Master of Wood, Water and Hill (The Hobbit, Lord of the Rings)

[Karmic Acumen]

"-. .-"
​

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 Michael 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 and 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.

 

[In search for story's]

First Druid, now Bard too huh…Bilbo the multi-class.

 

[ZzzSlothzzZ]

First Druid, now Bard too huh…Bilbo the multi-class.

Click to shrink...

When asked which Class he wished to be.
The Hobbit smiled and said, "Yes"

And where Nyarlathotep Bilbo went, rest vanished

 

[Kehsem]

First Druid, now Bard too huh…Bilbo the multi-class.

Click to shrink...

I believe the appropriate DnD term is "Gestalt." The only thing that can make this story better is if we later find out that Bilbo's lifelong ambition is to bang a hot elven lady and has made significant strides to that effect.

 

[Sceptic]

He end Elrond

Click to shrink...

Such an overreaction.

 

[Karmic Acumen]

Such an overreaction.

Click to shrink...

A warped note in the Music, quick, it's the Discord, make it go away!

 

[TheChairIsAgainstTheWall]

I believe the appropriate DnD term is "Gestalt." The only thing that can make this story better is if we later find out that Bilbo's lifelong ambition is to bang a hot elven lady and has made significant strides to that effect.

Click to shrink...

No, he's a second-edition dual-class (actually triple) thief-mage-cleric. Basically gestalt, except way, way more complicated and confusing. And restricted to nonhumans only, because early D&D was racist af highly perscriptivist in terms of the fantasy millieu it was designed for. (But really, it wasn't racist. They're fantasy creatures!)

 

[stephen51991]

This talk of Bards is a bit concerning, given that they're going after a Dragon. Doubly so, since while Canon-Bilbo apparently rolled Nat-1's on both his stealth and charisma checks against Smaug, this Bilbo almost seems to be playing with loaded dice.

 

[ZzzSlothzzZ]

This talk of Bards is a bit concerning, given that they're going after a Dragon. Doubly so, since while Canon-Bilbo apparently rolled Nat-1's on both his stealth and charisma checks against Smaug, this Bilbo almost seems to be playing with loaded dice.

Click to shrink...

Why yes, Bilbo the Bard plays with Lewded Dice

+1 to mischief and munchkinry
Always rolls 20 on Charisma checks


But i just remembered, this isnt NSFW:CW so no dragon fondling.
Or elf lewding

Here's a thought,
Think of the children.
Hobby-Dragons

 

[Karmic Acumen]

Spoiler: Dawn in the Shire

"-. .-"
​

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 streetlight 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 streetlight 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. "Fortinbras!" 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 streetlight. It had to be. But where was the instrument. Maybe left behind in the spot where he was hiding?

"Fortinbras 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. Fortinbras 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?"

Fortinbras 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?"

Fortinbras 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?

Fortinbras 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."

Fortinbras 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?"

Fortinbras 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 Fortinbras 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.

 

[Ubylkoen]

I had honestly forgotten this story existed. Then I found it here at QQ, and it is just as entertaining as when I first read it years ago. So finding it again was a very pleasant surprise.

 

[In search for story's]

Rogue hobbits

now that's scary

 

[Mastigos2]

If this means that you're continuing this delightful story: hooray

 

[Karmic Acumen]

The Shire – 4: The Royals That Weren't​

(I)
​

Gloin grumbled under his moustache as he trudged down the road to Bywater. The mud was so thick and fresh that his iron boots sunk half-way to the ankles with every step he took. That alone wasn't the cause for his annoyance though. After all, he wasn't any worse off than his fellow dwarves, and they all were accustomed to nasty terrain. No, it was how the feet of the Halfling walking right next to him didn't sink more than half an inch. And the lad didn't seem likely to slip on the mire any time soon either. The only consolation was that his brown clothes were earthy and scuffed with green from the grass he'd been crawling through the past few days.

"How on earth do you not sink in this slush?" Ah, good old Dori, giving words to his thoughts from where he was walking, on his other side.

"Eh?" the blond hobbit – Rorimac "Rory" Brandybuck – snapped out of his single-minded contemplation of a leaf he was twisting by the stem ever other second. The white goose feather on his green hat gleamed in the morning sun as he turned to look at them. "Well, Mister…"

"Dori, Son of Bori," the dwarf said stiffly. "Brother of Ori and Nori, who you left to, what was it? Ah yes, frolick with the pigs on his night out."

Gloin winced. Dori was still angry with that. It probably didn't help that they'd had to leave Nori behind in Bag End to 'sleep off the make-believe alcoholic coma' as their burglar (well, soon-to-be burglar) had put it.

Seeing Dori now, so incensed on the thief/spy's behalf, you wouldn't think that he and Nori never actually got along.

Dori and Ori almost stayed behind as well, but the latter's craving to know more about Hobbits (and write it all down, even though he wouldn't be allowed to share his findings with many people) ultimately won out, and Dori chose to leave Nori to his sleep instead of leaving Ori alone on the road with the Hobbits that did that to their brother. Whatever it was.

When Oin mentioned that he wouldn't be alone, since, you know, every other Dwarf in the company would be going along to Bywater, he was completely ignored.

"Mister Dori then," the Hobbit acknowledged, totally dismissing the implied annoyance of the other dwarf. Gloin didn't know whether or not to admire his brazenness. "'m sure you can guess why I don't sink," he gestured down. "Our feet, see? Good weight distribution. 'Sides, 's'not like us Hobbits're all that heavy t' begin with." He ran his eyes over Dori, then Gloin. "And we ain't wearin' our weight in armor 'n weapons either."

Gloin's eyes traveled forward, past the ranks of dwarves and all the way to the front, where Bilbo Baggins and Fortinbras Took were walking abreast and exchanging friendly barbs. Bending forward, he looked to the left, past Dori, to Drogo Baggins, the third Hobbit that had chosen to accompany them (openly anyhow), and who was ultimately responsible for the large procession traveling down the road ("'Our shift's over, see, so we can do whatever we want. Y'all might's well come along and see cousin Bilbo in action.")

Sure enough, none of them were sinking or slipping in the mud.

Dori still needed to vent his annoyance. "I see. What about Master Baggins then?"

"You called?" Drogo asked cheekily.

"Not you!" The elder Ri snapped.

Gloin rolled his eyes and looked at Bilbo again. "Well, Dori does have a point, Master hobbit. Bilbo Baggins does appear to have normal-sized feet, but he still doesn't sink."

Rory seemed affronted. "Well, I never! Normal-sized feet indeed!" He flicked his fingers and somehow sent the leaf he'd been playing with shooting like a spinning dart. It hit Gloin's nose with a faint sting that was enough to make his head jolt. "I'll have you know that mine are of the perfect size for a hobbit!"

"'Course, if you'd been paying attention…" Drogo drawled from the other side. "You'd've noticed that Bilbo's the odd one out. His feet're damn right tiny."

"Oy! That's as bad an insult as you could find!" Rory tossed a pebble at Drogo's head, and the latter glared and responded with a tiny rock to the forehead.

"If he'd minded, he'd have said something the other dozen times I mentioned it! Besides, it's true!"

Gloin disagreed – their Burglar's hairy feet were the perfect size, just like a dwarf's – but he was still rubbing the sting out of his nose so he didn't say anything.

Dori did though. "Why doesn't he have trouble walking in this sludge then?"

Both Hobbits shrugged and said in unison. "It's Bilbo."

In a totally unrelated event, a few steps ahead Bombur slipped. He managed to regain his balance with Bifur's help, but he flailed on the path hard enough to send mud flying everywhere. And as fortune would have it, much of it splattered over Gloin. The Dwarf shut his eyes with a grimace, reaching up to rub a hand over his suddenly dirty face (and he'd had such a lovely bath the previous night too, blast it!). When he could see again, he looked down mournfully at his beard, more slimy brown than fiery red at this point. His wife would flip if she saw him.

Grunting, he quickened his pace, passing in front of the three Ur bothers (was Bofur discussing hats with Bilbo's Baggins cousin?), then past his brother Oin and drew level with the Princes, who were just behind the so-called vanguard, composed of two hobbits in the middle and Ori and Balin on either side.

"-till won't go and get some rest, cousin?" Bilbo was asking.

"I'm fine. Besides, you're crazy if you think I'm going to miss whatever you're about to do."

"Well at least put away your hat. Otherwise everyone will think you're, ahem, escorting us."

Fortinbras obliged, and the other two hobbits with them hid their own headwear in their vest pockets. Somehow, the damn hats could collapse into really thin strips. Gloin saw that the Halflings slipped the feathers behind a set of bands lining their outer forearms (to identify them as Bounders to their kin while also showing they were not on duty?). Bands he hadn't noticed previously. Seemed that weaving and tailoring were well cultivated trades in the Shire as well.

Gloin paid attention to the chatter, and half an ear to Fili and Kili, who were looking around and frowning, trying to spot their watchers now that they knew about them. They weren't being very successful. The rare times they did see something, Gloin suspected it was just because the Bounders were deliberately being less sneaky than usual. It was like a game of hide and seek with higher stakes.

Gloin wondered how stealthy Hobbits could be if they were removed from the Shire and did not know every nook and cranny anymore. The dwarf was also fairly sure there were some out-of-sight paths and spots that Bounders had set up all over the Shire to make their jobs easier.

Balin seemed to be scouring the distance and the fields as well. No doubt the old dwarf, their best lookout (and how rare it was for one so old to retain his sharp eyesight), had felt the hit to his pride. Days without spotting his tails. Days! At last he seemed to be doing better than the two princes, now that he knew there were watchers.

Gloin was a banker by trade, or used to be before Smaug sacked Erebor. He had a good mind for numbers and pretty much all other facts, but he didn't deliberately join a conversation without being asked to, unless it was about money and valuables. He listened really well though, so he didn't say much but paid heed to what queries Ori and Balin placed, and what the Hobbits answered with. Fortinbras Took hesitated often, but Bilbo Baggins proved to be surprisingly forthcoming, and his cousin deferred to him every time without any hint of resentment.

Which was somewhat mindboggling because not only was Fortinbras Took the equivalent to a high-ranked military officer, but he was next in line for Thain, the Shire's damn King. And no matter what the Hobbits said, the person who acted as high judge and led the Shire military was a King and that was that. Especially since the title was hereditary. He didn't care what the Hobbits said that it was mostly an honorary position, it was a big deal.

And yet the damn Hobbit prince was playing second fiddle to Bilbo Baggins.

Then it hit Gloin and the banker felt really stupid for a second. Bilbo Baggins and Fortinbras Took were cousins. Which meant that Bilbo had to have been the son of a first-generation son or daughter of the Thain that preceded Isumbras Took.

Gloin was hard-pressed not to bury his face in his hands. Thorin, all of them, had been acting like ruffians in the home of a prince. Why oh why did the whole Living Home thing not clue them in? Especially with how large and well-stocked it was? Forget the food, it had enough rooms to house 13 unexpected guests individually (both normal-sized and bigger, and with rooms to spare), and the Hobbit had provided towels, and he had running hot water!

Even without that, Mahal, the hobbit wore embroidered velvet for crying out loud! And he had a dozen hidden guards! Well, okay maybe the Bounders weren't actually Bilbo's royal guard, since they were supposed to tail everyone remotely suspicious, but still! He enlisted them to play a song with him just like that! The sodding military police!

It was a wonder Balin hadn't begun to openly despair over this embarrassment. Dwarves had called blood feuds and wars for less.

As it was, the old, white-haired dwarf was showing every sign of preparing to mimic a boiling cauldron. It was steady and silent, unnoticeable until it spilled over into the fire. Gloin wasn't sure he wanted to be there when Balin finally vented on someone, but he was rather sure it would happen before the day was out, so he had to keep an eye on him and make sure he was there when it happened. Too much entertainment value to miss the fallout.

The red-haired dwarf did his best not to show any of his thoughts on his face, just listening, trying to remember the core of what Ori was writing down in detail (although in shorthand). Learning more about Hobbit culture was mandatory now, not just a flight of fancy.

The exact number of Bounders was never stated (Bilbo bluntly said it was one thing that would stay a secret). But it was sure to be decent if they could spare two watchers per stranger. Also, Bounders seemed to have the right to request free lodgings from any other Hobbits when they needed to sleep after their shift (although, Bilbo said, Hobbits in general never turned down a request for shelter – from other Hobbits at least – so that right was more of a formality really).

When Balin asked what they had meant by "mind blankers" the dwarves were treated to a lecture on mushrooms and the various concoctions that could be made from them, particularly the toxic ones. It seemed that some Hobbits, like the Maggots, specialized in growing all sorts of different kinds, and even had deep tunnels in their smials, where they reproduced cave-like conditions for the rarer ones. The shrooms, and/or their spores, could be used in lots of things, from instant knockout gas and poisons to hallucinogens. The 'mind blankers' were small darts (shot with blowpipes) which were coated with a memory-altering knockout compound that had been discovered by Gerontius "The Old" Took (who'd been Bilbo and Fortinbras' grandfather and, thus, the Shire King equivalent, though it was a wonder that the implications of that still didn't seem to set in with anyone other than Balin).

Bifur and Bofur had drawn close by then, and the former asked (grunted really, with the latter translating from Khuzdul to Westron) why Hobbits bothered with such things, unless they weren't as peaceful and gentle as they painted themselves.

Bilbo had laughed at the insinuation that Hobbits engaged in court-like "politics" and patiently explained that it was impossible for their folk to use the substances against each other, because their race had a special tolerance for Mushrooms and even the most poisonous ones never did more than cause a bit of gas (only when they were eaten raw, and they could be the tastiest when made with the right seasoning). Direct injection of their secretions didn't do much either.

The most commonly used solution was a mild sleeping draught they used in taverns. It was kept in reserve, apparently, in case strangers proved to be mean drunks. If they got surly and violence-prone the tipsier they became, the bartender (and you apparently couldn't become a bartender without serving a few years in the Bounders first) would steadily lace the ale with the draught until the patrons in question fell over unconscious. The stigma gained in the process, of not being able to hold their drink against "mere halflings," was considered punishment for being crass.

A minor one too, Fortinbras Took had said, because Hobbits generally did hold their liquor better than other races, something Gloin had trouble believing.

Actually, Gloin had trouble believing most of that. Sure, there was evidence that all races had some sort of talent. Dwarves themselves were broaders and stronger than others, and could light a smokeless fire from anything even remotely flammable, even sopping wet wood. And they could maintain a forge flame at whatever temperature they wanted just by willing hard enough. It was why they were such good craftsmen. The best of spellsmiths could even tap into an inner fire that allowed them to sow their will into their creations when they burned hottest.

So it was, somewhat, feasible that Hobbits had some sort of fae affinity and tolerance to certain things. What he was hearing still seemed too farfetched though, not that he said it. Fili and Kili did, though, to which Fortinbras smiled knowingly and Bilbo said that it was okay. That it was the main reason they were even sharing that information, NDA or no. After all, who would believe a bunch of dwarves if they tried to share all that with outsiders? What were the odds of it not being dismissed as a poor attempt at a prank?

And considering that, Bilbo had asked, were they ever going to try to tell anyone and risk ridicule?

Gloin had almost said that they could if Thorin backed them up… but then he realized that Thorin and Dwalin had not been present for any of the happenings of that morning, and they also had not signed the NDA, so they could do nothing. And the rest of the Company could not just tell them anything because they had signed the non-disclosure agreement, and dwarves took their vows seriously. And even if they did break their word, there was the issue of credibility.

The princes were known for causing mayhem and pranks, so they were out. The others were tinkers, toymakers or mind-addled former fighters. None of very high standing.

That left Balin as the only one whose report might be trusted, and he was unlikely to break the terms of the contract unless the Dwarves decided to go to war with the Shire for whatever mad reason.

No doubt Bilbo Baggins had taken this into account when he offered the NDA, Gloin realized with grudging admiration. Now he had the perfect way to get back at their King for the lack of decorum of the previous night: forcing the company into a situation when they would have to dance around the subject of Hobbit capabilities whenever it came up. And Thorin would have to know better than demanding they ignore the terms of the contract and answer his questions. Because if he did demand that, he would blatantly send out the message that he did not hold himself to the same standard of dwarven honor as his followers.

It was no small thing for a dwarf to give his vow, especially via contract, but it was another matter entirely to respect the vow given by someone else, especially when the one the oath had been made to was a person you disliked. That realization made the red-haired dwarf gaze at the Hobbit's back for a long while. Maybe that was exactly why Bilbo Baggins had done it, to get a measure of Thorin's character.

If it was, Gloin thought, there was no reason to be concerned. Despite the faux pas of the previous night, Thorin's character was far from a strife-sower or simpleton. Maybe there was hope for peace and understanding in their miss-matched company after all.

Bywater could be seen clearly in the distance, now that the fog had lifted completely, and there was more bustle than Gloin expected. "Is today a market day?" He wondered aloud.

Drogo Baggins had swapped places with Rory at some point during their walk and was next to him now. "Nope. Those're Saturdays here in Bywater. Not that the markets're ever empty, heavens no." The hobbit shrugged. "O'course, It's true that today's a lot more active than usual. Makes sense though."

"What does?"

The short and plump man blinked in surprise. "What do you mean? You were there when Bilbo played."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"What'd'you mean what…" Drogo tilted his head. "Oh… Wait, of course you won't know just from witnessing it once. You were probably too mesmerized to notice."

"Notice?" Fili and Kili piped up in unison. "Notice what?"

"You mean you can't remember anything unusual about the song?" Drogo asked, amused.

"I was a bit too preoccupied with how Hobbits seemed to spring from the ground," Dori grumbled from behind them. Gloin realized that all other conversations had paused. "And stop smirking, lad! It's a wonder you could even play with the others with how the song seemed as if it was coming from everywhere!"

Drogo grinned back at the annoyed dwarf triumphantly. "And that was what I meant. The tune came from everywhere at once, you said. Now tell me, who else d'you think heard the same as you?"

There was a pause, then Bofur's eyes widened. "Ye're sayin' it was heard all the way out here?"

"Oh, not just here," Rory told them from the other side of the group. "The whole Shire heard it. An' I'm pretty sure it made it all the way to Buckland too."

"What's that now?" Bofur asked, sounding unsure if he should believe it. "That's days away!"

"Don't ask me how," Drogo told them. "I got no clue how it works."

"But," Ori's voice almost didn't make it over the noise of their trek. "But you were there! Playing along…"

"On instruments that cousin Bilbo handed out before and after he climbed the hilltop," Rory revealed. "Well, technically he tossed and kicked them straight where he knew we were. What, did you think we carry around violins and lutes all the time? We're Bounders, not musicians."

"But… but you were good," Kili floundered.

"Actually, I'm terrible!" Drogo said blithely. "Well, I'm pretty decent with a tin whistle I suppose…"

"But… but you were playing the lute this morning!" Ori squeaked.

"Aye I was," Drogo confirmed dreamily. "It was great."

"You're not making sense," Fili huffed. "How can you be terrible but still play so well? Unless hobbits hold themselves to different standards than anyone else…"

"We don't," Drogo said quickly. There went that idea. "It's just… it doesn't matter how bad you are when you play as backup to my cousin."

Bifur growled something in the Dwarven Tongue and Dori rubbed his with a groan. "Mahal save me. Will I ever understand hobbits?

"It's not a Hobbit thing," Rory said casually. "It's just Bilbo."

"You two!" Bilbo called from the front. With some envy, Gloin noted that his green shin-length trousers, white shirt and blue vest were spotless despite the damp and muddy morning. And his unbuttoned forest green coat (again, velvet, with golden seams and laces) was just as clean despite it reaching all the way to below the middle of his calves, and instead of being stiff it flowed like water. "Stop annoying my guests."

"Sorry cousin!" Rory seemed to mean it, Drogo clearly didn't.

Which Bilbo noticed. "I can see you're not sorry enough. Just for that, you won't be my backup this time."

"No!" The younger Baggins gasped in horror. "You can't! It was my turn!"

"Ha!" Fortinbras gloated as he accepted the lute. So that was why Bilbo Baggins had carried it along with the fiddle all the way from Bag End.

"No fair!" Drogo whined. He resembled Kili astonishingly much when he did it, even though they looked nothing alike. "He's just as bad at the lute as I am!"

"And you just said it doesn't matter," Rory said not at all helpfully, ignoring the baleful glare he got for that comment

Good old Balin took that chance to ask what Gloin himself and the others, were all wondering about. "Yes, and I'm sure we are all wondering exactly what that even means."

"Thoughts and feelings aren't fully ensconced in your heads, Master Dwarf," Bilbo explained, slowing his pace until he was between the old noble and Gloin. "They are like strands and eddies, swirling about you, or like the sun, a star of blazing fire. Always brushing against those of everyone else in a certain vicinity. The contact between such thoughts is where instinct and odd feelings come from, like, say, when you somehow know you are being watched, or that this or that group of people could be trouble." Well, wasn't that an interesting theory. "With the right tune, I can sync with those thoughts and feelings, and enable them to, in turn, sync with those of everyone else, so long as the people they belong to are of a similar enough mind."

Gloin felt uneasy at what he was hearing… could the hobbit do more than he was saying?

Drogo snorted. "You're being all scholarly again, cousin. We here're simple folk, remember? I bet half o' these louts didn't understand a word you said in the second part."

"Hey!" Kili and Fili yelled.

"I didn't say which half!" Drogo shot back.

Balin shook his head. "He's got you there lads."

"Anyway!" Rory cut in. "What dear cousin means is that he can make people work really well together. Like, say, turn any group of people into an expert band of musicians whenever he plays something."

"Actually, only people I've played at least a few hours' worth of music in the presence of. Granted, music tends to help crowds gain some semblance of orderliness all on its own, but what Drogo described depends on people fully trusting me to lead them well. That they at least want to be of like mind with myself," Bilbo clarified without missing a beat. "So far, that includes only those I have a deep personal bond with."

"Awww," Drogo glomped Bilbo, bringing the whole group to a halt. "I love you too cousin!"

Gloin stared at the surreal scene, exchanged a look with his brother Oin, then proceeded to stare some more. Did that mean that Bilbo Baggins had a deep personal bond with all the Bounders that were watching his house?

The Master of Bag end looked down at the newly acquired armful of hobbit, fondness and wry amusement fighting on his face. "I know you do." He ruffled his honey-colored locks. All the while, Drogo just kept rubbing his cheek into his older cousin's bosom. "But you still can't be my backup."

"Aw bollocks!"

"Language!" Bilbo swatted him on the head, though it didn't make the other hobbit pull away in the least. "Some people here are still underage!"

"Hey!" Kili shouted.

There was an awkward pause.

"Umm…" Fili stared at his brother. "He didn't say who…"

Kili blinked, then said some rather startling things in Khuzdul about pigs, horses and buttered toast, prompting Balin to swat him over the back of the head too. "Language!"

"But… but Baliiinnn, it's not like they understand any of it!"

Gloin wondered when Dwarves had stopped caring that their sacred language should be guarded from outsiders.

"It's enough that I did," Balin lectured. "Now get back in line before I decide to tell your uncle what your imagination just cooked up."

"No!" Kili yelled in overbearing mock-horror. "You can't! Mister Baggins, you'll protect me won't you?" And he jumped to duck behind the hobbit.

"Hmm…" The hobbit in question tapped his chin with the hand of the arm that was not still wrapped around his clingy younger cousin. "Well, you got my name right so I suppose you do deserve a reward."

"Yes!" Kili then hugged the hobbit from behind, which seemed to sprout a competition with Drogo over who got to hug more of the poor man. Mahal, Gloin thought, Kili may not have been of age by Dwarven standards, but wasn't the hobbit, at least, supposed to be an adult?

The banker looked between Bilbo and Fortinbras Took and saw the exact same expression of long suffering on them both.

So it wasn't just him.

What a relief.

But of course that look of mirth and deviousness would creep on their burglar's face as he looked down at his clingy cousin. "Drogo."

"Mmm?"

"You do realize that one of the Bounders keeping an eye on our grand company is Primula, don't you."

It took just a second for the words to sink in, then Drogo sprung away so fast that he smashed into Fili, almost making them both crash into the muddy path. Fili caught his balance with some choice curses, but the Hobbit was too busy straightening his clothes to notice or care. Once he was done, he checked his cuffs one last time then cast a roaming gaze upon their surroundings, peering into the distance to spot signs of their watchers that none of them could perceive. Gloin was fascinated by how gradually those big eyes that all hobbits seemed to have could narrow in focus.

Which was when Fortinbras Took loudly commented from ahead. "Not such a respectable Baggins, are you now?"

"Lay off!" Gloin would have mistaken the way the Drogo's fingers flicked out for a random twitch.

But Fortinbras's hand flew up like a blur and halted with the index and middle fingers extended, a round, shiny white marble caught between them. The older hobbit smirked. "Ten years too young, kid."

Drogo puffed and rolled his eyes. "Oh, go suck air through a reed!"

​

 

[Aravis]

I love this story! The interactions here were hilarious! Thanks for the chappy!!!

 

[Douglas]

I have no words for what you have done. Just know it is unequivocally a good thing.

 

[Oddboy]

Heh. Poor dwarves. This whole thing has been rather... unusual from the start.

Sure, there was evidence that all races had some sort of talent.

Click to shrink...

The dwarven and elven talents are pretty well known, and the orcs are strong and resilient despite their twisted existence, but what about the race of men? Discounting the Númenóreans, Humanity gets kinda shafted in LotR (talent-wise), and the numenors and their dunedain descendants are basically extinct anyway.

 

[Karmic Acumen]

Spoiler: The Singing Stalls

(II)

​

Thorin Oakenshield could freely admit that the past 24 hours had not at all proceeded the way he'd expected. And he wasn't just referring to the way he got lost twice on the road. No, it was everything that happened after he knocked on the door, though now he wasn't sure whether to be more affronted at the events in Bilbo Baggins' home or at how Dwalin dragged him out and away only to spend the rest of the night arguing with and relieving hours' worth of stress on him. By relaying, in that ever so blunt manner of his, precisely what had occurred between Dwalin's arrival into the Shire (and eventually Bag End) and Thorin's own.

Gandalf had absconded almost as soon as they got him to sit at their table in the inn, the sly old coot. If the morning actions of the hobbit bartender and other patrons hadn't ben what they'd been, Thorin would have given the wizard a piece of his mind. Did he think his quest, his people's plight, was a small joke? Why else would he set up his entire company for such a distasteful prank? He sent them into the lair of such a fickle creature under false information, and he made sure the tensions would be highest by not informing the Halfling (if it even was a Halfling) of anything, even their arrival.

Gandalf had told them that everything had been arranged weeks ago!

And what had gotten into Dwalin? He had been literally drowning his sorrows in ale. What had that Halfling put him through? The warrior had relayed the bare facts, but it was as if Dwalin was hiding some dark secret about what took place within those round walls. And every time Thorin tried to demand an explanation, he would just down another half a mug and sulk, occasionally grunting something at him.

Mahal, he'd trudged over half of Middle Earth seeking to muster his dwarven kin and been turned down, not even with the appropriate amount of deference shown to him. He'd been spitting mad for days on the way back from the Council of Gabilgathol – Belegost to the Elves and Mickleburg to the Men – feeling betrayed and disappointed. The worst was his cousin's refusal, even though he understood Dain's stance. On the one hand, he of all dwarves had the manpower to spare, being the lord of the greatest Dwarven realm that remained. On the other, he was the holder of the chokehold between Rhovanion and Rhun to the east, and those men had ever been servants of the Shadow.

It had been an uneasy trek back from the meeting place, to say the least.

And when he arrived in the Shire he spent four days through peaceful and joyful villages. It felt like a slap in the face that these small creatures had such an easy lifestyle, so safe (not even through any effort of their own, but owed solely to rangers) while his own people had had to spend two hundred years scraping for even the barest necessities until they finally established a relatively decent life in Southern Ered Luin, where Menegroth had once stood.

The four hours spent trudging through pouring rain didn't help any, and when he saw the small, soft creature it was like all his lowest expectations were confirmed on the spot. It felt like that entire situation had been orchestrated to stomp on the last vestiges of his hope that his quest was not completely doomed. Clearly, the Halfling would be a dead weight they would have to drag after them just to break the bad luck of number 13 and have someone lacking in dwarf scent to send into Smaug's lair at the end.

What had he been thinking listening to Gandalf in the first place? They were better off without the Halfling. Better that he didn't feel the urge to come at all. Admittedly, Thorin was (surprised though he was to admit it) regretful that he'd sought to amuse himself at Bilbo Baggins' expense, but if the creature was so thin-skinned that he would crumble at the barest implied insult then he was not fit for the journey.

Call him insensitive but after everything he'd been through in life, he didn't bother sparing the feelings of outsiders. He had trouble enough doing it with his own kin, even before they turned their backs on him and his call for aid.

Well, no matter, he would get them back their home even if they didn't lift a finger to help bring about that dream.

Then the evening happened and Thorin, even after a night's reprieve, still felt like he'd fallen down a rabbit hole. And the feeling didn't get any better after what happened in the morning. Stone, that song and the way the hobbits so reverently listened to it. Even Gandalf had…

Thorin had actually forgotten about having been rendered mute until after the bell stopped tolling and he finally could speak again. And only when it did finally happen did he realize that he'd gravitated towards the window closest to the one the innkeeper had sat in front of. The view was stunning, even to him. Sunlight streamed through the clouds, breaking into myriads of colors as it refracted through the mist, and the colors glimmered on the dew of the morning. And with the window facing west-northwest, he was almost behind the sunbeams and could see exactly how they settled over the hills, like parallel seams holding the landscape together.

Then the entire inn cleared out as if by magic. The only people left, other than the two of them, were the two halflings that had shushed him earlier (the nerve, he'd have words with them) and the innkeeper himself (who moved to sit at the window facing south, which gave him a full view of the market square down the hill). Gandalf had exited along with everyone else at some point, when Thorin wasn't paying attention. Not long after, the handful of hobbits that had taken rooms in the floor above thundered down the stairs and ran out the door.

Thorin and Dwalin shared a confused look, and the former was glad when his friend went to ask the Hobbit what had just happened, and what was going on. As far as the King Under the Mountain was concerned, if he had to deal with another hobbit that day it would be too soon.

Dwalin's brief talk with the Innkeeper resulted in their eviction from the establishment. The dwarf King in exile had been so nonplussed that he didn't get around to protesting the rudeness of it all. To just close down the inn, and so abruptly! He was, admittedly, somewhat mollified by the fact that the two hobbits that had lingered inside had been ushered out as well. Only for a short time, though, because he never got around to having words with them about how they dared to tell him to shush earlier.

Thorin didn't even remember when they'd disappeared, or where. Then again, with the crowd outside it was easy to slip out of sight.

And to get shoved and bumped around it seemed. Why he'd gone with Gandalf's suggestion to visit the market, he didn't know. Especially after the wizard had steered them so horribly wrong in regards to that volatile Hobbit that was supposed to be their burglar. But he did go to the market, instead of following his initial plan of going with Dwalin back to Bag End to retrieve his errant company and go on their way. He was determined that it would be the last concession he made with the wizard: to look around the market until noon or so, and if his company didn't show up by that time then he could go do whatever he wanted.

Four hours of browsing trinkets, produce and foodstuffs later (Mahal, there were so many types of food too), Thorin had actually finished wrinkling his nose and silently scoffing at the total lack of weapon merchants. Or even a tool stand. Instead, he was actually thinking of buying a couple kegs of ale, the sort that he'd had at the inn during the night. And was a third of the market dedicated solely to mushrooms? And by the Arkenstone, that apothecary was half-stocked with things he'd never even heard of before but which were supposedly meant to be remedies for various things.

Jostling through the crowd (which was growing as more and more halflings came in with various products in wheelbarrows or carts), Thorin was seriously thinking he should buy himself something to eat when it happened.

A ripple of mutters and excited chatter went through the crowd. The crowd which abruptly stopped. Automatically turning in the direction of the disturbance, Thorin could only think Finally!

There, at the edge of town, high on the hilltop leading to Hobbiton, were his followers. Squinting, the dwarf king also noticed two… no, four hobbits accompanying them. And right in front was the Halfling he still wasn't sure he wanted to see. Good thing his dwarves were there at least. And Thorin had to admit that the reaction of the crowd was gratifying. As impolite as it was to stop and stare, his dwarves really were a sight to see, armed and armored, dwarven steel glinting in the sun. And unlike the humble mien they were forced to wear in the towns of men, now they strode tall and proud-

"It's Mister Bilbo!"

-and imposing- Wait, what? He must've misheard, it had been barely a whisper-

"Ho Mister Bilbo!" A hobbit man shouted, waving excitedly.

And then the crowd erupted in movement again, twice as active. Frantic even. Thorin was jostled once, then twice, then he had to beat a hasty retreat as the Halflings moved about like a whirlwind, shouting things like "Hurry up!" "Set up that Stall already!" and "Mister Bilbo's coming, you wanna be the only one without your products on display when he give his speech?"

Speech? What speech? Who was he to even give a speech?

For the second time that day, Thorin could only wonder what in blazes was going on. When Dwalin finally managed to rejoin him (he'd wandered off earlier), he had no answer. Then the two had to move aside again because "Oy! Sorry but this here's hitching rail, see? How're we supposed to tie our oxen to it with you standing there? Or d'ya wanna get horned? Move move move!"

They were able to get out of the way but Thorin was sure he'd have had to start putting effort into not drawing his sword Deathless if that went on much longer. Fortunately for the annoying Halflings, that was when Gandalf came out from an alley not far from them. The dwarf king would forever deny that the sight of the wizard came as a relief.

With some effort and much pushing, Thorin and Dwalin made their way to the wizard's side. "So these are the creatures you're so enamored with!" He drawled as soon as he was close enough. He waved a hand as grandly as he ever did, encompassing the chaos that had grown ten times worse in the few minutes since Bilbo Baggins had been spotted. "Look at them. They're worse than headless chicke-"

A sharp whistle speared through the air so suddenly that Thorin cringed and shut his eyes. It had been so loud and shrill that his ears were left ringing.

Far off and high up, Bilbo Baggins pulled his two fingers out of his mouth (maybe forbidding that whistle should be included in the contract?) and raised an eyebrow at the multitude of his kinsmen, who'd stopped and were al staring at him like deers in the torchlight. Thorin watched in bewilderment as all who'd been trying to step over one another or push their carts ahead of the line (if the word even applied anymore) ducked their heads in embarrassment.

"Now…" Bilbo Baggins' voice carried over them all, even though he barely raised it. "Let's try this again, yes?" That said, he reached out, to his right, and plucked the strings of the lute held aloft by the Halfling accompanying him.

It was like a repeat of the scene in the morning, only with a different instrument. The cadence, fast and rhythmic, washed over and through everyone like the warmth of a furnace after a long trek through the howling blizzard. Then the section completed and picked up again, without breaking stride, five seconds in. Bilbo Baggins stepped away, leaving the lute to be played by his kinsman, and crouched.

A leap carried him several feet upwards, and his jump ended with him standing perfectly upright on the fence bordering the road. Sunlight settled on his form, aged wood gleamed as it moved. The hobbit stepped forward to walk as if he wasn't precariously balanced on something as thin as a fifth of his foot sole. He strode almost on air, brought up a bow to the fiddle strings and music literally began to fly.

Thorin shivered when the notes crashed into him, and he wanted to rebel against the feeling, but he couldn't muster the effort. It was fast but centered, wild and tame at the same time, and so utterly alive that the entirety of Bywater fled his awareness. He was mesmerized by how quickly the bow slid, like a blur in the sunlight, each note perfect.

The hundreds of hobbits stared at the one closest to them, paused, then moved again. In unison. Order without stiffness. Haste without chaos. It was like they were all suddenly part of the same mind, cogs in the same, grand, well-oiled machine. Carts were heaved, beast of burden quartered, stalls were erected as easily and smoothly as water flowed down a creek. Those that had been trying to get past one another now helped each other in their endeavors. Yet they no longer seemed to walk. They almost bounced on their bare, hairy feet, as if they were too giddy to stand still because no one was dancing and there should have been some dancing.

All the while, a path was opened for the ones that had just arrived, the hobbit playing the lute, his two kinsmen and the dwarves in their wake.

All the while, Bilbo Baggins glided forward on the fence, his backup and the dwarves following several meters behind. His eyes stayed close the entire time. It would have arrested Thorin's attention up to the end of the song if a new instrument, too low for a lute but still using strings, didn't come from right above.

With a jolt, he whirled around and looked up. One of the hobbits that had stayed in the inn with them up till the closedown was sitting on the edge of the roof. His fingers plucked at the odd object in perfect sync with the others, his grin was wide and brilliant, and his mirth-filled eyes were trained perfectly on the lead singer.

Dwalin grabbed his arm and pointed elsewhere, so he looked, around Gandalf. There, opposite of the first, on the other building, was the second of those hobbits, fiddle poised to start.

What on Middle Earth was going on?

That was when the song lulled, and the beats of a hand drum slipped into place. He didn't bother looking for it. He couldn't hear the direction anyway.

Thorin turned back to the source, in spite of himself. Bilbo Baggins was standing on the nearest fence pole, and the music had changed, though it stayed familiar. Like the hiss of a properly heated blade dunked in cold water, the rhythm slowed, then began to drift up again. Slowly. It was building up to something, even Thorin could tell that much.

That was when the apex came. Bilbo Baggins, instead of digging his heels into his nonexistent platform, instead of standing still to focus on his fiddle, instead of doing anything that made even the slightest nick of sense, stepped forward. Stepped on nothing…

Stepped on a bench that half a dozen hobbits had grabbed and held aloft length-wise for him to walk on. He cleared it in four steady strides, then there was again nothing, almost, but a rake, of all things, came out of nowhere, and a second one, then the same bench showed up and he was half-way to the center of the market, pacing along with the song he wove. On and on he went, makeshift path never failing to emerge before him, as if the song he played held him above everyone, as if it pulled him ever higher.

Numbly, the dwarf king noticed that the song did not falter or hit even the slightest false note. Not even once. The only other sounds were those of laughter from the assembled hobbits, especially the ones that kept building the bridge, yet even those seemed to add instead of detract from the spry tune.

Thorin would have understood if the Hobbit stopped in the center of the square. Even if there was a well there, it would have made more sense than him ending up on the opposite edge of the market. But that was where he ultimately headed, where he bent at the knees and leapt for the second time, off the proffered stool under his feet. He made it neatly to the top of the slightly sloped roof of the largest stall there, the one selling bread and pastries.

There he spun on his heel, carrying the uninterrupted song of the violin all the way to the end, joined by two other fiddles and instruments of who knew how many kinds. Thorin couldn't even tell where the sound was coming from anymore. It was like it made itself heard right in his ears, always faster, always grander but ever so perfectly fit for the small folk surrounding him on all sides.

When the end came, it was surprisingly fast, like a bonfire that burned all its fuel in one great eruption, with the way the final glide of the fiddle bow drifted into stillness.

The world seemed to hold its breath. The echoes of the last section still hovered in the air.

Then Bilbo Baggins finally opened his eyes and the entirety of Bywater erupted into cheers and applause.

The realm-less royal did not immediately realize he was gaping. He likely would not have noticed for quite a while, as arrested as he was by the mass of round-bellied halflings that were waving and shouting "Bilbo! Bilbo! Bilbo!" But when Bilbo Baggins's cloak flapped like a cape in the wind and he bowed before his audience, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain, breathed out without even meaning to: "Definitely not a burglar."

Dwalin coughed on Gandalf's other side, but it sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Thorin clamped his mouth shut and only managed a half-hearted glare in his direction, even after he saw his smug, vindicated smirk. Mahal, why did he have to let that awe seep into his tone? He may as well have added something inane like "too much style" and his slip of the tongue would have been complete.

Between them, the wizard was shaking with restrained laughter, pipe giving off smoke with each muffled snicker. "What is this, Wizard? What do you know!?"

Gandalf was visibly restraining his impending guffaws. "Oh, I assure you I am as lost as you are." It rung true, but the old man seemed to find the situation of being totally caught by surprise utterly pleasing. Exhilarating even. Fortunately, the Valar took pity on Thorin and the old wizard didn't get a chance to say whatever witty (to him) follow-up was on the tip of his tongue because the hobbit crowd settled, only for a different cheer to start.

"Speech! Speech! Speech!"

Naturally, the lean hobbit acquiesced. Standing tall, he twirled his bow between his fingertips. "My dear Bagginses and Boffins!" He carelessly but unerringly tossed the bow across the crowd, to the bonnet-wearing woman manning the cheese stand. "Tooks and Brandybucks!" He sent the violin flying in a similar manner, and Thorin's heart skipped a beat at the blatant abuse. But it was caught by clever fingers belonging to an unknown hobbit man, and the crowd cheered again. "Grubbs!" More cheers and laughs, each time he spoke the name of another family. There were dozens of them and he knew them all, until he finally finished with "Chubbs, Hornblowers, Bolgers, Bracegirdles aaand Proudfoots!"

The cheers were loudest, almost raucous to Thorin's ears, but even so the old hobbit manning the produce wagon, with the largest feet Thorin had ever seen – feet propped horizontally on the same stool that had been used to make a walkway for Bilbo Baggins earlier – shouted over the clamor. "It's Proudfeet!"

"Actually, it's not!" Blbo shot back from his high perch, throwing the older man a cheeky grin. "And I put together a complete etymologic and lexical treatise to prove it." He reached into his coat and pulled out a small notebook, bound with a strap. "Behold! The marvels of Westron grammar!" He tossed it like a disk. The object landed with a plop on top of the open corn sack right next to the old Proudfot hobbit. The latter glared up at Bilbo Baggins and bit on the mouthpiece of his pipe, but even from his poor, far off vantage point Thorin could see there was no real ire there. "Hmph!"

Bilbo only grinned wider, then looked back down at his enraptured audience and threw his arms wide. "My dear gentle and not-necessarily-quite-as-gentle hobbits!" With a flourish, he stuck a pose, one hand on his hip and the other forward, index finger pointing to the horizon. "I'm going on an adventure!"

There was no sensible reason why the crowd would react as it did. There was no reason the Halfling could even command their attention, let alone the reverence he was being shown. But it happened. Right there, the crowd erupted in cheers yet again, and Thorin was no longer wondering if he'd fallen down a rabbit hole.

There was no need to wonder. He knew it with utter certainty now.

Bilbo Baggins looked startled, though Thorin could tell he was faking it. He brought his hands up to ward off the noise, and when it settled down he dared speak again. "Whoa! The way you keep going on it's like you can't wait to see me gone!"

This time, everyone sputtered denials and tripped over each other trying to reassure the speech-giver. Though at least half of the repliers seemed only to be humoring Bilbo Baggins because they realized he was making jest.

"Ah!" Bilbo relaxed. "So it is that you're just excited about the party you think I'm about to throw. I'm sorry if I insulted anyone with my doubts but 50 years is far too short a time to live among such excellent and admirable hobbits!" Cheers abounded. "After all, I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

The crowd made an aborted movement to cheer but stopped. Hobbits stared blankly at each other, unable to figure out if they'd just been insulted or not. After a while, it became apparent that most wouldn't figure it out, and those that did were going to keep the secrets under their foothair. So they focused on the part of the speech that they could make sense of.

Until one particularly courageous lad asked. "Party we think you're going to throw?"

For his part, Thorin was stumped. Did that mean that Bilbo Baggins always threw a feast in his own honor before traveling? How… vain.

One of the children (Mahal, there was so many of them too) hesitantly spoke up when no one else would. "…Aren't you throwing one, Mister Bilbo?"

"Of course I am!" The Halfling assure with a careless wave. "Unfortunately, many of you probably won't want to come so I'm not sure I should even-" He couldn't say anything more because no small number of people burst into declarations that more or less went along the lines if Of COURSE we'll all come if YOU throw a party!

Eventually, though, someone managed to shout louder than everyone else. "Why do you think people won't come? Everyone wants to come when you're entertaining!" That settled everyone down, but then the follow-up came. "Unless you won't be entertaining?"

Even having listened to two instances of Bilbo Baggins playing music, Thorin couldn't understand why the Hobbitry would turn so crestfallen. It only got even more stupefying when the crowd erupted in distress of all things over what could prevent "Master Baggins" from playing. Was he okay? Had something happened? Had he come down with something and only barely managed to play those two tunes earlier? Because they could whip up a mean tea and fix him right up if that was it-

"It's not that I won't be there to entertain. I will." It caused a visible ripple of relief. I was mindboggling. "Thing is… This time I don't intend for the party to take place in The Shire."

There was silence. "What?" Old Proudfoot yelled. "Why not?"

Bilbo Baggins raised an eyebrow, reached out and pointed. "That's why."

As one, everyone twisted or craned their necks to look at the newest-looking building in Bywater, which also happened to be the tallest. Thorin found himself doing the same and recognized it as the "Big Folk Wing" of The Green Dragon Inn. It stood by the main road, just outside the entrance to the market square, and was perfectly visible from there.

"Mister Cotton!" Bilbo's voice drew them back to the matter at hand.

The Innkeeper was leaning against the fence close enough to the "stage" to hear fine but far enough to also see Bilbo without having to twist his neck upwards. "Aye?"

"How many patrons does that building currently have?"

"One," the plump Hobbit bit from his apple and chewed for a bit. "Although since Master Gandalf's more your guest than mine, I s'pose 'none' is just as right."

"Exactly!"

Beside him, Dwalin shook his head in amazement and muttered. "Oh, here we go again."

The Master of Bag End began to pace on the roof of the stall he was on. "Six years it has been since that building was erected. Six years and we only ever had a handful of our brave protectors dropping by to take advantage of the complimentary hospitality we ever so hospitably offered!" He sounded positively peeved as he paced back and forth. Thorin was shocked by one word. Complimentary? Did that mean Hobbits provided the Rangers with free lodgings and service? "Six years and we only ever had a dozen of them passing through the Shire instead of going around it, through fog and rain. Even though taking the direct path between the Ruins of Annúminas and the Far Downs would shave three days off the trip. Three days!"

A wave of assenting murmurs and mutters washed through the assembled populace.

"It would not have been so odd if, say, the Rangers shifted their patrols to focus more around the northern border and the Brandywine river to the west. But if that was the case, the fine Hobbit establishments of Nobottle and Buckland would have been put to good use instead, and they have not! I checked! And wouldn't you know it, Harcot and Springdell in South Farthing informed me of the same! Now what does that tell us?"

Instead of piping up with answers, everyone just waited for Bilbo Baggins to get to the heart of the matter.

"It means…" Bilbo narrowed his eyes and sternly gazed down at the crowd. "It means that the Dunedain Rangers still aren't comfortable passing through The Shire." Thorin could almost hear the weight dropping in the stomachs of everyone present with a figurative plop. "Now why would that be the case, I wonder…"

Hobbits shifted uncomfortably.

"I bet it's them Sackville-Bagginses," someone muttered. "'S'just our luck that they live in The Far Downs, right where the southern path turns around. I'll bet them big folk made the mistake of taking the Sackville-Hardbottle path once when finishing their patrol and knew better than to make the same mistake again, with how rude and gossipy the folk is down those parts." The quiet had become all the deeper the more he spoke. The grey-haired Halfling realized he was the center of attention and ducked his head in embarrassment, but managed to peer up at Bilbo. "'Sorry. No offense, Mister Bilbo, I know they're your family an' all but it's true."

"None taken," Bilbo waved the issue. "And I may as well lay your fears to rest. That's not the reason. I had the possibility investigated a couple of months back. Besides, Sackville is a small town to the southwest, hardly capable of influencing the appeal of all other paths."

Thorin narrowed his eyes at the choice of words. Had the possibility investigated. That implied he had human resources he could call on to do it for him. Or, well, Halfling resources.

"Beats us, then," The innkeeper said then. "Earth knows we've all been itching to see more of'em ever since you were kind enough to clear up the whole misunderstanding about'em defending our borders an'all." He scratched his cheek. "My daughter Petunia used to have all these nasty suspicions from when she spotted them during her patrols up North, but now she's mooning over'em whenever they come by, as rare as it is. I'm half-scared she'll try to elope with one someday."

Thorin had to tighten his jaw to avoid scoffing. That'll be the day. Imagine, a Halfling wed to a descendant of Númenor. He'd never heard something more ridiculous.

Most of the crowd did laugh though.

"And that is where the problem lies," Bilbo's voice rung again as his pacing resumed. "We've made it clear that they are welcome here. We've made it clear that we would like to have them over as often as possible. And we made it abundantly clear that we're straightforward folk who speak our mind, which means we meant every word when we said all that. So, by all accounts, there is no reason they would still avoid coming into The Shire. That leaves two possible explanations."

Thorin had no idea what Bilbo was getting to, but unfortunately he didn't see any way to cross the Halfling sea to where his Dwarves were, all the way on the other side. Most seemed just as enraptured by the spectacle, though some were multitasking and… was Bofur carving a wooden toy for that tiny creature? Oh wait, even he stopped to pay more attention.

"One!" Bilbo stopped pacing and held up one finger. "They don't think we're worth their time." Frowns and head tilts, but no ire. "Which is impossible." Ah, so that was why. "After all, if we were not worth their time they would not dedicate pretty much their entire lives to protecting us from the creatures of the dark. They would not do it now and would not have done it during all the centuries since the fall of the kingdom of Arthedain. So that leaves one other option, which, unfortunately, is worse."

Everyone seemed to hold their breath, and even old Proudfoot was sitting on the edge of his seat. And though he didn't realize it, Thorin was anticipating the answer too.

And then it came. "It means… that our dear Dúnedain defenders think they can have a merrier time without us." It was completely against logic, but that conclusion really did seem to cause a storm cloud of annoyance and depression to fall over the ones assembled. Thorin didn't get it. How in Mahal's forge fire was that worse? "And we all know that that notion is completely, patently absurd!"

"Damn straight!"

"Them big folk must be too close to the sky, they're getting addled by all the wind and sun in their hair."

"The nerve!"

And so went the grumblings of the Halfling population. Thorin found he could do naught but blink dumbly at the bizarre spectacle.

"And so I say that this cannot stand!" Bilbo shouted over the din, sweeping his arm in a flourish. "To think more merriment can be had in our absence! Ridiculous! Everyone knows that there are none who know how to have a better time that The Good Folk of The Shire! And so, tomorrow I will depart, by myself if I have to, and show them the error of their ways! Show them the Truth that none but Hobbits know the meaning of a true party!"

The crowd went insane, as if their Maker himself had descended from the sky on a diamond chariot studded with stars. Thorin blinked, then did it again, several times, so stupefied by how surreal the scene was that he was wondering if he'd actually passed out at some point in the night. Maybe everything from before first tune onwards was actually an elaborate nightmare.

He bit his cheek enough to draw blood, but nothing happened. Nothing that made any more sense. So it was real. It almost made him despair. It proved once again that Hobbits definitely had a different view of life than dwarves, and that it was the kindest thing he could find to say or even think about them. Not that Thorin spared enough thought to that realization. He was too busy wondering who the hell the "everyone" was that knew that only Hobbits knew how to throw a party.

Dwarves were the ones that threw unrivalled feasts, thank you very much!

Eventually, the uproar calmed and Bilbo Baggins could speak again. "So that's why I said I wasn't sure about the attendance-"

"As if!" One shouted. "Ye're nuts if you think we'll miss it! Why, imagine, when we show up there… the look on their faces alone! It's bound to be priceless!"

About a dozen agreements came before another hobbit had this to say. "Besides, you can't think you can drag all the party supplies on yer own, lad! The trip'll take days! Why, you'll need things to carry them in! Ponies even!" It somehow made a hush fall over the assembled multitude.

"Excellent!" Bilbo grinned. "Then if we go, we go in force! Ready the carts and load up the clay ovens! And make sure to bring the strongest and tamest animals you've got. Bring sacks of corn and rye while you're at it. The Rangers' horses deserve a treat too. Don't they?"

"Aye!"

"Aye indeed!" Bilbo echoed his kinsman, and the enthusiasm rippled, echoed on itself and only grew from that further and higher. "If they go out of their way to refuse our hospitality then we'll drag our hospitality to them! Especially if we find out they did it out of some misguided sense of propriety. For we are Hobbits, and Hobbits don't stand for such nonsense!" The outcry was massive, as if their maker had enacted the Mending of the World. "So let us waste no time!" Bilbo did not yell, but his voice carried over the uproar anyway. "The day is half-way done! Load up the ovens and ready the carts, for tomorrow!" Instantly one hand was on his hip and the other had a finger pointing at the sun above. "We leave for Sarn Ford!"

Thorin forgot to blink for a good five minutes. He only stopped when the revived chaos of the market somehow caused a speck of dirt to fly unerringly into his left eyeball and made him swear hard enough to leave even the crassest miners stunned. It had been bad enough that his eye started tearing. The only mercy he got for that was that only Gandalf and Dwalin saw it. His gruff but oddly vindicated old friend moved closer to hand over a patch of cloth.

All the while, the wizard laughed.

Everything that had happened would have been enough to leave a lesser dwarf shell-shocked, but Thorin was not a lesser dwarf. It was close, but his self-defined, majestic flair withstood the siege he was subjected to by the forces of Halfling unconventionalism.

So of course there would be more to come. There always was. "Umm…. Mister Bilbo, sir!" A Hobbit lad asked shyly from where he'd walked right at the foot of the stall roof where the not-burglar now sat, one leg swung over the edge. "How many carts will there be exactly? My brother's the one that minds the cattle this week." He rushed to explain. "I wanted to know how many oxen I should tell him to herd back from the pastures."

"All of them."

Somehow, that made the entire marketplace freeze.

"All of them, mister Bilbo?"

"Aye," the Hobbit grinned. "And the rams too… After all…" With surprising grace, he stood to his feet again and leaned on one foot, gaze roaming over the entire market, not even stopping to acknowledge the two errant dwarves staring at him. He stopped, instead, when he locked eyes with the middle-aged meat vendor. After a few seconds, he turned his attention to the fingernails he was polishing against his waistcoat. "We'll need them because I am hereby buying everything you have."

There was silence.

It was like everything had gone still, like in a painting. A swallow flew by, then made a U-turn and circled the scene from above, several times, as if trying to figure out if it was real. Finding inconclusive results, it went on its way before it had to think about it too much.

Thorin couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe how envious he was on behalf of his own people, for not having had something like this ever happen to them after Smaug the Terrible. It was the sort of miracle that only happened once in a century to those that depended on selling what they produced to survive. So one could excuse the effects that what happened next inflicted upon the dwarf king.

The meat vendor gasped and stood, horrified. "You can't! We won't have it!"

Thorin's jaw dropped so far that Dwalin recoiled in surprise.

Bilbo looked and sounded so crestfallen. "You… you refuse to sell to me?"

"Yes! No!" The man sounded so pained. "Bilbo… Lad, you can't…" He was so flustered but also so pale. Then he breathed in and his look became determined. "We won't have it! Not after what happened last time!"

"But…" Bilbo either felt like someone had kicked his puppy or really was that good an actor. "But I paid what I owed-"

"And most of the food ended up in our bellies!" The meat vendor stuck a finger at him. "And the leftovers only went back to our larders because you left on your adventure the same day so there was nothing else we could do with them but take them back! And you only bought a fifth of the market then. Well I for one won't have it happen again! It was shameful that we allowed it last time! It's basically the same as paying us to attend!"

Bilbo's dejected façade turned into a mulishly stubborn one. "Well, I've made my claim! I'm buying everything and you can't stop me!"

"Yes we can!" Various other hobbits nodded and crossed their arms. "Even if we have to outbid you to do it!"

Thorin was… he didn't know… What was this he didn't even…

Bilbo frowned, then a smile slowly, slowly overtook his face, even as his head dipped forward, casting a faint shadow over his eyes. "Well then." Without warning, he hopped off the roof and landed lightly on the ground, facing the older but just as determined meat vendor. "Challenge accepted!"

The tension was thick in the air. The standoff was strained, and the meat vendor's fingers twitched at his side, unnerved by Bilbo's easy countenance but unwilling to give in. For one whole minute they stayed that way, ramrod straight and refusing to blink.

Then the apothecary, who had the most valuable merchandise and who'd been turning his head from one star Hobbit to the other, sighed and sat back in his seat behind the stall. "Well, count me out of your competition because I've just decided to donate everything on my stall to the cause."

Thorin tripped on an empty bucket he did not know was behind him and fell on his backside.

Across the market square, Bilbo Baggins slumped.

Bilbo Baggins and palmed his face, then rolled his eyes and turned his exasperation on the totally unruffled concoction and salve maker that had started it all. "Now that was just unfair!"

Thorin would have seen the odd glint in the eyes of the sure-fingered man, even from that distance, if he wasn't too busy being sprawled on the ground and groaning away the pain in his back.

As it was, he only heard the response. "All's fair in love and war, my lad."

The dwarf king was about ready to let Dwalin help him up when, on their side of the square, Old Proudfoot the cereal and flour stall holder puffed his pipe. "That's actually not a bad idea. Methinks I'll be doing the same. Doubt I'd have enough time to hammer out the books by tomorrow anyhow."

All fight left Thorin's body and he slumped on himself with a sigh. "That's it. I'm done."

Halflings were just so backwards.

 

[Mundus]

I just had a thought, are halflings communists?

 

[TriedgeThePK]

I just had a thought, are halflings communists?

Click to shrink...

I think just Bilbo. Strange hobbit, that one.

 

[Karmic Acumen]

I just had a thought, are halflings communists?

Click to shrink...

Hahaha, no. If anything, based on how Tolkien wrote them, they're closer to anarcho-capitalists than anything else.

I don't think Tolkien entirely understood the implications of all the anachronistic commodities and luxuries they casually make use of without actually doing any foreign trade. Or the fact that none of that stuff even exists outside the Shire.

 

[Aravis]

This chapter was hilarious! I kinda pity Thorin here, even if he is an ass xD thanks for the chappy!!!

 

[Dracomaser]

You continue to amaze me with the quality of your story. The characters, the dialogue, the pacing; it sets the scenes perfectly. Thank you for sharing this, its an absolute delight

 

[Karmic Acumen]

You continue to amaze me with the quality of your story. The characters, the dialogue, the pacing; it sets the scenes perfectly. Thank you for sharing this, its an absolute delight

Click to shrink...

Why thank you. I'm particularly glad you enjoy the pacing, I know it took a lot less word count for them to get out of the Shire in the original book.

 

[Kehsem]

"Weed?"

"...thank you, Gandalf."

"I daresay, after seeing dear Bilbo declare war on parties, we both need a few hits."

*coughing* "What manner of tobacco is this, Gandalf?"

"...tobacco?"

I very much want to see this party to go down in legend as The Party, not just there but across all the races.

 

[Tzeentch]

If the Hobbits managed to surprise Gandalf, what's next?

Men having "wizards" of their own in the form of Pellars and Cunning Folk, far, FAR weaker than the Istari, but unbound by any imposed restrictions to limit their strength, communing with the ëalar of the world rather than mastering them, working Arts antithetical to the sorcery and perversions wrought by Sauron, and all other servants of Morgoth?

Young Elves being more of a common occurrence, being mercantile, explorative and active in the land of Middle Earth while so many of their older kin have begun to feel the pull towards Aman?

Dwarves growing gardens, preferring wine over beer, enjoying woodworking more than smithing?

 

[Karmic Acumen]

If the Hobbits managed to surprise Gandalf, what's next?

Men having "wizards" of their own in the form of Pellars and Cunning Folk, far, FAR weaker than the Istari, but unbound by any imposed restrictions to limit their strength, communing with the ëalar of the world rather than mastering them, working Arts antithetical to the sorcery and perversions wrought by Sauron, and all other servants of Morgoth?

Young Elves being more of a common occurrence, being mercantile, explorative and active in the land of Middle Earth while so many of their older kin have begun to feel the pull towards Aman?

Dwarves growing gardens, preferring wine over beer, enjoying woodworking more than smithing?

Click to shrink...

Nah, sorry. As much as I appreciate AU's, this is more a Want of a Nail thing, even if that nail managed to drive a bit deeper through the metaphysics of a music-based universe than others might have.

 

[Tzeentch]

Nah, sorry. As much as I appreciate AU's, this is more a Want of a Nail thing, even if that nail managed to drive a bit deeper through the metaphysics of a music-based universe than others might have.

Click to shrink...

Well, that's what realities like Elder Scrolls are for, I suppose, if Mundus was made using what became known as "tonal architecture" in combination with "Divine Power".

.... And NOW I can't get the image of the Et'Ada being a faction of rogue/neutral Ainur, with the Aedra being those who unwisely tried to create their own "Eä" without the blessing or aid of Father Eru Dearest, resulting in it backfiring horribly on them, and the Daedra being the cosmic equivalent of a bunch of edgy, self-absorbed teens that are more concerned with their own interests, f@#$ing around and whatnot, who usually stay in their "rooms" all day.

 

[Ahtu]

Tl;Dr: Ignore any Ron the Death Eater or Manipulative Dumbledore vibes you might get at any point. They're not real.

Click to shrink...

Aight, that's ominous AF - I can't wait to hope for the confirmation and be unjustifiably disappointed with a story again! JK. Let's hope those are really just temporary vibes.

 

[Karmic Acumen]

The Shire – 5: Master of Hill
(I)

"-. .-"
​

"I bet it'll be better than that one time when that platoon actually happened to be in town when the last pre-adventure day came around," the woman that had snatched Bilbo's fiddle bow said from her stall. "They thought we'd brought too much food. Poor folk. They probably never get enough to eat on the road. They're always so grim and their faces so drawn-in. That settles it! I'll be sending word to my sisters in Tighfield to bring the best honey and blueberry syrup."

Thorin kept listening to the chatter with only half an ear. Deliberately. He was fairly certain that if he allowed any more of his attention to focus on the hobbits and what they were saying, he would have a rather more… intense reaction to their bizarre way of life. It was bad enough that he'd taken to sitting on the upside-down bucket he'd tripped on earlier. On his left, across the alley leading out between the big folk building and the pottery, Gandalf stood and puffed his pipe, looking obnoxiously delighted by the scene before him.

The dwarf king (to-be) entertained the idea of retrieving his company and getting the hell out of dodge, but that would have meant braving the crowd, and he wasn't sure he could take a more direct, close-up exposure to hobbits without losing whatever shred of sanity he had left.

Not that he was ever going to admit that out loud.

Mahal, they were so backwards. The "trade" consisted of how good each hobbit was at bringing up reasons why they should contribute this or that, pro bono, instead of someone else. Whenever someone won an argument, they left looking smug, while the other either laughed it off or grumbled about the "nerve" of the other thinking their goods were better than their own. Not that it happened often. For the most part, the Hobbitry seemed content to all pitch in.

Thorin hoped this only applied to parties, or that Bilbo Baggins was to blame for this temporary mass insanity. He doubted he could handle it if this was what Hobbits were normally like. It was like they had no concept of real trade at all. Or maybe they just got it all wrong. They were backwards…

A few feet to his right, Dwalin was doing his best not to fidget while looking over the crowd and keeping an eye each on Fili and Kili. At least those two were sticking together. Thorin himself also let his eyes roam over the hobbit populace, since the side of the market square they were on was a bit higher up than the rest, so even though he was sitting on the bucket he still reached above their eye level.

Unfortunately, that meant he got a perfect view of the moment when Balin and Gloin finally laid eyes on them. The two dwarves were listening to Bilbo cheerfully explaining something or other, but stepped back when the Halfling was called upon by one of his equally crazy kinsmen. A question about cargo handling no doubt. Regardless, once the hobbit left the two dwarves, Balin looked around and finally spotted the two of them. Well, three if the Wizard counted.

Balin's eyes narrowed and his face settled into a pinched expression.

A moment later, Gloin saw what Balin was looking at and adopted a similarly peeved look. Then the two old dwarves made for them. And somehow, all the hobbits milling about got out of their way looking for the life of them like it was just a coincidence that a perfectly straight path was cut for the two members of the Company.

Balin looked like a dwarf on an orc hunt, and Thorin felt a weight settle in his gut. That look was not good. Not good at all.

But he refused to be cowed. He was King! So he got up from the bucket as if he was sitting up from a plush armchair and adopted his well-practiced, dour gaze. And when Gloin and Balin cleared the worst of the market chaos, he opened his mouth and-

"Wizard!"

… shut it with a dull clamp from the sheer confusion of it.

Gandalf blinked and didn't even have time to ask why Balin was descending on him like a hurricane because the dwarf grabbed him by a wrist none too gently. "Come, let us have a talk, shall we?" His voice sounded so sinisterly sweet that Thorin swallowed any intent of verbally interfering.

"What do y-" was all Gandalf managed to get out before he was dragged off into the alley. Well, half-dragged by Balin and half-pushed by Gloin.

Completely nonplussed, Thorin shared a perplexed look with Dwalin and ran after them. They caught up none too soon, because when Balin judged them far enough removed from the market square, he damn near tossed Gandalf forward and rounded on him. "Are we a joke to you, wizard?!"

"… I… I beg your pardon?" Gandalf stumbled, both on his words and on his feet.

"Are we a joke to you? Was this all a joke to you? Did you spark hope in our plight for some sick amusement?" Balin would have been spitting mad if he didn't have centuries of practice at staying composed. As it was, instead of snarling and spreading his spit everywhere, he was only red in the face and eloquently stabbing the wizard with words. "Did your tendency to count us out by names like dwarflings bleed over into your addled mind? Did you age catch up with you to the extent that you think we are like children you can lead around by the nose?!"

"What on earth do you-"

"You told us you had arranged things with the burglar weeks ago!" Balin damn near shouted. "And we arrive to find out that the last time you even came within a day's distance of Bilbo Baggins prior to yesterday morning was actually 10 years back!" Hold on, what? "I have to wonder, did it at least turn out as amusing as you hoped? Was that your plan? To have a good laugh at our expense for descending on his home like uninvited ruffians?! Or was it that you hoped our uninvited arrival would overwhelm our host and turn him into a laughing stock instead! You certainly seemed quite amused throughout the entire spectacle this morning!"

Thorin gaped as Gandalf sputtered. The next word that was spoken came from his own mouth, and he soon wished he'd kept silent. "Balin-"

The dwarf royal advisor whirled on him and jabbed him in the chest with his finger. "Don't you Balin me!" Thorin staggered back. "I'll get to you later, oh yes I will, believe me!" After which he, thankfully, turned back upon the wizard. "Did you or did you not lie to us about having secured a burglar when you had, in fact, never even spoken to him in person!?"

The grey meddler worked his jaw a couple of times before seemingly rallying himself. "I assure you that's not-"

"I don't care for excuses!" Balin cut him off derisively. "Do you realize what you did? You made us look like morons!" Thorin cringed. Wasn't that a bit much? Or had his men done… things before he arrived? "Or did you expect a common hobbit as we know them? A grocer?" Thorin winced at the disdain hat dripped from that word. "You would have painted Bilbo Baggins as someone who had made a promise to aid us but was now trying to weasel out of it because of the danger. Even if he came with us in the end, we would have treated him as a dishonorable outsider and a coward because of that! Or was that your intention?! To set him up for something like that? Or was it to set us up? To sow mistrust and ill will among us? When it was you that set us on this path in the first place?"

"Why… I assure you I did not! Why, that you would even think such a-"

"You gave Thorin a map that led to the tannery!" The dwarf in question gaped and, when the words fully sank in, started rummaging through his coat pockets, looking for the parchment. "You vandalized a property! And you did it when the one inside was as far away from a burglar as anyone could possibly get!"

Reeling, the wizard tried to regain his balance. "..Wh… Well, I never!" His voice seemed to regain its steadiness and he tossed a glare of his own. "If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is!"

"So you're delusional too!" Balin snapped. "Spare me your theatrics. You know full well what Bilbo Baggins really is!"

Thorin blinked and looked up from the map he was perusing. "He does?"

Gandalf looked well and truly rattled and confused. "Whatever I may have omitted surely can't be enough to caus-"

"Oh, don't you even try," Balin cut him off. "Unlike others, I do know my Westron grammar." Balin started pacing to and fro, length-wise in regards to the road. He passed Thorin and Dwalin's position twice before he stopped with his back to them, reached up to rub his beard and pondered something. Then he whirled on his feet again and glared at the wizard. "I'm going to ask you one more thing, wizard."

"I'm sure I'll-"

"I wasn't finished!"

"…"

"Right… so, I'll ask you this one thing. And just so we're clear, if I don't like your answer I'll spend the rest of my life using my position as royal advisor to advise that you should be considered an enemy of the dwarven people on par with Smaug."

The sight of the jaws of both Thorin Oeakenshield and Dwalin dropping to the floor would have been comical in any other situation. But there could be little humor in what essentially amounted to the closest thing to a declaration of everlasting enmity.

Gandalf stared at the dwarf, stunned, for a minute. Then his eyes narrowed and he huffed in frustration. "You dwarves and your drama… Fine! Ask your question that we may put this foolishness past us."

Thorin almost couldn't believe it. How could the wizard not consider everything said before a serious issue?

But as fate would have it, Balin's next question made things even worse. The old dwarf met Gandalf's frustrated gaze with his own blistering glare and growled through his clenched teeth. "When were you going to inform us that Bilbo Baggins was royalty?"

…

With something between shock and outrage, Thorin turned on the wizard himself.

Gandalf looked gobsmacked for a moment, then he slowly dropped his head and reached up to grab the bridge of his nose.

...

Oh.

Well damn. "He's WHAT?" Thorin shrieked, voice sounding an octave or two higher than normal as he looked at Balin again. "But… but he really looks like a groc-"

"HE WEARS GOLD-LINED VELVET!" Gloin hollered in tandem with Balin from where he was beyond the man, making Gandalf jump. "He had stores of food large enough to throw us a feast without prior notice!" Balin added as he advanced on his king. "He has plumbing and unlimited hot water! His house was large enough to host us all comfortably! Even has special big folk rooms! And he was well enough educated in foreign cultured to anticipate our needs and social norms. At least until you arrived, my king." Thorin would have normally chastised anyone who would address him so rudely, but in that moment he was only sorry he'd drawn his advisor's ire away from Gandalf and to himself. "He could have rightfully thrown us all out after the stunt you pulled! Not just from his home but from the Shire itself! Where all those lessons I gave you in manners and diplomacy went, I'll never know!"

It took all of Thorin's mental strength to stay blank-faced. That had stung.

"Mighty good thing he didn't throw us out too," Gloin grunted. "Or we might've all ended up like Nori."

That got Dwalin to snap out of the shock he'd fallen into when the word "royalty" had been spoken earlier. "What? What do you mean? What did the thief get himself into this time?"

Thorin winced. Did Dwalin have to yell out the occupation of that dwarf? Thank Mahal no hobbits were there to hear.

Or so he thought.

As it happened, the older member of the company was of similar mind. "Will you keep it down!" Balin hissed at his brother. "Or do you want to the whole Shire to think we're harboring a criminal and think we're all up to no good?"

"There ain't no one nearby to hear," the surly Dwalin said.

Balin laughed half-manically. "Oh, I assure you there are at least four hobbit Bounders watching us right now." Thorin stiffened and began to look around as unobtrusively as he could. "Don't bother, my king. You won't see them, the same way you failed to see them trailing us ever since we stepped onto Hobbit territory."

"… What did you say?" He must have misheard. Hobbits were bizarre creatures, but certainly not versed in skullduggery, not with those round-bellied frames of theirs.

"Exactly what I said," Balin answered drily. "Nori didn't see them either, so he thought it was safe to try and eavesdrop on Bilbo Baggins through the window after you left last night. He got himself rendered unconscious and thrown into the closest pig sty for his trouble."

"… You're joking," Dwalin said flatly.

"Not at all," Balin was just as flat-toned. "I'd say 'ask him' only he's not present, or even aware right now. He's back in Bag End, insensate. And if I understand correctly, when he does wake up he won't have any memory of last night."

That took both dwarves aback. "What do you mean-"

"I can't say more," Balin waved him silent. "Bounder matters. I signed a non-disclosure agreement."

Thorin reached up to rub at both temples. Why oh why did they ever think coming to the Shire was a good idea?

"You still haven't answered me, wizard!" Balin shouted at the strained-looking Istar.

Gandalf sighed heavily. "Hobbits do not have royalty."

There was an awkward silence.

Which Balin broke. "Unbelievable…" He breathed, shaking his head. "Tharkûn…" Balin asked, slowly enunciating each syllable as if he was speaking to a simpleton. "Is the Thain or is he not the one in charge of the Shire's judicial, diplomatic, economic and military matters?"

"Well… officially he is but-"

"And is Thain or is it not a hereditary title?"

Gandalf looked vaguely annoyed. "Well yes, but-"

But Balin was too angry to humor him. "And is Bilbo Baggins or is he not his sister-son!?"

The silence said everything, even though Gandalf seemed more frustrated with how no one seemed inclined to see or even consider his point. As he looked at the man, Thorin supposed there probably was a supporting argument in there somewhere, but he was pretty certain he would agree with Balin's instead even if it did come out.

Mahal, this sort of situation probably deserved an acronym.

"Oh my lord!" Balin palmed his forehead. "It's a wonder we didn't all get dumped beyond the Shire border with hallucination-induced memories of a week's worth of drunken debauchery!" Rubbing his palm down his face, the dwarf glared at Gandalf yet again. "Just so you know, if it happens I'm blaming you!"

"It won't."

"GAH!" Balin jumped a whole foot in the air when that voice came from right behind him. He managed to land on his feet but brought a hand to his chest, facing the newcomer. For his part, Thorin spun on his heels to face the new voice that was suddenly there. Why the hell wasn't Dwalin watching their backs? Oh, wait, he was paying as much attention to Gandalf being dressed down as he was. He supposed he shouldn't blame him too much…

Balin gasped. "Don't DO that!" With some effort, he managed to take a deep breath, then release it. "Spare this old man's heart, lad!"

Bilbo, who'd somehow come to be right behind where Balin used to be, frowned. "I walked up here normally."

Balin deflated and dropped his head with a shrill sigh. "Of course you did."

"As a matter of fact," Gandalf piped up, sounding annoyed. "He arrived a couple of minutes earlier." The wizard frowned in disapproval. "He just decided to keep ever so unhelpfully silent."

Bilbo looked totally unimpressed. "And what were you expecting? A rescue?" He scoffed, not even acknowledging Thorin's presence even then. The nerve. "You may have apologized to me for the harm you committed against my person and my creation, Gandalf, and I am willing to be cordial if you will. But I am merely one of fourteen whom you knowingly and deliberately wronged."

After wondering if he should feel mollified at being included in that statement, Thorin decided to take what he could get.

Bilbo broke eye contact with the aggravated old man and met Balin's again. "That said, I may as well clarify that in this, at least, Gandalf is somewhat correct. The Shire is not a monarchy. I am no more important than my fellows due to my bloodline. In fact, reputation-wise, I get more of my so-called respectability from being a Baggins instead of a Took." He smirked then. "The reason people seem to fall over themselves to please me is because of my contributions to the community and, of course, because I am the best entertainer you'll ever find!"

Balin, who had calmed down somewhat, pondered that. "So… you're saying that the Shire is a meritocracy?"

Bilbo opened his mouth, then closed it. After a moment, he nodded. "Yes, that is just about right."

On Balin, that answer had the opposite effect than the one Thorin was expecting and hoping for. "Oh Mahal, that only makes this worse!" Balin openly despaired, sinking his face in both hands.

Valar above, he seemed to be swearing by their God a lot, Thorin thought.

Bilbo sighed softly and pulled out a flask from… somewhere under his long coat. Still acting as if no one but Balin and Gandalf existed, he approached the old dwarf and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Here, you look like you could use a drink."

Though looking tired, frazzled really, and somewhere between grateful and uncomfortable for a second, Balin accepted the bottle and took a long chug. When he finished he exhaled from the depths of his lungs and stared at the container curiously before handing it back. "What is that? It had no taste but felt sweet and charged, somehow."

Bilbo gave a vague smile and responded, much to general bemusement. "Water, my good dwarf." The container was gone. How had he missed the hobbit stashing it away, Thorin had no idea.

And now what? Given Balin's attitude earlier, there was no way Bilbo Baggins was going to join them without an apology from him. On the one hand, hindsight suggested he really had approached the situation… inadequately. On the other, the dwarf king wasn't sure he even wanted Baggins for a burglar at this point. And it wasn't just because the idea of apologizing to anyone rankled. Truly, it was not! Besides, they didn't need an "entertainer" on the quest.

"Now!" The hobbit turned away from the incredulous, white-haired dwarf to finally, finally look at the two of them. "The reason I am truly here." Well, if he was going to renounce his advantage by speaking first, who was Thorin to deny him- "Master Dwalin."

Hold up, what?

Bilbo, for the life of him, acted as though Thorin didn't even exist. Despite that Dwalin was half-way behind him, as bodyguards tended to hover. "It has come to my attention that you were the victim of a misunderstanding."

With a cautious glance in Thorin's direction (and no, Thorin was not gritting his teeth), Balin's brother finally spoke for once. "Misunderstanding?"

Bilbo Baggins proved he had no qualms about speaking his mind. "The kind that led you to the conclusion that my house was trying to molest you."

Gloin started to cough suspiciously in the background.

Dwalin sputtered unintelligibly for a few moments before rallying himself (and could he blame him? Thorin was staring in shock too), but he didn't get the chance to speak.

"So tell me, Master Dwarf. How on Arda would the concept of sexuality even apply to a building?" Dwalin was stumped by the earnest, nearly astonished tone. Thorin had to grudgingly admit he had a point. "And even if it were possible, do keep in mind that Bag End's sentience is only ten years old."

Dwalin stared. "… Oh." Then he blinked, and blinked again. "Why'd it try to smother me with the curtains then?"

"Not smother. Hug." Bilbo replied. Because that sounded so much less bizarre. "You not only were the first dwarf to ever come through my gate, but you are also the most honest person I've ever encountered." Dwalin stared, and when he didn't find anything but frankness in the Hobbit's eyes, he shifted a bit at the… praise? "Thoughts and feelings aren't fully ensconced in your heads, Master Dwarf. They are like strands and eddies, swirling about you, or like a star of blazing fire. Sometimes I can perceive them as they affect the world, but Bag End does it all the time." Thorin nearly scoffed, but then remembered almost being eaten by darkness and grimaced instead. "Normally, such eddies are mild, muted, but they are brighter and stronger the freer a person thinks and feels. The more straightforward they are, the stronger their feelings show. I long learned to control my Flame, but I still burn bright enough when I reach out with my mind to talk to my home. And yet you burned and still burn brighter than even that. When you accepted my invitation, it was like the Sun entered my house." Dwalin's ears pinked as he looked down at the hilt of the axe he was fiddling with. "Even now you flare with protective loyalty. And the sheer love you have for your kin blazes brighter than even that of your king."

Dwalin was well and truly red now, even on the top of his bald head, and didn't seem to register the outrage and hurt Thorin felt. At that underhanded accusation that he didn't care for his people as much as he should.

"That said!" Bilbo turned casual but no less honest. "I apologize on behalf of Bag End for the discomfort you may have felt due to this misunderstanding. Bag End thought you were reaching out to it and was merely trying to reciprocate. I have since cleared the confusion, but I would still like to extend an offer to facilitate communication between you two." That finally made the blushing Dwalin look up again. "It's not all selfless on my part though! I want Bag End to grow, and it can only gain from being exposed to a person of your moral fiber."

With the expression of one who just saw something he couldn't make heads or tails of, Dwalin looked from Bilbo, to Balin, to Thorin and again Bilbo, then cleared his throat, though he was still pink in the face when he answered. "Erm… That's alright I s'pose. I reckon we have to double back anyhow, since our things are still there." Thorin threw him a dirty look, but Dwalin wasn't looking at him so he might just have failed to notice his king's obvious opinion the matter.

Fat chance. Dwalin had just ignored him!

It made the king glare at the hobbit. The gall, the Halfling was seducing his followers away from him!

"Wonderful!" Bilbo clapped his hands together. "In that case, I should-"

A hobbit fell from the sky and landed a crouch right next to Bilbo.

Except for Balin and Gloin, the dwarves jumped and yelped, but the newcomer didn't pay them much mind. Instead, he pushed to his feet (had he jumped all the way down from the rooftop above?) and went to whisper something in Bilbo's ear. Then he gave a short bow (still not acknowledging anyone other than Bilbo Baggins) and turned to leave, taking off his single-feather cap and collapsing it as he went.

"Ah, I suppose that's my cue to leave," Bilbo said, as if what had just happened was normal. "Apologies, we will have to pick this up later. Seems the Mayor of Michel Delving is looking for me. By your leave!"

And he walked off.

Later, he would consider the implications of the Mayor of a village two settlements away coming over from across the Farthing just because Bilbo decided to throw an impromptu party, but for now, there was only silence.

Until Thorin broke it, unable to understand why Balin and Gloin hadn't reacted to the appearance of the halfling. "Was that supposed to be normal? Because the Halfling acted as if it was normal!"

Balin sighed, shook his head in despondence and left as well.

Thorin never did see Gandalf relaxing in what could only be relief that Balin wasn't going to chew him out anymore, but he did hear his advisor's last parting shot. "Just to be clear, I'm not done with you, wizard! Remember! For the next while at least, I know where you live and sleep!"

Gandalf groaned and not-quite stormed away, muttering about dwarves and their drama again, and Gloin left soon after. At the end of it, Thorin could only rub his temples and ask himself again why he ever thought coming to the Shire was a good idea.

Dwalin was silent beside him, but not for long. "Sooo…. Ale?"

"Yes."