went to sleep, firm in his conviction that he was making the right choice.
---
The group spent another week in Elrond's house, resting up and preparing for the rest of their journey. As promised, when he realized that they would not turn back, Elrond showed the halflings the safest routes to take on the long trip ahead, warning them about possible dangers on the road. The elf lord gave each hobbit a small dagger to protect them from danger and a letter to King Thranduil of Mirkwood, asking him to grant them safe passage.
During one of these discussions, Elrond took Frodo aside and warned him to hide his Baggins heritage until reaching Erebor. When questioned about this odd advice, he would only say that there were those with grudges against Bilbo who might seek to use Frodo against him. And although the hobbits offered, the elf lord would accept no compensation for the provisions and aid he had supplied, saying that helping them was worth far more in goodwill.
However, the best news the hobbits received was that Strider would accompany them across the Misty Mountains on his way to meet the rangers of the north. Although the road was far safer than in the past, the group was greatly comforted to have an actual warrior to guide them on the journey.
And so with light hearts and heavy packs, this small company left the Last Homely House and continued on their way.
---
For days they traveled, climbing higher and higher into the dark and craggy peaks of the Misty Mountains. The hobbits found themselves growing hardier for the first time in their young lives as days of riding and hiking took their toll. As they climbed, the weather grew colder and Sam put his crochet hook to good use, making hats and gloves for the company to ward off the damp and growing chill. Strider also began teaching the hobbits useful skills to survive in the wild, showing them how to trap and skin animals and the basics of defense and offense with their small blades.
And through it all, Frodo brooded over what kind of welcome he would find upon reaching their destination and he was glad to have his friends to bring him out from his pensive thoughts. Many nights passed in this manner until the small group reached the High Pass through the mountains, where they dismounted and led their ponies over the narrow and treacherous path. Strider took the lead, testing each footstep with care and the hobbits could no longer gawk at the scenery as they put all of their concentration into not tumbling into the cavernous abyss off to the side.
That night Strider refused to make camp, forcing them to inch their way through the enveloping dark. When the others protested, he stood firm, warning:
“There are dangers lurking in these mountains, far worse deaths than a sharp and sudden drop. Years ago an army of dwarves set themselves to reclaim the Misty Mountains from the goblins and orcs who dwelt beneath us. Starting in the north and sweeping south, the dwarves killed everything that crossed their path until finally they reached the gates of Moria. They still tell tales of the carnage that occurred as dwarves fought and died for their homeland, blood running in rivers through the caves and the halls and corpses thrown into the deep. While the goblins were defeated, slaughtered and driven back into the dark, there are scattered pockets of survivors within these mountains, waiting for their chance to avenge themselves on any who pass this way. And so we cannot afford to stop, we cannot afford to rest until the light of dawn rises in the east.”
Subdued, the hobbits agreed to continue traveling, huddling against their ponies in the dark and twitching at every unfamiliar sound. It was a long, cold night, a restless night, but at last the sun rose and they could see the end of the mountains before them, the great forested plain of the Rhovanion stretching far into the distance. Only once they were free of the mountains' shadow did Strider allow the exhausted hobbits to collapse, and they slept the day and night away.
---
Everyone felt much cheered in the morning now that they were down from those craggy peaks and had soft earth underneath them once again. Sam made a proper breakfast for the first time in days, eggs and bacon and sausage cooked sizzling over a good-sized fire and Merry and Pippin sang to themselves as they ate. After breakfast, Strider spread the maps out on the ground, tracing the group's future path with his hand.
“From here it is about three days ride to Mirkwood. We will cross the Old Ford and pass through the wood on the Old Forest Road if Thranduil allows us to travel unchallenged. While it is not the most direct route, there are dangers lurking in the deeper forest that I do not wish to face without a guide. Once we reach the Celduin River on the other side, it will be a straight path to our journey's end,” the man explained to his companions.
“However, should King Thranduil require our presence, we will be taken north to his forest hall, where we will have to be respectful if we wish to go on. I know that may be difficult for some of you but I'm afraid Thranduil does not care much for me, nor for your Baggins either, so any such confrontation must be handled with care. However, should he allow us to continue, we can take the Forest River from there to Esgaroth, the Long Lake, and then shortly on to Erebor.”
The company set off shortly after, heading for the dark line of trees in the distance. However, it wasn't long before Pippin piped up: “Why would this elf lord dislike a Baggins? What did Bilbo do to him?”
Strider turned in surprise, “Do you not know the story? I thought Elrond would have explained the details that I did not.”
“We've heard the song and know what you told us, but nothing about Thranduil. And Elrond never had time to tell more of the story. Too busy trying to talk me out of going I think,” Frodo answered, riding up beside Strider.
“Well that is a story you should be aware of before you find yourself in Thranduil's hall so I will tell you what Elrond told to me. You see, there is great enmity between dwarves and elves, the roots of which stretch back far into the days of old, and this was worsened with the coming of the dragon. Smaug caused uncountable damage in his quest for Erebor's treasure and all sides held grudges for the death and destruction that he wrought and what aid was given or withheld. So when Thranduil found a company of dwarves and a hobbit within his woods many years later, he reacted with anger and suspicion, imprisoning the group within the dungeons of his hall.
“Given the nature of this enmity, and the bad blood held between the two kings, Thranduil refused to release Thorin's company without information and reassurances that the dwarves would never give. And this stalemate would have dragged on forever, both sides too stubborn in their pride, if the dwarves had not disappeared right under his nose. Through the efforts of Thorin's hobbit burglar so the stories say. Thranduil was incensed and after the dragon was defeated, the elf king took his army to the gates of Erebor and demanded a share of Smaug's wealth.
“Elrond says that was a bad time, with elves and men and dwarves all infected by the lust for gold and at each others' throats, willing to die for their pride and their treasure. It was only through the efforts of Mr. Baggins and the arrival of a far more dangerous foe that a hard-won peace was found again. While relations have recovered since that time, also due much to the efforts of your Bilbo I am told, no one has forgotten those days, and there are many who still hold grudges on both sides. That is why we must be careful if we find ourselves before Thranduil, and why Elrond warned you not to mention your relation in strange company.”
Frodo stayed silent as the other hobbits discussed this tale, pestering Strider for more information. I feel like I'm missing something, he thought to himself. How could a hobbit have managed all this, and gained the respect of kings? If only I knew the right question to ask. But just think how much Bilbo must know to be able to bring peace from such hatred. That's the knowledge I want that no one back home would understand. Caught up in his musings the days passed quickly for Frodo and soon the company reached the edge of Mirkwood.
---
The dense wood lay before them, a narrow trail winding into darkness. Although the path was clear, trees loomed in from all sides, gnarled branches reaching up to block the light and a feeling of malevolence looked out from the gloom. Even Pippin became subdued in the face of this animosity, falling silent in mid sentence and huddling closer to the others.
Only with great urging did their trembling steeds walk into the wood, shying beneath their riders as leaves rustled in the wind. It was a long day spent beneath that oppressive canopy, the hobbits trying to peer through the gloom to watch for danger up ahead. That evening Strider could not make a fire because the branches only sputtered briefly before dying out so they were forced to huddle together in misery for warmth. No one slept well that night and as soon as it was light enough to see the company pressed on.
A week passed in this manner, then another, the hobbits spirits slowing failing in the face of the unending gloom. No one could rest properly for there were always eyes looking out from the dark, and a strange chittering would fill the air as they rode along. Merry and Pippin began sleeping with their knives in hand, twitching at every new sound, while Sam would flail awake from nightmares in the dark.
Only Strider seemed relatively unaffected, and even he grew tenser with every day, nerves winding tight as days of being on alert took their toll. Halfway through the woods Frodo nearly despaired, for the trees seemed to stretch endlessly in all directions, and it was almost a relief when the ambush finally came.
It began in the night after the company had fallen into restless sleep, even Sam who was first on watch. First a rustling out in the woods, a soft whisper of something moving in the black. Shadows encircled the small group and the ponies bucked in terror as something enormous dragged Strider's horse into the dark. Her cut-off shriek jerked the party awake and they drew steel as they rose, Sam babbling apologies to the rest. But there was no time for recriminations for soon the shadows were upon them.
Frodo flailed wildly with his knife at the enormous claws that grasped at him from all directions as Strider shouted instructions somewhere behind. At his urging, the hobbits clustered together, creating a circle of blades to try and fend off the dark. Out of the corner of his eye, Frodo saw the remaining ponies rearing desperately, kicking out at the creatures around them, already covered in scratches and wounds. A sharp cry to his right brought back Frodo's focus as Merry stumbled against him, bleeding sluggishly from a gash on his arm.
Frodo stabbed out again, feeling his knife thunk into something soft and fleshy and drawing a shriek from the creature before him. It's form defied his eyes, a whirling monstrosity that his mind simply could not comprehend. As the little respite he gained quickly faded, Frodo was filled with terror for he realized that this might truly be the end. I could die here on this quest, never reaching my goal. Never finding Bilbo. We could all die here, and it would be my fault, for getting my friends killed. The thought horrified him and Frodo struck out again desperately, praying that somehow his friends would survive.
At this thought, Frodo heard someone shouting behind them before something brushed past his ears. He watched in shock as the air filled with arrows, piercing the shadows that attacked from the gloom. The creatures shrieked in pain and slowly retreated before the onslaught, snapping angrily towards their lost meal.
When the last of the monsters disappeared into the dark, Frodo's knees buckled with relief, and he leaned heavily against Sam as they turned to meet their saviors.
“More elves” Sam whispered, brightening slightly. And indeed there was a small group of elves on the edge of the path, dressed to blend into the trees behind them and armed with bows and wicked knives. Strider had already moved to greet their captain while others calmed the ponies and came to help the hobbits up. At their approach Strider turned.
“It seems we are to receive Thranduil's hospitality after all, for he has demanded that all visitors be brought before him. And perhaps this is for the best. Tauriel says there is a den of those creatures farther down the road and it would not be safe for us to continue on this way and truly, I do not think we would survive another such attack. Two of her company will guide us to Thranduil on the safest paths through these woods, while the rest continue their mission to hunt down these fell beasts. Gather your things quickly; we must leave as soon as we've bandaged our wounds.”
Thankfully none of the company nor remaining ponies had been seriously injured and it wasn't long before they could continue on their way. While Strider could no longer ride, the hobbits divided his gear between the remaining ponies and he kept up easily in the dense brush. The two wood elves led them silently onward, speaking only to introduce themselves as Ellandir and Halodin, and to warn them of hazards on the path. However, their presence alone seemed to lessen the hatred of the forest, and Frodo heaved a sigh of relief as the company pressed on. None of the hobbits had the energy to worry or question this sudden change in their fortunes, so they rode onward in an exhausted stupor.
The two elves drove the group hard, stopping only for brief rests during the days on their journey north. Only after crossing the Mountains of Mirkwood did the Silvan elves finally relax enough to make conversation with their charges and even then they talked mostly with Strider in their musical elvish tongue.
---
It took the company six days to reach the Enchanted River that ran down from the mountains. There Ellandir allowed them a single day to rest, before forcing the hobbits to leave their remaining ponies and loading the group on barges that drifted inexorably toward the elf king's hall.
“It's much prettier from the river,” Sam mused, quietly. “Just green trees and water without all those nasty things trying to eat us.”
“Still, we should be on our guard when we arrive. Remember what Strider said, and I'm sure there's other dangers as well,” Frodo responded cautiously, before falling silent at Halodir's glance.
There was little opportunity for planning outside of prying elven ears, and soon the company had arrived at Thranduil's Hall. It was a majestic sight, winding in and out of the trees, a fluid structure of wood and stone that seemed to grow ever upwards from its earthen foundation. As the barges drifted to a stop, their guides ushered the group out of the boats, ignoring their attempts to take up their belongings.
Before the group could protest, the elves informed them that Thranduil wished to see them immediately and shepherded them quickly into the enormous wooden hall. Every inch of it was intricately carved, and the shaped roof focused the soft light of the sun in a golden beam at the end of the hall. There, on a throne grown from a thousand living branches, sat King Thranduil, Lord of Mirkwood and decider of their fate.
“Greetings Estel,” the King intoned silkily. “Welcome to my hall. I was not aware you would be gracing us with your presence. Tell me, what brings Elrond's human foundling and a group of halflings into my lands?”
Frodo cringed at the thinly veiled malice in the elf king's words, but Strider stood tall as he responded. “We are simply traveling, my lord. I am due to join the northern rangers for a time and agreed to guide these halflings as long as our paths were twined. I have a letter here from Lord Elrond confirming this charge if you wish to read it. We would not have imposed on your hospitality if we had not been attacked by fell beasts on the Old Forest Road and so encountered your guard. It was they who brought us to you.”
“Right they were to do so. I do not allow travelers to sneak through my kingdom unannounced to raise evil mischief and plan dark deeds. Elrond's letter may stay where it lies for the only authority in these lands is mine, whatever the Lord of Imladris may think. On that matter, what business do hobbits have in this part of the world? Only one hobbit has ever crossed my path before and I would not call Bilbo Baggins friend.”
At this Strider faltered and it seemed that the day would be lost until Merry spoke up suddenly, “Do you mean Mad Baggins? Was completely respectable until he ran off one day with some dwarves and never came back? No one ever knew what happened to him and we always thought he'd come to a bad end. We didn't know he came this way. Right?”
Merry nudged Pippin in the side. Then again harder until he spoke up.
“Oh, um, right, of course. Only respectable hobbits here. Never wanted to leave the Shire at all did we, we like the comforts of home. But the Thain, he's like our king if we had a king, though, you know, we don't. Well, he wants a wedding gift for his new daughter-in-law and only the best will do and, of course, as the youngest adult hobbits it falls to us to get him what he needs. It'll look really bad, you see, if he doesn't have a good wedding gift for the lass after all the promises he had to make old Brandybuck in order to get her hand in marriage for his son. Who's a slow fellow really, not his fault but all the girls these days want some quick wit in their husbands and it don't matter as much who his father is.
“Which is silly really, because what's wit compared to inheriting a proper old hobbit hole, I always say. So the old Thain, he'd heard that the city of Dale had been rebuilt some years ago and he's always had a fine admiration for the skills of men, and, of course, one can trade with them without all the trouble that comes from associating with dwarven folk. So here we are on a quest for the Shire's honor and I was thinking we were never going to make it when those creatures attacked so really we're much obliged to you for saving our hides and all.”
By the end of this rambling explanation Frodo saw Thranduil's eyes begin to glaze, and he jumped in quickly when Pippin finally paused for a breath.
“As my dear cousin said, my lord, we're just here as representative of our Thain really. We have a chest of gold and treasure that he gave us to bargain with, which we will be happy to show you if you'll allow us to gather our packs from the barge. Perhaps we could offer you something in appreciation for saving our lives? Though I doubt we have anything grand enough for one such as yourself.”
At this Thranduil sat back and smiled condescendingly down at them.
“There is no need for that. I am hardly a dwarf to demand recompense for every kind deed. And as no relatives of Baggins would give up treasure so easily, or have so little sense for that matter, I will leave you to Estel's tender care. Pity that, I could have used a bargaining chip at the next meeting of kings. Halodin here will help you gather your packs and then show you to your rooms. You will rest and regain your strength and then be on your way.”
The group acceded gratefully to this dismissal, leaving the hall as quickly as decorum allowed. Grabbing their packs and treasure from the docks where they'd been left, the company followed Halodin to a small suite of guest rooms where he left them with a bow. They entered the main room and the hobbits looked over at Strider as he collapsed down on a chair in relief.
“That was too close. Quick thinking on your parts. He'd have kept you here for ages if he'd realized and Elrond would never have forgiven me if I'd lost you.”
“Will it be all right though? For Bilbo I mean?” Frodo asked with a frown. “I don't like lying.”
“We'll just have to actually buy something. If we all give the Thain a fantastic gift on our next birthdays it might go a long way towards forgiveness for this little escapade,” Merry put in.
Strider nodded behind him, getting up to find his own room. “It's better this way, really. Bilbo will be able to handle Thranduil better than we can. Elrond says he's quite good at the diplomatic game... So clean up and eat, I doubt our lord king will grace us with his presence over dinner but we should make an effort all the same.”
The hobbits took his advice and changed for dinner, which turned out to be quite a pleasant affair. Strider was correct that Thranduil would not deign to join them, nor his older sons for that matter, but the youngest was there and he was good company. A curious sort, the elf youth was fascinated by their stories of the Shire and the lands to the West, for Thranduil had never allowed him to stray far from the forest. When Frodo expressed his surprise saying that Legolas seemed adult enough to him, they fell into a long, scholarly discussion about the differences in age between the races and the difficulties of isolationist traditions within their homelands.
While Sam was content to watch the debate from the sidelines, Merry and Pippin tuned the two out, opting to teach Strider an old hobbit drinking game instead. And so passed a very fine evening, full of good food, good talk, and good ale.
The group spent the next day recovering from their ordeal, restocking their supplies and repairing the clothes that were damaged in the attack. Legolas was a great help throughout the day, helping the hobbits procure what they needed though he continued his questioning as well. Thranduil had apparently dismissed them as uninteresting for he appeared only once, and that to inform them that they would depart the following morning.
Upon hearing this, Strider made arrangements for the group to ride the elven trade barges down to Lake Esgaroth from which they could easily find transport to take them the rest of the way. After their harrowing experiences in the forest, the hobbits were happy to leave at first light, lazing around underneath the barge awnings and smoking pipeweed as they watched the shore drift by.
---
And finally, after nearly three months of traveling, the hobbits heard this cry:
“There it is, the Lonely Mountain.”
Shortly after, the group found themselves on the shores of Lake Esgaroth, with the bridge to the island of Laketown only a short distance away. Although the city of Dale had been rebuilt in all its fine splendor, Laketown remained a useful trade nexus between the elves and the peoples under the mountain. As such, it was rebuilt quickly in the months after Smaug's defeat and it was into this active town that Strider led the hobbits that day.
A few more pieces of the troll hoard's treasure found them rooms for the night and boats for the morning, men who would row them down the Celduin to the great stone docks at Dale. To their surprise, no one looked twice at the hobbits, and if anything they seemed to command greater respect than the man they traveled with.
The tales must be true, that Bilbo helped stop a battle if everyone's looking at us like that. Frodo thought to himself. The idea made him nervous once again, for how could he hope to measure up to his grand adventuring relative. Merry caught his mood and looked at him in concern,
“I'm sure it will be fine, you know. Bilbo can hardly turn us away; it would be most un-hobbitish, and probably un-dwarvish as well. Even Thranduil let us stay for the night and you could tell how much it pained him.”
“It's not that,” Frodo responded. “I just... what if he doesn't like me? I mean he's a hero. Look how these men look at us; how can I live up to that?”
“Don't be silly, you don't have to. Bilbo's twice your age, of course he's had more adventures. You already came all this way just to see him, that will be enough.” Merry swung his arm around Frodo's shoulder, giving him a half shake to emphasize his point. “Just stop fretting and enjoy yourself tonight. We'll meet old Baggins soon enough.”
Nodding their agreement, the hobbits joined Strider in the tavern and whiled away the night in merriment. And so only Sam was up fresh and bright for the journey, having gone to bed earlier than any of his companions. While the hobbits recovered quickly, Strider did not, giving them the added joy of watching the man bemoan his aching head. Their amusement at his long suffering moans made the the trip down the river pass quickly and before long their little boat passed into the shadow of the mountain and settled against the great docks of Dale.
Although the city was beautiful, full of spiraling streets and grand soaring buildings, by common decision the hobbits didn't linger, heading straight for their journey's end. However, when they reached the gates of the city, Strider stopped the group and said his farewell.
“I'll leave you here my friends, for the gates of Erebor stand only a short distance before us. You do not need a guide any longer and I must find a horse and prepare to continue north. This journey has been most enlightening and I hope that our paths will someday cross again.”
The hobbits were sad to see him go since they had become fast friends over the long months on the road and indeed they knew that their quest would have failed quickly without his aid. With heartfelt promises to search him out again, the group watched Strider disappear into the city before turning back and walking toward the mountain. As the hobbits approached, they gaped in awe at the great statues of Erebor, the stone kings towering far above the company. Between the statues, the gates of the kingdom stood wide and welcoming, guarded by stern-faced dwarven warriors who watched over the travelers on the road.
For the hobbits were not the only ones walking to Erebor; a small but steady stream of dwarves and men trickled back and forth, going to work and to trade. But as they passed everyone gave them wide berth, and the dwarves in particular glanced at them only with respect. It was this respect that gave Frodo the courage he needed to walk up to the guards and announce: “Frodo Baggins, and uh, company. Here to see Bilbo Baggins, if he pleases.”
He was not expecting the response that he got.
---
A great hue and cry went up from the guard and the small group was rushed quickly through the gates, up an enormous stone staircase and into a grand sitting room, catching only a short glimpse of the bustling city below. As soon as they arrived, servants relieved them of their burdens and left quickly with a promise of refreshments. The hobbits had only a moment to catch their breath before the doors burst open again and a young dwarf careened into the room. He was dressed in great finery but his dark hair was unbraided and he carried a bow strapped to his back. The dwarf bowed briefly before enveloping the group in a bright grin.
“Kíli, at your service. The others are all in council right now but they'll be along as soon as they can. The guards said you're a Baggins so you're related to uncle Bilbo then? None of his family have ever come to visit before; he'll be so pleased. How was the journey?”
“Uh, I, uncle Bilbo?” Frodo responded faintly, not sure how to deal with this onslaught as the other hobbits looked on in amusement.
“Well not by blood. But he's married to uncle so that makes him family of course. Which means you're family then as well. It'll be good to have relatives to talk to again; we're a bit sparse on the dwarven side and my brother Fíli's off being official too often these days. So what're your names then?”
“Oh, um, I'm Frodo Baggins. Bilbo's my cousin actually, though I suppose with the age difference I might as well call him uncle as well. These are my cousins Merry and Pippin and my friend Sam.”
“Family all around then!” Kíli threw his arms around Merry and Pippin joyfully, towering over the hobbits by a good foot at least. “So what all do you do for fun?”
“Well there's whittling, and smoking, and Sam has his crocheting and his garden. We're drinkers and dancers, and singers when drunk. I play a mean fiddle and Pippin can drum, and we're always up for a good trick or two,” Merry responded, grinning up at him cheerfully.
Kíli laughed. “Sounds like we'll get along just fine. I fiddle as well, so we'll have to play together some night. The company still gathers for music on occasion.” He turned back toward the door and listened. “Sounds like my uncles and Fíli are finally on their way.”
“You know, I don't think anyone ever told us. Who exactly did uncle Bilbo marry?” Frodo asked quickly, looking nervously towards the door.
“Why uncle Thorin, of course.”
“Thorin? Thorin Oakenshield? King Under the Mountain?” The hobbits looked at each other wide-eyed.
“Is there another Thorin about? They married soon after the Battle of Five Armies and Bilbo's been uncle's consort ever since. He's quite a good at it actually; can make even Thranduil see reason sometimes.”
“Oh dear. None of us are dressed for this,” Sam said softly as King, Consort and Heir swept into the room. The first dwarf had to be Thorin, stout of stature and regal of air, with grey-streaked hair braided intricately around his crown. The second dwarf looked nothing like him except in bearing, fine blond hair swept back from a cheerful face and he nodded at the hobbits before moving to greet his brother.
However, while the others gawked at the grandeur of their clothes and the majesty of the dwarves, Frodo only had eyes for his lost relative. Bilbo looked every inch the hobbit and yet every inch a royal with his richly embroidered finery, the intricately braided hair on his feet and a warm and welcoming smile of recognition on his face.
“Frodo, my dear boy. I haven't seen you since you were a baby and now you're all grown up. Come here and let me look at you. Whatever are you doing all the way out here?” Bilbo asked cheerfully, folding Frodo into his arms.
“I...I...It's a really long story actually. Though I'll be happy to tell it if you wish,” Frodo said, feeling rather overwhelmed.
“Of course, my boy, of course. We should let clean up from your journey first, and feed you as well. You probably missed many a meal on the road; I know I always did.” Bilbo replied before calling the dwarves over. “First things first. Frodo, this is my husband, Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, leader of the dwarves of Erebor and all that. And these are our nephews: Fíli and Kíli. Thorin, Fíli, Kíli, meet my first and second cousin once..”
“Nephew,” Kíli interjected with a grin.
“All right nephew, Frodo Baggins. And these two are some manner of cousin, Peregrine Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck I believe, just call them Pippin and Merry if you like. And finally Samwise Gamgee if I'm not mistaken; I think you may have met his father in my garden before our journey began all those years ago. Please welcome them to the family.”
Introductions complete, the group withdrew to the royal apartments for a quiet family dinner. Over the meal, Frodo regaled Bilbo with news from the Shire, with Sam and Merry supplying comments here and there. While Bilbo grew sad at the news of the death of Frodo's parents and the thought of Bad End in the hands of Lobelia made him cringe, the Tale of Mad Baggins brought a grin back to his face. It was Pippin who explained the Tale to the dwarves, and Kíli laughed like a loon at Thorin's thunderous face.
“It was rather odd of me, my love. And the truth would only make the tale even worse. Can you imagine? Don't go off on adventures or you'll end up married to a dwarf, the old hobbits will say to each other. Though I suppose I should have kept in touch at least, if only to stave off Lobelia. The news I've gotten from bards and peddlers clearly had some gaps,” Bilbo mused.
From there Frodo segued into the story of their own journey, and though every close call made the dwarves twitch with worry, they took comfort in the fact that the hobbits had made it through unscathed. After awhile Pippin and Kíli grew bored with the story, drifting away from the others and putting their heads together in muttered conversation.
Thorin watched the two grin at each other and despaired because he recognized the smirk on his younger nephew's face and knew that life in Erebor was about to become far more interesting. But the hobbits' encounter with Thranduil knocked those thoughts from his head and Thorin took great joy in imagining the elf king's face when he finally realized his mistake. Clever lads, he thought with pride. Just like my Bilbo. They'll keep the elders and the elves on their toes if they stay.
Eventually the conversation wound down as the long days of travel caught up with the hobbits and the family of Durin brought their guests to their rooms where their things were waiting for them. Bilbo showed Frodo inside his new room, then paused and asked gently,
“So why did you really come find me, my dear boy? Although it is very good to see your face again.”
At the question Frodo's walls came crumbling down and he burst into tears. Bilbo held him gently as he poured out his loneliness after his parent's death and how he'd always felt distant from his other relatives. Frodo told Bilbo of his failure to fit in in the Shire and his wonder and desire to explore the outside world and his fear that this made him less of a proper hobbit somehow. Finally, in a trembling voice, the young halfling admitted the driving force behind their journey, his hope that maybe his uncle would understand. At this Bilbo wiped the tears from Frodo's eye and said softly.
“There is nothing wrong with you my boy, nothing at all. You are a hobbit as fine as any other and better than many, I am sure. While most may be happy to let the wider world pass them by, you want to be a part of it instead, and that only does you credit. I have found that hobbits can do great deeds and good in the world if we just put our minds to it, perhaps because we are often overlooked by larger folk, and I'm sure your time will come. Frodo, my boy, you have a home here for as long as you want it, I promise you, and I think you will come to discover, as I did, that it's not where you live that matters but the people around you who make your life complete.”
With these words, Bilbo kissed Frodo on the forehead and wished him goodnight, tucking the young hobbit in carefully before returning to his rooms. Thorin smiled at him fondly from the bed as Bilbo entered and started to undress.
“Is your nephew all right then?” he asked gruffly.
“Yes, he will be. I think everything just caught up with him all at once. Apparently he never felt quite right in the Shire, and needed someone to listen now that he's here.”
“We'll make them welcome, him and the others. If they're staying?”
“Of course we will. Frodo will relax once he realizes that he's family no matter what and we do not require him to change. He will be with us for quite some time I think. And though I don't know about the others for sure, they will likely stay awhile. They seem to be very good friends.”
“Good. If you train him up as clever as you, Thranduil and Bard will never know what hit them. That Took fellow will be a handful I am sure, but it will do Kíli good to have another friend and the guards grow soft.”
Bilbo smiled at his king before climbing into bed beside him, once again marveling at where his life ended up and how he wouldn't change it for the world.
---
Frodo woke slowly. He felt odd, wrung out but strangely at peace, and he replayed the memory of the previous night in his head as he rose. The thought of Bilbo's promise of family made him warm inside, filling a hole within him that he hadn't known was empty. Maybe I really can be happy here, Frodo thought to himself as he dressed leisurely, finally taking the time to admire the rich brocade and intricate carvings that surrounded him.
A short while after he finished, a soft knock sounded on his door and he found Fíli standing on his threshold. The dwarf gave him a kind smile, “Uncle Bilbo sent me to collect you for breakfast since you won't be used to the light difference yet. Everyone else is already there.”
Frodo thanked Fíli and followed him down the hall. Entering the room, he found Thorin and Bilbo seated at one end of the table, Sam and Merry eating cheerfully in the middle, and Pippin huddled with Kíli at the the other end, continuing their plotting under Thorin's watchful eye.
Fíli nudged Frodo towards the others before going to sit next to the King, who quickly involved him in a discussion of upcoming business. Bilbo too was already hard at work, dictating to a grey-haired dwarf who stood by the table and wrote down his words on a scroll. He caught Frodo's eye and gave him a wave and smile of greeting before turning back to his scribe. From what Frodo could hear, Bilbo seemed to be delegating tasks for the day, which included such items as:
“Write a letter to Thranduil after this, thanking him for his diligence and, politely mind you, asking if he could please send these lads back their ponies. Try to imply that we'd greatly appreciate it without actually promising him anything....
“Remind the heads of each trade that they are meeting with me today to discuss their choices for new master craftsman, and I need to talk to the overseers of the mines whenever we can fit them in as well....
“Oh and have someone take these lads to the tailors after breakfast, they'll need a proper wardrobe for as long as they're here. And get them some finery as well for when we introduce them to the court, have to make a proper first impression....
“Kíli can show them around today, but do have Balin make an announcement of their arrival so everyone knows who they are and how they are to be treated while they are here....”
And the list went on and on. As Frodo sat down next to Sam and started filling his plate, he whispered quickly, nodding towards his uncle, “Has he been doing this all morning?”
Sam nodded. “All of them have. But it makes sense really, ruling all these dwarves has to be difficult, and Mr. Bilbo doesn't seem like the type to let his husband do it all himself.”
Frodo murmured his agreement, and started in on his breakfast, enjoying the hum of conversation. I've never really thought about what a King does, but I guess it makes sense. I wonder if uncle Bilbo will let me help him someday; I think I would like that. Looking around the table, at Kíli and Pippin, who were obviously planning something terrible with their newfound kindred spirits; at Merry and Fíli who periodically exchanged glances of fond exasperation at the antics of their younger relatives; and at Sam, eating calmly at the table of kings, Frodo felt a great wave of fondness for his friends who had traveled all this way with him through danger and wonder and somehow come out all right on the other side.
Uncle is right, he thought, looking at his hobbit relative, perfectly at ease as the consort of a dwarven king, and at Thorin whose stern visage softened noticeably whenever he glanced at his husband. It's the people who are family who make a place a home, and I think, no I know, these are mine.
The End