Chapter Text
If anyone from the Shire (who either did or didn't know him well enough) had seen him on that day, they'd have said that Bilbo was a mad hobbit. Properly and utterly mad. Yet BEFORE all of that, everyone would've agreed that Bilbo Baggins was a well respected gentle hobbit within their community. Always polite, punctual and quick with words.
And it was by design; Bilbo had tried his very best to garner his father’s approval from a very young age. And while as a faunt himself he hadn't always wanted to be a proper gentleman, he had adored his father like no other. And as his parents had no other children, so in some way, he had known that the name Baggins would be his to carry with pride.
(But not many remembered, that once upon a time Bungo Baggins had had his work cut out for him when he first began rearing in some of Bilbo’s more Tookish traits. His mother had always been delighted by them, nurturing his curiosity and quick wit with stories and maps. Belladonna was always eager to find a little bit of wonder in her son. And of course, Bungo too had adored those traits.
He'd have had to! At least a little; otherwise he would’ve never married a Took at all.
And it wasn’t like Bilbo had only inherited his mother's traits. Father and son shared great many things, stubbornness and temper being just a few. So of course, they butted heads more than anyone else. One of such instances had been when Bilbo had struggled learning to read and had all but thrown the towel in. Bungo had stubbornly sat down with him for months on end. No matter how much he may have whined or wriggled out of it, Bungo didn't give up till Bilbo had learned his letters. And it was also his father, who taught him how to write songs and sing.
He missed them both terribly. And even with all the letters his father had taught him, he had no clue what words to use for that.)
Bilbo knew that in many ways, he’d both exceeded his parents expectations as well as disappointed them. But it wasn’t until the company came barreling through and into his smial, that he knew for sure what they would've thought of his life.
It had taken a meddling wizard and a group of dwarves to take over his home for the Bag End to be filled with laughter and music for the first time in many, many years.
Any other hobbit (well, maybe not a Baggins) would have been overjoyed to host such a lively party. That was, if they had had any prior knowledge that they would be hosting one. Bilbo certainly hadn’t, when he had absently invited JUST Gandalf to tea. 'But that's what you got for talking with meddling wizards', he supposed.
“Is there any wine?” Balin wondered, as he and Dwalin arranged more plates and knives onto the table.
“Oh uh yes! Let me get some for you-” Bilbo had barely gotten a word out, before the (uninvited) company bustled around past, over and under him in a dizzying rhythm.
“Or ale, if you don’t mind!” Nori cut in, as he and Bifur came to the pantry to help carry food. Dori and Ori were already carrying out barrels of requested drinks before Bilbo could so much as huff at them. And seeing them heaving those heavy barrels over their shoulders like empty potato sacks had Bilbo’s protest turning into squeaks.
“We need cheese and bread with wine!” Bombur huffed right after, rushing past Bilbo with several heavy wheels of cheese in his hands.
“OH- um that seems a little- uh, do you have a cheese knife?” Bilbo hollered after him, voice cracking now under the panic jumping around his chest.
“Cheese knife? He eats it by the block!” Bofur laughed as he walked by with a tray of ham.
Bilbo let his head fall to his hands for mere seconds, before he caught more cluttering and banging coming from his pantry. He turned around to hurry inside right away. “Ah yes, let me just-”
“Don’t worry Master Boggins, we’ve got this!” He didn’t get much further, as Kíli pushed past him with a platter of eggs and Fíli with arms full of pies. “Oi, Dwalin, Glóin! Get us some more chairs!”
After that, Bilbo mostly just gave up. He accepted that his quiet, sensible supper just would not happen. And that these dwarves would be the death of his pantry (or him) by the end of the night.
The dwarves were loud, cheery, fast eaters and drinkers. Their laughing, chattering and roughhousing was overwhelming, nerve breaking and exhilarating. They were fun, heartfelt, brash and forward. And they were the strangest company he had had eating around this table in ages. Or possibly ever.
His mother would have loved the dwarves. His Took cousins certainly would have found them to be a riot. And his father would have been out of his mind from outrage and distress. Or maybe even torn between curiosity and silent fury, as Bilbo was now. His mother had always said they were like two peas in a pod, after all.
And, maybe, if Bilbo hadn’t been so accustomed to sitting his evenings in silence so deep it left your ears aching… Maybe he would have enjoyed himself. But no. These foolish and jovial drinking songs or strange stories made him angry and flustered- and a little bit jealous. Fearful of the yearning to join in.
They made his heart beat and ears flutter in excitement. Only for a great sense of sorrow to wash over him right after. They were simply too much. All it did was remind him of what used to be.
Then, finally, the wizard came.
“Evening, Bilbo my boy.” Gandalf laughed as the tired hobbit opened the door for him.
“Gandalf! Wonderful to see you- A moment of your time, please? Here, this way.” Bilbo greeted him between gritted teeth. Gandalf chuckled, but didn’t object and followed him in.
He rushed to drag the wizard inside, away from the curious neighbors and towards the parlor. He wanted to have at least a few walls between them and the dwarves, who had taken over his dining room, kitchen and pantry. He would have preferred his study, but to get there, they would have needed to wander through their merry group.
The doorways weren’t quite high enough for Gandalf, so the man had to crouch through them. As the wizard did so, Bilbo got to see the glimpse of mirth that danced in his eyes from up close. “Well? What do you think of them? Quite a merry bunch, aren’t they?”
“What do I think-?! Gandalf! What in the world is going on in there?!” Bilbo snapped, quietly of course. But with enough venom to make the wizard frown.
Not that Bilbo noticed, too busy to walk in circles and tearing at his hair. He tried to keep his breathing even, to reel in his temper. It did not keep his words from turning into halted and aggravated accusations.
“I called you for supper, out of politeness towards my dear late mother and suddenly my home gets ransacked by twelve unruly, unclean and noisy dwarves! I was left to flaunter around like a fool as I tried to host them! And throughout all of this, I keep hearing that these people are here on YOUR INVITE?! And that you have, supposedly, asked me to join some kind of quest?!”
“Yes, that is all correct. Though-” Gandalf chuckled to himself, stroking his beard. Bilbo had half the mind to punch him for it. “- I would not say ransacked. And you did let them all in, did you not?”
“Are you out of your mind, Gandalf?!” Bilbo whispered aghast, shaking his finger at the wizard. “I am A PROPER hobbit! And proper hobbits DO NOT go onto adventures! Least of all with such MEDDLING wizards-! For Valars’ sake, you whisking my poor mother off to one is STILL talked about! Just because she was a little batty doesn't mean I'm too!”
That seemed to strike a nerve, as Gandalf’s expression tightened up in an instance. He tapped his staff against the floor rather forcibly, enough to make a solid thump. (Which, luckily, the dwarves were making too much of a racket to pay attention to.)
“Bilbo Baggins! To think that I would live to see a day when I hear Belladonna Took’s son say something like this about her is atrocious! ” Gandalf scolded, face drawn down with strict anger and disappointment. And while the sudden change in demeanor was off putting, Bilbo was much more startled by the words themselves.
While he was still very within his right to be angry about the situation, Gandalf was also right in a way. He shouldn’t have said something so accusing, especially not of his mother. Bilbo took a deep breath, before breathing out calmly. “Apologies, Gandalf. It appears I’ve lost my temper and used my words far too hastily.”
This calmed the grey wizard a little. Or at least enough.
“I will let it slide for this once, as indeed, you are Belladonna’s dear son. I know you must feel very baffled and turned around right now, so I will show grace.” Gandalf replied, in a much calmer manner. But his brows remained drawn close as he lowered his voice to a gentle, gruff scolding. “But never talk of her in such a manner again. She was a great woman and a very good friend to many. Including to me.”
And with that, Gandalf walked off to join the festivities. Poor Bilbo had no choice but to follow.
Even as his anger slowly drained over time, he still didn't feel like this was all of it. Something was telling him that there was more to come. So Bilbo was left to wait for the other shoe to drop. When hours later the sound of a heavy knock halted the singing and partying on its tracks Bilbo was, foolishly, beyond relieved. He also immensely curious of who could cause those bated breaths and peeled eyes to follow Bilbo all the way to the door. And so he opened it one more time, Gandalf at his heels.
The dwarf that stood on the other side was as beautiful as a statue. Eyes like a frozen river of stars and hair like midnight made Bilbo almost forget how to breathe for a second.
Those eyes studied him hard, as a deep voice rumbled. “Is the rest of the company here?”
“Ah, Thorin. Glad you found your way. This is Thorin Oakenshield, the leader of our company.” Gandalf merrily introduced them, the same mirth and pride from earlier returning to his eyes. “May I introduce you to Bilbo Baggins? Our future burglar.”
Bilbo swallowed, as Thorin’s eyes shifted back to him. “So this is the halfling…”
The bright red flush that sprung to his toes and ears was quite the sight. Bilbo couldn’t even remember ever feeling quite so flustered and offended at the same time. “Excuse you, I am not half of anything! And I did not AGREE to be a burglar.”
“Good. You are not fit for the job.” Thorin grunted, pushing past him and into the smial.
Bilbo was left aghast at first, trying to sort through his feelings of offense and confusion. Then, before he could think better of it, he straightened out his spine with pride and determination that had not been completely his own.
“Excuse you, but none of you have even told me WHAT your quest is about. How could I agree or disagree, until I know what is at stake?”
That made Thorin look over his shoulder at him. Bilbo Baggins knew that he had made a mistake the second their eyes met again. But he could and would not take his words back. (Even if he kept hissing about it to himself over and over the whole night.)
Gandalf looked at them with a very pleased, approving smile on his face. “Well, I believe that is only fair. After all, it wouldn’t do to have any confusion about this quest.”
Thorin’s brows were still furrowed and his glare steep. But there was a moment where he just studied him a little more. Like he couldn’t quite make up his mind about him. “... Then let's gather around. We’ll talk as we eat.”
Then the bastard walked into Bilbo’s dining room like he owned it and went to greet the rest of the company. Bilbo felt his heart race for a long time after that. Even as the company and Gandalf (the blasted wizard) talked of their conquest. Thorin’s viciously wary gaze bore deep into his bones the whole time, yet saying very little directly at Bilbo. Even as the company tried to in turns to dissuade and to invite Bilbo to join their quest, he could feel the heavy, dismissing eyes on him.
“Nei, he cannot do it. Look at him!” Dori huffed, shaking his head sadly at the hobbit. Bilbo raised an eyebrow, silently begging for pardon.
Dwalin hummed, nodding as he swallowed a rather mighty piece of poppy seed cake. “He is small, has no muscles or even blisters in his hands. He’d be warg food the second we made it out of these hills.”
He wasn’t quite sure if it was the words themselves or the slowly accumulating frustration pouring over. But Bilbo found himself channeling a bit more of his Took side. A stubborn and fierce side, very few had cared to go against or to ask for after his colt years. But something about the company, the quest… maybe even about Thorin made him light up with it.
“You think I am no good… And I am quite sure that you’ve come to the wrong house. But treat it as the right one anyway.” Bilbo said, heart strumming along with his words. He didn’t have to look outside the window to know that his peas and flowers were unfurling to bloom and growing with each word. He felt it when the sound of them made fire in the heart burn warmer and the ale on his table taste a little more like honey.
He looked deep in the eyes of every member of the company. As the silent determination of his Baggins side and the loud fierceness of Took side came together to form an unexpected harmony.
“Tell me what you want done, and I’ll try it. Even if I have to walk from here to the East of the East and fight the Wild Were-Worms in the Last dessert.”
This left them all speechless for a moment, before the arguing and pointing started up again in earnest. In that moment, it was almost enough to have him demand for the contract to sign without even reading it, but he held his wits. All the while Thorin glared.
It was a strange feeling to be so looked down upon. Besides the obvious aggravation and humiliation, Bilbo felt almost haunted by it.
(Bilbo had been tempted to run to get his cousins, just to see if the dwarf’s glaring would have been enough to best Lobelia in a staring contest. But as peeved and offended he was by his uninvited guests, they were guests nonetheless. Even the king of assholes, who had made it his mission to try every single button on Bilbo’s person.)
“So, what do you think? Daring enough to fight against a treasure stealing, home invading and stone melting pest?” Bofur grinned, leaning against the table with visible glee.
Bilbo, while feeling quite faint again, managed to stay on his feet with the still wandering thoughts about Lobelia. “You know, I have a cousin who would fit that description perfectly. I’d dare say she’d even be a match against Smaug The Terrible for his title.”
Now that got the dwarves laughing and huffing. Even Nori and Dwalin, who had been rather quiet the whole evening, snorted.
“Maybe we should be running to beg your cousin to join us instead!” Fíli laughed, slouching under the weight of his brother hanging over his shoulder.
Kíli cheered, continuing the jest. “You have to tell us more about this cousin, mister Boggins! If we can’t convince you, we might as well check out your competition!”
“Well, I can tell you won’t find anyone like that here. And especially not with Lobelia.” Bilbo laughed, shaking his head at the very thought. He was more inclined to believe that hedgehogs had started to fly. “Even if you got so far as to knock on her door, even buckets of gold and silver wouldn’t be enough to bribe her with. Adventuring isn’t something a proper hobbit does.”
“So you are admitting to not being a proper hobbit, is what I am hearing.” Nori snickered, deep in his tankard of ale. Bilbo glared something fierce at him, while the rest of the company roared in laughter. Even Gandalf had the gall to look amused.
Finally, as the evening waned, he managed to escape to his chambers. It was either that, or he’d say something very undignified for a man of his station. And now, somewhere a little more quiet, Bilbo was able to gather his thoughts and the remains of his Baggins stubbornness.
‘To hell with manners! They never had any, so why should I even bother?’ Bilbo thought with vindication. And he had some reason for it too.
Suddenly, he was so agitated, he could not settle down for a good long moment. Instead, he walked in circles, quietly fuming. His home, his peace, his character and his property had been mishandled, insulted and thrown around for hours. Gandalf could be as disappointed and huff as much as he wanted, Bilbo was NOT going to be a part of this madness. He was not a Took, but a Baggins of the Bag End! He did not have time or longing for frivolous, dangerous or insane ‘adventures’ as this!
For Yavanna’s sake, Gandalf had been talking like Bilbo was still a fauntling, excited about exploring nearby woods. When he was a grown man, being offered a spot in what seemed to be a journey to certain death!
‘Insanity. Absolutely and utterly unbelievable rubbish.’ Bilbo thought, trying not to notice the bitterness in his mouth.
(Why? Why couldn't Gandalf have come earlier? When Bilbo was still young and eager for adventures? When his mother’s Tookish spirit still had a steady hold on him.)
He fumed and huffed about it all, finally tiring himself enough to settle into bed. Just as the blessed quiet filled the house, Thorin led his company to a song. And Bilbo’s anger was all but forgotten for the moment.
You see hobbits, as the most carefree and merry creatures of Middle earth, knew better than everyone that life is short. And for that, it should be enjoyed with food, dancing, tomfoolery and the joys of simple life. But even they had one thing that made them somber. One thing that made even the most rambunctious faunt quiet down to listen;
A heartsong.
A melody so deep and soul cracking that it could pull out the deepest secrets and insecurities of any who heard it. Song so strong that it could make flowers bloom or wither and even make summer sun shine brighter or make the moon dimmer with clouds. There were stories of where it had come from. Some said it was Yavanna- shaping the world through them. Others thought that it was destiny’s way of forcing a little honesty into their lives. Some of the older Tooks used to say it was a blessing from the Valar, as an apology for making them such forgettable and simple folk.
But hobbits hardly cared to know if those tales were true or not. They made the elders feel young again, kept lovers from quarreling till separation and children' s eyes shimmer with wonder. And that was all the tales really needed to do.
Now, while the hobbits did not believe old tales to be true, a heartsong was not something they sang just anywhere or for anyone. That’s how tender and intimate the songs were. Very few hobbits had ever sung to any outsider at all- Belladonna Took being one of those few. But all hobbits still sang often. A heartsong was used to bond with your family, loved ones and friends in the comforts of their own smials. Something you used to communicate and open yourself to others clearly.
Bilbo hadn’t sung to anyone else for well over a decade now. Not since his parents had passed.
He knew most of the songs he bore to be mournful and hadn’t felt quite close enough to any of his relatives to let those songs free. His Took cousins had tried every now and then to coax him to sing with them. Especially during the long winters, as they knew the season was hard on him. But Bilbo just couldn’t do it.
So you may now understand why having the whole Bag End echo with such a deep and meaningful song, after just being filled with laughter and joy, would make tears fall from his eyes in rivers.
This was a grand gift to any host. A gift that would more than make up for any insults or rudeness. It was one that couldn’t be measured in gold for worth- or cheese, as the hobbits would prefer.
When the company sang, the mountains’ themselves came to life. Bilbo could smell the smoke, hear the screams. Feel the stone breaking and earth shaking. He listened, barely breathing. He couldn’t stop his stiff, quiet feet from wandering closer to the door. Couldn’t stop from slowly sitting against it to hear.
Thorin’s voice especially made his breath catch in his throat. He sang the tale about dragon fire and tragedy, with such longing and grief. About a missed home that had been changed and stolen. A wish of seeing and reclaiming it all again. Like he was willing the sight to appear before them all as the only truth.
Thorin had such a conviction in his song. Like he himself was the mountain, telling the company to come to it. Even as he settled in the room next to his, singing far quieter than before, his voice held strong and steady.
Bilbo could tell then, that the dwarf had really meant his words. That he would succeed. Thorin would not accept any other outcome.
By the time the song came to its end, Bilbo’s heart was beating like a frantic bird against his chest. Even if what the song described was nothing like what the life he’d known in Bag End, he understood. For the song had lifted the heaviness that had long been locked inside his chest. The song had opened up a way for his sadness to rise to the surface.
When the company quieted down and settled for the night, Bilbo fought to stifle his gasping breaths. He felt spent, tired beyond belief. And so relieved.
His mind was quiet, at last.
He could barely understand how that stubborn ass of a king had touched him in the most heartfelt way possible. Likely unknowingly having all but confessed his deepest feelings to Bilbo.
Valar, most hobbits would have considered it as a proposal of sorts. Certainly as a confession. No strangers sang in each other’s presence on the first day they met!
Bilbo was, (however little), still world savvy enough to understand that was probably not the case here. Firstly, because the whole company had been singing along, instead of just Thorin. This was likely just their own way of gathering morale. Or them coming together to declare their goals or something. Secondly, he doubted that they would have sung in common, if the dwarves had known Bilbo was listening. He even doubted they knew nothing at all about heartsongs.
But, the fact remained that it had certainly FELT like a heartsong to him. And it was not something to be brushed off lightly.
The song had been a calling. One he could not refuse. How could any hobbit, with Thorin and the whole company laying their souls bare?
Bilbo could not ignore the dwarves’ blight, now that he truly understood it. And the next day, he would curse Thorin for this the whole time it took him to run after them to join as their burglar. He cursed him a little bit more every time the bastard had the gall to look so pretty while glowering over him.
Bilbo Baggins knew that he was a dead man walking as they headed towards the great unknown. Yet, his steps still felt lighter than they had been in years.
~O~
While Bilbo was the one who better listened to his heart- he wasn’t the only one, whose heart spoke up that day. But the thing about dwarves, or Thorin specifically, was that they could be mighty stubborn to NOT listen to such things.
While the rest of the company took a cheerful and rather relaxed attitude around the hobbit, Thorin couldn’t. He blamed it on the hobbit’s habits of jumping or yelping in surprise or fright at loud sound or sudden movements. Which, with thirteen dwarves and a wizard, there were . And plenty of. While he didn’t usually mind his kin’s merry making, laughter or jokes, seeing them doing so around their frazzled host had Thorin gritting his teeth.
Balin leaned closer to Thorin, watching as the rest of the company helped the poor hobbit to sit down at the table to recover from his fainting spell.
“The lad seems smart, if a little easy to spook. But what do you think of him?” Balin quietly asked in khuzdul.
Blue eyes followed how the hobbit’s breaths stabilized and how anger made his cheek turn red. Thorin hummed into his pipe absently, muttering back in westron just as quietly. “He is not a burglar but a grocer. We have no need for him.”
Balin turned to look at him with furrowed brows, disapproving of Thorin's pettiness. He knew that there had to be more for this behavior, but Balin wouldn't ask in front of the company. And even if he had, there would have been little else Thorin could have said for certain.
Bilbo Baggins was an infuriating mess of nerves, attitude and possibly very misplaced pride. (Thorin knowingly ignored the fact that the same could have been said about anyone in the company in the right circumstances.) The hobbit was far too polite and used to the comforts of his lavish home. Thorin had very little patience for fools on this quest and the hobbit certainly acted the part.
And yet. Thorin couldn’t take his eyes off of Bilbo that night.
“He is kind of fun, Uncle. Certainly seems alright.” Fíli had commented quietly as their host had left to began to settle in for the evening.
It earned him a huff from Thorin. “I have more than enough of “fun” with you and your brother around.”
The grin on Fíli’s face was far from comforting. And while he couldn’t actually refute his nephew’s observations in any way, he knew that was only a part of it. The hobbit was good at playing the role of an entertaining host, but he wasn’t quite as strict about his mask as say Nori. (Thorin once more ignored that this was, again, a trait that applied to most of the company.)
As an heir to the throne, Thorin was raised to understand and judge people. But he was too puzzled by the hints he kept seeing. The hobbit hid it well, but there were certain lulls in conversation during the evening, when his eyes and posture slumped. There were moments when his words would draw attention of the whole room without so much as lifting a finger. When someone challenged the man in words, the halfling quickly found a way to counter or lead the conversation.
The depth his eyes held surprised Thorin. It set an uncomfortable itch under his skin. Like thousands of ants running in the grass.
Maybe that was why he was glad when the hobbit refused their invitation at first.
As he watched the hobbit disappear to his chambers for the night, finally allowing Thorin’s eyes to move away, he found his heart racing. He quietly discussed their plans with the rest of the company, ignoring the growing roar in his ears. But he kept slipping into his own thoughts. It took Kíli three tries to get his attention.
“You know, there ARE better ways to make a first impression.” Kíli commented lightly as he refilled Thorin’s tankard. The king just raised a silent eyebrow at his nephew. “I mean, don’t we kind of need him? Isn’t that why Gandalf brought us here?”
Thorin snorted quietly into his ale, ignoring the way his heart trembled at the memory of those hazel eyes meeting his. It took him a moment to garner a reply still. “That role isn't a mandatory part of the company. Don’t bother your head about it.”
As he pulled back into his silence Kíli and Fíli exchanged glances behind their uncle’s back. Sure, Thorin was stoic, serious and dwelled a lot inside his own head. But even in the worst of his brooding he was rarely absentminded.
It was like he was spellbound. Attention solely on something out of their eyes.
When that focused, solemn silence finally drifted into a song, the rest of the company felt compelled to follow. It was a song the Men of Dale had written, back when Erebor first fell. It was a sad, solemn song that felt like a prophecy of sorts. Very few dwarves from the mountains found themselves able to sing it, as true as it rang to them. Singing it anywhere else had just felt disrespectful.
The very start of their journey was likely the only fitting timing for it, as it was. The rumble of their voices, the itching on his skin and soft buzz of ale guarded over Thorin’s sleep that night.
In the morning, the king quietly ordered the company to clean their messes. He ordered the Urs to kitchen duty, Ri brothers to gather the ponies, and his nephews to clean (much to their silent misery). Òin and Glóin were set to watch their inventory and supplies, while Dwalin and Balin helped Thorin map out their travel route before departure. The wizard simply sat around, blowing smoke circles and watched their comings and goings. It irked Thorin, but he set his mouth to not say a word. It would only be both a waste of time to shout at a wizard. Not to mention how rude it would be to shout in someone else’s house.
Thorin wanted nothing more than to get out of the Bag End.
Once they were all done and ready to leave however, he found himself stalling by the mantle. He still remembered how the heart had seemed to grow warm as the hobbit had talked- the sound of his voice kept echoing in the back of his mind. After staring at it for a good long while, he sighed and pulled out ink and paper to write a quick letter. He ignored the wizard's smile when he turned away from the letter and contract newly placed on top of the mantle.
‘Simply for my peace of mind’, he reasoned as he put on his boots. ‘Whether or not he accepts is now completely up to him. No more do I need to think of him.’
Thorin always carried himself with the grace of a king, who was very used to ignoring voices screaming inside his head. So even as a part of himself pleaded desperately to turn around, Thorin managed to force his feet to walk out without anyone noticing. Before long they were on the road again. The company was in good moods, throwing around bets about the hobbit and yapping about the feast. Thorin ignored them, riding at the front with Dwalin by his side.
The two of them rarely chattered on long journeys, so it took Thorin a bit by surprise when Dwalin broke their silence. “You think he’ll come?”
It took Thorin a moment to understand what Dwalin was asking him about, but he simply grunted and faced the road once more. “Whether he does or doesn’t won’t change our plans.”
Thorin thought about the wide eyes, soft curls and softly twitching ears. The hobbit had been in a constant state of fright and near fleeing around them. Like a rabbit.
He shook his head, closing his eyes to forget the image in his mind. “But he won’t. He is too comfortable in his little hole to risk his life.”
Dwalin looked at him for a long time after that, gazing up and down as if to size him up. His face was as stoic as ever, but there was something a little more thoughtful about his frown. “But you want him to.”
Thorin gave him a sideway glare at that. Only his the way his eyebrows drew together betrayed his confusion. “When did I ever give off such an impression, cousin?”
“You can’t fool me Thorin. You could hardly look away from him last night. You lead us to sing the song. You left him the contract.” Dwalin listed, dodging without looking as Thorin swatted at his head. He was far too smug as Thorin glowered at him.
Dwalin even had the gall to give him THE LOOK as he leaned in to murmur so they wouldn’t be overheard. “Say what you want Thorin. But don’t try lying to me.”
Thorin rolled his eyes and spurred his horse to a gallop. He heard a few yelps and hollers behind as the rest of the company tried to keep up. He huffed to himself as they slowed down at the next hill- it wouldn’t do to tire their steeds too fast.
The morning in the Shire was sunny and mild as they crossed their lands. They only came across peaceful folk and farm animals who looked at their way fretfully. Most of the dwarves found their mutterings and glances as annoying, but were more than used to it. Thorin himself couldn’t have gotten out of their sight any faster. (The fact that the further they got from the Bag End, the deeper his stomach sank.)
So it actually took Thorin by surprise, when the hobbit caught up to them. He watched as the hobbit was literally dragged onto a pony. The gleeful shouts, annoyed grunts and clinking coin purses seemed to fall into the background when the hobbit talked or moved.
“Guess you got your burglar after all.” Gandalf hummed next to him, eyeing Thorin’s stony expression curiously.
“We got another mouth to feed, is what we got.” Thorin muttered, forcing his head to turn back towards the road.
“Already thinking about logistics huh.” Gandalf chuckled, stroking his beard in amusement. “What an attentive leader we truly have.”
If Thorin had been very, very tempted to shove the wizard’s pointy hat down his throat that day- well. No one but him would know.