Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: Yup, long wait again...sorry.
Töframaður: Wizard
Hvað Valar varstu að hugsa, Töframaður?: What in Valar were you thinking, Wizard?
Uppeldi þetta mörgum Dvergarnir!: Bringing this many Dwarves!
Þu veist nákvæmlega af hverju—: you know very well—
Ég sver að ég mun drepa þessi Töframaður!: I swear I will kill that Wizard!
Ég drep dreki konungur líka!: I'll kill that dragon king too!
Þorinn er lifandi…! : And Thorin is alive...!
Ég sver að Töframaður verður næsta máltíð mína!: I swear I will make that Wizard my next meal!
Drekkartungu: Dragontongue
Thank you to: Antex-the Legendary Zoroark, Darcy, ShadowTomes, skywright, Britt30, Final Syai Lunar Generation, Amazing-Thalia-Grace, kyothefallenkit, randomplotbunny, and Wommera for all reviewing last chapter. Love y'all!
Chapter Four: Wizards and their Confoundery
"Töframaður! Töframaður! Töframaður!"
The roar echoed across the mountains, its pain all too well coloring the cry. The grey Wizard, who had been riding to Rivendell, stopped. Coming from the North of the Ettenmoors, was a large shadow in the sky. It flew quickly but haphazardly, its right side dipping down constantly. Gandalf jumped off of the speckled horse he had been riding, and drew his sword.
He knew what that shape was, it was a dragon. Word had been spreading all over Middle Earth that the dragons had been massing, becoming more violent and aggressive. It was time to end this all. The dragons needed to be slain.
"Töframaður!" The voice shrieked again.
Gandalf looked around, looking for the owner of the voice. Only then did the Wizard realize that there was one creature close enough, or loud enough, to speak. He watched, with some awe and caution as the bronze and black dragon landed before him, shifting its weight on two legs. Its right hind leg was severed, a small stub of the thigh remaining as dry crimson blood caked the limb. His left foreleg was clutched close to his chest, as if carrying something.
"Töframaður, thank everything…that I have found you…" The dragon panted, his breath hitching in agony.
"Who are you?" Gandalf demanded, warily leaning on his staff.
"My name is Draupneir," The dragon said, before coughing. "But that is little of importance. I…we, the race of my people, we need your help, Töframaður."
Gandalf cocked his brow. "And why, would I help a dragon?"
"I expected one of the great Istari to know the difference between a Fire Drake of the North and a Great Dragon."
The Wizard sucked in his breath. "Do you mean to say that your kind has come down from the Bay of Forochel?"
"Quite the opposite." Draupneir corrected, "we have fled to it. The Fire Drakes have gathered together and seek to destroy my kind."
"Surely, you are the greater of the two races."
"United, we would be."
Gandalf tilted his head. "And why are you not united now, hm?"
"The Fire Drake's leader have…they have wounded our king, far beyond the hopes of our repair." Draupneir said, clutching his claw a bit tighter.
"I fail to see where I can become involved Master Dragon, how may I help?"
"We need you to safe house our King."
Gandalf's eyes widened and he spluttered.
The bronze dragon's claw lowered, until it was in front of the grey Wizard. The fingers opened slowly, to reveal a tiny naked form, curled up. The creature had curly auburn hair, and large, furry feet. His pail skin was matted in blood, and his chest was nothing but raw skin.
"Many of our elders died using their magic to do this to him."
"I have never heard of such a thing." Gandalf murmured, running his hand soothingly along the shivering creature's arm.
"Smaug, the King of the Fire Drakes, will kill anyone who knows of our King's whereabouts." Draupneir growled. "And he will finish the deeds that he had set out to do if he finds him. You must keep him secret and you must keep him safe. No one must know who he truly is."
"So he is a dragon then?" Gandalf asked, looking up at the sad gold eyes on a bronze and black dragon.
Draupneir looked up forlornly. "Yes. He is a dragon. Our elders thought it would be wise to give him the gift of transformation—being able to change from this form to his dragon form. But you must not let him. Smaug will know the instant his scent is caught to the wind, and all will have been for not. Our King is the last hope for our race. He must be kept alive."
"Your words are more than those of allegiance to a king." Gandalf observed.
The dragon sighed. "He is my cousin. I would see him safe to the end of time, if I could. But I can no longer do so."
He lay the small creature on the ground, before the Wizard. Gandalf took the cloak from his shoulders and wrapped the small being in it. The tiny creature groaned in pain, eyelids fluttering, before stilling again.
"He is badly wounded." Gandalf muttered, looking up to see the bronze dragon leaving. "Wait, I do not know his name, and it would be more than likely good to know it!"
The dragon looked back for just a minute, then spread his wings. They flapped good and hard as he thrust himself into the air. The air waivered, the wing beats like concussions.
"His name is Bryngeir, Bryngeir of the Gilded Wings."
~0oo0~
Bilbo woke with a start, his hand clutching his chest. He breathed heavily as sweat poured down his face and the tears gathered in his eyes. Grunting, frustrated, he wiped his eye with the back of his hand. Clutching at the covers, he forced himself to calm down.
It had been a long time since he had last dreamed.
Dreamed of anything really.
But what had happened a hundred and seventy one years ago had not entered his mind in a truly long while.
Sighing, he got out of bed and drew his shirt off. Looking in the mirror, he placed his hand upon the large patch of raw skin that stretched the left side of his hip to the ride side of his shoulder. The skin was irritated and red, pulsing along with his shaky breaths. The hobbit shook his head, trying to clear any thought of the horrible, horrible night. So many had died that day, and if he had just been a little faster—stronger, better—many would undoubtedly be alive right now.
"Thorin would be alive right now." He murmured to himself, stretching his bed sore arms and legs.
With one last weary shake of his head, he stumbled into the bathroom to freshen up. The water made his skin prickle with gooseflesh as he washed his face, arms and hands. Grabbing the towel, he gave a relieved sigh as he wiped away the droplets from his skin. Stepping back into his room, Bilbo decided to choose a simple white blouse, a pair of brown trousers, and a gold waistcoat
With a satisfied nod, he opened the door from his bedroom and walked into the rest of his smial.
It wasn't always just yours. A little voice in his head reminded him.
"No, of course not." Bilbo murmured, touching the two portraits that rested on the fire places. He could still hear Belladonna's musical voice and her soothing words of understanding and comfort. He could still feel Bungo's reassuring hand and his scratchy practical voice. He missed them.
He missed all of them.
"That's enough self-pity for one day, I think." Bilbo grunted, grabbing his pipe from the mantle. "A nice smoke before breakfast should do me good."
With a new purpose in his step, Bilbo walked out of his smial into the sunny day. Hobbiton was already flushed with busybodies as the scurried about their tasks for the day. Bilbo set himself down on the wooden bench, looking back for a brief second to admire his newly painted door, before settling his back comfortably against the wood. Grabbing a match from his pocket and striking it, he set himself to enjoy Old Toby, a personal favorite for his pipe smoking. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back and listened.
Birds twittered. The flowers sang as the breezed pushed them gently into a dance. The Brandywine River that twisted close to Hobbiton burbled and gurgled with life. The Hobbits themselves laughed, sang, and talked as the goings on of the day continued with little consequences. Bilbo smiled a bit as the sun's rays fluttered across his face, warming the skin that still loved every sensation that scales could not feel. Although he frowned when a bit of the pipe smoke blustered into his face. His nose twitched at the sudden ashes in his nose. The he furrowed his brow, the sun rays had be shaded, it had gotten considerably cooler. Not to mention he could hear another person.
"Excuse me, but I do believe you are blocking the sun." Bilbo grumbled, not opening his eyes, although remembering his manners and gave a quick, "Good morning."
"What do you mean?" he said. "Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?"
The Hobbit sighed, still not opening his eyes. "All of them at once, Gandalf. Now, good morning."
The Wizard gave an indignant huff. "To think I would live to be 'good morning' by Belladonna Took's son as if I were selling buttons at the door!"
"You might as well be." Bilbo snorted, cracking an eye opening. "And you and I both know I am not Belladonna's son."
"Both she and Bungo thought so." Gandalf barked. "Even though they knew the truth."
Bilbo nodded and closed his eye. "You must forgive me, I'm a bit…I supposed depressed today."
"Oh?" Gandalf pondered, leaning against his staff. "And why is that?"
"I dreamed last night." The Hobbit said, inhaling on his pipe afterwards.
"Most would consider dreaming a good thing, my dear Hobbit." Gandalf chuckled.
"I'm not most people though, aren't I?"
"Um, no. But that does not necessarily mean anything."
"Why are you here?" Bilbo demanded, standing, up his eyes lazing open.
"Could I not have just come by for a visit?" The Wizard asked.
The Hobbit snorted. "Knowing you? Not a chance, Wizard."
"You know me too well." Gandalf bowed slightly.
"I should hope so. One hundred and seventy one years has been plenty of time."
"One would think."
The Hobbit titled his head. "So, what are you really here for, Gandalf?"
"I'm looking for someone go on an adventure."
Bilbo couldn't help the loud laugh that rose up in his chest. "I don't think you'll find anyone on this side of Bree to go with you…although you might have some luck with a Brandybuck or a Took, after all—it worked so well when you took Belladonna with you."
"My dear fellow, I'm quite hurt by that statement." The Wizard placed a hand over his heart, his smile never failing.
"It's true." Bilbo affirmed with a nod of his head and a swing of his pipe.
Gandalf leaned forward. "Actually, I was looking for someone a tad more…dragon hearted."
The Hobbit's grin disappeared immediately. "Then you are looking in the wrong place."
"Oh come now Bilbo! Back in your day you would've jumped upon the chance to go on an adventure!"
"And look where an adventure got me! Look at where I've landed, Wizard!"
"Bryngeir of the Gilded Wings," Gandalf grouched. "You have landed in a very comfortable positon of being a Hobbit of good wealth and respect. You have a warm home and many people who care for your well-being, despite you being an oddity."
"Do not call me by that name, Gandalf." Bilbo sighed. "I don't deserve that name."
"My dear Bryngeir," Gandalf exhaled. "I think an adventure is definitely what you need. It will serve as some amusement for the both of us, yes?"
"No, Gandalf." Bilbo shook his head. He walked over to the fence and opened the mail box. He took out the contents and closed the small hatch. With a lethargy that seemed to be wariness, Bilbo walked towards the door. When he spoke, his voice was hollow and agitated. "There will be no adventures here today. Nor any day. I am quite done with adventuring. Good morning."
Bilbo opened the door before slamming it closed. He waited a little bit, in hopes that his friend had gotten the hint and gone off to go bother someone else. He inched a bit to the window only to be met with a large blue eye staring at him. He hid behind the door again.
"Go away Gandalf!" He shouted.
The Wizard hummed and all went quiet again.
Bilbo waited before peering out again to see the retreating point hat. With a relieved sigh, the Hobbit went back into his room. He grabbed the blue coat that waited for him on his bed, and walked out again, struggling to get his arms through the proper holes. Once he decided that he looked decent, he went to the mantle place and grabbed a small oak box that rested there.
He looked at the box with a sorrowful fondness. Carved on the box was a dragon and a Dwarf. Gandalf had it specially made thirty two years ago, after the Fell Winter. Bilbo could still hear the screams of the Hobbits, calling and begging for help. He could still see Bungo and Belladonna—foolish, foolish Bungo and Belladonna trying to protect the others. And he could still see the fire that ate away at the screaming wolves' fur. That was the best that he had been able to do. Nothing else.
Bilbo blinked and the vision was gone. Opening the box, he pulled out the black braid that rested silently at the bottom. His fingers tightened around the hair as he placed it gently in the coat pocket. If Thorin were a live, he would say it was a precautionary to other Hobbits that he had a brother that would be there if they ever needed his assistance. But, Thorin had made that promise to a dragon, not a Hobbit.
"And I doubt, if he were still living, he wouldn't want to call me his brother." He muttered as he put the box back on its spot. "I left him to suffer at the claws of Smaug."
He walked back towards the door and grabbed the basket that was there. With one last look behind him, Bilbo walked back outside. The sun met him happily as he walked down the little dirt path. All thoughts of unpleasant adventures were soon forgotten as he enjoyed his stroll down the dirt path.
"Mr. Bilbo! !"
The Hobbit looked to the side to see a gaggle of children racing towards him. He grinned. Of all the things in the Shire, Bilbo loved the children the best. They were such happy, merry things; no worry in their life. He envied them.
"Why hello Poppy, Rosie, Peregrin, and Meriadoc!" He beamed at them, crouching down a bit. "What are you rascals up to?"
"Play with us, Mr. Bilbo, please?" Poppy begged while Pippin and Merry pulled on the sleeves of his coat.
"You must!" Pippin piped.
"Aye, no backing out Mr. Bilbo!" Merry added, grinning widely.
Rosie just followed with a big smile on her face.
"Alright you hooligans, what would you have me play?" Bilbo asked, allowing the small children to lead on.
"Play conkers!" Rose squeaked when he asked.
"Conkers, again?" The old Hobbit mused.
"You are the very best and it's so fun to watch!" Poppy complemented, skipping along the path.
"Besides, I think I could beat you!" Pippin put in helpfully.
Bilbo shook his head. "Oh really?"
"Umhm!"
"Well then, I suppose I just have to play now. Have you hooligans got the tree and the hoops set up?"
The three fauntlings nodded their head eagerly.
"Okay then, let's play."
The children led him to a tree that relatively far from the smials of Hobbiton. Bilbo nodded to them and set down his basket. Pippin stepped up and took off his cardigan so it wouldn't snag on the branches. The tall pine that towered before them was covered with steel hoops that hung innocently on the branches.
"We didn't go to the tippity-top, 'cause you said we shouldn'." Merry pointed out.
"Good lad." Bilbo praised. "Last thing we need is an injured one of you. Alright, Peregrin, are you ready?"
"Yes sir!"
Bilbo walked up to the tree with the fauntling. "Need help to the first branch?"
Pippin shook his head before scurrying up the trunk. Bilbo gave a loud laugh, before jumping to the first branch, nimbly latching on. He followed the smaller Hobbit on the opposite side of the tree. He enjoyed playing this game with the little ones. The point of conkers was to grab all the hoops with a period of three minutes. The person who gained the most won. It was a quick little game, that didn't take much time but it took much agility and strength. The children had the agility. He had the strength.
By the end of the second minute, Bilbo had collected more than half of the steel hoops that hung from his arm. The children down below were calling out both his and Pippin's name with encouragement. When Rosie had called out that the time was up, Bilbo had acquired five more hoops, and had begun to crawl down the tree. He was fairly pleased with himself, and was thoroughly unwound from this morning. That is until a startled scream interrupted his concentration.
He looked with horror to see that Peregrin had fallen from the tree. Without thinking, Bilbo dropped the hoops and jumped. His arms wrapped around the small fauntling as they fell. The wind blasted through his pointed ears and his stomach dropped. He forced himself to calm and to slowly turn as he fell. The children on the ground shouted in fear. He toned them out and focused on timing their descent. When the moment was exactly right, he gave one last turn and landed heavily, but squarely on his feet.
Pippin released a pent up sigh. "Mr. Bilbo."
Bilbo winced, his knees shouting out in pain. His body wasn't used to landings like that, and his stubby legs certainly weren't either. He set the fauntling down with a shaky pant.
"Well, I do believe that was enough fun for one day, don't you agree?"
The fauntlings all bobbed their heads in unison. Bilbo agreed wholeheartedly.
"Alright you rapscallions, go on and enjoy the rest of your day." He sent them a wink. "I won't tell your mums if you promise not to tell them I jumped from the tree."
"Why?" Poppy asked.
Bilbo picked up his basket and rested it in the crook of his arm. "It's not a very Hobbit-y thing to do, jumping from trees."
"Fair." Merry mumbled, grabbing Pippin's hand reassuringly.
"Well I'm off, you little ones don't go further than this, okay?"
"M'kay, Mr. Bilbo!"
Bilbo gave them a quick wave before continuing on his way. His arms were shaking awfully and he couldn't help but feel irritated. If he were a dragon, all he would've had to do watch reach out and catch the boy. Better yet, let the lad stand on his snout to catch all of the conker's hoops. He hated it sometimes, feeling so powerless in this body. There was almost no strength behind it. Solely kindness and softness.
"Good morning, Mr. Bilbo!"
Bilbo looked up to see an older Hobbit, Lionel Chubb, wave him over to the beginnings of the market. With a nod, Bilbo headed over. Lionel held a brown sack to the older Hobbit.
"Here you are Mr. Bilbo. Your fresh cuts just like normal."
Bilbo gave the bag a sniff, the stench of raw meat pulling at his nose. Had he been in his original form, the smell would have more than likely been savory. But, being a Hobbit, it was just putrid. He nodded and handed the coin over to Lionel. The Hobbit nodded his thanks and began tending to the rest of his needs in his stall. Bilbo began to walk further into the market place, stopping at every necessary food stall. He bought plenty of vegetables, fruits, cheeses, and fish. By the end of his grocery shopping, half of the day had passed. Pleased with his productive morning, he went back to Bag End with a bit of a skip in his step.
The rest of his day consisted of reorganizing his pantry, reading, cleaning out the fire place, eating his two midday meals, reorganizing the pantry again because he didn't like how he did it the first time, and then helping Hamfast Gamgee out in his garden. It was gritty business, working in the dirt; but it was a job that was helpful for him. He got to use his hands to pull at the weeds and whatnot, allowing him to believe that for one more time they were claws. Planting the tiny seedling in the ground also felt good.
Once he and Hamfast had bid each other a farewell, Bilbo went in to wash up. After that, he seemed thoroughly satisfied with the day as he dressed in his night clothes. He pulled the patched up robe, transferring the braid from his coat to his robe pocket. Stepping out of his room, he entered the kitchen and began cooking his dinner.
His nostrils flared as the smells of freshly made biscuits and the charring fish reached his nose. One thing he loved about being a Hobbit was that he got to enjoy the fineries of food. Dragons ate their food raw. Hobbits had to cook their meals, and well…they were probably more renowned for their food skills than even the Elves could hope for.
He made the place settings, and took the fish off the stove, plate in hand. He licked his lips as he saw the fish sitting happily upon the salad. Then he smirked.
Well, happily for me, not for you. His mind practically chirped as he sat down.
Tucking in his napkin, he reached over to pick up his fork when…
…someone knocked at the door.
Bilbo hesitated, sure that he had imagined the knock. But when the pounding continued he realized it was not so. Grumbling he got up and threw the napkin down with a bit of agitation. Walking to the door, he pulled it open expecting to see some sort of fleeing Hobbit lad who thought they had the guts to interrupt his meal. Instead, he was very, very thunderstruck to see a Dwarf standing on his doorstep.
The Dwarf was rather large, blue tattoos in khuzdul mapped all over his bald head. He had a rather impressive beard that looked almost blue. The rest of him could only be described as intimidating, from his large ominous cape, to his sturdy looking knuckle dusters.
"Dwalin, at your service." The Dwarf said with a bow.
"Bryn—" He stopped himself, he had only had Dwarf's greet him once and that had been back…well it had been back. "Bilbo Baggins, at yours."
He was vaguely aware that he was wearing all of his night clothes and that his robe was wide open. Flustered, he scrambled to tie it up. Dwalin stepped in, paying little mind to that.
"Sorry, but do we know each other?" Bilbo asked, squinting at the face for any recognition from his life as a dragon; the only thing that seemed familiar was the nose.
The Dwarf actually glared at him. "No. Which way, laddie?" He demanded, taking off his cloak and tossing it to Bilbo.
"I'm, sorry—what?" He asked, fumbling with the cape that covered his head.
"The food." The Dwarf snorted, searching about. "He said there'd be food, and lots of it."
Bilbo couldn't really do anything but helplessly follow the Dwarf as he found his way to the kitchen. He just plopped down into the chair that waited at the spot at the table where the Hobbit's dinner was. Bilbo's brow furrowed at he watched Dwalin as he ate his dinner. His eye twitched. If he wanted, he could incinerate this Dwarf righ—
"This, this is good." Dwalin grunted, swallowing down the fish head he had bit off. "Have you got any more?"
Bilbo blinked, and instantly forced his temper to cool. "Right, um…yes."
He picked up the freshly backed tray of biscuits. Well, he looked at it, grabbed one, shoving it into his free pocket and handed the rest to the Dwarf. Dwalin didn't hesitate and grabbing the plate and stuffing his face with a biscuit.
That unnerved Bilbo. He cleared his throat.
"Well, you see, I wasn't entirely expecting a guest today but—"
He wasn't interrupted by another knock at the door. Bilbo looked up his eyes wide. The Dwarf shot him another dark look.
"That'd be the door."
Bilbo grumbled, before spinning around and marching straight up to the door. When he pulled it open, he stumbled back, a fit of coughs racking his lungs. His hand clutched at his chest where his burning raw skin throbbed. The white haired Dwarf looked at him with alarm.
"You alright, lad?" He questioned, a steadying hand reaching out towards him.
Bilbo gagged. "Oh yes, quite fine! Stunned by…by…by the beauty of the night air, that's all! Would you look at the beautiful evening!"
The Dwarf looked behind him and nodded. "That is certainly agreeable; although I think it might rain later. Oh yes! Balin, at your service."
The Hobbit forced himself to breathe again. "B-b-bilbo at yours."
The Dwarf walked in with a kind smile and that was the only thing that stopped the Hobbit from having a panic attack. He was barely aware of Balin and Dwalin greeting each other as brothers before the stalked into his pantry. His chest felt as if it were on fire, and he groped at the braid that was hidden in his pocket, his hand shaking. Balin had survived Smaug's attack on Erebor?
There was another knock at the door and he numbly walked over and opened it. Two rather you Dwarves stood there, one blonde and one brunette.
"Fili—"
"—and Kili—"
"At your service." The two chimed in tandem, both bowing over dramatically.
Bilbo snapped out of his stupor. "Nope, no more Dwarves." He slammed the door.
Kili's boot caught in the way. "Oh no! It hasn't been cancelled has it?"
"What? Nothing's been cancelled!" Bilbo growled, his temper raging back again as the pain in his chest flickered again.
The brunette sighed in relief and pushed the door open. "Well that's a relief!"
He and his brother strolled in with not a care in the world. Fili grinned and tossed Bilbo his double swords.
"Careful just had 'em sharpened."
"I know how to handle a sword!" Bilbo snapped, setting them down carefully in the umbrella corner.
Kili grinned. "Do you now? That makes things easier for us…hm, I must say Mister Boggins, your house is quite nice! Did you do it yourself?"
"Um…no." was all Bilbo spluttered out.
He watched as the two joined the other two Dwarves in the large dining area. Bilbo groaned and raked his hands through his hair.
No, no, no, no, no—this is not good! The Hobbit thought anxiously. Not good at all! Especially with Balin here…what if he recognizes my voice or, the fur on my feet…or good heavens the box on the mantle!
He rushed to the living area only to be stopped by another knock at the door. He fumed. This was quite enough. Four Dwarves? Fine, he could live with that; but not another Dwarf more. He stormed to the door, swung it open, only to jump back at the cascade of Dwarves landing on his door mat. Oh now fate was just being cruel.
Gandalf peeked in under the lintel.
Bilbo tried to control his breathing as his eyes narrowed. "Gandalf."
The Wizard grinned. "Ah Bilbo!" He looked down at the tangle of Dwarves. "Our host."
The Dwarves on the floor cheered.
The Hobbit lunged forward and grabbed the Wizard's cloak, dragging him back. "We need to talk, now."
He brought Gandalf to his hallway and stood in front of him. His arms were crossed and a very unhappy frown across his face. Gandalf sighed.
"Hvað Valar varstu að hugsa, Töframaður?" Bilbo growled out. "Uppeldi þetta mörgum Dvergarnir! Þu veist nákvæmlega af hverju– "
"Bilbo, I can't understand when you speak Drekkartungu." The Wizard puffed out.
Bilbo snarled. "How dare you bring Dwarves into my house without even asking me? Do you realize what is at stake?"
"Nothing but your temper, I'm afraid." Gandalf answered evenly.
"Hush up! I'm the one in distress right now!" The Hobbit snapped.
"Why? Besides their…eccentricity, they are quite a jolly bunch."
"Gandalf! I knew one of them!" Bilbo hissed between his teeth.
This seemed to catch the Istari's attention. "Which one?"
"Balin." The Hobbit answered lowly. "He was there…he was one of the ones."
Gandalf hummed. "Then it is no coincidence then."
"I have a feeling,Töframaður, that this was never a coincidence." Bilbo retorted to the retreating form of Gandalf.
Frowning he went back in to the front parlor to see the Dwarves were raiding his pantry. The next hour consisted of him getting changed so he was more suitable for company—a Hobbit had to keep his image—watching all twelve Dwarves eat everything in his food supplies, drink all of his ales, and then toss Belladonna's fine china around like frisbees! They even had the audacity to sing a charming—admittedly clever—song about how he hated that they were messing with his things.
Honestly. His fine eating utensils were pure silver! Did they know of the troubles that it took him to sniff out such well-wrought metal?
At the end of the song, a long solemn knock drummed the door.
"He is here." Gandalf declared gravely.
Bilbo looked up as did all the rest of the Dwarves. To his surprise they grew somber and solemn. Gandalf grinned and nodded to Bilbo for him to follow. Bilbo followed the tall Istari to the door, where he gently pulled it open.
Bilbo's world stopped there.
His chest burned as if it had been branded. As if Smaug's claws tore it open again. His hazel eye glazed as he watched the Dwarf regally enter. His raven hair had been grayed by probably both time and stress. Instead of a fur black vest, he wore a long royal blue coat that was lined with what looked like to be a very heavy elk's skin. He wore a simple armored tunic, and a belt with the crest of Durin. His pants were road worn, and his boots had iron lining the toes.
In every way he looked the king he was supposed to be.
The Dwarf looked intrigued. "So, this is the Hobbit."
"Bilbo, might I introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield." Gandalf introduced, giving the Hobbit a warning glance.
Bilbo murmured out the first thing that escaped his mouth. "You survived."
That set Thorin on red alert.
The weight and reality of what he said came tumbling down and Bilbo babbled to fix it. "I mean the road! The road through Hobbiton! Why, practically every new traveler who passes by can't find their way through the mazes of paths here. I don't know how we even do it! I guess it's because we've lived here our whole lives and the like but… I meant that you survived the twisted paths…yes…that's it…"
Thorin scratched his chin, the look of wonder instantly gone from his face. He turned to Gandalf. "I thought you said this place was easy to find. I lost my way…twice."
Bilbo blinked. Did Thorin just really…ignore him?
"Well, as Bilbo has so eloquently described, Hobbiton is a bit of a puzzle to those who are not her inhabitants." The Wizard grumbled, cocking his brow towards the Hobbit.
Thorin returned his attention to Bilbo. "Tell me Master Baggins, what is your weapon of choice, axe or sword?"
Oh, that just irritated the humanity out of Bilbo. Thorin knew that any answer the Hobbit had to give would never satisfy a Dwarf; it was a sly question. So, instead of being cowed by the underhanded question, he stepped up until he was standing chest to chest with the Dwarf, hands on his hips. He was pleased that the smug grin had been replaced by a furrowed brow of confusion.
"Listen well, Thorin Oakenshield," He rumbled. "I am good at conkers, bu I also have quite a bit of skill in everything—so know I am handy in a pinch."
Then he backed off. He forced himself to become mild manner Bilbo again, and not hot-tempered, I-got-stuck-in-a-Hobbit's-body-so-don't-toy-with-my-patience Bryngeir. The Dwarves had gone quiet in the other room. Both Gandalf and Thorin seemed frozen with a bit of shock. Bilbo cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Um, there's a bit of food left, the others are right this way." He almost ran away, back to the kitchen. He fumbled with the bowls on the counter top, searching for a clean one. He grabbed one finally and poured what would've been tomorrow's elvensies into the bowl. A nice potato soup. He also poured a fresh mug of ale and grabbed a spoon. Flushed and flustered he rushed back into the dining area, and said nothing as he handed the raven haired Dwarf his dinner. Thorin only inclined his head in thanks.
Bilbo stepped back and watched them mutely.
Thorin's alive. Thorin's alive. He survived Smaug's attack to Erebor. I thought everyone had died. Thorin's alive.
He was vaguely aware of the events that passed while the Dwarves talked, including how Gloin mentioned that they would be needing a burglar.
"An expert at that, I suppose…" He murmured absent mindedly, looking down upon the map of the mountain that he believed to have fallen so long ago.
"So are you?" Gloin asked.
That snapped Bilbo out of his thoughts. "Am I what?"
Gloin and Oin cheered. "You hear that, he says he's an expert!"
"What, no! I haven't stole a thing in my life." The Hobbit protested in panic.
Balin sighed. "I'd have to agree with him. Such gentlefolk do not belong in the wild. Nor do they make fine burglaring material."
"He speaks sense!" Bilbo piped up.
The other Dwarves somehow broke into chaos about that.
Suddenly Gandalf shot up, his figure looming, the shadows stretching.
"If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is!" Gandalf shouted, before calming himself and returning to normal.
You think that is a party trick? Bilbo thought bitterly.
The Wizard continued. "Hobbits are quick and light on their feet—they can generally go about unnoticed. And while the dragon—"
"I'm sorry, dragon?" Bilbo squeaked, fearing that Gandalf had given away his secret.
"Smaug the Terrible, keep up lad!" Nori shouted.
The Hobbit's chest began to throb again.
"And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of Dwarf, the smell of a Hobbit would be very foreign to him." Gandalf continued.
The Dwarves were quiet as they wrapped their heads around this. Bilbo fumed and shook his head furiously. He was going to fry that Istari. The first to speak was Thorin.
"Give him a contract."
Bilbo shook. "No, no, no—that's really not neces—oof!"
Thorin shoved the paper rudely into the Hobbit's chest. Bilbo grappled with it for a moment before unfolding the huge thing. His eyes skimmed the paper as he read through quickly. Laceration? Sounded familiar. Incineration? He looked at his pink fleshy skin; yes definitely flammable.
"Incineration?" He sighed, looking at Gandalf with a 'really' look.
Gandalf grinned.
"Aye, he'll melt the flesh off your bones." A Dwarf—Bofur—added helpfully.
Bilbo tilted his head back, looking at the roof.
"Think furnace with wings." He continued.
Bilbo shook his head, the image of a red dragon coming at him with all his might and fury replaying in his mind.
"One big breath and poof! You're nothin' more than a pile of ash!" Bofur finished with a dramatic flair of his arms.
Bilbo clawed at the other dragon, trying to push him off his body, but the larger had already hooked his claws into the center of his shattered chest plates and—
"You alright laddie?" Balin asked genuinely worried.
Bilbo looked at them, his eyes wide. "I need air."
Without a moment to spare, he ran down the hall, turning to the door that led towards the back yard. The Dwarves were quiet looking to Thorin. He shook his head, thinking what would Gandalf ever see in such a weak little creature? He turned to the Wizard.
"I cannot guarantee his safety during this journey."
Gandalf inclined his head. "Understood."
"I will not be held responsible for his life should it come to it." The Dwarf king continued.
The Wizard closed his eyes. And he had hoped for a much better reunion between the two long separated friends. "I understand."
Thorin tilted his head suspiciously. "Do you?"
They were all startled by the large scream that echoed through Bag End. The Dwarves plus one Wizard were up in an instant, their weapons drawn. They rushed down the hall to the back door that they had heard Bilbo go through. They rushed out, expecting to find some sort of evil Hobbit, or the like.
Instead they found a very, very furious Bilbo beating the tar out of a pile of fire wood with a chopping axe. The small Hobbit didn't seemed to have noticed them as he kept hacking away at the pile.
"Ég sver að ég mun drepa þessi Töframaður…Ég drep dreki konungur líka! Þorinn er lifandi…!Ég sver að Töframaður verður næsta máltíð mína!" Bilbo snarled, maliciously chopping at the wood as if it were the hide of a dragon.
Gandalf cleared his throat loudly.
Bilbo dropped the axe immediately, his hand reaching up to his chest. Why did the burning increase? Why was it hurting so much? It never hurt that much. He looked up at the Dwarves who were looking at Bilbo with mixed looks of curiosity and caution.
"Curse Wizards and their confoundery." Bilbo murmured, before, the pain in his chest over took him and he blacked out.
Thorin was the first to react, He dropped his sword and lunged out, catching the unconscious Hobbit. He cradled his head making sure he did not make the damage any worse. They then took the Hobbit to bed where Gandalf stayed to keep vigil. Gloin was smart enough to light a fire in the living area, where they all gathered.
Thorin walked to the fire place and rested his arm on the mantle. His eyes were drawn to a small oak box that rested innocently on the slab of wood. Carve into the wood were two creatures: a dragon and a Dwarf.
He almost recoiled at the sight. It was impossible. It was completely and undeniably impossible. An entire coincidence. Then Thorin thought of the Wizard that waited in the room next door.
I have a feeling that none of this was ever a coincidence. He thought ruefully, opening his mouth; surprised that the words that tumbled out were the lament of his homeland instead of what he had meant to say; which he couldn't even remember at the moment.
So many had died that fateful day. So many…including a dragon who should not have… a dragon who had tried to do his duty as a brother.
"Far over the misty mountains cold,
To dungeons deep and caverns old,
We must away, ere break of day,
To find our long forgotten gold.
The pines were roaring on the height,
The winds were moaning in the night,
The fire was red, it flaming spread,
The trees like torches blazed with light."
So they're reunitied...sorta...not really...yay!