Chapter Text
It was gloomy for a Tuesday morning in late spring, but it was not gloomy enough to discourage Bilbo from sitting out on his porch. He would sit out there every day unless there was a particularly intense downpour that would soak through his clothes quickly. Otherwise he thought it a waste to skip a day of sitting outside and enjoying the scenery.
Bilbo closed his eyes and breathed in a hefty gasp of the crisp air. He wanted to savor every second of his time outside before he had to go back inside. There was something so serene about these moments, the times when he got this time to himself to relax and unwind from the stressors of everyday life.
At least, there was until he opened his eyes and saw a tall man in tattered gray clothes standing over him.
Where did he come from? Bilbo thought.
“Good morning,” Bilbo said, stammering a bit as he felt reluctance overtake him. Something about this man being here felt off and he wanted to run away from the situation, but courtesy dictated that he not do that.
“Do you mean to wish me a good morning, or do you mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not?” The man inquired, raising an eyebrow. “Or perhaps that you feel good this morning or that it is a morning to be good on?”
“Um, all of the above, I suppose.” Bilbo paused, trying to get a sense of where this conversation was going. The odd feeling in his gut was growing, but he couldn’t quite pin what was off about this whole situation. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
The man huffed. “Well, I’m Gandalf and Gandalf means me.” Then he paused, thinking over how to say his next words. “I am looking for someone to share in an adventure.”
Bilbo furrowed his brow. He realized this man had to be a wizard, judging by his stature and his clothes. “What do you mean by adventure? I doubt anyone west of Bree is looking for any sort of adventure.”
Gandalf looked him over before he spoke again. “Well, then, I think it will be very good for you to go on an adventure.”
Bilbo did not like the sound of this. He did not like it at all. Whatever Gandalf wanted, it wasn’t good news. He got onto his feet and started for the front door, hoping to escape the wizard’s judging glare. “No, no, we do not need any adventures around here! Good morning to you!”
“I did not come here to be good morning’d by Belladonna Took’s son.”
Upon hearing his mother’s name Bilbo stood straighter. He looked at Gandalf more closely as if trying to assess him. But he just couldn’t put together the pieces of who this wizard really was. Had they met before? They must have, judging by Gandalf’s seemingly calm demeanor. But how did he know Bilbo or his mother? There were only a few wizards in Middle-earth, so surely Bilbo would have remembered meeting at wizard before.
“What has my mother got to do with this?”
***
In the hours that followed his strange encounter with Gandalf, Bilbo struggled to focus with his work. After storming back into the house he headed straight for his office in the hopes that his work would distract him. He loved his work. He loved poring over his books and maps and would often spend more time than he needed to just working because it was so easy for him to become engrossed in whatever task he set his mind to.
But that was not the case today. He could barely focus for an hour before he got up and walked around his house with the hopes of clearing his mind before heading into the kitchen for a snack. Then he trailed back to his office, where the cycle repeated hour after hour as he struggled to keep the deepest of his thoughts entirely away for long enough to get any comprehensive work done.
This was enough to sour Bilbo’s mood, but he tried to not let it get to him too much for too long. He kept a close eye on the clock throughout the day and as soon as it struck 5 that afternoon, he let himself off the hook for working. He didn’t like giving up for the day without any successful work to show—it felt so uncharacteristic for him to feel so disconnected from his work like this—but he was too frustrated to think too much of it. Not when he found himself heading straight back towards the kitchen. Even cooking would be enough to help him get his mind off things.
Bilbo spent the evening putting together a rather elaborate dinner, consisting of several courses. It felt right for the occasion so he felt overjoyed by the time he finally sat down ready to dig in. He put the finishing touch of salt on his first course when the doorbell rang, instantly pulling him out of his docile state. He scowled and for a moment considered ignoring it because he didn’t want to pull himself out of this newfound good mood and away from his eloquent dinner. He didn’t like the idea of company arriving uninvited, but he knew it would be rude to simply ignore whoever was at the door. He grumbled as he pulled himself out of the chair.
For a split second Bilbo was relieved to open the door to find out it was not Gandalf at the door, but then he snapped back into reality and realized that didn’t explain that a complete stranger was standing at his door. Two complete strangers, for that matter.
“I am Fíli,” one of the men said. Judging by their appearance, they seemed to be dwarves. What were dwarves doing at his house at this late hour?
“And I am Kíli,” the other dwarf said.
Then both men bowed and said, “At your service,” in unison. This struck Bilbo as rather odd.
“I… I never ordered any service.” Bilbo frowned, his heart pounding. He couldn’t decide he was more uncomfortable or annoyed with what was unfolding right before his eyes. Hadn’t he dealt with enough today? Why couldn’t he have a simple night to himself?
If the two dwarves—Fíli and Kíli, Bilbo remembered—had heard Bilbo then they made no indication of it. They squeezed right past Bilbo and entered his house, which only furthered the pounding in his heart. What was going on?
They made their way into Bilbo’s kitchen, the beginning of which Bilbo had only seen glaring over his shoulder. Once he figured out where they were going, though, he spun around and raced after them. It was already enough for him that he had unexpected company that he didn’t know, but he didn’t like the idea of his unexpected, unfamiliar company to wander into the kitchen without him.
So much for Bilbo’s peaceful dinner.
But before Bilbo could catch up to them and ask them what they thought they were doing, the doorbell rang again and Bilbo felt the pit in his stomach only grow larger. Who could this be now?
Bilbo nearly hesitated going to the door, the hope of stopping in his tracks and telling off Fíli and Kíli still clinging in his mind, but he forced the thought aside as he headed back out of the kitchen and towards the door.
Bilbo thought he had finally had enough when he opened the door to see Gandalf on the other side. Why was this a surprise to him? Of course Gandalf was behind this. Leave it to Gandalf to send strangers to Bilbo’s door at this time in the evening. No one else would be so bold to do that.
Before Bilbo had the chance to fully process the moment and open his mouth to tell Gandalf off, though, Gandalf stepped in through the door and came into the house like Fíli and Kíli had.
“Bilbo,” Gandalf said as he finally acknowledged Bilbo standing dumbfounded, trying not to stir in his own confusion.
“What are these two doing here?” Bilbo asked, crinkling his brow as he gestured towards the kitchen towards the men who were more than likely raiding his kitchen. He wanted to know what was going on already.
But Gandalf’s response only caught Bilbo off guard even more. “Just two? That means we’re still waiting on one more.”
“Wait—we? You mean there’s more of them coming? Isn’t two enough already?”
Gandalf didn’t respond to Bilbo’s questions. By this point he had already turned around and made his way for the kitchen where Fíli and Kíli were. Bilbo tried to brush off his frustration, at least for this brief moment, and followed Gandalf into the kitchen. There he saw that Fíli and Kíli were helping themselves to his dinner and ruining the elaborate and careful arrangement he had set up—did they have no manners, no consideration for this man’s house?
Then someone knocked at the door again and Bilbo had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from groaning aloud. Whoever was there was knocking in a rather aggressive, rude way, too. Even though he was growing more annoyed with his predicament, he still thought it rude to show this disdain in front of his “guests.” If he could call these unwelcome strangers that. He supposed Gandalf was a guest because at least he already knew Gandalf, even if Bilbo thought he was rather unwelcome at this time of the night, too. But here he was in this present moment and he couldn’t simply tell them to bugger off, so he needed to stop dwelling on it so much.
He made his way to the door and he found himself hesitating before he lifted his hand to turn the knob. It was like he wanted to turn away from the door and just escape out the window to avoid the fact that he was here in this present moment with Gandalf throwing together who-knew-what plan without ever considering if Bilbo wanted to be involved. But of course he was not going to do that with Gandalf here. Gandalf who would surely find him again and try to find a way back into his life. He was the only person from Bilbo’s old life who knew this address and Bilbo wished it wasn’t that way, but wishing wasn’t going to change anything.
He opened the door.
On the other side of the door was a dwarf who looked similar to Fíli and Kíli—Are they family? Bilbo found himself wondering, since they all resembled one another and Bilbo didn’t know any dwarves—who was dressed in a dark cloak, with his hood covering his face. He pulled the hood down and the light from inside the house illuminated his face. A dark beard defined the lower half of his face, but Bilbo could tell underneath the dark light and the beard that this man had light eyes.
“Thorin.” Bilbo heard Gandalf speak from right behind him—how had he crept up so silently up close behind Bilbo without catching Bilbo’s attention? Leave it to a wizard to figure that sort of mystery out. Bilbo figured this had to be the dwarf’s name. But who was he, really? Who were that Fíli and Kíli raiding his kitchen?
“Gandalf,” the dwarf called Thorin said to the wizard as he slid in through the threshold of the door, not seeming to pay any mind to Bilbo standing dumbfounded, watching him enter. Bilbo found this incredibly impolite, but shouldn’t he have known by now to not expect proper manners from these dwarves the way he did from his fellow hobbits? This Thorin, though, seemed to have a particularly inflated sense of self-importance that superseded plain good manners.
Once in the house the man called Thorin took one look at Gandalf and then turned his head back to look at Bilbo. “So this is the burglar you told me about?”
Bilbo felt like he was about to choke on his own tongue. Burglar? Burglar? Gandalf was going around telling strangers that he, Bilbo Baggins, nothing short of a sensible hobbit, was a burglar?
“Close the door, Bilbo, before you let anyone else in,” Gandalf said, moving past Bilbo to close the front door for him when he saw Bilbo wasn’t going to do it himself. Bilbo blinked and forced himself to focus on the present moment. He was going to get swept away in his own thoughts of annoyance if he didn’t ground himself.
Thorin paused to look over Bilbo. “Tell me, Mr. Baggins, have you done much fighting?”
“Huh?”
“Axe or sword, what’s your weapon of choice?"
Bilbo raised an eyebrow, heart racing once again. “I fail to see why that’s relevant…”
“I thought as much.” Thorin turned away and made his way towards the kitchen. Bilbo thought he rather lacked manners, too.
Great, just what I need, another dwarf trying to mooch off my dinner, Bilbo thought. And I haven’t even gotten to enjoy one bite of it…
“Who are they and what are they doing here?” Bilbo hissed to Gandalf in a low whisper, standing on his toes to make sure the other man could not miss his words.
“Well, come to the kitchen and we’ll tell you more.”
“Thorin!” Fíli and Kíli said to Thorin in unison and they stopped what they were doing to greet the older dwarf.
“This is our burglar,” Thorin said, gesturing to Bilbo, who still desired to be left out of the conversation, “though I daresay he looks more like a grocer than a burglar.” Fíli and Kíli laughed and Bilbo wished he wasn’t here anymore.
Thorin took a seat at the head of the table. Bilbo stood between him and Gandalf, not wanting to take a seat too. In his mind he somehow equated sitting down at the table with the dwarves to accepting everything that was unfolding before his eyes and he knew he was not okay with that.
“So what is it you actually want me to do?” Bilbo couldn’t help but blurt out. He knew this was his mind’s attempt to forget about the dinner at all. He wasn’t getting that perfect relaxed evening back, so he may as well get this evening over with as fast as he could, right?
No one responded at first, but Gandalf moved to pull something out from under his long coat. Bilbo couldn’t tell what he was doing until he saw Gandalf laying out a map across the table. Then Gandalf stuck his hand back into the inside pocket of his long coat and this time he pulled out a large key. Bilbo couldn’t help but appreciate the intricate detailing on the key, even though he had no idea why Gandalf thought this was important to show.
“Where did you get that?” Thorin hissed, slamming his fist on the table.
“Your father gave it to me,” Gandalf replied in a calm tone. “And it would serve you well to not let that temper loose right now.”
That seemed to appease Thorin. He slumped back into his seat and tried to loosen his expression towards a greater sense of calm. It seemed to be enough for Gandalf, for he moved right on with the conversation.
“Bilbo, look here,” Gandalf said, pointing to a certain spot on the map. Bilbo leaned onto the table as he stretched to see the details of the red ink on the map.
“The Lonely Mountain,” Bilbo read out.
“This is where we need to go,” Gandalf said, and then he moved the index finger on his other hand to point to something on the other side of the map. “And this is where we are now.” Bilbo couldn’t tell how far away this mountain was from Bag End, but he couldn’t imagine it was at all nearby if Gandalf felt it important to point out the distance in the first place.
“And why don’t we just go there already and take back the mountain?” Thorin snarled. “It is our home and it’s about time it is in the hands of the dwarves again.”
Bilbo’s mind began buzzing as he tried to put the pieces of the situation together with what little information he had on the table. So this Erebor was where Thorin came from? What did he mean to “take it back?”
But, almost as if Gandalf could read Bilbo’s mind, he motioned to explain. “Why don’t you tell Bilbo about why we’re here, then?” He asked Thorin.
Thorin furrowed his brow, feeling annoyed with having to explain. Or relive.
Perhaps it was to relive something, Bilbo thought. It sounded like this was personal to Thorin.
“Erebor is my family’s estate,” Thorin said, starting off with his voice so soft and gentle that it sounded like little more than a natural humming of the house. “It’s a lovely mansion, until it was taken from us. Smaug. What he really wanted was our family heirloom, and he had to go and take the whole damn property just so he could have it.” There was a heavy pause in the room, and Bilbo realized this was all he was going to find out from Thorin. Bilbo knew there was more that Thorin wasn’t willing to share, but he didn’t even dare push for more beyond what Thorin was willing to tell.
Gandalf must have gotten the same impression from Thorin, for only another mere moment passed before he interjected, seeming to pick up right where he had left off without hesitation.
“That’s the gist of it,” Gandalf observed, his eyes still low to focus on the details of the map.
“But where do I come into this?” Bilbo found himself asking. He hadn’t even consciously thought about that part yet, but he knew it was coming. Why else had these men come into his house calling him a burglar? What did any of this have to do with him?
This was the moment Gandalf lifted his eyes from the map and his gaze now seared into Bilbo’s face. Bilbo did not flinch, knowing all too well the intimidating air Gandalf could put on when he felt like it.
“Well, it’s simple, really,” Fíli put in. This was the first time Fíli—or Kíli, who Bilbo assumed was likely to jump into the conversation now, for that matter—had spoken since Gandalf pulled out the map. “We need you to be our burglar of sorts. Gandalf has told our uncle Thorin that you can help us take back what is ours..”
This disrupted Bilbo’s concentration. “Wait, wait… You expect me to go into this estate with this supposedly dangerous man?” He raised his brow and looked to Gandalf, who still maintained a stone-cold, blank expression. Gandalf would not lend himself to emotions when he didn’t want to. “Do you expect me to be your burglar so I can go in there and get your family heirloom back or something? Is that what this is all about?” As he spoke Bilbo kept his stare laser-focused on Gandalf. He didn’t care about Fíli or Kíli or Thorin. None of them mattered in this moment. He didn’t even know them. It was Gandalf he knew. Gandalf from his old life, Gandalf who managed to sneak into his new life, Gandalf who always seemed to bring at least some ounce of trouble with him. This was not happening. This could not be happening.
Not if Bilbo had a say about it.
“No, no, no!” Bilbo yelled. “I’m not doing this. Enough of this nonsense!” All the while, he kept his eyes on Gandalf, who still kept his eyes on him and kept his face appearing thoughtless. Bilbo didn’t care what the dwarves thought, he didn’t care when they would leave after this. He didn’t care about any of it.
He stormed out of the room, trying to keep his stomps as quiet as possible. He was infuriated by it all, but that did not mean he had to make any more a big deal out of it than he already had. He didn’t want to make a scene and he especially didn’t want any of his neighbors to hear any glimpse of his annoyance. He was going to stay quiet because that would be just the way he liked it.
***
Bilbo wasn’t sure for how long he stayed sequestered in his drawing room, hoping that the problem outside of this room would take care of itself. He settled himself in and lit a fire in the fireplace against the wall, hoping to pass the time with some relative peace.
He hadn’t heard the front door open again, so he knew Gandalf, Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli were all still in the house. He just didn’t know what came next.
Eventually, he heard a light rapping at the door. Before he could say anything—like telling whoever was on the other end outside to leave him alone—Gandalf had opened the door and slipped inside.
“Bilbo,” Gandalf said in a subdued tone and Bilbo turned to face him. He sounded as if he were completely unaware of everything that had transpired this evening, but he knew. He knew so much. That was why he was here in the first place.
“I don’t want to do it,” Bilbo insisted, crossing his arms. “I like my life here just the way it is. I don’t need some dwarves breaking down my door demanding to take me halfway across the world for the sake of helping them out. What good will that do me?”
“That’s not the youthful, adventurous Bilbo I once knew.”
“Well, that isn’t who I am now. I’m a Baggins of Bag End.” His voice cracked as if reminding himself and Gandalf of who he really was was a painful challenge. It shouldn’t have been this hard to stand his ground.
“That is true, but you are also a Took.”
Bilbo glared at Gandalf, not wanting to remember his mother in this moment.
Gandalf picked up the hint. “Like it or not, Bilbo, you’re still a Took. You still have that adventurous streak in you. In fact, you come from a long line of adventurous hobbits and you know it. Just because you don’t want to talk about it doesn’t change anything about you deep down.
“I won’t try to push you tonight. But think about what I say. We’re going to be using your dining room for the night, but I promise we will be out by morning.”
Bilbo didn’t say anything to this. He stayed sitting in his chair, looking up at Gandalf. What could he say to that?
“Good night, Bilbo,” Gandalf said without giving a chance for Bilbo to interject. He paused, as though he were waiting for Bilbo to pipe in. “I won’t bother you again tonight, but I implore you to think twice about everything that’s happened.” Then he backed out of the room, closing the door behind him. And then Bilbo was alone again.
***
Bilbo must have fallen asleep in the chair next to the fire in the drawing room because he woke up to the sun beginning to slip in from the windowsill at the opposite end of the room. It had been dark when he sulked in the previous night.
He woke up feeling a bit groggy, his vision blurred for a moment as he adjusted to the daytime from his deep state of sleep. After blinking a few times, Bilbo stretched his arms upward and rose from the chair. He had tried to remember what exactly happened last night. There were those two dwarves, Fíli and Kíli, and then Gandalf came, and then that other dwarf came. Thorin. That was his name.
Bilbo still felt a little delirious, the remnants of his stress from the previous night still lingering as he tried to shake it all off and stand up. He went for the doorway and turned the doorknob so he could go into the kitchen. The door swung out of place in a much more intense motion than Bilbo intended. It was so early that he didn’t feel quite in control of his movements yet. But he was confident that would get better with every step he took toward the kitchen. It was a usual part of his morning routine.
It wasn’t a long walk back to the dining room where the events of the previous night had transpired. But just from looking at it at a brief glance, Bilbo would not have even known what had happened the night before. For all he knew it could have been a dream considering how clean the kitchen and dining table were. At least Gandalf had held the dwarves accountable and made sure to clean up the mess.
That was when Bilbo remembered that he hadn’t eaten the night before, not with Fíli and Kíli helping themselves to his dinner. His stomach rumbled. It was quite improper for a hobbit to go this long without any food, but he didn’t feel quite up to preparing breakfast yet. He would get to that sooner or later, though.
Next Bilbo walked over to the entryway, where there was a small living room. If it could even be called that. It was just an armchair and a fireplace in the space between the front door and the kitchen. That was really all he had room for there.
But something was off. Bilbo could sense it like a sixth sense in the back of his mind. He blinked a couple times to adjust to the daylight peering in through the window behind him, and then he saw it. There was a small, folded-up piece of paper resting on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. That had not been there the night before. Bilbo made his way to open it, and that was when he realized it was a message left behind for him on top of a folded-up contract.
Bilbo, If you change your mind about joining this quest, meet me at the Green Dragon by 10 o’clock in the morning.
Gandalf.
The first thing Bilbo did was pull the contract out from under the note. He unfolded it to discover it was a long and elaborate thing, something he certainly wouldn’t have the time to read right now. There was simply too much to read all right now in this groggy state. He turned his head to look at the clock hanging above the dining room table at the other end of the space. It was already past 9. He couldn’t make out the exact position of the minutes hand, but he could tell it was past the thirty at the bottom of the clock. That meant he wouldn’t have much time to decide.
But he already knew what the answer to this predicament was. There was no way he was going to join this buffoonery.
Bilbo set the letter back down on the mantelpiece and crossed over to the kitchen. He opened the fridge as he mulled over what to eat for breakfast. But food was far from the front of his mind. Something had started gnawing away at him. A feeling that he would regret his decision if he just stayed put in this house and forgot all about Gandalf and the fact that he brought that Fíli and Kíli and Thorin into his house.
Gandalf had been right. There still was that bit of Took in him, whether he liked to admit it or not. He was a proud Baggins, but even he couldn’t change that about him.
Out of nowhere it seemed that the answer had come to him. He wasn’t sure where it had come from, but it was the clearest thing in his mind through and through.
He was going to go.
Without another thought, Bilbo slammed the door to the refrigerator shut and looked back at the clock above the table. The minutes hand was now approaching the forty-five and that meant he was running out of time. The Green Dragon was easily a ten-minute walk away if he hurried. And hurry he would have to.
He grabbed the contract off the mantelpiece where he had left it and grabbed a pen that was sitting out on the table. He found the spot again where he was supposed to sign and scribbled down his name. Then he made his way towards the door as he tried to push all thoughts out of his mind now. It felt like it was too late to go back as he reached for his coat and threw it on, not caring that he was still wearing the clothes from the day before.