The Flower that Blooms in Adversity
In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit and a hobbit-lass. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.
It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened onto a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with paneled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats—the hobbits were fond of visitors. As luck would have it, they would receive a great deal of those very soon.
Bilbo Baggins of Bag End was a respectable hobbit, even though his mother had been the infamous Belladonna Took. He himself, however, took after his father Bungo Baggins—he never had any adventures or did anything unexpected. Almost never.
The most unexpected thing he had done had been to take in his bastard niece after his sister had died. His sister Bluebell had always been more adventurous than he; as soon as she had reached her majority, she had acted upon her yearnings for adventure and left. She travelled to and worked as a barmaid in Bree, and it was this job that had her impregnated by a Southron. She had carried a baby too large for her body, birthed it, and died as a result. Most hobbits would have nothing to do with a bastard, but Bilbo was little Calla Baggins's closest relation, and took her in as soon as he heard. Calla grew up much like a hobbit, though she was different from the start.
Calla was exactly four feet tall—almost the tallest a hobbit could be—and had the soft features, large feet, pointed ears, curvy physique, and curly hair common to all hobbits. And yet she was set apart from the rest of the hobbits by appearance as well as reputation. Her curls were looser than those of most hobbit lasses, and her feet, though bare and tough-soled, had only a fine blond down upon them. Her waist was slimmer, and her cheekbones more defined than any normal hobbit-lass. And Calla was restless.
One fine morning, as her uncle stood outside after breakfast to smoke his ridiculously long pipe, and Calla crouched in the garden, pulling the weeds from the flower bed, Gandalf came by, and tantalizing opportunity knocked for Calla.
"Good morning," her uncle remarked cheerfully.
"What do you mean?" asked a gruff, powerful voice. Calla spun around so fast that she nearly pitched into the flower bed. "Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?"
While her Uncle showed off his smoke rings, Calla stared at the stranger. He seemed to be merely an old man with a staff, but beneath his bushy brows and long white beard there lurked wisdom and power that Calla could not understand.
"I am looking for someone to share in an adventure I am arranging, and it's very difficult to find anyone."
Calla's ears pricked as her Uncle set about nervously correcting the man's assumptions.
"I should think so—in these parts! We are plain quiet folk who have no use for adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner!"
Bilbo pretended to ignore the man in favor of his letters as Calla brushed the dirt off her dress and eased forward to join her uncle, tilting her head and studying the stranger curiously, and a little excitedly. This man could be her ticket to leave the Shire. Bilbo rolled his shoulders uncomfortably at the strange man's continued scrutiny.
"Good morning! We don't want any adventures here, thank you! You might try over The Hill or across The Water."
One bushy eyebrow lifted, and Calla caught a glint of something—amusement? —in those deep eyes.
"What a lot of things you do use Good morning for! Now you mean that you want to get rid of me, and that it won't be good until I move off!"
Calla's eyes widened in horror at this; Bilbo was being terribly inhospitable and such a thing was disgraceful. Luckily, Bilbo hurriedly corrected the man's assumption, and inquired after his name, as was only polite.
"I am Gandalf," huffed the man, "and Gandalf means me! To think that I should have lived to be good-morninged by Belladonna Took's son, as if I were selling buttons at the door!"
Apparently, this was the Gandalf who let off legendary fireworks and sent unsuspecting hobbits off on adventures. He was rather infamous, and, evidently, was a wizard. The wizard proceeded to fluster Bilbo into inviting him to tea the next day, and Bilbo fled without taking notice of Calla, leaving her staring like a startled rabbit at the laughing wizard. Hastily, she excused herself and darted through the gate and under the man's arm towards the market, unaware of his contemplative gaze at her back.
It seemed to Calla that Bilbo had forgotten all about tea; so, when Calla brought out three place settings and several cakes, Bilbo frowned at her in confusion.
"Calla, why…"
His question was lost in the loud ringing of the doorbell and Bilbo leapt to his feet and rushed to the door.
He opened it to reveal a tall, tattooed and armed dwarf with a fierce expression. Calla let out a startled and slightly frightened squeak.
"Dwalin at your service," grunted the dwarf, stepping firmly inside the door, bowing, and hanging a battered green cloak on a peg.
"Bilbo Baggins at yours," her uncle managed stiffly. "I am just about to take tea; pray come and have some with me."
As the dwarf dumped his weapons in a corner and stumped into the smial after Bilbo. Calla stared at the weapons and then in the direction of the strange dwarf. That glint of amusement in Gandalf's eyes yesterday suddenly seemed suspicious to her.
The doorbell rang, and Calla answered it as Bilbo scrambled back down the hall.
A kindly-looking, white-haired dwarf stepped into the room and bowed at the waist.
"Balin at your service, lass," he said, and straightened and hung his scarlet hood on another peg. "I see they have begun to arrive already!"
Oh no, thought Calla, they? She and Bilbo were not prepared for multiple dwarves invading their home.
"Calla, have you any idea what is happening?" Bilbo sagged against the wall.
Calla shook her head. "I think we will need more food. It sounds as if they expect a party."
Bilbo passed a hand over his brow. "Calla, m'dear, could you serve our guests?"
"Of course, uncle," said Calla, squeezing his shoulder, "You fulfill your role as host."
She hurried into the dining room after the dwarves, who were seated at the tea-table helping themselves to the meals originally intended for herself and Bilbo. She cleared her throat, and both looked up.
"Calla Baggins, at your service," she curtsied. "May I provide you with anything?"
Balin smiled kindly at her through his beard. "A little beer, if you don't mind lass," he said. "And some seed-cakes, if you have any."
Dwalin grunted out a request for ale, and Calla hurried to get the food and alcohol as the doorbell rang again. As she stepped back into the kitchen, she noted two more dwarves—this time, young and handsome, one with dark hair and one with blond.
"Fili, at your service," grinned the blond.
"Kili, at your service," exclaimed the brunette.
Calla blushed bashfully under their gazes, and tried not to look too distressed at the unexpected additions. Dwalin had been bad enough; but now she had handsome, charming dwarves grinning at her, and more certain to come. It was difficult to keep her cool.
"Calla at yours and your family's. What can I get you?"
"Pound cake and some coffee, my lady," said Fili with a charming smile.
"More seed cakes and some porter, my lady," Kili echoed, and then winced as Dwalin clapped him over the head with a broad hand. "Err—I meant coffee."
"Of course," Calla's lips twitched despite herself.
The doorbell rang again insistently as Calla arranged the cakes on a platter, and she took a moment to bow her head and let out an exasperated sigh. Just how many large hungry men must she feed?
As Calla set the cakes on the table, she noticed in horror that there were five more dwarves to feed. Dori, Nori, Ori, Oin, and Gloin all asked for more cakes, with ale and porter, and Kili put in a subdued request for more coffee under Dwalin's stern glare. Calla was left scurrying about the kitchen, gathering drinks and cakes and baking more for the demanding stomachs of those frustrating dwarves. Why couldn't there be a moment's peace?
Three more dwarves and that rotten wizard had arrived by the time she stopped to catch her breath, asking for red wine, raspberry jam, apple tart, cheese, salad, mince pies, and pork pies. Calla was left to serve it all as Bilbo found and arranged it, nursing a cup of rather strong wine and looking very flustered indeed. Bombur in particular was prone to eating nearly as much as a hobbit, and she found herself continually refilling his plate. Bofur, a dwarf with a ridiculous hat and a friendly smile, had devoured her best mince pies, and Bifur, a frightening dwarf with an axe in his head and a speech impediment had eaten half of her apple tart. Gandalf was counting under his breath.
"We seem to be one dwarf short."
Bilbo and Calla shared a look. Another dwarf?
But unfortunately for Calla's sanity, it appeared that there was indeed one more dwarf—one who seemed important, by all the heavy glances traded between the dwarves.
Someone practically pounded on her door, and into the ringing silence, Gandalf spoke.
"He is here."
The door swung open to reveal a very handsome older dwarf with dark hair and striking blue eyes, who turned his head slowly towards Gandalf. Calla reflected helplessly on the unfairness of it all.
"Gandalf," he greeted. "I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way twice."
Calla bit back a snort of derision as the dwarf stepped into the smial as if he owned it and shrugged off his cloak. The dwarves bowed in respect, and Bilbo took his cloak, looking miffed.
"The mark I made was very clear, Thorin-"
"—What mark?" interrupted Bilbo, looking quite agitated, "there is no mark; I had it painted a week ago."
"There is indeed a mark on the door. I put it there myself."
Calla's mouth opened in irritation. How dare he?
"Bilbo, may I present Thorin Oakenshield," Gandalf said grandly. Calla's mouth closed and a sense of awe filled her as Thorin turned around, arms crossed, and stared regally down at Bilbo. "Thorin, this is Bilbo Baggins."
"So, this is the hobbit," said Thorin, giving him an assessing look. He began circling her uncle, and his gaze was cool and derisive. Calla was rapidly losing her initial respect for him. "Tell me, what is your weapon of choice—axes or knives?"
Bilbo bristled at the condescension in his tone and responded, "Well, I do have some skill at conkers, if you must know, but I fail to see how that's relevant."
Thorin smirked derisively. "I thought as much. He looks more like a grocer than a burglar."
As the dwarves laughed, Calla bristled indignantly and took a step forward, ready to jump to her uncle's defense. But Thorin Oakenshield turned his fierce blue gaze on her, and it was all she could do to hold her head high and face him.
"I was not warned," he said evenly, "of a woman."
"I hardly think that my existence merits a warning, Master Oakenshield."
Thorin Oakenshield gave her a piercing glance, and then turned his back in clear dismissal and moved towards the dining room with the other dwarves, leaving Calla bristling in his wake. Gandalf chuckled.
"He is not as arrogant as he seems, Calla."
Calla sniffed indignantly. "For a king, he did not make the best first impression." She sailed back into the kitchen, collected her cakes from the oven, along with a bottle of red wine, and walked out into the dining room, where the scent of pipe smoke lingered in the air, and the dwarves sat with Thorin at the head of the table.
"There you are, Your Majesty," she said sweetly, setting the bounty before him. He glanced over at her and arched an eyebrow at her loaded tone, and then presented his broad back to her once again.
Ooh! That—that—that infuriating dwarf!
Bilbo invited them to supper, and Thorin accepted with all the required hauteur, and Calla stewed in a corner, glaring holed into Thorin's head. Where did he get off being so forward in someone else's home?
"Now to clear up!" said Thorin.
Immediately every dwarf but Thorin leapt to his feet and made tall stacks of the dishes, throwing them back and forth while Bilbo scurried about, ordering them to put things down and be careful. Calla stood in a corner, hands pressed over her mouth in horror.
Then Kili shot her an impish grin, and as if on cue, the dwarves began to sing.
Chip the glasses and crack the plates!
Blunt the knives and bend the forks!
That's what Bilbo Baggins hates—
Smash the bottles and burn the corks!
Cut the cloth and tread on the fat!
Pour the milk on the pantry floor!
Leave the bones on the bedroom mat!
Splash the wine on every door!
Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl;
Pound them up with a thumping pole;
And when you've finished, if any are whole,
Send them down the hall to roll!
That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!
So carefully! Carefully with the plates!
Once Bilbo and Calla had fought their way through to the kitchen, the plates were clean and stacked neatly on the counter. Bilbo gave an exasperated sigh and stormed from the room, but Calla hid a giggle behind her hand. She caught several dwarves, who had been laughing, grinning at her, and she could not help but laugh freely.
As she shouldered her way through to put the plates back where they belonged and to start on dinner, the dwarves filed back into the dining room. The scent of pipe smoke wended its way through the door of the kitchen as she prepared several meaty dishes for their dinner. As she worked, she hummed lightly, and somehow her humming blended with the sudden instrumental music that emanated from the doorway. As deep, strong voices began to sing a song full of longing and remembrance, she abandoned her concoctions in the oven and leaned against the door frame to listen.
Far over the Misty Mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away ere break of day
To seek the pale enchanted gold…
The song wound on and on, painting a devastating tale of wanton destruction and loss of homeland. After several verses, Calla returned to the kitchen to retrieve the meat dishes; she was ashamed to say that she had been crying freely. These dwarves seemed to have the singular and unfortunate ability to wrest emotions of startling strength from her person. Usually, she was not very affected with emotion; usually she was calm and content, perfectly happy to live cozily with her uncle. And yet, she could not help but be drawn to these strange beings, with a level of attachment that was startling for her level-headed nature.
The music and singing had by now stopped, and Calla stopped in her application of dressings to hear Gandalf hushing the rest of the company.
"Gandalf, dwarves, and hobbits! We are met in the house of our friend and fellow conspirator, this most excellent and audacious hobbit—may the hair on his toes never fall out! All praise to his wine and ale!"
Calla's brow crept up at his pompous beginning, and still more at the fellow conspirator comment.
"We shall soon before the break of day start on our long journey, a journey from which some of us, or perhaps all of us, may never return…"
As Thorin explained all about the ancestral home of the dwarves, Erebor, and the purpose of the quest, it struck Calla that once again, Thorin had made no mention of her. It was not as if she should like for him to take notice of her, but the fact that he had so blatantly ignored her presence in her own home rankled her.
Bilbo ducked into the kitchen, and fetched a light as she brought out platters of food.
"Ah, bless you, lass!" cried Bofur as he served himself a generous helping. Calla smiled at him and decided that she quite liked him, and most of the dwarves followed Bofur's example—most with the notable exception of that dratted Thorin Oakenshield. Calla beamed at all the dwarves but him, and sat down beside her uncle without giving the king a second glance.
While the dwarves debated routes and Bilbo had the history of the fall of Erebor explained to him, Gandalf produced a map.
"Calla, m'dear, perhaps bring the light over here?"
She obliged, and brought over the lamp, holding it above the map as she leaned over Thorin's shoulder to see it. Her fascinated eyes took in the details, and she noticed the detailed red dragon over the mountain, and the hand pointing to the side of the mountain.
Thorin stroked the key for a moment before stringing it on a thick golden chain about his neck, remarking, "The entrance may have been secret once, but how do we know that it is secret any longer? Old Smaug has lived there long enough now to find out anything there is to know about those caves."
"He may—but he can't have used it for years and years."
"Why?"
"Because it is too small."
The discussion wound on, mainly for Bilbo's benefit, and closed when Bilbo suggested that they go to bed. The dwarves ordered breakfast with nary a please, and an irritated Calla showed them all to their bedrooms. As Bilbo retired after washing up the dinner dishes, Calla was left standing in the living room. After a moment, she came to a decision, and set about packing a bag. She would go with the company at least to Bree, and if Bilbo came, longer. She was a Baggins and she was not about to be left behind. Where Bilbo went, she went, after all.