Author's Note: I return once again with a chapter for my dedicated readers! I am very pleased with how well this story has been received so far. I will now start answering reviews (because I am very bad about not doing that, and I want to start), so leave any reactions or questions you may have. I will try to answer them via PM, but guest reviews will be answered in a designated response section. Please refrain from making suggestions about how to progress the story, though, as I already have it pretty much laid out. Thank you, and happy reading!
Chapter 3
Boromir did not stand when Dwalin entered the room, simply because he didn't want to risk head injury just for the sake of being polite. He did, however, dip his head, sending the surly-looking Dwarf a friendly smile. "Good evening, Master Dwarf. Boromir of Gondor, at your service. Mr. Baggins was so kind as to allow a lost traveler to take shelter under his roof."
Dwalin just glowered at the Man sitting at the Hobbit's table. His mood improved, however, when he noticed a plate of fish in front of an unoccupied chair. The Dwarf tromped over and settled himself into the chair, eagerly setting upon the food.
Boromir sipped at his tea and took a bite of the seed cake—a very delicious one, he noted—all the while keeping his eyes on Dwalin. Bilbo soon reentered the room, and he looked none too pleased about a strange, uninvited Dwarf eating his dinner. With a small chuckle, Boromir broke the cake in two and handed one half to the flustered Hobbit.
"Very good, this," said Dwalin between bites, looking quite satisfied. "Any more?"
"Hmm?" replied Bilbo. "Oh, oh, yes. Of course." He picked up a plate of rolls, but he quickly slipped one behind his back before offering the dish to Dwalin, who promptly snatched a roll from the pile.
Bilbo shot a questioning look at Boromir, who merely shrugged in reply. What was he supposed to say? "Brace yourself; there's twelve more coming"? Yes, that would go over well.
The master of the house cleared his throat politely. "Sorry, it's just…I wasn't expecting company," he muttered quietly. Suddenly, a jangling ring echoed from down the hall.
Dwalin turned and looked at Bilbo critically. "That'll be the door," he said pointedly. Poor Bilbo had no choice but to excuse himself and scuttle off to greet his next guest.
Boromir feigned ignorance. "Are you expecting many more?" he asked. At Dwalin's affirmative nod, he continued, "Well, then, perhaps you should wait and begin setting out the dinner table when more of your party have arrived?"
The bald Dwarf glanced at the door Bilbo had walked out of. "I thought he was supposed to have supper waitin' for us," he replied, disgruntled.
The Man gave a wry smile. "Well, it seems to me that a certain Wizard may have neglected to mention the number of guests our esteemed host was meant to expect this evening."
At this piece of information, Dwalin looked back down the hall incredulously, then he snorted. "Ruddy Wizards, always keepin' things to themselves," he groused.
"Evening, Brother!" a jovial voice called. The pair glanced up to see a white-haired Dwarf with a very large nose standing in the doorway. Dwalin chuckled as he stood up.
"By my beard," he exclaimed, walking over to the other Dwarf, "you're shorter and wider than last we met."
The other one shook his head. "Wider, not shorter," he corrected, "and sharp enough for both of us." This last he said with a wink, before they clasped each other's shoulders and bashed their foreheads together. Boromir blinked in surprise; this was one piece of Dwarvish culture Gimli had most certainly not mentioned.
Suddenly, the older Dwarf noticed the stranger at the table. "Ah, forgive me." He bowed, spreading his arms. "Balin, at your service."
Boromir dipped his head politely. "Boromir of Gondor, at yours and your family's," he answered respectfully. "Your pardon; I would rise, but…" He glanced pointedly up at the low ceiling, causing Balin to chuckle.
"Aye, I wouldn't want you cracking your head open, laddie," Balin replied. As the two Dwarves shuffled off to the pantry, Bilbo poked his head into the dining room, looking quite put out.
"What are they doing in my pantry?" the Hobbit whispered. Boromir shrugged, causing Bilbo to sigh in exasperation before following Balin and Dwalin. As Bilbo proceeded to attempt to reason with the two Dwarves, Boromir took the opportunity to exit the dining room and stand in the hall; he had a feeling it was about to get a bit crowded in there. Sure enough, it was barely five minutes before the bell rang again.
Bilbo scuttled past him and opened the door, which Boromir had positioned himself next to. Two quite young Dwarves were standing in the entrance; one of them was so young he didn't even have a proper beard, just a bit of stubble around his jaw and cheeks.
"Fili," said the blond one, which the brunet answered with "and Kili." They both proceeded to bow and intone in unison, "At your service."
Kili had a smile on his face when they righted themselves. "You must be Mr. Boggins!" he proclaimed, annoying Bilbo even further.
"Nope!" Bilbo cried, not even trying for politeness this time. "You can't come in; you've come to the wrong house." With that, he tried to close the door, but Kili caught it and pushed forward, a distressed look on his face.
"What?" he exclaimed. "Has it been cancelled?"
Fili glanced between Bilbo and Kili. "No one told us," he mused.
Now it was Bilbo's turn to be confused. "Can—no, nothing's been cancelled!" What he meant to say was that nothing had been cancelled because nothing had been arranged in the first place, but he never got that far.
Kili let out a sigh. "That's a relief!" Then he and his brother both pushed their way inside.
Fili began handing his many, many weapons over to the flustered Hobbit. "Careful with these; I just had 'em sharpened."
"It's nice, this place," Kili commented, looking around. "Did you do it yourself?"
"Uh, no, it's been in the family for years," Bilbo replied distractedly. Kili raised his foot to scrape mud off his boot on a very old, very expensive-looking ornamental box. Boromir's arm shot out and pulled Kili back, fixing him with a stern look.
"Perhaps, young Master Kili," he said softly, "you should ask the master of the house where exactly it is appropriate for you to remove the mud from your shoes." It was only after the words left his mouth that Boromir realized he had sounded like Aragorn, giving him a twinge of longing for his friend. He needed to get back so he could set things right.
Kili, looking properly abashed, set his booted foot back on the ground. Bilbo nodded at Boromir gratefully and directed the young Dwarf to the mat by the door.
Boromir bowed to Fili and Kili, making sure not to hit his head when he righted himself. "Boromir of Gondor, at your service," he said, wondering exactly how many times he would have to repeat that tonight.
Before the two Dwarves could reply, Dwalin tromped down the hall. "Fili, Kili, come on! Give us a hand," he ordered, throwing an arm around Kili's shoulders and leading him to the dining room.
"Mr. Dwalin," Kili said in greeting as he and his brother joined Balin.
"Right, let's shove this into the hallway, or we'll never get everyone in," Balin directed, motioning for all the others to begin pushing the table.
"'Everyone?!'" Bilbo exclaimed incredulously. "How many more are there?" Just then, the bell rang yet again. "Oh, no," he murmured. "No, no, there's nobody home!" The Hobbit angrily dumped Fili's weapons onto the floor against the wall as he stalked back to the front door. "Go away and bother somebody else! There's far too many Dwarves in my dining room as it is." Boromir had to try very, very hard to keep from laughing; the little fellow's temper was highly amusing. "I-i-if this is some clothead's idea of a joke—ha ha!—I can only say it is in very poor taste!"
With that final declaration, Bilbo yanked open the door, causing eight Dwarves to tumble into the hole and onto the floor in a heap, which was most unfortunate considering that the biggest one was the one on top of the whole pile. And there, leaning on his staff and peering through the doorway…
"Gandalf," Bilbo muttered, almost like a curse.
"Gandalf," Boromir whispered. But he wasn't seeing the Wizard looking curiously into Bilbo's home. He was seeing the Wizard falling to his death after fighting the Balrog. Boromir had thought it would be easy, going back in time to help Thorin. But how could he save Thorin and his nephews knowing that there was nothing he could do to save the Wizard?
