o-O-o
It was a quiet, and rather uneventful day when Gandalf came to the house of one Bilbo Baggins, and though quiet as it was, and with Bilbo being a respectable Hobbit with proper manners, he found the intrusion to be rather irritable. It wasn't without a quirked eyebrow and irritated wrinkle of his nose that he stared at the old wizard, wondering just which of his cousins would have the nerve to send such an unsightly character to bother him.
"Good morning young master hobbit, my name is Gandalf. Gandalf the Grey some call me."
Bilbo looked at him oddly for a moment, the name sounding like something he had heard in some children's tale from long ago. But no matter the charm it brought, it was undoubtedly rude of the fellow to announce himself with such impropriety.
"Very well and good, Gandalf, yet I do not seem to know you, and you see, and while we hobbits take quite fondly to guests, we have a rather adverse opinion of intruders." Bilbo touted with a small sniff, and began to slide back toward his front door from his garden bench. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I was just about to tuck in to a spot of tea and a fresh book, so goo-."
Ignoring him with a slight chuckle, the wizard proceeded to press into Bilbo's garden in spite of his wish for lack of company and chased Bilbo to stand, much hunched over, in the foyer of Bag End. Not quite knowing what to do, Bilbo stared out toward his garden, where he should have seen the wizard turn tail and walk promptly away, and twitched up his nose with a defeated grimace. He turned heel, closing the door behind them so his neighbors would not witness a scene if there was one to be had, and confronted his 'guest.'
"Now look here sir, what mind do you have to be so stubborn on entering my home? If this is the introduction that typically serves your encounters I would be quite loathe to greet the company you usually keep."
At that, Gandalf gave a curt laugh, and, almost like he had been to Bag End before Bilbo noticed, turned heel to pass into his drawing room, barely missing a low (for his height) support beam that covered the top of the threshold. Something about the wizard was oddly familiar, Bilbo concluded, yet he doubted he'd formally met his acquaintance at the time. He didn't feel threatened, something that surprised him, merely . . . intruded upon, yet not by someone he found wholly distasteful. He hedged to guess that it was more of the rudeness of their introduction that made his mood toward the old stranger soured. Gandalf quickly took a seat in the most accommodating of the chairs, few and far between for a person of his stature, and drew up his long sleeves with a flick of his wrist, easing into the palatable cushions as if he had not had a good furnishing to sit in for a long while. With a sigh, unable to shake the manners of a hobbit, Bilbo went into his kitchen, producing a second saucer and cup of hot tea.
"Ah, thank you," Gandalf said with a genuine smile. He took a sip, fervently blowing at the steam rising from the amber drink. "I do not think, Master Baggins, you would so much mind the company that I keep, seeing as your presence is one that I have sought."
Bilbo sat on his own chair, crossing his arms in front of him, not yet convinced of how to take in his newfound guest. An odd fellow, Bilbo noted, an odd fellow indeed.
Seemingly aware of Bilbo's thoughts, Gandalf set aside his cup on a table, politely using an appropriate bit of cloth to set his drink down instead of soiling the wood Bilbo noticed, and spoke again. "I take it that you do not see many old wizards wandering around the Shire, then? It's no matter, and it may do you surprise to know that I have been here many times before, though seeking different conversation quite some time before now."
"Actually," Bilbo noted, "though I am quite certain we have never spoke, I feel as though you are not entirely a stranger. But you are a rude old sod, I'll tell you as much."
At that, Gandalf let a hearty and genuine chuckle, clapping his hands together as though he was satisfied by some action that Bilbo had taken. "Hobbits are such wonderful creatures, dear Bilbo. I cannot say that there are any other on Middle Earth that would feel so defensively bothered at an interruption during tea. And quite intimidatingly so! Ha!"
Bilbo felt himself warming toward his guest, and recalled some far distant memory of his mother talking about a tall stranger dressed in grey that would bring fireworks for the Shire children when his travels took him past the hobbit lands.
"Now, enough with the nice chatting, I would like to know what exactly has prompted you to come bother me this morning."
"Rightly so Bilbo, rightly so," Gandalf began, gently folding his hands into his lap. "We do not have much time to discuss matters, because I so happen to be on a bit of a schedule."
Another twitch of his nose. "And what schedule might that be?"
"You see, young Master Hobbit, my party is more than just myself, and I've come to seek reasonable accommodation for a group of rather weary travelers, and well, I could think of no better a place in these parts than the welcoming smallfolk of the Shire to hos-"
"Alright now, that's quite enough!" Bilbo exclaimed, rising from his chair making a small shooing motion with his hands. "It's one thing to try and coerce a cup of fine tea from an unsuspecting hobbit, but to invite a band of three, four-,"
"Thirteen, actually."
"THIRTEEN," Bilbo sputtered, "strange travelers into my home is for too much abnormal for this hobbit, so sir I say to you good day, and farewell for your business here is no longer welcome."
Despite Bilbo's stern look and haste to force his leave, Gandalf continued his speech with no slight. "Bilbo Baggins, of all the hobbits in the Shire that I have known, I have always considered Tooks and Baggins the most reasonable, and I implore you to hear my reasoning for my request before you truly make up your mind. To think that I would live to be shooed and 'good morninged' by the son of Belladonna Took . . ."
Tooks being most reasonable, Bilbo thought, was a far stretch from what most would say . . . yet if Gandalf knew enough of hobbit affairs to know he was Belladonna's son, than perhaps he had a more thorough reason for his request. Begrudgingly, but not before going to fetch the tea pot to refill his cooled beverage (and tactfully ignoring Gandalf's outstretched cup), he sat back down to hear him out.
"Now," Gandalf began, "I must explain that this is no ordinary company, so you may be, well, a bit surprised should they arrive late into the evening. They prefer to keep their travel a secret you see, they don't much care for nasty rumors much more than you hobbits do. All they ask is for a warmed hearth, and if not too much trouble, a fine meal."
Bilbo thought for a moment. "What exactly, then, is the nature of this meeting of fellows? There are fine inns in Bree to accommodate a larger party."
"No, no, they find the din of the city of a hindering sort, they seek a more . . . private setting for their discourse."
Though Bilbo was still very thoroughly confused at why exactly this needed to take place by way of a hobbit, he could understand well the comfort of knowing one's thoughts weren't being sung to an unwanted crowd. He ran his thumbs together in a circle, drawing his face into a contemplative way for some time, before resigning to his decision. "I cannot make any promises as to my mood tomorrow evening."
"Wonderful, simply splendid. And you may want to purchase quite a bit of wares lest you see your pantry empty," Gandalf exclaimed, gathering his things now that his request had been met. He chatted a bit about random things as he gathered himself, something about 'not buying too many vegetables at the market,' and turned to leave since his matters were settled. Yet not before finally striking his head against the same board he had managed to dodge earlier. With a wince, he carefully ducked under and proceeded to open up the door.
"Oh, Gandalf," Bilbo called to him as he put his rather pointy hood back on his head, "if you have the time, you may want to warn them about the shortened ceilings, might save them a bit of trouble if they've not stayed in hobbit lands before. Not that I'm saying they're welcome, I've yet to make up my mind."
"Now that, Master Baggins, is something that you needn't worry about." And so he left, Bilbo confused, curious, and perplexed all in one, deciding that the only thing he could make sense of out of all of it was his grocery list, and even that seemed to have some odd stipulation. Yes, he thought, odd was the correct word for this day; not a word that hobbit folk were too keen to. But it had been as Gandalf had said; he had Took blood in him, and no matter how much his Baggins side begged him to lock the door away for at least a fortnight, he was quite curious to see just how this thing would turn out.
o-O-o
Bilbo Baggins was not at all pleased at how this thing was turning out. It had started well enough, him having returned promptly with plenty of refreshments, and a more curious mood about him, and he had been quite confident he was ready to face whatever came knocking upon Bag End. That is, until a rather stout and malicious looking dwarf covered in tattoos of all things had come pounding at his poor door, with a pensive sneer that made Bilbo jump when he was greeted by it. He had bowed curtly at Bilbo, offering service by the name of Dwalin, and invited himself right in, immediately inquiring about the status of dinner. Bilbo simply didn't know what to respond with, and stood aside with a stare as the dwarf made his way to the dining hall, and invited himself to Bilbo's freshly pan cooked fish and near all of his muffins.
He could see why Gandalf wasn't at all concerned with that pesky beam he was constantly dodging.
When the second knock came, Bilbo had to physically brace himself on the edge of the door to keep from falling, and chose to peer out rather cautiously, expecting to see any number of markings and piercings on the next caller. Instead, only adding to the churning of his already uneasy stomach, he saw a plumper, shorter guest with a great white beard and kind eyes. With a more gracious bow than the last, he named himself as Balin and asked entrance to Bag End. The dwarf trotted over to the other, giving him a sly eye, and the two began to chuckle, embrace, and knock heads together, as Bilbo stood in his foyer with a rather blank look.
At this point, Bilbo thought that nothing more could surprise him, and so he opened the door with a straight face and a great twitch of his nose until they had all arrived, before he was sure he had had enough of surprises for one evening. He now had twelve, all rather different, dwarves astride his well-crafted (and soon to be scratched he was sure) dinner table, all clamoring with each other over who would get the ham shank that adorned the center of the table.
He took some small comfort in that no one seemed to be arguing over his rosemary turnips, something he considered to be one of his finest party dishes. At least he would have something to eat by the end of it.
They were all such an unruly bunch, and Bilbo could only look on as they made what he could only describe as an aftermath of a culinary battle in his dining room.
After a good hour had passed, and Bilbo thought he would soon be in the ground if a single more disruptive thing happened to him that evening.
But Bilbo Baggins had yet to endure the greatest shock of the night.
A final, curt knock came at the door after some time, and Bilbo found himself stuck between his table and a rather portly fellow by the name of Bombur. Seeing his predicament, Gandalf, who had arrived some time before, rose to answer the door in his stead. Upon opening the door to see the (hopefully) final guest, he broke into a wide grin, and clasped the shoulder of the other man in firm friendship. Bilbo could not yet see the stranger's face, and was being coerced by the brothers Fili and Kili to open up another large cask of his oldest vintage of brandy.
"Gandalf," the stranger called, taking off his deep azure coat in the doorway, "I thought you said this place was easy to find. I got lost. Twice."
Upon hearing his voice, the rest of the dwarven company tensed, and a collective breath held in the air while they watched their last companion come into view. Bilbo stared along with them, and when he saw who stood before him, he felt rather strange. Dressed in a fathomless blue, he carried himself with a grace Bilbo found unexpected for a dwarf, and gave a curt nod and grin to the others before him. Before long, they were rushing to him, inquiring about his journey and health as he smiled back at them, like a father proud to see his family after a long day's work.
Bilbo went across, then, to welcome him, as he felt compelled to give this particular dwarf a more proper introduction than the others.
"You must be our host, then," Thorin said rather kindly, dipping his head slightly in a polite gesture, something that Bilbo took great notice of. He had found at least a few dwarves that evening with a proper set of manners.
"Bilbo Baggins, at your service."
o-O-o
By the next morning, all notion of niceties, propriety, and manners had long since been thrown far out the window. Bilbo lay in his bed, sheets pulled up below his scowling chin, unable to sleep after the great disturbance that had been lent to him the previous evening. He had half a mind to give the old wizard a swift kick after the utter nuisance the dwarves had been. Of all things, they had asked him, a Shire hobbit to go gallivanting into some unknown wilderness to sleep among dirt and who knows what, all to invade the home of a sleeping (or not) dragon, and not after they had juggled, JUGGLED his most fine placewares in a raucous song that, while admittedly catchy, had nearly drove him to fits.
It was all most irregular.
He turned onto his side, mulling over the events for the hundredth time. He found that he should be angry with the party of dwarves, but as hard as he tried, he could only muster an almost fond annoyance of the group. They had been quite strange, indeed, but he found their quest to be one of measurable nobility. To take themselves, over mountains and unseen dangers, to take their once splendid home of Erebor from the sleepless evil of a dragon was worthy of songs and epics, ones that simply didn't exist in the Shire save for tales of gods and creation. They spoke of their Lonely Mountain with a reverence, Bilbo guessed, which was only capable of coming from a dwarf so familiar with jewel and stone for their hearth.
It wasn't until later in the evening, when King Thorin had begun to sing a song, calling to the mountain with emotion incapable of coming from one who had not suffered a great deal, that he had even considered them in a manner he could recognize with. Of all things, hobbits valued home and hearth more than any, and to see the dwarves speak of their lost kingdom . . . well, Bilbo could think of no greater misery. Something awoke within Bilbo, then, a small spark of something that called him out of his hobbit hole, and through the forests past Bree and Buckland to some place that he had never known, somewhere without hobbit holes and cousins that would bother you to steal your mother's furnishings. Somewhere, he noted, by means of an adventure.
Suddenly, Bilbo sat up from his bed, no longer satisfied by crisp sheets and the warmth of the morning. He had not yet made up his mind, though he had seemed stern in his denial of their offer the previous evening, and he wished to speak with the dwarves a bit more about the details of their quest before he truly made up his mind. Only, when he went out into his drawing room, he found everything in its place, as if no strangers had ever come to his home before.
The dwarves had left without him.
He thought back to his previous evening; the kind face of Balin as he looked upon his company, the quiet, but most beautiful singing of the young Ori as he joined his brethren in song, and Thorin, with his bearded face forever construed in a manner that Bilbo could only describe as brooding. There was something about that dwarf, even though Bilbo had no relation or kin to him that made Bilbo want to follow him to all the ends of Middle Earth with the same fervor that had hold over his company.
He was suddenly afraid, then, in a way he had never been in all of his fifty years. A strange coldness came over him, and he shivered in an odd fear; fear for in all of his years to come, if he didn't follow those dwarves out of his door, he would never leave it. He would spend the rest of his days before his hearth and fire, hosting neighbors and kin without seeing faces of anyone unfamiliar. Bilbo could see himself, in his old age with brittle bones, telling the same old stories that every Hobbit had to tell, complaining about the damp in the air, passing each day away with the knowledge that he had never once done anything of note in his long years.
He ran, then, from those thoughts, darting about his hobbit hole in a flurry he didn't know he had in himself before first breakfast, gathering this and that, whatever he could guess would be needed for someone leaving home for some while. He forgot things, of course, but not the contract he had been left the night before. And with a definitive click, the door of Bag End swung closed, marking the end of the life of the quiet hobbit in Bag End, and the beginning of the adventures of Bilbo Baggins.
o-O-o