A/N: I wrote this little one-shot back in December, right after I watched The Hobbit. I knew back then that I wanted to write a fanfic for the movie….but wasn't sure how to swim around Thorin. I decided to just write and let the words take me to wherever….and this is where they took me.
I look at it now as a warm up for my upcoming Hobbit multi-chapter Thilbo/Baggenshield fic: Far From Home (coming soon). This story has no coorelation to what I am currently working on, but I haven't the heart to delete it, 'cause I DID enjoy writing it.
Maybe somebody will enjoy reading it?
Disclaimer: I'm poor. Don't try to sue me. I do this for fun and peace of mind.
Pairings: None….unless you squint real hard.
Rating: PG/K+
Warnings: Some dark thoughts…
The Hobbit
The Gray wizard had agreed to help him on his quest. The old man was peculiar, but then wizards were ageless and with that came their peculiarity. Sometimes he acted like a befuddled old man, confused and amazed at the simplest things. Other times he was sharp and harsh like a blade, his anger smoldering just as hot as the dragon's flames.
He was an ally, the only outsider willing to help, and for that Thorin was grateful for him - though he could not help feeling the poison of distrust. Of all the creatures that inhabited middle earth, wizards were most known for their secrets. Gandalf the Gray was no different.
Still, nothing came for free, there was a price for everything and everyone. It was the first thing Thorin asked him, what was his condition.
And there, a blank confused stare. Gandalf's eyes were far away, seeing the unseen. He blinked, returned, smacked his lips and proclaimed that a burglar was needed.
As if Thorin would ride alongside such an unsavory creature!
Gandalf became dark and fierce at his protest. "The mission will fail without a burglar, Thorin Oakenshield."
"I know none," he claimed. Untrue. He knew plenty. The elves. The orcs. The dragon. Dwarves never forgot. Thorin would never forgive.
Gandalf smiled. "This burglar is special, unique in his craft," he explained gently - as if Thorin were a wee child. "Someone who would be neutral to the dwarves plight. Someone who would be blind to the greed of riches and gold. Someone who would be loyal, light on his feet, and easy to disappear."
"None exists!" Thorin argued. How could a thief who steals be blind to greed? How could a burglar be loyal?
"A Hobbit."
"Hobbit?!" Thorin half laughed and half barked. Thorin knew of them. The little folk of the Shire. Creatures who dug holes in the dirty hill and nested there with litters of wee ones. Clean faced and pointy eared like the elves. Short lived and big feet like the humans. Nothing great came of them. No kings, no riches, no warriors. They were called Halflings - since they seemed only half of each race of dwarf, elf and man.
No height and politics like the humans. No intelligence and age like the elves, no muscle or craftsmanship like the dwarves.
What would Thorin do with a Hobbit? And when facing the prospect of Smaug...
...the little halfling would be incinerated before he had a chance to twitch one of his little haired toes!
Thorin shook his head. "No, Gandalf. It is too much. What does a Hobbit have to do with my people? What stake would he have? He would have to be mad to go along with your schemes."
Gandalf blinked at him, confused and befuddled. "You speak all this and you have not met the chap."
"I know of Hobbits."
"Plenty know of them, but few have ever seen them."
"He shall not survive."
"The Hobbits have survived thus far on their own merit. Just because you do not hear tales and songs of them does not mean that their kind does not produce warriors equal to your own." He continued when Thorin tried to protest again. "Thorin, this is my only request. The Hobbit must come."
Thorin knew no argument of his could change the wizard's mind. So, with great reluctance was forced to acquiesce.
"I cannot guarantee his safety," he said swiftly.
"Understood," the wizard said lightly.
Thorin's fists clenched. His stomach twisting in anxiety. He was from the line of the great king Durin. It was his responsibility to care for all who serve him. Even a little nothing Hobbit-burglar.
"Nor will I be responsible for his fate," he added, cleansing himself of such duty.
And Gandalf nodded his head, almost sadly.
Hobbits, Thorin concluded with a no small bit of horror, had no sense of self-preservation.
He had come upon the Shire, and after settling his bags and gear in a ridiculously cramped Hobbit-owned inn room, set out to find the place that Gandalf stated the council would be held. Speaking the name of Baggins to the little people he came upon, he found himself becoming more perplexed and even more anxious of what the blasted wizard was playing at. Soft, smooth looking faces with curly hair and curls seemingly only on their large, bare feet. They were slim built, like little human children, few stoutly built - though in no way as wide as a young dwarf. They sported round bellies that wiggled and swayed in a way only excess of food and spirits could gift.
They were farmers, herders. They laughed and smoked long wooden pipes amongst each other. Sharing their wares and baskets of baked goods. Even tinier Hobbit children, lithe and wide-eyed little things, darted about in mischief. Their bird-like voices ringing into the blue sky without a care.
There was no king to rule. There was no army to defend. Not a single one of these people were armed - unless pitchforks and shovels could be counted as weapons!
How had these creatures survived? How would they survive if faced with a swarm of goblins?
They wouldn't even be able to flee to safety carrying such fat bellies.
"I am looking for a Hobbit," he said lowly to a child that had braved too close to him. "Baggins is the name."
He did not fail to notice the adults now watching him, shy yet suspicion in their eyes, and no small worry that one of their young had approached an unknown.
"There are two Bagginses," the child piped. "There are the Sacksville-Baggins, and there are the Baggins of Bag End. Are you sure you aren't looking for a Took? Pa says the Tooks have some fairy in them, makes 'em peculiar and sometimes unnatural."
Thorin had no clue what the child was babbling about, aware the looks being directed at him. Adult Hobbits were now pausing in what they were doing. Some staring, while others glaring in utter dislike and growing alarm. Here he stood, a stranger, a dwarf, long haired, covered feet, armored body and bearing weapons.
"Baggins," he growled. And small fingers covered in dirt, with not a single weapon callous pointed him deeper into the Shire. Down a long dirt path that curved around the grassy hills.
"Now see here," said a roundish Hobbit, stepped forward and pulled the child to him. He was frayed in the hair, and lined in the face. "The Baggins are well-respected folk. Don't you go causing trouble for them!"
Thorin would have laughed at such a threat, for what could this piglet with such fragile thin bones and all that lard do to him. If Thorin saw fit, a small dark voice spoke in his heart, he could cleave through the lot of them, take his promised burglar and be gone from this unnerving place. He could crown himself as King here with no army to oppose him, no king to dethrone.
Thorin was no conqueror. He was a king with a homeland of wealth. If only he could reclaim it then perhaps ssuch poisonous discontent would leave him.
He turned away from the bristling Hobbit, walking with strong dwarf strides towards the meeting place, feeling more and more out of place with every step he took.
It was dark by the time he reached Bag End. The rune glowing blue in the dark, edged by wizardly magic on a circular green painted door on top of the largest hill in the Shire. It was quaint, and homely, with a kept garden with a fence to keep rabbits and other vermin out of the lovely green. He could hear the loud shouts of his kin, and when allowed to enter the small dwelling, could not help the feeling of coming home when met with face after face of familiarity.
Then a slight figure was ushered before him seemingly to be completely towered by the large girth of his comrades. A Hobbit. Very much like the ones he had met on his trek. Neither old nor young, though thankfully not as fat as he feared. But soft. His twitching fingers were slim, and wrists ridiculously narrow. Perhaps good for pick pocketing, but little else.
There was sweat on his brow, as if he had been running about, the curls dark with perspiration at his neck. His eyes, a dark blue, were wide looking at him. There was a bit of awe there, curiosity where before with the hobbits outside there was suspicion and wariness.
Bilbo Baggins of Bag End.
"So, this is the Hobbit," he said out loud. Smiling with a bit of derision, for he could see an honest face, and comfortable creature. This was no burglar, not matter what Gandalf claimed.
And he thought right by the vehement protests that came from the mouth of the Hobbit once the mission was explained. But still Gandalf continued, ignoring the growing panic that was growing in the little creature.
"I cannot guarantee his safety," Thorin whispered again to the wizard. There was an edge of pity saying this, for truly the soft little creature would not make a quarter of the journey to Erebor unscathed.
"Understood," Gandalf repeated.
"Nor will I be responsible for his fate," whatever lay for this Hobbit in the future, it would rest on the guilty shoulders of Gandalf. Thorin would be free of guilt whatever may be the outcome.
So disgusted by the wizard's manipulation, he could scarcely look at the Hobbit when he shoved the contract at him. Disgust became disparity when said Hobbit swooned, and fell to the floor in a dead faint.
Thorin had be certain that this Bilbo Baggins of such weak constitute would not follow them the next day. He had said as much once roused from his frightened swoon. But, perhaps that was the first time the Hobbit surprised Thorin Oakenshield, by running and calling to them to wait, he would go with them, aid them in this journey to a mountain he had never seen, to reclaim a land that was not his, and to help a people he did not know.
Without a doubt, he was a fool.
But who was more foolish, the Hobbit or Thorin himself?
End.
End Notes: How bad was it?