Once again, I should mention that I do not own the Hobbit, nor the characters. Just this idea. Enjoy.
Suffice to say, Bilbo was angry. It was obvious by how she mumbled, vague threatening things, under her breath. Had she interacted with anyone other than the Wizard today, they would have, undoubtedly, gotten the hell out of her way. Thankfully, for the residents of the shire, she had been baking and cooking all day for the unwelcome guests Gandalf had forced onto her. Bilbo did not want to entertain guests in any capacity but sincerely doubted she would get a choice on the matter. Not if a meddlesome prick was involved, the only bright side was that baking had kept Bilbo's mind from spiraling from the dark news she had received not even a day ago. Instead Bilbo was occupied with her reputation as a good host, however unwilling that hosting might be.
She was downright indignant over not knowing who was coming, why, when, or how many! At least Gandalf had some respect in telling her they were coming instead of just having them show up at her door, but it was a near thing. She would be damned if he made her look bad as a hostess due to his own actions, so in a fit of riotous anger that rattled through her very bones and jittered her patience in a need to do something, Bilbo prepared herself for "guests".
All day Bilbo was a whirl of activity, making enough food that there wasn't anything left in her pantry. She made a ridiculous amount of pasta drenched in cheese sauce, at least 16 large pot pies with tomato sausages and bacon, and six large wild mushroom-on cheese flatbreads. Several white braided sweet breads with whipped brie, berries, and honey. Pots of steaming beef, stout, and barley soup. Glazed baked ham, blackberry almond tarts with a honey whipped mascarpone cream, cider braised rabbits with herbs, fried fish and chips, hazelnut meringue cake with strawberries and cream, potato soup, and some stout braised whole beef shank with mashed root vegetables. And that was just the basics for the main course. Bilbo's sturdy wooden party table was groaning under the weight of Bilbo's anger in the form of food.
Once Bilbo simply could not cook anymore, because there was nothing left to cook with, she cleaned. Bilbo set about cleaning her hobbit hole with a vengeance. She got on her hands and knees and scrubbed, and polished her floor until it seemed to glow on its own. She moved furniture, shook out rugs, climbed on top of the counters, and even cleaned the ceiling! Every nook and cranny had been rooted out and liberated from the once, familiar, dust.
Bilbo finally stopped when there was simply nothing left to do. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering light across the unnaturally pristine room, the scent of warm bread and slow-roasted meat lingering thick in the air. Her arms ached, her feet throbbed, and yet, beneath the exhaustion, the simmering ember of her temper remained.
She stood in the center of the room, hands on her hips, surveying her work with a hard glare. Bag End had never been this spotless. Nor had it ever smelled this unfairly inviting. If she didn't know any better, she would almost think she had wanted guests over for supper.
Which, of course, she did not.
Bilbo huffed and ran a hand over her face, the day's relentless activity having done little to truly settle her. The moment she stopped, the weight of everything pressed down on her again. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, steadying herself.
She was not going to think about it.
Instead, she quickly washed herself up, turned to the small side table where she had set a fresh pot of tea, and poured herself a cup with precise, measured movements. The simple act grounded her— and she was able to breathe a little easier. By the time Bilbo had finished her tea, she felt a little bit more like herself. Deliberately slowing herself down, Bilbo went to the kitchen to clean her cup. Moving methodically Bilbo comforted herself with an act she had done thousands of times and took the time to simply gaze out the window.
Bilbo's eyes widened in surprise, the sun was going down and casting a radiant glow over the shire. For a moment, she allowed herself to forget the unwelcome gathering looming over her evening. The golden light bathed the hills in a soft, honeyed hue, the familiar landscape stretching out before her like a warm embrace. It was beautiful—peaceful. The kind of moment she had always treasured, so she watched until the sun had gone and night had descended over her and she could no longer see anything but the pitch-black of the night through her window and her reflection staring back at her like a stranger.
Her eyes were so... tired, there was a tightness around her eyes, that was only emphasized by the small creases of time that had lovingly pressed themselves against her. Bilbo's breath caught when she saw a white strand of hair, curling itself lovingly around her face from the apex of her hairline. Her mother had a streak of white there too, much thicker than Bilbo's, but with all the force of a sledgehammer, Bilbo realized, she wouldn't even get the chance to surpass the age her parents were when they had...
It was suddenly so quiet.
Until a loud, sharp knock at the door made her nearly leap out of her skin.
Bilbo jolted, her heart slamming against her ribs as the sharp rap echoed through the hole. For half a second, she stood frozen, breath uneven, fingers gripping the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping her tethered. Then, slowly, she released it, forcing herself to straighten.
Another knock—louder this time, impatient.
Bilbo scowled, pushing aside the realization before she took one last fortifying breath, rolled her shoulders, and marched toward the door.
She yanked it open, only to be met with a tall (to her), stocky figure clad in a dark blue hood. The dwarf peered up at her with sharp eyes, then gave a curt nod. "Dwalin," he introduced himself, stepping past her before she could even utter a 'how do you do?".
Bilbo blinked, watching as the dwarf stomped inside, rubbing his hands together as if he already owned the place. "Make yourself at home, why don't you?" she muttered sarcastically, shutting the door.
"Aye, I will," he said before disappearing into her dining room, clearly following his nose. Bilbo's mouth pinched in distaste.
No sooner had she turned back around than another knock sounded. This time, a red-hooded dwarf grinned at her. "Balin, at your service," he said cheerfully, giving a little bow.
"Good evening,"
"Yes, yes it is, though I think it might rain later," Balin said as he stepped over the threshold, sweeping off his hood with a polite nod. "Lovely place you've got here, very cozy," he remarked, his sharp eyes already scanning the room as he handed her his coat and passed her without even looking at her again to embrace the other Dwarf in her home.
And so it continued.
By the time the remaining group tumbled inside, laughing as they jostled each other, and making a mockery of Bilbo's dinner. Bilbo was seriously considering strangling that Wizard with his own beard. Her once-pristine home was now overrun with dwarves—loud, messy, and infuriatingly at ease in her space. She stood in the middle of it all, frozen in horror as they tossed food, walked along the length of her dining table, stepping in food as they did, scraping up her floors by dragged-in barrels of ale that rested, not even 4 feet away in her kitchen, and generally made themselves at home and completely disregarding her protests. If Bilbo didn't notice them getting rowdier and intentionally louder the more she asked them to stop, she would think them deaf, or her mute.
"My dear Bilbo, you look upset, what on earth is the matter?" Gandalf asked as he sat down again from getting a glass of wine.
Bilbo turned on him, her eyes blazing with a mix of exhaustion and exasperation. "What's the matter? What's the matter?" she repeated, her voice rising with each word, glaring at him fiercely before turning her attention to the dwarves. "You and your bloody dwarves' are what's the matter wizard! Don't think that I don't see you edging them on," Bilbo practically shouted, face red with frustration, arms tightly crossed over her chest as she glared at them. "They have no respect for me, my home, or my possessions and you're encouraging it!" Bilbo huffed, barely restraining herself from screaming bloody murder at the disrespectful bunch.
"Why, Bilbo, they are just having a little fun, they're quite a merry gathering once you get used to them, I'm sure..." Gandalf tried but Bilbo cut him off.
"Hell no." Bilbo snapped, her voice cutting through his like a knife. She crossed her arms tightly across her chest, her gaze flicking back to the dwarves who were continuing their merry chaos seemingly oblivious to her anger. "I've spent the better part of my day cooking, cleaning, and making this house presentable for guests, and what do I get in return? Stomping through my dining room, wasting food, and helping yourselves like I'm some kind of innkeeper!"
Gandalf opened his mouth to respond to her complaints but before he could get the words out a shy dwarf with red hair, hesitantly stepped forward with one of Bilbo's fine plates. "Excuse me ma'am, but where should I put this?" he asked sweetly looking at Bilbo instead of the wizard, Bilbo felt some of the anger that had knotted itself in her chest loosen at the regard he showed her. At least one of these dwarves seemed to care about how she wanted her house run. Before she could respond that she would take care of it, a blond dwarf stepped in between.
"Here Ori, give it here." he said grabbing the plate out of the sweet dwarfs hands and tossing it.
"Stop that you'll break it! That is my mother's 100-year-old west farthing!" Bilbo cried giving chase to the flying dish only to be met with rakish laughter and the sight of the remaining dwarves at her table blunting her silverware. "Don't do that! you'll blunt them!"
"Hear that lad's, the lady says we'll blunt them." The dark-haired dwarf with the hat said, before beginning to sing. "Oh, Blunt the knives and bend the forks! Smash the bottles and burn the corks! Chip the glasses and crack the plates! That's what Miss Baggins hates!" he crowed while the others joined in tossing their plates and slamming their silverware onto the table to make rough music.
Bilbo watched in horror, stressfully flapping her hands uselessly in front of her, as the dwarves tossed her possessions around the room to each other, singing about doing the most offensive things imaginable upon her poor home. All the while, Bilbo whimpered out protests and made various distressed noises as she prayed they didn't break her mother's inherited wedding gift.
Just as Bilbo was ready to either, start crying, or scream bloody murder, over the amount of distress she had been gathering due to these intruders' actions, the offensive song came to a close with a jaunty laugh, and all her dishes were pilled up around her sink.
Bilbo didn't know how to feel, the dwarves had just done something (almost) considerate, but only after putting her through an emotional ringer. She wanted to scream at them, to kick them out, but at this point what would she be kicking them out for? Doing the dishes? Bilbo was leaning more heavily toward crying, but she wouldn't dare allow herself, not in front of these louts. Bilbo had to take several deep breaths to pull herself back together again while the dwarves laughed and clapped each other on the back.
A knock rang out, bringing with it a sudden silence and a tense atmosphere and Bilbo nearly whimpered for she thought that everyone had already arrived.
"He's here." Gandalf breathed and Bilbo desperately wished she could simply go to bed, damn the fact she had guests, and forget about everything.