I own nothing but this computer, the clothes on my back, my sewing machine and an avid imagination. Most of these characters are products of Tolkien's imagination (as if you didn't know).
enjoy
Chapter Three: Morning Calls
Dark shadows in rooms.
Empty bottles that reek of alcohol.
Waking hours of sad eyes and hard truths.
Bilbo stared.
Green eyes stared back.
Bilbo stared some more.
Green eyes blink nonchalantly.
"Cat." He says, not quite giving up on his staring competition just yet.
Green eyes blink again.
"Mrrow." The black cat replies; still infuriatingly blocking his way to the bathroom.
"What are you doing here Cat?" Bilbo does not feel mad talking to the feline, no siree.
"Mrrow." It says again with the same level of innocence in its tone.
"How did you even get in here?" Bilbo doesn't remember seeing any animal flaps in the house, and he knows all the windows were firmly shut because he had closed them himself- the nights apparently get quite cold in Erebor.
"Mrrow." The cat predictably replies. Frustrated, he steps forward- hoping that the animal will run away.
It doesn't.
Quite annoyed now, he picks the furry creature up, holding it at arm's length as he works his way into the bathroom before unceremoniously dumping it outside the doorway and shuts the door.
He hears a muffled "mrrow" through the painted wood. Bilbo suspects the feline is pressing its face against the door to make sure he hears it.
Relieving himself, he goes to open the door with some trepidation only to relax when he sees the cat is nowhere in sight. Heartened he makes his way to the kitchen to make his compulsory early morning cup of tea.
Only to stop dead when he sees the black cat perched on the bench- directly in front of the kettle- fluffy black tail curled around its feet.
"Ca-aat! What? What do you want from me?!"
Bilbo really wants his cup of tea.
For once the cat doesn't reply, simply sits in front of his tea making machine, blinking at him occasionally.
The bastard knows. And it's this thought that motivates him to shamble over to the cupboard in the hopes of finding a food for the blasted creature. Miraculously, there is in fact a tin of cat food sitting on the shelf.
At chest height.
Immediately within eyeshot…
Gandalf.
"Mrrow." the cat says in encouragement behind him.
"I suppose you're an unspecified addition to the house, aren't you. Like wood-rot, or unpleasant neighbours."
He's sitting at the table now, mug of steaming tea between his hands, staring at the cat as it quite happily eats its food. He supposes there is some unwritten rule somewhere about not letting animals eat at the table, but dammit he's master of this house now and he'll do what he wants.
Wisely, the cat ignores his comment and continues to eat its meal.
Curious, he reaches out a hand to stroke it. The feline makes no move to show that his touch is unwelcome and he gives it a firm pat. Its long fur is deliciously soft and fine beneath his fingers and then it's like a drug because dammit, but he doesn't want to stop patting it. Its ears feel like satin and the hair along its back runs like water under his hands.
A cautious inspection of its rear end leads Bilbo into thinking it's a boy- possibly desexed (okay, so he doesn't really know. He's not a bloody vet). He smiles in resignation.
"I suppose I'll have to name you… What about Catface?" The feline pauses in its eating to give him what feels like a disdainful glare, "Yes I suppose that is a touch too obvious. Garry? Mittens? No… too domestic…. Satan? That would give Lobelia a heart attack… might be tempting fate though. Hnn… Mufasa? No, you're right, you're entirely the wrong colour. Obsidian? Yeah, too wordy- I thought so too. Stygian? Nyeeh, more of an adjective than a proper noun… Let's see… you came in here quite unannounced, almost like magi-
"Ah! I have it! Wraith." The cat looks back at him, licking its lips.
"Well, it's better than Catface!" Wisely, Wraith says nothing, but he's still not looking entirely impressed. Fortunately, Bilbo is prevented from getting into a completely pointless and only slightly mad (and entirely one sided) argument with his newly acquired pet by a brisk knocking at his door.
Frowning, he pushes himself away from the table. It is terribly early (by his standards) and he's only wearing his pyjamas and a dressing gown. Wraith joins him as he makes his way to the front door, wrapping the dressing gown tighter around himself.
When he opens the door to the brisk morning air, he is greeted by beard; grey and lots of it. Upon further inspection he realises that the beard is attached to Gandalf.
"Good morning!" he says, smiling up at the ridiculously tall man with his ridiculously long beard.
Gandalf looks at him curiously, grey eyes twinkling mischievously, "And what do you mean by 'Good morning'? Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is morning to be good on?"
Bilbo stares at the man (mildly perplexed), "All at once I suppose." He says slowly as if he were talking to a child. Gandalf merely smiles enigmatically and lets himself in.
Left at the door, Bilbo shares an incredulous look with Wraith before following him into the kitchen.
"Tea?" he asks, ever the polite host- even to unannounced guests.
"Ah, yes. That would be lovely thank you."
Bilbo takes a long moment to look at the large assortment of jars lining the bench, "Ahh… anything in particular?" Gandalf smile grows wider.
"Surprise me." Which is of course Bilbo's favourite reply when asking people about tea. After a moment's deliberation, he picks the Russian Caravan blend- simple but good.
"How do you take it?"
"Black, three sugars." That raises his eyebrows, but he doesn't comment. Instead, an awkward, protracted silence grows as they wait for the water to boil. Whilst the calmness sets Bilbo on edge, Gandalf seems content to sit at his table, humming softly to himself.
The cat jumps onto the table. His guest fortunately makes no remark about its lack of manners and instead smiles in delight.
"Why, hello you magnificent creature!"
"Mrrow." The cat replies. He laughs.
'Yes, you're quite right. It is nice to see someone living here again!"
"Myrrt," Wraith says in agreement, rubbing his head against Gandalf's outstretched hand.
By this point Bilbo has resigned himself to spending his morning in the company of a madman. He sets about making the man's tea in silence.
"How do you find your new lodgings?" Gandalf asks politely as the mug is set carefully on the table.
Bilbo smiles, "It's beautiful. The bedrooms are a touch on the small side I suppose, and there are a few light bulbs that need to be replaced. But otherwise it's in remarkably good condition for a house left abandoned for- actually, how long did you say it had been empty for?"
"I didn't. Quite a while though, I'd expect."
"I see… And how long, precisely, is 'quite a while'?"
"As long as it needs to be I suppose." Bilbo is again reminded that his company may not be completely right in the head.
"Right… Well… anyway, the furniture is all quite sturdy- if a little dusty- and the plumbing and heating seems to work well. I daresay we'll be a little cold in the winter, but that's to be expected with these old-style heaters."
"And the cellar?"
"I- what? Cellar? This place has cellar?" He's reminded of a parrot.
"All the homes in Erebor have a cellar Mr Baggins. In fact, I'd daresay we're sitting directly above one."
Bilbo peeps under the table. Sure enough, a heavy looking wooden trapdoor with an iron handle sits snugly in his floor. His mind fills with images of haunted dungeons, dark and dank with the scent of decay hanging in the air. When he looks back up, Gandalf is watching him with that damned enigmatic smile on his face.
"Um… What do they keep in cellars in Erebor exactly?"
"I'm not entirely sure. Anything that caught their fancy I'd say."
Bilbo gives Gandalf a long, hard look.
"You don't like giving actual answers, do you."
He smiles benignly "Not really, no."
"… You'd be an excellent politician."
"So I've been told."
Once again the silence drags on. Gandalf checks the clock on the wall (which is broken. Bilbo checked it last night), nods and stands up abruptly. Bilbo is beginning to get the feeling that this is becoming a thing of his.
"I must be off. Thank-you for the tea Mister Baggins, it was quite lovely- though not quite sweet enough by my standards. Enjoy your day."
Once again he's left standing alone in his kitchen as Gandalf lets himself out, empty mug (which he is quite sure he never actually saw being drunk) lying on the much used oak bench . He shares a look with Wraith- who is still sitting on his table.
"Do you think his eyes are supposed to sparkle like that?" he asks the cat. Wraith simply winks at him, turns around and jumps off the table, black tail swinging jauntily in the air.
For the rest of the morning, he sets himself to packing his belongings away and avidly dusting the various surfaces that didn't escape the onslaught of time. Thoughts of his old home are pushed firmly out of his head by the imaginings of a new one, filled with new things that don't carry the sickly scent of tragedy and anger on them.
Though he fears this house might have a few sad facts of its own.
And if he doesn't see Gandalf hanging a shiny new sign on his door before he leaves…. Well, he's bound to notice it sometime.