Chapter Text
Adventure. What a silly thought. Nonsensical, even. The fact that that old wizard had even considered Bilbo —a well-respected Baggins, mind you— for a quest was absolutely absurd. Why would anyone in their right mind come to a Hobbit for an adventure? The Took family bloodline might have been a little eccentric, but that does not mean that Bilbo of all people wanted to embark on one! Bilbo shook his head as he adjusted his handkerchief around his collar, squeezing a lemon over the meal to add the final touch.
Then, breaking the silence, his doorbell rang throughout the house. It better not be Gandalf again… Just seeing him has added enough excitement to his day. Reluctantly, Bilbo rose from his dining chair and made his way to the door, fuzzy feet gliding softly across the floorboards.
Bilbo opened the door to a stranger waiting for him. Not only a stranger, but a dwarf. A dwarf? In the Shire? The hobbit almost gasped. The man had a grizzly, rough look to him, with all those weapons on his back and scars on his face. Tattoos painted his head and forearms, right above where heavy plates of metal covered his knuckles. Most likely a weapon Bilbo hadn't even thought possible. Bilbo took an unconscious step back as his guest bowed his head in greeting. "Dwalin, at your service."
Despite being anxious about this dwarf at his door, Bilbo couldn't resist the urge to be a good host and introduce himself. Quickly wrapping his housecoat around his waist, he uttered, "Bilbo Baggins, at yours."
Then, Dwalin, covered in gruff furs and tattoos, stepped into his house! Without Bilbo stepping aside to let him in or saying anything first.
"I uh, I'm sorry, do we know each other?"
"No," Dwalin just looked at him. "Which way, laddie? Is it down here? "
"Is what down where?"
"Supper." He shoved his cloak onto Bilbo as he walked further into his house, eventually reaching the kitchen.
Before Bilbo could demand any explanation, nine more dwarves and Gandalf all entered his home, making quite the mess. Almost sixteen ponies were idling outside, tied to his fence posts. Lobelia would have died of a heart attack right then and there if this were her home, where such chaotic and uncleanly house guests had invaded.
They had absolutely ravaged the pantry, moved all of his old family heirlooms, nearly breaking several in the process, shouted and laughed so loudly their voices likely carried across the river to Bree, and thrown food and all of his dinner plates all over the place.
Bilbo could barely breathe; it was so crowded. Ten dwarves, all with heavy fur clothing, giant beards, and exaggerated hairstyles. And Gandalf was enabling them to do whatever they pleased with all of his stocked food. Bilbo hadn't made a list for his next market trip, but now he's confident he should just buy all of its inventory. Priding himself on being a good host, he had tried learning all of their names quickly.
As Bilbo was trying to usher some normalcy into the evening and make sure he wasn't entirely out of food, Gandalf had begun speaking with some of the dwarves. One of them had only spoken in a language Bilbo had never heard of before, making gestures with his hands as he did. Gandalf seemed to understand him well enough.
"We appear to be three dwarves short," Gandalf muttered.
There are supposed to be three more? Bilbo nearly fainted.
"They are late, is all. He had to travel North to a meeting of our kin and to pick up his sister-sons. They will come." Dwalin had replied, leaning on the entryway to the dining room.
The dwarves had almost instantaneously had it seem like a hurricane had run through his house, with food caked on the walls. A variety of different sauces, crumbs, and fruit juices were scattered across the floor in record time. The level of mess was inconceivable to him. To add to Bilbo's growing headache, they began to sing a merry tune and throw his finest cutlery, plates, and bowls. Yet despite all odds, at the end of their musical chanting, the dishes were all clean and stacked nicely on his table. Bilbo would've adored the sentiment if he hadn't just witnessed the defiling of his pantry, kitchen, and dining room (not to mention the bathroom). The eleven house-guests all laughed as they marvelled at their work until three strong knocks sounded from the door.
"He is here." Gandalf announced solemnly. Everyone quickly grew silent, much to the relief of Bilbo's growing headache.
When Gandalf opened the door, Bilbo didn't know what to expect. One thing he was not expecting, though, was to see a majestic-looking dwarf with two tiny little dwarves, small children, who couldn't be older than Hamfast's own kids. A blonde with small braids and bright blue eyes stood next to the older dwarf, who was holding a younger-looking child with brown hair and brown eyes that sparkled in the warm lighting of Bag End. The two of them smiled, and the blonde one rushed forward into the warmth of Bag End.
The older dwarf had long, luscious black hair with silver streaks running through, and intricate braids hanging down past his collarbone. Bilbo hadn't realised he had been staring until he spoke.
"Gandalf," he greeted, lowering the younger of the two children down to the floor. His mussy boots instantly made a mess of the hardwood as the brown-haired child joined his brother a few paces forward. "I thought you said this place would be easy to find."
"He lost his way," the blonde added cheerfully.
"Twice!" The brunette held up two of his tiny fingers with a big smile.
The caretaker seemed to sigh at their words. "I would not have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door."
"Mark? There's no mark on that door! I just had it painted a week ago!" Bilbo exclaimed, weaving his way through the dwarves to make his way to the front of the crowd.
"You must be Mister Boggins!" The youngest grinned widely.
The Blonde one swatted the back of his head. "That's not how you introduce yourself! Fíli—"
"—And Kíli!"
"At your service!" They both bowed in unison. The eldest seemed to smile down at the two.
"Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield," Gandalf announced. Thorin seemed to study him, and suddenly he felt much smaller than before, and maybe a little warmer. The small pebbles ran off into the crowd, calling for certain members whom they had missed.
"So, this is the Hobbit… Tell me, Mr Baggins, have you done much fighting?"
"Can you sing?" The brunette child —Kíli— piped up from where he was now mingling with the rest of the company.
"Can you cook?" The other asked.
"Can you slay a dragon?" Kíli looked up to him with a smile.
Thorin shot them a quick look before continuing. "Axe or sword? What is your weapon of choice?"
"Well, I can cook, and have some skill at conkers… But I fail to see how that's relevant."
"I thought as much," Thorin glanced back at some of the others. "He looks more like a grosser than a burglar."
The dwarves laughed and giggled a little.
"And what about a babysitter? I believe he is well-equipped for that." Gandalf cut in before they could all return to the kitchen.
"A- A babysitter?" Bilbo spluttered.
Gandalf said nothing, but gave him a smile as the company all ushered into the kitchen; Fíli and Kíli dragging more mud throughout the house than the other eleven combined in the last hour.
Leftover stew was ladled into bowls for the three latecomers and swiftly brought to them. Fíli thanked Bilbo quietly as Kíli practically squealed happily at the sight of it, it made Bilbo's heart melt a little bit. They must have been so hungry. They instantly dug in, their little faces getting dirty almost instantly. Thorin sat at the head of the table, Fíli and Kíli at the other end between Bombur and Oín. The pair flicked food at each other when they thought no one else was looking. Thorin had the chance to eat one spoonful before he was thrust into business mode, bombarded with questions.
"What news from the meeting in Ered Luin? Did they all come?" Balin queried.
"Aye. Envoys from all seven kingdoms."
"And what did the dwarves of the Iron Hills say? Is Dain with us?" Dwalin piped up, leaning on the table a bit more than before.
"They will not come. They say this quest is ours and ours alone." Thorin looked down at his stew. Fíli and Kíli both frowned. They had heard what the other dwarves from the other kingdoms had said, and if Thorin wasn't with them, the pair would have acted out in rebellion.
Bilbo decided to step in. He didn't understand a thing. Not one bit. "You're doing a quest?"
"A big one!" Kíli exclaimed, waving his hands in the air to emphasise the magnitude of the adventure.
"We're going to go home!" Fíli added thoughtfully, with no less excitement than his brother.
"Go home?" Bilbo inquired.
"Far to the East, over ranges and rivers, lies a single solitary peak," Gandalf spoke, smoking from his pipe.
Then it hit Bilbo. He had heard the prophecy once or twice before when he was a fauntling himself. He had seen it on the map. "The Lonely Mountain."
"Aye, Oín has read the portents, and the portents say: it's time." Gloin chipped in, nudging his brother.
"Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountains as it was foretold. When the birds of old return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end."
"What beast?" Bilbo gulped. He really hoped it had nothing to do with 'fighting a dragon' like Kíli suggested earlier.
Bofur then saw fit to explain everything to Bilbo. Fíli and Kíli instantly leaned a little more towards the table; they loved Bofur's stories. He had a knack for making things entertaining. "That would be a reference to Smaug the terrible, cheifest and greatest calamity of our age. Airborne fire breather, teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks, extremely fond of precious metals."
Bilbo blinked, "Yes, I know what a dragon is."
Or I then sprouted out of his seat to declare his challenge as if the dragon were really there. It took a second for things to calm down again, but when they did, it was Fíli who spoke up.
"We're fighters! All of us!"
Kíli bounced with excitement as he realised something. "And we have a wizard! Gandalf would have killed hundreds of dragons in his time!"
That notion almost made Bilbo feel a bit better about the situation. The mentioned wizard almost looked proud for a moment before quickly shaking his head. "Well, No. I wouldn't say—"
Dori looked at the wizard suspiciously, as if taking Kíli's word as absolute truth. "How many then?"
"What?"
"How many dragons have you killed? Go on, give us a number!"
The table once again erupted into shouting and screaming, except for Thorin, Bilbo, and Gandalf.
"Enough!" Thorin shouted, standing up. Everyone at the table went still and watched. "If we have read these signs, do you not think others would have read them too? Rumours have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look East to the mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?"
The company chanted again as Thorin sat down.
"You forget, the front gate is sealed. There is no way into the mountain." Balin interjected.
"That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true," Gandalf smirked, making a key appear from behind his hand like a magic trick a performer would put on for the younger fauntlings in the Shire.
Thorin, perhaps, looked more puzzled and intrigued by it than any little Hobbit child Bilbo has ever seen. "Where did you come by this?" He demanded, taking the key and examining it in his hands.
"It was given to me by your father. By Thrain. For safekeeping. It is yours now."
Fíli's eyes lit up, and he sat straighter in his chair as he spoke."If there's a key, there must be a door!"
Gandalf nodded, pointing to the map on the table. "Yes, dear Fíli. These runes speak of a hidden passageway into the Lower Halls."
"There's another way in!" Kíli cheered.
"Well, if we can find it, but dwarf doors are invisible when closed. The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map… and I do not have the skill to find it. But there are others in Middle-Earth that can. The task I have in mind will require a great deal of strength and no small amount of courage. But, if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done."
"That's why we need a burglar," Ori stated.
Bilbo hummed, "and a good one too. An expert, I'd imagine."
"Are you, Mister Bilbo?" Fíli and Kíli looked up to him, hope shining in their eyes.
Bilbo almost thought they were talking to someone else he hadn't noticed yet. There was no way in Yavanna's name they considered him, Bilbo Baggins, a burglar. He was a well-respected Hobbit, thank you very much. "Me? No. No, no, no. I'm not a burglar. I've never stolen a thing in my life!"
"I'm afraid I have to agree with Mr Baggins," Balin sighed. "He is hardly burglar material."
"Aye. The wild is no place for gentle folk that can neither fight nor fend for themselves." Dwalin agreed.
"Enough! If I say that Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is!" Gandalf roared across the room, standing up. A dark aura spread from around him for a brief moment. "Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unseen by most, if they so choose. And, the dragon is accustomed to the smell of dwarf, and the scent of a hobbit is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage. Besides, a 'gentle folk' is exactly what the little ones need right now. You asked me to find the 14th member of this company, and I have chosen Mr Baggins. There is a lot more to him than appearances suggest. And he has a great deal more to offer than any of you know. Including himself. You must trust me on this."
Thorin and Gandalf stared at each other for a moment before Thorin reluctantly agreed. "Very well, have it your way. Give him the contract."
Balin stood up to hand a bundled scroll to Bilbo. "It's just the usual summary of out-of-pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth."
Bilbo gracefully accepted the contract; at least there was some sort of diplomacy to this nonsense, that was, until he heard about the funeral arrangements.
As Bilbo skimmed through the contract, Thorin leaned closer to Gandalf, voice low. "I cannot guarantee his safety," Thorin argued.
"Understood," the wizard nodded.
"Nor will I be responsible for his fate."
"Agreed."
"And you are certain he can handle my sister-sons? He does not look to have any children of his own."
"I'm sure he will manage." Gandalf gave him one of his signature smirks, one that managed to both calm Thorin's thoughts and make them significantly worse at the same time.
The giant contract had unfolded to be nearly the size of himself. He read quietly aloud. "Total's cash on delivery, up to but not exceeding one-fourteenth of total profit if any… Seems fair. You will be held liable for the safety of those charged under your care… My care? The present company shall not be liable for injuries inflicted by or sustained as a consequence thereof, including, but not limited to… Lacerations. Evisceration… Incineration?"
"Aye, he'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye." Bofur nodded, as if talking about the newest fabrics at the market.
Bilbo suddenly became queasy, almost nauseous. His breathing became rapid. He rested his hands on his knees in an attempt to wash the feeling away and ease his nerves.
"Are you alright, laddie?" Balin asked.
"Huh? Oh, yes. I just— I feel a bit faint."
"Think furnace… With wings!" Bofur added unhelpfully.
"I- I need air."
"Flash of light, searing pan, then poof! You're nothing but a pile of ash!" It must have been something about the way he explained it, but it made the pebbles at the other end of the table giggle.
"No." Bilbo breathed, finally succumbing to the queasy feeling in his chest and the buckling of his knees. The last thing he saw was Thorin casting a somewhat worried glance in his direction, and two small flashes of golden blonde and brown running up to him.
When Bilbo woke, he was sitting on his favourite armchair, the one his father inherited from his grandfather. A cup of steaming hot chamomile next to him. He took a small sip as Gandalf spoke to him. It ended in disagreement, and in Bilbo taking his mug of tea and retreating to his bedroom down the hall.
A few moments later, after he had changed back into his nightclothes, Bilbo heard a low humming from down the hall, soon accompanied by Thorin's soothing singing voice. It was a deep, melancholic song of yearning for home, and quite frankly, it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever heard. The tune lulled him to sleep, providing the canvas for vivid dreams of adventure alongside the company. The dreams were warm and welcoming, almost convincing.
In the sitting room, the song came to an end, the last notes fading out as they stopped humming. Thorin looked over his shoulder to see that he had also managed to lull little Fíli and Kíli to sleep, both of them curled up to one another on a couch cushion, their hope for Bilbo joining the party dwindling in their dreams.
"Come on, lads, let's clean up and head off." Balin had instructed quietly.