Chapter Five: Toymakers and Garden Tools
Darkened corridors in bleached whites.
Stiff sheets hide frozen lives.
Empty hearts and shattered glass.
It took Bilbo all of an hour to feel incredibly guilty for his less than gracious expulsion of Balin and Dwalin. As it was, he'd felt the stirrings of remorse in his gut the moment he'd shut the door on them. It didn't take long at all for him to start seriously regretting his flagrant disregard for any modicum of hospitality- shaky as their claim was at the receiving end. One would have thought twenty-nine years of life in the Shire would have shaped him into a better host than that.
Irregardless of his less than stellar hospitality, there was no good in dwelling on the past. Instead he channeled his frustration into bettering his appearances to his neighbors and promised himself to be infinitely more polite to the next brusque strangers that help themselves to his home.
In other words, he started work on the garden; which was a disgrace and needed to be remedied as quickly as possible. After standing in the beginnings of his hastily cut path from the night previously, he decided that most of what remained of somebody's tenderly cared for garden (that is, if it had ever been cared for at all) was a lost cause and most of the plants would have to be replaced. There was a rambling rose growing along the right-hand fence that looked salvageable with a great deal of pruning, and there were a number of lupins running rampant through the left half of the garden that could be spectacular with a judicious bit of culling. The well-established apple tree looked a bit scraggly but could maybe polish up come next summer- though its numerous offspring (born thanks to neglect) would have to go. But the mass of brambles that smothered almost everything (and in some places grew over his head) would have to go. And he wasn't sure about that butterfly bush either.
It was fortunate that Gandalf had left the machete by the door, because Bilbo hadn't thought to take any gardening tools with him; an unfortunate lack of foresight on his part. He spent the next hour and a half hacking mercilessly away at the brambles closest to the path he'd made last night. If the growing multitude of scratches on his arms were anything to go by, they didn't appreciate the unsolicited attack. The sun shone down, hot and bright and undoubtedly burning the back of Bilbo's neck. Sweat dripped into his eyes, making them sting uncomfortably. He told himself it was all a necessary evil.
By the time he found the shed, the sun was beginning to dip down to the horizon. It was hidden away in a corner of the garden, leaning up against the stone wall surrounding the house. He wouldn't have noticed it at all were it not for a wisteria vine- partly strangled by brambles- growing unusually high and heavy thanks to its support. Thus the next hour was spent slowly making his way towards the shed because surely it had some selection of gardening tools stored away inside. The rest of the house had been left habitable after all so why would a little garden shed be any different?
When he did reach it, the sun had reached that spot in the sky somewhere between midday and sunset. Given that it was summer, he marked it as being somewhere close to four o'clock. His prodigious appetite momentarily forgotten by the victory of reaching the shed, he set about tearing away at the tendrils of intertwined wisteria and blackberry. Several more cuts and some particularly vicious curses later, he cleared enough space to open the door. The padlock was all but rusted through, but the iron hinges looked unscathed by the passage of time.
A few hard knocks with the butt of the machete dealt with the lock and a good yank dragged the door open. Inside the shed was gloomy, thanks to the mass of plant life growing over the grimy little window on the back wall. When his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw that there was an impressively tall pile of teetering ceramic pots sitting in one corner and a multitude of gardening tools in the other; their metal miraculously untouched by the years of neglect. The floor was dusty, long dead leaves strewn across its surface.
"It's been a while since that shed's been opened." States an unfamiliar voice behind him. Bilbo very nearly lets out an unmanly shriek. As it is he jumps violently, swiftly turning about face to see the speaker. A smiling man- perhaps ten years older than Bilbo- stands a little way from the main path. His eyes twinkle in a suspiciously similar way to Gandalf's and he sports a ridiculous looking hunter's cap with the flaps folded up and a rich brown mustache the curls up at the ends to match.
"Been a while since anyone's bothered to do the gardening around here too I suppose." The stranger carries on. His lips seem to be in a constant state of quirkiness, always about to leap up into a boyish grin.
The man suddenly remembers his manners and bows, "Bofur, at your service." He says solemnly. Bilbo represses the urge to laugh at the gesture.
"Bilbo Baggins, at yours." He replies in the same formal manner, though he can't help the smile that tugs at his lips. Bofur grins, all thoughts of ritual now forgotten.
"So tell me Mister Baggins. Why are you gardening? It's not to keep up appearance is it? Because I'd daresay the plants are managing to do that quite fine by themselves."
Bilbo bristles, "Well I can certainly see that! Imagine! All these beautiful houses and not a single tended bed or cleared path amongst the lot of them! It's disgraceful!" Bilbo is too heated to notice the removal of his decency filter until the words have already escaped from his mouth. He blushes in embarrassment and hopes he hasn't offended the man.
Bofur just smiles crookedly, not unfazed in the least, "It's been a long time since we've had the chance to do any form of upkeep. Mining eats up the time for many of us." He says in defence.
Bilbo smiles absently, not really sure what to say, "Well, it's rather tempting to become the town gardener," is what he opts for, "Honestly, I don't know how you expect to make an impression on investors when you don't even care about the maintenance of your yards."
Bofur raises an eyebrow, "Not a doctor, Mister Baggins?"
"Now, see here!" he points the machete at Bofur in indignation, "I don't know where you lot got the idea that I'm your doctor, but you can banish the thought! I am not, nor will I ever be, your doctor!"
Bofur raises his hands in acquiescence, "Well it might well be that pretty looking sign over there sticking thoughts into our heads." He point behind him.
"What are you talking about? There no…. sign." Bilbo pushes past Bofur and trails off.
There is indeed a sign, all shiny and pretty and new, now attached to his front door. In fine engraved letters the words Bilbo Baggins, Resident General Practitioner stare back at him.
"Wh-What? I don't understand… when did this even get h-
"Gandalf!" Bilbo does not shriek, "That meddling bastard! I'll bet this is all his doing! My beautiful door!" he moans in despair.
Bofur flips his head back and laughs heartily. Bilbo swings around, "Don't you laugh! This is serious! I am not Erebor's doctor- nor anyone's for that matter." His machete swings around as he gesticulates furiously, "And just look at what he's gone and done to my beautiful door!" He turns back on Bofur as an idea slips into his mind, "You'd best not be here to try and convince me. Because I won't I tell you- I absolutely refuse!"
Bofur's laugher has subsided by now and he shakes his head in placation, eyes not nearly wary enough for all Bilbo's posturing with his giant knife.
"I just came here to meet the newest addition to Erebor actually… and hopefully make friends."
Bilbo stares suspiciously for a moment before the sheepishness sets in.
"Right… yes, well… ah hello…"
Bofur laughs. It seems to come easily to him- Bilbo almost envies the man.
"Aye, hello to you too. Now, fancy some help with your gardening?"
Bilbo gives him a good hard look of appraisal, then remembers the time.
"Tea first, then work."
Bofur, it turned out, was one of the miners of Erebor. He'd recently been made one of the overseer's he told Bilbo proudly- though it was mostly because of the free beer they offered him at the pub. He lived with his cousin Bifur, who could no longer work in the mine thanks to an accident several years ago that rendered him unable to speak full sentences- amongst. He now worked part time at the grocers with Bofur's younger brother Bombur.
Bofur informed him, in a conspiratory tone over the rim of his teacup that his brother was of extremely generous proportions, and that he suspected half the goods that went into the grocers were actually destined for his brother's pantry. Bifur was yet to confirm his suspicions however.
Bilbo found himself liking Bofur more and more as the day turned into night- the promise of gardening forgotten now that he'd sat down with tea and some decent company. He was warm and jovial, with a propensity for blurting things out without first thinking them through. The only time things got remotely uncomfortable was when Bofur asked about his move.
It was a reasonable question really. But Bilbo was so used to people tip-toeing over a subject that they knew all about that when asked he was stumped. The silence stretched on awkwardly as he looked for a halfway decent answer. Bofur looked like he'd started to regret his question, obviously reading between the lines. In the end, he settled for a weak "The Shire no longer felt like home," before changing the subject to Bofur's hobbies. Which apparently included smoking a pipe and carving wooden toys that he sold in Dale once a month.
And so the moment passed without casualties and the night went on; tea turning into beer, then two, then three. It was almost nine by the time his guest actually left, complimenting Bilbo on the hastily prepared meal of sausages and mash and the beer and promising to come over to do some actual gardening tomorrow afternoon. Bilbo was left feeling more warm and content when his guest left that he'd felt in the past three months combined.
He settled down in front of his empty fireplace- Gandalf's foresight did not extend further than a full pantry- with a book and another mug of tea. Wraith had helped himself into the house at some point and miraculously didn't start annoying him for dinner (which was nice for Bilbo, but he tried not to think of the little bird or mammal that had likely been his meal). Instead the cat jumped onto Bilbo's lap and then climbed up his chest to sleep on the head of his slightly musty smelling armchair.
He'd only made it halfway through his tea when the drooping of his eyelids became too much however. The day had certainly been full on and if felt strange to believe that he'd barely been in Erebor twenty-four hours. Besides that, he was starting to feel uncomfortably cool. With a great groan he pushed himself up and stumbled off to the bathroom for a long, hot shower and what he hoped would be a long and uneventful night's sleep.
And whi lst he told himself he didn't want any more funny business like that of today, with Gandalf and Balin and Dwalin, he couldn't fight the cautiously hopeful feeling that maybe his time in Erebor wouldn't be that bad. It wouldn't be normal, he could tell that already, but maybe it wouldn't end up being hell on Earth either.
And who knows, he might even enjoy it after a while.
Reviews warm the cockles of my heart. Honest ;P