Bilbo Baggins was minding his own business when it all began. It was the Tuesday after Gandalf had first arrived at his gate, and he had been finishing his afternoon tea (scones and jam) when he heard an odd thump in the garden. He paused, mid-mouthful, and listened intently, upon which he heard a second, heavier-sounding noise and stormed outside to see if it was those ruffians from down by The Water again – they kept throwing rocks into his lovely garden that Hamfast worked so hard on.
What he found in his garden were most certainly not rocks of any sort, but rather a young man and woman, sprawled face down with packs on their backs and looking a little worse for wear – and also far too tall to be hobbits, far too short to be of the race of Men, and far too beardless to be dwarves. The young man was entirely unconscious, but the girl was stirring somewhat, and although Bilbo wasn't convinced she should be moving without assistance she slowly got up and looked at him in a way that suggested she'd hit her head – dazed was the term he wanted.
After a moment's consideration, he asked her to help with the boy, who was clearly not going to be getting up on his own any time soon. She nodded slowly and helped get him up, all but carrying him inside and placing him in the bed Bilbo pointed out, before he fussed her into the one on the other side of the room. He went back outside, dragged their packs into the room he'd set them in, put water next to each of them and left them to sleep while he finished his afternoon tea.
Bilbo Baggins may have been kind-hearted, and he may have opened his home to these injured strangers, but he'd be damned if he'd let them keep him from his scones.
