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Travelling to Hobbiton had been easier than you’d expected, the roads less winding than you’d heard about in tales. It was coming twilight by the time the green, rounded door of Bag End stood proudly in front of you. From the sounds of commotion coming from inside, you could assume that you were the last one to arrive, besides Thorin, who had not finished attending to business by the time you left, telling you he’d catch up. You knocked once, twice, and had begun to knock a third time when the door swung open, revealing a little Hobbit, whom you assumed had to be Bilbo, who was so small you had to crane your neck to look down at him.
“Master Baggins?” you asked, peaking your head in the door to try and catch a glimpse of anyone inside. You can see flashes of furs and a bundle of weapons laying on a glory box. Yep, dwarves have definitely been here, you don’t think any hobbit would own an obscenely large number of weapons, or rather, any weapons at all.
Bilbo looks nervous, stepping in front of you and clearing his throat gingerly. He’s sweating so profusely you worry that he might pass out right before your eyes, his tiny body left to lie on the floor at your feet. “I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong house.”
You almost felt bad, maybe this was the wrong house. There were quite a few houses in Hobbiton, it was possible that you’d ended up on some poor random hobbit’s doorstep. Surely not, the wizard’s mark is on the door, this had to be the right pl— “Ghivashel!”
Ah, there he is. The second you get your foot in the door, you’re being lifted up and swung around by an excited dwarf, the top of your head brushing the low ceiling. This house was made for Hobbits after all, you had no clue how Gandalf could stand comfortably in here. “Fili— Ah!— Put me down! I’m going to hit my head!”
“You’re here! Kili said you weren’t coming!” Fili remarks, looking up at you with wide, surprised eyes before placing you back down on the wooden floor.
“What?” Once word had got out that Gandalf had someone to offer your services to, the brunette had asked you if you were going to travel with them to Hobbiton, much like you’d usually do when the company needed to get from one place to another. No, you’d told him, I have things to do, I’ll be a bit late. “Kili! I said I had stuff to do, not that I wasn’t coming! You silly dwarf! I was helping your mother!”
You swat Kili on the arm, typical of him to misinterpret something that you’d said. His hands raise up in mock defence, a smile making its way onto his face. “Alright! I’m sorry! Ow! Stop!”
“Go easy on him, my dear.” Another voice calls. From the doorway, a large figure dressed in all grey appeared, holding a tiny… well… hobbit sized, glass of wine, in his giant hands it looked like nothing more than a measly shot glass. His long white hair and beard made him unmistakable; it was—
“Gandalf! I’ve missed you!” You cried, crashing into the wizard just as he entered the room. You were relieved, not only had you ended up at the right house, but you were finally able to reunite with an old friend. Everyone on Middle Earth knew Gandalf, your father was a dear friend of his, as many people were, after all he’d been alive for longer than you even thought was possible.
He places his hand on your head, patting it slightly, his beard waggling as he chuckled. You’d taken him by surprise, it seems, as he had forgotten not to touch your hair, not that it mattered, Gandalf was already family at any rate. “You too, my lady. You found your way here all right, I presume?”
“Once Lady Dís let me go, yes, I got here just fine. Lovely place Hobbiton is. Little buggers have done right for themselves. Shame I have to live in a castle.” You stop for a second to take in your surroundings, looking for a ledge, a coat rack, anything to place your belongings on for the time being. “Say, Bilbo, is there somewhere I can put my swords?”
“Oh— Yes, just over here—” He pauses as you unsheathe the two, long blades from their scabbards on your back. “Woah! Those are huge!”
He was right, of course. These swords, each measuring in at 50 inches long, were made by your father the week you were born. You could admit that they were a bit excessive, but your father insisted that you deserved nothing but the best, even going as far to engrave them with your house symbol. They had served you well over the last 70 odd years, never breaking or scratching once, all thanks to the durability of Dwarven steel.
“You should see what else she’s got under her skirt—” Before Kili can finish telling the hobbit about your other concealed weapons, Fili smacks him in the back of the head. “Ow! Hey! I meant her knives!”
“Come on then,” Gandalf cuts in, saving Kili once again. You doubted this wouldn’t be the last time he got himself in trouble tonight. “Everyone else is in the other room!”
Placing your swords down, you follow Gandalf into the next room, the princes trailing not far behind you, Fili still scolding his brother for leading him to believe that you weren’t coming. Wandering through a small archway, you found yourself greeted with a small dining table surrounded by dwarves. The table isn’t set out nicely, far from it, and you can only guess that the company helped themselves and raided Bilbo’s kitchen, as they usually did, rather than waiting for the Hobbit to make supper. There’s no food sitting around, but you figured that someone like Bilbo wouldn’t leave their empty dining table looking this dishevelled. Kili and Fili had clearly already found Bilbo’s stash of ale, the multiple empty cups scattered around the table giving them away. You were sure that they’d already been through their usual routine of throwing all the hobbit’s China and cutlery around the kitchen, singing about breaking everything they could get their hands on while doing the exact opposite/
“There she is! Our favourite lady!” Bofur exclaims, crumbs falling from his moustache as he spoke. Right, it’d been a while since you’d eaten with this group, and you’d come to forget that, aside from Balin and Thorin, they had terrible table manners and could be quite messy, especially when they were hungry.
They doted on you constantly, all of them telling you how amazing you were. You suspected they just enjoyed having a dwarrow around, serving to combat the high levels of testosterone. Either way, they were a lovely group to be around, once you’d learnt to ignore their eating habits. “I’m one of the only ladies most of you know!”
“Aye, that’s why you’re our favourite!” Bombur holds his hands out, offering you a wheel of cheese, no doubt saving it for you after you hadn’t shown up in time for dinner. You take it from him, of course, and it feels heavier under your palms than you expected, perhaps it was Cheddar or Asiago, you’d have to find out. Whatever it was, the large dwarf was thoroughly enjoying it.
Bilbo pops his head around the door arch, entering the room later than anyone else, staying in the entranceway a little bit longer to collect himself. Having this many rowdy dwarves in your house can be overwhelming, you knew more than anyone, having to live with the Durin brothers. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
Oh, right. Here you were in this poor hobbit’s house, and you hadn’t even introduced yourself. For all he knew, you could be a random woman who wandered in off the street in search of free food and shelter for the night. You’d been so enraptured with seeing the company, and Gandalf, all together again that you’d complete forgotten about the homeowner.
Luckily, the grey wizard seemed to already be two steps ahead of you, turning to Bilbo while taking puffs of his pipe. “My apologies, Bilbo. Allow me to introduce you to one of the finest swordswomen in all Middle Earth.”
Ah, you neglected to remember the fact that the wizard also enjoyed singing your praises. He’d watch you grow up after all and had been around since the day you were born, if anyone knew how far you’d come in the last 70 years it was him. He had seen you go from the daughter of a simple sword maker to the future queen of Erebor. “You flatter me, Gandalf, really.”
“It’s true!” Gloin cuts in, waving a small butter knife around in his left hand. “She’s beaten the princes in less than five moves! Fiercest dame I’ve ever met!”
He was correct, through no fault of the brothers. Kili was more of a bowman than a swordsman, you would lose in an archery contest without a doubt. On the other hand, Fili preferred using his knives and axes to his swords, finding them less sloppy and easier to handle. If your father hadn’t been so focused on teaching you how to wield a sword, ever the blacksmith he was, you were sure you wouldn’t be half as good as they were. “Please. It’s a pleasure to be at your service, Master Baggins.”
“Uh, likewise.” The hobbit shifts on his feet slightly, still looking uncomfortable. An awkward silence sits in the air, as if Bilbo is unsure what to do now, you’ve already invaded his house and taken his food, what else could you be here for?
“You wouldn’t have happened to see the man of the hour, have you, lass?” Thankfully, Balin breaks the tension, his white eyebrows arching in question. Him and Dwalin had left earlier than anyone else, as they usually did, so they hadn’t seen Thorin since mid-morning.
“On the way here? No, sorry, Balin. He was still attending to things when I left, as usual. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.” Truthfully, you never really see much of Thorin most days, on account of him being King and having all the responsibilities that come along with it. You’d stopped by his chambers before you set off to Hobbiton to check up on him and see if he wanted to travel along with you. But as was the situation most days, he had not finished his daily duties yet. “Do you have any red wine, Bilbo? I’d love a glass.
“Oh, um, yes, I’ll just—” Fili pulls out a seat between him and Oin, who was sipping on a cup of ale, ushering you to sit down. If you were being honest, your feet did hurt a bit, you probably should’ve worn better shoes while making your way here. Luckily, you had some spare in your pack. “Alright. Have a seat.”
Bilbo is rushing out of the room again just as soon as he’d come in, making his way towards his pantry to fuss around with his tiny wine glasses and to take inventory of the food that had been left behind, cursing the dwarves under his breath as his feet tapped along the wooden floor. Without even entering, you already knew that the pantry shelves would be stripped bare, no one loves free food more than dwarves, just ask Bombur.
There’s a loud knocking at the door, and you listen to the sound of hobbit feet stomping furiously through to the entryway, wine glass in hand. Gandalf stands from his tiny seat at the table and follows Bilbo, going to greet whoever was at the door. Hushed conversation and the sound of the door clicking closed can be heard, before Thorin is standing in the archway to the dining room holding his blue hooded coat under his arm.
“Hello Uncle!” Kili and Fili shout in unison, as Bilbo is pulling out a seat for the King to sit on at the head of the table. He takes it graciously, sitting down and joining in the ongoing conversation between Balin and Dwalin about their travels here. Bilbo is shuffling around again, moving to place your glass of wine in front of you before taking a seat between Thorin and Gandalf.
“I got lost.” Thorin remarks blandly, rubbing his hands over his forehead in frustration. He holds out a large hand, two fingers pointed upwards. “Twice.”
For someone who was on the verge of being the King of the entirety of Lonely Mountain, he had very little sense of direction. If it weren’t for maps, he would’ve gone missing years ago, wandering off into the mines or a forest never to be found again. It was funny to imagine that the only reason he invited the rest of the group on this journey was to ensure that he wouldn’t lose his way. It made you giggle to yourself; turning to tell Fili your joke, you find yourself nose to nose with the redhead.
“Oh! Hello!” you gasped, revelling in the way Fili chuckled at your shocked expression.
“Hi.” He replies, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “You look lovely tonight, amrâlimê.”
“You’ve told me that every single day since our first meeting.” You scoff. He had. Truly. Not a day had gone by in the 15 years you’d been together where he hadn’t told you how beautiful you were, or how much you meant to him.
“Then, you’ve looked lovely every day since we first met.” He smiles at you, dimples protruding from beneath his beard. Truth be told, you thought the same thing about him.
“Behave yourself, your uncle is right there.” You were teasing, of course, you knew Thorin didn’t care what went on between you and Fili. You were all adults, and he’d made it clear when you’d started courting that what you chose to do was none of his business. More than anything, you didn’t want to make Bilbo uncomfortable. “I have a joke to tell y—"
“Right then!” Gandalf’s voice booms, cutting off your conversation. As he takes a deep breath, you lean it to Fili, whispering I’ll tell you later before turning your full attention to the wizard. “Let us crack on with business, shall we, Thorin?”
Thorin stands from his chair and just as you think he’s about to start one of his famous speeches, he turns to Bilbo instead. “Do you think you could make it a bit darker in here? We like it dim. Dark room for dark business.”
“Oh! Sure!” the hobbit replies, he’s quick to leave the dining room, snuffing out three candles and putting out the fire in the hearth before returning. He’s slightly out of breath and when he realises that Thorin is waiting for him to compose himself before he begins speaking, he gestures for the dwarf king to continue.
“Gandalf, fellow dwarves, and Master Baggins!” His voice rings out loudly. “We are meeting together in this house of our friend and fellow conspirator, this most excellent and audacious hobbit! May the hair on his toes never fall out! All praise to his wine and ale!”
The King pauses for a breath, allowing the compliment paid towards Bilbo to fully sink in. The hobbit, however, has gone completely white in the face, his mouth opening and closing like the kinds of fish you would catch in the stream back home. He looked absolutely flummoxed, but when no sound came out of his gaping mouth, Thorin elected to continue.
“We are here to discuss our plans, our ways, means, policy and devices. We shall soon, before the daybreak, start on our long-awaited journey, a journey from which some of us, or perhaps most of us may never return. Finally, after being displaced for generations, we move to reclaim Erebor, our homeland. Gandalf, I believe you have something that will help us with this?” Thorin and the wizard had been in constant communication for many months now, Gandalf being the first to reach out with the promise of being in possession of an item that could aid in the quest.
“I do!” the grey wizard replies, reaching into his cloak and pulling out a rolled up piece of paper. “This, my dear dwarves, is a map of the Mountain. It was made by Thror, your grandfather.”
Thorin looks visibly unsettled as Gandalf places the map on the table. From where you’re sitting, you can see scrawlings in the shape of hills and rivers. In the middle, there’s a small marking in red that you can’t quite make out from the other end of the table. “Where did you get that?”
“Your father gave it to me.” Every dwarf knew the story of Durin’s line, for years there had been whispers of Thror’s gold sickness and his death at the hands of Azog the Defiler that led to the disappearance of Thrain not long into his reign. Though the story persisted into legend, it was a sore subject, with Gandalf clearly being one of the very few brave enough to bring it up to Thorin. Even Fili and Kili, who had not been alive at the time of Thrain’s disappearance, neglected to talk about their family’s history, Fili only mentioning his grandfather once in passing.
“Why would he give it to you?” Thorin had only been young when his father disappeared, only 95 years old, far too young to lose a parent by dwarf standards. 100 years had passed since then, Thorin had gotten older and came into his role as King, yet he still became agitated when he was forced to talk about the event.
Gandalf sighs heavily. Evidently, the wizard had expected this reaction from Thorin, as had his father. “He knew that you would be overly defensive and eager to reclaim Erebor straight away. He gave it to me for safe keeping until I thought you were ready!”
“I am King Under the Mountain! That map belongs to me!” He’s shouting now, and with the way that the grey wizard was rising from his seat, Gandalf wasn’t far behind him.
“And I am giving it to you now!” If this conversation was to continue, you were sure that the windows in the cottage were going to break with the volume of their voices.
Thorin lets out an exasperated laugh, rubbing his hands down his face before bringing them to clasp together in front of him. “Great, so you’ve given me a lousy map and supplied me with a burglar who’s barely a burglar at all. He looks more like a grocer!”
“Bilbo Baggins is a burglar if I say he is a burglar!” The wizard shouts, black storm clouds beginning to circle around his head. The far-off rumble of thunder permeates the room, sending a shiver down your spine. Across the table, Bilbo shuffles awkwardly, not enjoying the attention being drawn to him.
Thorin falls back into his seat, defeated. His arms are crossed in front of him, and you can see the slight rise and fall of his chest as he begins to huff noisily. Gandalf breathes deeply for a few moments, his eyes closed tightly, before he leans forward and unfurls the map carefully. “I am well aware, Master Dwarf, that you know the Lonely Mountain like the back of your hand, as is everyone else at this table. However, there is one point that you haven’t noticed and that is the secret entrance.”
At the mention of a possible secret passage hidden within the mountain, the room begins to fill with quiet chatter. It’s rare for dwarves to build hidden entrances and walkways, they are far too proud of their work to keep anything a secret. And with the amount of time since Erebor had been lost, you were sure that other, unsuccessful, journeys had uncovered all there is to know about its caves.
“You see that rune on the West side, and the hand pointing it from the other runes? That marks a hidden passage to the Lower Halls. Of course, it is possible that old Smaug already knows about this entrance, however, there is no way for him to use it. ‘Five feet high to the door and three may walk abreast’ say the runes, he could not have fit into a hole that size even when he was young, and certainly not now.” At the mention of Smaug, you suddenly realise that the red marking on the map is. A dragon. The dragon, in fact. You had heard about him from the fairytales your father had read to you as a child and, as you got older, you were told of the misfortune of Erebor and the tale of how it was overrun by a young dragon. “If I’m right about dwarf building methods, which I’m certain I am, I should guess that there is a closed door which has been made to look exactly like the side of the Mountain. Which brings me to my next point.”
Thorin, Balin and Dwalin nod, agreeing with the wizard on the point of dwarves blending architecture into mountains. Once again, Gandalf begins to furrow around in his robes, you wonder if he has hundreds of pockets in it or if he’s conjuring material objects out of thin air. Carefully, he pulls out a key with a long barrel and intricate wards that is quite clearly made of silver. “With the map went a key, a rather small and curious key. I’d wager that it belongs to our secret door. Here you go, Thorin.”
The King takes the key from Gandalf and fastens it to a fine silver chain that is hung around his neck. There is a halt in the conversation as Thorin holds the key between his fingers, everyone else around the table stopping to admire it. The silence continues until Bilbo, who had been silently listening until now, speaks up. “If I may ask, who is Smaug?”
“Smaug is the dragon that took over Erebor many years ago. At the time, he was quite small, but it wouldn’t take a genius to guess that he may have doubled or tripled in size by now, certainly after devouring so many dwarves and men of Dale.” Balin’s explanation seems to hit Bilbo like a rock to the chest. As soon as the word dragon is spoken, the hobbit’s face loses all of its colour like he has just seen a ghost.
“I’m sorry.” He squeaks out, rubbing his now clammy hands together. “Dragon?”
“Yeah, dragon.” Bofur pipes up from his seat at the opposite end of the table. “Big scaley things. They can breathe fire that could incinerate you in seconds. Burn you alive. Quick painless death, the usual.”
“F— Fire. Incinerate—” Bilbo whimpers as he began to shake like jelly that was melting in the sun. All eyes were on him as he passed out swiftly, falling flat on to his back in the dining room doorway.
Everyone stood up quickly, causing the table to shuffle out of its original position on the wooden planks. You let out a loud gasp as Bilbo begins to writhe slightly, rushing over to him you place your hand on his sweaty forehead to steady him. “Oh! Oh dear!”
Gandalf, however, remained seated, nonchalantly taking puffs of his pipe as he looks down at the hobbit on the rug. “I do apologise on his behalf; he can get a little excitable. More of a Baggins than a Took it seems.”
“Is he alright?” Fili calls out warily as you begin to kneel next to the hobbit’s limp form. You check his breathing and his heart rate, everything seems okay. You suppose he just had a little bit of a fright. Poor dear, he’s probably never been outside of Hobbiton let alone had to face off with a dragon.
“He’s fine, give him a second… Up you get, Bilbo!” The wizard taps him on the side with his magic staff, a few small bolts of harmless (you hope) blue lightning coming out of the end and making their way to the ceiling. Bilbo lifts his head ever so slightly, eyes opening to take in his surroundings before he’s flat on the ground again, murmuring out a small dwarves… in my house…
Carefully, you slip one of your hands behind the hobbit’s head and the other behind the bend in his knees. He’s just as light as you’d expected, and when you stand up with him in your arms, you barely struggle at all. His hair is soft and wispy between your fingers and his nose begins to twitch as you move to exit the dining room.
“What are you doing?” Thorin questions, eyeing you suspiciously. You can tell from his tone that he’s annoyed, not only did Gandalf provide him with a faulty burglar but now the alleged burglar had fainted right in front of him at the mere thought of having to face the one issue they needed him for.
“I’m going to lay him down somewhere, poor thing.” You sigh sympathetically. “Gandalf, you did tell him we were coming, right?”
“Well…” The wizard scratches the back of his head, avoiding eye contact with you as he begins to examine his staff like he’d never seen it before.
“Mithrandir!” You shout. You knew that this was the way Gandalf typically operated, arriving and disappearing without warning but doing it with a whole gaggle of dwarves? That’s a whole other nightmare on its own. “Oh, pitiful little fellow, we’ve probably given him the fright of his life, all this talk of burglary and dragons.”
Rather than walking from the dining room into the kitchen, you start to head in the other direction, hoping to locate the hobbit’s bedroom. You have twelve sets of prying eyes on you as you begin to fuss around every doorway you can find, they all watch you silently, except for Kili, who is just as curious as always. “Where are you going, Namad?”
“To put him to bed! We arrived at his house unannounced and ate all his food, the least I can do is make sure he’s comfortable! And you!” You twirl around, staring right at Bofur. “Telling him he’s going to burn alive, I ought to wring your necks, the lot of you! Unbelievable!”
Bofur points at himself in shock and turns to the others with wide eyes once you find Bilbo’s bedroom at the end of the hallway and enter quickly, slamming the door behind you. The room is cozy and warm, the fireplace had been burnt out hours ago, but the coals were still releasing some heat. On the nightstand there’s a small candle burning down to the last of its wick and you wonder if he had run out of time to put it out before he was being rushed around the house, dealing with dwarves raiding his kitchen.
In the center of the room sits a four-poster bed that is covered in plush blankets and pillows. As you place Bilbo down, he stirs himself awake, sees you looking down at him and sits up in a panic. “Where am I?”
“It’s okay, you’re in bed.” You place your hands on his shoulders to ground him, you wish that you had time to make him a tea, or at least ask someone else to make one for him so that it would aid to calm him down. “I’m truly sorry about the others, I know they can be a lot.”
Bilbo brings his hands up to his face and covers his forehead and eyes with them, exhaling deeply and shakily. Though the colour was beginning to come back to his face, you could tell that he was still reeling from the earlier dragon experience. “I just—didn’t expect so many people to be here. And all the talk of dragons and mountains I—”
“I know. I understand if you don’t want to accompany us on our journey. We won’t hold it against you, I promise.” Though this wasn’t necessarily true, it wasn’t a complete lie. You knew that you wouldn’t hold any grudges if he decided to not join you, but you couldn’t say the same thing for everyone else. “But Gandalf is right, we couldn’t do this without you.”
“This… journey. Can you promise that I’ll make it back?” When you don’t reply, Bilbo’s mouth tightens into a thin line. “Nope. No way, you can count me out.”
You smile comfortingly. Dwarves were used to death, you were fighters, and you knew the risks of the activities you got up to, but you knew the same wasn’t true for hobbits, so you didn’t blame him at all for being sceptical. “That’s okay, little hobbit. You get some rest now; we’ll be leaving at first light tomorrow. I promise we’ll be out of your hair before you even wake up.”
“Right. Well, thank you.” Bilbo says sarcastically, tapping his hands against the comforter. “For coming to my house and eating all my food.”
From the other room, you can hear the beginnings of a song brewing. There was no singing yet, but the distinct notes of a fiddle gave it away. If you had to guess, you would say that they were going to sing Misty Mountain. You hope that Bilbo doesn’t fall asleep before the song has finished, you remember the strange dreams you had after you heard this for the first time. You woke up in a cold sweat for multiple nights in a row. “Yeah, sorry about that. They can eat a lot. Once our home is reclaimed, I’ll make sure to send you all the food you could ever want.”
“Err… Thank you?” Bilbo watches you confused as you make your way back to his bedroom door and open it slowly. You stand there for a second, taking in the music, and you’re sure the hobbit can hear it too, as he reaches under his pillow and pulls out a pair of earmuffs.
“Goodnight, Bilbo. Tan menu selek lanun naman.” You smile again, before closing the door behind you. The song is in full swing now, and the baritone of Thorin’s voice fills the hallway where you stand. Over the music, you can hear the hobbit say what the hell does that mean?
***
The next morning, Thorin wakes the company up just before the first cringe of morning. Judging by the dark circles under his eyes and the lack of grogginess in his voice, you doubt he’s slept at all. Balin is holding onto the contract and is deliberating with Thorin and Gandalf about whether they should leave the piece of paper behind. After all, they had already signed it, and it’s not like they need a copy for themselves. By the time you manage to get Fili and Kili up and ready to get moving, they’ve collectively decided that it’s in everyone’s best interest to leave the contact behind; Balin placing it on the small work bench inside the door.
Like everyone else, you’re bent over readying your pack and making sure your horse is all set for the journey when you feel two hands grab the meat of your hips. You don’t startle, you know exactly who is grabbing you. When you straighten yourself up and turn around, you’re met with the precise person you expected. Fili. “So… are you going to tell me that joke?”
“So Thorin gets lost all the time, right? Well—"