CHAPTER THREE:
A Good Morning, Whether I Like It or Not
Despite the unfamiliar surroundings, Bilbo had little difficulty falling asleep. In fact, he didn't wake until a voice spoke directly into his ear: "Bilbo, the sun is rising. It's time to get up."
Prying apart eyes that felt glued together, Bilbo stared blearily into the trailer's dim interior, which was illuminated by a camp light on the desk. Kíli was already mostly dressed, just pulling his loose-fitting hoodie from the day before over a black leotard. He grinned when his new roommate put his feet over the bedside and scrubbed his face.
"Carny days start early," he said, slipping on his shoes. He walked over to the lower bunk and shook an amorphous pile of blankets. "Up and at 'em, brother." Fíli's only response was to turn his back and cover his head with a pillow. As he pulled up his socks, Bilbo couldn't help but shake his head with good humor. Kíli's chipper demeanor seemed only natural, even at so ungodly an hour, but of the two of them, he'd pegged Fíli as the early riser. Not so, apparently. Kíli slammed open the trailer door, calling back to his brother, "I'm not saving you breakfast." Then he gestured at Bilbo, who was hopping into his second shoe. "You coming, Bilbo?"
The grass was dewy and fresh smelling as they entered the common area formed by the circle of trailers. A few others were about; Nori sat by himself, smoking a pipe. Glóin had a newspaper, which he read while drinking strong-smelling coffee. They also saw Bifur as he wandered toward the privies, still in his long underwear. Kíli headed for the cookhouse.
"Does Fíli not like getting up early, then?" Bilbo asked to make conversation.
Kíli didn't even pause as they reached the public eating area, where a buffet had been laid out. Pulling a drawstring bag off his shoulder, he confiscated no less than three apples and then stuck a scone in his mouth. His response was therefore muffled. "He doesn't mind. It's just nerves. He'll probably beat us to practice."
"Nerves?" Bilbo said, hesitating as he considered his own selection. "Does one still get stage fright after performing for so long?"
A pause, then Kíli answered, "I didn't say it was stage fright. Look, I have chores to do. You're going to be working with Fíli and me this morning, so be in the main tent by six-thirty, alright?"
Bilbo was overtaken by a feeling of abandonment as Kíli disappeared, leaving him quite alone for the first time since he'd stepped on-site. 'Well, old chap,' he encouraged himself. 'A little getting used to the premises wouldn't go amiss. What was it that Mum always said? "Know where you're going to put your feet," that's what. Good advice if I ever heard any.' So, scooping up a few more pastries, he set off to see more of the grounds.
Even so early, there was a lot going on. People were making ready for the night's performance. The way Bilbo understood it, The Company usually spent a week in one town and then moved on. Tonight would be opening night. As he walked, he was impressed by the grand scale of things; there seemed no end to the outbuildings, storage units, and animal pens. In fact, he was on the verge of having to admit that he had gotten quite lost when a sound like a bugle going off made him nearly jump out of his skin.
Holding his chest, Bilbo whipped around to the slow approach of young Gimli sitting on top of an elephant. The animal had an easy walk, swaying slightly as her weight shifted, and as he watched she rolled her trunk in front of her forehead. For all the world, it looked like she was laughing at him. Affronted, he put his hands on his hips. "It's not very nice to frighten someone like that."
Gimli, who had guided the beast so that she stood abreast with Bilbo, shrugged. "Myrtle has a strange sense of humor." The lad sat tall, shoulders squared and legs stretched over the grey ribs. He looked so serious that Bilbo remembered Kíli's comment about Gimli being a born a senior citizen. He certainly did have an odd gravity about him.
"What are you up to?" Bilbo wondered.
"Walking," Gimli said. "Elephants like to walk, and Myrtle won't settle down properly until she's explored the whole area."
Myrtle took the initiative to introduce herself properly. Turning her head, she peered down at him with a great, liquid eye. Bilbo was astonished by it; he hadn't known that elephants had such long eyelashes. Acting on instinct, he brought up his hand and touched her truck, which she delicately manipulated, exploring the pads of his fingers and then his face, until finally she wrapped him around the waist, squeezing with gentle pressure.
Gimli gazed down on him with begrudging respect. "She likes you."
"She's certainly a beautiful girl," Bilbo said. "Do you need any help?"
"No. I do this every morning," Gimli said. "I wanted a dog, but my father won't let me have one. He's punishing me." The glum tone was so beleaguered that Bilbo smiled. Gimli might have an old soul, but it seemed in some ways he was still a child.
"There are a lot of people who would give their eyeteeth to even touch an elephant, never mind own one," Bilbo commented. He had one pastry left, wrapped in a napkin. He offered it to the boy astride Myrtle. "It's strawberry."
There was a barely discernible hesitation, and then Gimli reached down. "Father never lets me have any. Says they make you heavy and lethargic." A slow smile worked its way onto his face, and he licked one of the edges in defiance. Eyes fixed on his treat, he offered the crumpled napkin to Bilbo. "I don't need it. Will you throw it away?"
Myrtle was investigating Bilbo's curls, which seemed to fascinate her. She didn't like it when her rider urged her on but complied with a bob of her head. As they turned the corner, Bilbo saw her peering back at him, her sinuous trunk flitting as though to say goodbye. He waved. It was only once they were out of site he realized he should have asked them for directions. "Oh, bother," he muttered. "Bilbo Baggins, you really are a featherbrain."
Fortunately, as the day grew lighter, Bilbo couldn't help but see the inverted curve of the big top, and he made it to practice only a few minutes late. Fíli and Kíli were already there, stretching beside the most enormous trampoline Bilbo had ever seen. It was easily large enough for three people, and though it was clearly old, he could see it was well tended – freshly greased springs, a rectangular bed that showed signs of meticulous mending, and a study frame polished with the passage of a hundred handholds. He touched it briefly. "This is how you practice?"
"Mostly just to stay limber," Kíli said. "We only use the trampoline for a few tricks in the show."
His brother shook his head in exasperation. "One of those tricks is fairly important."
"Whatever." Kíli hoisted himself up onto the frame and reached a hand down to Bilbo. "You've used one before?"
Of course he had, although never one so large. It was one of the ways you practiced flips and other stunts before you tried them on the line, and as Bilbo was quite flexible, he'd always enjoyed seeing how far he could push himself. Accepting the hand up, he tested the surface. Kíli obligingly got out the way and let him warm up, and before long they were taking turns turning over, doing leg lifts, and tumbling. Fíli was better at it than either of them. When he was in the air, he seemed to have near perfect control of his muscles, his feet always pointed and his turns exact.
When Bilbo commented on it, Kíli chuckled. "Well, he does have that very important trick. Still, I guess he needs to have something he's good at. I'm definitely stronger, and I've got better aim."
"You wish," Fíli said, flopping down beside them, perspiration dampening his hairline and causing tight curls to form. He swiped a towel over his neck. "Bout time we do a real run through. Are you going to use the wire, Mister Baggins?"
"Just Bilbo," said Bilbo. "And yes, I suppose if you're not going to let me watch, I should go practice on my own."
Kíli winked. "You'll have to wait until tonight to see what we can do. It'll be better as a surprise."
Bilbo was curious. Although he knew the specialties of many of the trope, he only had a vague idea about what these two actually did in their act. From bits and pieces of conversation, Bilbo knew that Kíli used his bow and that Fíli was an acrobat, but other than that, he had only conjecture. Seeing the cheeky look the two were sharing, they seemed to think they were going to impress him. Well, time would tell. Saying a temporary farewell, he headed to the part of the tent where the high wire and trapeze were set up. The net was still there, so Bilbo had no qualms about going through his paces. However, he had barely put one foot on the bottom rung of the ladder when an unexpected voice spoke.
"Mister Baggins."
Thorin had appeared as though from thin air, looking much the same as the day before: hair trimmed very short, eyes that seemed to pierce beneath the surface, and a strong, bearded jaw. In his fist hung a pair of thin-soled slippers. He held them out to Bilbo.
Cautiously, they were taken in hand. "What are these?"
"They're the slippers you're to wear on the wire," Thorin answered matter-of-factly.
The offending shoes hung from the tips of Bilbo's fingers, his nose curled as though he were holding a particularly smelly fish. "Shoes? But I never wear shoes!" He looked down at his bare feet, which were thick soled and as natural to him as sneakers were to other people. "Barefooted is the way I was taught. It's traditional."
"Going barefoot on the wire is for beginners, and there will be no such person performing in my circus." As he spoke, Thorin crossed his arms over his chest, an action that made him seem larger. Intentional or not, it was meant to intimidate, and an uncommon flair of temper kindled in Bilbo's chest.
"Now, look here," he said. "I may not have experience in a circus like this one, but I've been working on ropes and wires for most of my life, and I am not a beginner. This is a family matter to me, something that connects me with my past, and my people work barefoot."
From the brief slackness of his mouth and the way his eyebrows climbed his forehead, push-back wasn't something Thorin expected. His stupefaction was short lived, however, leaving Bilbo to wonder how so coldly unfeeling an expression could simultaneously feel like a furnace for heat. "Mister Baggins. if you're going to stay here, there are a few things you need to understand. The first is that this is my circus. For this reason, when I tell you that a certain piece of equipment is required, you will use it. The second is this: the reputation of the circus and the safety of its people are my responsibility. You do anything to compromise that, and I swear to God that you'll be back to counting cabbages before you find the words to voice a protest."
Gaping, Bilbo stammered, "I –"
Thorin didn't wait for Bilbo to find his voice. Instead, he shoved the shoes into Bilbo's chest. "Get used to them."
With a flourish that seemed unaccountably dramatic in so stoic a figure, Thorin turned and stalked off, leaving Bilbo holding the slippers. Looking down with a grimace, he turned them over, feeling the supple leather. He sighed. "Well, Bilbo, you're not working for yourself anymore," he murmured. Time to follow orders.
For the sixteenth time, Bilbo careened off the wire and landed in an ignominious pile in the netting. The offending shoes made his footing less sensitive, threw off his balance, and cut off the intimate connection he'd always felt between himself and the wire. As a result, he was barely able to walk in a straight line, much less perform with his usual agility, and he kept falling. Laying back against the net, Bilbo flexed his fists and fought back an outburst of frustration.
A tug on his ankle brought him back as a gruff voice asked, "Are you alright?"
Bilbo sat up slowly. Glóin was standing at the edge of the net. He didn't appear concerned, but there was no mockery in his expression either. Bilbo rolled to the ground, fighting embarrassment. There, he lifted his feet, as uncomfortable as a cat in boots. "I can't get used to them."
Glóin nodded. "Aye, it's not easy finding your balance again."
"I don't see why I need them!" Bilbo blurted, flushed with outrage. "I've been working on a wire for ages, and I've never used them before."
Glóin possessed an odd build for an aerialist, barrel chested and muscular, like his son. His beard was trimmed very short by necessity, but like so many of The Company, it was a fiery red. Like his hair, which was braided flat and adorned with beads. It wasn't hard to see where Gimli had gotten his seriousness, as Glóin's long, considering pause was one of unhurried reflection. "Do you know why he wants you to wear them?"
"He told me it made the circus look bad to have amateurs performing," Bilbo repeated bitterly.
"Oh? Thorin does care a great deal about The Company's reputation, but I think there's another side you may not see. I know that some casual practitioners use a softer rope, but here it's reinforced with steel, and the braiding is coarse. Going barefooted is dangerous. An unexpected movement could take the skin off, and we wouldn't want that, Mister Baggins."
Taken aback, Bilbo stammered.
"Thorin cares about his people," Glóin said with such firmness that Bilbo didn't dare contradict him. "As for the adjustment needed for the shoes, well, I've seen it done before, and I've no doubt you'll manage. It will just take patience and some confidence in the purpose behind them." He raised an eyebrow, and Bilbo felt his ears heat up.
"Thank you, Glóin," he said quietly.
The older performer gripped his shoulder. "My pleasure, laddie. Now, are you too tired for another attempt?"
Bilbo looked up and up at the wire from which he had plummeted so many times. New resolve filled him, and he took a step toward the ladder.
Next Chapter Summary: Welcome to opening night of the world-famous circus, The Company!
Footnote(s):
[1] Domesticated elephants have been working alongside humans for thousands of years. However, because of historical abuses, most modern circuses don't have non-native animals anymore. I'm supportive of this; however, for the purposes of this story, we're just going to assume that the Durins take immaculate care of their animals.
[2] Professional tightwire artists generally work in thin, leather-soled shoes which allow flexibility while also protecting from the coarseness of the braided wire, which can cause bruises, scrapes, and cuts. To go barefoot is the mark of a hobbyist who might require the use of the gap between their toes for grip and balance.
Author's Note: Sorry this was posted a bit late; busy day! Hopefully you found it worth the wait. Next chapter, you'll finally get to see the circus perform on opening night. Which leads to a question. Are you able to visualize the action so far? It took trial and error to figure out the best way to describe the movements of characters on the trapeze, tight wire, and trampoline, and I'm curious if you've found it successful so far.
Shout Out: To silverwork4furs for their awesome photosets based on this story. Go check them out at her Tumblr page or mine!
