Chapter Text
Bungo Baggins was a perfectly respectable hobbit, perhaps the most respectable in all of Hobbiton. Not in the entirety of the Shire, that went to his brother Longo, but he too was a Baggins. The Baggins were well-known for their manners and their lack of peculiarity among hobbits. They were well-to-do and nothing unexpected ever happened to them.
Except, Bungo had fallen in love with the loveliest, and unfortunately wildest lass in the Shire. She’d been raised in Tuckborough, born from the Took line. It wasn’t that the Tooks were not a well-known family, as they were rich and all resided in the Great Smials of Tuckborough. The only problem with the Tooks was that they were wilder folk than the other hobbits. They’d go off gallivanting in the woods. There was even a rumor that their blood had a hint of fae. A Baggins would do well to never be involved with a Tookish hobbit. It wasn’t respectable.
Of course, he didn’t believe that rumor. He hadn’t even given it a second of thought. Belladonna Took had been a bright, sudden part of his life. The young hobbit lass had come careening into his life (literally). She’d loved him back. She’d stopped all her running about for him. Who could blame either of them?
Bungo didn’t care for what his parents seemed to think of her. What’s more, the Old Took wasn’t bothered by the presence of a Baggins in his family tree. It could only strengthen their bloodline.
Then along little Bilbo came.
Bungo loved his son as much as dearly as he loved his wife. It had brought the Tooks and Baggins together again. None of Bilbo’s grandparents could resist coming to see him just to avoid the other side of the family tree.
They were always at odds, but it seemed less tense after Bilbo’s birth. Their blatant fighting had come to an end. It could be found, in snide remarks at parties and in letters, but they did not avoid each other like they had before Bilbo’s birth. Now, with his son turning thirty-three, Bungo found himself happily reclined in his favorite armchair.
Outside, it rained softly.
Inside Bag End, the rain could hardly be considered disturbing. Despite it being spring, he’d started a low fire for warming one’s feet by. If anyone dared to come in and say something about it, the claim that the early days of spring were chilly worked well enough. No matter, for Bungo’s toes were warm and he found the rainy afternoon lovely. Especially with a small glass of his favored red wine.
Any moment, Belladonna and Bilbo would return from the market. The rain would have chased them back up the Hill. Though, there was a chance the two might risk the rain. Bilbo had inherited more of his mother’s Tookish nature than most hobbits deemed appropriate. Though it seemed as though it might be dulling down the more the years passed.
Bungo could hardly care, though the searching for elves in the woods had been becoming a tad excessive as of late. All was well, though. His son would grow out of it soon enough. That was what Mungo had said, at least, and he found himself inclined to believe his father. Even if Belladonna had snorted at the statement.
Afternoon tea was nearly on its way, four o’clock approaching Bag End and its master. With a great sigh, reluctant to take his feet away from warmth, Bungo stood. Neither Belladonna nor Bilbo were sticklers for every single meal. The respectable part of Bungo, however, was and he would not forego afternoon tea. Especially with the thought of his wife and son likely almost home. They’d appreciate a warm cup of tea and a plate of biscuits after the rain.
In the kitchen, the rain could be heard louder through the small window. Bungo enjoyed this particular window. It let him look out on the garden while he cooked or washed. In earlier days, it’d been a treat for admiring his wife while she tended the flowers. Nowadays, they’d hired Holman Greenhand and it was mostly their gardener Bungo saw out the window. That was not bad, though, as Holman always made for amiable conversation.
Speak of the fellow!, thought Bungo.
For he could see the figure of his gardener, his large brimmed hat on, hurrying down Bagshot Row and towards Bag End. Had something happened? It was odd for him to be out in the rain.
Bungo did not panic. He only walked very quick to the round, front door of Bag End and opened it.
He very much wished he had not.
For there, standing on the small threshold of Bag End’s front, were two dwarves. Dwarves were not common in the Shire, least of all in Hobbiton, and certainly not anywhere near Bag End!
The Baggins side of Bungo, a dash of his wife’s influence, and maybe even a pinch of the wine, took over before he could slam the door in the dwarves’ faces. Which any sensible, truly respectable hobbit would have done. Instead, he smiled and opened his mouth.
“Hullo,” greeted Bungo and then to his surprise, took a step back and opened the door wider. Was he truly inviting them into his smial? Goodness. This was very un-Baggins of him. “I’m dreadfully sorry, this downpour and all, would you mind stepping inside?”
They did, to Bungo’s slight dismay. His eyes went immediately down to their boots. Said boots were caked in mud and no doubt would spread all through his smial. That was not acceptable, by Baggins standards or Took standards. None of it was very Hobbitish.
While he’d been inspecting their boots with mild disgust, the two dwarves had taken off their hoods. Thus, when Bungo looked back up, he had a better view of what they individually looked like. If he could assume age by hair color, then one dwarf was much older than the other. This first dwarf had grey hair, braided far too intricate for Bungo to even imagine. His hair seemed decorated in gold and other metals, perhaps even gems. That didn’t much surprise him, as what little they knew of dwarves had to do with their love of gold and other precious metals. He dressed in fine clothes, a brilliant shade of blue, which was accompanied by a dark red hood and cloak.
The dwarf had a tattoo on his face, which slightly disturbed the frailer of Bungo’s sensibilities, as well as one eye that seemed sealed over.
Oh dear.
Bungo looked over to the other dwarf, almost immediately when he noticed that particular feature. This dwarf had blonde hair, like many of the dwarves from the mountains west of them. He too had intricate braids, but nowhere near the intricacy of his elder’s. There were far less gems in his hair. He did dress in similar colors and style as well, though his hood and cloak were green. Both their beards were long and braided as well, though in completely different styles.
The younger of the two had taken one, muddy step forward. It broke Bungo out of his state and he let out a loud yelp.
The dwarves stared at him in mild concern, both freezing from making any other movements. The hobbit pointed at their feet, or rather their boots.
“Please, if you could take those off. I don’t want any mud tracked into my hole, thank you!”
A long moment of silence passed between them, then both dwarves bent to take off their boots. Bungo relaxed, a breath he’d been unaware of releasing. He turned and moved to shut the door, for the rain would only end up inside Bag End and the smial had more than enough oddity at the moment.
However, he paused as Holman came up the small set of step stones that led to Bag End’s round door. His gardener was puffing out breaths, clutching his hat in his hands as he came to a stop before the threshold. His feet were splashed in mud and he at least held the same sensibility that no mud should be tracked into a fine smial. But he was also soaking wet from the rain.
“Oh, Mr. Baggins, I’m too late!” cried Holman when he saw the dwarves and their bootless feet. Which were quite tiny and if Bungo were not in such a mood, he might have laughed at them. “Mrs. Baggins sent me runnin’ over here, to tell you, but they got here before me.”
“Belladonna did?”
Bungo furrowed his brow. Had his wife sent the dwarves here to their smial? He’d have less complaints than if the dwarves had picked Bag End of all places, at least they might be familiar to his wife.
“Yessir. She and young Bilbo, they saw the dwarves comin’ over from the Great Smials earlier. She said she thought she’d be back but...”
Holman looked over at the dwarves and then back at Bungo, his lips twitching into an awkward and forced smile. It had dawned on Bungo the moment his gardener had said the words. The Great Smials, Tuckborough, the Thain had been talking with these dwarves. Everyone knew about the promise the Old Took had made during the Fell Winter.
Nothing had come of it yet. Therefore, most hobbits had let it pass into the back of their minds. Neither Bungo nor Belladonna had told their son about it. They hadn’t deemed it necessary. It had been over ten years ago, after all. Sensible hobbits kept that horrid winter out of their heads as much as possible. It didn’t do to bring up bad memories.
He disliked recalling it. They’d faced wolves and Orcs that the rangers had been unable to stop. The dwarves of Ered Luin had come to their aid. The Great Took had rallied their small military force with the dwarves and they had survived the winter. It had been their luck that winter, as many hobbits said, for they might not have survived without the dwarves. Bungo shuddered still when thoughts of that horrid winter surfaced. It had brought about an acquaintanceship between the Shirefolk and the dwarrows of Ered Luin, however, which was not a terrible thing. Though the dwarves did not suddenly move themselves into the Shire, there now lay a small village on the outskirts of the Shire, before the mountains, of dwarves and hobbits.
And the Old Took had promised one of his children or grandchildren and so on to be married to a dwarf of the King’s line, far away in Erebor. He hadn’t specified the child, for the dwarves hadn’t specified a dwarf either. It was promise meant to secure the trade picked up between the Shire and the mountains.
Bungo had never worried over it. He had but one son. Besides, Belladonna was not the eldest of her siblings. She had eight older brothers, after all. His heart thundered in his chest.
No. It simply made no sense, for they could not have chosen Bilbo, of all the Old Took’s grandchildren!
Ignoring Holman, he turned back with a cool smile on his lips. The two dwarves were stood in his parlor still. They’d been looking back and forth between the two hobbits but now the younger of the two straightened up.
“I am very sorry, gentleman, if my wife directed you here, but I do believe you are at the wrong smial.”
The dwarves exchanged a glance.
“Are you not Mr. Bungo Baggins and is this not Bag End?” asked the younger dwarf.
“I am but!” But what, he thought. This couldn’t be a mistake. Bungo Baggins could not deny that. These dwarves were here, at Bag End, looking for him and his only son.
They couldn’t take his only son.
“You listen here,” snapped Bungo suddenly, sticking his finger in the young dwarf’s face. “I won’t have you... you coming up here, snatching my son and leaving. I don’t care what promise old Gerontius made.”
“Oh goodness.”
Bungo froze at the sound of his wife’s voice. Slowly, as though the whole of the Shire had frozen, he turned towards her. Belladonna had a calm, patient look on her face as she stared at her husband and the dwarves. Her eyebrows drew together slightly. Bungo swallowed.
A calm Belladonna was not a good instance. He knew his wife well and she very rarely held such a look. Only when Bilbo had done something he shouldn’t have, but it had been directed at Bungo once or twice.
Her eyebrows were drawn tighter together as she came up the lane. Bilbo walked behind her carefully. He seemed to be taking in the situation cautiously. His father standing outside Bag End in the rain, yelling at two dwarves inside their hole and their gardener standing to the side had to be a ridiculous sight. The shock blooming across his face wrangled Bungo out of his state, quicker than Belladonna’s expression.
“Bella! I was just...”
“I don’t want to hear what silly thing you’re going to make up, Bungo,” chided Belladonna then turned towards the dwarves. “Would you both go to the sitting room? I assure you we’ll all be in soon.”
As the two headed deeper inside Bag End, Bungo wrung his wrists and glanced back at his wife. She’d turned toward Holman with a small, apologetic smile.
“I’m sorry, Holman, I thought they’d take longer arriving to Bag End. Please go on home, your help is appreciated.”
Holman inclined his head slightly, offering her a smile in return before hurrying down the lane and off down Bagshot Row. Belladonna turned back to her husband and son.
“Both of you, inside,” ordered Belladonna, waiting for Bilbo to head inside first before looking toward Bungo as they stepped into Bag End. “Did you make tea? It’s afternoon tea by now.”
“I... oh no,” groaned Bungo and hurried toward the kitchen. “I was in the midst of making it when I saw Holman and then, then, oh.”
He nearly fainted but found himself supported by a strong hand. The dwarf, one of them at least, had kept him from keeling over onto the kitchen floor. It was kind of him but utterly embarrassing for Bungo.
“Careful,” said the dwarf. “Perhaps you should sit down.”
Belladonna sat by his side a moment later, tutting as she handed him a cup of tea. Bungo stared at it in surprise then looked at his wife. It clearly had been a while; he had not set the kettle to boil before the whole disruption had happened.
“You didn’t make this, did you?”
“Don’t be rude,” hissed Belladonna before smiling. “Bilbo made it. You passed out for a few minutes, sweetling. King Thráin and his son were just introducing themselves-”
“King?” shrieked Bungo, nearly upsetting the cup in his hands were it not for the steady grip of his wife’s fingers on his wrist.
“Come now,” said Thráin, or who Bungo assumed must be the king, holding a teacup, though it looked comically tiny in his hand. He kept glancing nervously at Belladonna across the table. “We are going to be family; you don’t need to be formal about it.”
Belladonna stuck her nose in the air.
Belladonna had not invited the dwarves, if the way she was acting had any indication.
At least they were both thoroughly upset by this turn of events then. Perhaps, if Bella were on his side, they’d shoo the dwarves off and Bilbo would not be travelling far away. It was the ideal outcome of the situation for Bungo. And for Bilbo, he hoped.
“As I was saying,” began King Thráin again, bringing Bungo’s attention back onto the dwarves. “The Thain, Isengrim was his name I believe? sent us here. He said that his sister had a son of age, though he’s not the eldest of the previous Thain’s grandchildren.”
“That’s right,” interrupted Bungo. “Bilbo isn’t; you see? I don’t know what Isengrim was thinking sending you here.”
Belladonna’s hand squeezed his shoulder tightly.
“My brother is correct that Bilbo is of age and that he is not the oldest of his cousins. I doubt he simply picked my son, however.”
“Aye,” said Thráin. “He said as well that you were favored by your father greatly, perhaps the most of all his children. That your son is your only child.”
“He is,” said Belladonna sharply. “If you think I or my husband will let you walk out of here with our son, your skull must be thick as the stone you treasure.”
“We do not think that,” said the other dwarf. “We are here to convince you, hopefully sooner rather than later. If we are to arrive back in Erebor before winter snows block the mountain passages, we cannot linger here long.”
“My son is right,” continued Thráin. “Your brother also told us that the other children that may have been possibilities are married or too young.”
“Why now?” demanded Bungo, practically slamming his teacup down on the table. Belladonna sent him a warning glance.
“I am growing old,” admitted the dwarf king. “I fear I do not have too many years left in my life. My son is to become king after me and he is sometimes difficult. He needs someone more level-headed. I understand from the dwarves in Ered Luin that hobbits are far more level-headed than most dwarves.”
Bungo had turned to look at the dwarf beside Thráin. Was this the one Bilbo had to marry? He seemed nice enough. Though, he didn’t look like he’d be difficult to deal with. He’d been rather kind to Bungo and did not seem upset at all about the outrage with which Bungo and Belladonna were responding.
“What about heirs?” asked Belladonna. “Surely you do not think it would even be possible, between a dwarf and a hobbit!”
“Ah. No, my son has declared his heirs already, in his sister-sons. The matter of that is not a concern of mine or his.”
Bungo continued staring at the king’s son. He truly didn’t seem that bad. Perhaps, perhaps he could adjust to having a dwarf as a son-in-law. It might be strange, but of course, he’d hardly see them. Though he did not react much to his father talking about him so.
Which he did not see as a very good quality.
“If, if you think!” said Bungo suddenly, standing up and startling everyone at the table. He finally noticed Bilbo was not present. “If you think that you can just come in here and take my son, you have another thing coming!”
He’d turned his attention onto the young dwarf, who stared up at Bungo in mild confusion. Beside him, Belladonna squeezed Bungo’s arm. The king looked about the table, to his son and then chuckled a little.
“Master Baggins, please sit back down. Frerin is not marrying your son. His brother, Thorin, is.”
“And where is he?” demanded Bungo. Why, to not even show his face!
“He is in Erebor,” answered Frerin, a smile dancing on his lips. “Our father thought it best that Thorin had experience with the throne on his own. It was a good opportunity. I am afraid your son will be unable to meet my brother until we are in Erebor.”
“Likely for the best,” muttered Thráin.
They were quiet for a long time then, staring at each other across the table until their tea had cooled significantly. No one had set out the biscuits and it distressed Bungo slightly. He had a terrible habit of nervous eating. It was a comfort in times like these. However, what distressed him more was the lack of his son in the room. If they were discussing his future, the boy should be there.
“Where is Bilbo?”
“I asked him to wash up,” said Belladonna. “He should be out shortly. I am not sure how to break this to him.”
“You mean he doesn’t know?” asked Frerin.
“We didn’t think he’d be the one. He might have heard rumors about this arrangement but we never told him there was a possibility he might be married off.”
His wife seemed distressed by the events, her face creasing. Bungo held her hand where the dwarves could not see. It was not entirely respectable of them but she needed his comfort at the moment.
Frerin looked worried over the fact that Bilbo didn’t know he was about to be engaged. That he had no hint of it at all.
“I don’t know if-” started the dwarf but then Bilbo stepped into the dining room.
“Bilbo,” cried Belladonna then sprang to her feet. “Sit down. We need to talk to you about something.”
As he sat down, Bilbo looked around the table then back towards his mother. His father looked overly distressed which was never a good indication of things to come. The dwarves themselves were such an oddity that he couldn’t fathom what was happening inside Bag End.
Though he’d come to expect oddities from his mother, dwarves were not at the front of his mind. He saw them occasionally at the market but they had always been few and rare. They had always piqued his interest, much as Elves had.
“Is it to do with the dwarves?”
“That it does,” said his mother softly. “Bilbo, when the dwarves helped up during that winter, you remember, don’t you?”
How could he forget? It’d been dreadful. They’d had a great lack of food and he had hardly been let outside the whole winter. What he had seen when he’d been outside turned into the stuff of nightmares for him and many of his cousins. It had been a terrible, terrible time for them. He’d lost a few friends to that winter.
In the end, they’d been saved by the dwarves from the mountain out east. Gandalf, a wizard friend of his mother’s, and the Rangers had helped them with food but they’d have been done for, if the dwarves had not stepped in.
He nodded.
“Your grandfather made a promise,” continued Belladonna. “He made a promise to the dwarves that when the time came...” For a moment, his mother struggled with words. “When the time came, one of his children or his children’s children and so forth would be married into the royal line of Durin.”
Belladonna looked at the two dwarves now. Bilbo hadn’t heard their initial introductions nor their names at all. All he knew was that there were two dwarves in his home and that his parents seemed very upset. Bilbo was a rather smart young hobbit. He could piece it together on his own.
Or at least, assume. These dwarves were here on behalf of the royal dwarves, he figured, for him.
“I’m the one then,” stated Bilbo, watching his parents’ faces. Bungo crumbled a little while Belladonna held a tighter expression as she nodded. He didn’t need to ask why it was him. Most of his cousins were younger than him or were already married.
Bilbo just didn’t expect he’d be married to anyone; after all he had only come of age the previous year. The Tookish blood he had was starting to calm down and he preferred more of his father’s books every day. He thought of the Old Took, who had only died three years ago. His grandfather has cherished him, as much as he had Belladonna. The more he thought about it, the more he knew what he had to do. It was not much of a choice anyway, but he felt better knowing he was going to do this of his own choice
“Aye,” said the elder dwarf, startling Bilbo slightly. “If you agree. But, I believe we should introduce ourselves first. I am Thráin II, son of Thrór, and King of Erebor.”
Bilbo eyes widened in surprise, taking in the regal appearance of the king. He had thought the dwarf looked finer than other dwarves he had seen, but the hobbit could hardly have guessed his identity. He looked towards the younger dwarf curiously. Was he also royalty?
“I am Frerin, son of Thràin, Prince of Erebor.” He bowed his head. “I will recap what we have told your parents: we are here to escort you to Erebor safely, where you will secure the Shire’s ties with all dwarrow, through marriage to my brother, Thorin, the crown prince.”
Bilbo barely processed the information before he responded.
“When do we leave?”
His question startled his parents but the king seemed strangely delighted by his decision and forwardness over it.
“Well,” started Thráin, while Bungo spluttered. “We could leave immediately tomorrow. The sooner the better, as we want to try and avoid any snow blocking our way. We’ve had predictions this winter might be a tough one.”
Belladonna stared at her son in shock.
“Bilbo,” started his mother, cut herself off, then took a deep breath. “You cannot just decide this. Isn’t there-- there must be a contract of some sort?”
She’d turned her attention back onto Thráin, who nodded in assent.
“Aye, there is. I’ll have Frerin go and retrieve it, as well as the young dwarf who helped write it up. You see, we have quite a number of dwarves with us, though they’re all in the, what was it, dashat?”
“The Green Dragon Inn, I believe it was.”
Frerin looked quite amused by this and Thráin chuckled in response.
“An odd name, I admit,” said Thráin as he stood from the table. “But, the rest of our traveling companions are there. We expect a few of our kin from Ered Luin to come along with us as well. The Thain said too that he was willing to send representatives of the prominent clans here with us for negotiations, when we are in Erebor.”
“I don’t know what hobbits you think you’ll get to come with you besides a few Tooks,” grumbled Bungo, glancing at his son. He’d calmed down enough to talk but his hands were trembling.
The dwarf king only looked more amused. Frerin bid them a quick farewell with a promise to be back soon with the contract and the dwarf who’d written it up. Bilbo sat there, fiddling with his waistcoat. He didn’t have too many doubts but how far was Erebor? He didn’t think it was even on his father’s maps.
“Why don’t I tell you more about the other dwarves?”
Thráin had sat down next to Bilbo, startling the young hobbit. Up close, the scar on his eye attracted Bilbo’s attention. What a strange thing indeed. No hobbit Bilbo had known had scars. The Rangers did, but they were Big Folk and far more intimidating than the dwarves. At least dwarves were closer to their size.
“I know a good deal about dwarves,” retorted Bilbo. He’d met a couple of the dwarves from the nearby mountain.
Thráin stared at him for a moment, then burst into great laughter. Belladonna and Bungo, who has been talking quietly to each other, looked over in alarm but the dwarf waved them off. He calmed down his laughter, his large hand patting Bilbo’s back gently.
“Well! I think you might be too a good match for Thorin,” chuckled Thráin, wiping away a small tear. “Of course you know about dwarves, lad. I only meant about our company on the journey back. Knowing more about them specifically might make the journey easier, for all of us.”
“Oh,” muttered Bilbo, having the sense to look embarrassed.
“I’ll start off with my son and I. I am Thráin, the King of Erebor, as I told you. Frerin is my son, the younger of he and his brother. They have a sister as well, Dís, but she stayed in Erebor with Thorin. A good thing too, as she is much more sensible than her brothers.”Bilbo smiled slightly, feeling a tinge of relief in his chest. At least this dwarf seemed friendly. If the king were friendly to him, then maybe he would have a fine time with the dwarves.
“We’ve set up a personal guard for you already,” continued Thráin and Bilbo looked up in shock. The king gave him no room for interruptions, however. “Don’t worry, you’ll need him and he makes for good company. His name is Bofur, though he’s more of a miner. The friendliest dwarf you’ll ever meet, I expect. Now, Frerin is bringing Ori, along with the contract. Ori is a scribe apprentice. We don’t normally take scribes on long journeys but we needed him for all this contract business.”
Thráin sighed a little, shaking his head as though contracts were the root of all trouble in his life. Maybe they were, Bilbo pondered. He didn’t know much of a king’s business.
“You said you have an entire company, though?”
“Oh, yes, you’d truly like to know about all of them?” When Bilbo nodded, the dwarf smiled before jumping back into naming and telling Bilbo the dwarves he’d be spending time with. Of those, Bilbo had found himself most interested in getting to know a dwarf named Dori and a dwarf named Bifur, besides Ori and Bofur. Bifur was a Kingsguard, while Dori apparently worked mainly with clothes.
Thráin informed him that the reason Dori had come along was because he spent much time with the royal family, and despite how he might look, the dwarf was also a fierce warrior. Apparently, he also made many of the cloths the royal family wore.
“My advisor, Balin, was to come as well but I thought it better to leave him with Thorin for help. I hope I made the right decision, back in the day Balin used to, ah!”
The King abruptly stopped and smiled as Frerin walked back in, tailed by a much smaller dwarf. He had red hair, freckles dotting his face and he looked absolutely nothing like either of the dwarves. Though his braids were also intricate, it didn’t seem to be the same kind as the king’s and prince’s. He had a grey hood and cloak, though Bilbo could see the purple tones of his clothing peeking out.
He paused and then bowed to Thráin, who looked like he desired to wave it off. Then, the new dwarf smiled at Bilbo and his parents.
“Hello, Ori at your service.”
Then Ori bowed again and Frerin smacked him lightly on his back when he straightened back up.
“Oh, you don’t need to do all of that here, Ori. Come, show them the contract.”
Though he unraveled a rather large scroll, the look on Ori’s face was quite surprised. He kept glancing at Bilbo every few seconds, even after he’d stepped back from the unraveled contract. The hobbit did not know how to feel about the cursory glances.
He hoped this would not be how all the dwarves acted around him.
“Here we are,” announced Thráin and stood behind Bilbo, encouraging him to move closer to the contract. “There’s quite a lot to read, I suspect, but everything should be in order.” He paused and then looked up. “Mr. and Mrs. Baggins are welcome to also read over this, as they see fit. It would do better if we had Thorin here but I’m afraid that cannot be helped. We will make due once we are back in Erebor, although he has already agreed to all the terms.”
He’d only begun to read when Thráin said that and it gave Bilbo pause. As he looked up, he could see the soft expression on his mother’s face and the worried one stuck on his father’s. They would miss their only son’s marriage. He couldn’t, no no, he wouldn’t stand that.
“I want my parents to come,” said Bilbo, putting his hand on the contract and then looking at Thráin. “Before I even read this or agree to it.”
“I see no problem with that!” replied Thráin. “It is more up to them, I should think.”
They looked over at Bungo and Belladonna, and Bilbo did so with his eyes pleading. If he was to go, it would be a comfort for him to have his parents along. After all his mother had traveled before and his father would be a voice of reason and sensibility.
Besides, to be perhaps the only hobbit among a company of dwarves, that sounded like too grand an adventure for a little hobbit like Bilbo.
The prospect of traveling, especially with dwarves for company, flabbergasted Bungo and he merely gaped at his son in response. Never in his life had he been asked by anyone to leave the Shire. Not even Belladonna had asked him to go anywhere with her, even when she’d travelled mere months before they were married.
She’d settled down, though, content in Bag End. As far as he had known. Bungo looked over to his wife for help. After all this time, would she desire to travel and the leave the Shire again?
But Belladonna looked as shocked as Bungo, her mouth moving wordlessly at her son’s plea. Thráin regarded them both with patience. Bungo wondered if that was a trait of a king, to be able to wait patiently and without a word for a decision.
This was a particularly big decision, not only on their parts.
“I couldn’t deny my son that,” spoke Belladonna at last. Across the table, Bilbo’s shoulders drooped in relief. If his mother went, then so would his father. He could be easily swayed by her. “I fear neither of us could stay in Erebor the rest of our lives, but I do not see why we couldn’t travel with you, and I would love to see my son married.”
They shifted their eyes onto Bungo, who finally grasped his words.
“A-and, I agree with my wife. If Bilbo wants us to go, then we shall go. It would do well to see him safely there and then to see his marriage,” stated Bungo, then took in a breath of air. “And I want to meet this Thorin fellow. I have a few words for him!”
Thráin chuckled slightly, patting Bilbo on the back again while Frerin grinned.
“I am sure he will be amiable to a conversation or two with you, Mr. Baggins. But if that is your only request, Bilbo, would you kindly read the contract? If we are to leave tomorrow, this business needs to be done with soon.”
Bilbo set to reading the contract, aware of the eyes of everyone in the room being focused on him. It formed a great deal of anxiety that they all watched him as he read. He kept his attention on the contract, mouthing words as he read along.
The contract had been written in Westron, not the dwarf language of Khuzdul, which Bilbo was thankful for. If he’d had to have everything translated to him, that would be frustrating and besides they could slip in what they wanted without the hobbit knowing.
He didn’t think the dwarves would, though. In the past, before the Fell Winter, they’d not heard good about dwarves in general. But Thráin and Frerin and Ori too seemed all very nice, as the dwarves of Ered Luin had been. They couldn’t be like the tales he’d heard.
For his part, Bilbo hadn’t known what to expect from a marriage contract and especially one that was an arranged marriage. He could feel the weight of duty on his shoulders suddenly. A part of him wished to stand up and run away. But they’d find another hobbit, one of his cousins, and the more reasonable part of Bilbo Baggins reminded himself that it would be a great honor to his family, to follow through with his grandfather’s promise.
It mostly talked of the future trade agreements between their people, how they would be negotiated and what benefits Bilbo would reap from the marriage. As well, it detailed the marriage and its purposes. He had, once he signed, the protection of any dwarf sworn to Erebor and the King Under the Mountain. That protection would only increase when he officially married Thorin. It stated that he’d be assigned a guard for the duration of the trip to Erebor (this was Bofur, he supposed), then he’d be given a Royal Guard within Erebor.
There under those lines, a signature that Bilbo could barely read, but it looked as though it could be read as Bofur.
Further down, it talked of his duties as the Prince’s spouse. While Thorin was the Prince, Bilbo would have very little to do, besides attend meetings and trade arrangements. To his surprise, it went into detail of what would be expected of him when Thorin ascended the throne and Bilbo became Prince Consort.
He paused slightly, mind sticking on a small clause that he nearly skimmed over. On the topic of heirs…
The hobbit in question is not expected to provide Prince Thorin with any heirs. Children are rare in our society and we hardly know if a child could even be produced between a hobbit and a dwarf…
Bilbo flushed slightly, eyes darting down towards the end of the clause.
... Prince Thorin has already declared his heirs in his sister-sons, Fíli and Kíli, sons of Víli and Princess Dís. Princess Dís approved the decision. Therefore, this marriage requires no reproduction of heirs.
He did not know how to feel about that. Certainly, it was a relief that he did not have to worry about any of that. But goodness he’d not even thought about that as part of the marriage. Besides, it had to be highly unlikely that a child could be produced.
Yes, he thought, it’s not my concern as this clearly states.
The rest of the contract talked about minor issues, though he briefly paused at the mention of war and further what would happen if Thorin were to die before Bilbo. They’d ensure his safety no matter what, it detailed.
Bilbo didn’t want to think about his potential husband, who he hadn’t even met!, being dead.
As he reached the end of the contract, reading over one last statement about that if he signed it, he agreed to and understood everything within, Ori produced a quill. Bilbo smiled in thanks before he took it and carefully signed the contract. When he sat back, he noticed the signature under his. It was Thorin’s, signed rather flashily, if you asked Bilbo.
Thorin, son of Thráin…
He took a deep breath and then turned towards the King, smiling.
“I think it’s all settled then.”
“Bizrul galikh!” shouted Thráin, the harsh Khuzdul startling the three hobbits. Frerin chuckled again but Ori looked slightly abashed by his King’s friendliness. He continued on in Westron. “Then we shall see you once the sun rises. Do you need help packing your belongings? As you read, we promise you everything we can, but I have no doubt you will have personal belongings you might want to take along.”
“Er,” stuttered Bilbo then cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t mind some help, but-”
“Ah! I shall send Dori over, then. He’ll help you best of our company. Isn’t that right, Ori?” asked Thráin, directing his attention toward the young dwarf.
Ori turned red, ducking his head as he rolled up the contract. Bilbo hadn’t even noticed he’d been doing that.
“I’m sure,” said the dwarf, timidly. “Dori is very good at organizing.”
“Dori is Ori’s older brother,” explained Thráin. He smiled widely as he looked back at Bilbo. “Frerin, Ori, and I will head to the Green Dragon. I shall send Dori in the morning. If we leave by noon, I think we shall make good time towards Bree.”
Once he was sure the three hobbits were agreeable to the arrangement of events, Thráin bid them a goodbye, which included a low bow. Frerin and Ori repeated the gesture as they left. The youngest dwarf seemed flustered as he left the hole behind. Bilbo watched them curiously.
The moment the door to Bag End had closed on the dwarves’ backs, Belladonna turned towards her son and cupped his face.
“Oh, my faunt, you did not have to do any of that. If you had said no, I am sure Isengrim could have found another of your cousins or even dipped into the Brandybuck line, they’re closely enough related.”
“Mum,” sighed Bilbo and brought his hand up to hers. “I, I want to do this. Grandfather made that promise and I will keep it!”
Bilbo looked toward his father, who had moved to sit back in his armchair and held his head in his hands. He looked quite stressed by the events that had unfolded in the last few hours. With a quick glance towards his mother, Bilbo knew they’d be making Bungo’s (and Bilbo’s) favorites for dinner. It would assuage Bungo and likely it would be the last time Bilbo had food he loved so.
For now, he moved to kneel in front of his father.
“Father?” tried Bilbo quietly, then reached up to move his father’s hands away from his face. “I know this is hard for you.”
“Oh,” wailed Bungo suddenly and dropped his hands, looking at his son. “Who cares about me? You are leaving, to-- to be married off to some dwarf and here I am, moping about! Well! No Baggins am I, if I act that way.”
After a long moment of silence, the three Bagginses burst into delighted, yet sad laughter.
That night, as Bilbo crawled into bed, he realized it would be the last time he slept in it. The last time he slept under the Hill and in Bag End. His father had built this home for Belladonna. They had expected many children but it had been only Bilbo.
And Bilbo would not fill the smial with children either.
He closed his eyes, the sleep that took him away fitful.