Chapter Text
“E-Excuse me, a-a-are you real ?” He blurted out.
Dwalin frowned and stepped inside, staring at him with dark eyes, studying him like he was the oddest thing he had ever seen.
Then he took off his coat and brusquely gave it to him, accidentally punching him in the process. Or maybe it was not an accident. How could Bilbo know ?
“Well of course I’m real ! Now where’s it, laddie ?” He gruffed as he made his way further into the smial.
The pain of the punch was far too real for it all to not be just that.
Oh no.
Absently, he replied to the dwarf. “The what ?”
Oh no oh no oh no.
“The food ! He said there’d be food, and lots of it !”
Father was going to be so mad, so furious with him…
“He-he said ?”
Bilbo would not be able to sleep on his back for weeks, no, months !
He saw himself follow the dwarf into the kitchen. Dwalin had found his untouched plate and had dug into it eagerly.
At this moment, Bilbo could have told the dwarf to leave.
Dwalin grabbed the fish and bit off half of it, producing a crunching sound that made the hobbit feel sick.
He could have done so indeed, had he not been so scared.
This dwarf looked like he could crush Bilbo’s skull one-handed.
There was a knock on the door again.
Oh no.
“That’d be the door.”
Behind it stood a dwarf with white hair and beard, who was way smaller than the first one, but still taller than Bilbo. He wore a gentle, wise expression.
“Balin, at your service.” He greeted, and Bilbo forced himself to return the gesture.
He felt so small. He wanted to run and hide in his bedroom until it was all over. But he could not do that, could he ?
The dwarf in front of him must have said something, because he was looking at him expectantly. He panicked and tried to replay whatever Balin had said.
“Brother !”
Bilbo flinched, startled by the sudden call from the kitchen. Before he had time to register it, Balin had left for the kitchen and was bumping foreheads rather violently with his brother.
The hobbit did not believe himself able to invent such weird looking characters. If he was hallucinating, he would logically be seeing elves, as they were his favorites.
And Dwalin was most certainly not an elf. Neither was… What had been his name ? Dalin ? Balin ?
So… So this was real.
“Okay.” He said out loud, eyes wide, breath short. “Okay.”
He watched as the two dwarves left the kitchen as they conversed, and followed them to the pantry as they started going through his food, smelling it, putting their hands all over it, taking it.
His father would be so mad. Bilbo felt his back ache with ghost pains, and grimaced. He needed to stop these two strangers, no matter how scary they looked.
“Excuse me…?” He called, but his voice was too small, and they did not even glance at him.
He coughed, trying to get their attention. It worked, surprisingly. They stopped their conversation and stared at him, silently demanding him to speak.
“Sorry, but-”
“Apologies accepted.” Cut Balin, and they went back to the food.
Bilbo’s heart dropped in his chest again, this time in a slower, more powerless manner. What could he do now ? This was out of control, he could not make them leave, he was certainly not about to raise his voice, who knew what kind of death awaited him if he did that.
The best was probably to simply endure all of this until it was over, then pretend it was just another nightmare, and blame the pipe-weed.
Someone knocked on the door again, forcing Bilbo to come open it. Behind it, there were not one but two dwarves this time. These ones looked rather young and their eyes had a malicious sparkle inside of them. Surprisingly enough, one of them was blond, which was rare amongst dwarves, and the other did not even have a beard, which was even rarer.
“Fili” Said the one who had blond hair.
“And Kili” Continued the beardless one.
“At your service !” They finished in chorus before bowing, their smiles showing how proud they were of themselves for having such perfect synchronisation.
They went through the door, grinning as they tracked mud everywhere.
The panic-induced adrenaline made Bilbo feel lightheaded. He felt like the next person to come into the smial would be his father, stick in hand and face twisted by fury.
He saw himself extend his arms at something the blond one must have said. Or maybe it was the other one who said something. Either way, he was soon unable to see through the heavy pile of weapons that had been placed into his arms. He stumbled to the nearest cabinet and put the weapons there, as cautiously as he could.
“Woah, careful there, lad !” Called one of the two, making Bilbo jump and almost dropped the remaining daggers in his hands.
“I’m sorry.” He said quickly. He couldn’t help but feel his shoulders tense up. Was he going to be hit for his mistake ?
A large hand hit him right in the middle of his back, making him freeze. Yes, yes he was.
“It’s okay, mister Boggins ! We’re just teasing, they won’t break so easily !”
By the time Bilbo was able to breathe again, the two dwarves had left his side and were greeting the others. The hobbit licked the lip he had been biting, and tasted blood.
Stupid. Stupid hobbit.
What was he going to do now ? There were dwarves in his home, spreading chaos everywhere, eating his food, tracking mud on the floor, but, most importantly, those dwarves were getting in the way of his perfectly planned suicide !
Bilbo licked his bloody lip and sighed. Okay, not perfectly planned. He still had to choose how he wanted to draw his final breath.
Speaking of plans, he needed one to drive those… Quite unexpected guests out of his home. But not tonight, no, not tonight, because that would make Bilbo a bad host, and he refused to let his father down like that. (He refused to risk his father coming back from the dead to hit him until he was bloody and motionless.) Not one Baggins had been called such a tremendously horrible thing before, so there was no way Bilbo would let it happen now.
Maybe if Bilbo just gave them everything they asked for, they would leave, hopefully without harming anything or anyone. He caressed the upper limb of the bow he was holding, admiring the craftsmanship. How many people had this weapon killed ?
“Mister Boggins ? What are you doing staring at my bow like that ? Do you li-”
Bilbo startled and struggled not to drop the bow.
The dwarf that had pulled him from his thoughts was interrupted as there was, yet again, a knock on the door.
The hobbit walked to the door and put his hand on the knob, once again completely disconnected from the situation.
That is how, when he found himself in front of a massive group of dwarves threatening to fall on him, he did not use the half second he had to react to flee, but instead, wasted it staring, and thinking ‘oh. Well, this is going to hurt’.
Now underneath a big pile of dwarves and hurting everywhere, Bilbo felt the urge to grin, because, really, what an odd but entertaining evening ! Terrifying and painful, yes, but what wasn’t, these days ? ‘What a mad thing to think’, he scolded himself as he fought the smile by focusing on the pain.
A second later, though, hands touched him, grabbing his body, and pulled him up.
“’m so sorry laddie, I didn’t mean t’harm you, I swear !”
Instead of smiling and thanking the dwarf that had helped him and was now checking that he was okay, Bilbo focused his eyes on his feet. His lips, still bloody from earlier and no longer tugging at the small wound to form a smile, trembled.
‘Let go of me’ he wanted to demand as he felt big, rough hands touching his back and his sides.
‘Don’t hurt me’ he wanted to beg as the hands eventually gripped his shoulders, and stayed there.
“Nothing to apologize for, master dwarf.” He heard himself breathe out.
“Everything okay, Bilbo ?”
That was the wizard’s voice. It made Bilbo lift his head and look around, but before he could find Gandalf, his eyes found the brown ones of the dwarf who was still holding his shoulders. The indecipherable expression he found there made him forget to breathe for a couple of seconds. The dwarf seemed to be searching for something on his face, he looked somehow intrigued, and confused.
It made Bilbo’s heart beat painfully in a couple of too fast, scared beats, which had the advantage of giving him the strength to step away from the dwarf, who let him go easily.
“Yes, Gandalf.” To prove his point, Bilbo lifted his head to finally meet the man’s gaze, and forced a smile.
He then looked around and noticed that all the dwarves were either greeting each others or staring at him.
“So that’s what ye call a hobbit, Gandalf ? He looks small. Is he even of age ?”
“He seems fragile. And too thin ! Look at him Gloin ! Dwalin’s axe is probably heavier than this poor little thing !”
“I don’t see any weapons or pieces of armor in this house, is he even able to fight ?”
Bilbo’s eyes found his feet again. These words confused him, but what he felt most strongly was the need to apologize.
Gandalf chose this moment to suggest in a disapproving voice : “How about we all head to the nice dinner our host has cooked for us, instead of being such poor guests ?”
Some of the dwarves grumbled apologies, while the rest murmured about letting the hobbit come or not.
Bilbo, confused, and not sure yet if he had decided to care or not, wondered what diner was Gandalf talking about, exactly, since he hadn’t cooked anything yet, and why they were even considering him to be potentially useful. They must really not know who he is, then.
Maybe he should tell them, out of honesty.
But something deep inside of him tugged. It wanted to see. It wanted to test what would happen if he was taken in the company’s ranks. Were adventures similar to what they were written out to be in Bilbo’s books ? Or were they as toxic and dangerous as Bungo had told him ?
Bilbo was already a freak and a total disappointment. He had nothing left to lose, not even his sanity.
That made him want to laugh.
“-ilbo ? Are you okay my dear ?”
Bilbo turned his head to Gandalf, who was watching him from the doorway to the dining room. Behind him, the dwarves were buzzing around, amassing food and ale on the table and loudly talking to each other. They seemed happy. Laugher suddenly erupted around the table. It was painful to watch, somehow.
“Yes, Gandalf, I’m fine.”
“Hm.” Still, the soul piercing eyes did not wander off him.
Despite how slow Bilbo’s brain usually was, he could sense that the wizard intended to dig until he discovered all of Bilbo’s secrets. So, in a desperate attempt to escape from the fire, he jumped into the frying pan.
“I am going to go care for my unexpected guests now, if you don’t mind.” He stated, appearing braver than he felt. He rode the wave of courage that gave him, and darted to the kitchen.
There, he busied himself by starting to cook something, under the curious eyes of a big red headed dwarf.
“What are you making, mister hobbit ?”
Bilbo took a moment to stop and stare at the wet slice of bread starting to toast in the pan.
“French toast.” he mumbled, hoping he would not have to repeat himself.
“Sounds delicious ! may I try some ?”
“When it is done, yes.”
“Could you tell me the recipe ?”
This was such a strange conversation to have. The dwarf was being strangely polite, and asking about something as mundane as a recipe. His Ma hadn’t told him that sort of things about dwarves.
What Bilbo knew about dwarves, was that they were awful at table manners, and manners in general really, and they had a stupid love for gold and gemstones.
He felt a wave of calm take over him after he reminded himself of that.
All this chaos since the arrival of the first dwarf was normal, for dwarves. The only truly strange thing what that dwarves would actually find their way there in search of a hobbit willing to go on an adventure.
His father would hit him until he was bloody and motionless if he witnessed even a small amount of what was happening in his home, but Bilbo barely cared in this moment. All he cared about was that for once, he was not bored.
Something was actually happening his his life. Something new. Something to discover and explore.
After Bilbo told the redhead the recipe and gave him the french toasts, the dwarf went back to the dining room, instantly cheered by the company as he passed the door.
Bilbo stood alone in the kitchen, wondering whether he should follow, but laugher erupted once more at the table and he decided against it.
He sat at the kitchen table, opening the nearest recipe book and reading it like it was the most interesting thing in the world. He tried to block out the cacophony coming from the next room and imagine himself alone in his smial, but did not succeed, so he went to his living room. Still, the noise was there, as loud as before. Bilbo sighed and focused on the soup recipe. He would simply have to deal with it then.
He was reading his seventh recipe when one of the youngest looking dwarves, the one that wasn’t one of the two brothers, approached him sheepishly. Bilbo lifted his head, hoping the dwarves were not angry at him for being such a poor host. He thought he was doing the right thing by giving them space and privacy instead of sitting awkwardly among them all evening.
“Excuse me, I’m sorry to interrupt, but, what should I do with my plate ?”
Bilbo opened his mouth to answer, his left hand already moving to point the kitchen, when the brown haired one of the two brothers (Fili, was that it ?), appeared in the doorway.
Out of nowhere, the blond one stepped in and held out his hand, a -quite frightening, if you asked Bilbo- playful smirk on his lips. “Here you go Ori, give it to me.”
Ori did not think twice before giving his plate over to the blond (Kili ?), who instantly threw it to his brother, who in turn wasted no time throwing it in the kitchen.
For half a second, Bilbo cringed, fully expecting to hear his mother’s dish break.
When it didn’t, he released his breath, only to hold it again a second later when he realised everyone was now throwing his mother’s crockery around his smial.
An irrational fear gripped him then. It felt like if one of those plate broke, he would be failing his mother. It felt like she was dying and he was helpless all over again. He ran to the dining room as the dwarves started hitting the silverware in rhythm and singing. His breathing quickened, and he stuttered out the first thing that came to his mind.
“Don’t, don’t do that, you’ll blunt the knives..”
He thought no one heard him, but the same brown eyes from earlier, this time clouded with alcohol and laughing, locked on him.
“Oooh… Do you hear that, lads ? He says we’ll blunt the knives !”
That was, apparently, all they needed to break into song. During two long, horrifying minutes, Bilbo tried to both control his anxiety attack and the dwarves threatening one of the few things that were left of his mother.
But even in the midst of his panic, he could not help but think that if anything broke, it would be on him for having put that specific crockery in the most accessible cupboard. He would have failed his mother once again. What a disappointment he was.
When the song turned into laugher, he pushed his way through the dwarves, not caring about their anger for once. He discovered piles of clean dishes, and gaped.
However he did not have the time to entirely process the sight in front of him, because three loud knocks at the door silenced the whole smial. For a second, it was as if no one even dared to breathe.
“He is here.” Announced Gandalf in a deep, serious voice.
All the joy and merriness of the dwarves bled from their face, to be replaced by grave, serious looks.
Remembering his _ though quite rusty, still existent _ manners, Bilbo strode to the door and opened it wide, trying to pretend he wasn’t scared.
In front of him stood the most good looking dwarf he had seen so far. This one looked to be middle aged. He had long black hair, a rather short beard compared to the others, and clothes that seemed to be of slightly better quality. But was truly caught Bilbo’s attention were the newcomer’s eyes. There were a deep, pale blue that seemed to hold a strange heat inside.
Those eyes barely brushed over Bilbo’s, however.
“Ah, Gandalf. You should have given me better indications. If it weren’t for that sign on the door, I would still be wandering around these hills. I lost my way. Twice.”
The dwarf’s voice was a deep rumble that seemed to demand everyone’s attention. And indeed, everyone was focused on the dwarf’s every word. Bilbo had not heard such silence since the first knock on his door an hour or so earlier.
He remembered well the warm greetings the other dwarves gave each others and so he thought about stepping back to give them the space and privacy to do just that with the new, strangely majestic dwarf. However, just as he was lifting his foot to do that, the eyes of the dwarf froze him in place.
“So, this is the hobbit.” He said as he approached Bilbo and started walking around him slowly, piercing him with an assessing stare. Instantly, Bilbo’s eyes dropped to his shoes, but he could still feel the pressure of the scrutinizing attention that was on him. “Tell me, what’s your weapon of choice ?” The tone was harsh, and Bilbo opened his mouth to answer, but words refused to come out. He felt like the smallest mouse under this dwarf’s gaze. “Come on, tell me : axe or sword ?”
Bilbo felt his skin crawl with anxiety. After a few seconds of silence, he managed to shake his head, his neck and ears burning with shame. The mysterious dwarf sneered. “Thought as much. He looks more like a grocer than a burglar.”
Everyone laughed but Gandalf, who chose to remain silent. Not that Bilbo especially noticed or felt anything about that. Aventures and their heroes hated him just as much as the rest of the world, it seemed. Everyone went to the dining room, leaving Bilbo standing there, staring after them. Gandalf stayed too, just long enough to tell him in a hushed voice :
“This is Thorin Oakenshield, the leader of this company. Please do not judge him on first impressions. He has a heart of gold, and noble intentions.”
When Gandalf left, the hobbit sighed, trying to will the sting of the leader’s words away. They should not sting, he was way better off looking like a grocer than looking like a burglar. This was not a insult for him, but a compliment, and if being a burglar was a good thing among dwarves, then Bilbo did not want anything to do with dwarves at all anyway.
It was good that their leader had decided that he would not do. Because Bilbo was not suited for this adventure. Or any other, really.
This was a relief ! Bilbo would be free of any dwarves or troubling wizards by tomorrow, and everything would return to normal. And Bilbo was very, very happy about that.
So why did his throat feel so tight it hurt to swallow ?
As the dwarves talked, Bilbo felt eyes on him, and searched the group, trying to find out who it was. When he did, a shiver of anxiety ran through his spine. A dwarf with a rather strange hat was staring at him, quite intensely, as if he was trying to figure out a particularly tricky problem. It took a ridiculous amount of time for the hobbit to realise that it was the same dwarf that had brought him to his feet earlier.
During that time, he had held the gaze of the dwarf, but as soon as realisation dawned on him, he avoided looking at the dining room all together, feeling the heat of shame burning his neck and ears once more.
That is, of course, the moment Gandalf chose to call for him to bring a candle. He brought the candle, and suddenly, for the first time of the evening, things started to make sense, in a very, very insane way.
A contract was handed to him, and he started reading it. A mountain ? Claimed by a dragon ? And he, Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, would have to enter it ? Without waking the beast, unless he be… What ?
“Think furnace with wings. Flash of light, searing pain, then poof ! You’re nothing more than a pile of ash !”
Dead. Unless he be utterly, and completely dead. No one would even have to take care of a body. He would finally stop being a burden.
Bilbo felt lightheaded. This was all so insane, but he had to hang on, fainting now would mean missing the greatest opportunity of his life.
Accepting this adventure did not mean giving up his suicidal plans, it meant spicing them up.
All the attention was on him now, just as before in the hall. All the attention except Thorin’s, but Bilbo really did not care about that. All he cared about was that this was it : the perfect way to die.
“Where do I sign ?” He heard himself say. His voice was a little shaky, but the determination in it surely would be unmistakable for what it was.
Everyone went bug-eyed, and Thorin turned to him. Bilbo held his gaze and lifted his chin, trying to appear sure of himself. Because he was. He knew that was the way he wanted to die : helping people and having a real adventure.
“Very well, then.” Declared Thorin in a soft, low voice. Maybe Bilbo was imagining it, but he thought he heard a hint of respect in the leader’s tone. “Balin, make him sign.”