Chapter 2: Dinner with the Thain and Supper with the Bagginses of Bag-End

July, TA 2941

Bilbo had quickly, though properly (as a respectful hobbit does), excused himself and left his unexpected visitor to the comforts of his smial. He had felt the overwhelming urge to change out of his evening garb ever since he opened the door and comprehended who was waiting on the other side. To think, all these years gone by, and when Thorin decides to show up on his doorstep he's in his dressing gown!

"Of course, it truly isn't the worst first impression either of us has made," Bilbo mumbled as he walked into his bedchambers, closing the door softly.

He chuckled merrily as recollections and pictures of a thoroughly soaked and irritable dwarf surfaced in his mind. Thorin had reminded of a drowned beast, with the temper and snarl of one, as well.

"But goodness, I wasn't very much better off, was I?" he reminded himself. If anything it had all made for a good memory.

Bilbo quickly donned his trousers from earlier that day, and a creamy white shirt, content with appearing comfortable in his own home for the evening, rather than dressed in extravagant waistcoats and neckties as he usually would. As he fastened his bracers, his eyes passed over the window where the darkness outside and his candlelit room clashed and created a scurry reflection of him. For an instant he nearly believed in the illusion it painted: an image too bleary to make out the finer details of his face, erasing every last line that disclosed tiredness and age and leaving a younger, different, hobbit behind.

"—cannot let him act out like this...ruining his future prospects...causing such havoc…doesn't think twice of his reputation—"

As he looked on Bilbo felt a lump growing in his throat, but he swallowed and quickly let it go. Time had passed by and touched with him, and that was that.

Right now he was a host with a guest to prepare for; a guest who also happened to be an old, and cherished, acquaintance of his. Eru have mercy – he didn't have time to dawdle and daydream of days gone past.

So Bilbo pocketed a clean handkerchief and hurriedly left his bedchambers, preoccupying his thoughts with running through the contents of his pantry as he considered what he could possibly cook up on such short notice. (Perhaps a nice, warm broth, he considered, or he could serve some of the prized ham he had picked up from a butcher at the market that morning. It would go well with the bread he had already laid out for the sausage he had prepared for his now quite forgotten meal).

He found Thorin waiting in the parlour, standing by the cackling hearth, illuminated by the warm light of the flames, yet looking quite the same as when he had left him. It was only then Bilbo noticed the abundance of white scattered through the dwarf's hair; smooth and silvery, rather like elegant threads of cobweb entwined in the dark mane.

It astonished him, for other than this Thorin did not look a day older than when they first met. Not one crease or crinkle had been added to his face, unless it was too minor to spot, and if anything else had changed Bilbo had not yet seen it. Part of him stared on in wonder, thinking of how slowly dwarves must age (as it was, admittedly, a subject he knew nothing about). Another part, absolutely not the respectable one, was rather satisfied that he wasn't the only one who had experienced the toll of time.

"I was thinking of making soup," Bilbo announced, and found that Thorin must not have noticed him walk in, for he was quite startled by his appearance.

"Light-footed, still," Thorin said. There was a jest in his words, to which Bilbo smiled smugly.

"It's either that, or you were not paying attention. Have I caught you in deep thoughts?"

"I was admiring your mantelpiece," the dwarf explained, gesturing to the polished wooden shelf hung above the shimmering hearth. There rested many odd trinkets and dried flowers for decoration – lavender, straws and baby's breath – but perhaps most notable were the two twin framed portraits of two most prominent hobbits. Thorin must have recalled their faces, for he hesitated before speaking again, and his voice was soft when he did. "Your parents…"

"Oh," Bilbo heard himself say, his gaze unconsciously slipping to the floor as faded images of his proud father and cheerful mother flickered in his mind. "Passed away, I'm afraid."

There was a moment of silence after that, but his answer must have been expected. A warm hand – its shape and size a reminder of events of the past – rested on his shoulder. It was a much welcome comfort. "I'm sorry to hear that. I give you my condolences."

"Thank you," Bilbo replied sombrely, his own hand coming to rest on top of his friend's. They stood still, though it was only for a short few seconds before Bilbo cleared his throat, and thought to himself:

This won't do at all, he scolded, you are a Baggins, and gentle-hobbit, with a guest, and this is not very becoming of you!

"They were quite fine people, no doubt, and though I do miss them terribly they have both been gone for a long time now. I am quite done mourning," he said out loud, yet perhaps more to himself than to Thorin. It helped, and he soon felt good cheer tugging on his lips. "What I do know is that my father would be rolling around in his grave had he known what an indecent host I am! And I don't think for a moment my mother would be any less furious. Come, be seated! And I will get started on that broth. Though perhaps you would prefer some ham?"

Their talk was soon steered to food and drink, and Bilbo was especially interested in what his guest had missed of the Shire cuisine. Once Thorin was seated comfortably at the table with a jug of Buckland ale by his side Bilbo dove into the pantry in hunt of some proper vegetables. Soon the kitchen was oozing with appetising scents and brimming with the orchestra of clinging pots and pans, such as it had always been; and the presence of Thorin's deep, booming voice among them made the absence his mother's ringing laughter much more bearable.

June, TA 2923

Belladonna found it all quite hilarious; Bungo, less so.

Bungo Baggins, who was a relatively reputable hobbit, and very respectable, had been in the marketplace, standing next to the Thain Isengrim III, when the great group of dwarves and hobbits marched into Hobbiton. His eyes were searching determinedly through the crowd, and there was a scowl on his face, which in turn was as red as the fine, silky waistcoat he wore. Bilbo had felt quite inclined to slip away or hide his face, but he bit his tongue and marched on until he was within his father's view.

"Bilbo Baggins…!" Bungo had yelled at the sight of him: still damp from his dip in the river and knees caked with mud and grass stains. "I cannot believe this! My son, out causing such trouble!" and Bilbo felt his ears redden terribly at that.

As it turned out their Brandybuck cousins had bolted all the way down to Tuckborough, where their mother was visiting, and informed their uncle of what had happened. They had, doubtlessly, not intended to spill all their beans, but old Tooks were just as cunning as the young ones, if not more so. Needless to say, uncle Isengrim had not been happy. A party from Tuckborough had immediately left for Hobbiton; upon their arrival they had heard that many had departed up the road to rescue the travellers after little Ferumbras Took had come sprinting into the market, screaming nonsense about drowning dwarves, and that Flambard and Sigismond and Adalgrim and Bilbo were all there.

By the time the entire company of rescuers and travellers had made it into town the Thain had heard more or less the entire story, and Bungo Baggins had too.

The dwarves were quickly welcomed into the Green Dragon Inn and the Thain and his party, as well as most of the older hobbits that had been up by the river, came with them. Flambard had been entrusted to bring Ferumbras and the Buckland-Took fauntlings back to Tuckborough, while the tweens, and Bilbo, Adalgrim and Sigismond, stayed.

All in all there was quite a gathering at the inn for being so early in the afternoon. Every seat was taken, with the dwarves on one side of the long table and the Thain and his companions at the other, and all the other hobbits – most from Hobbiton, and some from Bywater – spread through the hall. Some were standing to catch a better look at the travellers, and there were many murmurs concerning the look of them—

"—I've never seen so many dwarves before—"

"They look like raggedy bunch. Better not get too close—"

"—fell in the river, all of them! It was quite a business, dragging them up, heavy they are—"

"—I heard dwarves eat metals and drink molten silver—"

"—lost all their cargo, vanishing with the river; scraps will probably come floating down the Water soon—"

"—should we ask them if they've heard of Longbottom leaves?"

–and many more things like these were said.

Bilbo, Sigismond and Adalgrim had opted for a small table in the corner, as far away from the long table as they could; the Brandybuck-Tooks had done the same. Bilbo had looked up but once, only briefly noting how an older looking dwarf (his hair and beard were grey) was acting as a spokesman for the dwarven company; other than that he kept his eyes fixed on the wood in front of him, wishing he could disappear altogether.

The unofficial meeting commenced when the Thain cleared his throat and the hall fell silent, as every hobbit ear listened for what would be said, all of which would become gossip for the days to come (for such was the nature of the Shire folk).

First, of course, introductions came, which were proper when meeting stranger-folk.

"Welcome to the Shire, good-folk! I am Isengrim Took the third, Thain, and current head of the Tooks and master of the Great Smials," began Isengrim, sounding very important and every bit of the Thain he was. "Travelling through here your business in no one's but yours, but I wish to ask for the name of whom I'm speaking to."

"Onar, son of An, at your service," the older dwarf answered gruffly, bowing his head, and the others followed, in turn offering their services to the Thain.

"And I at yours," Isengrim said, and the pleasantries were over. "As I understand, some of my young – and not so young – nieces and nephews have been causing you grief."

At this he sent a pointed look over his shoulder at the Tooks down in the corner, and Bilbo looked down again, ears flushing once more in shame.

"I am sorry for the losses of your supplies and I can only hope no sentimental or personal items were lost to the river. We will, of course, compensate you for the damage and take care of any expenses resulting from your delay," Isengrim continued.

The dwarves seemed quite pleased with this, murmuring amongst themselves with nods of their heads and strange hand gestures. Onar voiced their thanks: "We are glad to accept your offer, Master Thain."

Isengrim nodded. More talk of this was had, and after agreeing to nurse the ponies and provide material to repair their wagon, the Thain said: "We do not often have travellers though the Shire, and this is certainly not how we wish to be regarded… I would be honoured if you would come dine with me in my home in Tuckborough this eve to further discuss the payments. Until then, please, make yourself comfortable."

At the mention of free food the dwarves were quite attentive, and it was soon quite apparent that the most prominent similarity between the hobbits and their visitors was their fondness for food and drink.

The offer was immediately accepted, and soon the dwarves were checking into their rooms and chatter erupted throughout the room. Many of the hobbits got up and left as soon as the visitors had disappeared up the stairs. For a moment Bilbo wondered if he should be leaving too, but once the crowd thinned out Isengrim set is eyes on the Tooks, and asked them to sit with him.

Bilbo and his cousins reluctantly got up. By now only a few hobbits remained in the inn: the Thain's party from Tuckborough and a few Hobbiton hobbits – among them, Bungo. Bilbo avoided letting his eyes meet with his father's. He was clearly quite disappointed with him, and he was already receiving a scolding from his uncle.

Best keep quiet, he advised himself, and sat down between Adalgrim and Sigismond in the places where the dwarves had been seated just a minute prior.

Isengrim was looking at them with stern eyes, but there was quite a different demeanour about him. He was no longer solely the Thain who dealt with Shire business and politics and such – he was also taking on the role as uncle of the many hobbits seated in front of him. An uncle and a Took who knew very much about what is was like to have the wild blood in ones veins when still relatively young and reckless. The scolding went on like this:

"I have never—by all that is good, never in my Took life have I ever—well, that would not exactly be true, there was that one time in my tweens when Hildigard and I… no, wait, what I mean to say is that this is highly unacceptable, even for Tooks! Putting travellers to harm for a bit of excitement and mischief! Had your grandfather seen this—well, he would probably laugh and enjoy the company of some stranger-folk… but this is still not acceptable in any regard! Adalgrim!" he exclaimed, looking pointedly at the Took in question. "You are forty-three and about to start courting that Cotton lass of yours—this is very unbecoming. Although I should probably congratulate you, as no Took I've ever known has come up with more schemes than you in their life – except for maybe Bella… Oh, where was I. There was Flambard, but I sent him with the faunts, and then… Ah, yes, Sigismond!" Isengrim now turned to him. "The same goes for you! You are quite a bit too old to… well, I suppose we could debate whether or not you are too old to run around adventuring here and there… but I do happen to know that you, my lad, have had your eyes on Miss Holly Brownlock for some time now – don't give me that look, I might be old an unwed but you are not exactly subtle about it—now where was I again… ah!" and then it was Bilbo's turn: "Bilbo Baggins! See that is a surprise in itself! Never mind that you're Bella's son. A Baggins of age running around and—oh, wait, you're not of age yet, are you? Remind me, when was your birthday lad? Ah, September! Right, that is all your aunts talk about nowadays, you tweens coming of age. I suppose you are excused then – well, not excused per say, I still expect you to serve the same punishment as your cousins. Now, there were more of you, weren't there… ah, yes! There's you lot – all Mirabella's, I take? My goodness, have you grown! Wait, um, scolding… right, so you first—"

And so it went on for a while with the three Brandybucks, before Isengrim started discussing a proper punishment for their crimes. It was eventually decided that they would all spend one day out of the week that entire summer cleaning in the Great Smials – which might not sound like such a bad thing, but the ancestral home of the Tooks held dozens upon dozens of rooms, many of which had laid untouched for years or simply contained collections of all sorts of odds and ends. Getting through just one of these could take many days, and could be very unpleasant (with all the dust, and mould and whatnot). The Brandybuck cousins took it worst, as they would have to travel all the way from Buckland to Tuckborough, and renegotiated into having to clean Brandy Hall, which was just as well for them.

Bilbo was considerably more embarrassed than his cousins, who were grinning from ear to ear when they exited the Green Dragon, already seeming to forget their punishment for the excitement of having dwarves over for dinner. "Real dwarves – can you believe it? There were ten of them, at least!" Adalgrim and Sigismond had rejoiced, and bid their goodbyes before setting out towards Tuckborough with the Brandybucks.

It was already quite late by the time Bilbo and Bungo got home.

They walked in silence the entire way, all the way up the Hill and into Bag-End. Once inside the scents of freshly baked bread and seared fish had teased their nostrils, and no matter how angry or embarrassed a hobbit is good food is always put first. His father had bid him get changed before coming down to supper – "I won't have you looking like a faunt covered in mud at your mother's dining table" – and Bilbo all but sprinted to his bedchambers and got rid of his soiled clothes, washing his face and hands in his water basin before donning a clean shirt and trousers. Fastening his bracers, quite sloppily in his rush, he quickly left the room, but slowed his sprint to a soft walk as he neared the kitchen.

He could hear his parents murmuring voices grow louder with every step he took, and he knew they were talking about what had happened that day when he heard his father mentioning "dwarves". Bilbo eventually mustered his courage and took a deep breath, rounding the corner and stepping into the room.

Supper with the Bagginses of Bag-End was always somewhat extravagant, but being quite a busy and reputable family it was, along with first breakfast, the only meals they always shared as a family (unless someone was away visiting relatives or conducting other sorts of business). This evening was no different, and the table was clothed and dished out with everything from baskets of warm bread and rolls, sprinkled with tasty herbs and salts, to seared filets of trout from the Brandywine River – fished, sold, bought and prepared that very day. There were prized tomatoes and juicy peaches, grilled bell peppers stuffed with crumbs and other vegetables, soured cream and a kettle of mint tea being brewed for afterwards, and much more.

If was safe to say that when eating at this table you would not walk away hungry; though, to Bilbo it was much more than that. It was the warmth of the fire, the clangs of pots and pans and cutlery in the basin reserved for dirty dishes, and the good cheer the food created; the clear ringing of his mother's laughter and the deep rumble of his father's chuckles as he told them about something particularly amusing that had happened in the market that day; and it was also the time he could spend just enjoying the company of his beloved parents.

Although, by the look in Bungo's eyes when he made his arrival known he wasn't sure he would be enjoying this meal much at all.

They had all just seated themselves when Bungo began the scolding Bilbo had been waiting for, quite familiarly starting with: "Never would I have though this of you. You are a Baggins, Bilbo, and three months from turning thirty-three!"

But he didn't get much further than that before his wife spoke up, and when Belladonna was talking there wasn't much anyone could say to stop her.

Being from a big and prominent family, and the oldest daughter of the Old Took, Belladonna had needed to speak up for herself very early on in life, lest she would be overlooked among her boisterous siblings and cousins. She was just as boisterous as any of them, and probably quite more adventurous than most of them. Though seen by many as obnoxious as a faunt, she grew to become a very beautiful and determined young hobbit, and soon loved by the entire Shire, though slightly shamed for her adventurous ways. To many it was a blessing when she finally settled down with the very respectable Bungo Baggins, who must have been half mad to marry her in the first place – but perhaps it was her adventurous streaks that had enchanted Bungo in the first place (although he would never admit that, of course).

Even now, in her older days, Belladonna was still quite striking, although her dark and luscious Took tresses were slowly turning grey and the crinkles by her eyes were present even when she didn't smile. But her spark and energy, and love for her family, had not faded in the least, and she knew just how to wrap them both around her fingers. So that is what she did.

"I, for my part, have no idea what this is going to be about, but I do know that we all love good stories shared over a nice meal," she said, eyes twinkling merrily as she looked between her much-loved son and husband. "Bilbo, my dear, you wouldn't mind indulging us, would you? Take it from the start, my love – oh, and pass the bread, if you please."

And so Bilbo did. He told them all about the plan that had gone awry, how he knew that the ponies must have been the reason why, and how he had attempted to help a dwarf to get out of the river only to be pulled in himself and made thoroughly fun of for his failed attempt (all after he had passed the bread, of course).

It was not completely surprising that Belladonna found it to be one of the best stories he had told yet, and that made Bilbo feel somewhat better.

She hummed pleasantly, looking dreamily out into the air as she replayed the story in her head. "You really should have made better friends with those dwarves, though. I would love to have one around for elevenses – I've never really had the chance to properly meet one!"

Bilbo's thoughts briefly flickered over to the drenched dwarf with the piercing blue eyes, shuddering to think why someone would want to get to know such a rude person.

Bungo was quite stumped where he sat at his end of the table, chewing on his trout and feeling quite ignored altogether. He looked pointedly at his wife, exchanging a few subtle hand gestures and raised eyebrows with her. In the end Belladonna smiled softly at him before turning back to Bilbo, more serious as she said: "Your father is right though, Bilbo. However amusing, someone could have gotten badly injured – and the poor dwarves lost many of their belongings. I know uncle Isengrim has already dealt you a punishment, though a small chore to more directly help the dwarves you have bothered shouldn't be much trouble. Don't you agree?"

"What would that be?" Bilbo asked, not really enjoying the thought of having to see any of the dwarves again.

She contemplated this for a moment, giving a long 'hum' but not really coming to a conclusion.

"I will think of something," she said eventually. "Now, eat up so you can go take a bath. I ran some hot water for you in the bathing room. Hopefully you won't catch anything. It's still early June, and bathing in rivers with your clothes on, and then walking around wet all afternoon… goodness, I'll be amazed if you don't have a fever in a few days' time!"

He wanted to remind her that he rarely ever had fevers at all, or caught colds or flus more than once annually – but on the other hand, it had been the first time he had fallen in a river while it was still running cold from the melting of spring. Smiling gratefully at his mother he proceeded to go about doing what she had suggested.

It had been quite a grand idea, Bilbo concluded, for the bath had soothed his mind as well as his body. The steams and rosy scents from his father's collection of soaps put him at rest, repelling all the hardship and worries of the day. Feeling quite refreshed afterwards he donned his dressing gown and draped a soft cotton towel across his shoulders to keep his wet curls from soaking through the fabric.

He hummed softly on a tune he was fond of as he walked through the hallways towards his bedchambers, considering whether or not to stop by the kitchen for a light snack before going to sleep. He was, though, quite interrupted when he heard his father's distressed voice as he passed the door of the study, cracked open and letting a streak of candle light into the dark corridor. His mother's pitch soon joined in, and Bilbo couldn't help but stop, quietly, and listen in.

A sigh of frustration accompanied Bungo's next words. "We cannot let him act out like this; it is ruining his future prospects—"

"Oh, Bungo—he's still young," Belladonna interrupted. Her voice was a lot calmer than his father's. "Let him have his freedom."

Bungo snorted at her prompting. "He has far too much freedom! Running around with his cousins causing such havoc all the time… he doesn't think twice of his reputation or of the lasses that he should be speaking to at the markets and the parties—people might start talking!"

"Of course they won't! It's still early, all just silly plays and girls with crushes, and he might not be ready for that. You know that when I was his age I was running between Rivendell and here as often I as I could! I'm surprised he has yet to go further than Bree," his mother huffed, but Bungo was not pleased with it.

"He's a Baggins!"

"—and also a Took!" Belladonna said, for she was having none of it. "And you married one, didn't you?"

There followed an uncomfortable silence, but Bilbo did not wait for it to end. He left quietly, refusing to let the hurt weight down his footsteps, lest he got caught eavesdropping. Once inside his bedchambers, door soundlessly closed behind him, he threw himself on his bed and did not get up before the morning. His dreams were plagued with clucking hens and burling river water, and stranger dwarves and his father's disappointed scowl.

However, had he lingered he would have heard the rest of this quite important discussion between his parents, and perhaps Bilbo would have made quite different choices in what would be the very near future.

Back in the study, after Bilbo had fled to his room, Bungo was looking quite unhappy sitting in his creaky old chair, gaze cast down at his wrinkled hands, with a sigh on his lips and dejection flickering in his eyes. Belladonna was standing just a few feet away, eyebrows still furrowed with her irritation from the last words that had been said, but her frown grew softer as Bungo spoke again, voice devoid of all his anger and properness: "We're growing old, my Bella. All I am saying is that Bilbo does not seem even remotely interested in carrying on our family name."

"And if he becomes a bachelor, what of it? It does not make him any less of a proper hobbit." Belladonna's voice was soft as she said this, for she too was quite conscious of their greying hairs. She sighed tiredly when she took in the sight of her sorry husband and thought of her precious son, so young and heavily weighted with their families and names. "Oh, Bungo… he's not even of age yet. It is too early to think of this."

"I know, I know…I just… oh gosh, I just wish that I could…"

His voice broke, and before he could go on Belladonna hushed him, sinking to her knees at his side and folding her aging hands over his. Tenderly she looked into her husband's eyes, deeply shaded with the worry and grief that had been dealt by time, but in them there was a love for their son, as deep as her own, and she was once more reminded why, in the end, it was Bungo she had chosen all those years ago.

"It takes time to fall in love… you and I, of all people, know that. And if we…" she trailed off, leaving the silence to speak the unspeakable. "…well, so be it – but you have to trust him to make the right choices. He's your son; I know he will."

Belladonna paused here, for Bungo looked away and down at their entwined hands, though he gave a few short nods as to reassure her that he agreed (although she knew it was probably more of a reassurance for himself). She smiled then, squeezing his hand a little tighter.

"And I think you tend to forget how wonderful our son is. He might be rash and impulsive – and I suppose I will take the blame for that – but he is also kind, and gentle, and clever and strong… all his little cousins look up to him. Especially Drogo – and he's but fifteen! I have a hard time hiding the pride on my face whenever I hear the ladies down in the market talk of how well he has grown, and how handsome he has become. He spends time teaching the fauntlings new games, and gives them advice when playing conkers. The other day he helped Mrs Cotton carry her rations all the way down to Bywater, without a second thought! All of Hobbiton adores him. Goodness, Bungo, when our Bilbo is in love I promise you will see it, for every hair on his head will be glowing with it."

She gently embraced him as he began shaking softly. His eyes were glittering wet, a great sadness present in them.

"Oh, Bella," he sobbed into her bosom, while she brushed her delicate fingers through his thinning curls that were once lush and golden from the light of the sun, "it is so…so difficult."

She didn't reply, but her unwavering hold was answer enough.

Notes:

The last part wasn't strictly necessary, but I felt it would be my only chance to give a deep first-hand look at the characters of Bungo and Belladonna, for although they will mostly be portrayed as the strict father and eccentric mother in this story they are, at the end of the day, caring parents - and Bilbo means the world to them.

(Perhaps it's obvious, but here's a friendly reminder that in TA 2923 Bungo Baggins was 77 years old - he died in 2926, aged 80. His wife followed eight years after, aged 82.)

Now, I had fun writing this chapter, though I'm still getting in tune with the dialogue.

Onar the dwarf isn't very central in the story, but I made him the spokesman for the dwarfs to make Thorin's part in this dwarven company (which, of course, isn't The Company TM) a little more mysterious and intriguing.

Sorry for the lack of Thorin in this chapter, although I can promise he will make an appearance (and actually speak more than one sentence) in chapter three.

Thank you all so much for the great response! Your comments are delightful, and drives me to keep writing (just hit 11k, yeah!), and I've already made changes and thought through some things thanks to some very intriguing mentions. In the end I just want this to be the best it can be, so every word and kudos is helpful and inspirational.

I'm very curious about how you found this chapter... but, like always:
Response is highly desired, but never required!

Have a nice week, everyone - I know I will, because *DUN DUN DUN* Desolation of Smaug. It's finally here. Excuse me while I go freak out now.