I wish to extend well-wishes to my readers, my reviewers, and those who Favorite and Follow this story. Many thanks to you all!
I also would like it alliterate that this story covers more than just Friendship/Adventure. This story has Drama, Angst, Family, a bit of Tragedy. Life, after all, has everything and this story is no different. It's not just one kind of genre. It has a lot to offer and I hope everyone continues to love and enjoy it.
A special thank you to all those who have given me advice, you have helped far more than you realize.
Chapter Four
In Which, a Stranger Finds His Way
As it so happened, a slight drizzle began to fall not long after the dark figure set out, once again, in his search for the rest of his company. By the time he came to the next set of crossroads, it was pouring. Not only was he still unsure of his direction but now he was soaked to the bone, cold, and quite hungry. A deadly combination that was soon to spell disaster for his mood. By which, it was already too late. His deep blue eyes were alight with thunder and his mood became blacker than the dark heavens that hung high above him. He was in a right foul temper.
The figure threw up the hood of his dark cloak, cursing himself that he had not done so before, in order to prevent the rain from further seeping into his clothes and hair. Luckily, he wore many layers of clothing; including a jerkin consisting of geometrical metal plates that served as a form of armor that was worn beneath a long, sleeveless fur vest. The well-worn, dark blue traveling coat (complete with silver tassel) tied up the ensemble, allowing the figure to seem more intense and far more striking.
In the long run, he was not as worse for wear as his mind conveyed. Though, his position of being lost and now caught out in the rain was not helping matters in his frame of mind. What he would give for a hot meal and a roaring fire! A nice draw of a mug of ale would also be heavily welcomed.
The figure shook his head roughly, sending a shower of raindrops from his dark, waterlogged hood and scattering them to the muddy road beneath his booted feet. He had not the time to daydream of comforts. The sooner he found this Baggins and Bag-end, the better. Then, and only then, could he take the time for some much needed luxury.
Glancing up at the signpost, he found there two names. Hobbiton, which pointed left towards northeast, and Bywater, which lay in the direction of southeast. His eyes furrowed in deep confusion and gritted his teeth in frustration. Which way? Pulling back the folds of both his traveling cloak and fur vest, he withdrew one of the few maps he carried and squinted intensely in the faint light so as to make out its details. Tracing a forefinger over his marked route, he began to calculate as to where exactly his destination resided and just how much further he would have to continue in order to reach it. Nodding stiffly to himself in some small way of satisfaction the traveler concluded that, judging by what little the wizard had told him, his destination lay off to the left.
Replacing the map back to its rightful spot, the figure drew his garments tighter around himself and trudged off in the direction of Hobbiton. He prayed by rock and stone it wouldn't be much further. He had no pleasure in wandering about in the dark during a rainstorm.
Bilbo wasn't sure if it was possible to be this infuriated. The moment he stumbled into his dinning room in pursuit of several of the dwarrows, who were still tossing about his mother's dishes, he found that every single piece of pottery and silverware he owned was piled in neat stacks upon his dinning room table. Not a one had the slightest chip or crack of any sort. All the Dwarves were crowded about its edges, guffawing and chortling at his expense and the expense of the earthenware. Gandalf, who had found a rather comfortable spot at the foot of the table, was struggling in vain to hide a wide, cheeky grin of his own.
"Bilbo," The gray wizard greeted with a nod of his gray head, unable to stop a small chuckle. He spread his hands wide, careful so as not to hit any of the Dwarves who were in close proximity to him, and gave a small shrug to symbolized his innocence.
The hobbit, who was not one to let such outrageous behavior on the Dwarves part go unnoticed, took a deep breath and was just about to voice his displeasure of the antics of Dwarves, when there came the heavy thud of someone knocking at his door. Three solid, loud hits immediately silenced the ruckus, causing those in the room to suddenly stiffen and properly compose themselves. Judging by the Dwarves sudden change in body language, Bilbo could tell that whoever was at the door had a very low tolerance for nonsense and mischief.
'And rightly so.' He thought to himself, feeling just a bit smug that someone could rein the blasted characters in. 'Now perhaps some order will be restored.'
"It appears," Gandalf began quietly, his voice soft and low; his tone rather too mysterious for Bilbo's liking. "He has finally arrived."
"H-he?" The hobbit stammered, not at all sure if this was the sort of person he should let into the house. By the way the wizard spoke of this character, Bilbo wasn't quite certain if his arrival was the coming of a whole different sort of disaster altogether.
"Yes, yes, yes." The Grey Pilgrim answered rather impatiently, waving his hand at the poor hobbit. "Now, be the pleasant host hobbits are known for and do invite him in. I don't suppose he'll be pleased at being left on the doorstep."
Mumbling low under his breath about bugger being a host to a pack (he really didn't know what to call a group of Dwarves and quite frankly, he didn't care to) of Dwarves who manners where worse than his relatives the Sackville-Baggings', Bilbo made his way to the front door. However, he was unaware that the rest of his guests, plus the wizard, had followed in order to greet their late companion. Placing his hand around the latch, Bilbo sucked in a deep breath and hoped to high heaven that whoever was on the other side of the door was far more agreeable than the rest of his very rambunctious guests. Mustering the most pleasant and polite smile he could, the hobbit flipped open the latch and opened the door wide.
Unfortunately for Bilbo, he was met with someone who was anything but agreeable.
He had never known there to be any sort of creature smaller than himself. At least, so he had thought. Yet, standing before him, was a little man. Or what he would have mistaken for a man if not for the overly large feet (which bore no shoes of any kind and were covered with dark, curly hair) and that the creature's ears were slightly pointed. Inwardly, he grimaced. This could not possibly his burglar. He would not, under any circumstances, have some Elf-creature accompanying him on a quest to reclaim his homeland. Never. He would sooner cut off his braids than have some relation to Elves as part as his company.
Still, despite his inward feelings of disgust and doubt, he kept his facial expression stony and unreadable and immediately turned his gaze to the one person in the doorway that he deemed addressing.
"Ah, Gandalf." He inclined his head slightly and stepped through the open door, not giving the little creature, who barely had time to move out of his path, a second glance. Instead, he kept his sharp gaze fixed upon the graying elder. "If I recall correctly, you relayed to me that this Bag-end was no trouble to locate. I lost my way. Twice."
Under normal circumstances, he would never blatantly admit to being lost or of having any sort of trouble locating a meeting place. However, these were not normal circumstances. He had a company to lead and a quest to complete. He could not afford delays. And by the wizard's lack of proper instruction to the Shire, he had been delayed. He did not tolerate those who would make him a fool. In order for the wizard understand the importance of this mission, he would be reprimanded. Also, he took note, his men stood present to greet him. He needed to appear in control of the situation. If anything to assert his position as leader.
"Oh," The wizard consoled, though not sounding, nor looking, at all in the least bit apologetic. "I am sorry. I seem to forget that not all are familiar with this area. Very few others beside myself journey this way, you know."
He gave Gandalf a withering look, though the wizard took no notice of it, and began to untie his waterlogged traveling cloak. At least the rain had stopped halfway before he finally reached the Mahal-forsaken place. He had been able to dry out somewhat.
"I would not have found it at all if it had not been for the mark upon the door." He retorted shortly, giving the garment a few good shakes to relieve it of any remaining water before hanging it upon one of the many pegs that lined the hallway. "To which I would every much like to learn how you came to know of it."
He watched as Gandalf seemed to contemplate answering his question but, before the wizard could reply, or to form a reasonable defense, the little creature who had been standing by the door finally spoke.
"There is no mark on that door." The little man insisted, abet, a bit shakily and his eyes wandered about not quite looking at anyone in particular. "I painted it a week ago myself and I am quite certain you have come to the wrong house."
He raised a dark brow at the funny creature and was just about to rebuke it for it's lack of respect when Gandalf intervened. The wizard bend down to it's level and addressed the little man in a soft, yet stern voice.
"Of course there is a mark, my dear Bilbo." Said the wizard, though, not unkindly. "I placed it there myself. As for the Dwarves here, I'm afraid they are in the right house."
He was starting to get the impression that the little man had no idea just what he had gotten himself into or if he had any idea at all. In fact, it seemed to him that it was the wizard who had made the decision for the creature's involvement. Yes, that sounded a bit more reasonable. He did not see the little man as anything more than a grocer to be frank, let alone a burglar. If he was a betting Dwarf, and he most certainly did nothing of the sort, he would have guessed that the only thing the creature had ever stolen was a piece of note paper, or perhaps a spare quill. He wouldn't last a day out in the Wilds, let alone against Smaug himself.
"Now," Started Gandalf, rising to his full height, or as much as he could be granted what with the limited amount of ceiling space. "I do believe proper introductions are in order. Yes, yes. Bilbo Baggins," The wizard addressed the little man who immediately straighten, giving the graying elder his full attention. "Allow me to introduce the leader of the Company of Dwarves, and soon yourself, Thorin Oakenshield."
At the sound of his name, Thorin pulled himself up to his full height. Drawing his arms across his chest, he accessed the much shorter figure. He looked him up and down, taking in every inch of the little creature's physical capabilities, which was not much if he was honest. His arms were too thin and had very little muscle to them. He wouldn't be able to lift a sword, let alone an ax. He seemed a bit round about the belly yet, he knew from experience that meant very little. Balin, for example, was still in some of the best shape of his life despite his prominent age and portliness. Bombur, on the other hand, could stand to lose a few pounds. However, Thorin had heard (not witnessed) of moments where the Dwarf's profound weight had proved useful.
Still, he found very little about the creature that seemed at all worth the trip.
"So," He regarded, giving the little man a hard stare as he continued to analyze him. "This is the hobbit."
First Revised: 1/17/16
