The next night, Agatha and William put Gildon to bed, their stomachs filled with guilt.
They new he would be scared, Gildon had never been left alone before, but he would get by. Probably stay over at the neighbor's house, the two figured.
Quietly, the two cousins dug out weapons they thought they would never see again in their lives and fur coats that brought back bad members, as they still smelled of dragonfire.
When they arrived at Mr. Baggin's house, the only thing that seemed out of the normal was the glowing dwarven mark and the eerie silence.
"It says 'here'." William offered, yawning a bit.
Agatha snorted as she knocked on the freshly painted, emerald green door. "How very observant of you."
There was a moment and then the loud sound of boots shuffling and not so quiet whispers could be heard and the door was swung open.
"Agatha! William!" Bilbo cried out of relief to see some people he actually knew with some quality manners. "What in the world are you two doing here?"
"We were told that you needed bodyguards..?" Will frowned. "Some grey wizard told that to Agatha."
Understanding crossed Bilbo's face. "Oh." Then, realizing what Will had said, turned behind him to reveal a hunched over wizard that was much too tall for a Hobbit hole and a dozen or so dwarves. "Gandalf!"
Agatha sighed, obviously the poor fellow had not known of any arrangments of the sort. What a bloody annoying wizard. As Bilbo ushered them in, Agatha gave a piercing scan over the dwarves. "Thirteen of em'. Think any recognize us?" she turned over and whispered in a language that none of the other dwarves would have known. Elvish.
"Nae." Will responded a little bit louder in the same tongue. They'd learned Elvish when they were children because Will's sister, Aliana, had always been fasinated with the Elves. It came in handy when Dwarves, even in times of peace with the Elvish race, had stubbornly refused to learn a language other than their own.
"They don't look familiar except for-"
Agatha frowned as Will stopped, his eyes wide and followed his gaze to...Thorin Oakenshield, Lord of the Silver Fountains.
In suprise, Agatha accidently slipped into Dwarvish tongue. "Mahal..."
At this, the thirteen Dwarves snapped at attention. Dwarven speak was a secretive language, reserved for only those who studied the ancient carvings...that were in Erebor.
"How do you know how to speak Dwarven?" A bald Dwarf snarled. He was covered in tattoos and furs, with knuckle guards and had an extreme air of viciousness about him.
Agatha was taken back, stammering for an excuse.
"She heard it from a Dwaren group that passed through here a year or so ago," Will backed her up, giving a nervous laugh. "My cousin, see, she's a bit silly. Picks up a few languages here and there, y'now, growing up in a place full of travelers like Bree, ya?"
Agatha caught on and nodded quickly. "It's an ol' habit, ya see?" she mentally cursed herself. She was slipping hold of Harlow again. "It makes it easier to understand the cutomers. I'm sorry if I offended you, sir."
"You have offended no one, Miss Willowblossom." Gandalf interuppted before the Dwarves pressed the matter. "You just surprised Dwalin, that is all."
"You never said anything about two more in the company." Thorin hissed at the wizard.
Agatha couldn't help but stare at him like he was something entirely new to her. The last time she'd seen him was that time at the winter ball.
There were Dwarves everywhere in elegant gowns and jewels.
Harlow had felt like a weed in a rose garden, a crow among swans, but as tradition went, she had to attend at least once in her life: Her a hundred and sixtieth birthday.
Aliana had been there with her, being the social butterfly she was, and dressed Harlow in a blood red gown (Honestly, she would have preffered green or black, red was just too bold) with silver lining and Harlow hated it.
She saw the prince once, from very far away and he looked just as uncomfortable as she did, though much more impressive.
Harlow still could remember how insignificant she realized she really was that day.
"And most certainly not a woman."
Agatha couldn't help but roll her eyes, but Harlow wanted to borrow a battle axe from a certain bald headed, tattooed Dwarf and possibly decapitate the Prince in front of her.
"I am well aware of the questionable circumstances of a, er, female accompanying us, but," Gandalf spoke gently, knowing of a Dwarvish woman's strength and anger. "Miss Willowblossom is skilled enough to take care of Bilbo, as is her cousin, Mr. Smith."
Will snorted. Mahal, those names they chose were so Lilly-livered that just thinking about them made Aeron's stomach queasy.
"She should be-"
Gandalf interuppted Thorin before he could say anything else offensive. "Bilbo, come, you need to read this contract."