Chapter Three

Bilbo was so unsettled by this point that he strode over to the door, barely aware that despite his attempts to be a polite and accommodating host, he was shouting at the top of his lungs. He wrenched the door open and too many dwarves to count fell onto the mat just inside. Not one of them bothered scraping their boots once they had stood up, and not one so much as pretended to offer service. Smiling down at the hobbit from above the heap of dwarves as they scrambled to their feet, Gandalf looked as if everything was going exactly according to plan. This only irritated Bilbo further and, following the dwarves' lack of manners, he neglected to welcome a single one of the visitors.

Before Bilbo knew which way was up, his hole had been overrun. Dwarves scurried here and there, carrying furniture into the dining room and emptying the pantry of everything that was edible, drinkable or could be smoked in a pipe. Gandalf stood in the hallway, stooping slightly so as not to bang his head on the ceiling, as Bilbo thumped the door closed.

The hobbit ignored the pile of cloaks, weapons, packs and a random flute that had been dumped underneath the pegs where Dwalin, Balin, Kili and Fili's cloaks were already hanging. He snatched a delicate doily right out of a large Dwarvish hand, squeaking that it wasn't a dishcloth, then forcibly turned one dwarf who was attempting to carry an antique chair into the dining room, apparently with the intention of sitting on it. The dwarf put the chair back, complaining, and Bilbo noticed the steady stream of food, drink and pipe weed leaving the pantry.

Bilbo remembered his manners just enough to say, "Have you got a cheese knife?" to one exceptionally round dwarf who must have been nearly as wide as he was tall. The dwarf was carrying three blocks of cheese, and didn't take the trouble to reply.

"A cheese knife?" another of the dwarfs asked. "He eats it by the block."

It was lucky for Bilbo that the dwarves worked quickly. In fact, they were a remarkably efficient group, and they had several tables shoved together, covered with mounds of food and surrounded by chairs in short order. The hobbit dropped into a spare chair at the end of the table and watched, unnoticed, as the visitors devoured his meats, cheeses, bread, pies, pastries, cakes and everything else they had found. The one thing left was a blue-veined cheese, which sat on the floor receiving the odd suspicious glance from the dwarf who had thrown it there. Bilbo didn't mind that the cheese was getting more attention than he was; he was too busy trying to calculate the cost of the damage whilst seeming to be a generous host. His generosity, it seemed, stretched just far enough to prevent him throwing the whole rowdy gathering out of the window.

The noise was unbelievable. Several of the dwarves amused themselves, between bites of Bilbo's home grown potatoes and vegetables, by throwing grapes at Bombur, the large red-bearded dwarf who had indeed demolished two blocks of cheese in addition to many other things. Every time Bombur successfully caught the grape in his mouth, the other dwarves would cheer. It seemed to Bilbo that Bombur was far too proficient at this game for his own good.

Even when the cheers died down, there was still too much noise for Bilbo's liking. He was used to nothing more than the fire crackling in the hearth and the sweet sound of the pouring rain on the windows; the shouts and laughs were enough to make him cower in his seat. Gandalf, on the contrary, watched the gathering with the same amused smile he had worn since first entering the hobbit hole. He ate and drank little, and did so in a more refined manner than the dwarves, who seemed to think that anything they didn't devour immediately would be somehow lost.

The only peace came on the occasions when somebody called for a round. Somehow, and Bilbo had no idea how, all the dwarves heard the call every single time. All thirteen would upend and drain their tankards of ale together, giving a brief respite from all sounds except for the glugging of liquid and several loud, rather distasteful, burps.

This was almost too much for the hobbit. He was very close to saying something, but what could he say? Even if he'd tried, he doubted that any of the dwarves would pay him the slightest bit of attention. Even if they did, what could he say? He only broke his silence when the platters of food were almost completely clear and several of the dwarves began playing with his knives. They seemed to think it a good sport, but Bilbo wasn't impressed.

"Don't do that, you'll blunt them," he pleaded, and to his surprise the dwarves caught his voice amidst theirs.

"You hear that, lads? He says we'll blunt the knives!"

There was nothing Bilbo could do but stand and watch. The dwarves began singing merrily with deep voices and the hobbit looked on, horrified, as they completely ignored his protest.

Two of the dwarves played musical accompaniments to the singing and the rest began throwing Bilbo's cutlery and crockery around the table. Gandalf, who joined in neither singing nor throwing, nonetheless looked amused. Bilbo was horrified. They were bound to break every last plate and dish and bend all his forks if they didn't stop! He couldn't seem to make his voice work, and after the first very feeble protest Bilbo sat back down, feeling faint. Maybe it was because he hadn't eaten his supper, maybe he had used too much energy earlier running round after the visitors as they organised his dining room to suit themselves, but he now had a light head as well as a misplaced appetite.

The song ended and the dwarves sat down. Bilbo, peeking between his fingers, saw that his cutlery and crockery sat in neatly stacked piles at the end of the table.