Chapter Text
They came in the beginning of the Second Age, atop white wolves and clad in black steel.
Each spell struck down armies, and each curse burned cities.
Three out of the four fell in the Last War, pierced through the heart by elven steel.
One remains in hiding, lost forever among shadows and darkness.
- Memoir of Witches -
“Hello, Bilbo.”
Bilbo looked up from the paper he was reading to find a tall, grey wizard standing in the pathway to his humble home.
“Gandalf”, Bilbo intoned wryly.
There was a slight pause, in which Bilbo sent a silent prayer up to Eru for the wizard to spontaneously combust. Gandalf simply looked amused, damn him.
“Well, I’ve had a long journey”, Gandalf said. “And I believe that any respectable hobbit would invite me inside for a nice, warm cup of tea.”
“Oh, very well.” Bilbo snapped. “If you must.”
He stood up from the worn out bench, folded up his paper, and gestured for Gandalf to follow him. Ignoring the chuckles that came from behind, Bilbo went on to prepare a tray of tea and biscuits, which he set on the table with a pointed glare and huff.
Gandalf was either oblivious or uncaring of Bilbo’s ire, because the wizard nibbled at the biscuits quite jovially. After a while Bilbo gave up trying to will the wizard away, and instead began to smoke his pipe, letting the Old Toby soothe his frayed nerves.
“Well, I don’t suppose you came all the way to Bag End just to drink some tea.” Bilbo remarked, as Gandalf, having finished the biscuits in a remarkably short period of time, pulled out his own pipe.
“No, I haven’t.” Gandalf replied, raising one bushy eyebrow.
Bilbo groaned. He knew that glint of mischief in the wizard’s eyes, and most of the time it resulted in horrible, uncomely things that would keep one late for supper.
Things like adventures, Bilbo thought with a shudder.
“Whatever you’re up to, the answer is no. I’ve settled quite comfortably here, and I loathe to be taken out of the Shire, thank you very much.” He huffed.
Gandalf tutted his disapproval at Bilbo’s shortness.
“You would not turn away the request of an old friend, Bilbo.”
But Bilbo being the grumpy, stubborn soul that he was, proceeded to do exactly that.
Every time Gandalf tried to explain what exactly the ‘request’ was, Bilbo would bring up something else. Like his own aching joints, or the fact that little Frodo’s birthday was so soon and oh Gandalf, he could not possibly miss it!
Finally, Gandalf stood up with a very displeased expression, while Bilbo smiled sunnily at him.
“Don’t think this conversation is over.” Gandalf said with narrowed eyes.
“Oh, but it is!” Bilbo shouted, as Gandalf was striding out of Bag End. “And don’t forget to send my deepest regrets to whatever poor fellow you manage to rope into this mad adventure!”
-
A week after that horrid visit, Bilbo was readying himself for bed when someone knocked on his door, twice.
Frowning, he tried to recall if there were any previous arrangements that had cause for such a late night visit. True, he had promised Old Gaffer that he would see to his joint aches, but certainly not at such an ungodly hour.
So it was with no small amount of suspicion, that Bilbo opened the door with a tentative ‘who is it’. Only to find himself face to face with -
With a dwarf.
A real dwarf.
In the Shire. On his doorstep.
Bilbo gaped, opening and closing his mouth like a gutted fish, as the dwarf gave a stilted bow and growled;
“Dwalin, at yer service.”
And without another word the dwarf pushed past Bilbo into the house, tromping across Bilbo’s cherry wood flooring with mud caked feet. Bilbo, still drifting between shock and indignation, watched numbly as Dwalin headed towards the kitchen.
“I heard there’d be a feast” muttered Dwalin, shooting a dark look at the quite obviously feast-less table.
“What?” Bilbo asked, a bit faintly. “What feast? Who said there’d be a - Who are you, anyway?”
Before Dwalin could answer, there came another knock. Bilbo simply stood there, rooted to the spot and wondering if somehow this was all some sort of hallucination induced by too much pipe weed.
The knocking persisted, and Dwalin looked at him, raising an eyebrow like Bilbo was the strange one.
“Ain’t gonna answer that?”
It was in a rather trance-like state that Bilbo opened the door, which revealed two other dwarves. Both were quite young, with eyes filled with mischief and heads held high with pride. They beamed and bowed exaggeratedly at Bilbo.
“Fili-”
“And Kili-”
“At your service.”
Then both of them promptly weaseled past Bilbo, throwing their cloaks and swords in every which direction. Feeling a bit faint, Bilbo closed his eyes, praying that if he opened them he would find Bag End as before; quiet, cozy, and free of dwarves.
Instead when he opened them he found that somehow the dwarves had multiplied to a whooping number of twelve, and that Gandalf stood amongst them, looking ever so slightly abashed.
“Gandalf.” Bilbo grit out. “I should have known you were behind… whatever this is.”
He gestured to the kitchen, where the dwarves had begun to devour the food they’d raided from his pantry.
At that exact moment, the round one - Bombur, was it? - managed to let out the most obnoxious burp ever, after downing his pint in one go. A cheer went up in the crowd, followed by eleven burps, each one louder and more obnoxious than the next.
Bilbo suddenly had a strong urge to poke Gandalf’s eye with his own staff, set his beard on fire, and then have a very strong drink. Annoyingly, Gandalf simply raised his eyebrows and gave Bilbo a look.
“Well, if only you’d listened…”
“Oh, be silent.” Bilbo cried out. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but this has to end. NOW.”
And as if to make sure Bilbo be subject to as much annoyance as possible, another blasted knock came, this one heavy and demanding. He threw up his hands, shouted ‘Oh Eru save me from these confounding dwarves’, and flung open the door with a scowl.
Only to slam it shut.
“Gandalf”, Bilbo asked with a forced calmness. “What is Thorin Oakenshield doing at my front door?”
There was a slight pause, and then;
“Well.” Gandalf said, giving Bilbo a look of complete innocence.