Chapter 2:
In a Hole in the Ground ...
wherein we meet two hobbits, gandalf is rude, bilbo baggins is not impressed
and thorin oakenshield bemoans the dishonour which has been brought upon the line of durin
(no, seriously. kíli cries. dori is upset. facepalming occurs.)
"My dear Frodo ... You asked me once if I had told you everything there was to know about my adventures.
And while I can honestly say I have told you the truth, I may not have told you all of it …"
It's not the same voice as before; this one is old with a raspy edge, while the first voice has been old and young and timeless all at once. The name mentioned sounds rather Hobbitish, Bilbo thinks. Is the narrator a story-teller? Is this a story? But who's Frodo, and who's doing the story-telling?
Hmm. Frodo – must be a relation of his cousin Drogo. The Hobbit quickly skims his memory of the Baggins family tree, but comes up with nothing. Or maybe some distant relative from across the Water, or in Buckland, maybe a little child who nobody's bothered yet to tell or write to him about?
Before Bilbo can voice any questions or for that matter have much more time to reflect over these bizarre things (a magic wall showing moving pictures? sound coming from nowhere?), a candle is lit and then – wait, that's Bag End! Oh, Bilbo is sure of it. He'd know those round hallways anywhere. He can't place who the Hobbit is, though, maybe some relative, one of his uncles or a cousin's husband? Certainly not his father; Bungo's hair never had the chance to grow that deep shade of white and grey. And his mother or father never mentioned any 'Frodo' … How very befuddling.
The Hobbit - perhaps whoever this story is about, judging by the title - is wearing a fine silken waistcoat with gleaming brass buttons of the same fashion that he's always liked himself. Got to be a Baggins or a Took – some relative, but Bilbo can't place that face. There's something eerily familiar about it though…
"Oi," whispers someone in the audience. "Look at that! So old and still no beard! That's an odd sight!"
"So they really can't grow beards at all…" muses Óin. "Thought it was just the really young ones."
"Shhh! I want to hear," Ori cuts them off, before Bilbo can start trying to explain about Harfoots and Fallohides and that there are some kinds of Hobbit that do grow whiskers and some that even use boots (there are rumours about it at least).
The voice goes on talking about adventures while opening a chest and the first thing they see is a rather familiar small sword. Bilbo stares in confusion; what's his dagger doing there? Unless ... no, no that's impossible! Surely it's impossible!
The old Hobbit doesn't grab the sword though, but reaches out for something beneath it. It turns out to be a red book, which the Hobbit takes with him to a study where he places it on a very familiar desk. And opening it there's a charcoal portrait – of him! Bilbo scarcely dares to breathe as he connects the dots: the familiar-looking smial, the sword in the chest, the portrait...
"I'm old now, Frodo. I'm not the same Hobbit I once was."
Bilbo stares. "No, no, no, that can't be me," he whispers. "I must be at least eighty there! How can that be me?"
"Eighty?" Thorin murmurs from his side, sounding deeply shaken for some reason. If he had been looking at the others and not at the wall Bilbo would have seen similarly shocked expressions all the Dwarves' faces. "That's what a Hobbit looks like at merely eighty?"
"Er, yes, usually..." Bilbo answers confused. Again they are shushed by Ori, who's enraptured by the magic wall.
Then they aren't looking at Bilbo's study in Bag End anymore, but at a map of the world which takes them from west to east, across the Misty Mountains and toward their destination: the Lonely Mountain. In front of the Mountain is a city, which Bilbo has heard mentioned briefly but doesn't know much about at all. It's too far away to have been of any interest in his lessons as a child, and by the time he was born the city had already been destroyed by the dragon.
"There was the city of Dale. Its markets known far and wide,
full of the bounties of vine and vale. Peaceful and prosperous."
It's a city full of light and life. It's rather beautiful, Bilbo thinks, it's a different way from what he's used to. It's made of stone, it's streets winding and full of people, the buildings tall. There are towers and balconies and so many houses crammed together - unlike anything that's ever been built in the Shire. There are Men, but Dwarves also, and Bilbo is pretty certain that one or two he spotted just now were female with beards. There's a lot of movement, children running around laughing. It truly looks as the old Bilbo says: peaceful and prosperous. One couldn't believe that it's the same Dale that is now probably nothing more than rubble and ash.
"For this city lay before the doors of the greatest kingdom in Middle-earth: Erebor.
Stronghold of Thrór, King Under the Mountain, mightiest of the Dwarf Lords."
"Oh," Bilbo breathes.
"Ain't takin' it easy with the praise there," Bofur remarks, glancing at the Hobbit, who blushes a little. Who is he to control what the narrator is saying?
A road from Dale leads up to a huge gate cut right into the Mountain, or more than a gate: a fortress, and it's just on a too massive scale for Bilbo to actually comprehend. The fortress is flanked by two giant statues and guarded by numerous heavily armoured Dwarves. But it's not a dead place, but full of light and sound and Dwarves, and there's a King on a throne: Thrór. And then Thorin appears on the screen, younger and with a bit more of a beard. Is the wall able to show them both the past and the future? This is getting more and more confusing by the minute.
"Thrór ruled with utter surety, never doubting his house would endure,
for his line lay secure in the lives of his son ... and grandson."
There's a collective inhale of sharp breaths, and Thorin beside him stiffens. "What magic is this?!"
Several of the younger Dwarves, who hadn't been born in Erebor and never saw it before it fell to Smaug, stare in wonder; while Balin, like knowing what the narrator is about to show them next, sighs heavily.
"It looks really grand," Bilbo murmurs. Magical almost, like out of a fairy-tale like his father used to read him by his bedside as a fauntling. Something so strange no Hobbit would ever come up with it. "
"Ah, Frodo – Erebor! Built deep within the mountain itself, the beauty of this
fortress-city was legend. Its wealth lay in the earth, in precious gems
hewn from rock, and in great seams of gold running like rivers through stone."
There is more gold and glittering stones than the Mathom House in Michel Delving has ever stored. So many Dwarves digging, excavating, weighing, smithing. It's like the city itself is breathing through them. Next to him, Bilbo notices how Thorin's breaths have turned slightly ragged, by shock or grief or something else. Bilbo wishes he knew what to say or do to bring him comfort, or explain what they're seeing. It must be painful, to relive memories like this. Bilbo knows that he certainly wouldn't ever like to see Bag End burned down or destroyed, and then be reminded of its previous splendor this bluntly.
"The skill of the Dwarves was unequaled; fashioning objects of great beauty
out of diamond, emerald, ruby and sapphire. Ever they delved deeper, down into the dark."
There are murmurs in Khuzdul around him, whispers that Bilbo doesn't think the Dwarves are even aware that they're uttering, at the sight of so many of their kin working in their former home. Completely unaware that the end was soon upon them, that the dragon soon would come and lay ruin to the Mountain.
"- and that is where they found it: the heart of the Mountain. The Arkenstone!"
"Arkenstone?" Bilbo asks nobody in particular. The Dwarves had mentioned it before a couple of times, he'd overheard them talking about it, but no one had explained yet what it was for certain. It certainly looks pretty enough, glowing on its own like a lamp, and important enough for King Thrór to claim it for his own, as a pinnacle of his rule, mounting it on his throne. But no one answers the Hobbit right then, too busy staring in wonder and amazement and fear.
"Thrór named it 'The King's Jewel.' He took it as a sign, a sign that
his right to rule was divine. All would pay homage to him, even
the great Elven King, Thranduil."
"'Great'?" Fíli mutters. "Did he have to say 'great' about the Elf?"
There's a growl from Thorin when a tall Elf appears in view - King Thranduil apparently. Bilbo has to squeeze his arm to make sure Thorin doesn't hurt himself by leaping up and trying to punch the apparition.
"As the great wealth of the Dwarves grew, their store of good will ran thin.
No one knows exactly what began the rift. The Elves say the Dwarves stole
their treasure; the Dwarves tell another tale. They say the Elf King refused
to give them their rightful pay. It is sad, Frodo, how old alliances can be broken.
How friendships between people can be lost. And for what?"
"Slowly the days turned sour, and the watchful nights closed in.
Thrór's love of gold had grown too fierce. A sickness had to grow within him.
It was a sickness of the mind. And where sickness thrives, bad things will follow."
"The sickness took him swiftly," Thorin murmurs then. "Too swift, and then it was too late. We tried to intervene."
"I know," Balin says softly. "We all did."
"The first they heard was a noise like a hurricane coming down
from the North. The pines on the Mountain creaked and cracked in the hot, dry wind."
The younger Thorin rushes out on the parapet of the Mountain, along with a younger Balin, whose hair is dark and full.
"Balin, sound the alarm. Call out the guard. Do it now!"
"What is it?"
"Dragon. Dragon!"
"You knew the dragon was coming?"
"I was a prince, I was well-taught and had been trained to know the signs of such a danger," Thorin explains, then sighs. "But there wasn't much we could do. it we'd had earlier warning, maybe, but ... it was too late."
The Dragon is huge and Bilbo has to swallow back tears of pity at seeing the beast attack the Mountain and killing so many people. Dale burns, and Erebor is emptied of Dwarves - those who manage to escape. And the Elf-king looks down at the valley before turning away. Seeing Thorin and his people wandering across Middle-earth, homeless and hungry and without hope, causes Bilbo's heart to twist in his chest.
"Oh," Bilbo whispers. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Thorin." Despite what they'd told him of their homeland and losing it - actually seeing it like this makes him want to weep, and wish that someone had helped them back then. What a cruel fate!
"Many were lost in those days," Thorin says heavily. "Many more were lost in the months and years after, when we wandered the wild..." He trails off and looks away. The other Dwarves are pale and quiet.
Then, after the fire, the magic wall is filled with fireworks in green and blue and golden. Bilbo recognizes his grandfather Gerontious, the Thain at that time, immediately. There's Gandalf, too, sending sparks all-over the night sky; and a small fauntling of only four attacking the Wizard's shins with a tiny wooden sword -
"Wait, I remember this," Bilbo starts in shock but then his mother - his mother! - is shouting his name, and he feels a little faint.
Fíli and Kíli squeal in delight. "That's adorable!"
"What a wee little fellow!"
"You never told us you could handle a sword!" adds Bofur with a laugh.
Bilbo's ear turn hot and red, and he wishes he could sink through the floor and disappear. The Dwarves are now chuckling and some looking at him with an odd kind of fondness - Thorin more so than the rest of them. The Hobbit has to look away out of sheer embarrassment and tries to focus on wall, which is again changing back to Bag End and the old Hobbit who's writing in his book.
Another Hobbit joins the old one - the old him! Bilbo still can't wrap his head around it - and that's apparently Frodo (Baggins?), who addresses him as 'Uncle Bilbo'.
"I've got a nephew? Huh. Well, Drogo and Primula must've married, could be one of theirs ... or maybe Cousin Fortinbras, if he's a Took," Bilbo muses aloud. Well, that explained why he doesn't recognize the name; the lad can't have been born yet. A very, very strange thought: to suddenly be aware of the existence of a relative that won't be conceived for maybe a decade.
On the wall, his old self starts taking various items and putting them into pots and hiding them away.
"...think you've got tunnels overflowing with gold," Frodo is saying.
"It was one small chest, hardly overflowing," old Bilbo retorts. "And it still smells of trolls!"
"Huh," mutters Glóin. "So ye picked it up in the troll cave? We must've come back there after the quest. Told ye it was worth makin' that deposit, Nori!"
One of the other Dwarves lets out a laugh when the old Hobbit stars 'taking precautions' and hiding away various items in pots and under heavy books. There's a jab about Lobelia - Sackville-Baggins? She's married now? Well, if that's the future somehow ... - Bilbo decides he has to stop questioning these things, or he surely will go mad!
Well, Lobelia apparently still likes to steal his silver spoons, which honestly doesn't surprise Bilbo at all. She's always been light-fingered even for a Hobbit (most fauntlings go through a phase where they can't resist the temptation of stealing newly-baked pies from windowsills).
The young Frodo is kneeling before the garden gate, putting up a sign. As he lowers his hammer they can see that it reads 'No Entry, Except on Party Business'. Ah, judging by the season it's too late for Midsummer's, so it's a birthday party, then.
"Do you think he'll come?"
"Who?"
"Gandalf!"
"Oh, he wouldn't miss the chance to show off his whiz-poppers."
"Well then, I'm off," Frodo says, turning to run down the path.
"Where are you going?"
"To the East Farthing woods - I'm going to surprise him."
"Go on then! You don't want to be late," the old Bilbo urges him on, and the younger Hobbit is off, disappearing out of sight. Then Bilbo appears to be sitting on a bench outside of his door, pipe in hand, smiling fondly. "He doesn't approve of being late. Not that I ever was. Back then I was entirely respectable. And nothing unexpected ever happened…"
He blows a smoke-ring and as it turns toward the blue sky, another text appears, this time white, also in the Common Tongue:
AN UNEXPECTED JOURNEY
As the text dissolves, so does the smoke-ring and the latter twists in the air to take the shape of a butterfly, which flies right back into the face of a much younger Bilbo – in fact, just as young as he is now.
"Wait, '60 years later'? I was eleventy-one back there!?" Bilbo almost jumps out of his chair in shock. "What?! No, no, but that's impossible!"
"Apparently not," Bofur piques up. "Surely it's not that strange?"
"Most Hobbits don't live past a hundred at all," Bilbo informs him seriously. "Except for the Old Took, my grandfather, who got to a hundred and thirty but that's highly unusual, and he certainly didn't look so lively at that age. Surely there's some kind of mistake...!"
"I think not. No, there is more to this than first seems, but I sense no deception," Gandalf says softly, returning their focus to the events unfolding before them.
And there he is, dressed in one of his finest golden vests and favourite pale blue scarf, sitting on the porch without a care in the world; and Gandalf walks up just like that morning when -
"Good morning!"
"What do you mean? Do you mean to wish me a good morning, or do you mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not?
Or, perhaps you mean to say that you feel good on this particular morning. Or are you simply stating that this is a morning to be good on?"
Snorting loudly Nori pauses his eating of popped corn. "Wizards! Never talking straight."
The Hobbit hesitates, lowering his pipe. "All of them at once, I suppose …"
"I remember this too," Bilbo says faintly when Thorin casts a worried look at him. "I mean, this is exactly, exactly how it was..." The implications are huge: if the tale of Erebor is true, as well as this meeting, then in that means that sometime in the future he's going to become Uncle to a boy named Frodo and he's going to live to a whole 111 years old while looking decades younger. It just … it's almost too much, and Bilbo decides he'd better not think of it or he'll simply faint.
Clearing his throat, the Hobbit on the magic wall asks the Wizard: "Can I help you?"
"That remains to be seen. I'm looking for someone to share in an adventure."
"An adventure?" the Hobbit exclaims, voice edging on outraged, and stands up to begin gathering letters from the mail-post next to the garden gate. "Now, I don't imagine anyone west of Bree would have much interest in adventures! Nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things – would make you late for dinner!" Any Hobbit would by now have gotten the message, as well have been quite insulted, but been on their way. But the Wizard lingers, as if oblivious to common up the steps to his round green door, the Hobbit turns around and both his face and tone are much sourer than they'd been a minute earlier. "Good morning!"
Bilbo winces at hearing himself like that. That sounded terribly rude. Well, the Wizard was rude too, and wouldn't take no for an answer, so there's that.
"To think that I should have lived to be good-morninged by Belladonna Took's son, as if I were selling buttons at the door!"
Unable to hinder himself, Bilbo murmurs, "I think I'd objected less if you really did sell buttons."
Thorin sends him an odd look.
"What? I like buttons."
"… I beg your pardon?"
"You've changed, and not entirely for the better, Bilbo Baggins."
"I'm sorry, do I know you?"
Thorin huffs dryly. "So you were insulting strangers, Gandalf? What has become of the courtesy of Wizards?"
But the Wizard doesn't answer, busy with his pipe; or busying himself with his pipe in order not to have to reply. Either way, the Dwarf, who had been amused at the start of the odd exchange between Hobbit and Wizard, is now feeling ever-more annoyed and slightly frustrated on the part of the Hobbit. It's clear from the Hobbit's tone and stance he wishes no more than for the Wizard to go away – and that's odd, considering the arrangements Gandalf had ensured the Company and Thorin almost three weeks prior their arrival at Bag End. Maybe this was that moment, three weeks earlier, then? Well, it has to be.
In his musings Thorin has missed the Wizard introducing himself; he refocuses on the magic wall in time to catch the Hobbit saying:
"…not Gandalf the wandering Wizard who
had such excellent fireworks on Midsummer's Eve?
Well, hmm, I had no idea you were still in business."
"And where else should I be?"
"Ah, uhm … Ahem."
On the side Nori and Glóin chuckle as the Hobbit avoids answering the Wizard's questions of where else he should be if not in business by clearing his throat and puffing his pipe, even though said item appears to have lost its glow.
"Well, I'm pleased to find your remember something
about me, even if it's only my fireworks. That's decided! It will be very
good for you, and most amusing for me. I shall inform the others."
"Inform the who? W-what? No, no. No!
Wait! We do not want any adventures here,
thank you. Not today, not –" Frustrated, the Hobbit
waves his pipe in denial and gestures away from Bag End.
Now Thorin is openly frowning. What's this? The Hobbit refused from the start? Did they enter his house unwelcome and uninvited? But they had been told that the Hobbit knew they were coming, that food was promised, that he knew…! The mark on the door was clearly there!
"I suggest you try over the Hill, or across the Water." With that the Hobbit retreats, casting a final wary: "Good morning!" over his shoulder before hurrying inside, closing and locking the door.
For a moment he stands there, looking put-off and anxious, clenching a couple of letters to his chest. There's a scratching noise and the view shifts so they can see the end of Gandalf's staff inscribing a blue glowing sign on the door; just as he'd said be there for the Company to find when they were to meet with their burglar.
A sinking suspicion dawns on Thorin, and he glances at the Wizard, who is pointedly looking away. He also notices that next to him Bilbo is looking ever-more embarrassed.
… That sneaky Wizard! Thorin thinks, eyes widening. Without a sense for common courtesy, indeed!
The scene shifts for them to see a sunny Shire full of Hobbits going about their daily business. It's a relaxed, happy scene, so unlike any Dwarven settlement right now; the lives of Dwarves are often so harsh, that such peace is difficult to come by. But there are tiny Hobbit children running over the green hills laughing, adults working in the small fields or tending to their gardens.
A figure clad in a striking blue coat, carrying a basket in one hand, reveals to be their burglar – or burglar-to-be at this point in the story. The Hobbit is in a busy marketplace, it looks like, but unlike the Hobbits around him Bilbo looks quite tense and nervous, glancing around him now and then as he makes his purchases. While talking with a farmer who's got a very, very big pumpkin in a wheelbarrow, Bilbo suddenly ducks when it looks like someone tall with a pointy hat is nearing them – which turns out to just be a pile of sacks and other items carried by a couple of Hobbits rounding the corner. But that is merely clear evidence of Bilbo's sudden paranoia and tension; and also a non-mistakable sign of his unwillingness to have to deal with Gandalf or any 'adventures'.
It's Bofur who speaks up first: "You didn't know we were coming? You'd said no right that morning without hearing of the quest beforehand? But Gandalf said you knew several weeks before, that everything had been arranged!"
Suddenly all eyes are on him, causing Bilbo to sink lower into his chair – and quite a few eyes are also on the Wizard. Thorin is glaring at the tall man (again) and for once Bilbo is a big grateful for that; also, now the Dwarves may understand why he was such a poor host upon their arrival, confused and not in a very good mood to be honest, and forgive him for that.
Being held down by thirteen pairs of angry, disbelieving eyes, Gandalf starts choking on his pipe. "Ah, well, uhm ..."
"You coerced him into coming even after he first refused?" Balin asks, raising an eyebrow of disapproval. "Clearly then the terms of the contract -"
"Now, hang on!" Bilbo interrupts. "I mean, I was a bit overwhelmed, to be honest, never having met any Dwarves before, not to mention the whole bunch of you, and certainly not having had chance to cook for you all or prepare so I must've come across as a very poor host, but, but I don't regret signing the contract or coming on this quest with you!"
"I'm not saying your signature is any less valid," Balin says gently. "What we mean to say is that we are deeply sorry for the inconvenience we put upon you with arriving like that. We thought you were well aware of our plans and that you had invited us through Gandalf, and later showed unwillingness to come. We believed you had been trying to break the contract, which is why we may have been particularly ... harsh and cold in our manner towards you. For this we apologize."
"It is apparent that Wizards are not entirely trustable," Thorin mutters, still glaring.
"Well, no harm was done," Gandalf tries to amend himself.
A doorbell rings.
On the wall, right that moment, the door is pulled open to reveal Dwalin. That rather ruins any chance of apologizes from the Wizard. The Hobbit is standing in the hallway dressed only in a nightshirt and a multi-coloured patchwork nightgown (causing Thorin for some reason to avert his eyes and mutter something in Khuzdul). He's clearly unprepared for guests, and he stares at the large Dwarf with apparent confusion and perhaps some fright.
"Dwalin. At your service." The Dwarf bows without
taking his eyes off the Hobbit.
The Hobbit hastily ties his nightgown together.
"Bilbo Baggins, at yours … Do we know each other?"
"No." Nonetheless the Dwarf invites himself inside,
rudely barreling past the smaller creature while asking
about (rather: demanding) supper.
Someone tugs at his arm, and Bilbo glances to his side. There, a few seats down, Dwalin is sitting looking extremely uncomfortable and ashamed, and so completely beside himself that Bilbo first thinks he's hallucinating it. But the large Dwarf looks so pitiful that the Hobbit almost wants to hug him.
"Oh, it's all right," Bilbo quickly says, loud enough so that the Dwarf can hear.
"I invaded your home and stole your supper. That is not 'all right' by any standards."
"Technically it was dinner but really, it's all right. No hard feelings."
The doorbell rings again. Balin squirms a little in his chair, and looks ready to apologize once more but Bilbo shushes him. "Please! I am with you now, signed contract and all, and all that's in the past. Please don't think of it anymore."
"We emptied your larder, ate all of your food and dragged mud into your home and made a big mess, all without your permission! That's the greatest of slights!" Bombur cries, looking very upset indeed.
Fíli and Kíli also look sad, like puppies that have been kicked out of home, with tears in their eyes - tears! "Please don't be sad, Mister Boggins! We're so, so sorry!"
"We have to repay you," Dori says very seriously. Next to his brother, Ori has fished out his quill and inkpot and is taking notes.
His big red beard bobbing Glóin agrees: "Just tell us what food and drink and other items you need replaced, and we'll make a list and take note of all the costs."
"Yes, we will repay you, Master Baggins," Thorin says with great authority. "Once we get to the Mountain you'll earn enough gold to refill your pantry a hundred times over. I swear it on my honour!"
"I, uh." All words stop somewhere between his brain and his tongue. At some point during his passionate speech Thorin has grabbed the Hobbit's hands in his own larger ones, and he's still squeezing them warmly and staring at him with much intensity. Bilbo's head bobs up and down, and he's unable to look away. "Right. Thank you ... I think?"
Then Fíli and Kíli knock on the door. It has to be them, everyone knows that; there's a mutter of "Those stupid lads! They were told to wait for the rest of us!" when a very upset Bilbo (who's struggling to hold it together without breaking into an outburst, since his recent attempt to gain an apology from Balin and Dwalin who are raiding his pantry completely failed) opens the door to find the brothers bowing in sync to him, before dumping their weapons in his arms.
Kíli lets out a squeak when Thorin grabs hold of his ear when, on the wall, his counterpart scrapes off mud from his dirty boots onto the little decorated box that Bilbo angrily informs is his mother's glory box – "Don't do that!". Even if the Dwarves aren't really sure what a glory box is, it sounds important and, more to the point, it's terrible manners - especially of Princes! - to do things like that when entering a stranger's home.
"Have you been taught nothing?" Thorin growls, and Fíli and Kíli whimper. "You would make your mother ashamed!"
"Sorry, uncle! Sorry, sorry, sorry!"
"It's, it's all right, really. It was just some mud..."
But Bilbo finds nobody is really listening to him. An appalled Dori has drawn his brothers' heads closer and is talking to them in low Khuzdul; probably informing them of the bad things that'll happen if they ever act like that. Bilbo rolls his eyes at the whole spectacle. Sure, it'd been a mess at the time and he'd been mighty upset, but it's in the past now! He's forgiven them all, really. No need to linger on it!
All right. Maybe linger on it a little, Bilbo thinks, watching a bunch of Dwarves fall through his door nearly crushing him, an amused Wizard peering inside the Hobbit's smial without apology.
Yes. He might linger on it for a little while more …