A Most Unusual Specimen

Italics are thoughts

Khuzdul is in bold.

So, to be perfectly honest, marking every little thing I used from the movie!verse is a pain in my butt. Most of you know which lines are from the movie, so you can tell for yourselves. :P If it's an issue, well….I'll just have to take it down. Anyway, I hope you like this chapter, it's rather long. I tried not to make the dwarves too obsessed with Bilbo's beard that the story is outlandish, but I want it to be fun. :)

Chapter 2.

"Do we know each other?" Bilbo floundered for words, rather befuddled at the sudden appearance of this fierce warrior dwarf.

Dwalin gave him an incredulous look. "No." Aye, I'd remember you, laddie, Dwalin thought to himself. Dwalin would never have forgotten a being with such a magnificent beard. He could scarcely disdain the hobbit for his gentle, inexperienced ways in the arts of war and weapons when all he could see when he looked at the lad was rich curls of gold on his head and chin and bright emerald eyes.

Dwalin shook himself and strode past the hobbit, attempting to distract himself. "Which way, laddie? Is it down here?" He walked toward a back tunnel, quietly appreciating the mastery of this underground hole. The woodwork was incredible, rich browns and golds arcing overhead, the hanging chandelier just barely grazing the top of Dwalin's bald head. He noticed a particular smoothness below his furred boots and looked down to find small square tiles along the floor, sometimes covered by soft looking rugs. Upon noticing a bench along the entryway, Dwalin tossed his heavy traveler's cloak and pack upon it, not hearing the slight huff of the little hobbit behind him.

Bilbo closed the door reluctantly, his confusion causing his face to scrunch up with distaste. "Is what down where?" He asked, his eyes following the dwarf warily.

"Supper. He said there'd be food. And lots of it." Dwalin walked quickly past Bilbo again without looking, and found the kitchen and Bilbo's slowly cooling supper. "Ah! Is this all? You're gonna need a lot more than that, laddie. This is barely a bite."

"He—He said?" Bilbo trailed behind the burly dwarf, his hands wringing with nerves. "Who said?" But the dwarf gave no appearance of having heard him.

Bilbo watched, appalled, as this strange dwarf littered with tattoos, iron piercings, war axes, and rough leathers and furs ate his dinner right in front of him. The poor hobbit had no idea how to handle this situation. Hobbits were very fond of visitors, but there was a protocol for this sort of affair! There was the notice or invitation that one must receive, and permission, of course, and adequate time to prepare enough food and —

"Very good, this. Any more?" Dwalin asked longingly, not that the hobbit had any clue indication of such in his low rumbling voice. All Bilbo heard was a brutish growl.

Dwalin had not had such delicious food since before the fall of Erebor. The fish was exquisitely seasoned and cooked with exact care. Dwarfs were never ones to particularly enjoy eating vegetables, but these sliced carrots, chunks of broccoli and potato were spiced with a little sugar and cinnamon that made them simply fantastic. Balin would appreciate these, he thought absently, closing his eyes in delight after a particularly hardy bite of fish. Not only did the hobbit have a beard of spun gold and jewels for eyes, the little creature could cook as well! Dwalin wondered if he had ever met so attractive a creature. If only he had some skill with a weapon…Well, Dwalin could certainly teach him the way of the axe...along with a few other things…

"What? Oh, yes, yes. Ah." Bilbo walked toward the counter under the window, noting absently the dark blue of the evening sky. A bowl of buttered rolls sat on the sill, and he picked it up with some reluctance, subtly sliding one into his robe's pocket. "Here you go." He gave the bowl to the dwarf, knowing with a sinking feeling that they would all be in the dwarf's stomach in a short while.

Dwalin accepted the bowl eagerly; while delicious, the meal he had just eaten was barely more than a tease, and he was still quite hungry.

Bilbo controlled his expression expertly when the dwarf began to rudely stuff rolls into his mouth like some heathen. What atrocious manners!

"Hmmmm. It's just that, um," Bilbo sputtered, not wanting to offend this dwarf, who quite frankly looked like he could easily wring the neck of even adult hobbits and was of a mind to do so. "I wasn't expecting company tonight."

And, of course, right as he said this, his doorbell rang merrily a few tunnels away. The dwarf Dwalin tilted his head and raised an imperious eyebrow at the hobbit, muttering, "That'll be the door," before returning his attention to polishing off the rest of the rolls.

Bilbo walked toward the door, fussing with his robes and running a hand over his beard. Upon the opening of his door, he found another dwarf waiting on his step. This one had a long white beard parted with two tails and great bushy eyebrows. His traveling cloak was a deep maroon with bands of gold markings around the collar and cuffs. Bilbo could see a deep hood hanging from around the dwarf's shoulders.

He smiled in a friendly fashion and said, "Balin, at your service." He swept into a much deeper bow than the previous dwarf.

Balin and Dwalin? Bilbo gave a brief moment to wonder at the similarities in their names, before he replied with a quiet, "Good evening."

"Yes. Yes, it is." Balin the dwarf replied throwing a cursory look up into the sky. The older dwarf's voice had a deep rolling curve to it, something that Bilbo had understood to be rather rare amongst dwarfs. At least, those he had met in passing whenever they crossed through the Shire on their way to Bree. "Though I think it might rain later." He fixed Bilbo with a firm look, though he still smiled. "Am I late?"

Bilbo gave him a similar searching look that he had tried on the other dwarf but to the same effect. "Late for what?"

The noise of metal clanging on glass interrupted their conversation, and they both turned to find Dwalin attempting to draw a few pastries from a glass jaw, his knuckle dusters making such a ask very difficult.

Balin let out a short laugh and headed toward him with a large grin on his face. "Evening, brother."

Well, that explains the similarity, Bilbo thought blankly, still holding the door open.

Dwalin returned the laugh, his hand still stuck in the pastry jar. "By my beard, you're shorter and wider than last we met."

"Wider, not shorter." Balin corrected him sharply, though there was still a wealth of fondness in his voice. "Sharp enough for both of us." He winked conspiratorially at his brother.

They laughed lowly and placed their large hands upon the other's shoulders. For a moment, they just stared at each other until, much to Bilbo's shock, their foreheads suddenly smashed together. This had Bilbo moving forward with concern and more than a little agitation, which was somewhat cooled at the happy faces of the dwarf brothers.

"Excuse me? Sorry, I hate to interrupt. But the thing is, I'm not entirely sure you're in the right house." Indeed he was entirely sure they had the wrong house, but a proper hobbit does not just come out and say such things. It would be very rude to do so. Bilbo tried in vain to get their attention, but they seemed inclined to ignore him, talking amongst each other in a foreign tongue that Bilbo had never heard before.

"And my," Balin continued, throwing his brother a sly look, "the beard on this hobbit lad."

"Indeed," Dwalin replied gruffly; he did look over at Bilbo, looking with disguised awe upon the gorgeous hair.

"It'd be the envy of the Blue Mountains, that's for certain," Balin muttered appreciatively. "I don't believe Gandalf mentioned anything of such a sight in his message. Do you think he does anything in particular to it? It seems awfully soft…"

"Hmmmmm…" Dwalin murmured in agreement. "I don't know." But I certainly intend to find out, Dwalin thought.

Balin gave a knowing, and amused, look at him, before he looked over his shoulder and saw the pantry full of food and two kegs of ale. They sauntered over and inspected the food, Dwalin pouring him a mug of the honey colored brew. The dwarves seemed to not notice the hobbit trailing behind him and talking anxiously all the while.

"It's not that I don't like visitors. I like visitors as much as the next hobbit," Bilbo bit out with frustration. A block of good quality blue cheese was tossed over his shoulder as the dwarves muttered and speculated on his pantry. "But I do like to know them before they come visiting." He harrumphed at this, tugging smartly at the collar of his robe.

"And the thing is—the thing is, I don't know. Not in the slightest. I don't mean to be blunt, but I had to speak my mind. I'm sorry." He nearly shouted this last bit, and the dwarves froze and turned to look at him, seeming surprised hat he was even there.

"Apology accepted," Balin replied good-naturedly."Ah, now, fill it up, brother, don't stint." Dwalin gave a huff before returning to the keg's faucet.

Bilbo floundered at this. That was certainly not what he had intended! These dwarves, just barging into his house-This was his house! What on this earth—

The doorbell rang again, and Bilbo turned to answer it, feeling a sinking feeling in his stomach. When he opened the door, with an exasperated whine, Bilbo found two more dwarves standing on his doorstep. These were significantly younger than Dwalin and Balin. They were both youthful and handsome, though nearly complete opposites in coloring. The dwarf on the left had long light blonde hair and blue eyes, a large proud nose, and a short beard with two braids hanging down from the corners of his smug smile, held together by silver clasps. The other had dark hair, half of which was pulled back from his face, and dark brown eyes, a rather small nose for a dwarf, and barely any stubble to provide a dusting upon his face. And while the one on the right wore a travel cloak with sandy fur on its trim, the other wore a dark blue and grey leather cloak, a black cylinder of what appeared to be arrows held in the crook of his arm.

"Fili," The one on the left of lighter coloring introduced himself.

"And Kili," The other darker one followed with a wide grin.

"At your service," They both echoed, bowing deeply before straightening. They get their first good look of the hobbit and are shocked at what they find.

"You must be Mr. Boggins! But you—you have a beard!" Kili exclaimed loudly, looking very upset.

"A very fine one at that," Fili said a little wondrously, stroking his own furred chin. "Very fine, in fact."

Bilbo knew it was rude to do so, but he simply could not let any more strange dwarves into his house! He attempted to shit the door, all the while muttering, "Nope! You can't come in. You've come to the wrong house!"

A strong hand prevented the door from closing, and Kili looked worryingly into the hobbit's face with large brown eyes. "What? Has it been canceled?"

"No one told us," The other said, pushing the door wider and giving Bilbo a rather suspicious look.

"Can—No, nothing's been canceled!" He said with incredulity, though he regretted this a moment after as the dwarves pushed their way into his home.

"That's a relief!" Kili grinned, but quickly frowned once more as he got a closer look at the hobbit's beard under the candlelight.

Fili let out a sudden bark of laughter, doubling over and pointing a thick finger at his brother. "A hobbit!" He shouted with laughter, gasping for breath. "A hobbit has a better beard than you, Kili! "

"What? No, no! That's not fair!" Kili cried out in despair. "It's not the same thing, completely different situations! Fili! Fili!" He shouted in vain at the other dwarf, whom Bilbo assumed was at least family if their names were any indication.

The other dwarf continued to chuckle as he began to remove the weapons from his back and hip, placing them into Bilbo's very unprepared arms with a smug smirk. "Careful with these. I just had them sharpened."

Bilbo began to protest, but was interrupted again by Kili who, relieved that his brother was not teasing him any more about his nonexistent beard, was scuffing his feet on Bilbo's mother's glory box!

"It's nice, this place! Did you do it yourself?" Kili grinned, ignoring the scandalized look on the hobbit's face.

"That's my mother's glory box! Could you please not do that!" Bilbo felt as though he were scolding a child, very angry at the audacity of these dwarves! "And no, it's been in the family for years. My father—"

"Fili, Kili! Come on, give us a hand." Dwalin strode through suddenly, throwing Bilbo a quick perusal of his form before grabbing Kili by the shoulder and pulling him along after him.

"Mr. Dwalin!" Kili laughed warmly, patting a companionable hand on Balin's shoulder as he walked past the elder dwarf, Fili strutting along behind him after throwing a rather suggestive look at Bilbo.

"We'll have to shove this in the hall. Otherwise, we'll never get everyone in." Balin commanded sagely, rubbing a hand down his white beard.

"Everyone?" Bilbo questioned in a bit of a panic. "How many more are there?"

His doorbell rang once again, seeming to mock Bilbo's misfortune now, and he stalked away to answer it, steaming with anger now.

"Oh, no," Bilbo muttered furiously, throwing the heavy weapons ladling his arms onto the floor in the hallway. "No. No. There's nobody home! Go away and bother somebody else! There's far too many dwarves in my dining room as it is! If this is some clot-head's idea of a joke—Ha ha!—I can only say," He grabbed the door handle tightly and wrenched it open. "—it is in very poor taste!"

Dwarves poured into his door, falling upon their faces and muttering very loudly. A tall form peered from behind the pile of disgruntled dwarves, holding a long wooden staff and wearing a pointed grey cap. A wizened, amused face looked in at him.

Bilbo gave a long-suffering sigh at the sight. "Gandalf."

The dwarves picked themselves up, some immediately walking past him and into the kitchen, an incredibly large red-haired dwarf with a braided loop hanging from round his middle nearly knocking over the others in his haste. A cheerful looking dwarf with a strange hat and dark braids that seemed to defy gravity brushed off his clothes and greeted the hobbit with a dimpled smile, though his large brown eyes widened at the beard.

"By Aulë that's a beard!" He shouted sounding a little astonished.

"Yes, well," Bilbo fidgeted, stroking a self-conscious hand down his front. Why on Middle Earth was it such a big deal for him to have a beard? Sure, amongst the hobbits, it was indeed rather odd, but these were dwarves! The most hairy of all races! Thrice now, a dwarf had seemed concerned with his beard!

"Name's Bofur, Master Baggins," The dimpled dwarf smiled shyly. Bilbo noticed with rising horror that a blush had formed on the dwarf's face, and he had taken off his hat to give a deep bow. "You—you have a lovely home here."

"Oh, well," Bilbo stuttered, rather pleased. Perhaps not all dwarves had the manners of a troll. "Thank you. My father made it himself. For my mother. As a wedding gift." He smiled hesitantly at Bofur.

"And is that a normal courting gift?" Bofur asked, sounding very interested in his response. He had even leaned forward a little, making Bilbo realize that they were rather uncomfortably close together.

"No, not usually. I—" He stepped back a few paces and saw a few other dwarves eyeing him up by the entrance to the dining room. They quickly turned away, and that was when Bilbo noticed that the dwarves were raiding the pantry, carrying bowls of his food out and onto the table.

"What are you all doing?" He asked outraged, moving over to intercept them, but it seemed as though the dwarves were as unstoppable and as easily persuaded as the Brandywine River. Most shouted brief words of thanks and appreciation, as though Bilbo had bought all of that food for them and they were not looting it from his shelves!

"This was not my intention at all!" He clambered into the streams of traffic. "Put those back! Those are my prize-winning tomatoes! Do not—That's a tad excessive, don't you think? Hey! Have you even got a cheese knife?" He watched helplessly as the rotund dwarf from before carried three of his best cheese wheels into the dining room.

"'Cheese knife'? He eats it by the block." Said the dwarf with the strange hat, Bofur. He himself was holding the large honeyed ham that Bilbo had purchased at the market a few days before and had been saving for a special occasion.

Bilbo opened his mouth, feeling exasperated as never before, but he was quickly sidetracked by two dwarves carrying chairs into the room. "No, no, that's Grandpa Mungo's chair! Take it back please! Those are antiques, not for sitting on! And that is am book, not a coaster! Put that away!"

But all of his words seemed to fall on deaf ears. Literally, as the dwarf he was attempting to push back, was Oin, who was a medic and legitimately hard of hearing.

Gandalf watched over all this, infinitely amused at Bilbo's frantic posturing and the excitement and exuberance of the dwarves. Though he did feel rather guilty for springing this upon the hobbit, the old wizard thought that the lad could use some change in his life. Belladonna Took would have never wanted to quiet and solitary a life for her son as he had been living, and Gandalf was intent on fixing that. Bilbo could learn much from the dwarves, and the wizard suspected that in time, they would learn a great deal from the hobbit, too. Gandalf was positive that Bilbo would agree to accompany them on the journey; so really, he wouldn't need all of this food after tonight, would he?

He had been rather surprised that morning to see the beard on Bilbo! Imagine that, facial hair on a young hobbit! Probably came from his mother's line, Gandalf mused. It was certainly added amusement for the wizard to watch the reactions of the dwarves to this unexpected development. He wondered idly what Thorin's reaction would be…

The rest of the company had plenty to say of the hobbit's beard, Gandalf discovered as he eavesdropped on their conversations. He had known Khuzdul for quite some time now, not that the others realized this.

Gloin was muttering to Nori in the corner as they filled goblets with mulled ale, occasionally throwing quick looks at the hobbit whenever he flitted by.

"Mahal, that is a fine beard…" He murmured staring longingly at Bilbo's beard.

"You're married," Nori pointed out quietly, his sharp eyes also following the bustling of the lithe hobbit through the tunnels, though his attention was not always upon the long length of gold in the front but occasionally upon the tight little backside. "With a son, too."

"That does not mean I can't appreciate a beautiful beard like that when it comes by!" Gloin defended himself, his own large red beard dipping a little into an ale. "I imagine even me wife would be tempted…"

"Do all hobbits have beards like that?" The littlest dwarf Ori asked his brother, having snagged a cup and drinking from it with wide eyes.

"No, Ori," Nori replied and whisked the ale from his younger brother's hands. "And quit that, you'll ruin ya dinner before it's even begun."

"You sound like Dori," Ori muttered petulantly. He considered making a lunge for the cup but decided against it and began to stuff a few rolls in his mouth instead.

Gandalf looked around for said dwarf and saw Dori making his way toward him, immaculately dressed and his grey braids impeccably done. He carried a tray ladled with a tea set.

"Mr. Gandalf, may I tempt you with a cup of chamomile?"

"Oh, no, thank you, Dori. A little red wine for me, I think." He stood at this and ducked his head under an archway, deciding it would be wise to have a head count. His head brushed against the chandelier, nearly setting his grey hair on fire, before he swiftly recovered.

He counted up the dwarves, noting the dwarven princes, Balin and Dwalin, Ori, Nori, and Dori, Oin and Gloin, Bombur, Bofur, and Bifur. Twelve dwarves.

"We appear to be one dwarf short…" He muttered to himself quietly.

"He is late, is all."

Gandalf turned to see Dwalin leaning against the wall, drinking contentedly from an ale.

"He traveled north to a meeting of our kin. He will come." Dwalin turned back to his ale as Bilbo attempted to save his tomatoes from Bombur once more.

Bilbo was ready to pull his beard out! All these dwarves, swarming his hobbit hole, eating all of his food, tracking dirt all over the rugs and scuffing the tables and chairs! And then they began eating, and Bilbo was sure he had never seen so disgusting or appalling sight in all his life! They guzzled down all of his ale and proceeded to expel gas in some sort of barbaric contest or something! How ridiculous! And all the while, they muttered in that foreign tongue of theirs whenever he walked past, eying him up like meat on the table!

Bilbo was not an idiot, of course. He knew they were talking about him, but confound it all! What right did they have to gossip like hobbit lasses on a market day! They were the interlopers, for goodness' sakes! And Gandalf was no better, the damned wizard! Just watching and laughing!

He was just tugging irritatedly on the end of his beard when a small voice piped up from behind him.

"Excuse me, sir. I don't mean to interrupt," The young dwarf that Bilbo had come to understand was called Ori was looking awkwardly at the hobbit with a leather bound book open and a quill poised in his hand at the ready.

"Uh, yes, what is it?" Bilbo rubbed his forehead wearily.

"I was wondering if I could ask a few questions, if you wouldn't mind," Ori kept darting looks down at his golden beard.

"Fine," Bilbo replied shortly. He was quite finished with this entire business,

"Do all hobbits have beards?"

Bilbo had already anticipated this question but was still rather aggravated by it. "No, no, just me. My great-grand Uncle had large side-burns, but I am the only hobbit s far that has grown a beard. And before you ask, I've had it since I was young, and I do not know why."

"Oh," Ori replied faintly, before a blush warmed on his face. "And do you—I mean—where did you find those clasps and—and do you do anything special to it? Any oils or—or—"

"What? No, I just brush it, and my mother bought them at a market. Why are you asking these questions?" Bilbo looked suspiciously at Ori and just then noticed that the room had become quiet. He looked up and found that nearly every dwarf suddenly turned their head away quickly, some necks even giving a rather sickening crack. Bofur, who was sitting closest to the doorway, flushed bright red. Most of the other dwarves had a perfected casualness to their postures and quickly began cover-up conversations.

What on earth was wrong with all of these dwarves?

Bilbo wondered for a sickening moment if he had offended the dwarves by decorating and fashioning his beard in what is mother had told him was a distinctly dwarven fashion. He certainly didn't want to offend them, eve though they had barged into him home and eaten all his food. But honestly, it's not like there is a hobbit way for him to fashion his beard! And he couldn't cut it, so—

"Also," Ori stuttered nervously and picked up his empty plate. "What should I do with my plate?"

What followed made Bilbo wonder if perhaps he hadn't offended some witch or spellcaster in the past, because surely,a curse had bee laid upon him. How else was he to explain why there were twelve dwarves tossing and abusing his mother's West farthing cutlery as though they were sticks or rocks by the river, all the while making a mockery of his hospitality by singing a demeaning song about 'what he hated'! He could think of twelve more things to add to that list that could certainly do with a good washing and wringing out!

And then a booming knock had sounded at the door, causing everyone to become silent. Gandalf shifted in his seat, his beaming face becoming infinitely more somber.

"He's here."

They all gathered quickly at the door of Bilbo's hobbit hole, Gandalf reaching there first and pulling the door open. Bilbo shuffled behind the door, unable to see the dwarf walking into his smial.

"Gandalf" Bilbo heard a deep voice greet the old wizard and the thick thumping of footsteps on his tiled floor. "I though you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice."

Bilbo snorted quietly at this, though he was still unable to see from behind Gandalf's large form. Really, twice? There were signs everywhere in the Shire. There was actually a specific sign pointing in the direction of Bag End!

"I wouldn't have found it at all, had it not been for that mark on the door."

Bilbo stepped around Gandalf at this and walked quickly toward the open door, wanting to see this supposed mark. "Mark? There's no mark on that door. It was painted a week ago!"

"There is a mark," Gandalf said rather sheepishly as he closed the door. "I put it there myself. Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company: Thorin Oakenshield." He gestured grandly toward the dwarf that had just entered, but said dwarf was still turned away, muttering quietly with Balin and tossing his coat on a nearby bench stacked high with other such coats.

What Bilbo could see of Thorin Oakenshield was very impressive, indeed. This dwarf had large shoulders and a broad back, not as tall or muscular as Dwalin, but certainly imposing in his own right. He seemed to have long black hair streaked with veins of silver, and he wore dark blue vestments with fur trim, a long heavy looking sword hanging from a leather strap on his hip.

"So," The dwarf began, turning around to face Bilbo. "This is the—"

He stopped and a look of confusion overtook his previous expression of mocking derision. Thorin Oakenshield had deep blue eyes, a ruggedly handsome face, and a rough rasp of stubble on his chin and underneath his proud nose. His face had the lines and heaviness of one who had experienced mush in a short amount of time, and he seemed regal, like a king, even as he looked upon Bilbo with a rather dumbfounded expression.

"I—you—" He stopped and turned to look at Dwalin, shifting into Khuzdul. "The hobbit has a beard."

"Aye" Dwalin replied with a raised eyebrow.

"A very nice one, at that," Balin added, with a nod.

"But…"

"He said he's had it since he was little!" Ori piped up from the back, wanting to please their leader. "I asked him, I did."

Dori placed a hand over his younger brother's mouth with an embarrassed look on his face. Ori muttered petulantly from behind the hand.

"It's very comely, to be sure. Those gold beads are in the shape of little flowers…" Dori said with a little longing in his voice. He felt the hobbit's beard was very charming indeed, well kept and decorated nicely. Little flowers and suns…how sweet.

"I touched it real briefly. It's really soft," Kili added with a hushed and awed tone of voice, his cheeks turning pink at this brother's and uncle's looks.

"And it looks like running rivers of gold in the firelight…" An unknown dwarf murmured quietly from the back.

"It smells nice too, kind of like a mix of flowers and mountain air," A gruff voice came from the back as well. Thorin suspected it might have been Gloin, but…

Thorin sent Balin a questioning look at this, who rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and shook his head.

"Hmmm…..Anyway," He stepped forward again and felt a small bit of pleasure at the hobbit's wary look. " Tell me, Mr. Baggins, have you done much fighting?"

Bilbo wrinkled his nose at this. "What?"

"Axe or sword? What's your weapon of choice?" He sneered quietly at the hobbit, attempting to ignore the hair falling from the hobbit's small chin. It was a difficult thing, though. Thorin could grudgingly understand the apparent fascination of his company with Baggins' beard, as it truly was a magnificent thing to behold. It was a respectable length, was an astounding hue of gold, and was well kept and soft looking. He would have to work hard to ignore that and focus on the hobbit aspect of this creature.

From what Thorin had gathered from Gandalf, hobbits were weak and fussy creatures, completely untried by war or strife, most of which having never seen battle for hundreds of years. They were concerned with food and family, Gandalf had said. In other words, they sat around all day eating and talking. Thorin found he resented hobbits for this lifestyle, as he and his people had suffered and toiled in the cities of men for a long time, working long and hard for just a few scraps of food. It did not make much sense, but he disdained the hobbits for this, nonetheless.

"Well, I do have some skill at conkers, if you must know," Bilbo retorted, sensing the ridicule in Thorin's tone and look. "But I fail to see why that's relevant." He finished a little less sure of himself.

"Thought as much," Thorin smirked at his kin and smiled jeeringly at Bilbo. "He looks more like a grocer than a burglar."

The company laughed at this and followed Thorin into the dining hall. Gandalf had chuckled but upon seeing Bilbo's confused and rather insulted expression, he had quieted quickly and had patted the disgruntled hobbit on the shoulder.

The dwarves all sat at the table, Thorin at the head eating a bowl of soup, and discussed things that Bilbo had never heard of before apart from his books and maps. He watched quietly as Gandalf revealed an aged map and an iron key, mystifying the dwarves and giving them hope for a chance to recover their homeland, Erebor, and discussing the dragon Smaug. Bilbo still wondered what they were doing in his house, as surely they could have had this conversation somewhere else, but he felt his soft heart reaching out for these dwarves, who seemed very desperate to reclaim their mountain. Soon, however, he gathered what Gandalf wanted from him exactly.

"The task that I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth and no small amount of courage." He looked quickly at Bilbo when he said this, drawing a look of confusion from the hobbit. "But if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done."

"That's why we need a burglar," Ori piped up suddenly from the corner, looking at Bilbo with near adoration.

"Hmph. And a good one, too. An expert, I'd imagine." Bilbo agreed, not noticing that he was the subject of the company's scrutiny.

"And are you?" Gloin asked with narrowed eyes, leaning forward in his seat.

Bilbo looked behind him, wondering if he were really asking someone else. "Am I what?"

"He said he's an expert!" Oin shouted happily and giving a laugh.

"Me? No. No, no, no! I'm not a burglar! I've never stolen a thing in my life!" Bilbo replied indignantly.

"Well, I'm afraid I must agree with Mr. Baggins. He's hardly burglar material." Balin said with a pointed look at Thorin, who looked stoically back at him with a small nod.

"Aye, the wild is on place for gentlefolk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves," Dwalin agreed with his brother, and the dwarves began to discuss this, most agreeing that it was too unsafe for the hobbit.

"Plus, what about the beard? The dragon could really damage that if we sent the hobbit in," Bofur added a little humorously, though there was seriousness to his suggestion.

"Aye," The other dwarves nodded at that with grim faces. The younger dwarves began proclaiming that they would defeat the dragon, while the others argued amongst themselves loudly, until Gandalf suddenly loomed over the table, the light dimming and a shadow spreading over the ceiling as his voice boomed over the mayhem.

"Enough! If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar, he is." Gandalf huffed slightly at this, but continued. "Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. They can pass unseen by most if they choose. And while the dragon is accustomed to the scent of dwarf, the scent of hobbit will be all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage."

Bilbo raised his hand and opened his mouth as though to interrupt, but Gandalf surged on relentlessly as he turned to Thorin. "You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company, and I have chosen Mr. Baggins. There's a lot more to him than appearances suggest. And he's got a great deal more to offer than any of you know. Including himself." He added quietly, looking deep into Bilbo's eyes before returning his own to Thorin Oakenshield.

"You must trust me on this," He said rather ominously.

He and Thorin looked at each other searchingly for a long moment, before the dwarf murmured, "Very well." He turned to Balin, and said, "Give him the contract."

The events that followed, i.e. the fainting and such, were not Bilbo's finest moments, he will willingly admit. But really, a small hobbit like him? Face down a dragon? No, no, that just wouldn't do. He was a Baggins, regardless of what Gandalf said. And while he had certainly been adventurous as a young hobbitling, he was an adult now, and as proper a gentlehobbit as he could be, considering his oddities. And even though the song and deep voices of the dwarves followed him into his sleep and haunted his dreams that night, he would not be going on that adventure on the morrow.

Though it was definitely rather flattering to have so many appreciative of his beard, as he had come to realize was the source of their incessant questioning and stares. It had been rather obvious when he had headed for bed after making sure his uninvited but nonetheless welcome guests were settled for the night. He had wished them a good night, when Ori had suddenly stopped him with a call of his name.

"Well, good night, all" Bilbo headed toward his room, relieved at the sight of his warm and comfy bed and the prospect of a peaceful night's sleep.

"Wait, Mr. Baggins!" A voice called out.

Bilbo turned back to find nearly the entire company watching him from their make shift beds in the living room. Ori shifted nervously in his spot by the banking fire, fiddling with his knitted scarf. He murmured something so quietly that Bilbo had to ask him to speak a little louder.

"Are you….going to unbraid your beard?" Ori's face was bright red at this, and most of the other dwarves hurriedly went about their business, though Bilbo noticed a great many had large ears pointed in their direction.

Bilbo looked at them all with sleepy eyes, wondering if their sanity was failing. "Yes," he said slowly.

"Maybe you could do it out here so we could…or maybe—could we watch?" the young dwarf squeaked.

"What? No, you can't watch!" Bilbo huffed, looking at them all incredulously. "Goodness, the nerve of these dwarves! Watch me prepare for bed, why I oughtta-!"

He had stomped into his room, face aflame, completely missing all of the sighs of disappointment and the pitying pats on Ori's shoulders as the dwarf looked rather crushed. They'd all wanted to see it, at least once, since they'd probably never even come to the Shire again, and it seemed as if Bilbo would not be joining them on their quest. To the dwarves, the grooming of beards was a family event and usually private, but…an exception could be made for a beard like that.

Such a shame…

"I just wanted to see him brush it," Ori whispered to his older brother, who gave him a consoling pat on his shoulder.

"I know, laddie," Dori whispered back. "I think we all did. It is a nice beard, after all."

So when morning came and the sun rose into the sky as they rode their ponies, nearly all of the dwarves were absolutely delighted to hear the loud shouts of a hobbit running after them, his eyes bright with excitement and his beard flying behind him in the wind.

Is this considered beard!kink? I'm really not sure...I certainly didn't intend….But it's like 1 a.m., and I have not read this over for spelling errors, so….forgive me. :D Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this!