Conkers was about as violent as anything got in the Shire. Generally, they were a peaceful people with little taste for things other than a good meal and a warm home. However, each society does have its vices and friendly competitions. So, the hobbits played conkers.
Bilbo acknowledged that was a slightly different, more hardy version of course, but it was conkers just the same. The men from Bree were often quite shocked when the hobbits there let them join in.
Despite the dangers of the game, it was quite the popular pastime for faunts and younger hobbits. Tournaments were held every year and even the hobbits from Buckland and Bridgefields ventured to compete. His mother, Belladonna, had been one of the few females who enjoyed a good game and continued to love it until her death. Bungo, in contrast, had been one of the few men that sat out of the matches and preferred cheering. It was often a good spot of fun watching his mother whip some young up-and-comer into shape during a hearty round. Maybe, Bilbo mused, that was where his skill had come from.
Bilbo himself was the Hobbiton champion for three years running. It was quite an impressive title in the Shire and in the surrounding lands, considering his age and his social standing. Perhaps that's why he was so shocked and displeased when Thorin Oakenshield and his company seemed unimpressed.
Bilbo sat in front of his warm fireplace, smoking his pipe. The dwarves had long ago retired to their hastily readied rooms to sleep. He was dreadfully tired from cleaning up his floors, making up beds, and putting away dishes. Not to mention, the mere thought of journeying on this quest had his vision blurring at the edges.
Shockingly, however, what weighed most on his mind were that rude, awful dwarf's words to him.
"Tell me, Mr. Baggins," the dwarf had begun, "Have you done much fighting?"
Bilbo had had a bad day to be certain but he prided himself on having a modest temper. He would be quite right to say he was surprised and upset at the amount of smelly men in his kitchen, but nothing had shocked him quite so much as this man's rudeness.
"Pardon me?" He had said, aghast. Thorin had ignored him and confidently made his way further into the hobbit hole.
"Ax or sword? What's your weapon of choice?"
"Well, I do have some skill at conkers, if you must know…but I don't see how that's relev-" he began proudly, but was interrupted again.
"I thought as much," said Thorin Oakenshield as he turned his attention from his host. "He looks more like a grocer than a burglar." Heat had risen to Bilbo's cheeks and his ears practically vibrated in anger. He had felt his hand wander to his pocket and he had glanced at Gandalf. One small shake of the wizard's head had Bilbo backing down.
Sitting in front of the fire, the hobbit still felt anger at the dwarven king's words. Sure, he had grown a tad bit thicker around the middle but he did not think he had lost all his fauntling strength. Bilbo huffed, aggressively blowing a few smoke rings. Conkers may not be the same as sword fighting but it was nothing to sneer at, either.
He had several plaques displayed around the hole that attested to his skill and strength at the game but no dwarves even spared them a glance. Bilbo was a humble lad but he had to admit, while he was sitting there stewing in his own father's armchair, that his pride was wounded.
He took a few more puffs of his pipe before putting it out more calmly. There was no use becoming angry now. The offending parties were all dreaming of gold and rocks while he should be making a life-changing decision, not stewing about insults like a child. As he walked silently to his room, Bilbo gave a small grin as he thought that he may just go along to teach them a lesson or two about conkers.
"More like a grocer than a burglar." The nerve.
Hey guys! This is my second story on here and I just got to thinking, what if conkers was actually a rather violent game and Bilbo downplayed his skill? This will probably only be a three-shot, but just let me know what you think with a review!