Chapter Text
As hobbits grew up in the shire they counted down the days until there awakening. It was well known that hobbits came of age at thirty-three. However, what is not well known, a coveted secret in fact, is that on the night of their awakening a mark appears. The mark, always different, is a name. The name of their other half. Their marked for lack of a better word. It will appear upon their forearm in the language of yavanna. A language only known to hobbits, born with the ability to understand the language in all forms. There has never been a hobbit without a mark of yavanna, that was however till...
Bilbo Baggins, he was an adorable child. Filled with life and love for all things hobbitish. However, there was something different about our favorite hobbit of the shire, he loved going adventuring. Always running off into the woods with his custom bow and tiny dagger fashioned from the best elven metal that money could never buy. Lord Elrond had them fashioned for him personally when young Bilbo showed an interest to the more dangerous side of life. He was shunned for his love of the woods and the need to learn a trade that, to hobbits, seemed useless and undignified. Fauntlings, encouraged by their parents, threw rocks at Bilbo when all he wanted was to depart to the woods in silence to be alone. He was happy there, being trained by the twin elves when they came to visit his mother, Belladonna Baggins nee Took.
It only changed with the presence of the fell winter.
It had been months. Food was running low and the Brandywine River had frozen over, permitting more than wolves to cross into the shire. Everyone and everything was desperate for food. Bagend, the home to the Baggins family, was lived in by a small family. Much smaller than the rest of the shire, only two grown hobbits and a tween. Bungo and Belladonna took it upon themselves to help provide for their kin with food that it seemed only they possessed.
It was a Saturday, the sun was out but it was so cold that Bungo had to wear shoes for his weekly run to the neighbors. Belladonna was worried. It had been hours and the sun that was previously shining bright was starting to set.
Bungo had left at dawn, it was now dusk.
Belladonna, a warrior in her own right trained by the elven king Lord Elrond himself, fashioned her sword and left with no word to her sleeping son in the next room. Unknown to Belladonna, Bilbo wouldn't be asleep for long.
Howling woke Bilbo from the light sleep that he was able to slip into with the worry for his father weighing heavily on his mind. He, Bilbo, should be the one out there. He was the one who had the training. Not his father, him. The howling sounded different, not like wolves. And the only thing other than wolves that crossed into the shire were orcs. Orcs who rode upon wargs. Wargs with sharp teeth and a pension for never leaving their prey alive.
Belladonna, like so many before, did not survive that night.
Bilbo found her defending Bungo's body with her own. It was with an angry cry that Bilbo rushed the orcs. Bilbo returned to Bagend with a heavy heart and many kills under his bloody belt.
That was three weeks before his coming of age. When no mark appeared on his forearm, Bilbo barely noticed. To wrought in his grief to care. Not only did the orcs take his parents, they took his voice as well. Leaving him only the blood on his hands and the scars on his neck.
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Twenty years later found one Bilbo Baggins wrapped in his house coat, sitting down to a fine dinner of fish and lemon. Then there was a knock on his door. It was a hearty knock. One made by a stern hand and a sound that terrified Bilbo. He wasn't expecting company, especially not company in this weather. Opening his door with his customary sign that read Bilbo Baggins, at your service . Standing in Bilbo's open doorway was a dwarf. A rather large dwarf at that. Shaved head with a loop of hair right above his ears and two battle axes stashed in an x formation on his back.
He had only met one dwarf before, a wonderful dwarf man with an ax in his head and only deep graveling sounds for his own. He taught Bilbo one of the only forms of communication he knows now, Iglishmek. Or, at least, that is what he called it. It is a form of speaking with your hands, the sign language of the dwarrows. The dwarf, Bifur, left many moons ago to return to his family in the blue mountains.
Still, the dwarf standing in front of him was, well, stern looking and nothing like Bifur. However, it had been a minute and the stern dwarf had yet to introduce himself. Putting away his sign Bilbo posed his hands to speak.
'Master Dwarf, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins, at the service of both you and your family. Now I do believe it is only polite to introduce yourself, no?'
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Dwalin POV
It was raining, dammit. Rain and him never went well together. It soaked his fur and flattened his beard into a tangled mass of uncontrollable curls. So when he finally came upon the round green door he was frustrated, hungry, and downright tired. He had been traveling for over a week trying to find this damn place and to hell if he seemed a little shocked when a quant little hobbit opened the door with a sign, clearly in Westron, held between his hands. Not saying a thing. Mahal, did it have to be Westron? It is one of the two languages that he couldn't read. So he stayed silent, staring at the man that was to be their new burglar. He was a short little thing with a head full of bland curls that covered his neck in delicate waves. His eyes, oh his eyes, they were a magnificent emerald green. The exact color of the words on the burly dwarfs forearm, words in a language that he also could not red. Blasted all to hell.
Dwalin was just about to say something, anything, when the hobbit's small adorable hands started to move. Now this was a language that he knew. Iglishmek is taught to all young dwarrows along with their runes and words. Iglishmek is just as secret as Khuzdul so it was with great surprise that the hobbits hands seemed so familiar with the twists and curves of the complicated dwarven language.
'Master Dwarf, it is a pleasure to meet you.'
Dwalin began to pay close attention to the word forming hands.
'I am Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins, at the service of both you and your family. Now I do believe it is only polite to introduce yourself, no? '
The hobbit has cheek. Oh this will be an interesting journey indeed.
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Bilbo POV...sorta...
The dwarf, still no name, let out a small laugh and took a hasty bow.
"Dwalin, son of Fundin, at the service of both you and your family."
He looked a bit sheepish. The dwarf..no Dwalin, looked longingly into his smial with a slightly desperate frown on his face. It was adorable.
' Well Master Dwalin, welcome to my smial. May I ask what your doing here over dinner. '
More of a demand then a question and had Dwalin rushing into the smial and out of the rain before he could even finish. He was in for a long night.
And a long night it was indeed. Dwalin was the only dwarf to arrive that night and what a good thing it was for Bilbo had no knowledge of his upcoming role in the company nor did he have any knowledge he was to host dwarves at all. The evening was taken up with long talks about dwarven history, a surprising thing for Dwalin who wasn't expecting such knowledge outside of his race. Bilbo also showed his hospitality by not once looking upon Dwalin with pity, fear, and or hostility. It was a quite refreshing for Dwalin for even those looks came from his own race. The night, however, almost ended with Dwalin contemplating passing out on Bilbo's floor and so only truly ended with Bilbo escorting Dwalin to a guest room and going to bed himself in his own room.
The next morning was different. The night before Bilbo had been able to convince Dwalin that there was no threat in his little smial and that the older dwarf could relax with no worries of battle breaking out in his sleep. So it wasn't too big of a surprise that Dwalin walked into Bilbo's kitchen in only his overshirt, leggings, and a thin layer of chainmail. No shoes to be seen. Bilbo was delighted that his guest trusted him so much. With a small hand gesture and a point down the hall Bilbo was able to communicate that there was plenty of hot water and Dwalin should go enjoy a nice bath. With a laugh Bilbo watched as Dwalin practically sprinted to the bathroom. Turning back to his kitchen he went back to his grocery list. He had a long day ahead of him and, after all, he has thirteen dwarves to cook for.
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It was Balin who showed up first. A hearty laugh on his tongue and a polite bow on Bilbo's doorway.
"Balin, son of Fundin, at you and your families service."
' Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins, at you and your families service. If you will head into the dining room, I would greatly appreciate a little help moving the table? '
"Of course laddie, just point the way"
The princes presented themselves next.
"Fili,"
"and Kili,"
"~at your service~"
' Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins, at you and your families service. Come, you can help Balin in the dining room .’
It took the boys a moment to register the movement of their host's hands but once they did they were running toward the dining room like orcs were on their heels.
"Shoes off lads, you are tracking mud all over our dear host's floors." Balin's head spoke while hanging out of the dining room with a stern voice and an even sterner look. The resemblance was uncanny to his brothers face the night before. The boys, clearly used to following orders looked sheepishly at Bilbo and walked slowly back to the front door to lay down their boots next to Balin's. "Now come lads. This old dwarf needs some help with the table."
"~Yes Mister Balin, Sir.~"
It was not five minutes later that there was another knock at his door. A soft timid knock that had Bilbo smiling. He could hear them on the other side of the door. A whole group of dwarrows just waiting for the warmth of the smial in front of them. Opening the door Bilbo was not expecting to be squashed by a mountain of dwarves. It was about now that Dwalin had finished his bath. Decked in new clothes, shoe-less, and wet unbraided hair Dwalin found himself following the noise down the hall.
"Get off our burglar lads before we don't have one any longer."
Silence followed. It was the hatted dwarf that got up first, helped by an equally behatted wizard. One by one the dwarves stood up staring between the hobbit on the floor and the clearly relaxed dwarf in front of them. That is, all except one dwarf. One dwarf stood with wide eyes and an even wider smile directed solely at their host. Their host who has finally stood on his too large, to a dwarf, feet.
' Hello, Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins, at you and your families service. '
There was silence for a few minutes. An awkward silence that left Bilbo jittering from foot to foot.
' The food is almost ready, ' turning to the boys, ' Be dears and finish setting the table while I place the food. '
"Of course" Fili
"Mr. Boggins" Kili
"~we would be happy too~."
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*edited October 5, 2016
So that is basically where I ended the story on FF.net but I added a bit more here. Like how Bifur is the dwarf and some other stuff. I don't know when the next chappie will be up. I move into College next week so who knows. But R&R I do so love it when the comments feed the muse.