Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It was early evening, and the group of nine dwarves were nervously making their way through the pastoral countryside of some place called The Shire. From what they had seen so far, the population of the village were short - shorter than any dwarf any of them had ever met, certainly - and very robust. Bofur had jokingly noted that Bombur looked like a much taller ginger cousin to several of the smiling faces that watched them as they passed. 

Kili scared the daylights out of most of them when he suddenly squealed and darted off towards an open field. 

“Kili!” his blonde brother, Fili, snapped. “Get back here! Uncle said we have to stick together!”

The brunette dwarf shot a pouting look over his shoulder at the chastising dwarf, even as he kept moving away. “But Fee!” he whined. “Puppies! Lookit the puppies!” He gestured towards the field he was approaching, where a veritable horde of fluffy, curly-tailed puppies were rampaging. It was difficult to get an accurate count, since the rambunctious mass of yips and fur never stopped moving as they rolled through the grass, but there appeared to be at least a dozen - but there could have been as many as 200, for as much noise and activity as they were making. 

Kili at least had enough sense not to jump the fence and trespass on a stranger's property, but he did lean so far over the fence he was in danger of falling. “They're adorable!” he squealed. 

Apparently, that was loud enough to get the tiny pack's attention, because suddenly close to two dozen quivering black noses, nearly two dozen sets of bright black eyes, and the equivalent number of sets of pointy, fluffy ears all swiveled inquisitively in the young dwarf's direction. The nearly two dozen little fluffy puppy butts started to girate manically - some with absolute plumes of tails that curled onto their tiny little backs, some with little semaphore-like feather dusters, and some with little cotton-like poofs on their butts - all began to wag so frantically several little palm-sized canines bowled themselves over from flailing so hard. Kili laughed in delight at the sight, his smile broad and sparkling, and the puppy pack began to yip enthusiastically as they charged towards the fence as a tumbling, uncoordinated group. Some of the little pups even raised their pointy little muzzles skyward and gave out the most adorable, tiny howls any of the dwarves had ever heard. 

A tidal wave of fluff and tongues gamboled towards the fence where Kili was reaching down to try and reach the puppies, laughing in delight the entire time. “Look at them, Fee!” Kili cried. “I'm in love! Can we take them all home?”

A strange voice laughed, and the startled dwarves looked up to see a hobbitess walking towards them. She had long, curly golden hair and laughing brown eyes that carried the creases of good humor from her bright smile. The hobbitess wore a crisp white apron, adorned with a field of colorful embroidered flowers around the hem, over a sunshine yellow blouse and dark green full skirt. Like all the hobbits they'd seen so far, she was barefoot, and the tops of her broad feet were covered in the same type of golden curls that spilled down her back. The unknown hobbitess walked up to the fence where Kili was leaning over.

“Ah, young master!” she said, laughing. “Some days, I'd be happy to send the whole pack of them off with you. Especially when they're being particularly energetic and getting into everything they shouldn't!” She gave the puppies the side-eye, and they raced around her feet, nipping at the hem of her skirt as they bayed their squeaky little barks. Kili melted at the adorable sight. The hobbitess laughed. “But I suppose at the end of the day, their mothers would miss them, just as I'd miss my litter.” She smiled indulgently down at the scrum of puppies. Six of them were trying desperately to jump on her while the rest of the pack continued to tussle. The hobbitess looked back up to the dwarves, and dipped a curtsey. 

“Myrtle Cotton, at your service,” she said, still smiling. “Six of these little scallywags are mine,” she gestured at the six that were still jumping at her skirt. She gave the remaining pups a very firm look. “The rest of this pack of trouble needs to be heading to their homes for supper. You all know your mothers have them waiting for you. Now scoot!” She made a shooing gesture at the rest of the puppies, and with a chorus of yips and tiny howls, they all charged off across the field again, splitting off into three smaller packs, each heading in a different direction. 

“They's well trained,” Bofur commented, impressed. Myrtle laughed.

“Only when they know food is at stake!” she laughed. She bent down and scooped up the littlest of the remaining puppies, cuddling it against her chest.

Fili stepped up beside his brother and elbowed him. “Forgive my brother's manners, Madam Cotton,” he said. “His brain goes completely to mush at the sight of anything small and fluffy. I am Fili, son of Vili, and this rude lump is my brother, Kili,” the blonde dwarf said with a small bow. “At your service.”

“Don't be mean, Fee,” Kili pouted. “I can't help it! They're all so adorable! I want a dozen!”

Myrtle laughed, a warm, happy sound, and reached out to pat the dark haired dwarf on his hand. “Don't worry, Master Kili,” she said consolingly. “I'm sure you'll meet the right lass someday who'll give you a litter of your own pups.” She tickled the puppy she was holding under its chin, and it yipped happily. Then she shrugged. “Or lad, I suppose.” Before anyone could respond to that statement, she offered them all another sunny smile.

“If you gentle dwarves will excuse me, I need to get this litter home for supper before the howling starts! Sunny days to you all! Come along, children - say goodbye to the nice dwarves, and let's go inside. Papa is waiting for us.” With another small wave, she left as silently as she arrived. The puppies all barked enthusiastically at the dwarves, then raced off after the hobbitess, leaving the dwarves to their own devices once more. 

Kili turned away from the now empty field, expression sliding into a downcast sulk. “I really wanted to play with the puppies,” he sighed.

“We gotta get going,” Fili said, giving his brother a nudge. “We're already late, and you know Dwalin won't save any food for us if we're not on time.”

Kili immediately perked up at the thought of a meal. “Yeah! Food! Let's go!” He practically skipped back onto the road they'd been following, and the other dwarves caught up with him quickly. 

****************

The nine dwarves made their way through the quickly emptying roads of the Shire as the hobbits they passed were all retreating to their homes - ostensibly for dinner, was the assumption. They didn't have to go much further before they split off into a side lane, and up to a gaily painted round green door that had the glowing wizard's mark they had been instructed to watch for. With a few merry knocks, they waited for the door to open.

The hobbit who greeted their sight looked very frazzled and thoroughly unimpressive. Copper-colored curls flayed in all directions, as though hands had been gripping it in tight fistfuls. Hazel eyes were bracketed by wrinkles of distress, with a prominent crease between the brows of the otherwise smooth, round, beardless face. “Yes? What? May I help you?” he asked, distractedly, glancing over his shoulder and back into what was presumably his home.

“Dori, son of Fari, at your service,” the eldest dwarf present began introductions. “My brothers Nori and Ori.” He pushed past the startled hobbit to make way for the others. 

“Fili-”

“-and Kili, at your service!” the brothers announced, quickly following the brothers Ri.

“Hang on!” the hobbit protested. “Wait!” He spun in place, trying to follow the movement and also keep track of the other new faces at the door. “Stop that!” he snapped at Kili, who was wiping mud off his boots onto a lovely little box by the door. 

“Bofur, at yer service!” a cheerful, hat-wearing dwarf announced as he stepped past the flustered hobbit. “That's me cousin Bifur - don't mind him none, he can't speak Westron no more - and me brother Bombur!” His smile was bright as he bounced past and started heading for the dining room. “Is th’ food this way?”

“Now just a minute!” the hobbit protested. The last dwarf, a solidly built dwarf with an enormous quantity of red hair stepped up and caught the hobbit's attention once more. 

“Gloin, son of Groin, at your service,” he rumbled. “You'll get no sense out of this lot until they've been fed,” he chuckled, even as he, too, pushed his way in.

The frazzled hobbit stood in his doorway for a few seconds more just watching after the storm of dwarves that had descended on his smial. His twitching eyes flitted from the mud tracked absolutely everywhere to the complete disarray of his furniture and rugs. He could feel his pulse throbbing in his temple, escalating higher with every grumbled complaint about the lack of “decent food” and how “unwelcoming” their host was being. He slammed the door shut and stomped into the dining room.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” he tried to get their attention. “I say, excuse me! There seems to be some sort of mistake!”

Plop!

In the overall ruckus of laughing, rowdy dwarves, it was just a small noise, but it was the proverbial pebble that triggered the avalanche. 

It was the soft plop of his wedge of beloved, imported, expensive bleu cheese being casually thrown on the floor.

Thrown. On. The. Floor!

“THAT IS QUITE ENOUGH!” the hobbit roared. “GET YOUR HAIRY BACKSIDES, YOUR DIRTY HANDS, AND YOUR FILTHY BOOTS OUT OF MY PANTRY RIGHT THIS INSTANT!”

There was absolute silence. The subtle, underlying growl that reverberated as an almost inaudible undertone in the hobbit's voice, and the angry fire in his glare had the arm hair of more than one dwarf standing on end. The hobbit stared at them all. “Thank you. Please remove yourselves from my pantry and kitchen,” he said much more calmly. “I would appreciate it if you all sat down quietly, and one of you told me what in the name of Yavanna's sacred garden you are all doing in my home, and exactly who you all are!”

From the depths of the pantry, Dwalin - the first dwarf who had arrived unannounced and pushed his way inside - came stomping up through the other 11 dwarves, glaring at the little hobbit. He loomed over the shorter being by more than a foot and a half, but the smaller being didn't seem the least intimidated. 

“Who do ye think ye are?” he growled. The hobbit snorted. 

“So you dwarves are in the habit of ransacking the homes of complete strangers, is that it?” he scoffed. Dwalin growled.

“No, halfling,” he sneered. “We were invited here. We were told to meet here, and we would be provided dinner.” He made an expansive gesture back towards the now empty table.

“I don't see no food for 13 dwarves on that table, halfling,” he said mockingly. 

The hobbit pushed closer to the glowering dwarf and rose up onto his tiptoes to push his face closer to the bearded scowl. When he spoke next, his voice had actually gotten noticeably deeper, and more feral sounding. 

“Call me halfling one more time, and you won't see anything on that table ever again,” he growled. Dwalin was surprised to feel goosebumps shiver across his skin, and if he'd had any hair, he was sure it would've been standing up at this point. “I am half of nothing,” the shorter male growled. “I am a hobbit. Bilbo Baggins, to be precise, and this is my home. And I most certainly did not invite any of you into my home.”

Dwalin could feel the hobbit's hot breath gusting against his chest, and fought hard not to flinch. For some inexplicable reason, he wanted to raise his chin and look away from the shorter male. After a second of glaring, Bilbo lowered himself to stand flat footed once more, and took a half step back.

“Uhm… Mr. Boggins?” Kili said tentatively. 

The growl came back. “ What did I just say?” he snapped. “Baggins! My name is Bilbo Baggins! Bad enough you force your way inside, track mud all over everything, scrape your great, clumsy, dirty boots on my mother's glory box! But I will not be further disrespected in my own home by someone who can't even be bothered to LEARN MY PROPER NAME!” And there was the roaring again. Dwalin wasn't sure he wasn't about to soil himself in the face of the hobbit's anger. He'd be willing to bet Kili just had. 

“I'm sorry!” the brunette prince wailed. “I didn't mean it!”

Bilbo snapped his teeth together so hard, they made a resounding clack. He took several deep breaths, before nodding once. “I would appreciate it if you don't make the same mistake again,” he said calmly. “Now. You had a question? Kili, wasn't it?”

There was a distinct sniffle. “Yes, sir. Kili, sir. Mr. Baggins, I just wanted to say I was sorry for the mud an’ the glory box.” The dwarf sounded young and miserable. “I'll clean it up, I promise!”

Bilbo nodded firmly once more, and took another step back from the bald dwarf in front of him.

“Apology accepted, Master Kili. That would be much appreciated. However, before we get to that, please, everyone, have a seat at the table, and someone explain to me exactly what is going on!”

The hobbit glared at 12 pale faces, and 12 pairs of wide eyes, who were all frozen in place like mice holding still before the cat. Nobody moved.

“Well?” Bilbo asked sharply. 

There was a scramble of movement as 12 dwarves rushed to find a place around the table. The three who looked the youngest were summarily evicted from the seats they had grabbed to make way for the older dwarves, and Bilbo followed them all into his dining room.

“Now. Would one of you be so kind as to tell me what all of this is about?” he asked.

A mash of conflicting voices rose up as each dwarf tried to talk over his neighbor to justify their actions. Bilbo could understand none of it.

“ Stop! ” he snapped, and silence fell. He pointed at the one dwarf who had been silent through it all. “Which one are you?” he asked. The young dwarf flinched. 

“I-I-I'm Ori, Master Baggins,” he said softly. 

“It's quite alright, lad - I won't hurt you,” Bilbo soothed. “I'm just a bit frazzled. I would like you to tell me what this is all about, please.” Ori jerked in surprise, and immediately began fidgeting his fingers together. 

“Master Baggins,” the white haired dwarf, the second intruder to his home, started to speak, and Bilbo swung his finger around to point at him.

“Is your name Ori?” he asked quietly. The dwarf gulped nervously. 

“I am Balin, son of Fundin, Master Baggins,” he stated. 

Bilbo nodded. “So not Ori. I believe I asked Ori to explain, thank you. Master Ori, in good time, please?” He never took his eyes off the young, nervous dwarf.

“We… uh… we were told that we were to assemble at this address, on this specific date, at this exact time, to meet with the 14th member of our expedition. We were told that dinner and a place to sleep would be provided after the discussion, and that we would begin our quest early tomorrow morning,” he managed to say. The more he spoke, the steadier his voice became. Bilbo nodded again. 

“So right off the bat, I have two questions. I'm sure there will be several dozen more, but for now, there are two important ones. The first is, why 14th? There are only 12 of you; that would make me number 13, wouldn't it?”

Ori looked at the others in a slight panic. Dori nodded encouragingly, and Ori gulped. “Th-th-there's one more of our Company still on the way,” he said softly. Again, a nod. 

“Thank you for clarifying that,” Bilbo said politely. “Now my second very important question. Who, exactly, gave you the instructions to meet here for dinner and accommodations?” he asked.

At that question, Ori looked genuinely confused. “Why, Tharkun did, of course! He said he met with you ages ago, and you volunteered!”

It was Bilbo's turn to look confused. “Tharkun? I'm afraid I don't know anyone by that name,” he said, brow furrowed in thought.

Balin raised a tentative hand. “Master Baggins?” he said hesitantly. 

“Yes, Master Baliin?” he answered. 

“I… uhm… I think you half- HOBBITS! I mean, you hobbits might call him Gandalf?”

Bilbo immediately stiffened. His upper lip curled back in a snarl, and Dwalin wasn't the only dwarf who thought the hobbit's eyes momentarily flashed golden and his teeth looked suddenly sharper. “That blasted wizard !” he positively snarled. “I am going to pluck out his beard! ”

Every dwarf winced. Bilbo closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, forcibly calming himself down. When he opened his eyes again, they appeared  to be their normal hazel color, and the flash of gold was put down to a trick of the light. He looked at each of the nervous faces around his table, and heaved a great sigh.

“Master Ori, thank you very much. Your explanation was calm and concise, and exactly what I needed to hear,” he said. Ori visibly relaxed, and smiled at the hobbit. “Gentlemen, I believe more than one apology is in order. Yesterday was the first time I've spoken to Gandalf in over two decades - since well before my mother died, and before I even reached my majority.”

Postures stiffened and expressions became grim around the table. “When he stopped to speak to me yesterday, he asked me if I was interested in going on an adventure, and I told him no thank you. I have too many families reliant upon me to go haring off with him at a moment's notice the way my mother used to.”

“But Master Baggins,” Kili said, confused. “I thought you lived here alone?”

Dwalin wanted to reach over and smack him upside the head. This was shaping up to be a disaster, and if they didn't get out of here soon, Thorin was going to walk right into the teeth of it, and they would all be rough-camping in the closest woods.

However, Bilbo just smiled kindly at the youth. “While that is correct, Master Kili, I am also The Baggins of Bag End - the name of my smial. I am the head of the Baggins family, responsible for the upkeep of several dozen residences and businesses, and I have nearly 30 families dependent on me as their landlord,” he explained. 

Beside him, Dwalin barely heard his brother moan in distress.

“I'm sorry, Master Baggins,” Kili said, subdued. “I didn't know.”

“It's alright, lad,” the hobbit said gently. “I shouldn't have snapped at you earlier, but I was very overwhelmed. There's absolutely nothing wrong with asking questions.”

Balin pushed himself to his feet, and offered a formal bow to the hobbit. “Please accept our apologies, Master Baggins,” he stated. “We were told you would be expecting us, and that your participation in our quest was a foregone conclusion, the only thing left to do would be to formalize your contract.” He cleared his throat before continuing. 

“I must confess, when we arrived and you seemed to be reneging on your verbal contract, we… we took offense, and determined that we would… would help ourselves to what had been promised.” His normally sun-pinked skin flushed ruddy with embarrassment and shame.

“This does not excuse our execrable behavior, but I do hope it explains it. By your leave, we shall depart and trouble you no more.” He motioned to the other dwarves who also rose and bowed their apologies. 

Bilbo made calming motions with both hands. “Your apologies are much appreciated,” he said. “But please, sit back down. I wouldn't be much of a Baggins if I let guests leave hungry! Why, my late father might very well rise up from his grave just to box my ears!” he laughed.

“Master Baggins, that really isn't-” Balin began. A raised hand halted him.

“This misunderstanding is none of your faults,” he said gently. “If you would like to make it up to me, I would greatly appreciate it if all boots would be returned to the entry hall, and if several of you would see to cleaning up the mud that was tracked in.” He looked to Kili with a raised eyebrow. “I believe someone said something about cleaning my mother's glory box?”

The young dwarf had the sense to look ashamed. Fili nudged his brother with his shoulder. “I'll help, Kee,” he said. Kili grinned. 

“I can show you where the cleaning supplies are,” Bilbo said calmly. “While you are taking care of that, the rest of you are invited to clean up, and I will see to preparing a meal for everyone. It will be a bit later than I normally have supper, but no one will go hungry tonight,” he promised. 

The ginger-haired round dwarf raised his hand. “I… ah… I cook?” he said. “I would be happy to help?”

Bilbo considered him for a moment. “I don't normally work with anyone else in the kitchen, but you would know more about what dwarves eat than I do. I welcome you to my kitchen, Master…” he trailed off leadingly.

“Bombur, Master Baggins,” he supplied, and began moving towards the kitchen.

“Boots, Master Bombur,” Bilbo reminded. Bombur blushed, but quickly sat back down and pulled his boots off. Bofur elbowed him.

“I'll take ‘em for ye, Bom,” he offered with a smile. “Gotta take mine back anyway, yeah?”

Once the ginger dwarf was in his stocking feet, Bilbo led him and the three younger dwarves back into his kitchen. He equipped the three who weren't staying to assist with buckets, brooms, scrub brushes, rags, and cleaning agents, and shooed them all back out to begin correcting the mess in the other rooms, before turning back to the rotund dwarf. 

“Master Bombur, let us see what we can prepare to satisfy 14 hungry bellies, shall we?” he said with a smile. Bombur smiled back. 

“You may as well call me simply Bombur, Master Baggins. You can't share a kitchen with someone and not be friends!” the round dwarf stated.

Bilbo chuckled. “Very true!” he agreed. “I invite you to call me Bilbo, then. Now, are there any foods you dwarves can't or shouldn't eat?” he asked, moving towards the pantry that the others had started to raid. He picked up his discarded wedge of cheese with a sad expression as he walked by.

“The first choice for most dwarves is going to be meat,” Bombur replied, following along curiously. His eyes popped open at the sight of the laden shelves and the hanging sides of smoked meats and sausages - several of which, unfortunately, had dwarf-sized bites out of them. Bombur blushed in embarrassment at the behavior of his fellow dwarves when Bilbo shook his head in silent disgust at the sight. The hobbit lifted that string of sausages down and handed them back to the watching dwarf.

“They aren't overly fond of most vegetables, and some of them seem to think that anything green is going to poison them, so getting them to eat some things is going to be a fight,” he went on to explain. 

Bilbo pulled down several other aged cuts of meat and piled Bombur's arms full, then pulled out a basket from a lower shelf and began loading it with potatoes, greens, carrots, turnips, and several other vegetables, including a large supply of mushrooms. The hobbit smirked at his fellow chef, and winked mischievously. “Let's see if we can change their minds,” he said, laughing. “Let's get these started, and come back for more once these are cooking.” He encouraged the dwarf to move back into the kitchen itself.

Bombur's mouth was hanging open in shock. “M-more?” he gasped. “You… you mean to make more than this?”

Bilbo looked confused. “Of course,” he said, as though the answer were obvious. “The cheese course will be simple, and the fish course will be fairly quick. Bread should probably be next, although I wish I'd had time to make a proper batch of yeast loaves. Not enough time for it to rise properly, unfortunately, so we'll have to settle for quick butter biscuits. Do you think any of your fellows might enjoy some tomatoes?” he asked.

It was a few seconds before Bombur could find his voice to answer. “Uh… Bifur… Bifur loves fresh vegetables,” he offered weakly. 

“Oh, wonderful! I'll have to make a nice cucumber and tomato salad for the two of us to share!” Bilbo said, delighted at the prospect. He unloaded the vegetables onto the cutting board and handed Bombur a large cutting knife. “If you would start cutting these into medallions, please? I'll fetch the rest of the ingredients we'll need!”

Watching the hobbit move around his kitchen and back into the pantry, one would never connect the frighteningly angry visage from earlier to the excited, chipper person almost dancing through the food preparation. Bombur was considered by many dwarves to be an expert cook, but he was learning quite a few things from the enthusiastic chef who was the master of his own kitchen.

****************

By the time the other 11 dwarves had cleaned and restored the smial to Dori's satisfaction, all of their mouths were watering from the delectable aromas that were drifting out of the kitchen and permeating the smial. Dwalin, who had actually had something to eat - even though it had technically been Bilbo's dinner - was starting to grow restless with waiting, the combined scents of savory and sweet tormenting him to the point of irritability. “How much longer is this gonna take,” he grumbled quietly. 

“That depends,” Bilbo called back from the kitchen. “How much longer do you think it's going to be before your 13th companion joins us?” he asked.

Dwalin was not the only person surprised by the hobbit hearing such a quiet comment. He exchanged concerned looks with his brother, and Balin cleared his throat.

“Apologies, Master Baggins,” he said. “Our final companion should have been here by now. I'm not sure what has delayed him.” 

Bilbo appeared at the entrance to the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel, and nodded his understanding. “Most of the food is done,” he said. “Once your missing dwarf arrives, Bombur and I can start carrying food to the table. I'm just waiting for the last cobbler to come out of the oven.” Dwalin, Fili, and Kili all perked up at the thought of a cobbler. Bilbo frowned slightly in thought.

“Actually, there is something I could use some assistance with that might make the serving process go faster,” he mused. He looked up and around at the seated dwarves. “Normally, it's just myself being served, so I carry my tankard down to the cold pantry when I want ale, but that wouldn't be practical with all of you presumably wanting a drink. Could a few of you stalwart fellows follow me down to the cellar and carry a keg or two back up for me, please?”

Quite a few happy expressions perked up at that thought. Ale? And potentially more than one tankard? The evening was definitely shaping up! Dori rose to his feet with a slight bow. “I am considered the strongest of us, Master Baggins,” he stated with no hint of boasting in his voice. “Closely followed by my brothers. I believe the three of us should easily be able to assist you.”

Bilbo smiled happily. “Wonderful!” he exclaimed. “Master Dori, if you and your brothers will come this way?” He gestured back towards the kitchen, and Dori, Nori, and Ori moved to follow the direction indicated. As Nori went to move past the hobbit, however, Bilbo laid a gentle hand on his arm, frowning. The hobbit leaned slightly closer, and sniffed deeply, moving his head back and forth as if scenting the star-haired dwarf. The hobbit's expression hardened. 

“Master Nori,” he said, a slight growl edging into his voice, “is there a reason you smell of my mother's silver?” he asked, eyes glinting. 

The sly dwarf paled, swallowing heavily. “I… uh… I musta leaned against something when… when I was cleaning,” he stammered. Over Bilbo's head, Nori could see Dori glaring at him with a thunderous, rage-filled expression, and Ori's white, terrified face, both hands clapped over his mouth.

Bilbo stared at the nervous dwarf intensely for a few seconds longer, then he finally nodded. “As long as that's all it is,” he said quietly. “I would be very, very unhappy if any of my mother's heirloom silver were to be mysteriously unaccounted for. Why, my dear cousin Lobelia Sackville-Baggins tried to appropriate her teaspoons, and the poor woman needed a month to recover from our… discussion on the subject. Rather unfortunate business all around,” the hobbit sighed. Then turned away and moved past the other two dwarves who were waiting in the kitchen. Fortunately, Dori and Ori had been able to school their expressions into bland neutrality before Bilbo completed the turn.

As soon as the hobbit was out of sight, Nori quickly slipped over to the sideboard and quietly opened the top drawer. Swiftly and silently, agile fingers dipped into various pockets and transferred an assortment of silver utensils and knickknacks that had been appropriated from various locations around the smial into the drawer, which was just as silently closed again, and the would-be thief darted after his brothers.

Balin buried his face in his hands and moaned in quiet despair. “Please, Mahal, don't let the hobbit kick us out over this!” he mumbled. 

“He can smell silver ?” Kili hissed in amazement. 

****************

Bilbo reentered the dining room carrying a basket that held four bottles and four small wooden cradles. He placed the cradles two-by-two on top of the sideboard, and stepped out of the way. Dori entered after him almost immediately, carrying a keg almost as big as his torso, which he carefully boosted into the first pair of cradles, while Nori and Ori followed closely, carrying a second keg between them. Dori simply boosted it onto the second pair of cradles for them. Bilbo smiled broadly at the three of them.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” he said, as he placed the four wine bottles he carried on the sideboard beside the kegs. “Just let them settle for a bit before we tap them, and I brought up a few bottles of wine in case someone would prefer that with their meals. Let me check on-”

He was interrupted by the sound of someone knocking on the door. The hobbit huffed. “You know, I do have a perfectly good bell,” he groused. “Bombur, please keep an eye on those cobblers! It would be a crime if any of them burned!”

“I'll keep a close eye on them,” the ginger chef called back. “I estimate no more than five minutes until they're ready.”

“I trust your judgment,” Bilbo called, moving towards the door. The knock came again, and the hobbit growled. “Yes, yes! I'm coming!” he shouted. Then yanked the door open. “May I help you?” he asked. 

The dwarf standing on his doorstep was taller than most of the others. Thick, black hair shot through with gleaming silver framed a narrow face with a blade of a nose and high cheekbones, dark eyebrows framed piercing blue eyes that glared with intense focus, and a strong jaw was neatly shaped by a well-groomed short, black beard. The dwarf said nothing as he pushed past the hobbit who answered the door, just scowled at everything in sight. “Excuse me!” Bilbo snapped angrily, reaching out to grab the dwarf's elbow. “It may be common for your people to barge into homes uninvited and without introducing yourselves, but in the Shire it's considered polite to state your name and at least wait to be asked in!”

The dwarf turned his intense, angry gaze onto the irate hobbit. “Tharkun,” he rumbled. “You never said anything about being assaulted by a rude grocer in addition to this place being nearly impossible to find.”

Bilbo felt his hackles rise and his upper lip start to curl into a snarl as he glared back at the tall, dark dwarf.

“And nobody warned me that my 13th guest was going to be a belligerent ass, but there we are, then,” he growled.

The new arrival stiffened, pulling himself impossibly straighter as he glared back at the shorter male who refused to back down. Their stand-off was broken by the sound of someone chuckling. “Bilbo Baggins, I have never known you to be so rude to guests before!” the old-seeming Man chided as he stepped through the still open door, smiling. He held a pointed gray hat in one hand, and a tall staff in the other. “Bilbo, allow me to introduce you to Thorin Oakenshield, the leader of our Company.”

Bilbo's head snapped around to glare at the wizard. “ Rude?” he hissed. “You dare call me rude? ” His voice rose to a full growl, and Thorin felt his own hair try to rise in response. Eyes flashing gold snapped back to the cowed dwarves trying to stay out of sight in the dining room. “One of you show Master Oakenshield where he may leave his boots and coat, and where he may wash up for dinner,” he snarled. “If I find one muddy boot print on my floors, they will be scrubbed again before any of you has a bite. Gandalf and I need to have a conversation.” Without waiting for a response, Bilbo turned back to the startled gray wizard.

“Now, Bilbo-” he began.

“DON'T YOU ‘NOW BILBO’ ME, YOU DISTURBER OF THE PEACE!” the hobbit roared. With one smooth move, he slapped the staff out of Gandalf's hand with one swat, and with the other hand wrapped the long gray beard in his fist. “Come along, Gandalf,” he said coldly. “We need to have words. ”

With that, he stomped forward and proceeded to drag the sputtering wizard back out the door, which he slammed behind him.

Thorin was surprised to realize that his neck actually ached from resisting the impulse to lift his chin and expose his throat to the much shorter, much angrier male. “What in the name of Mahal…” he muttered. 

Balin was suddenly beside him, tugging him back into the entryway. Fili was right behind him with a bucket of soapy water and a rag. “What is going on here!?” Thorin demanded. Balin sighed, even as Fili knelt down to help his uncle remove his boots and wipe up the trace amounts of mud he'd managed to carry in.

“Thorin, there has been a terrible mistake,” Balin began.

He was interrupted by the sound of the hobbit's voice raised in anger on the front steps. 

****************

“Bilbo Baggins! You will unhand me at once!” Gandalf snapped, even as he bent nearly in half to relieve the pressure on his beard.

“Shut it, Gandalf,” the hobbit snarled. “Count yourself lucky I don't set the Bounders on you and have you chased out of the Shire entirely!” He finally released his grip on the long beard, and Gandalf pulled himself erect, smoothing the frazzled hair as he glared down at the angry hobbit. 

“What has gotten into you, dear boy?” he demanded, struggling to control his temper.

Bilbo gaped at him. “What's gotten- Gandalf! You sent 13 dwarves to my home for a dinner party that I knew nothing about!” The more he talked, the louder he got. “They pushed their way into my smial! THEY TRACKED MUD EVERYWHERE! THEY HELPED THEMSELVES TO MY PANTRY AND THREW MY IMPORTED CHEESE ON THE FLOOR BECAUSE THEY DIDN'T LIKE IT!” He was heaving for breath, and started stomping back and forth. “One of them stood in my pantry, taking bites out of the meat while it was still hanging!” he all but shrieked.

“They repeatedly called me a halfling! They called me a BAD HOST! And they said you invited them to my home and promised them a meal and a place to sleep ! Gandalf, yesterday was the first time I've seen you in over 20 years!” he roared. He stopped to glare at the stunned wizard.

“AND WHY IS THERE A MARK SCRATCHED INTO MY FRESHLY PAINTED DOOR!” he roared, pointing at the glowing rune in question. “And then you have the absolute gall to chastise me for being rude to that arrogant sod who thought it acceptable to call me a grocer? ”

Before Gandalf could muster a response, movement out of the darkness drew their attention away from their discussion. 

A short-legged gray and white wolf-like creature was stalking its way up Bilbo's walk, curled plume of a tail puffed up even more than normal as it curled onto its back, hackles across its shoulders and down the ridge of its spine bristling. It growled lowly, glaring at the gray wizard. Bilbo forcefully expelled his breath.

“Thank you for checking up on me, Fort,” he said tiredly. “I apologize for raising my voice. I'll keep it down, but everything is fine.”

The gray and white wolf-looking animal made an interrogative-sounding ‘woof’, and Bilbo shook his head in response. “No, but thank you for offering. Gandalf and I do have some more things to discuss, but I'm calmer now. We'll head back inside. Please let the others know that I am currently hosting 13 dwarves, and that they are expected to be seen in and around Bag End. I have no idea how long they will be staying, but I'll let Grandfather know if it's going to be more than a few days.”

He was answered by an acknowledging ‘woof’, and the animal turned around and disappeared into the night. Out of the shadows, several other similar shapes could be seen loping off into the surrounding darkness, in a cascade of colors ranging from sandy brown-and-white to a gray so dark, it almost looked black in the night. After the last shape disappeared, Bilbo let out another exhausted huff, and turned his frown back to the wizard. 

“Part of me wants to finish this discussion right now,” he said quietly. “But there are 13 hungry, tired guests in my smial, and I've already been called a bad host once tonight. I also think they might be due an explanation of some sort as well.” With that, he turned and trudged back towards the closed door of his home. As he gripped the doorknob to open it, he took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and allowed a pleasant expression to settle onto his face. Then with a practiced twist of the wrist, the door opened and he stepped through.

****************

“Your pardon, Master Oakenshield,” the hobbit said quietly as he reentered the foyer to find Thorin waiting for them.

Thorin bowed to the hobbit. “It is I who must beg your pardon, Master Baggins,” he replied, deep voice rolling like an oncoming storm. “Balin has informed me of the error that was made and the misinformation we were provided.” When the dark dwarf straightened, he leveled an icy glare at the gray wizard who had entered behind the hobbit. 

“Tharkun, how dare you!” he snarled. “We dwarves have little left to call our own beyond our reputations and honor, and you would take even that from us!” His voice was thundering by the time he finished. 

Bilbo stepped up and placed his palm against the angry dwarf’s chest, and the dwarf immediately began to calm. “Master Oakenshield, Gandalf will be explaining himself, I'm sure, but we have all had a very long and stressful day. Bombur has assisted me in throwing together a meal for tonight, even though I am forced to apologize that it won't be up to my normal dinner party standards, but I think we've managed to assemble an acceptable dinner on such short notice.” He smiled up into the hard, blue eyes. 

“I suggest we all retire to the table, while Bombur and I bring the food in. Master Nori,” the hobbit said, turning to the sly dwarf. “I believe you are most familiar with the rest of my smial,” he said with a smirk.

The star-haired dwarf had the decency to blush. “Ah… yeah,” he admitted. Bilbo winked at him with a grin.

“Would you and the young lads mind bringing in the extra chairs from my study, please? I promise, no one will start eating until you are able to join us at the table.”

Nori grinned sheepishly in the face of the hobbit's gentle teasing. “O’ course, Master Baggins. Come on, lads, let's set to!” With that, he led Fili, Kili, and Ori unerringly to the study.

Bilbo guided Thorin to the head of the table, opposite the kitchen, with a gentle touch on his arm. “Gandalf, I brought up a bottle of that Brandywine Red you like so much, if you would care for a glass?” the hobbit said, gesturing towards the bottles in question. “You still remember where the glasses are, yes?”

Gandalf smiled softly. “Thank you, dear boy,” he murmured, moving to pour a glass. “And yes, I do.” Uncorking the bottle, he looked back at the other dwarves. “Would any of you care for a glass?” he asked. 

Dori and Balin both raised their hands, and Gandalf pulled down two more stemmed glasses. 

“Master Dwalin, if I might impose?” Bilbo asked, turning towards the bald dwarf. “There should be a tap in that top drawer under the kegs, and plenty of tankards in the buffet under it. Would you be so kind as to tap the first keg for me, and begin filling tankards for everyone?”

Dwalin nodded as he stood up from the table. “I c'n do that, Master Baggins,” he grumbled. Gloin stood with him.

“I'll help ye get ‘em t’ the table,” he offered. As Bilbo passed into the kitchen, Dwalin yanked the drawer under the keg open, and there was an unexpected clatter of metal that caused the big dwarf to blush.

Bilbo just snickered. “No harm done, Master Dwalin,” he reassured quietly. “Seriously, no harm done.” He disappeared into the kitchen where Bombur was waiting. 

Dwalin lowered his head and sighed. “Jus’ great,” he mumbled. After a second, he found the tap he was looking for, got it into the keg, and started pulling out tankards and filling them. As Bilbo and Bombur started carrying in platters of food and Gloin and Dwalin filled mugs, the other four quickly returned with the extra chairs. It was a close fit, but all 15 seats managed to squeeze in around the table. 

Most of the dwarves - especially the younger ones, and the ones who didn't know a life outside of Ered Luin - had never seen so much food at one time before. There were trays of cheeses that ranged from soft ones that spread as easily as butter to hard yellow sharp cubes, as well as olives and pickles accompanying them, which was followed by a platter with two beautifully steamed trout garnished with slices of lemon and a platter with two golden-roasted chickens. Bowls of rich stew and glistening carrots were accompanied by a large bowl of diced tomatoes and thinly sliced cucumbers. Bilbo handed that one down to Bifur immediately. 

“Master Bifur, I understand you like fresh vegetables. Please try this - it's tomatoes and cucumbers, tossed with lemon juice, salt and pepper. If it is to your tastes, please save some for me!” the hobbit laughed. Bifur smiled at the hobbit's thoughtfulness and sampled the dish. He made an almost indecent noise of satisfaction at the taste, and added a huge scoop of the mixture to his plate. 

Bombur carried out what looked like two different kinds of mashed potatoes, and followed that with a tray of sliced, glazed ham, a platter of smoked sausages, and Bilbo finished off with gravy-smothered roast beef and a veritable mountain of flakey, buttery rolls. There was barely enough room on the table for everything, and the dwarves just stared in wonder - except for Bifur, who was happily munching on tomatoes and cucumbers. 

As Bilbo and Bombur took their seats, the hobbit surveyed the table with a small wrinkle of consternation creased between his eyes. “I do hope you gentlemen will find this adequate,” he said. “I apologize that I wasn't able to provide you with a proper feast, but there was so little warning…” His voice trailed off into a huff. When no one moved, he looked up to find 14 pairs of eyes staring at him; only Gandalf's were twinkling with humor. “What?” Bilbo asked.

“You… you don't consider this to be a feast?” Balin asked with a slight cough. Bilbo looked startled. 

“Gracious, no!” he exclaimed. “A proper feast would have at least three more courses, quite a number of more vegetables, four different kinds of bread, and would take upwards of three hours to properly enjoy. This is just a regular Tuesday evening supper!” he insisted. The dwarves continued to just stare at him.

Bilbo started to fidget. “I'm sorry,” he apologized quietly. “Is it not enough?”

Thorin rose to his feet, capturing everyone's attention. “Master Baggins,” his dark voice rolled. “I feel confident I speak for all of us when I say that this is probably the most spectacular feast any of us has seen in… ever. Although our acquaintance may have begun on… less than ideal terms, your graciousness has far exceeded anything we deserve. Thank you for being such an exemplary host.” He raised his mug in a toast, and his fellow dwarves joined him. Bilbo blushed beet red, but smiled bashfully. 

“Thank you, Master Oakenshield,” he said quietly. “Please, everyone, dig in. There is cobbler and coffee for pudding after,” he added, and someone groaned.

****************

Dinner was a quiet, somewhat subdued affair, as everyone served themselves and enjoyed the vast spread. After several minutes of just quietly eating, Kili couldn't stand it anymore. 

“Master Baggins,” he suddenly said, managing to startle several dwarves at the table. “May I ask a question?” he asked.

Bilbo smiled kindly. “Of course you may, Master Kili. I won't promise to answer, depending on what the question might be, but no harm in asking.”

Kili nodded, then seemed to think about what he wanted to ask. “Master Baggins, can you really smell silver?”

Bilbo stared at the young dwarf for a minute before he inexplicably burst out laughing. It was several seconds before the merry sound calmed enough to allow the hobbit to speak. 

“Of course not, Master Kili!” he laughed. At the brunette dwarf's confused expression, he chuckled further. “What I could smell was the silver polish !” he clarified. 

Kili wasn't the only one to look confused at that statement. Bilbo smiled indulgently, eyes twinkling with mirth. “It's all part of the game, Master Kili,” he continued. “Each family adds a different herb or spice - sometimes a flower - to their silver polish, to make it easier to track down pieces that might go wandering. My family has always added cloves to the polish. My dearest friends, the Gamgees, use just a touch of anise. The Cottons, appropriately enough, use cotton blossoms, while the Tooks use frankincense. Every family is different, to make the silver easier to identify.”

Nori looked intrigued. “Game?” he asked. “What game? Why are different scents important?”

Bilbo chuckled. “If I knew you dwarves were going to be in the Shire for more than a day, I'd have let you leave with everything that was in your pockets - and the last piece tucked into your hair, by the way,” the hobbit interrupted himself, giving the star-haired dwarf a wry look.

Nori jolted in surprise, and flushed completely red even as he reached up and slipped two fingers into the top point of his unique hairstyle and pulled out a slim pen knife. “Mahal!” he swore quietly. “Truly, I forgot it was there!” he insisted. Bilbo laughed, even as he accepted it from the would-be thief.

“I believe you,” he reassured. “As I told Master Dwalin earlier, no harm done! Pity you won't be staying in the Shire much longer - you would be such a fun player in the game!” He tucked the pen knife into an inner pocket of his waistcoat. 

“But what is the game?” the sly dwarf asked again. 

Bilbo took a moment to refill his plate, much to the surprise of the dwarves. So far, he had matched them serving for serving, and they had no idea where such a small body was putting so much food! After his plate was replenished, he turned a bright smile to the befuddled dwarf.

“Pocketing the silver from your relatives is a recreational sport for hobbits,” he explained. “Oh, there are very strict rules - don't get me wrong! If there's a risk of something being permanently damaged, such as the gold-edged wine glasses, or some of the hand painted porcelain mathoms many of the dowagers love to collect, those are strictly forbidden from being used as a token. It's forbidden to take something for the express purpose of damaging it - for example, nicking the silver spoons just to have them melted down and turned into forks, or what have you. It's forbidden to pocket items and stash them at someone else's home, or immediately polish the stolen silver so that your signature scent overrides the true owner's polish. If someone has successfully made off with items from your home, after you recover them you have to wait a full two months before you can attempt to retaliate. There are quite a few more rules, and if you were going to be around for an extended stay, I would be delighted to explain them all to you and help you select your own signature scent so you could participate. You would be a most excellent player!” Bilbo laughed brightly and held up his empty left hand. With a flick of his wrist and a bit of sleight of hand, he flicked his hand in a circle and was suddenly holding a small pearl-handled comb.

Nori gaped at him, slapped his hand to his pocket, searching. When he found nothing, his mouth fell open even further. “How… when… what…” he spluttered, incoherent. 

Bilbo grinned, and passed the comb back to him. Nori accepted it carefully. “All in good fun, Master Nori,” the hobbit said.

Dwalin laughed loudly. “I never seen nobody do that t’ you!” he guffawed. His unexpected laughter was joined by several others, and finally by Nori himself, as he tucked the little comb back away. 

“Ain't nobody got me like that in decades!” he exclaimed, still laughing.

“But Master Baggins, I still don't understand about the different scents,” Ori interjected quietly. 

“I apologize, Master Ori,” Bilbo said, polishing off the last of his plate full of food. “I did get somewhat off topic, didn't I? The scents serve a dual purpose,” he continued explaining. “The first purpose is to assist in tracking down your appropriated bits and bobs - if Master Nori lived in the Shire, for example, and I suspected he was the one who had liberated my silver, then I would scent around his residence until I located my missing possessions.” He paused to take a drink of ale, and rose to refill his tankard, wordlessly offering refills to the others. As he refilled mugs, he continued his explanation. 

“The second purpose for the scents is to confirm ownership. If Master Nori were here alone, and I claimed his little comb had been in my family for years, who would believe him if he denied that, since it wouldn't have his signature scent?” Bilbo returned to the table after all the ale had been refilled, and passed the bottle of wine down to Dori, Balin, and Gandalf to refill their glasses. 

“I know that in reality, there are probably a hundred and one ways for a dwarf to demonstrate the provenance of a crafted item that we hobbits know nothing about, but for illustrative purposes, the comb proves my point.” He sighed happily at the sight of the rapidly emptying platters. “Master Ori, have you tried the carrots?” he asked. He had noticed that except for himself, Bombur, and Bifur, the carrots had remained largely untouched. Ori startled slightly and made a face.

“I don't like vegetables, Master Baggins,” he quietly admitted. Dori made a disappointed face at his youngest brother, and Bilbo smiled.

“Please try just one,” he encouraged. “I promise that if you try one and absolutely do not like it, I'll make sure you get an extra large serving of cobbler later.”

Ori had fully intended to refuse to even try the dreaded vegetable, but with such a tempting incentive, he couldn't refuse. He selected the absolute smallest slice of carrot he could find and transferred it to his plate, and from there into his mouth, his expression screwed up in expectation of revulsion. 

Instead, his eyes popped open in surprise, and he reached for the spoon to scoop a large serving onto his plate. Even Dori was surprised at his actions. Bilbo just looked smug. “Master Baggins!” Ori exclaimed. “These are incredible! I didn't know carrots could taste so good!”

“They're honey glazed. I don't prepare them that way very often, but today I thought you dwarves could use a special treat. Try one with the chicken or the ham. Or both.” Ori did, and moaned at how good the combination tasted.

“Oh, I wish all vegetables tasted this good!” the young dwarf groaned. There was a scramble from Fili, Kili, and Bofur to grab some of the remaining carrots, with Thorin commandeering the bowl to steal the last spoonful, despite the younger dwarves’ pouts.

Bilbo shared a smug look with Bombur, who chuckled. “Ori, how many vegetables d’ ye think ye've had tonight?” the ginger dwarf asked. The younger dwarf shrugged.

“Counting the potatoes and the carrots, two,” Ori answered.

Bombur laughed. “Ye've actually had seven different kinds of vegetables,” he clarified. “Master Baggins bet me that he could prepare vegetables so good, nobody would mind eating them.”

Bifur mumbled something that Bilbo couldn't understand. At the hobbit's confused look, Bombur explained. “Bifur said he tasted nine, if ye don't count the lemon juice.”

“Ah, but he and I had tomatoes and cucumbers, which no one else wanted to try,” Bilbo pointed out. Ori tentatively raised his hand. 

“Are there any left?” he asked. “I didn't taste any vegetables at all - if they taste as good as the carrots, I might like them,” he volunteered. Bilbo peeked into the bowl, and offered it to the chestnut-haired dwarf.

“There happens to be a few left,” he said. “At least enough to know if you like it.”

Ori scraped the small amount left in the bowl onto his plate, and carefully tasted a piece of each vegetable. He nodded thoughtfully. 

“Not as good as the carrots, but not bad at all,” he stated. 

A sneaky fork eased in from the side of his plate, and stabbed one of the last cucumber slices. “Hey!” Ori protested, jabbing Fili with his fork.

The blonde dwarf smirked, and shoved the cucumber in his mouth. He made a hum of satisfaction. “That is rather tasty,” he admitted. “I'm sorry I didn't try it sooner.”

Bilbo chuckled. “It's as I said to Bombur. I didn't think it was so much that you didn't like vegetables, it was probably that you didn't like how most people prepared their vegetables. If I had to guess, mostly boiled?”

Ori nodded, still eating while now defending his plate from both Fili, beside him, and Bofur, across the table. Bilbo was very pleased to see the dwarves relaxing and starting to have fun.

“Master Baggins, you said something earlier about a cousin? She needed a month to recover?” Nori asked.

Bilbo scowled at the memory. “Lobelia,” he spat. “That wretched harridan! She refuses to abide by the established rules of the game - thinks they shouldn't include her or something. The cow!” And Bilbo launched into a story that involved stolen teaspoons, a pigpen, the liberal application of ground cloves, tree climbing, and everything but a traveling troupe of itinerant performers - and that only because she couldn't find any in time! By the time he was finished, most of the dwarves were howling with laughter, and even Thorin had cracked a smile. 

That story seemed to have truly broken the ice, and stories, jokes, and laughter rose around the group and filled Bag End with life like it hadn't seen in years. As he watched the different family groups of dwarves interact, Bilbo felt something tight and withered within his chest slowly start to loosen and bloom. More ale flowed, and several dwarves broke into songs that had the hobbit cackling with delight.

Eventually, all the plates were scraped clean, and only a few lonely remnants remained within the bowls. Bilbo pushed back from the table, smiling happily at his guests. “Gentlemen, I am very pleased that you all seem to have enjoyed the meal,” he stated. He was answered by various groans of satisfaction and protestations that it was the best meal they'd had in forever, and Bilbo's smile broadened. “Are we ready for afters?” he asked.

He was answered by groans of protest, and many rubbed stomachs. “Bilbo, I don't think even I could eat another bite at th’ moment,” Bombur moaned. “Perhaps a few minutes to let things settle?”

Bilbo laughed. “I understand, Bombur,” he agreed. “I know that Gandalf has some explanations to offer, so why don't I get the coffee started for later and I'll clear the table while it brews, and we can have pudding after discussions?” he offered. “Would anyone care for tea instead?”

Several hands went up around the table, including Gandalf's, and Bilbo nodded. “Black or red?”

The dwarves looked confused, but Gandalf smiled. “Red, please,” he suggested. “I've always found it goes better with your cobbler than the black or green.” The hobbit grinned in understanding, and stood with his empty plate in hand.

“If you gentlemen would be so kind as to pass your plates this way?” he prompted.

At a sharp look from his uncle, Fili sprang to his feet and dragged Kili with him. “We'll help, Master Baggins!” he offered brightly. Bilbo shook his head.

“That is kind of you to offer,” he said, “but not only are you guests within my home, if a dish is going to get broken accidentally, I prefer to be the one that breaks it!”

Bofur laughed heartily. “Ye hear that, boys? Master Baggins is worried we might break something!” he said cheerfully. He began to rhythmically thump on the table and stamp his feet - which, admittedly, wasn't as impressive as it could have been due to the lack of boots - and started to sing.

“Chip the glasses, crack the plates!” he sang. Around the table, faces erupted in expressions of glee and several of the others joined in with the song. Most of the others sprang to their feet, and Bilbo suddenly found himself the eye of a maelstrom of movement and noise. Plates went whizzing by his head, forks and knives thrown as though someone was attempting an assassination, and still the thumping, spinning, dancing, and singing continued in a bewildering array of organized chaos.

The hobbit quickly realized that although there were many lines about breaking dishes, bending forks, and smashing bottles, not a single piece of china was coming close to being damaged. He finally gave in, and laughingly handed the plate he was holding off to Ori as the younger dwarf spun by, chestnut braids flying, and just stood back to enjoy the merriment. He laughed and clapped along, and before much time had passed, the dinnerware and cutlery had all been collected, cleaned, and stacked neatly in the kitchen. Bilbo was met by a crowd of smiling faces as he applauded their work.

“Ah, gentlemen! Thank you for that!” he said. “Now if you'll have a seat, I'll get coffee and tea started while Gandalf explains where things went wrong tonight. Gandalf, I will be able to hear you just fine, so don't wait on my account.” With that said, Bilbo moved into the kitchen. 

“Tharkun,” Thorin began, his deep voice grumbling. “Balin tells me that Master Baggins was completely unaware that we were to assemble here this evening, yet you promised me that you had spoken to Master Baggins no more than two weeks ago and arranged everything.”

Gandalf nodded. “That is correct,” he confirmed. “Bilbo, how could you have forgotten? Remember, we were in the lower garden, under the oak tree. You were practicing your conkers, and I remarked that the tree reminded me of an acquaintance to whom I was looking forward to introducing you. Remember? I asked you then if you would be willing to join a quest with them - I said they would be in urgent need of your skills and abilities, and that the future of their people and possibly all of Arda could be at stake!” The gray wizard was emphatic and sincere in his assertions.

“You were so very excited at the thought of going on an adventure! How could you have forgotten! Dear Belladonna laughed-”

His words were cut off by the jangling crash of clattering metal, as something hit the floor. Suddenly, a pale-faced hobbit was lunging through the kitchen door. “Gandalf!” he gasped. “My mother!?”

Gandalf nodded warily. “Yes…” he confirmed with trepidation. Bilbo stepped further into the dining room, frowning in concern. 

“Gandalf, you know I lost Mother during the Fell Winter,” he said slowly. “Father passed shortly after she did. Now that you've reminded me, I do remember that conversation.”

Now the dwarves were confused, and some of them were starting to become angry. Had the hobbit lied to them, or was he insane?

“Gandalf, that conversation was almost 30 years ago! ” he said. “I was not yet 25!”

The old Istari went absolutely white, then almost as gray as his clothing. He moaned, and lowered his face into his hands.

Bilbo lunged for the sideboard, yanking the stopper out of a beautiful crystal decanter, heedlessly splashing a measure of the amber liquid it held into one of the matching tumblers. “Quick, one of you please help him drink this!” the hobbit said urgently. 

The gray haired dwarf who had identified himself as Oin accepted the glass and held it to the wizard's lips, encouraging the distraught man to sip. After a few tense minutes, the Maia's color edged more towards normal, and he was able to hold the glass himself. “Thank you, Master Dwarf,” he sighed.

“Bilbo… gentlemen… it appears I do owe you all an apology,” he intoned morosely. 

Bilbo sighed heavily. “It happened again, didn't it?” he asked. Gandalf nodded.

“What is going on here!?” Thorin thundered. “Hobbit, did you, or did you not, know of our meeting tonight?”

Bilbo shook his head. “That isn't as easy to answer as you might think,” he said, sitting back down at the table. “Gandalf, would you like me to try and explain?” he offered. The old man nodded. 

“Please,” he said weakly. “I… I need a few moments to sort my head out.” Bilbo nodded, and took a deep breath. 

“Master Oakenshield, something that most people don't know, or understand, is that Gandalf's connection to the Valar gives him… insights, for lack of a better term, into things that might happen. It is how he often knows where he needs to be, and when he needs to be in a specific location to ensure the optimum outcome.”

He sat back, a pensive expression on his face. “On rare occasions, these insights become… unrooted, shall we say, and come upon him at the wrong time. It doesn't happen very often, but in the best case scenario, it results in confusion. In the worst case, Gandalf gets sent to the right place, but at the very worst possible time. Unfortunately, it seems that we have all been subjected to an unrooted insight.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Thorin stated with a glower. 

“It means, Master Oakenshield, that my insight, as Bilbo calls it, led me to believe that this assembly was going to take place in the Spring of 2918,” Gandalf explained with a weary shake of his head. 

“Which would have been just before I turned 24,” Bilbo added. “No wonder my mother laughed at the thought of me going on an adventure, and Papa just shook his head. I was still at the height of my Terrible Tweens!” He chuckled at the memory. 

Gandalf chuckled as well. “You all have my abject apologies, and Bilbo, my gratitude for rising to the occasion.”

Bilbo smiled at his old family friend. “Easy to forgive, now that I understand what happened.” He stood once more, and looked around. 

“Would you gentlemen care to retire to the smoking parlor?” he offered. “I'm sure Gandalf still remembers where it is, and I will join you shortly with the tea trolley and desserts for when anyone is ready. Master Dwalin, if that first keg has been finished, please be welcome to tap the second for those who might prefer another mug.”

The bald dwarf actually smiled at the hobbit, a sight many of his fellow dwarves hadn't seen before. “Thank ye, Master Baggins,” he grumbled, and immediately moved to refill his mug and several others in order to drain the last of the first keg.

****************

As Bilbo went to push the laden trolley into the smoking parlor, he caught the tail end of a conversation between the dwarves.

“That's exactly what I said,” Thorin was stating. “The other lords will not come. They stated that this is a fool's errand, and we will not drag their people into an unwinnable conflict.”

There was an explosion of angry protests from around the room, until Thorin raised his hand for silence. “Let them stay away,” he announced. He looked each of the assembled dwarves in the eyes before he began speaking again. Bilbo held back before fully entering the room, so as not to interrupt. 

“I would rather have 12 faithful hearts and stalwart souls at my back any day, than hundreds of faithless idiots who do not believe in our goal. I will not deceive you, and try to say this will be easy - but I believe each and every one of you, who have chosen to join me out of loyalty and love for our people, are worth more than any twenty other random dwarves.”

Balin scrubbed at his eyes, and stroked a hand down his thick, white beard. His sigh seemed to emerge from his very toes. “This quest is insanity,” he mumbled. “Logic says it cannot be done.” He looked up at the grim-faced and silent dwarf standing by the fire. “But I've followed ye this long, lad. I shall follow you even longer, even if that leads us straight to Mordor.”

There were various grumblings of agreement from the rest of the room. Oin cleared his throat. 

“The signs and portents all indicate that now is the best opportunity for success in our endeavors,” he said. He nodded towards the hovering hobbit. “If Master Baggins agrees to become our lucky number 14, the portents become even more favorable.”

All eyes shifted to Bilbo, who finished entering the room fully. “I cannot say yet whether I will join you or not,” he admitted. “But I will at least willingly listen to what you have to say. Now. Master Ori, since you were brave enough to try something new, this plate is for you.” He held out a full-sized dinner plate to the startled youth who accepted it gingerly. 

Bilbo pointed to each of the three generous servings on the plate as he named them. “This one is peach cobbler, this one is cherry cobbler, and this one is another sneaky vegetable,” he said with a grin and a wink. “That's a strawberry-rhubarb crumble.”

Even as he explained each item, he was slapping away grabby hands that were trying to reach in from the sides. “Children!” he snapped. “This plate is for Master Ori! There are plenty of plates on the trolley for everyone else.” He slapped away one more tenacious attempt, and followed it up with a glare. 

“Don't make me say it again, or there will be no pudding for you at all!” he chastised.

And he was correct - there were plenty of desserts for everyone. The top of the trolley held a steaming samovar that smelled deliciously of rich coffee, and an exceptionally large teapot that also trailed fragrant steam. There was a jar of honey, a bowl of sugar, a small pitcher of milk, and a tray of buttery-looking red-topped tarts. The second level held dozens of dessert plates carefully stacked, each with a scoop of one of the three named desserts that had been given to Ori, and peeking out from the bottom level was a tray of what appeared to be different kinds of cookies and gooey cake squares. Bilbo began filling and distributing mugs of coffee and cups of tea. “The tarts are strawberry, by the way, and on that bottom tray there are snickerdoodle cookies, almond cookies, and gooey butter bars. Would anyone care for something?”

There was a small scrum of shoving as the others tried to be the first to get to the treats, but a sharp throat-clearing and a glare settled that down quickly.

“I'll start with your leader and work my way down, then, shall I?” Bilbo stated calmly. Kili settled down with a pout, but he did settle. 

****************

Thorin sat back with a mug of dark coffee and a plate of strawberry tarts. To Bilbo's amusement, Dwalin snagged a plate of strawberry-rhubarb crumble and a massive handful of cookies, and the hobbit made sure everyone present got something. To Kili's relief, there were still plenty of treats left by the time the trolley reached him, and he gleefully settled back with a plate of cherry cobbler and a gooey butter bar. 

Once Bilbo had served himself, he sat back and got comfortable with his dessert and cup of tea. “Now that we are all refreshed, can someone please explain why Gandalf sent you all to me?” he asked. 

Thorin exchanged looks with Balin, and the dark haired dwarf nodded. Balin leaned forward, cradling his mug of tea between his hands.

“Master Baggins, what do you know about the fall of Erebor?” he asked. Bilbo frowned as he thought over the question, and finally shook his head slightly. 

“Not much, I am sad to say. News does not reach the Shire easily, and Erebor fell - as far as I can remember - well over 100 years ago,” he finally said. “Beyond that, I know nothing.”

Balin nodded seriously. “Not surprising. We dwarves tend to be very private, and do not like sharing our problems with outsiders,” he admitted. He leaned back, and Bilbo could tell that his vision was focused on something far outside the scope of his cozy little parlor. “At the time, Thror was King Under the Mountain,” he began. “For many decades, King Thror was a fair and just ruler, and guided the dwarves of Middle Earth with a firm and steady hand.” At Bilbo's curious expression, the white haired dwarf paused to elaborate. 

“The King Under the Mountain is considered to be the High King of all dwarven enclaves. Each king swore an oath of allegiance that united all the clans under one leader,” Balin explained. Then he sighed. “Towards the end of his reign, Thror… changed. His priorities shifted from stewardship of Dwarven resources to amassing more and more wealth, ostensibly for the betterment of the dwarves. No one knows exactly what happened, whether it was the accumulation of so much wealth or the overall aura of so much greed, but something caught the attention of Smaug, the chiefest of calamities.”

“Smaug?” Bilbo interrupted. “I don't know that name.”

“I'm not surprised,” Balin said. Around the room, the dwarves had settled into various solemn expressions. Fili and Kili were huddled together, while Ori was caught up against Dori's side as the story was retold. “Smaug is the last of the great fire drakes. He descended on Erebor without warning, caught the entire mountain unprepared. There was no time to mount a defense, or get most of the dwarves to safety. Our people went from numbering in the hundreds of thousands to the tens of thousands, in a single night. Erebor fell, and the dwarven people fell with it. Smaug took control of the mountain and all the treasure of the dwarves it held, and presumably remains there to this day.”

“By Yavanna…” Bilbo breathed, face pale. “We heard none of this,” he said. He continued after a moment.

“But why tell the story of the dwarves now?” the hobbit asked. “What does this have to do with me?”

“It's the signs,” the gray haired dwarf called Oin all but shouted. “I read the portents, lad. The signs are indicating that now is the best chance we dwarves will have to defeat Smaug and retake Erebor.”

Bilbo drew a breath to speak before Gandalf interrupted. “Bilbo, the dwarves need you,” he said quietly. “They need someone who can be stealthy, who can enter the mountain and confirm whether or not Smaug is still present. Most especially, they need someone who is not a dwarf, who's scent will not alert the dragon to their presence.”

Bilbo stared at him as if he'd never seen the gray wizard before. “You want me. To sneak and spy on a dragon,” he said flatly. The old man smiled serenely. 

“Yes, exactly,” he agreed.

“A. Dragon,” Bilbo repeated incredulously. 

“Yeah, dragon!” Bofur exclaimed cheerfully. “Y'know - giant reptile? Think flying furnace with teeth! Woosh! Flash of light, instant of pain, and bam! All gone!”

Bilbo scowled at the pigtailed dwarf. “Yes, Master Bofur - I know what a dragon is,” he said sourly. “If this is your idea of persuading me to join you, I dread to see what your discouragement would be.”

Thorin scowled fiercely at the hat-wearing dwarf, who at least had the sense to shrink back sheepishly. 

“But why me, Gandalf?” Bilbo asked. “There are any number of adventurous Tooks - why not seek out one of them?”

Gandalf shook his head. “I cannot say.” At Bilbo's expression, he quickly continued. “Not will not , Bilbo,” he clarified. “ Cannot. I have Seen that you will be very important to the dwarves and the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. You have something important to teach them. There is something coming in their future for which your presence will be the difference between success or failure.”

Bilbo huffed a deep breath, and sat back closing his eyes. He finally sighed. “Am I correct in understanding that you intend to begin your quest first thing in the morning?” he asked, looking to Thorin. The grim dwarf nodded.

“That is our intention. The journey to Erebor is long, and if we are to take advantage of the portents that Oin has read, we cannot afford to delay,” he explained. 

“And how long have you been preparing for this journey?” was the hobbit's next question.

Thorin frowned. “Months, at least.”

Bilbo sadly shook his head. “Then I must decline,” he said quietly. “I would very much like to join you. If Gandalf says I will be needed, I have known him long enough to trust his word. But I have too many responsibilities, too many families depending on me for their livelihoods. You have had months to prepare, but your timetable leaves me with a bare few hours. Perhaps if Gandalf's insight had not been unrooted, and I had time to prepare and make arrangements, it would be different.” Bilbo rose to his feet, and bowed to the room.

“Gentlemen, I am truly sorry that I am unable to assist you in your endeavor. I shall retire for the evening, and allow you your privacy. Bombur, I leave you in charge of my kitchen. Please be welcome to help yourselves to anything you might need.” 

He walked to the doorway, but paused to look back at the group. “Gandalf, will you show them to the guest rooms they may use?” he asked. 

“I will, Bilbo. Out of curiosity, how much time would you need in order to join the quest?” the gray wizard asked curiously. Bilbo gave the question serious consideration. 

“I would need to speak with grandfather to arrange for someone to assume the head of the Baggins family, arrange for someone to care for Bag End while I was away, gather provisions, pack, arrange for ponies…” He counted off everything on his fingers as he thought out loud. “Ideally? A week. Depending on how quickly I could get things organized - maybe a little less?” He shrugged at the answer. 

“Regardless, I could not ask 13 dwarves to wait for one hobbit. It would be monstrously arrogant,” he concluded. “Good night, gentlemen. I shall see you in the morning before you leave.” With that parting statement, he disappeared into the depths of Bag End.

Silence settled on the group that remained behind. “Well that's a fine how d’ ye do,” Dwalin grumbled.

Thorin expelled a heavy breath through his nose. “Oin, could you read the portents?” he asked. 

Oin nodded. “Aye, but I don't think they've changed much,” he argued.

Thorin shook his head. “I would like you to look for two different outcomes. First is if we leave tomorrow without Master Baggins’ presence. The second if we delay the start of our quest,” he clarified. 

Oin nodded his understanding, and stood to move to the tea trolley Bilbo had left for them. He poured himself a fresh cup of tea and a second cup that he carried over to Thorin. “Concentrate on leaving within the week while ye drink this,” he said, thrusting the cup into Thorin's hands. He focused intently on his own cup, and quickly drank it down. 

While Thorin thought about what delaying the start of their quest could mean, he slowly sipped the still-hot tea he had been handed. Oin intensely studied the dregs in his own empty cup, and as Thorin finished his tea, reached for the other dwarf's cup as well. The other dwarves watched the old medic closely as he concentrated, until the gray haired dwarf grunted and looked up, his expression grim.

“My advice is to give the hobbit the time he needs,” he finally said. He held up his cup, and continued speaking. “The portents all point to death and success at a cost too high to make victory worth it.” He held up Thorin's cup to illustrate. 

“These show that success is not guaranteed, but if we carry the day, we will have much more cause to rejoice, including the renewal of the dwarven race.” He returned the used cups to the trolley, and returned to his chair. 

Thorin returned to his mug of excellent coffee, and pulled out his pipe to pack and light it. Gandalf said nothing, merely leaned back into the shadows and blew lazy smoke rings that floated out the open window. As Thorin thought over everything he had heard tonight and the possible outcomes, he met the eyes of the 12 other members of the Company. Each one nodded without saying a word. Thorin blew twin streams of smoke out through his nose.

“In the morning, we will present Master Baggins with a contract, and an offer to delay our quest by one week. No more. If he still declines to join, we will be on the road by midday,” he announced. 

Balin nodded agreement. “That sounds very fair,” he said. “I truly believe we will all benefit from a rest, after our various travels to reach the Shire.”

****************

From the master bedroom, Bilbo could hear Gandalf directing dwarves to the various guest rooms around the smial, and finally retreating to the Man-sized room Belladonna had insisted on including to accommodate her old friend. He was finding it hard to settle, fretting over being unable to help where he might be needed. 

The smial settled, the muted sound of mattresses squeaking and bedding rustling letting the hobbit know he wasn't the only one finding sleep difficult as he listened to the dwarves toss and turn. It wasn't long before he heard the thumping sound of stocking feet walking back towards the parlor. Based on the length of the stride he was hearing, Bilbo had to guess it was either Thorin or Dwalin, the two tallest dwarves currently in attendance. He started to rise and see if whomever it was needed anything, when a deep, resonant humming filled the air, and Bilbo stilled. 

Seconds later, a rolling baritone filled the halls and rooms, and one by one other dwarven voices joined the first from throughout the smial.

Far over the Misty Mountains cold…

Bilbo's breath caught in his lungs, tears welling in his eyes at the raw emotions and deep longing that filled the masculine voices. The words themselves were moving, telling a story of loss and fear, but also of longing, of hope for a rediscovery of home and ancestral connections. The hobbit was convinced that none of the dwarves, as intensely private as their entire race was, fully knew how much they were conveying with just the sound of their voices alone. Perhaps not everyone would be able to hear those emotions that weren't being expressly communicated, but it would be impossible for anyone who did understand what they were listening to, to not be moved.

Stray tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, Bilbo slid out of bed and moved to push the window of his room open. Leaning out into the cool darkness, the hobbit lifted his face to the sky and raised his voice in a long ululating howl. Within seconds, the same short-legged wolf-like animal that had checked on him earlier came slinking out of the darkness, and when it was close enough, gave a quiet ‘woof’ of inquiry. 

Bilbo wiped his eyes clear, and gave the animal a crooked grin. “Thanks for coming, Fort,” he said. “I'm sorry to bother you while you're on patrol, but I need a small favor. Could you get word to Grandfather that I need to meet with him at his earliest convenience? You know how he hates people dropping by unexpectedly.”

Fort woofed again, curly tail wagging madly, and Bilbo shook his head. “No, you're correct; grandfather doesn't mind when family visits. But this will be the Head of the Baggins Family calling on Thain Gerontius, and you know how he hates that sprung on him!”

Fort growled slightly, tail dipping down before it lifted to wag energetically once more. Bilbo laughed quietly. 

“Thank you, Fort. I'll catch up with you when you're not on duty, tell you about everything going on, if that's alright,” the hobbit said with a smile. 

The wolf-like being woofed again and yipped quietly, then disappeared back into the night. Bilbo closed the window, and went back to bed. Now, instead of hearing bodies tossing and turning, he was hearing the sounds of grumbling snores. With a content smile, he rolled over and quickly fell asleep.