A/N: Didn't get as far as I wanted because it was getting long. Still, here it is. I hope it measures up to your expectations.

There is one song in this chapter, you'll know when it starts.

So go to YouTube and search Beltaine: Sunrise and you should find it right at the top of the list.

The Shire – 3: Shire Dawn

"-. .-"

Even though most dwarves did it all the time, there was only one type of situation when Balin, Son of Fundin, could be caught snorting like a boar, and that was when he was abruptly woken up from sleep for whatever reason. He didn't even have to be in a deep, snore-filled sleep either. A light doze would do. Just startle him by making physical contact and poof, there he goes.

Which had just happened.

Or not, his sluggish mind told him. He'd woken up by himself when he was about to slip off the edge of the table he'd fallen asleep at. The physical contact with another living being had come right after, and prevented him from face-planting into that surprisingly comfortable-looking carpet.

Maybe he should have brought an armchair instead of a normal seat when he got settled in front of the stationery in Bag End's main sitting room. Surely, the home would have helped move it if he'd asked nicely enough.

Blinking his sleepiness away, the white-haired dwarf was dimly aware of being pushed back into a semblance of balance. There was also something odd about his right hand, and when he looked at it he understood why. He was still holding the quill in it, though it wasn't really an accurate assessment. The only reason he hadn't dropped it was because another hand had taken a hold of his and maintained the grip when it had slipped past the edge of the table.

The dwarf gave himself a shake.

"Easy there, Master Balin," Bilbo Baggins voiced from right behind him. The named dwarf finally noticed the feel of the hobbit's other hand on his shoulder, keeping him steady. "We wouldn't want your diligent work to be ruined by accidentally spilling the ink pot."

Balin craned his neck to look at the hobbit's face, then followed his gaze back to the table, to the left, where his left hand was just a hair's breath away from the item in question, which was teetering dangerously on the edge of the folded part of the contract he'd been rewriting.

The final remnants of sleep departed, allowing the dwarf to remember how he'd come to be in that position. There wasn't much to recall really. After the disastrous end to the first reading of the contract they'd given the hobbit, Gandalf had followed him out as requested. Thorin thought that meant he could finally pull away from the table, but the chair still didn't budge. Kili and Fili got up to help, and when their collaborative efforts failed to move the chair, Dori was called, then Oin and Gloin.

Still no luck.

Until Dwalin rolled his eyes, got up and made his way over, shoving Fili and Oin out of the way.

The instant he grabbed the arm of the chair and, along with the others there, pulled with all his might, it flipped backwards as if there was nothing holding it in place at all.

Balin knew Thorin would deny shrieking in fright to the end of his days.

The whole scene had concluded with a pile of dwarves groaning in pain from underneath or above the piece of furniture, which was when Balin approached, looked down at his King and wryly said he'd get on with writing a new draft of the contract, "just in case, aye laddie?"

He'd proceeded to do just that, paying only the barest smidgen of attention to everything else happening around him after he got everything ready for the new draft of the contract to be written. He would have even used his own supplies, but the moment he set the parchment on the desk, the drawer pulled out on its own to reveal a full set of goose feather quills, as well as a swan feather quill for larger lettering.

And three different inkpots, in blue, red and green.

Balin remembered sitting down and peering at the contents of the drawer for a good minute. If his assumption was correct that that wasn't even the main set of writing tools in the house, he could probably stamp "scholar" on Bilbo Baggins in addition to cook, gardener, musician and aristocrat (insofar as the Shire even had aristocracy).

Suddenly, the term "gentlehobbit" began to make a lot more sense.

He was debating "wizard" but wasn't sure if this "living home" business wasn't something all hobbits had going.

And wasn't that a scary (and amazing) thought?

Balin didn't remember falling asleep, but he suspected it happened because of how much and well he'd eaten and drunk that evening. Even his recollections of the stilted and whispered conversation (growling session really) between Thorin and Dwalin was just a faded thing in his head now. He thought Fili and Kili had tried to smooth things over, but they totally failed because they were still enamored with their host. So their "explanations" as to where things went wrong ended up as "explanations" of what Thorin did wrong.

And they sung of the hobbit's praises, because Mahal, the juggling! And the food! And the knives!

And the juggling!

Alas, Balin became totally immersed in the task of rewriting that document and didn't pay more attention. Then he fell asleep at some point and, now, there he was, being held up by a Hobbit that always (well, mostly) knew what was going on in his home and used that awareness to be the best host possible.

The dwarf really was surprised their host was still so amiable. He thought Bilbo Baggins could have rightfully thrown them out of his home after how the meal concluded. He was no fool, the contract barely figured into the hobbit's aggravation, no matter what he said. It was Thorin that had angered him, and Balin really couldn't ignore the fact that dwarves had gone to war over much lesser slights that the ones Thorin had inflicted, and sometimes for no rightful reason at all.

Balin did sometimes wonder where all the diplomacy and etiquette lessons he gave Thorin ended up. Because, clearly, the king-in-exile had drawn on none of them during that evening.

Bilbo Baggins released his writing hand and walked around Balin and his chair to pluck the inkpot and move it away from the half-finished new contract. "Come, Master Balin, your bedchamber for the night awaits."

Balin hoped that meant he was still considering traveling with them. He didn't say that though. "Apologies, Master Baggins. What time is it, do you reckon?"

"Oh, half an hour before midnight or thereabouts." The desk had been tidied up and the new contract neatly folded. Huh. That was quick. "I will set up a bath for you, like I did for the others, since I know I never go without one after a long time on the road. In the meantime, there is some hot apple cider on the table over there. It should chase away any chill from the rainfall that caught you earlier today, if any."

Balin didn't miss the "long time on the road" part and stared after the hobbit until he was out of the room.

Finally heaving himself up from his seat and stretching, he covered a yawn and trudged over to the small tea table in the corner, where the princes were also indulging in the hot beverage. Their curious but pleased expressions reminded the old dwarf that Fili and Kili never had the drink before, hot or otherwise. Balin himself had only rarely encountered it, but he remembered it well enough to know he liked it.

"I assume the others have turned in?" Balin asked as he settled himself across from them. Ah, it felt good to finally see outsiders use furniture that was the right size. Actually, it was a bit smaller, and wasn't that hilarious?

"Yep!" That was Kili. And he opened his mouth to say something more, but-

"Well, not everyone," Fili said. "Dwalin and uncle left a while ago, said they were going to spend the night out and have a 'talk.' Nori left not long after for some reason."

"Yes, thank you Fili, I would have gotten there," Kili said mulishly, as though the question had only been directed at him and not the both of them. "Anyway, everyone else is in bed. This place has lots of rooms, and everyone went to bed really fast. I think it was the hot bath that did them in. And the beds." Kili sighed and slouched in his chair. "Mahal, they're so soft. And the sheets were so smooth and warm. I tried them out." And didn't he sound dreamy. "It felt like getting a hug."

Balin blinked.

"Funny, though," Fili said, absently swishing his glass of steaming cider. "When we mentioned that, Dwalin went from angry red to pale yellow in like, a second. Then he grabbed uncle and dragged him out the door as if wargs were on their tail, yelling something about one last 'guy's night out.' I could have sworn they were going to sleep here like the rest of us until that point. It was the strangest thing."

Balin covered his amusement with his glass. "Don't mind them, lads. Dwalin just went to… disabuse your uncle of certain notions before anything more was said and done." The cider burned as it went down, but it felt wonderful. Like a piece of hot coal warming him from the inside. "Although I agree that could have easily been done here instead of going for a walk through fresh mud."

"It was the strangest thing," Kili agreed.

"Yeah, it's not like Mister Bilbo would have kicked them out. Although…" Fili pondered, cider finished. "… the house did almost eat uncle. Maybe he didn't want to incite its wrath twice in the same day."

"Then your uncle's a smart man," Bilbo said as he came through the parlor entrance. "Though he would have been in no real danger here, Bag End would no doubt have made sure he suffered its… displeasure."

"Its displeasure?" Fili looked honestly curious. "How exactly?"

"Oh, you know," Bilbo Baggins waved breezily. "Probably by keeping him stuck inside his room in the morning for a while, tripping him as often as possible, having the bath water go from hot to ice cold with him inside, that sort of thing." The hobbit looked at them seriously. "Please understand, that we hobbits don't hold grudges. The fact you all follow Thorin Oakenshield and you, his nephews, clearly love him means there is probably a really likeable part in there somewhere."

Well, that was mollifying enough, Balin thought.

Bilbo still had something to say though. "But Bag End was really enthusiastic about you dwarves until he arrived, yet it takes any slight against me very personally. Especially deliberate insults. So you see, it's not just that it became upset with rude uninvited guests on my behalf. It's that the leader of your company also ruined its opinion of dwarves. Bag End is feeling really disillusioned right now." He looked at the princes. "It doesn't help that it blames your uncle for Dwalin leaving. It likes Dwalin, even more than it likes you two. Eru knows why."

Ignoring the princes' somewhat crestfallen looks at not being considered the most loveable, Balin winced, though the revelation did explain some of his brother's skittishness.

Unfortunately, Bilbo caught his reaction and addressed him. "That said, I believe Master Dwalin might have been needlessly put on edge by my home's somewhat overbearing treatment of him." The eldest of the 13 dwarves wondered if Bilbo Baggins realized how close to a nervous breakdown Dwalin had actually come that night. "If you could inform me on when and how it would be best to approach him to make amends, I would appreciate it. Perhaps you can advise me on the way to the washroom?"

Balin, having finished his drink, stood and walked with the hobbit, providing the necessary information. Sleep was creeping back in – the drink was working fast – but he got through the bath (bubble bath, shockingly enough) easily, though he noticed the water never did seem to cool down, so he soaked longer than he would have otherwise. Once he was done, he was surprised to find large towels and a comfy enough bath robe waiting to be put on.

Excellent host indeed.

Balin had never paid more than the minimum attention to those stories about apparitions luring travelers into a false sense of security with a good meal and a comfortable rest, only to kill them in their sleep for whatever reason. If Gandalf hadn't been there to vouch for things, Balin would have considered the possibility that he was going through something of the sort.

And there he went, sounding like Dwalin the mistrustful.

When he finally emerged from the steamy washroom, Balin retraced his steps to the parlor, meaning to finish the contract. It had gone dark, though, with the oil lamps turned off, and he found Bilbo Baggins and Gandalf there, sitting across from one another and making smoke rings. Well, if they could even be called smoke rings. Gandalf had a few floating around his head sure enough, making him look fairly sorcerous in the dim light of the hearth on the other side of the room. But that was nothing compared to the floating battleship gliding slowly towards the hobbit.

Bilbo puffed his pipe, and the smoke that came out of it formed into a tumultuous sea surface beneath the ship. Then, a finger tap on the pipe bowl was the cue for the large arms of a kraken to burst through the surface and twine around the doomed boat.

Gandalf frowned exaggeratedly as he beheld the ship being slowly being destroyed and swallowed by the grey depths. "Very violent of you, Bilbo."

"Says the one that was going to ram a ship in my face."

"Naturally," Gandalf puffed another smoke ring, and this one shapeshifted into a large dragon as big as his hat, wherever it was.

Bilbo leaned back in his seat and took a deep breath, then exhaled it, slowly, through his pipe. The smoke came together into a sharply detailed ship that looked as if it was meant to fly in the sky.

Gandalf's eyebrows had raised near his hairline. "The Vingilótë …"

Balin thought it sounded vaguely familiar. He must have come across the word in his early days as a scribe and chronicler.

The ship melted as if the world was zooming in, and then the image was of a Man on the front deck (at least Balin thought it was a man) staring up at the large, angry form of the dragon. He brandished a sword in one hand, and a large spear in the other, then threw the latter.

The dragon was run through the mouth just as it was about to spit fire. The spear was laughably small compared to it (it seemed to Balin like the creature was large enough to crush mountains under its bulk), but the hit must have gone through its brain or spine, because the dragon fell. A dead weight that plummeted through the air, until it burst into simple smoke when it hit the tabletop.

"So you do know the tale," Gandalf murmured, sounding quite impressed.

"Eärendil the Mariner, husband of Elwing, son Tuor and Idril," Bilbo answered. "Eärendil The Blessed, Azrubêl, Bright Star of High Hope, Lord of Arvernien."

Gandalf gazed at the hobbit for a long time, but he had his back to the hearth, so his eyes were only seen when the embers in his pipe flared enough to cast light upon his face. Balin had totally set aside his initial plans. He didn't want to disturb them, but he didn't feel like leaving either, so he just stayed at the door.

But of course the Hobbit knew he was there. "Master Balin," he greeted, getting up. "I will show you to your room if it pleases you."

"My thanks, laddie – I mean master Baggins-"

"Call me whatever you are most comfortable with."

"… fair enough. But I'm afraid I can't go to sleep just yet. I have to finish the contract if we're going to leave in the morning as intended." Then he realized how presumptuous that sounded. "Not that we weren't paying attention to what you said! Stone no, we won't force you into anything of course, and we'll understand if you've been soured to the idea of traveling in our company, but I can assure you Thorin isn't that bad once you get to know him-"

"Master Balin," Bilbo interrupted, taken aback. "You plan to leave in the morning?"

Balin blinked, unsure why he'd reacted that way to that specific part of his statement. "Well… yes. That was always the plan."

Bilbo peered at him, as if concerned for his health. "So… you all traveled different paths, and only met today after Eru knows how many days on the road without rest or good food, and you intend to leave immediately…"

"We're hardy folk, master Baggins. Dwarves are made for long treks. It's a benefit of the endurance Mahal created us with."

"… You all met here in the hopes of finding a burglar… and expected that the hobbit, whom none of you even knew beforehand, would be willing to abandon everything he had here so suddenly after just a few hours of getting acquainted with 13 strangers of a different race and culture?" Well, no need to make it sound that absurd, surely. "And you weren't even planning on giving him even a measly day to set his affairs in order?"

Balin grimaced at the utterly stupefied tone of voice. "Well, when you put it like that…:"

Bilbo sighed and ducked his head, rubbing his face. "Master Balin… I can assure you that, reasonable contract or no, there is no way you'll be getting a fourteenth member by morning." He lifted his eyes back to meet his. "Call me crazy but I think that any sane person would, I don't know, want to visit the Mayor and the Thain, leave behind a will, talk to people about who will take care of their home and possessions in case they don't, in fact, die by evisceration or incineration. Or are you telling me that all 13 of you just suddenly decided to leave on the quest and dropped everything you were doing one day and went out the door, never looking back?"

This time, Balin definitely cringed. Actually, they had all had at least a week to get ready. "I see your point," he admitted. He'd never felt sheepish since before Smaug, but it figured the experience would come from the unlikeliest of sources. "You are right, we were all terribly presumptuous."

"I'm glad we cleared that up," the hobbit said. "Now, you look like you're about to sway on your feet." And without any worry, the hobbit wrapped an arm around him and began to guide him away from the parlor and, thus, away from the contract and writing supplies. "Your guestroom is this way."

Balin never did look back. If he had, he would have seen Gandalf shaking with suppressed laughter hard enough to ruin all the smoke rings floating around him.

"-. .-"

Gandalf was in such a good mood and felt so very relaxed and rested after an extended session of mind-communication with Bilbo's fascinating creation that he didn't feel like sleeping at all that night. He was also quite satisfied at having become the only person privy to Bilbo's plans for the next couple of days, so he decided that a special wizard's touch was in order for what would occur in the near future.

That had been part of the subject of their private discussion after Thorin Oakenshield's rather disastrous first impression. And he was determined to keep the secret under his hat no matter what anyone asked.

Besides, everyone would find out what it was all about by the next day.

So, after everyone in the smial, including Bilbo himself, turned in for the night, the wizard went on his merry way. Bag End opened the door for him but also reached out to touch his mind before he left, "telling" him that it wouldn't mind if he stopped by again soon.

It was so much better than he expected after their initial meeting that Gandalf almost gave into the impulse to stop pretending he was old and frail. Almost.

So he still acted as though his staff was a walking stick he very much needed to move about. It wouldn't do to skip down the lane after all. He had an image to uphold.

Onwards towards Bywater he went.

The wizard could already see the puzzle of Bilbo Baggins coming along, pieced together from Bilbo's own revelations, the hints Gandalf himself picked up on over the past few days, and certain rumors and random tidbits of information that reached him during his travels through Eriador. And he did mean the entire Eriador, not just the area between The Shire and Rivendell.

It made him feel somewhat regretful for not having stopped by any Ranger outpost on his way over, or at any time during the past 10 or so years. If he had, he would surely have been given enough of a reason to visit Bilbo years before and actually become acquainted with him. Instead, he had dropped in unannounced and almost alienated him by putting the fear of the Valar into a new and innocent being that had never been seen on Middle Earth before.

It shamed Gandalf to realize he had behaved just like Saruman did towards any of the "lesser" races, as he called them. The Grey Wizard believed himself to be above such a notion, but his behavior towards Bilbo certainly indicated otherwise. He was glad he had had his actions thrown in his face, even if the retribution had been disproportionate, as Bilbo called it.

Once he was outside Hobbiton, he cast his senses out and, satisfied to realize there was no Hobbit Bounder following him (meaning that the people of the Shire actually trusted him to not cause trouble, he thought with relish), straightened and proceeded to walk normally and leisurely.

It allowed him to reach Bywater in an hour, at which point he reapplied his walking stick-reliant image and made his way to the Bywater Inn, also known as The Green Dragon.

Once there, he went to his cart and gathered up the dusts and concoctions he needed. When he had a reasonably large bag ready, he hoisted the handle over his shoulder and went inside, smiling down at the stable minder on the way.

Only to internally wince when he got in. Not because of the noise (there barely was any, despite the hour), and not because of the ones already in, exactly. It was because the proprietor and bartender, Thomas Cotton, immediately spotted him and greeted him genially –and loudly- by means of "Master Gandalf! Didn't expect you back so soon, but we'll be happy to host you regardless!"

Gandalf wasn't annoyed with him, per se, especially since he liked the man, as he liked all hobbits. But he could have done without Dwalin and Thorin noticing his presence. Huddled at a corner table as they were, and so deeply embroiled in a heated (albeit low-voice) discussion, the wizard was sure he would have managed to make it to his quarters without having to deal with them just yet.

Alas, that was not to be, and if he dwelt on "if onlies" for any length of time he was sure that when he returned to Aman, by whatever means, Nienna would give him this look and…

"Hello Thomas. I could use a set of man-sized rooms if you have any."

"You know we do! We even built a whole building of quarters ever since them Rangers started passing through the Shire more often, so you have several picks. You must have seen it!"

That was one of the things that Gandalf was now certain had something to do with Bilbo. Up until the last time Gandalf had been in The Shire, the Hobbits (save for the Bounders, the Mayor of Michel Delving, the Master of Buckland and the Thain) were totally unaware that they owed much of their peaceful lifestyle to the Rangers that constantly protected their borders from the creatures of the Dark.

And fealty to the Dúnedain chieftain, since he was basically the equivalent to the King of Arnor.

Instead, Hobbits regarded the gloomy, tall Men with suspicion at best, or shunned them at worst.

Yet somehow, things had changed over the past 10 years. And while Bilbo had not told him where he intended to go the next day, the wizard had some ideas, and only one of them was "The Old Forest."

Quickly picking a set of rooms (and bless the hobbit, they'd built the housings next to the main road, so he could go back out the front door instead of having to cross all the way through the back), Gandalf was getting ready to pay the man but he was waved off. "Actually, Master Gandalf, pay is for normal travelers like the dwarves over there and human traders, or whoever. We don't charge the Rangers when they stay, and we're not charging you anything anymore either." Gandalf was glad he wasn't smoking at that moment because he was sure his pipe would have fallen to the floor along with his jaw. Thomas, meanwhile, had begun wiping the counter. "We didn't know before, you see, about them defending the Shire an' all, and your part in it. But we do now. Free lodgings and food is the least we can do."

Gandalf was truly, utterly speechless. It seemed to be turning into a trend, and he'd been certain it was impossible for a trend to be set in a single day. He internally debated asking the Hobbit about how this policy came about, but decided he was better off asking Bilbo instead. "Now, Thomas, I cannot accept this. I am no beleaguered traveler. You should accept fair payment. Save your generosity for those who truly need it."

But Thomas was already pursing his lips and frowning up at him. "Beggin' your pardon, but we can afford it. We've learned to stock up properly since the Fell Winter and never consider we have a surplus unless we have twice the supplies we had then. And we have more than that left over from last year alone. Harvests for everyone in the West Farthing have been twice as bountiful ever since Master Baggins arranged for that caravan of special earth from the elves in the Old Forest." Gandalf would have choked on his drink if he'd been drinking one, not that the absurdly generous hobbit was paying heed. "We get a shipment every six months, and so far it's only taken one sack sprinkled over an acre for crop yields to double. We'll keep getting the earth until the whole Shire is covered, so really, we have a lot to trade and sell. And even with that into account, we've had a growing surplus of food, especially grain and corn, for four years now." Well… that was new. "So while you might not need this service, you're getting it because you sure as spring deserve it Master Gandalf."

The one so named just blinked. Then blinked again. How in Aman was he unaware that the Elves had begun to provide the Shire with what could not have been fewer than several dozen sacks of dirt per shipment?

Wait. Did Thomas just say Bilbo had met and set up a trading agreement with the Elves in the Old Forest? "The elves from the Old Forest?" He needed the confirmation.

Thomas laughed. "You can imagine our shock when all those boasts that Master Bilbo had made as a faunt, that 'there are elves in the woods around the Shire and I'll prove it,' were proven true."

There are no Elves in the Old Forest was on the tip of Gandalf's tongue, but he didn't say it. Bilbo no doubt had a good reason to maintain the illusion that he never made it farther than the Old Forest, and Gandalf was going to respect that. He'd done wrong by the Hobbit once already and he didn't want to repeat it. "Have you met these elves then?"

"No, unfortunately. They only ever make it to Buckland. The Brandybucks are the ones who bring the caravan further in and distribute it around the Shire. I did see the first two that came by though, to check the land and see if their earth would help any. Only from afar mind you. That was… eight years ago now."

Well wasn't that interesting.

Naturally, Gandalf asked for details, and he got a vague description of two tall, lean and dark-haired people dressed in otherworldly armor. Then he asked for names, and Thomas hesitated, because he'd "never actually met them, you see," and the only reason he even had an answer was because his wife Jasmine heard it from her sister, who heard it from her brother, who'd heard it from his cousin, who'd learned it from his brother-in-law, who'd happened to be close enough to overhear their neighbors talking about it to the Shirriff who'd learned it from his niece-

Gandalf interrupted the bartender before the endless stream of words suffocated him and told him to just give him the names. "As I said, no one's totally sure, but I think they were Ellahir and Elrodan, or something like that."

The grey pilgrim knew the general tendency of gossip to change from one mouth to another. He also knew that, embellishment aside, Hobbits had an uncanny ability to preserve the truth of any rumor. So chances were high that they had not, in fact, misheard the names. Which means that Elladan and Elrohir had deliberately used mixed anagrams, for the sake of their own amusement of a half-arsed attempt at being incognito. Or because Bilbo thought it would be fun, Gandalf was not sure.

Regardless, it did not matter. What mattered was that the sons of Elrond Half-Elven had been to the Shire, because Bilbo Baggins of the Shire had been to Rivendell as far back as 8 years ago.

And Gandalf had not been informed!

Oh, just wait until he reached Imladris. He end Elrond were going to have words. Gandalf had been to Rivendell twice in the past 8 years and the elf had said nothing, or given even a hint. The nerve of him!

Right. That line of thought would probably leave him fuming, so it was probably unwise to follow it any further. What were they talking about before they got totally sidetracked? Oh yes. "Nevertheless, I cannot simply be a freeloader."

Thomas Cotton squinted at him. It honestly amazed the wizard that he would be so stubborn about refusing gold. Oh, if only Thorin and Dwalin were within hearing distance. Pity, really. "Tell you what," Thomas said slowly. "Free lodgings, and that's not negotiable!" The hobbit shushed him with an abrupt wave of the hand. Shushed him! "And the food and drink is on the house for the first day. Then you'll have to pay for them, but not the room. And that's the best you're getting." The hobbit then turned to another patron, grumbling about how shameful and pathetic his haggling skills must have gotten if he couldn't even manage to persuade travelers they should accept services free of charge.

Gandalf stared at him in something between frustration and wonder. It was as if the hobbit knew he was not going to stay for more than a day, so with this deal he would not be paying anything anyway.

Really, these hobbits!

For lack of a better option, Gandalf turned to leave and forgot he was hoping to avoid the dwarves, so he didn't move fast enough to escape-

"Master Gandalf, sir!"

There never was any rest for the wise.

"Yes, Trevor?" He asked, looking down at Thomas' much younger cousin, who was helping in the inn and was probably well enough along in age to start his time in the Bounders soon. "What is it?"

""S'them dwarves sir," he gestured in their direction. "They said they know you and sent me to ask you to come over, 'cause they have something to talk to you about."

"Asked or told?"

The lad ducked his head in embarrassment. "Told, sir."

"I see," the wizard sent Thorin and Dwalin his most unimpressed look. "Thank you for telling me then." After patting his head (because he was young enough by Hobbit standards for it to not be considered rude), the envoy of the Valar approached the scene of what would doubtlessly be a discussion of no surprises.

Because, truly, there was little that could surprise him for a while, after what he found at the end of Bagshot Row and the astonishing reality he'd been slapped with a minute prior. "Dwalin, Thorin." Yes, it was rather petty to greet Dwalin before the king-in-exile, but he had a good idea of what would come out of the latter's mouth, so he allowed himself that much leeway if nothing else.

"Gandalf," Thorin greeted grumpily, and more tired than angry. So, Gandalf had lived to be surprised after all. "I am surprised to see you here. I thought you would stay behind with the rest of my Company. Or did the Halfling throw you out in revenge for exposing him to my person?"

The Istar beheld the dwarf for a time. "You should keep in mind that Hobbits might find the terms 'halfling' insulting, since they are not half of anything." Thorin bristled somewhat at the rebuke, but said nothing, so Gandalf decided he may as well sit down, since he would not get the excuse of poor manners to just storm out and spare himself the stubbornness of dwarves. "And no, I was not 'thrown out' as you said. Indeed, I was quite cordially asked to stay, since I, at least, made my amends. Something you, perhaps, might consider doing yourself."

"I assume, then, that you believe that the strife I was subjected with in that hobbit-hole was entirely deserved."

Well, that sounded somewhat close to slander. "There was no strife in Bag End, Thorin Oakenshield, save the one you brought in." By that point at least. Gandalf could admit he had caused a fair bit of strife of his own, but it had already been dispersed by the time Thorin arrived, so it was irrelevant to the discussion.

"So I should apologize for the false assumptions that stemmed from your sparse 'description' of this Hobbit," Thorin shot back. Dwalin, Gandalf noticed, was suspiciously focused on the mouth of his ale mug. "You told me we were coming here for a burglar, not another wizard!" Thorin hissed. Gandalf appreciated the attempt at keeping his voice low, but the dwarf clearly underestimated the hearing of hobbits.

And he also did not seem to realize that two of the more rowdy patrons at the neighboring tables were, in fact, their tails.

Gandalf was not about to reveal that to him of course. The Istar would feel ever so terrible if he added another crack to Thorin's entire world view so soon after Bilbo left it just short of collapsing in a pile of useless shards. It could make Thorin actually rethink his pre-set opinion of Hobbits, and Valar forbid that ever happen. "I assure you that a wizard Bilbo Baggins is not."

"What was that, then? His house came alive," he growled. "It swallowed light, what should I make of that? What else other than magic or witchcraft could cause it?"

"I never said it was not magic."

Thorin growled and abruptly pushed himself away from the table, to lean against the back of his chair. "Wizards," he snarled. "Can you speak in anything other than riddles and roundabout sentences?"

"We can, naturally," Gandalf graciously assured him. "When we believe that we are being asked the correct questions."

Thorin glowered at him but said nothing more.

"Well, feel free to send for me again when you figure out what the right questions are," Gandalf stood from the (surprisingly) normal-sized chair and smoothed out his robe, before nodding at the two grumpy dwarves and (finally) leaving the drinking and eating area of The Green Dragon.

He went to his chosen rooms and found them to be surprisingly cozy instead of sparse. The Hobbits really had put effort into the accommodations instead of throwing something together just so they could say they'd done it and move on. It made the entire "free-of-charge" reality all the more awe-inspiring.

Once he got settled, he spend the time until just before dawn creating fireworks. Hobbits were the only race he ever treated to the sight of fireworks, something that never failed to annoy Saruman ("Such a pointless endeavor, why bother? Or is that the service you offered in exchange for their pipeweed?").

He could have just taken his cart all the way to Bag End and done this there, but he knew what would come later in the day, so this served him better.

Hours later, just before the break of day, he emerged from his quarters. The outside was dark, and the sky could not be seen, nor could the distance beyond 10 feet be made out very well, lantern or no lantern. For the dew and rain of the previous day had lifted as the break of dawn approached, creating a thick layer of fog, like a two story-tall blanket that covered the entire Shire.

Odd. Normally, dawn had to break first and warm the land before this happened.

Setting aside that curiosity to be explored at a later date, Gandalf re-entered The Green Dragon's main building and looked around. There was still quite a bit of movement and while it wasn't rowdy it was still noisy enough. A chagrined Thorin and weary Dwalin were still there, at the same table in the farthest corner. And behind the counter, Thomas looked like he was just about ready to finally turn in and hand over the reins to his wife, Jasmine.

Gandalf was debating re-negotiating the absurdly generous deal with her, but before the landlord was out of sight, a strange, soothing note started to be heard from outside.

It caused two things.

One, it made Gandalf realize he had not shut the door properly.

Two, it made Thomas and every other hobbit in the inn abruptly still and go utterly silent.

And when Thorin and Dwalin both opened their mouths to ask what was going on, the four (so there were four, not two, but where were their feather hats?) Bounders at the tables nearby jumped to their feet and whirled on them, holding a finger at their lips and saying "Shhhhhhh!"

And shush they did, from pure shock if nothing else.

That had taken about 10 seconds, and the note went on for 50 more. It sounded like a flute, or whistle, Gandlaf wasn't entirely sure. The note was deeper than both, but it was a blowing instrument for certain.

After a minute, the note 'Do' stopped, and everyone seemed to hold their breath. Thorin made to speak again, but both bounders gestured abruptly for him to keep his peace. And just when it seemed like everything had settled, and the dwarves were about to speak, regardless of the consequences, the instrument (a low whistle, it had to be) made itself heard again. The note 'Re' was clear and strong, as if they were right next to the source, and Gandalf had no way to tell which direction the music was even coming from.

"Trevor," Thromas breathed. "Go upstairs and open every window you can find that's not in an occupied room. Then come right back. Go!"

"Yes sir!" The lad scampered off.

"The rest of you, don't just stand there!" Thomas shouted laughingly at his customers, even as he rushed to the nearest window, prompting the other hobbits to do the same with theirs. Gandalf stumbled towards the dwarves and around the hobbits. Once he was well out of their path and thoroughly confused, he watched as every window in sight was pulled up as far as it could go even before the second minute ended, despite that it was still totally dark outside.

Then, after another ten seconds came the third minute: Mi.

Then Fa.

So.

La.

Ti.

And Do again.

And when ten seconds passed and nothing more happened, Thomas slowly, almost reverently, made his way to the closest chair and carried it near the window to sit down on. Gandalf noted it was the one facing the direction of Hobbiton.

"Umm… Cousin?" Trevor had returned, but at least he didn't seem to know exactly what he was supposed to do.

Thomas, however, did. "If there's anyone in the Shire that isn't up after that, it's their loss." Turning to look at the younger hobbit, the innkeeper treated the lad to the widest grin ever. "Trevor. Do you know what day it is?"

"Umm… Tuesday?"

Thomas's smile only brightened. "No. Hear that tune? It means it's pre-adventure day."

A beat.

What in the world did that even mean?

Then the realization, whatever it was, came over the tween like the tide. His stance became ramrod, almost militaristic. Gleeful. "I'll be at the party bell in four minutes flat!" Gandalf almost didn't see him exit. He was like a blur without limbs.

"… What… what in blazes is going on?" Thorin finally forced out.

"Hush!" Thomas shot over his shoulder. "Master Baggins is about to play."

"What-?"

Gandalf didn't know what made him do it, but he struck the floor with his staff. A wave of white light that made it only a couple of feet outward caused both dwarves to go mute. And also drew only the barest glances in the hobbits.

How strange.

It was just in time, for the tune began precisely a second after that and made Gandalf thankful there was a chair nearby for him to sink in.

That was a tune worth savoring.

And he did just that, to the point where the five minutes felt like five hours, and still left him wishing they lasted longer. Even when it ended and only the Party Bell tolled, Gandalf just sat back and listened, until even those faded.

"-. .-"

Bilbo Baggins had offered each of them their own sleeping quarters, but left it up to them to choose if they wanted to sit alone or with others, so Dori requested, as politely as possible, that he and his brothers get a room to themselves. He knew it would frustrate Ori, and he also knew that Nori could very well become annoyed enough to go crash in the parlor, but after that scene with Thorin getting almost… he wasn't even sure what would have happened, he wasn't about to let Ori out of his sight, or sleep too far from him. Not in that place.

He would have dragged his brothers off, but with their luck, chances were that all hobbit-holes, and The Green Dragon Inn and every other Hobbit establishment could be as alive as this one was.

Besides, as pessimistic as he was, he really believed this hobbit's home would treat them well (and didn't that sound odd?). Besides, the food had been so fine, the drink so good, and don't even get him started on the tea, and the wine. He actually mourned the illusion of normality of before the contract disaster. He'd finally found a food and drink connoisseur he could relate with in Bilbo Baggins. There was someone who appreciated good manners, someone who knew the value of sophistication.

Steak knife driven in between his fingers aside.

Well, Dori had insulted the gods of sophisticated composure after all, when he made to abuse their host's prized mementos from his late mother.

Nevertheless, Dori really, really mourned the loss of the illusion of normalcy. But it figured something would happen to totally ruin their night, so he wasn't ultimately too surprised that their evening feast ended on a sour note.

Not that the Hobbit let the awkwardness last for long, Mahal bless him. He treated them all to individual baths in fresh hot water and set up their rooms tidily and thoughtfully. If nothing else, Hobbits could be admired for their thoroughness.

Bilbo Baggins had acquiesced with his request for shared quarters easily. In fact, he even had a guest room with three beds in it. Somehow. Dori was starting to believe that bit about hobbits having a fixation with being good hosts. Why else would they build their homes large enough to have guest rooms ready to meet all possible expectations and types of guests? The room right next to theirs was man-sized for Mahal's sake.

By the time Dori finished bathing, Ori had already drifted off. Dori waited for Nori to turn up for as long as it took to polish his earrings and hair beads, oil his hair, braid it, braid his beard, tie the beads in his braids and affix his silver beard case. But Nori didn't come, living down to his expectations (as always). Hopefully Master Baggins would come across him, wherever he'd gone off too, and drag him off to a room of his own, if nothing else.

Dori sprawled over his bed with a snort of disbelief. To think he would actually come to believe that such a small and slight creature could impose his will upon a dwarf, haunted house or no.

Before he knew it, he was asleep.

He was awakened by the strangest sound, like a whistle singing all around him, and he felt totally rested and relaxed. A far cry from how he expected his sleep to be, uneasy at best and troubled at worst. Looking around far less blearily than he expected, he saw the room as it was when he fell under, except for one thing: Ori was standing and looking out the open window at the darkness outside.

So dawn still hadn't broken, yet he felt fully recharged regardless.

The dwarf pushed himself up on his elbows. "Ori. What are you doing?"

"Do you hear that?" His brother asked, just as the note tapered off. "Aww… It's gone already."

Dori shook himself and swung his legs off the side of the bed. "What time is it anyway? Did you even get enough sleep?"

Ori was about to say something, but Dori never got to know what because the whistle tune came again, only on a different note, slightly higher.

And he found he could do nothing but listen to it until it finished, one minute later.

Ori nodded resolutely to himself. "Right then. This demands investigation!"

"Huh?" Dori snapped out of his daze, but too late. Ori had already jumped out the window.

There was a pause.

Wait, what?

Dori jumped to his feet and tripped on the boots he'd left next to the bed last night, falling nose-first all over the other bed. After fumbling with the sheets and putting on his shoes haphazardly, Dori made for the window, only to swear in his mother tongue when he found it to be too narrow for his girth. Curse these smials and their too-tight, low-height windows!

Cursing some more when he almost got stuck pulling himself back in, Dori rushed out the room, running past a bleary-eyed Gloin and a suspiciously alert Bofur (did he sleep with that hat of his on?) on his way to the front door. As soon as he reached said entrance, it swung outward, allowing him free exit.

Alas, Fili and Kili lacked the situational awareness of the house, and so did Dori himself. The crash was particularly groan-inducing, but they were dwarves, so such impacts were a minor inconvenience. In a matter of moments, the elder Ri brother was back on his feet, looking around and internally cursing the thick fog. "Ori!" He shouted, heedless of everyone and everything. "Ori! Answer or so help me I'll-"

"Over here!" Came the answer at last, so Dori made his way in that direction as fast as he could without running. Which was fortunate because if he had broken into a run again, he would no doubt have crashed into or tripped over that bench and the fence on the way to the path circling the hill. Good thing there was a gate to pass through.

Only when he finally saw his brother through the mist did he allow himself to wonder what the others were doing up and about, or even outside the door.

Through it all, a low whistle played 'Ti.' Dori felt as if the sound was coming from everywhere and right next to him, all at once, and the air itself seemed to shiver the longer the tune went on.

"What do you think you were doing-" Dori abruptly stopped when he realized that Ori wasn't even paying attention. It seemed like he didn't even hear him anymore. Concerned, he followed where he was looking, and his eyes only saw black. Only the darkness above the top of the hill that Bag End was built into.

But when 'Do' finally came, Dori didn't have trouble pinpointing the source anymore. Even if he didn't see it, he could now tell it was right at the spot where his brother was looking. The last, seventh minute passed, and just like that the fog began to part, and despite that the moon and starlight barely made it through it, an almost invisible mound made itself seen on top of the Hill, silhouetted against the sky.

The dew glittered on it and the grass around it, like diamonds in the firelight, and glimmered when it moved.

It cascaded off the cloak as Bilbo Baggins slowly but smoothly stood, his back turned to them. He faced the east, brought the whistle to his mouth and played for the entirety of The Shire to hear.

The dwarf shivered, and it had nothing to do with the chill. He'd never heard it before, a slow, haunting but uplifting song, but he didn't care to do anything but listen. Listen and feel grateful. For Ori had shown mostly irritation at Dori's fussing for a long time, but now, as they were both standing in the middle of a muddy road with two wooden fences in front and behind, his younger brother was leaning against him. Mahal, it was the best gift he'd been granted in years.

Bilbo Baggins played, dew drops glinting on his brown cloak and curly hair with his every move, and the string of notes resonated all the way into his bones. A set, then another, slightly different but the same. And just as Dori though the opening was about to end, the tune was picked up by a fiddle, the hum washing over them from somewhere both close and far.

Dori would have stiffened if the tune allowed for any sort of worry. As it was, he turned to look for the source, only for his eyes to land on the shape of a hobbit, featureless in the now fading dark of the night. He was sitting on top of the seven-foot-tall streetlantern across the path from Bag End's front gate, like there was nothing odd about that location at all. His hands handled the strings and guided the bow over them as if he'd been born for it, and his bare feet swung idly in the empty space beneath his perch.

Then the whistle came again, joining the violin, and Ori's grip on his arm tightened. Dori turned to see why, and got his answer just as fast. His brother pointed up Bagshot Row, where a third hobbit had come out of nowhere, sitting on the fence surrounding the Bag End front flower garden.

It should have been worrying, but the dwarf found that he didn't mind as much as he should when he finally realized that the lute he was holding had been backing up the flute ever since the very beginning.

The tune changed but still stayed true to itself, swooning but never faltering. Dori looked up at Bilbo Baggins just as the final note of the intro tapered off. It was slow and lingering. Not at all like what the hobbit did right after. Bilbo suddenly, carelessly, tossed his whistle away, sending it soaring through the air above and behind them.

The dwarf almost cried out and would have made to jump for it, even though he didn't know why he was so emotionally invested. His eyes barely registered the path as the whistle flew and looped, though. Dori would have turned on his heel to see where it would land, but he could not tear his eyes away from the sight of the sky beyond their host turning red and orange, and Bilbo Baggins reaching down to pick up a violin of his own.

The sunrays parted the fog and landed on him. The hobbit settled the instrument on his shoulder, breathed in, then out, then in again and played.

And so did his kinsmen, the sound coming together, resurgent and harmonious. The song was fast like a stream now, livelier, and with each beat the fog lifted higher, and the rays, orange and lavender, poured forth, streaming over and around the hobbit, like ribbons amidst clouds, until it seemed like he was hallowed by the sun at his front. Colors added to the picture, one after another and another, gold from the sun, and the green of nature mixed with the white of the morning glories scattered throughout every stretch of grass.

Then the whistle finally returned, from right behind the two of them.

Dori voicelessly yelped and spun around, then jumped in front of Ori by reflex when he saw the instrument, and the Hobbit using it, sitting on the fence right behind the two of them. A hobbit that had not been there scant seconds before, but definitely was now and didn't seem to care at all that they even existed.

It was as mystifying as it was terrifying, for the tune sounded divine, but with each second more light came down, their sight got clearer and mists parted and dispersed, bringing into view the hobbits, and another, and another and still more. All wearing feather caps of the exact same sort. All with a part in the song. All appearing as though they sprung from the underbrush, or the grass, or the earth itself. All with no attention to spare for them, or for anything other than what they could add to the Song of Sunrise with their fiddles, lutes, whistles and flutes of three different kinds.

Although that wasn't quite true, Dori realized when Ori again pointed at the top of the hill. The Master of Bag End definitely commanded their attention, leading the tune with every stroke of his bow. And the dawn itself seemed to unravel according to his rhythm, the halo around him getting brighter and stronger with every moment. It was a song of awakening that worked nature into it, completely. It was the song of the strangest of hobbits, and 10 of his kinsmen that seemed content to simply be there with him for as long as he was there to guide their music forward.

Dori didn't really know how long he and his brother stood there when Bilbo Baggins finally abandoned the violin – the song never wavering in the least, such was the focus of his fellow players – and picked up a whistle again. Even then, it seemed like they lingered there for hours, just listening and watching.

It surprised him when the bells from far off Bywater melded with the end of the song, eventually replacing it altogether, that when tune finally ended he wished it would just go on. That he didn't mind if their journey was delayed for an hour, or a day, or a week.

Dwarves fancied themselves good musicians, and they were. They lived for two centuries on average so they had time to learn an instrument or two, or four.

But this…

Dori could only stare, open-mouthed, and shake his head in disbelief. It wasn't just the music, but the imagery. Mahal knew dwarves were fond of stone and caves, but Dori doubted anyone other than Orcs and their ilk could possibly react poorly to what he'd just watched come to pass.

Ori was going to spend days sketching it all out, he just knew it.

After a couple of minutes of just standing there, with his face aimed at the sky and basking in the sun, Bilbo Baggins came back to himself. He put the whistle in a pocket somewhere and hung the fiddle next to his hip with the tied-in strip of cloth. Then he finally turned away from the east and towards the crowd of dwarves in his front yard. Because they were all there. Everyone had come out to see and listen to what was going on.

Wait… dwarves? What about the hobbits?

Dori looked around, growing more and more astonished with each second. They were gone! Had he imagined it? Impossible! He was many things, but delusional was not it!

"Fili, Kili… Thorin and Dwalin left last night…" Dori's attention snapped back to the hobbit standing on the hill high above, or the roof of his home as the case was. "Balin, Oin, Gloin…" His eyes roamed over them all as he counted them out like stray dwarflings. The nerve of him. "Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Dori, Ori…" He stopped and frowned, then looked around. When he didn't seem to find what he was looking for, he closed his eyes and pressed a finger against his forehead in thought.

Then his eyes snapped open. "Where's Nori? Because he's not inside!"

Dori jerked and looked around for himself. Where was Nori? He should have gone to bed separately last night… unless he hadn't… Oh, stone preserve the house of Ri. He'd better not have gone on a stealing spree.

And what in Mahal was wrong with him, thinking in rhymes? It was the hobbit's song, it had to be.

Bilbo Baggins slid down the hill-wall like he'd done it hundreds of times before (which he probably had) and ignored most of the looks that the members of Thorin's Company were sending him.

Then, against all logic, his eyes zoomed unerringly on the streetlantern right across from his front gate. He stayed like that for a few seconds, then his whole expression brightened with the widest, most carefree grin Dori had seen him make yet. "Fortimbras!" He strode down the path, ignoring his houseguests. "Cousin, I know you're there!"

There was nothing for a moment, but then a hobbit somehow… sprung from the tall grass beyond the fence and used a hand to push himself over it in a single leap. It was the one that had played the fiddle from the top of the streetlantern. It had to be. But where was the instrument. Maybe left behind in the spot where he was hiding?

"Fortimbras Took!" Bilbo called brightly, throwing his arms out wide as he reached the slightly taller hobbit, who didn't lack the slight pot belly of his kind. "You old dog, come here!"

The other hobbit rolled his eyes but let Bilbo hug him. He seemed a bit awkward at first, but the other whispered something in his ear and made him laugh. Fortimbras returned the hug then, with all his heart, heedless of the audience. It was endearing really. Enough that it made Dori put an arm around his brother, who didn't protest. Instead, he leaned into the move for once.

Dori suspected he would be grateful for witnessing this "ushering the dawn" for a long while to come.

Bilbo finally pulled away, though he kept his hands on the other's shoulders. "What are you doing here all the way from Tookland at this hour? And why are you still in the Bounders? Shouldn't you be, I don't know, in the middle of steadily assuming the mantle of Thain from your old man?"

Fortimbras Took had curly hair of a darker shade of brown then Bilbo, a round face and brown eyes. He also looked rather sheepish. "Well, you know, there's that matter we're still divided on."

"Ah. Yes… The Matter. Old Isumbras is still not convinced how bad an idea that is?"

"Nope," the normal hobbit said flatly. "Figured I'd go away for a while until things cooled down, you know? And the Bounders are as good a pastime as any."

Bilbo laughed, dropping his hands from his relative. "Only you, cousin, would consider patrolling The Shire as a vacation." Then he crossed his arms. "Or I would say that, but I wasn't born yesterday. So tell me, what are the odds that you learned about dwarves coming into the Shire soon after the wizard came by my home? What are the odds that you connected the two occurrences? That you picked up your Bounder chief cap just so you could pull rank and take over the patrols here?"

Fortimbras reached up to tug his two-feather cap lower over his forehead. "Can't I drop by before you leave on another one of your haunts and I have to spend the next few months worrying about whether or not you'll ever be coming back?" Surprisingly, he sounded totally serious. "You are getting ready to leave again, aren't you?" He picked up the cap and waved with it in the direction of Bywater, from where the sound of bells still came. "After all, you just got the Party Bells to ring without any prior notice. We both know the only reason that ever happens."

From where he was, Dori could see Bilbo's profile, so he saw the diminishing cheer. "You know I always come by when I do."

"Yes, for an hour or two," was the dry response as the brown-dressed hobbit settled his green cap back on his head. "And then you barely give anyone time to talk to you at the ensuing gathering. Then you go off into the Old Forest and leave us hanging for months and our parties lackluster."

"Now you're just parroting the Clayhangers who were annoyed that I wasn't around to entertain at Lalia's birthday."

"Well it did happen."

"That was one time!"

"Yes, the most recent, and I am the one that has to suffer through their grumbling when they invite themselves over for tea in order to once again push forward The Matter."

"Eru, they're your very own Sackville-Bagginses. My condolences."

"How considerate of you," the Bounder deadpanned.

There was a long silence, then both hobbits broke into peals of side-splitting laughter.

Dori could only watch and wonder if he'll ever make sense of that whole conversation.

After a minute, the Hobbits calmed down. "Right!" Bilbo breathed in to steady his lungs. "Since you're here, I seem to have misplaced one of my houseguests. Know anything about that?"

"So he was one of yours after all."

"Because the fact he came out of my house last night was not enough indication of that."

Dori was starting to get worried. Were they talking about Nori?

Fortimbras looked over Bilbo's shoulder to the crowd of dwarves that were shamelessly watching their conversation. The crowd of dwarves in various states of undress.

Then back at Bilbo, pointedly.

Bilbo nodded, getting the message. Whatever it was. "I get your point. Hold just a moment." Then he turned on his heel and walked up his path. The dwarves parted ahead of him like waves upon a cliff as he made his way towards his door, which opened inward as soon as he was within 10 feet of it. He lifted his hand just in time to catch a flying scroll (it settled it, Bag End was surreal), then the right hand caught two more rolls of parchment of similar size and design.

Putting two of them under his arm, he untied the third and let it unfurl. It was roughly the same length as the contract they'd given him the night before. "Master Balin? This calls for you I believe."

Balin, who had been sitting on the bench next to the front gate hedges until that point (and who was also the only dwarf fully dressed, if not armored), got up and went over there to accept the parchment. Dori (who was determined to keep an arm over Ori for as long as his brother let him) finally went back within the front yard as well, pulling Ori along.

Balin had started reading and his eyebrows were already rising higher and higher. "Non-Disclosure Agreement?" Okay, that sounded pretty official. "I, the undersigned, vow never to share, in written, drawn, spoken or sign-based form of communication, any information disclosed to me regarding the Hobbit Organization known as the Bounders." Balin gave Bilbo a baffled but measuring look, if it was even possible. "I, the undersigned, also vow never to disclose any information which should I be informed that hobbits would consider as potentially dangerous towards the security of the inhabitants of The Shire, as applies to the following people, situations and locations."

Dori and Ori hadn't been close enough to crowd around the dwarf, but Fili and Kili had managed to snag the spots at each of his shoulders. "Whoa! There're, like, a hundred entries here!"

"In the event that I break the terms of this contract, I forfeit my beard…" Fili's eyes boggled and stared at the hobbit in shock. "You have contracts made specifically for dwarves just lying around?"

Bilbo shrugged. "Luck favors the prepared."

"Is this really necessary, laddie?"

Bilbo nodded to Balin. "I'm afraid so. Unless you don't want any of your false assumptions about us Hobbits to be dispelled, in which case feel free not to sign it."

Balin looked like he was about to read through the whole thing, but Kili snatched the thing from his grasp and bounced away. "I'll sign it!"

"Kili, get back here!" Fili called after him, following. "I know you don't have a beard now but what about later? Besides, you don't even have ink and quill!" Which was when Bilbo snatched said objects from the air as they came flying out of the house. "Oh. Well, that's fine then!"

Dori was sure Thorin would facepalm if he were present for this.

"Lads!" Balin scolded. "How many times have I told you never to rush into signing anything? Who knows what conditions there are in there!" A beat, then he addressed Bilbo. "No offense, Master Baggins."

"None taken. Especially after last night."

"Who cares!" Kili protested. "It's basically don't talk about Bounders unless you're talking to a hobbit or someone who's signed this agreement too, right Mister Baggins?"

"That's right."

"Well, I believe him! Besides, who's going to ask us about The Shire?"

Dori wanted to ask why Kili was even interested if he thought the topic was so irrelevant. Oh well, this was Kili after all.

After Kili signed the contract with the proffered tools, Fili did the same, then everyone took their turns. Dori signed it mostly because everyone had already done it (which was probably Balin's reason too) and because he thought that maybe these Bounders could help track down his brother before he caused too many problems. Or at least guided them along the Shire faster. Not that he held very high hopes. Nori could be really slippery if he wanted, and it was doubtful that these simple, peaceful folk could get a pin on him if he didn't want them to.

"There! All done I suppose," Balin said with resignation.

"Actually no," Bilbo said blithely. "There's two more where that came from!" And, sure enough, he passed around the other two scrolls.

"Three?" Balin asked. Dori thought his voice had gone rather faint. "Why so many?"

Bilbo blinked at him. "What do you mean? One for me, one for you and one for the Thain, obviously."

"… yes, obviously," Balin sighed.

After the three non-disclosure agreements were signed, Bilbo tossed two of them back into Bag End and made his way to his cousin, who'd settled himself on the bench that Balin had vacated earlier. It was across the yard path from Dori and Ori. "Here. For whenever you meet your old man again."

Fortimbras checked the long list of signatures at the bottom, nodded in satisfaction and rolled up the scroll, getting to his feet. After he put it in his pocket, he called out. "Rory! Drogo!" Dori jerked in surprise when two hobbits jumped out form… somewhere… and landed on either side of him and his brother without making even the barest sound. The sight of eight dwarves gaping at the occurrence would have been hilarious if the fact that the hobbits had stayed completely undetected by them was not so frightening. "Take Dudo and Odo and bring Bilbo's… guest."

Dori clamped his mouth shut when the hobbits on both his sides bounded off to do as they were told. What in Middle Earth… did they mean that… Had Nori… what had they…

Five minutes later, the four hobbits emerged from the turn that Bagshot Row took at the base of the hill, carrying the completely unconscious form of Nori son of Bori by one limb each. Dori didn't even have it in him to drop his jaw anymore, even when Ori huddled closer and tightened his grip on his nightshirt.

The world had made so much more sense up until the previous day.

The company of dwarves watched the proceedings as one would a funeral march, and the four hobbits would probably have laughed at them if they weren't so busy puffing and sweating from the effort. Still, they managed to carry the starfish-haired dwarf all the way to Bag End, at which point they unceremoniously dropped the dwarf in the middle of the front yard.

The part of Dori's brain that hadn't shut down was glad that the path was made of cobblestone. At last that way Nori wouldn't be totally covered in mud after this.

Then again, maybe it would have been better if he did end up that way, the dwarf thought. As it was, his brother looked as though he'd wrestled with a bunch of pigs in the middle of a sty and lost.

Bilbo slipped through his shell-shocked guests and stopped next to the filth-covered spymaster of the Blue Mountains. Just in time for the latter to snort, roll to his side and start snoring.

Loudly.

Dori's face met palm.

A motion mirrored by the Master of Bag End himself. "Was this really necessary, cousin?"

Fortimbras was totally unrepentant. "He was spying on you through the window. You know full well we Hobbits don't stand for such nonsense!"

"I know," Bilbo groaned and sunk his face in his hands. "But operation 'I Frolicked with the Pigs on My Night Out?' Wasn't that a bit extreme?"

Dori still wasn't sure what he was witnessing. Maybe he was dreaming. Yes, that had to be it, because what was in front of him was impossible.

Wait. Where had the other hobbits disappeared to again? Damn those slippery bastards.

"I don't think so, no," Fortinbras said, waving the issue away.

"Cousin, he's one of my guests!"

"No," there was no persuading him otherwise. "He was your guest until he left your house last night. Then he became just a stranger poking his nose where it don't belong."

"You still went too far."

"He won't remember it anyway."

"You shot him with mind-blankers?"

"Right in the nose. And don't give me that look, there wasn't much else we could aim for on a dwarf! Look at all that hair on them!"

"Cousin-"

"NOW WAIT JUST A DARN MINUTE!"

The argument was cut apart and Dori blinked, then shook his head and squinted to the side. No, he really hadn't imagined it. Ori, of all people, was the one that finally snapped out of the trance that everyone had fallen into after being faced with a situation that just did not compute. "What in Mahal's beard did you do to my brother!?" He yelled again, breaking away from his eldest sibling to run and kneel at the side of the other one.

Bilbo sighed and his shoulders slumped.

"What…" Ori fussed over his brother. Dori realized with a detached air that it was very much how he himself fussed over Ori whenever mood struck. "How rude!" The youngest dwarf then glared up at the hobbit bearing the feathered hat. "Who are you? What are you people?"

The Master of Bag End sighed again and gave a wry smile to the scribe. "You really don't know anything about hobbits do you. You never even heard about Bounders…"

"I did!" Gloin, of all people, piped up. "They're the border patrol right? Only I thought they were mostly for show because the Rangers actually defended the Shire."

"Well, you are correct that that is the image the outside world has of us," Bilbo said. "But you forget that Rangers only defend The Shire from creatures of the dark, like orcs and wargs. If traders or travelers or well enough dressed ruffians decide to stroll into our lands, they can't really do anything. That's where Bounders come in."

"But I thought Shirriffs maintained the order," Ori said from where he was still kneeling next to the snoring Nori.

Dori shook his head in amazement. It figured that the Ori the super-curious scribe would push aside Ori the angry brother at a time like this.

Bilbo chuckled. "Please. Three per Farthing? They only have to deal with Hobbits, which means they barely have anything to do because we're Hobbits. We know what is and what isn't proper. No, the actual peace-keeping falls to the Bounders. Their primary role is to patrol the borders, certainly, but it's not like they can just turn away anyone who looks remotely suspicious. That's basically everyone to us after all. So there's always someone assigned to ensure that strangers, queer folk as it were, do not disturb the peace."

Well, at least Bilbo Baggins wasn't going to deny that Hobbits were just as prejudiced as everyone else out there, Dori thought perhaps a touch too harshly. But Mahal damn it, thief or not that was his brother that had been thrown in a pig sty and left there all night!

"So what are you saying, exactly?" Gloin asked, his eyes shifting all around the place as if he was afraid some some horrible beast would jump out and eat him.

Bilbo gave Fortimbras a look, and the latter shrugged and snapped his fingers.

Two hobbits jumped soundlessly from behind Bilbo's flower hedge and landed in a crouch, then stood to flank their leader, their single-feather caps in stark contrast with the Took's two. Three more Bounders jumped out from across Bagshot Row and stood at ease, sitting on the fence or leaning against support posts. And not a second later, the grass covering the hilltop right on both sides of Bag End's canopy was thrown aside like a pair of blankets.

No, wait. They were blankets. Grass blankets that had been concealing four more hobbits. Hobbit lasses to be precise, all with the same hats as the others.

There was the sound of more than one dwarf choking on air. The scene would have qualified, hands-down, as the single, most shocking event in Dori's whole life if not for what happened right afterwards. "Good Bounders of the Shire!" Bilbo called grandly. "May I introduce to you the Dwarves of Thorin Oakenshield's Company." Of course he would even bow with a flourish.

The hobbits and hobitettes waved and called out greetings, and Bilbo took pity on his stupefied guests and moved things along. "Members of Thorin Oakenshield's company!" The shout made half of them jump and all of them get a hold of their senses again, frayed as they were. "May I introduce your Bounder keepers!" And again, he bowed with a flourish, but none of the dwarves had the strength of mind to even wave back.

Not that the hobbits looked all that insulted. They seemed absurdly pleased with themselves because of the reactions they caused, if nothing else. And Bilbo was not fazed in the least. "I'm afraid you'll have to meet the other ten, and the four assigned to Dwalin and Thorin, at a later date."

Dori felt as if a big boulder had fallen on his head.

Bilbo rubbed his chin and turned towards his cousin again. "Wait. Weren't there supposed to be one or two more here? Nori's watchers?"

"They're keeping an eye on the Bywater road a hundred yards from here."

"Ah, that explains it then."

Because, clearly, there was nothing absurd about this entire situation so it was normal and expected for them to speak so casually about this.

"But…" Ori floundered. "But there was never any sign of them! And we've been in the Shire for days!"

Bilbo smiled at the youngest Ri brother. "Well, they wouldn't be doing their job properly if you could spot them, would they?"

Dori noticed from the corner of his eye that the princes were holding each other up.

"Don't feel too bad though," Bilbo tried to reassure them. "We can usually stay out of the sight of even elves." Naturally, the attempt failed.

It was Balin, of course, that asked the pertinent question. "Wait! Did you say… say these are just half of the ones assigned to tail us?"

Bilbo looked at him as if he was surprised he had to ask. "Well of course! We'd love to only assign one bounder per stranger, but even us Hobbits have to sleep!"

There was a noise like a squealing teapot, only weaker, and at the end of it Bombur fainted right on the spot. Bofur and Bifur stared down at their brother, then Bifur said something in Khuzdul along the lines of Clearly, there had to be someone in the Ur brothers to match Nori's fainting spell.

Bifur's sarcasm always came at the worst times ever since that axe got stuck in his forehead.

There was an awkward silence, then one of the Hobbit lasses from on top of Bag End couldn't help but say what Dori assumed was probably on the minds of all the hobbits in the area. "Oh, they are hopeless, aren't they?"

Fili and Kili fell on their backsides.