Chapter 5:
Tom, Bert and William's Not So Good, Very Bad Day
wherein there are wizards and trolls, a wizard who trolls,
thirteen displeased dwarves and a hobbit who considers
the chances of successfully suing said dwarves
(this was not in his contract, damnit)
"He's been a long time."
It's a quite worried and unsettled Bilbo who's saying this, while the rest of the Company are gathered around a fire. The Dwarves, except Fíli and Kíli who are some way off watching the ponies, are enjoying (or at least eating) the stew that Bombur earlier had made, sitting placed in groups or standing nearby keeping watch or sharing conversations with each other. None other than the Hobbit seems nervous or concerned in any way. Night has settled now, and crickets are singing in the distance. Bofur, who's just poured a healthy amount of stew into a bowl, turns to Bilbo with a confused frown.
"Who?"
"Gandalf."
"He's a Wizard. He does as he chooses.
Here, do us a favour and take this to the lads."
The Dwarf hands the Hobbit two bowls.
(Fíli is already squirming in his chair uncomfortably, ashamed, knowing exactly what's going to happen. It was bad enough when Thorin yelled at him and Kíli the first time. Who knows what the Dwarf will do now that they're probably going to see the Hobbit's side of the story?)
As the Hobbit wanders down the hill toward the clearing where Fíli and Kíli are, they see in the background Bombur being berated by Bofur for trying to take seconds. Bombur must be the only Dwarf in history to actually like the sort of watery, thin stew that's always being rationed during journeys.
"Stop it, you've had plenty."
"Aye," echoes the faint voice of Glóin, though
they can't see him or any of the Dwarves any longer.
"It's not a bad stew, Bombur. I've had worse."
"Dori could've cooked it," Nori laughs.
"Hilarious," is the disgruntled answer from said Dwarf.
"I don't see why you could not have picked someone else to taunt," mutters Dori, crossing his arms. "I hate you all."
In a supportive gesture Ori hands his brother his bowl of popped corn to share. "I'd never pick on you, brother."
The Hobbit has left the camp out of sight now; there are several ponies lingering about, lazily eating grass or resting as ponies do after a long day's walk. And there are Fíli and Kíli, standing with their back to the nearing Hobbit, staring out at the clearing in concentration. The frowns on their faces don't bode well at all.
"Uh uh," murmurs Kíli, glancing at Thorin, who doesn't look amused.
"What's the matter?" Bilbo asks, noticing
the brothers' matching expressions.
"We're supposed to be looking after the ponies," says Kíli.
"Only, we've encountered a slight problem," continues Fíli.
"We had sixteen."
"Now there's fourteen."
"One could think you're twins, the way you keep doing that," remarks Bilbo, only to gain some very odd looks from the Dwarves. Oh no, he probably just insulted someone in a roundabout Dwarven manner that no Hobbit would know anything about. Or something. That's highly possible, actually. While Hobbits can be insulted if someone eats too little or simply take their meals in the wrong order, who knows all the things that can upset Dwarves? Maybe he just uttered what is some kind of expression for them that could be translated to Khzudul to mean something very bad. Oh.
"What?" He's ready to add, 'If I insulted anybody I didn't meant it'; however he doesn't have to.
Bofur wrinkles his nose, thinking. "What's that, 'twin'?"
The Hobbit can only gape in turn. "You - you don't know what twins are?"
"Well, I understand the concept," Balin says. "The word could be used in connotation of explaining two items of the same likeness. Sometimes we designate gems and crystal in such a manner, if we find two to be of equal value and beauty, and mined at the same time. We don't have a proper word in our tongue for it, though."
"Yes, that's, that's one way to describe it," Bilbo says slowly, not really understanding how all of the Dwarves, even the oldest ones, don't even seem to have heard of twins. Maybe ... Well, the Dwarves are long lived, but from what Bilbo can understand they're not that great in number; maybe they have some issues of their numbers that run deeper than they know. For a Hobbit such a thing is just so strange that it's unimaginable, just unthinkable. "Twins are two children born at the same time by the same mother, borne in the same womb."
"How's that possible?!" exclaims Óin, nearly wringing his neck by the way he swiftly swings around to stare at the Hobbit in shock. And he's meant to be a healer, so it throws the Hobbit off a little.
"You really don't know?" Bilbo glances at them all a bit suspiciously, to make sure they're not trying to fool him or play games. But the utter bewilderment on each of their faces is entirely genuine. "You really don't know."
"Bilbo," Thorin says very seriously, "for a Dwarf to have a single child within their lifetime, much less two, is a great a achievement. We are slow to love, and slower to find our One and to marry, and some never marry at all but devote their lives to their crafts. And marriage is no guarantee of having children."
"Oh. Oh, I suppose ... that makes sense. Just, not for a Hobbit."
Bilbo knows he's been considered odd, strange, outlandish or just terribly stubborn to remain a bachelor this long. Such a thing is rare for Hobbits, though it does happen from time to time. His own cousins have blamed Bilbo's ways on all sorts of things; from his Tookish blood, to maybe the fact there's faerie blood in the Fallohide line, to the possibility of having too few meals a day or maybe that he's eaten he wrong kinds of mushroom. (Their ideas are getting more and more ridiculous every year, and Bilbo would very much like to stop receiving letters from Fortinbras asking if he's found himself a lass or lad yet. He's a grownup, he can take care of himself! He doesn't need his bloody cousin to poke his nose in every business that isn't his own).
"We're not like Dwarves at all in that regard. Most get married well before their 40th birthday; in fact it's considered rather ... scandalous not to be wedded at all. Some parents make sure things are arranged, if their child can't find a sweetheart on their own."
"Really?" Dori asks, frowning. "How odd."
"Then what about you, Bilbo?" asks Ori curiously. "I mean, you're not married, are you?"
At that, Thorin shoots the Hobbit a quick, sharp look (and must be getting an awful crick in the neck because of it).
"Well, that's true," answers Bilbo, wondering where this is going and why are they constantly getting off-track, deviating from watching the moh-vee? Honestly, Dwarves are downright bizarre sometimes. "That's one of the reasons the rest of Hobbiton has long consider me a little odd. I guess that won't help once word gets out what I'm up to now - on adventures! Not that they're not trying to, of course."
"How so?"
Not unable to hide his irritation at just thinking about it, Bilbo explains, "For the last few years I've been getting letters from my cousin Fortinbras wondering whenever I'll, uhm, find someone. Lately he's started including lists. Lists! of names! - and addresses so that I could begin corresponding."
Dwalin winces on his behalf, and Dori says, "Well, that seems rather rude."
"I've tried telling him that, but I know he's just a bit concerned, see, and that's his way of showing it."
Quietly to himself Thorin considers writing a letter of his own to this Fortinbras. A relation of Bilbo's or not, a line must be drawn. The thought of trying to press marriage onto anyone is an alien thought for a Dwarf.
"Back to the twin-thing," says Bofur, steering them back to the original subject, "do you mean that they actually happen in the Shire? For real?"
"Well of course! It'd be a bit unpractical otherwise, I think," Bilbo answers, relieved to be back on safer territory. "Twins and triplets and all sorts; I mean just last year Lily Brownlock had quadruples -"
There's a simultaneous, loud intake of breath. "Qu-quadruples?!"
"They're quite adorable when they're not screaming or crying," Bilbo says, remembering visiting on that lovely garden tea party on the little ones' Naming Day. The host had served some really nice sponge cake and even been kind enough to share the recipe. Quite a thing, that; the sharing of recipes between Hobbits can either be a very friendly affair, or the source of decade-long conflicts ending in bad places.
"So do have any twins in your family?" asks Kíli curiously.
"My mother and Aunt Donnamira were. Grandmother Adamanta was rather glad about that," he says smiling fondly. "That they're only twins I mean. The healer first announced that she was going to have triplets, and she was nearly mighty upset with Grandfather then, considering they were their ninth and tenth child."
"Oh my," gasps Balin. "Ten children?"
In the background Bofur is choking on his popcorn, and Bifur is patting his back to help, and Thorin looks like he's ceased breathing for a moment, echoing, "Triplets."
"Yes. They stopped at twelve. I think they were tired of having to extend the smial all the time."
"Twelve!?"
Better not tell them about Gregor and Isabella Brandybuck's family - 'the Big Brandybucks' as they're commonly called - then, Bilbo decides. The Dwarves would hit the roof quite literally if they were told of the couple's twenty little ones (although to be fair about four people had been involved in total so it could be considered cheating).
Trying to soothe the nerves of the Dwarves by letting them focus on something else, the Hobbit tries direction their attention back to the magic wall. Again it seems to have paused briefly to allow them to talk. "I think we're missing a lot of the 'moh-vee' by having this discussion."
One by one they stop staring at him in shock, thought Dori mutters on his breath, "That's it! Hobbits must be magic!"
(Yavanna, Bilbo thinks. They're starting to make me want to hit their heads again. Bless.)
On the magic wall, Kíli and Fíli have just finishing walking around the makeshift paddock, doing a headcount of the ponies.
"Daisy and Bungo are missing."
"Well, that's not good," Bilbo says
letting out a nervous laugh. "That is not
good at all! Shouldn't we tell Thorin?"
"Oh, why didn't you listen to him, idiots?" cries Nori.
"Shaddup!" Kíli tries defending himself and his brother. "What would you've done then, clever-head?"
"Gotten backup, not tried taking on three huge trolls on my own. I'm a thief, not an idiot."
"Uh, no. Let's not worry him," says Fíli. "As our official
Burglar, we thought you might like to look into it."
"Well, uh ... Look, something big uprooted these trees."
"That was our thinking."
"It's something very big and possibly quite dangerous."
"I don't want to watch this stupidity," Dwalin declares grumpily. "You lads almost got yourselves and our Hobbit killed with your little stunt."
"We've already apologized for that!"
"Yes, but you never told us all that transpired, in detail," says Thorin, keeping a watchful eye on his nephews as well as the magic wall. (It's a wonder he's not becoming skew-eyed). "As in how exactly the ponies were lost, or how come Bilbo ended up in the troll camp, or why Fíli was the one to alert us of their presence on his own far too late."
"Uhmm ... yes ... that's true ..."
They squirm a little in their chairs.
"Fíli," whispers Kíli, loud enough for everyone else to hear his words too, "if Uncle tries to kill us, will you save me?"
"Don't be ridiculous, he won't do that." When his brother doesn't seem convinced, Fíli adds: "Just think of how Amad would react."
"Hey, there's a light! Over here!"
"Oh no," says Ori, gesturing wide with his pen and inkpot like it could catch the attention of the Dwarves and Hobbit on the wall. "Don't follow it, it's fucking stupid!"
This causes Bofur to splutter in surprise, and he looks in confusion at the nearest Dwarf for confirmation, to check he's not just hearing things. "Did...did Ori just say a bad word? Ori? Little Ori?"
"I think he did ..."
"Oi, don't call me 'little', that's rude!"
Finally someone who understands, Bilbo thinks, remembering how often it's been implied that he's young and tiny and frail and generally someone needing patronizing and protecting. Though the Dwarves have mostly ceased doing that now, and it'd never been as bad as Beorn referring to him as 'little bunny'.
Of course, instead of listening to Ori's infuriated pleads, the odd three are sneaking closer to the firelight, past a thick fallen log, further away from the Dwarves' camp - and the remaining ponies they were supposed to be watching. And now that they're closer they can definitely hear something that's not meant to be there: faint grunting and laughter, inhuman voices not too far off.
"Stay down," Kíli whispers.
"What is it?" Bilbo asks worriedly.
"Trolls."
Thorin is growling something suspiciously ill-sounding in Khuzdul. Most probably berating the two brothers. In Westron he finishes with, "Your mother would be ashamed!"
"There, there," Bilbo tries, "it's all right." The lads have already apologized so many times and honestly, it's in the past, and they're all here in one piece. So maybe Bilbo was terrified right down to his bones for a moment there, and maybe freaked out and very disgusted when the trolls had grabbed him, but Fíli and Kíli look very scared and upset and ashamed now. The two need a chance to recover, too. And they've already been grounded, so Bilbo honestly can't see what all the fuss is about. If the two had been Hobbit fauntlings, they'd been sent back to their rooms without dinner, and the next morning all would've been forgotten.
Any further discussion or berating is cut off when they got their first - or, well, not technically first - glimpse of one of the trolls. The humongous creature is walking through the forest with loud, creaking steps and making grunting noises and it's carrying one pony under each arm. The poor things are neighing and fretting in terror; it's a wonder that no noise or sign of any of this had reached the Dwarves' camp. As the troll wanders past, the two Dwarves and Hobbit duck behind logs or rocks to hide from view. The Hobbit is still holding into the bowls of stew he'd been ordered to bring the brothers.
"He's got Myrtle and Minty!" exclaims the Hobbit
with surprising amount of disgruntlement. "I think
they're going to eat them. We have to do something!"
"Got more spunk that I'd thought," murmurs Nori.
"Oi, rude," reminds Ori, on behalf of Bilbo. Which is nice and good, because if he hadn't Bilbo would've been urged to hit someone over the head (again) like they're unruly children, the lot of them, and he's the only sensible adult around. (It feels like that sometimes. A lot of times, actually. Sometimes the Dwarves ought to have a supervisor.)
"Yes, you should. Mountain Trolls are
very stupid, and you're small - they'll never see you."
So that's where they got their stupid idea to send their Burglar in there alone.
Thorin clears his throat. "Kíli."
"... Yes, Uncle?" the young Dwarf answers, looking rather scared (and not without undue cause).
"You're going to have extra watch duty one week forward."
"What!"
"To be fair, the lads were trying to play heroes and impress you, Thorin," says Bofur, unexpectedly leaping to the young brothers' defense.
"Exactly. They should have realized what a stupid undertaking that was and sent for me immediately. Instead they sent Bilbo - alone, untrained, and unarmed! did I mention alone! - against three Mountain Trolls, as if any sane Dwarf would ever even consider such an idea. Beside you two are the heirs of Durin, Princes of your people; do you really think I would have wanted you to risk yourselves like that? And to risk Bilbo too?"
Cowed both brothers bow their heads. "Sorry, Uncle."
"No - nonono."
"It's perfectly safe. We'll be right behind you."
"If you run into trouble," adds Fíli, "hoot twice like a
barn owl and once like a brown old."
Then he pushes the Hobbit forward.
"Twice like a barn owl," Bilbo mutters to himself. "No,
twice like a brown ... once like a ...
are you sure this is a good idea?"
He turns around but of course by then the two Dwarves are out of sight.
"Fíli."
"... Yes Uncle?"
"You have extra watch duty for the next two weeks."
The young Dwarf groans like he's in pain after just sustaining a physical injury.
"Mutton yesterday, mutton today and blimey,
if it don't look like mutton again tomorrow."
Now on his own, the Hobbit is lurking at the edge of the troll camp. And instead of running around in a panic or crying out in distress, he straightens his red velvet jacked and takes a breath. At least he has his size and quietness to his advantage; the trolls, three huge, ugly things, are talking with each other and not noticing the Hobbit at all.
"They're even ickier this up close," Bofur comments.
"Quit yer griping. These ain't sheep.
These is fresh nags."
"Oh, I don't like horse. I never have.
Not enough fat on 'em."
"And their grammar's horrid. Absolutely horrid," mutters Ori like he's taking personal offence. Maybe, as a scribe, he is. "It's almost painful."
"Well, it's better than leathery old farmer. All skin and bone,
he was. I'm still picking bit of him out of me teeth."
"So that's what happened to the farmer and his family who once lived in that area," murmurs Thorin.
Bombur makes a sad noise at the back of his throat. "Poor fellas. What a ghastly end to face."
One of the trolls sneezes. Loudly. Bilbo winces, remembering all too well that moment when he'd been used as a substitute neckerchief, and shivers, disgusted. And now they're all probably going to see it. Ugh. (He's sure to lose much of his Hobbit dignity there.)
"Well, that's lovely, that is. A floater."
"Oh, might improve the flavour!"
"Ah, there's more where that came from."
"Oh no, you don't!"
While the trolls are effectively distracting themselves, Bilbo sneaks closer, right up to the small makeshift pen holding the stolen ponies. The animals are oddly quiet for that they must be panicked and confused. The pen is constructed out of fallen logs - or perhaps ripped-down trees would be a more apt description - and several very thick ropes; much thicker than Dwarves and Hobbits would use or create normally. They're far to strong and the knots too messy for the Hobbit to be able to set free the ponies without some kind of help.
And he sees it - in the form of a large, slim knife (stolen goods, probably, like all that they'd found in the troll hoard), resting in the belt of one of the large trolls. It looks rather sharp and also much too big for a Hobbit to be able to wield properly; in his hands it would be more of a sword. It seems a most dangerous task, to try to steal something like that from right under the trolls' noses, but Hobbits are evidently very stubborn creatures.
"Oh, no, don't tell me you'll try that," mutters Dwalin, covering his face with a hand, and Dori looks very concerned and Thorin's knuckles are white, gripping the handles of his chair so tightly that Bilbo fears he'll burst a vein.
"Mahal's boots," whispers Ori, sounding a little terrified, as the Hobbit on the wall is inching closer to the armed troll with clear purpose.
"I'm starving! Are we having horse tonight or what?"
"Shut yer cakehole. Ye'll eat what I give ye."
For one horrible heartbeat it looks like one of the trolls is going to turn around, spot the Hobbit any second now - but the creature only gives itself a scratch before resuming to stir the giant pot hanging over the open fire. There's a collective sigh of relief. But the danger hasn't passed yet.
"How come he's the cook? Everything tastes the same.
Everything tastes like chicken."
"Except the chicken!"
"I'm astounded they have any culinary knowledge at all," says Bombur. "I mean, where did they learn that? I can't fathom it, honestly."
"I'm just saying, a little appreciation would be nice."
There's a nervous noise, the ponies starting to shuffle and neigh; maybe they've realized that the Hobbit is there now, and they want to get out of this situation as soon as possible. But this isn't helping Bilbo at all. The odd sounds causes the trolls to pause, to look around for a moment, though their attention quickly returns to the food they're preparing. Meanwhile, quite in vain, the Hobbit tries to shush the ponies.
Then a giant hand reaches out. It's just inches away from Bilbo's head. Far too close. In the last second it grabs some kind of humongous drinking vessel.
"Oh, Mahal," Dori is repeating like a mantra, tightly holding onto his brother's hand for emotional support.
Thorin is looking rather pale.
"Oh, that is beautifully balanced, that is.
Wrap your laughing gear around that, eh? Good, isn't it?
That's why I'm the cook."
The Hobbit hasn't given up yet. He's completely set on grabbing that knife to be able to free the ponies - and the Dwarves watching wonder what in Arda Fíli and Kíli are up to. Well, Fíli might be on his way back to camp to warn them, leaving his brother to observe the trolls and the burglar's progress. When, in fact, they should have intervened. Or better yet not gotten into that mess at all.
Just as the Hobbit is reaching out to take the weapon, the troll bearing it stands up and the Hobbit ducks down. His expression of disgust is mirrored on most of the Dwarves' faces when it turns out the troll was just going to scratch his own behind.
The Hobbit looks terribly, awfully tiny next to the troll. And they sent him in there alone. Thorin is now paler than ever, and Bilbo has to reach out and rub his shoulder in attempt to comfort him a little. Yes, it'd been a terrifying time and he'd ended up covered in snot and really, it hadn't been a good day at all, but he'd survived and is with them now and that's the important thing.
"Oh, me guts are grumbling. I got to
snaffle something. Flesh, I need flesh."
And then happens what they all fear: Bilbo is grabbed by a large hand. But not because he's seen, but because he's standing too close as one of the trolls tries to grab their large, dirty handkerchief to blow his nose.
They all wince collectively.
Kíli grimaces loudly. "Ewww!"
"Blimey! Bert, Bert! Look what's come out of me
hooter. It's got arms and legs and everything!"
"Lucky they're not bright," mutters Glóin before glancing at Bilbo, who's sitting there looking a little ill. "You alright, lad?"
"Yes, yes. Just. That was not a good day."
"I can see that," says Bofur, as they see the Hobbit being thrown to the ground by the trolls and thankfully not breaking anything, but stumbling to his feet a bit dizzily. One of the trolls is pointing their weapon at him now, obviously not sure what the Hobbit is or what to do about it.
"What is it?"
"I don't know. I don't like the way it wriggles around."
"What are you, then? An over-sized squirrel?"
"'Squirrel'? Honestly," comments Nori. "Now 'bunny' I might've sort of understood, but 'squirrel'?'"
"Oi, no offending of the Burglar," says Glóin and Nori glances to the left, catching sight of Thorin's warning face.
"Ah. Right. Sorry 'bout that."
"Oh, it's all right," says Bilbo, who really doesn't think it's healthy for Thorin to glare quite so much.
"I'm a Burglar - uh, Hobbit!"
"A burglarhobbit?"
"I wonder if they even knew what a burglar is," murmurs Ori thoughtfully. "I mean, would they even bother to find out?"
"They're thieves and murderers themselves," says Bofur. "Dunno if they care about labels and proper professions."
"Oi!" Nori butts in. "Thieving is a properly proper profession."
"Says the thief."
"Can we cook him?"
Suddenly the trolls go from curious and bewildered to menacing, and a lot scarier than before. Something about their faces change, revealing just how inhuman they are.
"We can try."
Again the Hobbit's size is to his favour, and he manages to duck and wheedle away from the trolls' grasp. But he can't run away, he's surrounded in that clearing and all alone with three hungry, angry trolls, one of which has a knife aimed at him, and Thorin is now looking so pale that Bilbo fears he's stopped breathing. There's an angry, upset cry from one (or maybe more) of the Dwarves as they watch their burglar being chased and then pushed at by a giant hand, which must've been hard enough to bruise.
"Bilbo!"
"I'm all right..." the Hobbit tries to soothe them. After all he's sitting right here. But that doesn't help much, because most of the Dwarves are looking either angry and red in the face, or upset and concerned, or very, very pale. Several of them seem to have trouble breathing.
"He wouldn't make more than a mouthful.
Not when he's skinned and boned."
"Perhaps there's more burglarhobbits around
these parts. Might be enough for a pie!"
"Grab him!"
"He's too quick!"
"Right. Come here, you little -"
Suddenly Bilbo is grabbed around the legs and lifted up, upsidedown, coat hanging all askew, and he cries out. Now all the Dwarves are utterly quiet, staring aghast at the magic wall, realizing how close they'd come that day to lose their Burglar - all without seeing or even knowing about it.
"Gotcha! Are there any more of you little fellas hiding where you shouldn't?"
Still being so enormously brave the Hobbit shakes his head.
"No."
"He's lying."
"No, I'm not!"
"Hold his toes over the fire. Make him squeal!"
Then, finally, Kíli appears. No one else, not even his brother. Just one young Dwarf, holding his sword aloft. As the trolls are looking confused again, the Dwarf musters a commanding voice:
"Drop him!"
"You what?"
"I said," Kíli repeats, swirling his sword, "drop him."
The troll in question holding onto the Hobbit growls, and throws Bilbo right at Kíli, causing them to fall back onto the ground, just as the Company rush out of the underbrush with a collective yell. Their attack is swift and ferocious, but even with thirteen Dwarves, killing just one troll would be difficult. These are three, and they're not clever but intelligent enough to speak, therefore to plan and attack, and they're strong. The surprise is swiftly replaced by fury as the battle is in full swing. They see Dwalin knocking one of the trolls' teeth out with a heavy swing; Ori is aiming at their eyes with his slingshot. It's chaotic and loud.
Somehow the focus returns to the burglar. The burglar who, stubbornly, refuses to give up on the trapped ponies. The troll who once owned it must've dropped the knife on the ground and now the Hobbit is using it much like a saw to cut the rope. There's a cheer; but they all were there, so they know what happened next.
"Oh, no! Bilbo!" Ori cries.
It's echoed on the wall by Kíli, who's calling out the Hobbit's name, catching the attention of the Company. There stand the trolls, and two of them are holding Bilbo between them by the arms and legs. The young Dwarf tries rushing forward, but is stopped by Thorin, holding his arm out. And he was right to do it at the time, because one Dwarf couldn't have done much and the trolls could've killed the Hobbit in a second.
"Lay down your arms, or we'll rip his off."
One by one the Dwarves drop their weapons, after Thorin sticks his sword to the ground. Kíli and Ori throw their own weapons down very angrily.
Yeah, that'd been a bad day, Bilbo thinks. He pokes gently Thorin's arm, and the Dwarf doesn't make a noise but at least he blinks so that means he's breathing. Good. "Thorin, it's all right now," he tries, but gets little response.
The Hobbit turns to Ori. "Could you see if there are any blankets?" Time for some more tea.
There's a fire, there are three trolls, and there are Dwarves on a spit.
"This is familiar," Nori remarks.
"It's all been familiar this far," says Glóin, before pausing, hesitating, and adding: "... Well, not really. Not all of it, come think of it. A whole damn lot hasn't been familiar ... Forget I said anything."
"Duly noted."
(Dwalin rolls his eyes.)
This is a moment they all remember in utter clarity, and most would dearly like to forget. A scar, it is, a great scar in their honour as proud, strong Longbeards. Honourable Dwarves aren't tied up on spits or shoved into sacks like onions or potatoes to be eaten by a bunch of dimwitted trolls! But, alas, the trolls don't know this.
"Don't bother cooking them," says one of the trolls.
"Let's just sit on them and squash them into jelly."
"That would not be pleasant. At all," says Bofur with a grimace. "Thank Mahal they didn't do that."
"They should be sautéed and grilled
with a sprinkle of sage," argues the second troll, the cook.
"I still refuse to believe trolls know anything about cooking," Bombur says. "Really, the idea in itself is just ridiculous."
"Why not, though?" questions Ori, oddly intrigued. "I mean, they're intelligent enough to talk, so evidently they have some form of culture. They had a hoard, which means they have some kind of appreciation of riches and maybe art. Maybe they even have some kind of written language? Oh, that sounds like a interesting subject of study!"
"Honestly, Ori, only you would be excited at the prospect of learning troll history," mutters Nori with a snort.
"Just because you have trouble remembering the runes for your own name ..."
"Oi!"
Trapped in the sacks, Thorin, his nephews, Glóin and his brother, and Bombur, they're struggling in vain to get free. There's Bilbo, too, also in a sack and his hair at disarray. He can still remember its terrible cold itch against his skin and the awful smell of troll all-over his clothes. Ugh. What a dreadful, long day that had been.
"Untie me, mister!" Bombur is growling.
Glóin, in agreement, is crying: "Eat someone your own size!"
"Is there anything troll-sized other than trolls, though? That's the question," says Fíli.
"Mini-Dragons."
"Kíli, there is no such thing."
"'Course there is. When they're little and young, they'd be like ... mini-Dragons."
"Actually," Ori puts in, "I read in the old scrolls that by comparison Smaug could be considered a 'mini-Dragon'. The ancient Dragons of the First Age were really huge. I mean, history has it that Ancalagon the Black could actually grasp a whole mountain in each of his claws."
"No!"
"Yes," Balin confirms with a nod. "I know my history well, and Ori speaks the truth. I have read the same scrolls myself:"
Muttering something in Khuzdul, Bifur starts measuring in the air with his hands, as if trying to visualize what Ori is saying. Meanwhile Bilbo can't picture it, at all. Not that he's seen many mountains or dragons at all so how is he meant to imagine a Dragon of such scale, so utterly terrifying and unbelievably huge?
"That's big," he says a little weakly. "That's ... really, really big." Was it meant to be reassuring that Smaug isn't one of this enormous, much more powerful Dragons of the First Age? Because Smaug must still be very large from a Hobbit point of view, and they intend to march right into his lair.
"But the Dragon was killed, right? Wasn't he?" says Kíli, looking around a little nervously as if said creature could suddenly come slamming through the walls and incinerate them all with one hot breath.
"Aye, long ago, in the First Age. Ancalagon was slain by Eärendil Half-Elven," the old Dwarf tells them.
That's actually a name Bilbo can recognize; it's been echoed, vaguely, in Hobbit history as it was once heard from the Big Folk, when the Shire first was made and Blancho and his brother settled there. Most Hobbits can't remember it anymore, but Bilbo has always been fascinated by history. Though he can't recall all of the details - he'll have to ask Gandalf, maybe, the Wizard ought to know - but wasn't there this ship and a shining star involved?
Yeah, better ask Gandalf. Not right now, though. Their counterparts on the magic wall are still right in the deep of it with the trolls, no way to gain freedom in sight. Not yet.
Of course the trolls are ignoring the angry shouts and squeals from their captives, instead turning the spit lazily and talking amongst themselves, discussing how to cook them. And the Dwarves, at the time, had ignored most of this in favour of trying to get free, trying to catch sight of any kind of weapons or an opportunity to fight the trolls, to escape. But not Bilbo. Bilbo had listened.
"Never mind the seasoning. We ain't got all night. Dawn ain't far away.
Let's get a move on. I don't fancy being turned to stone."
The Hobbit's whole expression changes from discomfort to realization; a plan is being formed, and from this angle they can all see the gears in his clever head turn. With some difficulty, tied as he is, the Hobbit gets to his feet and jumps closer to the fire, to catch the attention of the trolls.
"Wait! You are making a terrible mistake!"
Óin, who had a great disadvantage when this incident took place before the trolls had taken all their gear, including his hearing trumpet, leans closer. Last time he hadn't picked up a lot of what had been being said, other than the odd few words. The things he had heard hadn't been very comforting, and had of course lead to his anger and confusion when it had seemed that Bilbo was turning on them, telling the trolls how to cook Dwarf. Really! A Hobbit who knows how to cook Dwarves. (To be honest, the idea is rather terrifying.)
"You can't reason with them," Dori tells Bilbo. "They're half-wits!"
"Half-wits? What does that make us?" Bofur mutters from where
he's being turned, again and again, on the spit.
But Bilbo, their astoundingly observant and smart Hobbit, ignores the Dwarves for now in favour of the trolls, and the trolls are actually looking at the Hobbit in interest now, listening.
"I meant with the, euhm, with the seasoning."
"What about the seasoning?" says one of the trolls.
And nervousness and fright is disappearing from Bilbo's voice, replaced by determination, and he's acting more like he's discussing recipes with a neighbor back in Hobbiton.
"Well, have you smelt them? You're going to need something
stronger than sage before you plate this lot up."
"Traitor!" Bombur shouts, echoed by several
other voices in the background.
"I'm sorry," murmurs said Dwarf now, sheepishly. "Didn't mean it like that ..."
The second troll snorts. "What do you know about cooking Dwarf?"
"Shut up," says the first. "Let the flurgaburburhobbit talk."
"They keep changing that word," Nori says. "I don't think they know what it means."
"To be fair 'burglarhobbit' isn't an actual word," Ori says.
"It is now, I say!" Bofur exclaims. "Bilbo's a proper Burglarhobbit."
Oh, thank Yavanna no other Shireling but himself is present to hear that. The folks back home would be scandalized. A Burglarhobbit! Oh, the shame! (Though, Bilbo secretly might like to call out Lobelia Sackville-Baggins nee-Bracegirdle on her light-fingeredness someday. The look on her face if being called such would be hilarious.)
"The secret to cooking Dwarf is, euhm ..."
He evidently hasn't come that far in the plan, yet, hesitating; and the Dwarves in the background are mighty upset now, confounded and angry that the Hobbit is advising the trolls how to eat them. The disgrace! Kíli appears especially betrayed, frowning and mouth down-turned.
Now, though, watching it all unfold a second time, they are only grateful.
"Yes? Come on, tell us the secret!"
"Yes, yes, I'm telling you! The secret is ... to skin them first!"
"Not one of my brightest moments," mutters Bilbo to himself but Thorin only smiles gently.
The Dwarf seems more recovered now - at least for the moment - with more colour to his face and a blanket resting on his shoulders. "You saved us all with your sharp wit, for which I am grateful."
And the Hobbit doesn't mean to start blushing to the tip of his ears but Thorin is looking at him very intently. It's rare to see him smile like that. "Oh, uhm, that, it was nothing, really."
A pained whine is heard from Kíli. "Uncle's doing it again ..."
"Yeah, I know," his brother whispers back. "Try to ignore it."
"It's too awkward, I can't."
"Oi, shut it," mutters Glóin. "We all notice it."
That makes Thorin abruptly stop staring at the Hobbit and instead his focus returns to the moh-vee. (Or at least he tries to focus on it.) Bilbo just feels more confused and a little out of his depth, honestly. Thorin has smiled at him a lot lately ...
Dismayed cries are heard from the trapped Dwarves.
"What? Skin us?!"
"To be fair," Nori says, "that sounded pretty bad when you're tied to a spit."
"At least be glad he didn't tell them to make us into a mash, or something else horrid like that," Glóin says.
The Dwarf splutters. "'Horrid'? To be skinned would be horrid!"
"Tom, get me filleting knife," says the troll cook.
"I'll skin you, you little ...!"
"And how'd you've do that?" asks Bofur dryly, shooting Glóin a glance.
"Oh, I'd think of something."
"I won't forget that. I won't forget it,"
Dwalin mutters in the Hobbit's direction.
"I've forgotten now," Dwalin announces seriously, and Bilbo is rather glad because he'd rather not be facing the pointy end of one of the big Dwarf's axes.
"What a load of rubbish! I've eaten plenty with
their skins on. Scarf 'em, I say, boots and all."
As one of the trolls says this, Bilbo spots a movement in the trees; and they get to follow his line of vision. There, with a brief hint of sunlight beyond the valley, is a very familiar-looking silhouette.
"Thank Yavanna you showed up, Gandalf. I didn't know if my plan would actually work," says Bilbo and the Wizard only nods.
"But it did. It was a job very well done, Bilbo."
"Aye! I'm sorry for the things I said while in that sack," Fíli says. "I didn't mean any of it."
"He's right. Nothing wrong with a bit of raw Dwarf!
Nice and crunchy."
A giant hand reaches down and picks Bombur up, meaning to eat him head-first, and Bilbo lets out a panicked noise.
"Oh, not that one! He's, he's infected!"
"Huh?!"
"You what?"
"He's got ... worms, in his ... tubes."
Even if the Hobbits is wildly improvising, the trolls believe every word. And to be honest Bilbo wasn't sure the creatures would care; they didn't seem to be ones much for personal hygiene, after all. But they did seem to care - somewhat - about their food and the state of it. That's probably what made the trick work. The troll holding Bombur lets him go with a disgusted grimace and the Dwarf rolls to the ground, thankfully without breaking anything.
"In fact they all have," the Hobbit goes on. "They're infested with parasites.
It's a terrible business; I wouldn't risk it, I wouldn't."
"Parasites?" Óin repeats. "Did he say parasites?
What are you talking about, laddie?"
"We don't have parasites!" shouts Kíli, very insulted indeed.
"You have parasites!"
"Very mature, brother."
"Oh, shut up," Kíli mutters, poking his brother's side with an elbow. "Oh, crap, Uncle's glaring at me again ..."
Upon these reactions, the scare and anxiety on the Hobbit's face is replaced by a weary sigh and Bilbo rolls his eyes at the Dwarves' collective stupidity as they only start squabbling. And in that moment he may have also been considering the chances of successfully suing said Dwarves because it was never in his contract to outwit a bunch of trolls to save the Company's hide. (It said 'Burglar', not 'What-have-you-at-a-moment's-notice'. Or did it? Oh crap, he knew he should've read that 34th paragraph through a bit more closely.)
But then, finally, Thorin catches on, and he delivers a swift kick to whoever is nearest to him, which turns out to be Kíli. This catches the attention of the others and, after a brief moment of silence (where probably a tree could fall to the ground and no one notice), they start changing their tune.
"I've got parasites as big as my arm!"
"Idiots, lot of us," mutters Dwalin, sounding a little disappointed.
"At least one of you understood. After a while," Bilbo amends. Though it'd taken longer than he'd thought and hoped. Maybe it was just the hopelessness and ridiculousness of the situation getting to them, causing the Dwarves to ignore what was right in front of them.
"Mine are the biggest parasites," insists Kíli.
"I've got huge parasites! We're riddled."
"Yes, I'm riddled," adds Ori and is quickly
joined by his his oldest brother.
"Yes, we are, badly."
"One could think you're trying to compete," remarks Glóin.
"Wanna bet on it?"
"Oh no, Nori, no you don't. I refuse to lose more money to you."
"Too late," says the Dwarf in question triumphantly, and suddenly lifts his left hand to show that he's holding a pouch full of coins. How and when he got that, the others have no idea; no one has noticed anything, and Glóin gives an upset cry.
"That's mine!"
"Nori, give it back," Thorin orders, before a fight can break out. Their pickpocket is really much more skilled than any of them had thought, though. Except maybe Dwalin, who, back in the Blue Mountains, has been responsible for catching Nori once or twice when he'd been up to no good.
"A thief doesn't return his loot," Nori argues. "It's the principle of the thing."
"Give it back or I'll punch your nose in," says Dwalin, and Nori sighs and makes a show of throwing the money pouch back to its rightful owner. It lands square on Glóin's broad forehead, and the Dwarf clutches it reverently (no one expects any less).
"What would you have us do, then?" says one of the trolls,
turning to Bilbo. "Let 'em all go?"
"Well ..."
Evidently not happy about what's going on, the troll reaches down, shoving Bilbo's quite harshly, and Thorin draws a breath because he hadn't seen that at the time, and not cared as much as he should have. Now he can't help but wonder how badly that must've bruised the Hobbit, being pushed by a creature several times the size and strength of himself, though he didn't lose his footing.
"You think I don't know what you're up to?
This little ferret is taking us for fools."
"Ferret?!" cries Bilbo, affronted.
Maybe he should put it on a tunic: 'Ferret', 'bunny' and 'little' in all and any combinations hereby banned, Bilbo considers, arms crossed. Also 'dear' when it comes from Gandalf, especially when he's about to say something double-meaning like 'Let's discuss the possibility of an adventure over a cup of tea (meaning, I'll bring thirteen Dwarves with me as plus ones)'.
"Fools?"
"It sounds surprised," notes Bofur. "Really can't see why."
"Had it coming."
Then: the voice of the Wizard appearing on the top of a large rock, right by the edge of the camp.
"The dawn will take you all!"
The trolls turn around, surprised.
"Who's that?"
"No idea."
"Can we eat him too?"
"Oh, I'd liked to've seen that," says Dwalin with a wry smirk. "Wizard on a spit."
"With a sprinkle of rabbit-dung," adds Nori. "And an entree of roasted pointy hat."
(Gandalf does not look amused.)
But the trolls never get the chance to find out if they can or cannot eat Wizards. Gandalf brings his staff down to crack the stone, causing a huge block to fall down and as it does, the clearing is flooded with warm light. Sunlight. The trolls can't move or run, immediately starting to change, their leathery skin turning hard and grey. They twist and turn in groaning pain before freezing forever as three odd troll statues.
Cheering breaks out. Thorin smiles in relief, one of those rare smiles and Bilbo thinks that might have been the first during their whole journey. The Dwarf is usually so grim.
They're still stuck in their sacks, though, weaponless and unable to move much, and several of them are yet tied to the spit hanging over the open fire. One of which is Dwalin, who cries angrily to whoever of his close neighbors:
"Oh, get your foot out of my back!"
"Well, that could've ended worse," says Óin.
"At which point we'd not be here to contemplate it."
Nori gestures theatrically with his hand. "Oh, Dori, you're always so deep and philosophical, it gives me a headache."
"Fíli, do you think it's safer now? Uncle still looks a bit ... upset."
"Kíli, you don't have to whisper that loudly. Use a quieter voice."
"This is my only whispering voice."
"Boys, I can hear you both. Yes, you're still grounded. No, Kíli, looking at me like that will not ease your punishment at all. In fact it could worsen it."
"What if," Kíli says pleadingly, "I promised that I will never, never ever ever, at all, whatsoever, in any way possible, at any time, will let anything like the troll incident happen again, that Bilbo won't ever be hurt again, and I'll be really good and take extra watch duty and everything, and I'll make sure Fíli doesn't do anything stupid -" "Oi!" "- and, did I mention that Bilbo won't be hurt at all in any way ever in the future?"
"Give or take an 'ever'," mutters Dwalin sarcastically.
But Bilbo considers the young Dwarf's long-winded apology, even if Thorin looks quite unimpressed. "... Fíli, Kíli, would you two be dear and make your Uncle and I some tea?" Thorin could use some more right about now. He still hasn't regained all of his colour. "And find an extra blanket and, oh, if there's some sponge cake that'd be lovely."
Kíli and his brother both snap into attention at once, scurrying over to the food-filled table in search of a pot and some leaves and two large mugs, at which point Bilbo holds back a surprised noise, eyebrows raising. And now Thorin is looking at the Hobbit much like a tired parent is looking at a partner or friend who's just managed to subdue two wild animals with a single word; mouth a little agape, relief shining in his eyes. Huh.
"I didn't think that would actually work ... Good to know."
END NOTES:
Wordlist
(Khuzdul)
Amad Mother
Dragons existed in Middle-earth between the First and the Third Age (presumably, maybe others lived on and are unknown beyond the Third Age). The oldest dragon, Glaurung, was created by Morgoth and is known as the Father of Dragons and he was slain by Túrin Turambar if the year 501 of the First Age. He was huge and terrible but didn't have wings or the ability to fly, though he breathed fire.
The biggest ever Winged Dragon was Ancalagon the Black who was killed by Eärendil in F.A. 587.
On the matter of Hobbits and family trees:
Fortinbras II Took is a Hobbit and currently (as of T.A. 2941 or Shire Reckoning 1341) Thain of the Shire. Bilbo's cousin on his mother's side.
The thing about the family of Isabella and Gregor Brandybuck is completely made up. I just wanted that contrast between Hobbits and Dwarves, in society and culture and family. I have a sort of headcanon of Hobbits as a rather private yet not prude people, where large families are pretty expected, and that they're an open people (to some things. not adventures, though). So the "four people involved" could be any as you please to imagine, I'm not going to go into more detail about it.
Lily Brownlock is an OC Hobbit of the Shire, invented for this fic. She lives in Hobbiton. She's the same generation as Bilbo, born in S.R. 1299/T.A. 2999, making her 42 years old at the time of the Company's Quest.
According to canon, Donnamira Took (daughter of Gerontious Took and Adamanta Chubb) was born in S.R. 1256/T.A. 2856 andBelladonna Took, Bilbo's mother, in S.R. 1252/T.A. 2852. In this fic I've made them twins both born in '52. I just think it's highly likely that Hobbits have a high productive rate and so it's not that rare with twins and such, as is discussed in this fic. Their sister, Mirabella, was born in S.R. 1260. Earlier I made an error stating two different things in the story text and in the notes regarding these facts. It's now been corrected, so the note matches the fic. Thank you phoenixdaisy for pointing this out!
Lobelia was born a Bracegirdle and later married Otho Sackville-Baggins, taking on his family name. I hope that clears things up.
I have this idea of trying to include more backstory and headcanons and such that isn't directly featured/tpuched upon/ explained in canon. It's great fun to delve deeper into stuff like that. Does anyone have any headcanons related to Hobbits or Dwarves that you'd like see in this fic?