The morning smelled of tea and the trees seemed to hummed as the clouds split; allowing light to pour through the gap it created.
Of course, the world was only just waking, so the fields had only just begun to accommodate its very small farmers; whose knuckles singed in the slight breeze and whose toes -crusted nails and all- squelched into the soil, wet from mornings dew. Wafts of bread and warm pastries drifted dazedly over the village, passing through gaps in hedges and bushes and opened windows.
The tiny wild flowers- poppies, forget-me-nots and daisies- beamed at the sun, as the sky's pinks, oranges and reds ebbed away and gave to the clear blue.
Bilbo's lungs swelled as he breathed in the world around him. His eyes glinted open and he looked upon his little village, smiling to himself.
And he promptly shut the round green door behind him.
Sparrows twittered about the path, pecking at odd bits and each other, and blue tits hopped along the end of the white picket fence.
He trod down the flagstone steps, a long pipe in hand, and plopped down on the small wooden bench in his garden.
After striking a match, he brought a hand up to cover the flame from the wind and lit the pipe, puffing at the smoke as he did so.
A fine ring of white drifted into the peaceful mornings sky as he chuckled to himself about the ways of the world. And he closed his eyes once more, against the warmth of the sun.
Until, he was rudely and untimely interrupted.
He sat there, awkwardly, as the stranger blocked out the sun, squinting and frowning in confusion.
"Good morning," ventured Bilbo.
The old man frowned back and grumbled, "What do you mean?"
Bilbo blinked.
"Do you wish me a good morning? Or is it a good morning whether I want it or not? Or perhaps you mean to feel good on this particular morning? Or, are you simply stating that this is a morning to be good on?"
"All of them at once I suppose," Bilbo offered, hesitantly.
The old man grumbled.
"Can I... help you?"
"That remains to be seen," his grey eyes were fixed upon Bilbo, with wonder or suspicion, Bilbo did not know.
"I am looking for someone to share in an adventure."
The pipe fell from Bilbo's mouth.
The day continued on, although it was not as interesting as this mornings events. Day slowly became night, birds settled down in their homes made of sticks, and smoke rose from the chimneys of the hills of Hobbiton.
Bilbo sighed as he sank into his chair; back warm from the hearth next to him, which crackled and popped.
Rat-a-tat-tat
Bilbo froze, mid-action, and stared at the fish on his plate as if the noise had come from it. He looked around and then realized that it was someone hammering at the door
Huffing as he waddled over, Bilbo tightly wrapped his auburn dressing gown around him, and opened his round door.
"Dwalin, at your service." A bald dwarf bowed deeply in front of him. He wore a heavy grey fur coat with an enormous axe tightly strapped onto his back, though loose enough in case of battle.
"Bilbo Baggins... at yours," he mumbled back, without a trace of a clue of to what was happening.
Dwalin sauntered straight past him and chucked his axe on a small oak stool, making it screech across the polished floor.
Bilbo pulled a face and coughed politely, "Sorry, do I... know you?"
"No," Dwalin answered bluntly and continued into the dimly lit dining room, "Which way, laddie? Is it down here?"
Bilbo hesitated, "Is what down where?"
"Supper!" came from the other room, "He said there'd be food, and lot's of it!"
"He- he said! Who said?"
Dwalin turned swiftly around and gave Bilbo a peculiar stare.
Bilbo shifted a bit under his gaze. "Help yourself…" he muttered and gestured to his plate on the table; offering Dwalin his dinner of peas, carrots and mackerel, before seating himself against the window, hand under chin.
"Very good this!" grunted Dwalin, who had no curtesy to shut his mouth whilst eating. He sniffed, "Anymore?"
Bilbo curtly nodded and offered a plate of small bread rolls, though not before he had taken one himself. "I'm sorry I wasn't expecting..." he looked over at Dwalin munching and swallowed, uncomfortably, "Company."
Rat-a-tat-tat
Bilbo looked up and around for the source of the sound again before realizing-
"That'll be the door."
"Balin, at your service," an older looking dwarf bowed in front of him.
Bilbo's mouth pursed and twitched, uneasily, "Good evening."
Balin looked out into the night and at the sky, "Yes, yes it is," he returned his gaze to Bilbo and grimaced, "Although I think it might rain later. Am I late?"
"Late? For what?"
"Balin!" a gruff voice hollered from the dining room. Dwalin lumbered over to the white bearded dwarf, with a sly grin upon his face.
"Oh! Aha!" Balin articulated, "Evening, brother."
Dwalin chortled, "Oho, by my beard! You're shorter and wider, than last we met."
"Wider, not shorter," he winked, "Sharp enough for the both of us."
The brothers grasped each others shoulders, smiled and promptly thudded their heads together.
The two dwarrows started making what seemed like polite conversation as they marched into the pantry and started grabbing things at random. And poor Bilbo could do nothing but stand and grimace and wince as his pantry was raided by two complete strangers. His hand reached out to hinder the madness every so often and he fidgeted at the things they were throwing over their shoulders, but to no avail.
Bilbo walked up against the wall and put his hand to his mouth, and then in front of him, "Ah, excuse me!" he tried, "Sorry, I hate to interrupt, but, erm, the thing is I am not entirely sure you're in the right house- it's not that I don't like visitors," he held his hands up, "I like visitors, as much as the next, er, Hobbit, but I do like to know them before they come visiting."
"What's this?" Dwalin murmured.
"I don't know, I think... it's supposed to be cheese?" Balin answered, uncertain of himself, "It's gone blue."
"It's riddled with mould," Dwalin chucked it behind him, absolutely disgusted.
"The thing is," Bilbo tried again, "-I don't know either of you in the slightest- er, I don't mean to be blunt, but I had to speak my mind." Bilbo coughed, "I am sorry."
Both dwarrows turned.
"Apology accepted," Balin muttered, and turned back round to give his brother a tankard, "Ah, now fill it up brother, don't stint."
Rat-a-tat-tat
"Fili," said one.
"And Kili," said the other
"At your service." They both bowed.
"Ah! You must be Mister Boggins!" declared the dwarf who claimed to be the one named Kili.
"Nope! You can't come in! You've gone to the wrong house."
"What?" Kili asked, "Has it been cancelled?"
"Nobody told us!"
Bilbo frowned, "Cancelled? No nothing's been cancelled-"
"-That's a relief!"
And they both strolled in. Fili, then dumped his stuff all onto Bilbo, including two of his very many swords.
"Careful with these," he said, pointedly, "I just had 'em sharpened."
Kili looked around, "It's a nice place this, did you do it yourself?"
"No, it's been in my family for years," Bilbo assured him, as Kili started to scrape the bottom of his boot, "That's my mother's glory box, can you please not do that."
He dumped Fili's belongings onto the side and plodded back to slam the door. However, it would not shut for there was a leather boot holding it agape. He opened the door up again, only to be confronted by a hooded figure, around 3 inches taller than he.
He bowed, letting his hood fall away and announced, "Morlia, at your service." Then it dawned on him that this was no male dwarf, for this was a dwarf-woman. She had gingery blonde hair that went a just past her shoulders and green eyes. Wait- green eye- the left eye was covered up by a large, black, tattered eye patch. She had a fairly trimmed beard, but with more scraggily bits nearer her ears.
"No! No! No! No more dwarves today! Thank you!" Bilbo affirmed, trying to close the door.
"You wouldn't leave a poor dwarf-woman out in the dark, would you?" she chuckled as Bilbo opened the door again with a sigh, eyeing her warily. She wore a brown jacket, which seemed to be made of sheep skin, a linen shirt and a grin that unnerved Bilbo. She lumbered past him, and dropped her wet cloak on a hook to dry it out. Then dumped a sword from her waist and started unbuckling some straps on her wrists.
"Don't touch my sword," she warned, bluntly.
The two brothers at that moment, decided to turn towards the door. Air left their lungs. And both of their laughing smiles fell slack.
"Is it really?" stammered Fili.
Bag End, seemed distorted to them, as the woman ahead smiled.
"Morlia!"
The two brothers sprinted towards her.
"What are you two rascals doing here?" She appeared crushed between the two of them, "Last time I saw you in the Blue Mountains you were no bigger than my sword!" Morlia chuckled, struggling under their combined weight.
"But, tell us! What are you even doing here! We haven't seen you in an age!" Kili exclaimed.
"Hush down! I asked first, did I not? Answer my question! You," her eyes glinted, "Don't even seem to be able to have a beard yet! So pray tell, why are you coming with us?"
"Uncle let us come with him," answered Fili, laughing.
Morlia raised an eyebrow.
"Fili, Kili, come on give us a hand-" Dwalin stopped and noticed Morlia. Then he grinned, "Always knew you would come back, you'd be too stubborn to be killed," and with a bark of laughter, he clasped her back.
"Don't worry, dear brother! Won't be keeling over too soon, I still have to wait for you to go first," Morlia beamed and punched him in the chest.
Rat-a-tat-tat
Bilbo groaned and tore his gaze away from this happy dwarf reunion.
"No! Just no! There's nobody home! There's far too many dwarves in my kitchen as it is!" Bilbo yelled, "If this is some plot-heads idea of a joke," he breathed in heavily, "I can only say that it is only in very poor taste."
He opened his front door once again and several dwarrows fell down onto the front doorstep, with the grey wizard only standing a couple of feet behind them.
The wooden floor creaked as the dwarrows gradually began to pick themselves up. And Gandalf lowered his head into the door-way, his face feigning innocence.
Bilbo's face sank with realisation, and he sighed, "Gandalf."
One of the dwarrows hats had drifted across the floor and Morlia's rough hand snatched it up and plonked the hat on her head.
"Bofur!" She cried.
"Who's that?" Bofur cried, dusting himself off. And then he lifted his gaze into the house, "No, no, no- is that? No, Is it-" Bofur stumbled, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Indeed it is, Mr Bofur," laughed Kili, clapping him on the back and striding past him.
"Oh! Have I missed you Missy! I thought you to be dead!" he declared, as they wandered into the pantry, arm in arm, past Fili and Kili, who were currently emptying a barrel of ale.
"I'll take this one."
"Aye."
Bilbo hummed in frustration as things were clearly going out of hand. He brought his hand up to his face, groaning, and scrubbed at it.
"That's my chicken! I, I -" he tried, "-Excuse me! That's my wine!"
A burly, black haired dwarf- who had a metal thing embedded into his head- stopped him and spoke to him in some sort of grunting language. Bilbo looked at the ceiling in despair, wondering if someone above was trying to punish him for some unknown deed. Then, a dwarf with an ear-trumpet, tapped him on the shoulder.
"He's got an, erm, injury," he offered, kindly.
Bilbo looked at him disbelievingly, "What? Do you mean the axe in his head?"
The dwarf frowned and adjusted his trumpet, "Aye? Dead? No, only between his ears; his legs work fine!" and moved past him, to help another dwarf with some eggs.
"Oi, I'll have some of that too," someone shouted.
Bilbo wanted to scream.
"Put those back, put that back, put it back," he pointed to the pantry with his thumb, he turned, "Not the jam! Please! Excuse me-"
Morlia shoved past and was arguing with a red-headed dwarf about the amount of bacon he had, compared to what she had. The fat dwarf, lumbered through the pantry door, heaving, not one, not two, but four whole cheeses.
"Excuse me- a tad obessive don't you think?" Bilbo fumbled, "Don't you want a cheese knife?"
"Cheese knife? He eats it by the block."
"No!" shouted Bilbo, seeing the dwarf with the trumpet again, "No, that," he pointed, "Is grandpa Mungos chair, so is that!" he spotted another dwarf, "Take it back, please, take it back! It is an antique! Not! For sitting on!"
The dwarf gestured to his ears, "I can't hear you, lad!"
Bilbo put his hands on the back of his head and felt helpless.
Gandalf made his way out of the kitchen, and then bumped his head into the chandelier and wrestled with it, sighing in frustration.
"Fili, Kili," the wizard counted on his fingers, "Oin, Gloin, Morlia, Dwalin, Balin," He looked down at the squabble, "Bifur, Bofur, Bombur… Dori, Nori, and erm," he counted his fingers, "Oh, yes! And Ori!"
The dwarf with the axe in his head signed to Gandalf gruffly, grasping his arm.
"Yes, yes, you are quite right Bifur!" exclaimed Gandalf, "We appear to be one dwarf short."
Dwalin, leaning against the wall, grumbled, "He's late is all," and took a swig of ale, "He travelled North to a meeting of our kin. He will come."
The Hobbits hole was now merry and the dwarrows roared to one another at the dining table, each squashed up against each other. They were drunk and rowdy; throwing food at each other, laughing like hooligans and punching anyone within reach.
Fili managed to clamber onto the table top and edge his way along, offering ale to anyone who would take one.
"Oh ho ho, you great galumphing git," Dwalin bellowed, as Fili stood in the ham, flashing a smile.
"On the count of three!" Gloin shouted, as they all clanged their tankards together in cheers.
And Bilbo just stood, in his pantry (which was now bare), blinking slowly and calmly as burps sounded from his beloved dining room.
The feast slowed as it went into the night and Morlia sank down into an armchair by the crackling fire, warming up her feet and closing her eyes: hands propping up her head.
"You seem tired," an older voice startled her from behind.
"I don't see how I wouldn't be," she confessed to Balin, as he slowly put himself down in the other armchair next to her.
"It's not right for you to be tired like this though," he pointed out, staring into the fire.
She opened her heavy eyelids and moved her head to look at him, breathing in the smell of Bilbo's home. It had always struck her as curious when Balin talked to her like this. She saw wrinkles were now forming around his smiling eyes, and she felt a pang of remorse in her chest. So Morlia reached out and patted his arm, giving him a misshapen smile. Then she jumped as the Fili and Kili started shouting at each other over a pack of cards. Balin glanced at her, his eyes musing with laughter.
The chatter in the dining room gave her a warmer feeling in her heart. And she sighed, glancing at the two portraits above Bilbo's fireplace. Their eyes stared back at her.
Three knocks sounded at the door.