Disclaimer: I own nothing from LOTR or the Hobbit. And I am INSANELY excited for the third Hobbit movie to come out next year. And yet dreading it as well. Sigh.
Quick one-shot about Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield.
It wasn't the Wizard who had persuaded Bilbo Baggins to leave his comfortable hobbit-hole and journey into the dangerous unknown with only thirteen dwarves and an old man for company.
It wasn't the lure of adventure and the promise to see the Elves.
It wasn't even an appeal to his Tookish side.
Bilbo Baggins could point to the exact moment when he had decided to join these dwarves on their Quest to retake their homeland.
It was when Thorin Oakenshield walked through his front door.
Bilbo had known who he was, of course. He did read after all, and the name of the exiled king under the mountain was fairly well-known to him. Dwarves occasionally passed through Hobbiton, travelling from Ered Luin to the Iron Hills, and they spoke of their king often.
They spoke of him with pride and awe and respect, and Bilbo could understand why after only a split second in Thorin's presence.
The dwarf who walked through his door was tall; well over five feet.
He was handsome; dark of hair, bright of eye, with clear, even features and a strong warrior's physique.
But it was none of these things that made Bilbo understand who Thorin Oakenshield actually was. Or rather it was a combination of all of these things on top of several others, which made Bilbo see who Thorin was. For Thorin was of the Line of Durin, the eldest and most royal of all the seven houses of the dwarves, and that lineage infused every particle of the his being.
The dwarf-lord who walk through Bilbo Baggins' front door was regal and commanding and, above all, in absolute control of both himself and others. He knew who he was. His clear, level gaze as he questioned Bilbo about his credentials, and greeted his kinsmen, and spoke to Gandalf, were all evidence of that. His silence and stillness spoke of an ability to observe, correctly, before making a decision. The piercing intelligence of his gaze spoke of a well-read, well-lived life.
The stern set of his mouth spoke of deprivation and determination.
The wry humor found in his words, the passion and elocution of his speech, the electricity of his personality, spoke of a leader; a great leader.
He did not hide who he was, this king of kings, but neither was he boastful. He did not demand obeisance from the others, but Bilbo saw instantly how they deferred to him, how even Gandalf was respectful in his presence.
There was no fear in their devotion, no binding of oaths and reluctant servitude. Every single person in this house was here because they were absolutely loyal to Thorin Oakenshield, and they were loyal because he was a person one should be loyal to.
How to explain charisma and greatness to those that were not there to witness it?
Bilbo would struggle with such a thing when it came time to write his book. He had struggled understanding such a concept when he read the histories of the First Age. Why? What was it about some people that caused others to follow them without a second's hesitation? What was it that inspired someone to die for someone else based on loyalty alone?
Friendship he understood, but this strange, archaic notion of royalty, of kingliness, was anathema to a Hobbit's way of thinking. Hobbit's elected their own Mayors, and if the Took and the Master of Buckland were inherited titles, well, they were all but ceremonial anyway. Used for settling petty disputes among extended family members and little else.
But kingliness…..
Bilbo had never expected to meet anyway who inhabited that word quite like Thorin Oakenshield did. Here was a dwarf who was a lord not only of his own people, but could command the respect of Elves and Men alike.
And, apparently, of Hobbits as well.
"So this is the Hobbit?" he had asked, rhetorically, after stepping through the round hobbit doorway. There was silence in Bilbo's foyer as the dwarves and Gandalf watched their leader circle the him. Bilbo unconsciously straightened up under the king's regard.
"Tell me, Mr. Baggins, have do done much fighting?"
"Excuse me?"
"What's your weapon of choice: axe or sword?" His voice was deep and calm and commanding.
Bilbo's answer, a mixture of bluster and embarrassment, would haunt him until the end of his days. He never knew how his stumbling, his unconscious and awkward shifting in position, the faltering in his voice as his accent changed to meet the elegant, precise tones of the exiled-king, spoke more than any perfectly executed words ever could.
Bilbo Baggins had found his Captain – and he would follow him anywhere.
Bilbo himself, of course, did not realize the pivotal nature of this moment until months later when, standing by the bier of a king, he looked down at his still face and realized that this was one journey he could not follow him on.
At least not now. Not yet.
Note: What did you think? Should I write more Bilbo & Thorin? I love them so much. Their dynamic reminds me a bit of Legolas & Aragorn from Lord of the Rings.