In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. This hobbit was a very well-to-do hobbit, and her name was Baggins. The Bagginses had lived in the neighbourhood of the Hill for a time a time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a Baggins would say on any question without the bother of asking her. This is the story of how a Baggins had an adventure and found herself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. She may have lost the neighbours' respect, but she gained - well, you will see whether she gained anything in the end.
One sunny morning, long ago in the quiet of the world, Bilba Baggins was standing at her front door, enjoying the fresh air, when Gandalf came by. She didn't recognise him, of course. She saw only and old man with a staff and a pointed hat.
"Good morning,Bilba said pleasantly. She meant it - the day was bright and clear, her garden was growing nicely and she had just eaten an excellent breakfast. The old man simply stared at her from under bushy eyebrows. His gaze making her a little uncomfortable, Bilba burst out (somewhat rudely) "Do I know you?"
He cleared his throat and continued to stare at her. "You know my name, of course, although you do not remember that I belong to it. I am Gandalf."
Bilba flushed, torn between delight and embarrassment. While Gandalf had been a very dear friend of her mother's, she had no desire to be gossipped about by her neighbours and Gandalf's visit would definitely be a subject of gossip. As a rule, hobbits were extremely polite and welcoming, however not even the most well-mannered hobbit would be able to resist passing on such a juicy morsel. Gandalf was famous for his fireworks and thrilling tales, but he was equally well-known for convincing many hobbit-lads and hobbit-lasses to go on adventures and vanish into the blue. Bilba was a Baggins of Bag End and had no intention of letting Gandalf ruin her reputation for wanting nothing to do with adventures.
Moments later, she was scrambling to shut her beautiful, round green front door, calling over her shoulder for him to come to tea on Wednesday. Bilba leaned against the door, beginning to feel that she had escaped adventures rather well.
Gandalf, however, had other ideas.
On Wednesday, Bilba had quite forgotten about Gandalf coming for tea and had just settled down to a nice little meal of beautifully fresh fish. Smiling contentedly, she began to drizzle lemon juice over her food when something pounded on her door. That Something didn't knock - it literally pounded. Bilba hastily untucked her napkin and scurried for the door, retying the belt of her dressing-gown, ready to apologise to Gandalf. The door swung open to reveal one very large and imposing dwarf - his bald head was inked with bold geometrical patterns and his face sprouted an appalling amount of hair. "Dwalin, at your service," he introduced himself, striding into her hole without as much as a by-your-leave. Bilba hastily shut the door and followed the dwarf through to the parlour. He was already seated and just finishing off her fish. As she watched in disbelief, he stuffed the entire fish-head into his mouth and chewed with relish. "Very good, this. Is there any more?" he demanded.
Bilba was just bringing him some more cakes when her door-bell jingled. Surely it was Gandalf this time? It was with a sinking feeling in her stomach that she opened her door to reveal a second dwarf. This one was smaller and less threatening than Dwalin, and had at least had the decency to ring her bell, rather than pound on her door. With a grandfatherly smile, he introduced himself as Balin, with the usual "At your service." Bilba watched numbly as he moved to greet Dwalin. "Evening, brother," he chuckled. "Why, you're shorter and wider than last we met!" Dwalin grinned, casually removing his hand from inside her cookie jar. "Wider, not shorter. And sharp enough for both of us," Balin countered. They took hold of each other's arms - then headbutted each other. Hard. It made Bilba's own head ache to look at it. "That might explain a few things" she muttered under her breath. No doubt the two of them had damaged their brains by bashing them so often and had mistaken her house for some other meetingplace. Bilba screwed up her courage and opened her mouth to politely suggest that they were in fact in the wrong house, when the bell chimed yet again.
For the first time that evening, Bilba didn't regret opening her front door, for the two dwarves bowing and offering their service to her were very, very good-looking. In fact, they were so good-looking that if she hadn't been so rattled by the evening's events, she would probably have made a fool of herself and said something really stupid. Bilba just managed to clamp her jaw shut on the empty-headed drivel about to spill out of her mouth and simply curtsied instead. It was safer that way. The blonde one - Fíli - dumped his weapons (which he must have removed before ringing the bell, at least someone had some manners) into her arms. Bilba scowled and prepared to scold him, but Kíli was cleaning off his boots on her mother's glory box. It looked like they had no more manners than the rest, after all! Bilba felt more frustrated, and indeed angrier, than she had ever felt in her life. Not only had four dwarves invaded her house and tracked mud all over the carpet, one had eaten her dinner and emptied her cookie jar and she doubted she would ever get her mother's glory box clean again! Then, as the bell jingled with all its might, as though some naughty hobbit-lad was trying to pull it off, she snapped.
Muttering curses under her breath that would have scandalised any hobbit within earshot, she jerked the door open. Nothing in her life could have ever prepared her for the eight dwarves collapsing onto her doormat, nor the highly amused wizard leaning on his staff behind them. "Gandalf." she hissed, pouring all her annoyance into that one word. Only Gandalf would have had the cheek to invite twelve dwarves - twelve of them! - to tea without first asking or even informing the host. Bilba sniffed and returned her attention to the dwarves. Gandalf could wait. First, she had to keep the dwarves from destroying her house.
That was easier said than done. They cleared out her pantry, rearranged her furniture and somehow managed to blow the plumbing in the guest toilet. It was the last straw when a red-headed dwarf attempted to use one of her doilies as a dishcloth while several of them began bashing her cutlery together. Honestly, were they all barbarians? "Can you not do that? You'll blunt them!" she cried, in her panic forgetting that dwarves were master craftsmen and would know better than that. Although, they had been acting like savages all evening - one only had to look at the bathroom to see (and smell) just how uncivilised they were! The dwarf with the outlandish hat raised his eyebrows at the others. " Oh, did you hear that, lads?! She says we'll blunt the knives!" This seemed to be the cue for Kíli to leap up and begin singing in a surprisingly deep and tuneful voice that definitely did not send shivers down her spine.
"Blunt the knives, bend the forks!
Smash the bottles and burn the corks!
Chip the glasses and crack the plates!
That's what Bilba Baggins hates
Cut the cloth and trail the fat!
Leave the bones on the bedroom mat!
Pour the milk on the pantry floor!
Splash the wine on every door!
Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl;
Pound them up with a thumping pole;
And when you've finished, if they are whole,
Send them down the hall to roll!
That's what Bilba Baggins hates!"
Bilba cowered against the wall as her mother's best Westfarthing pottery flew around the room. Summoning up her courage, she strode forward to rescue her dishes only to find them neatly stacked on the table, in front of the massive dwarf with the ginger beard. Gandalf seemed much too amused by her expression than was proper, she thought. She was sick of the lot of them - especially that meddling wizard! Spreading her glare around all of them, she stormed off down the hall, ignoring their joking pleas for her to come back. She stalked through her front door, not certain where she was going. Anywhere was better than that madhouse! She slammed into something and bounced back, dazed.
A dwarf taller than the rest towered above her, his pale blue eyes just as shocked as she felt. "Another one?" she demanded, recovering from her shock and ignoring the butterflies dancing in her stomach. She had just met him, for goodness' sake! She guessed he was the leader, for his clothing, while travel-worn, seemed of better quality than the rest and he wore authority like - well, he wore it like it was part of his fur coat. She realised she was staring but didn't bother to apologise - he had been staring at her that whole time, his sharp eyes calculating. "Is this the burglar?" he asked, glancing at Gandalf. The frustration of the evening seemed to catch up with her all at once. "I have never stolen a thing in my life, Master Dwarf," she said icily, "nor do I appreciate you talking about me as though I'm not even here."
A chorus of intaken breaths sounded behind her, and even the fur-wearing dwarf seemed a little taken aback. Not giving him room to speak, she pressed on. "I also do not appreciate having thirteen dwarves descend upon me unannounced! Do you have any idea of what they have done to my house?" She was beginning to rather enjoy the flabbergasted expression on the dwarf's face. She spun around, one hand on her hip and the other raised to point a finger at that cursed wizard. "Don't think I've forgotten you, either," she warned him. "You and I will have words later." She patted him on the cheek as she walked back inside, the dwarves immediately shifting to let her through, all of them looking at her apprehensively as though she'd grown an extra head. All in all, she was feeling very good about herself as she settled in for a well-deserved cup of tea. Her mother would have been proud.
Bilba was beginning to feel quite comfortable and sleepy after drinking her way through an entire pot of tea. With the return of her composure, however, came a rather uncomfortable feeling. True, those dwarves had simply barged in on her without so much as a by-your-leave, but knowing Gandalf it was entirely possible that he had led them to believe that she knew they were coming. Without giving herself time to think, Bilba hurried over to the door and peered outside. Her front garden was still and empty, as was the lane beyond. Almost entirely empty, she amended. After her eyes had adjusted to the dim evening, she noticed two forms leaning on her gate and smoking. She crept closer, curious as to what Gandalf and the fur-wearing dwarf were talking about. " - understandable she is somewhat upset," Gandalf commented. The dwarf snorted. "If she gets 'upset' like that in the Wild, she will put the whole Company at risk - not to mention that she looks more like a grocer than a burglar," his deep bass rumbled. "an excitable little thing like her will only bring orcs down on us and, unless we have the greatest of good fortune, probably wake the Dragon too."
Bilba had heard enough. She had originally intended to apologise for her rudeness, but her previous anger had risen again. "Grocer, eh?" she thought fiercely. "Excuse me, Mister Gandalf, Mister Dwarf," she said sweetly, dropping them both a curtsey. Gandalf's eyebrows shot up and the dwarf's head snapped around to face her, his eyes wide with surprise. "I just wanted to extend my hospitality to you all, as I doubt any of my neighbours will appreciate thirteen dwarves and a wizard turning up on their doorstep. It can give one a shock, after all." If the dwarf had looked surprised before, his face was now a stony wall of shock. Maybe the wizard would think before dumping over a dozen dwarves on some unsuspecting hobbit, and the dwarf… grocer, indeed! The dwarf hooted twice and before you could say 'dwarf' all twelve of them had appeared in a line behind their leader. Bilba turned and led the way inside, determined to show those dwarves what proper manners were. She knew it was too much to hope for them to put them into practice, though, and if the fur-wearing one acted any less overbearingly, she would eat Bofur's ridiculous hat. She knew better than to hope for any change in the wizard.
Gandalf, predictably, strode in as though he had every right to be there, but the leader paused at the porch and bowed. "Thorin Oakenshield, at your service," he said solemnly. "Bil-Bilba Baggins at yours and your family's," she responded, strangely aware that he was a very good-looking dwarf, (she had only just met him, for goodness' sake!) and stepped aside to let him in. Each of the twelve dwarves filed through with expressions that ranged between slight discomfort (Dwalin) and outright embarrassment (Bofur). Fíli and Kíli, the youngest-looking dwarves, were exceptionally guilty-looking and she was hard-put not to laugh at their woebegone expressions - they looked like faunts caught with their hands in the cookie jar! Bilba swung the door shut after them and rested her forehead against its cool wood. How in the Shire was she going to get hold of Bofur's hat?