May I give a shout out to my reviewers! I love you for writing to me! It means the world to see that people are actually enjoying this :D A particular shout out to Rina, who suggested making Thranduil a stoner. You have set the building blocks in place for a separate short story from the same universe! I did a little dance in the shower when I came up with it so thankyouu!
now. enjoy!
Chapter Six: Polite Burglars and Inept Gardeners
Sad eyes that follow his every move.
Conversations halted mid-way.
Patients that try to be the doctor.
The following day found Bilbo being woken from his usual grasping nightmare to the unfamiliar sensation of a strange weight on his chest and pinprick topped paws kneading his collarbone.
"Mrrow." Came the loud noise from Wraith, as if his sitting on his chest wasn't enough to bring Bilbo out of his slumber.
He groaned in despair.
"If this is going to be a regular thing with you I regret ever giving you that bowl of food," he moaned as he pushed the cat off and rolled over, pulling the blankets over his head as he did so.
"Mrrow." Came the stereotypical reply, and he felt more than saw, the cat walk over him to push himself underneath the covers. The smell of warm fur and musk filled his nose whilst Wraith settled himself down, curved against his chest. Soft and steady purring reverberated through his neck.
"Insufferable creature." He murmured into his pillow, a small smile touching his lips as he drifted back to sleep.
When he did get up some hours later, the digital clock on his dresser said nine-thirty and the cat was gone. Only the multitude of long black hairs on his pajamas told him that the touching scene of affection hadn't been a dream.
Getting out of bed proved an interesting experience. Whilst gardening wasn't exactly what anyone would classify as 'strenuous,' it was obviously taxing enough to give his admittedly neglected muscles an excuse to protest. His back felt tight and achy and his biceps and pectorals throbbed with every stretch. He told himself it was just his general lack of exercise- he was not getting old. Christ he was only thirty-four, hardly old enough to experience this on a day to day basis.
With only the slightest of grimaces he wraps the thick wool of his dressing gown around him and pads off to the bathroom. Wraith isn't sitting in front of the door, which makes a nice change from yesterday.
When he walks into his kitchen, scratching absently at the back of his sunburnt neck, he finds his table occupied by two men; steaming mugs in front of them, talking quietly to each other. They sit turned away from the doorway and his entrance goes unnoticed. A smug looking Wraith sits in front of an empty food bowl (also on his table).
He should really stop being surprised by this.
"Not even forty-eight hours and already I've been broken into. I would have thought you'd wait at least a month." He says in resignation, leaning against the doorframe.
The men start violently and turn around. They at least have the grace to look guilty. Now that he can see their faces he can see that they're very young. The younger one, with dark brown hair and gaunt-looking eyes doesn't even look like he's twenty. His older companion is blonde, with a carefully groomed moustache that's been plaited at the end. The hair on both of them is impractically long, though at least the blonde makes some attempt to control his with simplistic looking braids.
The blonde grimaces sheepishly, "Well we wouldn't have… but we'd been waiting outside for a good ten minutes before the cat let us in. We figured that was enough permission."
Bilbo raises an eyebrow.
"The cat let you in… I suppose he made you the tea as well," He says flatly. The dark-haired one hides a growing smile behind his mug. Blondie coughs nervously.
"Ah… no. We sort of helped ourselves to that … but he's a smart animal that one- where'd you find him?"
"I didn't. He found me. Yesterday." The brunette snorts before hiding behind his cup again when Bilbo sends him a look.
"Right," says the blonde, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, "Well, I suppose we should introduce ourselves." Bilbo thinks this is a very good idea indeed, "I'm Fili, and this is Kili; my brother. We came here to say hello, not break into your house… but it would seem that you weren't quite awake yet." They stand up, movements strangely synchronized, and give him a shallow bow. He prevents the threatening giggle with a sharp pinch to his elbow.
"Bilbo Baggins." He's inwardly proud of how level his voice comes out.
"Ah, yes-" says the brunette, Kili.
"We know." Finishes Fili.
Bilbo grimaces again, "The sign. Right, I need to do something about that."
Kili's tilt of the head is remarkably bird-like, "You mean you're not a doctor?" he asks innocently. Fili looks like he wants to shut his brother up.
Bilbo frowns, "No, not really."
"Why not?" Fili really looks like he wants to shut his brother up now.
"How long have you been waiting for me to get up?" he changes the subject clumsily, but it gets the point across. The brothers sit down as he crosses the room to find the eggs and a pan. Absently, Bilbo dwells on the benefits of getting some chickens.
"Not long-"
"-Only half an hour."
"And then there was the ten minutes waiting outside-"
"-So it's probably more like three quarters on an hour."
"I see," says Bilbo, frowning into the pan. The brothers speak almost in unison, knowing exactly what the other will say. It's a surreal experience, and one he'd heard only rarely even occurred amongst twins- and identical ones at that. These boys are not twins- Fili's face is too round to match Kili's sharp angles and darkened eyes and Kili too tall and thin to match his brother's stocky build. Though their eyes do glitter in that remarkable way that only cheery old men and trickster's children do, so they share that likeness at least.
"Are you hungry then?" the brothers nod fervently.
"Famished-"
"-Starving." Bilbo nods sagely.
"Pancakes?" they look at him as though he'd suddenly shown them the path to salvation.
"I think we're going to like you Mister Baggins." Breathes Kili, something like worship in his brown eyes.
"And I, you Master Kili. But only if you find me a mixing bowl and some flour." The boy nods some more and leaps up, wrenching open cupboard doors as if his life depended on it. Fili watches his brother with amused eyes before turning to Bilbo again.
"That was very cunning of you sir, to win us over with food." He winks before moving to the fridge to pull out the milk.
"No one ever said the son of a Took could ever be anything less."
As expected, the pancakes went down well, with liberal sprinklings of sugar and lemon juice. The boys- as Bilbo was now want to call them- praised him enormously for his pancake-making skills, and teased each other even more so for their own failed attempts at flipping; most of which ended up broken or in the sink.
Because it was a Saturday (Bilbo having arrived in Erebor on the Thursday) much of the town would still be expected to be in bed or lazily reading the morning papers sent in the night before from Dale. Whilst never openly inviting him, the brothers covertly sent hints that their day was free. Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Bilbo seized on the opportunity and enlisted them in his war against the overgrown garden. They looked dubious, but nevertheless agreed to join him with the usual vigor that youth brings to new experiences.
Because this is a new experience; he can tell that now- watching them ponder over the benefits of a gardening hoe and the alternative uses for hedging shears. Which does not include, in case one was wondering- an economical multi-tool for clipping beards, chopping vegetables or –and he can't help but cringe at that suggestion- circumcision. They are "for gardening only!" and he promptly confiscates them- though not without the most ridiculous puppy-eyes from Kili.
Questionable theories for gardening implements aside, they immerse themselves in his garden with surprising enthusiasm and energy. They happily take direction from Bilbo, and even better do what he asks them to- as opposed to providing a sullen nod and completely ignoring his advice. The youngsters from the Shire could probably take a leaf or two out of their book.
Of course, saying that one involves themselves with great enthusiasm is not- unfortunately- synonymous with sudden and inexplicable talent. The boys share between them the skills and finesse of a blind gopher. He's seen three year old children from the Shire with more awareness than these two, but he can't fault the lads for trying.
Even if Kili does hack down half the butterfly bush before Bilbo realizes.
In the end he sets them free on the eastern corner of the garden, dominated by brambles which need to go anyway. He can't imagine any garden plants surviving under that inhospitable thicket of thorns and dead wood.
They go at it for about an hour, maybe longer; Bilbo slowly but surely working his way through the mess of seedlings around the old apple tree, Fili and Kili enthusiastically destroying everything in their path, safely confined to their designated corner. Eventually though the boys get tired- or hungry- or both- and Kili asks in a deliberately weedy voice if they can stop now. He accedes, mostly because he's surprised they lasted that long in the first place. It's just as warm today as the day before, and there's nothing Bilbo would like more than an icy cold drink ( preferably with some sort of alcohol in it) and a nap. Unfortunately for Bilbo, it's only midday; entirely too early for alcohol and he'd rather not have his first impression for the town to be that of a lush.
Instead he finds them a bottle of lemonade- warm, unfortunately, however the freezer miraculously has ice in it (it holds very little else mind you). They sit contentedly in his kitchen; Wraith is stretched along the windowsill above the sink (which overlooks an as of yet untouched expanse of brambles) and a bumble-bee buzzes pleasantly in the background. The sun- reflecting off some unseen object- infuses the room in dappled golden light and Bilbo is happy to just sit there and enjoy the moment of tranquility and companionship (however brief) for what it is.
Fili and Kili, being young and still so full of life, are less so. They drain their glasses well before Bilbo even reaches the half-way mark. Kili fidgets with the edge of his shirt. Fili is studying Bilbo out of the corner of his eye. He's arguing with himself about something. Something about him- he can see it in the press of his lips and the not so covert glances from his glass, to himself, then back to the glass again. A finger makes an effort to tap before it's aborted.
"Spit it out."
"Ah- What?" Fili looks startled.
"Whatever it is you're thinking about. You want to ask me something- well go ahead, I won't bite." Whether I'll reply however is another thing entirely.
"What brought you to Erebor, Mister Baggins?" the words are blurted from Kili, his attention fixed on Bilbo.
"Bilbo. Call me Bilbo, please." The 'Mister Baggins was my father' goes unsaid. There's something like acknowledgement in Fili's eyes when he nods, but they give no room for backing out. He turns away- gathers his thoughts as he watches the gentle rise and fall of Wraith's chest.
"I guess… the Shire just didn't feel like home anymore." He turns back to the boys, "So we went looking for a new one."
"We?" Kili's forehead creases in confusion. Bilbo laughs half-heartedly.
"Anaya and I. She hasn't arrived yet- she said she'd be here in about a week.
"It was her idea, actually, to move. I probably would have just stayed in the Shire the rest of my life, but she wanted us to leave. In the end I agreed." Mostly to piss her off. Kili tilts his head in the birdlike way again.
"What's the Shire like?"
Bilbo looks up at the ceiling in thought, "It's large… well, bigger than Erebor at any rate. And orderly, I suppose… gardens have to be a certain way for it to be respectable… and possessions always have to be cleaned to perfection… heh, I remember this one time I forgot to clean my car after a trip down to Bree- Lobelia wouldn't talk to me for a week- I made it a point not to clean the thing after that.
"The people are polite, for the most part, and very generous- even to those they don't like, or disapprove of. But they're also unimaginative and rigid- too firmly set in their ways to welcome change… or differences." He can't hide the slight tone of resentment in his voice in the last part. Mercifully, Fili and Kili don't notice- or if they do, they don't mention it.
"That sounds… nice." Kili's face screws up on the 'nice'.
Bilbo snorts and spreads out in the uncomfortable wooden chair. He's about to make some waspish remark about the close-mindedness of the Shire-folk when his foot brushes against something heavy and metal. It makes a dull scraping sound as he pushes it away.
The cellar.
He sits up, sliding off the chair to kneel on the ground.
"Bilbo?" comes Fili's confused voice from above. Bilbo ignores him and studies the trapdoor. It's made of some heavy wood, worn smooth by years of being stood on (the table was probably not here until recently, he'd say), the iron handle clean and in the same curiously pristine condition as the tools in his shed- despite the lack of any oily residue which should have kept it in good knick. There's nothing on the door- no carvings, or stains, or unsightly gouges- to suggest anything marvelous about it, except for the fact that it is a trapdoor, which is marvelous enough in and of itself.
Kili slides off his chair to join him, intrigued.
"Oh." He says in disappointment, "It's just a cellar door Bilbo- nothing exciting about it." Fili has come down at this point and looks equally disappointed.
Bilbo looks at the boy as if he's said something incredibly stupid- which, to be fair, in Bilbo's mind is exactly what he'd just done.
"Kili. This not just a door to a cellar. This is a trapdoor into my cellar. In a house that's not been lived in for decades." Their eyes light up at the realization, "Don't you want to know what's down there? There's crockery in the cupboards, cutlery in the drawers and it contains almost all of its original furniture- this house was abandoned, with pieces of its old life just left to stagnate- what makes you think its cellar would be any different?"
"Mister Baggins," says Fili with a twinkling in his eyes that belies the seriousness of his voice. Bilbo knows that look- he's seen it on his Took cousins enough to know that it promises trouble of the best kind- and, occasionally, the worst, "I would suggest very strongly that you move away from the table. I cannot guarantee your safety when we wrench it away to get to this door." Kili is grinning like a madman and offers no reassurances.
Wisely Bilbo backs away awkwardly on his hands and knees. He stands up and leans against the bench to watch the brothers leap up and drag the heavy wooden table unapologetically across the floor. The noon-day light shines dappled on the surface of the trapdoor. He wonders briefly how long it had been since it last felt sunlight.
The door is large- perhaps about a meter square- and seems to be made of one single piece of wood. Its weight is confirmed when Kili cries out.
"Bloody hell! That's heavier than the one at home!" Fili just grunts and together they manage to tug the trapdoor open.
The boys are panting slightly as they stand back to admire their handiwork. Bilbo moves forward- trying to get a better view of the room below his house. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Wraith standing at the edge of the bench; his twitching, swishing tail reveals the feline's unease at the rising smell of must and abandoned rooms.
"Do you know who used to live here?" he asks quietly, eyes not leaving the square of darkness on his kitchen floor.
"No," says Fili, staring down into the depths himself, "this place has been empty for as long as I can remember- even longer than that, most probably."
"Dwalin says that a lot of these houses were abandoned not long after the mess in Ered Mithrin … that there'd been a lot of disappearances… maybe this was one of them," remarks Kili.
Bilbo gulps nervously. Things have suddenly gotten a whole lot more sinister.
He can see about five steps down, but no further. It feels almost as if the darkness envelops his feet when he takes a cautious down onto the first stone stair. He stops and turns to the boys.
"We need a light I think. Do either of you have a torch or a light- oh wait!" he fumbles around in his pockets until triumphantly he pulls out his old zippo lighter. It's seen better days, but still works a dream. Kili pulls out his phone and Fili works his way through the kitchen draws until he pulls out a box of matches and a long-necked gas lighter. He pockets both of them.
Suitably equipped, Bilbo descends. It grows noticeably colder as he goes down- the lighter a burst of warmth on his fingers and against his face. The brothers are not far behind him when he reaches the bottom. The combined brightness of their lights brings the room into poorly defined view.
The thing that surprises him first is that it's actually quite large- by his standard definition of a cellar anyway. It seems to be about as big as the kitchen directly above, with a dirt floor and stone walls. The wooden ceiling above their heads is rather low however; the wooden support beams only just above Kili's head- the tallest of their little group. Cobwebs litter every available nook and cranny and the dust is even worse down here than it had been above two days prior. Half the room is dominated by sturdy wooden shelves, mostly bare but for a few empty jars and several dusty bottles of wine. The other half holds a desk- strewn with paper- and an empty bookcase.
Curious, he walks over to the desk. Much of the paper is blank, but he sees a few covered in intricate, spidery handwriting. Some of it is even in glyphs and there are more than a few scrawled with runes in the margins. He picks up a loose wad of sheets and inspects them under the wavering light of his zippo- they're dry, made of some slightly thicker than normal paper that feels soft and creamy to the touch. They're also remarkably well preserved for what he supposes is their age... a lot like much of the things in his house actually. Underneath the paper he finds a book, bound in maroon leather with chipped gold leaf detailing in the corners. It has no title.
Bilbo puts the paper down and carefully starts to clear the book of its surrounding mess. When he holds the lighter closer to the book he can see that its cover is heavily scratched, as if it had been dropped several times. He's just about to open it when they hear a distant knocking and muted "Hello? Bilbo you in there?"
He suddenly remembers that Bofur had promised to come over today- with all the fuss with his 'burglars' he'd straight out forgotten. He glances back at Fili and Kili, who had up 'til then been studying the ancient contents of the jars with a sort of morbid fascination, "That will be Bofur," he says quietly. Their faces light up and then they're thundering up the stairs and into the kitchen, racing each other to the front door. Bilbo follows them at a more sedate pace, giving the musty cellar one last look before he reaches the top. The darkness fills the room again; musty and cloying.
"Bofur!" he hears the twin exclamations and smiles, going into his front room to greet his new guest.
At the bottom of his cellar, in a darkened corner the old book in its worn leather binding lies forgotten. A breeze from above rustles across the strewn pages like the wandering hand of a child before stuttering and dying with a quiet hshaaa.
The cellar in the old house on Thrains End falls silent once more.
You have no idea how much I hate writing Bilbo's name. If you ever see him spelt like Bilibo- it's because that's what my fingers automatically do on a keyboard with his name. Drives meup the wall!
Reviews feed my ravenous ego ;)