Chapter 3:

Wait, Where Did You Say We're Going?

wherein the company of thorin oakenshield learns something new about their burglar,
and said burglar learns more about the stubbornness of dwarves,
and bilbo baggins fights the urge to hit thorin oakenshield's head

" …Oh, they're quite a merry gathering, once you've gotten used to them."

The Wizard uttering this is far too merry himself to the Hobbit's liking. The red-faced, very upset Hobbit who is gesturing widely with his hands, his whole body screaming to anyone seeing him that he is very unhappy and want the Wizard and his company gone as fast as Hobbitly possible. Some of the Dwarves watching find this display somewhat amusing, but most of them are groaning and blushing in embarrassment, since it's them that the Hobbit is - was - angry with. Some, such as Kíli, is also possibly a little afraid. In the time that they have known the Hobbit, the only time really that Bilbo had had any outburst and yelled was back at his smial, and then none of the Company had really known him. Most hadn't taken him very seriously. Now, though, Kíli admits that the Hobbit is a little scary to look at when he's that angry. Scary and cute. Like a very angry little rabbit with some sharp claws and big teeth, or something. (Well, without claws. Or big, sharp teeth.)

"I don't want to get used to them! Look the state of my kitchen - there's mud trod into the carpet, they've pillaged the pantry –
I'm not even going to tell what they've done in the bathroom; they've all but destroyed the plumbing!
I don't understand what they're doing in my home!"

"No wonder you were so upset with us," Glóin comments. "We deserved to be kicked out of your - smial, was it? - right then and there."

"We've already talked about this," Bilbo says. "I'm not upset anymore. Honestly, Glóin! It was unexpected and at the time unwelcome, but you surely livened up the place. I hadn't seen such controlled chaos since my cousin Fortinbras' birthday party in 1329 (by Shire Reckoning) ..." He gains some odd inquiring looks from Thorin and Balin, and clears his throat. "There were, euhm, quite a few Tooks involved, a pair of stolen firework and a verylarge sponge-cake," he adds as if it explains everything (which to a Hobbit it does), though the Dwarves only become vaguely confused. Right, of course; how would they know that such a situation could easily equal explosions?

Ori peaks up in interest. "What's a 'tuk'?"

"Took. It's an old family name."

"I'd've liked to've seen a party like that," Bofur says, intrigued. "So these Tooks are, what, mischief-makers?"

"One could say that. Another word could be 'free-spirited'," Bilbo answers diplomatically. "It's in the blood, most say."

"Excuse me," a shy Ori butts in then in a far-too-kind voice for the situation and the Hobbit's mood.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, but what should I do with my plate?"
But before he is given an answer, Fíli appears by his side and takes said item from the other Dwarf's hands.

All the Dwarves watching suddenly go suspiciously quiet. The actual Fíli, sitting next to his brother, is glancing at his uncle while worriedly biting his lip. "Oh. Crap. Shouldn't have done that."

"Excuse me, that's my mother's West Farthing crockery, it's over a hundred years old!
... And can you not do that? You'll blunt them!"

"Oh, d'ya hear that, lads? He said we'll blunt the knives!"

"Oh, oh crap. We're so screwed. Uncle is going to strange us all. Oh, Mahal," Kíli whispers, also looking at a now very dark Thorin. Like the young warrior, half of the Dwarves have begun to lose focus of the magic wall and are looking at each other, then at their leader (who looks very, very disappointed and very, very close to exploding with Durin-fueled rage) and lastly at the red-faced (though for a different reason than anger) Hobbit. "We're so screwed."

"It's all right," Bilbo tries, again, to convince them. "It's all in the past. See? I'm not angry with any of you, so if you could all just calm down (you especially, Thorin) and take a breath ... No harm was done - you didn't actually crack or drop a single plate."

(He hadn't had time to check the knives, though.)

"Fíli," Kíli hisses fearfully to his brother, "I'm afraid Uncle is going to start breathing fire any second now ...!"

"Kíli, that isn't actually physically possible."

"Is so!"

"Is not."

"Is too!"

"Will you two cut it out?! Or I'll cut it out for you," Dwalin growls and would have reached for his battle axes if they weren't left behind at Beorn's house. The young brothers immediately fall silent.

(Bilbo wonders if he could learn to growl in that intimidating way as well, or if it's a Dwarven inherited trait. It'd be pretty useful to use against some of his more annoying neighbors poking their noses into other's business.)

Soon enough there's the rhythmical clanging of dishware and forks being used as drums, and dancing on tables and food being thrown, and a chorus of Dwarves singing - or shouting. (Bofur tries to sing along. Dori looks most disapproving.) Since he's this time not preoccupied with trying to stop the Dwarves, Bilbo takes a moment to actually listen to the lyrics. He can't help but wonder at how all the Dwarves seemed to know - have known - all the words and the tune very neatly, as if they'd rehearsed the number. But they actually couldn't have ... could they? No, there's no way they could have known that he'd be upset with them about throwing around his china...

Actually, yes, when he thinks of it. Of course they could have predicted that he'd have an angry outburst and give them a reason to sing such a silly song. He is after all a Hobbit, and Gandalf could have told them one thing or another while they were travelling from the Blue Mountains to the Shire. Oh, of course. Stupid Wizard, always meddling, always coming up with bad silly ideas to turn people's lives upside down...!

Another thing to question Gandalf about, Bilbo thinks a little crossly. I hadn't thought before that Wizards could act like such ... such trolls! "A merry gathering" indeed!

"Blunt the knives and bend the forks!
Smash the bottles and burn the corks!
Chip the glasses and crack the plates!
That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!"

"Catchy tune, is it not?" says the Wizard just then, smiling at the chaos unraveling before them.

"Bofur, no," Thorin orders when said Dwarf reaches for the flute still attached to his belt (for some reason that hadn't been taken away along with their weapons and supplies). "No flutes."

Bofur pouts. "Just for a little bit? A teeny-tinsy tiny bit?"

"Cut the cloth and trail the fat!
Leave the bones on the bedroom mat!
Pour the milk on the pantry floor!
Splash the wine on every door!"

"You heard him. Not now," Balin says.

"I don't mind," Bilbo says but doesn't think anyone is listening.

At least they've very synchronized, Bilbo thinks. Team-work and all that. And in the chaos before he'd never noticed how well both Bofur and Dwalin played the flute and the viola – Bilbo hadn't really thought of Dwarves as the most musical types. Then he remembers how Bofur had sang in Rivendell as well; at that time he'd been less distraught and actually listened. He'd quite liked that song, actually; maybe he could ask Bofur later about it and write it down … Well, not now. Later, once this chaotic 'moh-vee' experience is over.

Next to him Bilbo notices how Thorin is hiding his face in his hands, repeatedly muttering: "Dishonour on the line of Durin! Dishonour on us!" or something of that ilk. Bilbo just rolls his eyes quite fondly, blushing a little in embarrassment at how his other, quite enraged, self is trying to chase after the Dwarves in his home and stop them from throwing around his finest china, without being listened to whatsoever.

Bilbo would quite like to hit the stubborn Dwarf to make him understand that it's not his fault they were such an unexpected, abysmally rude group of unwanted Dwarves to have barged into his smial that evening, but all is forgiven now, and there's no need to cry over spilt milk. Honestly! Bilbo cannot remember any time when he'd been surrounded by so many people ashamed of themselves and their actions, least of all towards him.

All of the Dwarves (except Bofur, who is now glaring at Dwalin for confiscating his flute) seem to be in a permanent state of shame or embarrassment and Thorin and Dori in particular is bemoaning the lack of honour on the part of his family and whatnot; it doesn't matter how many times Bilbo begs them just to "stop apologizing, by Yavanna!" (if Kíli and Fíli start crying again and call him 'Mr Boggins' and plead for him to stay one more time…)

" ... dump the crocks in a boiling bowl,
pound them up with a thumping pole!
And when you've finished, if they are whole,
send them down the hall to roll!
That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!"

Abruptly, all activity in front of them ceases. In the silence, Gandalf lowers his pipe and announces gravely:

"He is here."

"Oh, here we go," Bofur says. He sounds far too amused befitting the situation. Though Gandalf made it sound very ominous back then; no wonder the tension in the air had been so high when Thorin had made his first appearance.

"Gandalf. I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice.
Wouldn't have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door."

"Mark? There's no mark on that door. It was painted a week ago!"

"There is a mark; I put it there myself. Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce
the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield."

"How did you get lost, anyway?" Dwalin asks his old friend, raising an eyebrow. "Those Hobbits had signs all over the place, and it was the tallest hill in the village."

Wordlessly Thorin just glares at him; Dwalin doesn't stop smirking.

"So, this is the Hobbit. Tell me, Mr. Baggins,
have you done much fighting?"

"Pardon me?"

"Axe or sword? What's your weapon of choice?"

"Oh Mahal, this is so awkward, I'm dying," Kíli whispers loudly to his brother, who also is wincing.

"Yeah, nothing's worse than watching Uncle trying, and failing, at flirt-"

A heated glare from Thorin makes them both shut up, word's half-way through Fíli's throat. Bilbo isn't sure why Gandalf is smiling like that though, or why some of the Dwarves let out nervous chuckles. Or why Thorin still is so red in the face.

"Well, I have some skill at Conkers, if you must know,
but I fail to see why that's relevant."

"Thought as much. He looks more like a grocer than a burglar."

"Rude," says Óin, who for once seems to have heard what is being said. "That's not the way to do it."

"By the way, what's 'conkers'?" Nori asks, when on the wall Thorin is staring at the Hobbit in judgement and poorly hidden dislike. (The actual Thorin is staring at his Hobbit in shame, face red like a tomato under his beard. Again Bilbo has a tiny urge to hit him and tell him to snap out of it; not that he can hit him, Thorin is a Dwarf King-to-be and hitting someone is very rude no matter who they are – but really, this is getting ridiculous). "Some form of competition?"

Bilbo nods. "Er, mostly, yes. Everybody learns it as a fauntling. Basically, you throw conkers at targets. There are rules of course... We used to have these little tournaments when we were little. I've always been quite handy at it."

"Huh. Good to know. Is it useful as a weapon?"

"Well, I've never actually tried hurting anyone with it, but any object could cause damage, I suppose, with enough force behind the throw."

"Hmm, I wonder if we could implement it on a larger scale by -"

"Shhh!"

"Sorry, Ori."

"Far to the East, beyond mountains and rivers, lies a single, solitary peak."

The Hobbit holds the candle a little higher. "'The Lonely Mountain'," he reads out,
in a tone of voice that suggests he's never ever heard of the place.

And why would he'd have, at that point? Other than perhaps in stories as a child, no Hobbit would have cause to know much of the outside world. Yes, Bilbo does have vague recollections of his mother and father telling him bedside stories, when he was a tiny faunt, about this Huge Lonesome Mountain Very Far Away, and that a Dragon had come and overthrown it, and cast out all the Dwarves living in it, generations ago. But that's what it had been to him up until a few months ago: stories, fairytales, old history and nothing more. Nothing to do with the Shire or himself. His mother had never seen anything that far East with her own eyes: she too knew nothing but what she'd heard in rumour or read in books. Then thirteen Dwarves and a Wizard had rudely barged into his home - and look at him now!

"Oh, I know where this is going," Bofur says, part cheerful, part abashed (unlikely as it may seem of his character).

Bilbo groans and slumps in his chair. Right. This is about the point where he soon faints out of pure shock and fear. Indeed; within five minutes, there's a lot of chatter around the table and Bofur has started describing exactly who – or what – Smaug is.

"Aye. Óin has read the portents, and the portents say it is time."

"Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain as it was foretold:
when the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end."

"Uh, what beast?"

"You really didn't tell him anything," Balin ponders out loud, looking pointedly at Gandalf. The Wizard is pointedly smoking his pipe to avoid answering. Really, that amount of smoking cannot be healthy, even for someone of the Big Folk.

"Well that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity
of our age. Airborne fire-breather, teeth like razors, claws like meathooks,
extremely fond of precious metals ..."

"Yes, I know what a dragon is."

"And now I'm set out to actually find one. Face one. For real. Oh, by Yavanna's green garden, I've gone mad," Bilbo mutters to himself. If his mother could see him now!

"I'm not afraid!" Ori cries out, standing up. "I'm up for it.
I'll give him a taste of the Dwarfish iron right up his jacksie!"

"Yeah, I'm sure the dragon will be scared of your slingshot, Ori," says Dwalin with dry humour. "Trembling right down to his talons."

The young Dwarf retorts by sticking out his tongue; a surprisingly daring gesture to do towards a twice-old hardened warrior with enormous biceps. "Oh shush, you brute. Not everyone is big and strong and got two sharp axes to help them out. I'll have you know my aim is impeccable."

"The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us," Balin says.
"But we number just thirteen, and not thirteen of the best, nor the brightest."

"I think we need to work on the tact, too," Thorin grumbles, as the Dwarves in the smial begin to argue (again), undoubtedly because they've just been called stupid by one of their own. Yes, tact, Bilbo thinks, is important. Though Balin is entirely correct: in what reality does thirteen odd Dwarves and a Hobbit have a chance against a fire-breathing drake who managed to destroy a city and basically wipe out a kingdom? All the odds are against them.

"We may be few in number, but we're fighters, all of us,
to the last dwarf!" Fíli shouts, shaking his hand to emphasize.

"And you forget, we have a wizard in our company," his brother adds.
"Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time!"

"Young people. So confident." With a sigh Balin shakes his head.

Kíli blinks in confusion. "What? What?"

"Oh, well now, uh, I, ahem, I wouldn't say that …"

"Wouldn't be the first lie you've told anyone, even us, Wizard," Thorin growls.

"How many, then?" Dori turns to the Wizard.

"Uh, ehm...what?"

"Well, how many dragons have you killed? Go on, give us a number!"

While the Dwarves in the smial are shouting and arguing, the Wizard choking on his pipe in embarrassment, the Dwarves watching are very silent. They look at each other. Then at Gandalf, who has now started polishing his pipe to avoid looking at anybody. And in the very awkward silence, Dwalin lets out a small growl, Dori mutters a tiny curse which makes Ori stare wide-eyed at him (since when does Dori swear?!), and Thorin glares. He's very good at that – glaring.

"You haven't, have you," says Thorin after a while. "You haven't killed a single dragon."

"With our luck he's never even faced a dragon before," Fíli adds grumpily. "Not a one, I would bet!"

Bilbo is the one burying his face in his hands now. Oh, Varda, oh, by all that is green – if his mother could see them all!

"Shazara!" Thorin shouts, standing up at the foot of the table. "If we have read these signs, do you not think others
will have read them too? Rumours have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years.
Eyes look east to the Mountain - assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people
now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance
to take back Erebor? Du bekâr - du bekâr!"

"Nice, very nice, very inspirational. Kinda zoned out after a bit though," says Nori. "I'm not a Dwarf for long speeches."

"We're lucky he didn't drone on and on for hours," Dwalin says with a smirk. "He can do that, you know, when there's enough ale and cheerful company to be had."

"You forget, the front gate is sealed! There is no way into the mountain."

"That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true…"
And from out of his sleeve the Wizard pulls out an ancient looking key,
which couldn't have looked more significant even if it'd had the words 'Very Important Heirloom' stamped on it.

"Wait one moment. Do we still have the key, here, with us?" Dwalin whispers to Thorin in a low voice; their leader shakes his head angrily.

"No, it seems to have been left behind, or taken, along with all our weapons and supplies. And the map."

"That's not good…"

"If there is a key, there must be a door!"

"Oh my god, you are so obvious, brother," Kíli says dramatically, covering his eyes. "I'm ashamed to be of the same blood."

"These runes speak of a hidden passage to the lower halls," says Gandalf.

"...There's another way in!"

"Now who's being obvious?!" Fíli cries, bumping his brother's shoulder.

"Oi!"

"You two, stop acting like forty-year-olds or I will have you grounded for a fortnight," Thorin groans tiredly. Bilbo thinks it a kind of odd comment, until he remembers that Dwarves age slowly, so naturally they must come of age later as well. Hmm, another thing to ask, when the time is right. At forty most Hobbits are married and expecting their second or third child – apparently it's not so with Dwarves.

"…Well, if we can find it, but dwarf doors are invisible when closed. The answer lies hidden somewhere
in this map and I do not have the skill to find it. But there are others in Middle-earth who can. The task
I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage. But, if we are careful and clever,
I believe that it can be done."

"That's why we need a burglar!" Ori cries out.

And the Hobbit nods, humming on his breath and not at all understanding the weight of all of this
or that soon enough he'll be roped into it, at the point of no return. "Hm, A good one, too. An expert, I'd imagine."

"And are you?" Glóin eyes the Hobbit with clear qualms of this prospect. After all, the Hobbit does not have the air
or appearance of a thief – but looks can be deceiving, and no book should be judged by its cover. And any clever
Burglar would refrain from outing himself.

"Eh, am I what?"

Óin, completely mishearing, either by mistake or by will,
perks up. "He said he's an expert!"

"M-me? Nononono - I'm not a burglar; I've never stolen a thing in my life!"

"Is that true, Master Baggins?" Dori asks, frowning. It's starting to become a permanent feature on his face, now. "You aren't a Burglar by profession?"

"Erhm, yes, I…" Then Bilbo pauses, remembering the goblin cave and that creature, Gollum, and the gleaming golden ring he'd found – picked up. Stolen. Taken. "Well. I wasn't at that point. Yet." Technically he's speaking the truth.

"Enough! If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is! Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet.
In fact, they can pass unseen by most if they choose. And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of dwarf, the scent of hobbit
is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage. You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company,
and I have chosen Mister Baggins. There's a lot more to him than appearances suggest, and he's got a great deal more to offer
than any of you know, including himself. You must trust me on this."

Nori makes a noncommittal noise at the back of his throat. "A non-burglar-Burglar-Hobbit, and a Wizard who hasn't killed a single dragon, and twelve idio…Dwarrows. And myself. Well, no wonder this trip has been so nice! … What? What are you guys looking at me like that for?"

"Who're you calling an idiot?!"

Bifur makes an angry gesture. "Mamamthagi!"

"Yeah! That's one step too far!"

"Oh, calm down, Kíli," Ori says, reaching out to pat the upset Dwarf's arm. "My brother's just thinking. Out loud. He shouldn't have done that. It's a bad habit. I've told him about it before. There's nothing wrong with your intellect."

Kíli stills for a moment, huffing, when squints at his comrade. "... Was that sarcasm?"

"Oh, don't worry about it, brother," Fíli says. (Kíli doesn't look wholly convinced though.)

"Give him the contract," Thorin says, ignoring how the Hobbit before him is pleading,
saying that they've got it all wrong. Which they had (at the time at least). Stupid Dwarves. Stupid Wizard.

Balin hands the long document over. "It's just the usual summary of out-of-pocket expenses.
time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements and so forth."

The squeak leaving the Hobbit's mouth is much like that of a frightened mouse. "Funeral arrangements?!"

All of this, though, or most of it, all of the Company had seen and heard for themselves, and little of this meeting was news to them. However some had seen Thorin lean forward to whisper with Gandalf, but none had before heard what had been said. So when their leader turns to Gandalf, as the Hobbit is reading the contract, for a private conversation, everyone listens in closely.

"I cannot guarantee his safety."

"Understood."

"Nor will I be responsible for his fate."

"… Agreed."

"Oooh," say Fíli and Kíli in choir. Bewildered Bilbo wonders whatever they're up to. Then the boys begin to chant: "Liar, liar, pants on fire!"

Thorin barks something in Khuzdul at his nephews, and they snigger and wriggle their eyebrows in a very weird manner, but do fall silent (for a while).

"…'Terms: Cash on delivery, up to but not exceeding one fourteenth of total profit, if any. Seems fair.
Uhm, 'Present company shall not be liable for injuries inflicted by or sustained as a consequence thereof
including but not limited to lacerations ... evisceration … incineration'?"

"Oh, aye, he'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye."

The Hobbit blinks, looking a little pale. "Huh."

(Thorin is once more muttering about the shame that has brought upon his people. Or will strike them down. Or something like that. This time Bilbo does hit his shoulder, glaring at him, but unfortunately this does not stop the Dwarf from blaming himself or bemoaning the ill way that his Company had treated the Hobbit. Bilbo sighs. A lost cause, that, it seems.)

"You all right, laddie?" Balin, ever kind and sensible, asks.

"Uhm, yes, I ... I feel a bit faint."

But Bofur has not (unfortunately for himself) yet learned the art of silence. "Think furnace with wings."

The Hobbit stumbles. "Air. I need air."

"This was the moment you should've started shutting up," Dori says to Bofur, sending him a highly disapproving look, the kind which Ori recognizes very well since Nori is often at the receiving end of it.

"Hey, it's not my fault!" said Dwarf defends himself. "It's not like I could've predicted that our Burglar was going to –"

"Flash of light, searing pain, then Poof! you're nothing more than a pile of ash."

"… nope."
Without further ado the Hobbit faints.

(Any Hobbit with any common sense would have reacted the same way.)

"Really, you didn't foresee at all that something like that could have happened?" Nori questions, raising an eyebrow.

"Very helpful, Bofur."

"Yes, well done," Ori says, also with a surprising touch of sarcasm – he's always so sweet-mannered usually.

"Yeah! I may be stupid but not that stupid," Kíli announces while nodding enthusiastically.

Dwalin only groans like in pain. "Mahal's beard, I'm surrounded by idiots."

On the magic wall, Bilbo is hugging a cup of tea to his chest.

"I'll be alright, let me just sit quietly for a moment."

That feels so long ago, looking at it like that, and Bilbo realizes he's changed already. Maybe not too much, but... he'd no longer faint, he thinks, at the mere mention of a dragon and the possibility of being incinerated by one. Better not if he's meant to actually face one someday soon.

"You've been sitting quietly for far too long! Tell me, when did doilies and your mother's dishes
become so important to you? I remember a young Hobbit who always was running off in search of elves and the woods,
who would stay out late, and come home after dark, trailing mud and twigs and fireflies. A young Hobbit who would have liked
nothing better than to find out w hat was beyond the borders of the Shire. The world is not in your books and maps -
it's out there."

Bilbo can't help but blush a little at the new bout of attention he's getting from the Dwarves because of Gandalf's little speech. And how come the Wizard knew so much of his childhood, anyway? They had met just the once before all this, as this story had also clearly shown, when he was a tiny faunt waving a wooden sword around. Unless of course the Wizard had been up to something all this time and kept an eye out, spied a little here, listened to rumours a little there ... Oh, that sounded like something the Wizard coudl do, all right. But evidently Gandalf had seen or heard far too few things to be able to claim to know either Bilbo or his mother and father, Bilbo thinks. Never had there been any word from him during those harsh times during and following the Fell Winter; there had been no letters or visits or any other proof that the Wizard cared about this particular Hobbit family than he did anybody else. He can't help but flinch at the thought. Yes, Gandalf had his secrets and claimed to know a great many things, but he has such an awful habit of sticking his big nose in matters that it isn't supposed to be. It's actually very odd that no Thain has yet ever officially named the old geezer a Disturber of the Peace and has him kicked out of the Shire for good - Gandalf certainly has it coming!

"I can't just go running off into the blue! I am a Baggins, of Bag End."

But he had run off into the blue. Sure, he'd left a bunch of hastily written letters on his desk and the key to Bag End for his gardener to find in his mailbox; brief words to his nearest relatives of where he was going and with whom (sort of: he'd just written "going in a trip with a group of friends of Gandalf's to help them with an issue") and how long he might be gone (meaning: he had no idea when he might be back). The main word in the letters had been "adventure" and wasn't that going to cause a stir! Yes, he's sure, once he gets back to the Shire there'll be an uproar. They may have dragged the Water by then, maybe even sent a Bounder or two looking for him. The Thain might either think him mad or have a good laugh - the Thain is after all both a Took and a relative. Either way, there's no telling what kind of chaos that might greet him on his homecoming ... if he ever comes home.

Again Thorin has started muttering about his shame. "I dragged you out of home, into the dangers of the wild, without considering -" he starts bemoaning but Bilbo cuts the Dwarf off.

"Stop it now, Thorin. It's all right. I'm here, and I'm glad to be here. Now please stop saying 'dishonour' and 'line of Durin' in the same sentence, or Iwill hit you."

Thorin exhales slowly. "If that is what you wish."

"You are also a Took. Did you know that your great-great-great-great-uncle,
Bullroarer Took, was so large he could ride a real horse?"

"Whoa, that'd make him taller than a Dwarf!" Bombur exclaims, pausing in his eating of a very large sandwich from the food-filled table next to them (which seems to be replenishing itself, never running out of food or drinks. Bilbo would've liked to own such a magic table. Would come in very handy for garden parties). "I've never seen any Hobbit that tall - or even Dwarrows so tall."

"You haven't seen that many Hobbits, brother," Bofur comments. "But you got a point there."

"Yes." It's more of a sigh than a proper answer, as if the Hobbit has heard
the tale a hundred times before.

"Well, he could!" Gandalf says with the conviction of a witness, which is not unlikely. No one of the Company
is even sure how old the Wizard is. "In the Battle of Green Fields, he charged the goblin ranks ..."

Gandalf starts a long history lesson, which is news to everyone except the Wizard and Hobbit themselves.

"Your ancestor fought a battle?" Thorin asks, making round eyes. "I thought the Shire was safe, that it'd never been attacked! That it's peaceful."

"Oh. Well. It's, it's peaceful mostly. We don't go looking for trouble or start war easy, you know. Nobody nowadays can even remember what a war really means. But yes, that was the Battle of Greenfields in 1347; in Shire Reckoning, that is. That's the year … 2747 of the Third Age, yes, that's right. If I remember my history grandfather taught me, Goblins came down and attacked the North Farthing..." The Dwarves look at him confused. Of course, they are entirely unfamiliar with Shire geography or history or anything the like. Bilbo finds himself clarifying unprompted: "The Shire is divided into four Farthings: North, South, East and West. Hobbiton is in the North Farthing. Wish I had a map with me to show you… Anyway, back in 2747, when the goblins came, Bandobras Took gathered all the bounders he could find -"

"'Bounders'? What's that?" Ori asks. Vaguely Bilbo registers that the young Dwarf is now taking notes in his journal, opened inkpots resting in his lap.

"They're guardsmen, rangers of a sort, if you will. They keep Big Folk and such out of the Shire - watchers usually, and they volunteer for the job, but all are trained with the bow. Anyway, Bandobras was the tallest Hobbit there ever was so it's true he rode a horse - that's how the story goes, anyway - and he led the charge. There are only a few dozen bounders to be found at any given time, but all the twelve Shiriffs were there too, and a lot of farmers who grabbed their pitchforks to defend the Shire." He pauses, remembering how his mother would tell the story with pride and fondness, and how he'd always dream then as a fauntling of his own adventures. He'd wanted to be as great and brave as the people in the stories - his mother certainly had been. "Anyway, I'm not so sure that thing about knocking the chief goblin's head off is true, but the Bullroarer won the battle."

"Oh, it's all very true," Gandalf puts in, daring to speak up. "Quite a remarkable Hobbit he was, Bullroarer Took. You ought to be proud to be his descendant. You are made of the same stern stuff."

A shadow falls over Thorin's face and the Hobbit frowns. "What's wrong?"

"I'm simply realizing I was wrong about Hobbits and the Shire. I thought your kind lazy and naive, with no knowledge of the world and its perils. I thought the people of the Shire had never known danger," the Dwarf admits. "But you speak as if you still have these bounders around and if you have an actual military force like that, then -"

"We're not stupid, you know," Bilbo cuts in, but not harshly. Because why would the Dwarves know about these things, really? The Shire was a tiny land, and its inhabitants never boasted (well, other than about the size of its crops and that was a very internal affair, neighbours competing at the marketplace). "We're creatures of comfort and peace, for sure, but there are some who has more experience with the world, and we don't just ramble about in the Shire without any kind of organization. Of course, the Shire is still safer than Buckland, for example, what with living right on the edge of the Old Forest. I can't imagine that being very nice! But the Thain makes sure we're safe."

"So this Thain is the Commanding General of your military forces?" Dwalin asks, sounding ... impressed? A little, yes. A little impressed that these tiny things that he'd thought to be helpless and defenceless and useless in the face of fear, actually have such courage; not to mention if some of them did train with weaponry - not swords and axes, but weaponry nonetheless ... That they have this system of protection, not quite an army but some kind of military force. He hadn't ever thought Hobbits to have that. (Maybe the Wizard wasn't entirely senseless in choosing a Hobbit as their Burglar.)

"No, no! He's the overseer of the Council of Mayors and so forth, and the Shiriffs; they're the ones who usually organize the bounders. Unless there's a huge crisis like with the Greenfields the Thain takes complete charge. There's a Master who cares for Buckland in similar way."

"A King then," Dwalin decides.

Bilbo chuckles. "What? Oh, nonsense!"

"Well, is he elected, or is the position hereditary?" Dori asks. Next to him Ori is frantically taking notes in his book, so fast it's a wonder he's not running out of ink.

"Er, it's usually inherited," the Hobbit says, wondering where all these questions are coming from. "It started with the Brandybucks, see, but with the division of the Shire and Buckland several hundred years ago it went to the Tooks. Currently it's Fortinbras II Took - his father was very old when he got the position, see, so he died rather rapidly after getting the title. Fortinbras got the position just a couple of years ago and he was rather peeved, I tell you! I don't envy him, really; he'd hoped to be free of the responsibility for a while yet. Plus he's head of the Took family, so that's twice the load really –"

"So you know him personally?" Thorin asks, cutting off his tirade. Hobbits appear to be intimate, familiar folk after all; this is the first time he's heard of ranks and titles amongst them, and Bilbo has never really hinted before at division of status among his kin. Maybe there is, though.

Bilbo nods, wondering where this is going. With this discussion they're missing out quite a few things going on on the magic wall, after all. "Well, yes, he's my cousin, on my mother's side. She's the oldest of the Old Took's daughters, see. Anyway, since he lives in Tookland we never meet that much, but Fortinbras likes writing and venting his problems to me. Last time there was this ridiculous dispute between some farmers over these pigs and a carrot field, which took a whole two months to settle because –"

Suddenly the Dwarves are on their feet, or most of them at least, and all staring at him. Blinking in the dim light, Bilbo wonders if they'd been hurt or upset, or if they sensed danger.

"What? What's wrong?" Do they need to run? Oh no, he really hopes they don't need to run. They've only just started watching the 'mo-vee' after all, which hasn't proven to be painful or dangerous or uncomfortable, and there is food here, which is not guaranteed if they leave this strange room. He really wants to stay here with the food.

Thorin is staring at him mouth agape, but at least not seeming to be wanting to run anywhere. Startled Bilbo looks from Dwarf to Dwarf, who is either staring, bowing their heads or, in the case of Ori, clumsily curtseying.

"You never told us you're royalty!" Fíli cries.

Dori is bowing his head - bowing! Not to mention Bofur, who is so baffled that he topples out of his chair and a bowl full of chips crashes onto his hatted head. Just behind said Dwarf, Bifur is signing frantically in iglishmêk - Bilbo wishes he could understand the signs.

"What? I'm not! Wait, wait, I'm not any kind of royalty. Ridiculous! The notion, even!"

But Fíli and Kíli look delighted and bow in sync, starting insisting on calling him 'Prince Bilbo' now; and Ori is writing it all down with a very concentrated look on his face. Once again, Balin is apologizing for their earlier behaviour at Bag End, while Dwalin is staring and muttering, "Well I'll be damned."

Gandalf (unhelpful as always, stupid Wizard) smirks and puffs his pipe, far too knowledgeable and bemused than should be legal. Bilbo certainlyisn't. The Wizard should help him out and explain to these stubborn Dwarves what he means - but no! Stupid Dwarves. Stupid Wizard.

"Look, I'm not some prince or anything like that! Fíli, Kíli, stop doing that!" Bilbo cries, trying to make them all sit down and forget all this and instead focus on what's happening on the magic wall. Far more interesting, that. He's starting to regret answering all those questions in the first place. "Hobbits don't have titles like that. We don't. The Thain isn't some revered King, he's just - he's our leader, but not - not a King and not royalty; and I'm certainly not!"

"I'm sorry if we have offended you," Thorin says. Is that a smile? It could be a smile. "But in the eyes of any Dwarf you certainly would be of blue blood, if the Took family is that which rules the Shire and you are a descendant of the Ki- Thain. We know of no other way to look upon it."

"Well, Thain as a cousin or not, I'm still just Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, not some prince nonsense," Bilbo mutters, arms crossed. "Please, Fíli, Kíli, stop that."

They won't.

"Thorin, make them stop!"

"You heard him. Respect his wishes," the Dwarf thankfully says, and his nephews fall (momentarily at least) silent. "Would you prefer to be called Master Baggins then?"

"Yes. Or just Bilbo. We're no strangers anymore, you know, and I've never been much for formality."

"Well then, Bilbo it is. Fíli, Kíli, apologize."

"Honestly it's fine -"

"Sorry, Bilbo! Sorry!" Honestly, by their faces, one might think they'd been caught stealing Bell Gamgee's apple pies from the windowsill!

The stupid Wizard is still smiling and smoking his pipe.

It seems that the magic wall had been paused in its storytelling during their quite lively discussion of the Hobbit's past, because even if they'd been talking for several minutes the images seemed to have frozen during that time. Maybe whoever showing them this doesn't want them to miss a single moment of it. Very clever. (It'd be very handy to be able to do that in real life, Bilbo thinks, freeze and unfreeze time - imagine what one could get done with in one single day with that kind of power!)

"...you'll have a tale or two to tell of your own when you come back."

"Can you promise that I will come back?"

"No. And if you do, you will not be the same."

"Well, that's ... uplifting," Nori comments.

"Don't worry, Bilbo," Balin says. "I'm sure you'll return. You Hobbits have proven hardier than I ever thought."

"Oh, right. Then, if I get back, I'll probably be labeled a crazy adventurer by my neighbours and given some silly epithet like 'Mad Baggins' or something."

(Bilbo completely misses how the Dwarves frown at his statement, as if they're personally insulted by the very thought of someone thinking ill of their Hobbit.)

"That's what I thought. I'm sorry, Gandalf,
I can't sign this. You've got the wrong Hobbit."

The Wizard seems to have utterly failed to convince him to go on a quest - well, it seems so, but the Company knows that not to be true, as the Hobbit is sitting among them right now.

"I knew you were the right Hobbit all along," Gandalf says, eyes twinkling, and for once Thorin is in agreement with the Wizard. So much would have been different without the Hobbit here with them - and not necessarily for the better.

"No need to sound so smug," Bilbo grumbles, crossing his arms. "You're a Wizard."

"Yes, it doesn't count," Thorin agrees. "Technically I could say you cheated on the bet on whether Bilbo would join us, Wizard. In which case you would have to pay back what you won."

"Ahem, oh no, Master Oakenshield, I would never."

In time to save the Wizard from another glare from Thorin, Fíli suddenly stands up on his seat, raising his mug of - well, it's not ale or wine, it's something much sweeter and dark and full of weird bubbles - well, some nice stuff and urges the others to do the same. "I say we cheer for our Burglar, for joining our Quest, and celebrate that we're a Company! For Bilbo!"

Bilbo chokes. "Now, really, that's not necessary -"

Of course nobody listens to his protests.

"Cheer! Huzzah! Hurray! Bottom's up!"

"Happy birthday!"

"Kíli!"

"... What? It seemed fitting."

"It appears we have lost our burglar. Probably for the best. The odds were always against us.
After all, what are we? Merchants, miners, tinkers, toy-makers ...
hardly the stuff of legend."

"There are a few warriors amongst us."

"Old warriors."

"I will take each and every one of these dwarves over an army from the Iron Hills.
For when I called upon them, they answered. Loyalty, honour, a willing heart -
I can ask no more than that."

"And you have all shown that, and more," Thorin adds loudly so that all of his Company may hear. There are no words to express how grateful he is. They have all risked so much, played a gamble with their lives as well as the future of their houses - all in the slight hope that they may prevail and retake Erebor and slay a dragon.

"You don't have to do this. You have a choice. You've done honorably by our people. You have built a new life for us
in the Blue Mountains, a life of peace and plenty. A life that is worth more than all the gold in Erebor."

But Thorin holds up the key that Gandalf had earlier given him.
"From my grandfather to my father, this has come to me. They dreamt of the day when the Dwarves of Erebor
would reclaim their homeland. There is no choice, Balin. Not for me."

"Then we are with you, laddie. We will see it done."

"No truer words have been spoken!" Fíli says. "We're with you, Uncle. We'll always be. We'll reclaim Erebor, together."

They all raise their mugs to cheer on that.

Then the room is filled with singing, low voices of their own dreaming of Erebor as night falls. It's very beautiful, Bilbo thinks, to hear it like this. He can distinguish several of the voices quite well now, too, he hadn't heard the song this well back in his smial. Thorin has a very deep beautiful voice, the Hobbit thinks. Not what he'd expected from such a grumpy, rough-looking Dwarf.

"Oh, that's nice, but we skipped like ten verses or something," Glóin says, "didn't we?"

"Yeah but who has time for fifteen verses?" Kíli says.

"Young ones. So impatient," Dori mutters on his breath.

"There are more verses?" Bilbo asks curiously. He'd really like to hear more of that song, if he could, even though it spins a sad tale.

"Yes, loads," Fíli groans. "And Balin forced us to learn all of them!"

Thorin, on the other hand, seems a lot more enthusiastic at the Hobbit's inquiry. "Indeed there is. I can teach you the rest sometime, if, if you'd like, Master Baggins." Why he has that slightly embarrassed stammer Bilbo is unsure of, but then Thorin can be very odd sometimes; confident, yet quiet, a leader yet unwilling to take center stage. Maybe he's shier than he's letting on.

"Wonderful! I'd be happy to, Thorin." He smiles, and this makes Thorin smile back at him, and the two are not looking at the magic wall at all for a long while. No one makes any move to show that they're watching the pair, but of course everyone is watching them intently. But Bilbo and Thorin seem completely unaware of their audience. They don't notice either how Dwalin subtly gestures in Iglishmêk to his brother, signing [five gold pieces] and Balin signing back [the agreement was three], and Dwalin responding [I won the bet. You shut up].

(Kíli hides his face his hands with a pained whimper, whispering: "Oh Mahal, this is so embarrassing to watch, I'm dying, I don't want to watch Uncle flirting -" until Fíli pokes him in the arm.)

And Bilbo wakes up to an empty Bag End, no sign of the Dwarves having been there, except the contract lying there open.

Off he goes, rushing out of the smial dressed in his finest velvet coat and carrying a far-too-little pack (which he really hadn't thought through at the time; he didn't even bring an oilskin! Really far too impulsive). He jumps over fences and criss-crosses the green hills and leaps over a neighbour's pumpkin.

"I'm going on an adventure!"

And all the while Fíli and Kíli keep cheering: "Go Bilbo! Go Bilbo!"

(At least they've cut out with the 'Boggins' nonsense.)

Further and further away he runs, out of Hobbiton toward the edge of the East Farthing, where eventually the Company and Gandalf come into view in a small sunlit glade.

"You really decided it there that morning, laddie," Balin remarks. No wonder the Hobbit seemed so unprepared for such a journey – he'd carried very few essential supplies, no warm coat or jacket or any sort of winter's clothing, and closer inspection later on the journey showed he'd actually brought a couple of books with him, as if he'd thought he'd be going on a pleasant holiday.

At the time, the Company had thought him naïve and stupid and far too Hobbitish, and a great liability. But this put a new light on things: no wonder he came so unprepared, with how he had refused the Wizard but been imposed upon anyway, and somehow convinced without having time to plan ahead properly. Had he even left word to his kin where he was going? This, Balin thinks, they need to talk about, and if possible send word back to the Shire: it's no good if the Hobbits are presuming Mr Baggins to be missing or dead, especially given his relation to the Thain.

"Yes, well. That was probably my Took side taking over. My father's family would've been appalled!"

"I'm sure they would've been proud of you," Thorin murmurs, and Bilbo chuckles.

"That's kind of you to say, but I fear that when I get back, there'll be a ruckus over who gets to take over Bag End because they'll think I've drowned in the Water or the like. I could bet the Tooks would find it terribly amusing, though. Me being on an adventure, that is, not me drowning because I'm sure only Lobelia Sackville-Baggins would find that amusing. And, well, yes - mother would probably find me going on an adventure fitting. Always told me stories, you know, about journeys of her own, and as a fauntling I wanted to go with her on adventures. Father had such amazing patience. Respectable Hobbits shouldn't go on adventures, see, and such things really aren't encouraged anywhere past fauntlinghood. My father was a proper gentlehobbit - he had to be, head of the Bagginses and all that."

"Head of - you're the head of your family?" Thorin exclaims. Not only was he of blue blood, but in charge of the Baggins family too! Oh, this was getting more and more complicated by the minute. Sharing a glance with Balin reveals that his old mentor and friend is thinking the same: they really need to have a word with the Hobbit shortly, to properly sort things out. What more surprises did their Burglar have in store?

Bilbo just looks at him, silently thinking: Oh Yavanna, spare me of all these stubborn stupid Dwarves. And we've been sitting here for only half an hour!

Wordlist (Khuzdul)
Shazara Silence
Du bekâr To arms
Mamamthagi (I'm) being insulted (Source: dwarrowscholar) This translation is probably very inaccurate. I know very little about Khuzdul. That's a difficulty when you have a character (Bifur) who can't speak the Common Tongue at all!

Additional notes
My source on family trees was lotrproject.

Some trivia: in "real" Westron, according to Prof. Tolkien, the name Took is actually spelled Tûk
The year 1329, by Shire Reckoning, is the same as Third Age 2929. Bilbo's cousin Fortinbras II would that year turn 51 years old, and Bilbo would be 38-39. It's the same year as Arathorn, Aragorn's father, marries Gilraen.
Book-Thorin makes a whole lot of long speeches that Bilbo zones out of and doesn't bother to listen to/remember. Obviously there are some differences to book-Thorin and movie-Thorin, but I reckon that Dwalin, being an old friend of Thorin's, would know more about all of his different sides. Including the more talkative one.
The 'weird sweet, bubbly stuff' that they're drinking is some form of soda. I figure Fíli and Kíli would like it a lot.
In the book the Misty Mountains song contains ten verses, not two as in the film. (We all know how Tolkien loved his poetry.)

On another note, does anyone have ideas for how to characterize Bombur and Bifur and some of the other guys that were given very little time in this chapter? I find them quite hard to write given that in all the canon sources they are given little or no lines or space of their own, no way to figure out what kind of characters they actually are. There are so many voices in this fic that I find it difficult to keep track and give everyone their own voice and time. Any suggestions or ideas or lines, or whatever, would be very welcome!

Thanks for reading!