Chapter 4:
Quite frankly, Bartholomew was having a bad morning. The other Rangers had all but left him to the town of Bree to watch alone for another three months. They claimed he was still too young and he didn't understand everything in the world quite yet. He argued a very point of not being able to see the rest of Middle Earth if he was stuck in Bree where nothing ever happened.
So imagine his surprise and—sadly—excitement when a dwarf burst into the shop with a man practically dragging on the ground behind him.
Bartholomew rose, his hand finger the hilt of his sword. "May I help you—or him—Master Dwarf?"
"Ye can get yer tonker to the orphanage right this second." The dwarf growled, throwing the man on the floor. "This one 'as been keepin' hobbits not children there! What's worse is that 'e's been beatin' them an' keepin' them as slaves!"
"That's quite an accusation!" Bartholomew exclaimed, setting down his pipe.
"But it's true."
Bartholomew frowned. "Show me."
The dwarf nodded stiffly and ran out the door, the man on the ground in tow. The Ranger ran out, and strode next to the dwarf easily. They pushed through the crowds, receiving odd looks, but both were used to such looks. One was a dwarf and the other was a Ranger—such untrusting glances were common.
The dwarf led him up the stairs to the orphanage and shoved the door open. He threw the man up against the wall. Whoever it was yelped in pain, before slouching down, eyes closed. The dwarf looked around.
"Thorin!" He shouted. "I've got 'im."
It wasn't long before heavy boot clomps were heard down the hall. Bartholomew looked up to see a large dwarf approach them. Everything about his bearing said regal, from the way he carried himself to the stiffness of his manner. Even his long black hair seemed to billow behind him as he marched towards them. The only thing that seemed out of place, was the tiny child that was curled up against the dwarf's chest. The little boy seemed to be a hobbit, his clothes were dirty as was his hair. He didn't seem threatened by the dwarf though, if anything he appeared to try and curl himself closer into the fur folds of the raven haired dwarf's coat and cloak.
"Ah, Dwalin, good." Thorin said, before looking to the Ranger. "Have you been aware of the going-ons in this house?"
"I fear I only knew it to be a simple orphanage, Master Dwarf." Bartholomew answered truthfully.
"I thought as much." The dwarf snorted. "Follow me then, Ranger."
"My name is Bartholomew." The Man retorted, following Thorin.
"Very, well, Bartholomew. Do many people often come to the orphanage?"
The Ranger thought about it before shaking his head. "No, not really. People have a hard time feeding their families here in Bree. It's a small town—any extra mouths to feed is almost unwelcomed. The orphanage is set up, really for children to be kept off the streets rather than to be fostered."
Thorin frowned. "So you would have them become beggars when they are older?"
"It is not a decision I made," Bartholomew answered, shooting an aggravated glance at Thorin. "It is that of the Elders."
"Did the Elders know of this then?" The dwarf asked, gesturing with his head, into a doorway.
The Ranger stepped forward with a raised eyebrow before looking in.
"By the Valar."
What he saw disgusted him. There were about maybe, four or five dozen hobbits all in a room. They all looked malnourished and sun deprived. Currently though, they had smiles on their faces as they were packing up bedrolls and the like.
"This is what has been happening under this house?" Bartholomew demanded.
"It would seem." Thorin nodded, adjusting the hobbit in his arms. "We arrived here, and simply came to search this room. We found them here."
What were you doing searching this house? "Did you search the rest of the house?"
"We did not."
"Then you and your partner fan out." He ordered. "We don't know if he has other races here as well. He might not have any dwarves, but he could most definitely have human children here."
"Very well." The dwarf answered.
He shifted the child, looking at it tenderly. Lifting his arm a bit, he shook the tiny hobbit's shoulder. The Ranger observed from the corner of his eye.
"Bilbo, I will be right back, you must stay with the other hobbits."
The little child looked up at him and shook his head, stubbornly burying it back into the furs of his coat.
"Bilbo," Thorin whispered. "There may very well be something dangerous in these other rooms. I do not wish for you to get hurt." More than what you are already.
"No. I stay."
"Bilbo."
"Stay."
"Bil—"
"STAY."
The dwarf prince looked down into the water of eyes of the hobbit and found himself trapped. Dear Mahal, could those eyes look any sadder? He sighed. Gently, Thorin moved the hobbit from his arms and onto his back. Bilbo immediately complied with the action and wrapped his small arms around Thorin's neck and his legs around his chest. The dwarf looped his arms under the boy's legs, hoisting him up a bit into a better position on his back. Without another word, he and the hobbit left the hall.
Bartholomew cocked his head. That was the strangest thing I've ever seen. Of all the dwarves that have passed through Bree, I don't believe I've ever seen one act like that. What does that child mean to that dwarf Thorin? And why…why does that name sound familiar?
The Ranger could hear from the upstairs levels quite a bit of shuffling and stomping from the dwarves. He shook his head, as he even heard a bit of Khuzdul fly from both dwarves mouth, followed by the indignant shout of their hobbit companion. Valar only knows what they said and what they saw.
"Ranger!" came a shout from the voice of the dwarf Dwalin. "Ye best get up here."
Bartholomew didn't hesitate to run down the hall and up the stairs. He paused at the top, clenching the rail tightly. The dwarf had dragged out of a room a girl, maybe no older than twenty. His jaw clenched.
"Who are you?" He demanded.
"A victim, same as the others." She snapped.
At that moment, Thorin came out of one of the rooms he was searching. When he laid eyes on the woman, he almost threw down Bilbo in pure fury. He stormed up to the three of them, his eyes ablaze.
"You!" He snarled.
The girl looked impassive. "I couldn't have kept my promise even if I wanted."
"If you were a dwarf I would have shaved you of all your hair by now." Thorin growled, clutching Bilbo tighter. The hobbit's arm's curled tighter around his neck.
"I had no choice!" The girl protested, yanking her arm in Dwalin's grasp, but he wouldn't loosen his grip. "I'm as slave to Mortimer as the others."
"Why?" Bartholomew asked lowly, crossing his arms.
"My parents owed money to him." The girl replied angrily. "They couldn't pay him so they sold me."
The Ranger raised his brow. "They would do that?"
"They didn't care."
Oh.
"What did you do for the Man?" Thorin demanded.
The girl's eyes widened and her cheeks bloomed red like primrose. "I…I, um…"
Bartholomew nodded, understanding. "It's alright, we won't make you say."
Both Thorin and Dwalin cocked their heads to the side, not understanding. Bartholomew sighed. The girl sucked in breath from her mouth.
"She has been wronged." The Ranger explained.
The dwarves' eyes when wide.
"Did he hit you, too?" Bilbo asked quietly.
The girl glared daggers at the tiny hobbit. "That's none of your business."
Thorin growled a warning as Bilbo whimpered.
Bartholomew pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose.
"Are there any others here?"
"No, none that are human. Mortimer was able to sell them long ago." The girl answered. "Just the hobbits left, today he was going to take them to whatever black market he was planning on selling them at."
"Did you know where?"
"He never trusted me enough to tell me."
Dwalin snorted.
The girl glowered at him.
"What will you do now?" The Ranger pressed.
"Go to Rohan. Far away from any of this. I'm sick of Bree, I never want to be here again."
"It's a long and dangerous journey alone." Thorin pointed out begrudgingly, a girl like here wouldn't survive a week.
"I know." She answered mildly.
Thorin looked to Bartholomew but the Ranger had already began to go down the stairs. Mortimer was starting to come to. Grabbing his shirt collar, Bartholomew rammed the man's head up against the wall again. With a shout, Mortimer's eyes rolled back and he was unconscious again.
"He'll be easier to carry." He explained at the amused looks of the dwarves.
Thorin cleared his throat. "And what of the other hobbits?"
"If you don't mind," Bartholomew started. "I'd like to summon a few other Rangers that are nearby. Tomorrow, we can take the hobbits to the Shire."
Thorin nodded.
"And what of the hobbit that seems inseparable from you?" The Ranger asked.
"We saved 'im from kidnappers." Dwalin explained. "They…" He looked from Bilbo to the Ranger and shook his head, stepping into the hall.
Bartholomew followed. "What else did they do?"
Dwalin frowned. "They killed 'is parents. It took us forever ta find the place where 'e 'ad been camped, but we found nothin' but ruin when we got there."
"I feel sorry for the little one." Bartholomew whispered.
"'E 'asn't let go of Thorin since." Dwalin answered.
The Ranger stepped out of the hall and looked to the other dwarf. "Do you know of what clan he belongs to?"
"Pardon?"
"Hobbits have large families." Bartholomew explained. "I fear I only know a few, I actually have never been to the Shire. I'm always stationed here. I'm not one of the many wandering Rangers—I keep the peace, or try, here."
"Bilbo, do you know what clan you belong to?" Thorin asked the hobbit on his back.
"I'm a Baggins." The child squeaked. "A Baggins of Bag End."
The Ranger's eyes widened.
"A Baggins." He murmured sorrowfully.
"What? What is wrong with the lad bein' a Baggins?" Dwalin pressed.
"There are two clans of the hobbits that I am sure of." The Ranger began. "The Tooks and the Baggins."
"Well, that is good. The lil' one will 'ave family."
Thorin's heart began to clench.
"Not exactly." Bartholomew said.
Thorin titled his head to the side. "What?"
"About fifteen years ago, there was a terrible winter. Everyone in this area felt it. The hobbits of the Shire had it the worse. The Brandywine froze over allowing Orcs and Wargs to cross the borders. Many hobbits were killed that winter; and according to the reports from Rangers who were in that area—the whole of the Baggins clan was killed."
"Explain his parents, then."
"Whoever the Baggins was of his parents, they may have been the last one."
"So he has no family?"
"None that is alive." The Ranger whispered quietly.
Dwalin and Thorin shared worried looks.
"Perhaps you could take him." Bartholomew suggested.
"What?" Both Dwalin and Thorin choked out.
The Ranger nodded. "He seems quite comfortable with the both of you. Quite frankly, hobbits don't trust strangers outside of their Shire."
"Perhaps he feels as though he owes a debt?" Dwalin piped up weakly.
"Hobbits don't think like that." Bartholomew shrugged. "At least the one's I've encountered."
Thorin looked harshly at Bartholomew.
"And how do we know you are not lying. Even if we did decide to take Bilbo with us, how would we know you would not try to take advantage of the others?"
The Ranger cocked his head.
"The last man they trusted, lied to them." The girl offered with a shamed smile.
Bartholomew looked at the dwarves before kneeling down before them. He placed a hand on Thorin's shoulder looking him straight in the eyes. His face stony, and stoic.
"I swear on the graves of my deceased wife and my unborn child, that I will keep the hobbits safe unto the Shire."
Thorin's eyes widened. "I accept your vow."
Bartholomew nodded, before standing up coolly. "So that's settled, are you going to take dear Bilbo Baggins with you?"
"If he wishes to come." Thorin said. "If not, perhaps you could find a good family for him to live with?"
"Where are you going?" The Ranger asked alarmed.
"Home." Dwalin answered coolly.
"Ered Lûin?"
"Just because we are dwarves does not mean we necessarily live there."
"So, you don't live in Ered Lûin?"
Dwalin looked at Thorin and the other dwarf shook his head. The Ranger might have sworn to keep the hobbits safe, but he would not spill the location of their home. No, they would be taking their hobbit to the Blue Mountain, and he did not want any loose kidnappers following them.
"Aye," Dwalin admitted. "We live in Ered Lûin."
Bartholomew smirked.
Thorin gently tugged Bilbo off of his back and set him down on the ground. The hobbit looked up at the dwarf with teary eyes. Thorin sighed.
"Master Baggins, Dwalin and I will be leaving soon. Do you wish to come with us?"
The hobbit sniffled.
"If you do not wish to come with us because it is far from your Shire, it is understandable. The Ranger is willing to escort you and the other hobbits home." Thorin continued.
Bilbo nodded. "I go."
"Who with laddie?" Dwalin asked, crouching down eye level with the little one.
"Thorin." The boy answered quietly. "Dah."
Bartholomew's, Thorin's, and Dwalin's eyebrows all shot up. The raven haired dwarf turned a bit red and the tattooed one spluttered. The Ranger smirked wildly.
"So I guess that's that then."
The Ranger walked down the hall shouting. "Come now Halflings, let's go and get all of you some breakfast, it's early enough for you!"
When he came back down the hall, Dwalin was glaring at the girl. "Wha' about her?"
"She's of age." The Ranger said, sparing her a sympathetic glance. "She may go wherever she pleases."
"'She' has a name." The girl spat. "And it's Urla, by the way."
With a swift turn of the heels, she stormed out of the building.
The Ranger cocked his brow. "Well, that was handled well."
"She's not our concern." The bald dwarf snorted.
Bartholomew shrugged. "But the hobbit is?"
"Yes, because we are the ones who saved Bilbo, therefor we are responsible." Thorin stated.
"In a sense, you saved everyone here. If you had not gone into the room to find your little one, you might not have found all of them."
"We had to come back for him."
"Could you imagine if you had not been dwarves? If you had been hobbits or even Men? You most likely would have not succeeded—you would have wound up being dead or enslaved yourselves. You saved everyone here and you know it."
"But we are not responsible for them."
"No, I am." Bartholomew smiled, looking at the hobbits who were skipping down the hall. "Now, if you don't mind, Master Dwarves—I have to go get these folks some food. Good luck Master Dwarves, and safe travels."
And with that, the grinning Ranger left with a majestic swoop of his cape. Although he stopped by the wall and grabbed Mortimer by the collar of his shirt. He dragged the man behind him in the dirt, his cape billowing majestically behind him. The other hobbits chattered, walking past the dwarves and patting them on the shoulders. They waited until all the other hobbits left, before looking at Bilbo.
"Mama and Papa aren't coming back?" Bilbo asked quietly.
Thorin frowned. "Yes, they are not going to return."
"Then I want to go now." The hobbit answered.
"We c'n get some good ground behind us, Thorin, if we leave now." Dwalin informed.
"Right yes, then, let us return to the inn and gather the rest of our things."
The larger dwarf nodded and left the room.
Thorin looked at Bilbo and crouched down in front of Bilbo.
"Are you ready, Master Hobbit?"
"Yes, Dah." Bilbo nodded, biting his little lip.
Thorin sighed. "Why do you call me that? 'Dah'."
"I sorry." The hobbit whimpered.
"I do not mind, Bilbo. I just wish to know why."
"I dunno."
Thorin raised one of his thick hairy brows.
The hobbit flushed. "I don't have a Papa anymore."
The dwarf's eyes widened and he looked at the boy with surprise.
"I'm alone—no family for me." Bilbo began to cry. "No family for me."
Thorin's heart splintered as he heard the words of the tiny boy. He couldn't help but remember the black clouds of the phantoms of his memory. He was haunted by the images of Smaug destroying and laying waste to his kingdom of Erebor. Or how the pale Orc decapitated his grandfather's mighty corpse in the battle of Anzanulbizar His father was so over thrown with grief that he was either dead or lost forever. It had left him and Dís to mourn the bodies—his dead brother Frerin included—alone. Yes, Thorin Oakenshield knew loss; especially when nothing but moniker came from it.
The ex-prince-who-would-be-king gathered the little boy in his arms.
"There now, you Master Baggins, do not cry." He murmured into the Bilbo's ears. "You are not alone. You have Dwalin, and you have I."
The boy sniffled, hiding his face in the warm soft fluffy fur of Thorin's coat.
"Do you trust me, Bilbo?" Thorin asked softly, stroking the boy's downy hair.
"Yes." Bilbo whimpered, letting the tears stream down his face.
Thorin smiled softly, and picked up the hobbit. His strong arms wrapped around him and holding him close. Never had he dreamed of having an heir, but the idea of this little hobbit being it—seemed very, very uplifting.
"Then Bilbo, I will try my hardest to be your Dah."
The fauntling looked up at the dwarf with wide hazel eyes. The little one offered Thorin a weak smile before hugging him fiercely. Thorin returned it. He was unsure why in under such a short amount of time this little boy was able to burgle his heart away.
Thorin pulled out of the hug and looked at the hobbit child with bright blue eyes.
"Come now, Master Baggins. Let us go find Dwalin at the inn. For now, we leave for the Blue Mountains. We leave for home."
Bilbo, tearstained and red-eyed, grinned.
"Home." He echoed.