I own nothing but the clothes on my back and this computer, and my expansive tea collection, and a darling little sewing machine; most of the characters are creations of the lovely Tolkien (as if you didn't know).
Enjoy
Chapter Two: Uncomfortable Proposals and Strange Strangers
Flashing red and blue lights behind frosted glass.
Purposeful knocks on wood.
Serious faces and stiff hats wrought between hands.
Six months previously….
"We need new blood." Dwalin's heavy voice reverberates through the little hall. The men shift uncomfortably where they stand. Thorin glowers from his seat on the stage.
Fili and Kili watch silently from a corner. For once their faces are serious.
Balin takes over for his brother, 'We have a crisis on our hands. We've not had a child in almost a decade and with every year that passes our home grows smaller. The mines keep us alive for now, but there's no one to replace the old and the dead. If we keep to our closed ways we're in danger of falling down a similar path as the settlements of Ered Mithrin."
Only the older men shudder in remembrance, but everyone knew the stories. Poverty and aggression had wrought itself upon the small towns that dotted the mountain range. Most had prospered for centuries; living off the riches the mountains had to offer, but inevitably the river of gold ran dry. The smart ones left. Those that stayed behind turned into the Tomorrow People, growing more destitute with every passing year; forever believing that the next day would bring them fortune. The next week, the next year would bring them their deliverance.
It didn't.
Forgotten and openly ignored by the government and the rest of the country, the remaining people turned desperate. With no means to feed themselves they turned on each other. Towns against towns; clans against clans; siblings against siblings. Madness reined the Grey Mountains for just short of a decade before it ended in a flurry of firebombs and death.
Very few survived those years and its final crescendo. Those who did fled to the cities or found themselves a home in Erebor, a shining settlement untouched by the war (as they liked to call it, however small it was). That was forty years ago now though and its lesson was gradually being worn away.
Even so, the people of Erebor never forgot.
"Well what are we supposed to do?" someone interjected from the back of the hall. Balin looks grim.
"We invite them in. Clear some land for developers, put the empty homes up for sale, and do everything we can to bring them-" he's interrupted by the men's sudden outbursts of outrage. The hall fills with the noise of angry miners. Dwalin growls menacingly when some of the men begin to insult his brother.
Fili and Kili remain quiet; instead they watch their uncle warily. Thorin stands at the back of the stage now, scowl growing larger and hands clenching and they wait for the inevitable blowout. He fails to disappoint.
"Enough!" he snarls. The hall falls silent, "Enough." He says again, "Balin is right. We need people. This town is dying and we're too stuck in our ways to change it. We need bankers; investors. We need a doctor- hell we even need a fucking grocer! We haven't seen a marriage in this town for a good eight years and a child for even longer. I don't want to see this place turn into a ghost town, and I certainly don't want it to turn into a bloodbath. I don't want to do this anymore than the rest of you; our old ways have protected us for years but they don't anymore. We need to take these steps and we need to take them now!"
With that he steps away, still glowering at the miners as he sits back down in his cheap plastic chair.
The men look humbled. Many are still angry but they keep quiet, seeing the wisdom in Thorin's words.
"What do we need then?" A voice breaks out.
"Or who, more to the point." Another says.
Balin smiles, and takes on from where he left off.
The meeting ends some several hours later, with a definitive list of people with vocations that they absolutely needed, and some slightly-more-than-vague plan to get them here. Fili and Kili, being among the youngest in Erebor, are left to pack away the old wooden benches and sweep the floor. The work rankles them less than it probably should; it's miserable outside and they'd rather wait for the pelting rain to ease before they brave it to their house some ten minutes' walk away.
They're mostly silent as they work. Fili is imagining the changes that will somehow take place (because they must) and how much it will change this little town. Kili is rather overawed but the organisational abilities of Balin and Dwalin (especially Dwalin, whom he's always found rather brusque and only a little intimidating- even if he had grown up with the man) who'd together been the guiding force in the planning of Erebor's redevelopment.
By the time they're done, the rain has in fact stopped and Kili swears he sees a ray of sun punching through the clouds. Their conversation picks up as they walk home.
"It's going to be weird isn't it?" Kili asks. Fili smiles.
"Yeah, but at least it will make the place interesting. Face it- all Erebor has is a bunch of old men and crazy women and a nice set of hot springs. And the mine of course-"
"Which neither of us are interested in."
"Exactly. Who knows; maybe with all of the new people coming in, Ma and Uncle won't be so against me going to uni." Kili smiles in agreement but inwardly he's terrified of the notion of his brother making a life somewhere without him. They walk in silence for a little while before a question that's been bumping at his lips finally bursts through.
"Do you really think we'll manage to get people? We're kind of a way away- I wouldn't have thought we'd find many takers… especially someone like a doctor."
Fili grins suddenly, then laughs, "Kili get your phone out."
"What? What for?" Technology is not a common thing in Erebor- Kili is the only one who owns a mobile phone, and they can count the number of people with a computer on a single hand.
"Because we need someone who can help us… someone with all the right connections." As his smirk grows wider Kili begins to clue in.
"Brother, I don't know if anyone's told you this, but you are brilliant."
"Yes I do think that's come up in more than one conversation." Kili punches him in the arm good naturedly, "Yes, yes, now hurry up and call the man."
Obediently, he pulls out his phone, scrolling through his pathetically small list of numbers to find the one he needs. The dial tone is soft when he puts the phone against his ear.
"Hello?" a man's voice answers, amusement already lacing his tone. Kili grins wickedly.
"Gandalf old man! Fili and Kili here. Listen, the town's finally decided to open itself up and we've got a list of people we rather need…"
The present day.
It was nearing four o'clock by the time they got to Erebor. Poor Gavin had endured two hours of prolonged silence with his silent passenger and Bilbo was trying his hardest not to feel bad for the man who'd been kind enough to wake him when they reached the outskirts of the town.
He had to say, he was rather impressed by the place.
All the homes were made of stone, varying in colours from darkest grey- almost black- to pinky cream and yellows. Most had charming slate roofs (though he did see one or two wooden shingles thrown in too) and were adorned with creeping ivies and intricate stained glass windows. Every home was surrounded by gardens- if you could really call them that- left to run riot, roughly hacked away along stone paths, but otherwise left to their own devices. Obviously gardening was not a top priorty in Erebor.
Which rather made him wonder what exactly was.
Disgraceful gardens aside, Erebor was quite charming by all first impressions. The houses were beautiful, with their carved stone and wood and multitude of lead-light windows that seemed to glow from within. Tarmac roads were nowhere in sight- instead the road was covered with what felt like seamless stone pavers, great oak tree's lining it and bathing their journey in rich golden shadows (the sky had cleared up by the time they'd gotten there). It was as disarmingly beautiful in the flesh as the valley it sat in.
The town centre itself left much to be desired however. In fact, Bilbo wouldn't have even noticed that they'd gone through the middle of the place were it not for the great stone church and the little concrete grocers sitting next to it (the most modern piece of architecture he'd seen so far though still severely out-dated by Shire standards). Some large part of him was left wondering what exactly had possessed him to see fit to move himself to such a backwater town like Erebor. Whilst not a city boy by any means, he was quite used to the luxuries of twenty-first century living and he didn't think he'd seen a car younger than about fifteen years.
For such a tiny town, it took a surprisingly long time to find his house (though that might have been aided by how slow Gavin was driving). Erebor was so off the map that its streets didn't exist on the trucks GPS and they had to drive very slowly past every street in order to see its name, and all Bilbo really knew about his house was that it backed the forest. A trait which half the town seemingly shared.
At least there weren't any other cars on the road for them to annoy.
The garden of number 4 Thrains End was as overgrown and unkempt as the rest of them. Only slightly disheartened, he comforted himself by imagining its eventual transformation from jungle to perfectly civilised cottage garden. At least it would occupy him for a good long while. After all, he hadn't exactly planned on getting a job anytime soon (thanks to his extensive amount of savings), except maybe working at the grocers to fill his time, or even fashioning himself as a gardener for everyone else's ridiculous excuses for yards.
Once again, Bilbo was reminded of how little he'd actually thought this through.
Giant pile of green disappointment notwithstanding, upon spying through the copious amounts of overgrowth, he came to the decision that his house actually looked rather splendid. The stone was a lovely salmon and cream hue, fronted by a red oak door, carved and painted with what looked like a weeping willow pattern (though he couldn't be sure from this distance) and red, green and gold lead work in its little, starburst shaped windows… or maybe it was supposed to be half a daisy? Either way his door was lovely.
It wasn't until he'd actually fought his way through the garden- which had grown completely over what must have once been a stone path- that he realised they have company.
A rather tall, ageing man with a splendid grey beard stands waiting at his door. He wore a long coat of blue-grey wool with a matching twill trilby resting jauntily on his head. In the back of his mind, Bilbo wondered how he'd managed to get to his front door without leaving a trail of destruction through his front garden, but he was honestly more distracted by the pipe the stranger was smoking and his sudden craving for a smoke. Instead he settles for a confused smile and a dignified "Hello."
The stranger smiled broadly, eyes twinkling in the slowly dying light and pushed himself off the wall, "Bilbo Baggins I presume?"
"Ah, yes… and you are…?"
The old man chuckles and takes Bilbo's offered hand, "Gandalf at your service."
"Gandalf! You're the one who got this house at such an excellent price! I must thank you for that sir, it looks absolutely splendid!" Gandalf smile grows even wider, if that were possible and he takes a good long puff on his pipe. The urge for a cigarette grows stronger.
"You're quite welcome, I assure you. But come, you must be travel weary and eager to explore your new home." With that he turns around and opens Bilbo's marvellous door with a flourish.
He steps in with bated breath.
Only to let it out again in a flurry of dust. The house has been uninhabited for a long time, and the white sheets covering the furniture haven't stopped the inevitable accumulation of dust on every available surface. The draft from the opened door has disrupted the fine dust on the floor, setting it back into the atmosphere. When he sneezes from the sudden onslaught of dust in his nose, Gandalf laughs.
"Ah yes… I'd rather forgotten about that. Empty houses do gather a surprising amount of grime. No matter- " he pushes Bilbo outside again, "You deal with the path and I'll deal with the house." He shuts the door on an astonished Bilbo, "There's a machete on the wall!" he hears shouted from the inside. True to his word, there is indeed a dangerous looking knife resting on the stone to the right of his lovely door. It glints menacingly in the twilight.
Resigned, he picks it up; it's not something he's used before and he wonders if perhaps this should be left to a time when the light is fading away. But Gavin is emptying the truck and he doesn't want the man to have to be here any longer than he needs to be. Likely he's booked some place to sleep and would very much like to be there after a full days driving.
After about five minutes of solid work, Bilbo discovers that using a machete to hack mercilessly at the unsuspecting flora is surprisingly enjoyable. After sitting down all day it feels good to be moving, and the gnarled branches and vines falling beneath his knife are an added bonus. The path is cleared in a disappointingly short time and Gandalf re-opens his door at the same time that he stoops to pick up his stereo. Gavin is already walking down the newly cleared path and thanks Gandalf as the man takes the first of many suitcases from his arms.
If only takes about half an hour for the three of them to completely transfer all of Bilbo's things into the house- he had after all, taken very little with him. By the time Gavin shuts the back of the van it's become quite dark and his little cottage is looking very inviting with its lights winking merrily through the stained glass. It suddenly looks like the building is decked in fantastical jewels and Bilbo can't help but fall that little bit more in love with it.
He can only imagine Anaya's reaction when she finds the place. She'd be here in a little over a week after settling business back in the Shire. The girl would likely have a coronary at the sheer fabulosity of the house.
Upon inquiring, Bilbo finds out that Gavin has indeed booked himself a room in Dale for the night, and graciously turns down his offer of staying in his new home. He can hear clattering in the kitchen- which it quite close to the front door- from where he stands at the gate, watching the lights of the van turn around the corner. When he turns back to the house, he can't stop himself from admiring it just a little bit more before turning in.
As he's suspected, Gandalf is indeed pottering away in his kitchen, humming to himself as he heats what looks to be soup on an outdated gas stove. Bilbo thanks the gods for the small mercy of a kitchen that isn't powered purely by firewood, which was something he'd very much feared.
"I took the liberty of filling your pantry and fridge." Gandalf says, still looking at the stove. Bilbo is slightly taken aback by the thoughtfulness of the gesture.
"That's very kind of you. Thank-you… and for the dinner too it would seem." The old man chuckles.
"Yes well, I'm no cook myself. One of the womenfolk made this. Bowls are in there, I believe." He points to the cupboard above the sink. Inside are six porcelain bowls of varied make and four slightly chipped tea cups; obviously well used. He pauses as he takes two bowls out.
He'd known the house was filled with furniture before he'd bought it- it was one of the reasons why he'd taken so little with him. But the little cupboard filled with mismatched plates, bowls and cups suddenly brought home the reality of this house. It had been abandoned for years, by someone who'd not taken any of their possessions with them. Likely they'd died, with no family around to take ownership of the house. The thought weighed heavily on his mind as he puts the bowls down on the bench and Gandalf unceremoniously pours the contents of the pot into only one of them.
"Oh. Aren't you eating?"
"I find nighttime meals spoil my appetite." He replies enigmatically. Bilbo raises an eyebrow at him but the old man doesn't elaborate.
He eats in relatively comfortable silence at the little kitchen table in the middle of the room; Gandalf puffing away at his pipe and filling the room with the rich smell of tobacco and Bilbo itching for a smoke but not quite remembering where he packed them.
Abruptly, his guest puts his pipe away into one of his pockets (Bilbo thinks he should be concerned that the pipe is still lit) and stands.
"I must be off. Things to attend to." He bows at Bilbo; which he finds a little strange but maybe it's just an Erebor thing.
"Oh... Okay. Well good night then. And thank-you for the food."
The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles, but he puts up a hand as Bilbo moves to stand up, "No need. I can show myself out. I wish you a good evening- I shall see you soon I expect."
And on that note, he glides out of the room. The front door shuts softly behind him and Bilbo can hear the man still humming to himself as he walks down the path and into the night.
Bilbo wonders if all the people of Erebor are as strange as Gandalf. If so, he's in for a more interesting life than he'd previously bargained for.
Did a little research into Dwarven history and geography (and by a little research I mean I googled it) and altered it (quite a bit) to fit a modern AU. Hope you Enjoyed it :)
Comments feed my ego ;P