Chapter Text
Bilbo’s first opinion of Erebor was that the mansion certainly needed dusting. Extensive dusting. And quite a lot of laundering – that thought came when he tried to pull the curtains shielding high windows in the hall apart and got a face-full of dust for his trouble.
The building was in a generally good shape, considering that it stood abandoned for the last sixty years – apart from the unbelievable amount of dust gathered on every surface the rest seemed to be in order: the roofing was sound, walls and ceilings free of mold, pipes were not leaking all over the place when filled back with water. Only one electric socket required repair. Bathtubs and sinks were not marked by limescale, tiles on the walls and floors were mostly un-cracked. Most of the lightbulbs on the ground floor was working! The place seemed perfectly preserved, as if just waiting for someone to come and bring it back to life.
It managed to calm Bilbo Baggins down in a way – as the situation that led to him standing in the front hall of the impressive abode was stressful and unpleasant on almost every front, it was a relief to know that at least something was working in his favour.
Funeral of uncle Isengrim and following disputes about his inheritance that stretched unpleasantly for months – thanks to his aunt Lobelia and her greedy husband – took a toll on Bilbo, leaving him very exhausted and simply sad. He loved his uncle and squabbling over his Last Will filled him with distaste. If not for the old friend of his mother, an elderly gentleman who turned out to be a retired lawyer and decided to help Bilbo free of charge, red tape would strangle them all.
And, more importantly, Bilbo would never have enough funds to buy this perfect place and start working on his own little project.
Well, maybe ‘little’ was not a good word for it, because the estate was, to tell the truth, huge – especially for a single man who's spent half of his life in a three bedroom flat in the centre of Bree with his parents, and the other half, sans last five years, sharing a small townhouse with a group of rather rowdy students. The building itself was a massive Georgian mansion, two floors and cellars sprawling underneath them, a big attic and a conservatory. There were twelve bedrooms, two sitting rooms, miles upon miles of corridors decked in dark wood and musty rugs. And last, but not least, twelve acres of land that surrounded the whole deal.
Erebor stood proudly on top of a hill that gently slopped into a picturesque valley on the bottom of which rested a town called Ironhill. Behind her back mountain range composed of ragged lines and steep walls climbed up to the sky, harsh and wild, yet impressive all the same. The land had to look beautiful in the summer, Bilbo suspected, but now, in the midst of October, it was beyond description. He felt as if someone has ripped him out of the boring, grey reality and thrown into a fairy tale. The snow came early this year and already everything was covered in a thick layer of white softness that glistered in the sun. Frost covered trees and shrubs, making them look like delicate sculptures made by some skilled artist rather than Mother Nature.
It took one day, no, one moment for Bilbo Baggins to fall in love with this place.
Actually, it was just one look; after he stepped out of the car and stretched his legs, after he turned around to take a look down the driveway, down the hill… the sun was slowly inching behind the mountains, its last surviving rays reflecting on the snow and covering the landscape in a golden halo. The raw beauty of it stole his breath and Bilbo Baggins knew, deep in his heart, that there was no way back, that he will stay in this marvellous place until the end of his days.
*
“The estate was well taken care of since her last owner passed away,” Mister Balin, solicitor responsible for Erebor, told him after all the papers has been signed and the keys exchanged hands. “People from Ironhill take pride in it and hated to see it fall into disuse. Luckily, you’ve shown up, Mister Baggins.”
And indeed, save for copious amounts if dust, Erebor didn’t look abandoned. It looked… expectant.
Bilbo has sworn that he will not disappoint her. For his own use he adapted a small set of rooms that in the past was probably some sort of servant’s annex. It suited him quite well and was a bit more ‘modern’ than the rest of the house that was splendidly preserved in its austerity and historical accuracy. People were ready to pay good money to spend their time in the grand rooms such as those and Bilbo wanted to leave them to it.
He was happy with his little suite of decently sized bedroom, quaint little bathroom and something that was probably a walk-in pantry that was converted into a small office. One of the best things about it was that the annex connected to the rest of the house via its own small staircase (that Bilbo liked to pretend to be a secret passage) and trough the big kitchen that fully answered his passion for cooking.
The house lacked some comforts, of course. Central heating was ancient and he was told that power lines tended to be moody during the spells of bad weather. Also, there was no TV reception (“Mountains”, Mr Balin explained with an apologetic smile) and there was only one phone as the landline was not to be trusted either. Thank goodness it was possible to pull the internet cables from Ironhill, but that would have to wait until spring at best.
But these small things were not enough to chase off a Baggins – they were stubborn lot and, truth to be told, liked simplicity. Bilbo never felt good when surrounded by crowds of people and preferred silence and peace over the bustling town centre any day.
With that in mind, he went about the business of making the mansion liveable again in a calm and organised manner. He catalogued all the things that needed fixing, made notes on every room and possible use of every piece of old furniture, he scribbled numbers and prices from numerous catalogues he’s brought with him. All was going quite well for the first week.
Until the snowstorm that cut him off from the world.
*
It took three days before Bilbo started to panic. He was prepared for harsh winter, of course he was, and his pantry was quite well stocked, thank you; there was also enough wood stacked in the back of the house to last him three winters if necessary (and he wondered who was the good soul that's chopped it all into manageable bits), but… he was running out of tea fast.
He’s finished the last bottle of milk on the second day and from then on his anxiety stared to grow.
Snow drifts outside were almost four feet tall, the driveway was indistinguishable – so was the road down the hill, for that matter. His hatchback didn’t have a chance of getting out of the shed and walking two miles in the freezing cold didn’t sound appealing at all. Bilbo was sure that if the snow stays at some point he will be forced to brave this possibility… but that also made him think of other possible implications.
What if the snow stays till spring? How will he get the renovation crew into Erebor? How will he make it ready for the start of the summer? He will lose time and money and, in the worst case scenario, will lose the whole season!
Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to move in yet? Maybe he should have waited until spring – maybe he should have asked more questions and wasn’t so eager to leave Bree and his quarrelling family behind?
Also, the feeling of isolation made it difficult for Bilbo to settle down. The mansion loomed over him, grand and silent, save for some occasional rustle or creak; it was suddenly… less comfortable and more… distressing. Bilbo was not the kind of person who believed in ghosts or other such nonsense, he was a Baggins, and they were known for their healthy sceptism in the face of anything that as much as smelled of mystery. Bilbo was not afraid of the dark, but he was afraid of the roof breaking under the weight of snow or the sparks form the chimney somehow causing fire when he wasn’t looking. He also felt a healthy dose of respect for any hungry predator that may stumble upon him during his short ventures for firewood.
On the fifth day of the snow-in Bilbo’s weakening nerves caused the biggest calamity imaginable – two weeks after moving into the mansion he has run out of his favourite tea.
*
Bilbo Baggins, if anything, was an organised person and the trip to Ironhill was planned to the last detail two days before the date he set for it. He’s made sure that his winter clothes are dry and accounted for, the battery of his flashlight is fully charged and his backpack is ready. He’s made a list of the products necessary for survival – the way uphill will be a lot harder than downhill and he didn’t want to overstuff the bag. All that was left was waiting.
And so he waited. With a cup of steaming chamomile and a book, reclining in the old armchair in front of the brightly lit fireplace Bilbo Baggins was quite content.
Until, that is, the doorbell rang.
After swallowing his heart back into the chest (and dealing with the chamomile he’s spilled all over his left knee, thank you very much) Bilbo spared a moment to wonder what in the goodness was going on, who would show up on his doorstep at this hour and in this kind of weather, before he got up and rushed to find out. Walk from the kitchen to the foyer took a while during which the doorbell didn’t stop chiming, its soft sounds echoing in the otherwise silent stillness of the house.
When he came to the door, Bilbo didn’t open it right away. He was smart enough to be wary, as his mother taught him when he was still very young, and decided to listen instead. There was a little visor in the door, but it was covered in frost and useless, but the wooden barrier wasn’t thick enough to keep the noises from the outside completely and Bilbo could hear two voices – somewhat muffled, but distinguishable.
“What if he’s not in?” One asked.
“No, he has to be, the car is in the shed.” The other replied.
“Of course it is, there’s no point in taking it out in this snow. Maybe he went out?”
“And where would he go? We’ve met no one on the way from the town, brother. No one has seen him in a week.”
“But there’s no lights!”
“Maybe power went out again? Look, there’ smoke coming out of the chimney. He’s in.”
“Maybe he’s sleeping?”
“The he’s better wake up, because I don’t fancy trekking down the hill with all this stuff on my back. Climbing one way was hard enough.”
Stuff? What did they bring? Bilbo wondered, trying to see through the cloudy visor without much success. The voices seemed young and their specific accent put them firmly in the area of Ironhill.
Curious now more than anything, Bilbo decided to be brave and opened the door a crack.
What he saw were two figures swathed in coats, their faces obscured by scarfs and hats pulled so low that he could barely see their eyes. In the evening gloom they would be hardly distinguishable from the junipers growing next to the porch, if not for the way they both jumped and turned to him.
“Hello?” Bilbo asked, trying to sound stern and ‘we want no problems here’. “Who’s there?”
“You must be Mister Boggins!” The taller of the strangers exclaimed loudly and instantly pushed his face close to the door. “So you haven’t left!”
“Baggins,” Bilbo corrected. “And who are you if I may ask?”
“Oh, of course!” The shape moved back to stand next to his companion and they both did a strange little bow-move before answering. “Kili, and this is my brother Fili!”
“Oakenshield,” added the other… Fili-shape, with a bit more restraint in his voice. “We came from Ironhill.”
As he suspected, then.
“I was not expecting anyone,” Bilbo edged a bit closer to the door, opening it a few millimetres wider, intrigued. It was a long walk in the snow and these two were covered in it from feet to waist.
“Oh, we know!” Shape called Kili swayed excitedly. “It’s hard to get uphill at the best of times, you see, and now it’s nearly impossible.”
Well, that he knew.
“My brother wanted to say that folks in town are aware of your, well, situation,” shape called Fili explained patiently. “We were sent to check on you, Mister Baggins, to make sure that the newest member of our community didn’t manage to get himself lost in the snow and didn’t die of hunger.”
“Yes!” Kili exclaimed happily as if it was one big adventure. “And we brought food!”
“Food?” Bilbo was somewhat floored by that last part and not a small bit touched by it.
“Bombur, the big guy that runs the grocery store, said he hasn’t seen you in over a week so he packed some things he though you may need in the meanwhile.” Fili-shape pointed at the backpacks attached to their backs. “Sweet fellow that he is, he’s made sure that you will have enough to eat till the thaw.”
“Yeah, his care and consideration almost broke my back.” Kili-shape grumbled until the hit over the head silenced him.
That was… remarkably nice. Bilbo, indeed, remembered the rotund owner of the grocery store, his impressive red beard was hard to forget, same as his love of pastries that he shared with Bilbo on his first shopping trip. They've spend a good hour arguing the superiority of apples over pecans when it came to pie fillings and Bilbo left the store pleasantly surprised that he’s already managed to find a friend.
That was the decisive factor in his decision to open the door fully and face his guests properly.
“Well, I can’t keep you on the porch if that’s the case,” he smiled kindly at the two shivering figures. “But I warn you, if you came here to kill me and steal my possessions, you've wasted your time as I left the silvers in Bree.”
That bit sounded more humorous than was intended and both shapes laughed loudly and freely before pulling their hats off and scarves down to reveal two matching smiles.
They were both young, barely out of boyhood, by the look of them, even if they both somewhat towered over Bilbo. They were like night and day, one dark-haired and the other blond, but something in their faces made it obvious that they are family. Also, both seemed unbelievably friendly.
So friendly in fact, that Bilbo felt no qualms about gesturing for them to get inside.
“Come on, then,” he stepped back holding the door open. “I can offer you something warm to drink after climbing all the way here. Do hurry up,” he rushed when the boys seemed to freeze on the doorstep with unsure expressions crossing their faces. “You’re letting the cold in, get in.”
That did the job and soon enough Bilbo had two dripping, shivering guests ridding themselves of their soaked jackets and boots and looking around the hall in wonder.
“I never thought that I would live to see the inside of this place,” Kili said quite seriously, nodding his thanks when Bilbo offered to hold his coat so the boy could fight with his shoelaces unhindered. “I mean, I always wanted to see it from the inside when I was a kid, you know.” He explained somewhat sheepishly at the questioning took he was given. “Do you have ghosts?”
The matter-of-fact question caused Bilbo to crack a smile and shake his head.
“Don’t mind him, Mister Baggins,” said Fili. “Some of us never grow up.”
“Hey!”
*
If he had more time to think on it, Bilbo would be surprised at how fast he’s warmed up to the brothers. They were young and lively, entertaining and polite to a fault. However, when he finally seated them down in the kitchen and stoked the fire, and they started to unpack their backpacks, he was ready to hug them both.
They brought tea! And milk!
Granted, the milk was half-frozen and needed thawing, but Bilbo was so happy that he didn’t even think before offering his guests generous helpings of hot chocolate from his dwindling stock. Couple of minutes later he was rewarded with appreciative moans as they downed the liquid without as much as blowing on it to cool it down. He winced, but when there was no complains he set about making a proper pot of tea.
Bombur was quickly becoming his favourite person in the world, as the box of tea was followed by a couple of loafs of fresh bread, a jar of cherry preserve, jar of honey, butter and a tin of biscuits. There were three different kinds of cheese, a large piece of ham, pork sousages and even carefully packaged tomatoes and eggs! The man had to remember what Bilbo bought from him a week ago and filled in the gaps with what he thought would be appreciated. My, he even remembered to pack a dozen cans of tomato soup Bilbo preferred!
Oh, it was such a nice gesture.
“I will have to thank him as soon as possible,” Bilbo prattled while putting everything away. “Do you happen to know how much I am supposed to pay for these? It’s so terribly kind of him. Oh, these shortbread cookies are my favourite too! How did he know?”
“Bombur didn’t tell us, Mister Baggins,” Fili answered him over the rim of the mug full of hot properly milky tea. “You will have to settle it with him when you go down, I’m afraid. But he’s a lovely fellow, I am sure he can wait for the road to clear a bit.”
“Hates to see folk hungry, that one,” Kili added with a smile. “Make a friend of him and you won’t ever have to worry about lacking quality food, Mister Baggins.”
And speaking about food.
“Ah, where’s my head,” Bilbo turned form the cupboard and measured his guests with a look. They were both draped in blankets and nursing steaming mugs. Bilbo even found some old slippers to lend out as their socks were currently drying by the stove next to the coats. They looked so young like that, Bilbo thought, with their long hair mussed and noses still red from the cold. “You have to be hungry, boys, I’m sure that I can whip out a bowl of soup that will warm you up.”
They shared a long look at that and Bilbo waited. He was familiar with the way some siblings communicated without speaking – he’s seen it happen between his younger cousins a lot, - and waited for the decision. After all he was as strange to them as they were to him. He didn’t have to wait long, tough, because not a moment later he was rewarded with two hopeful looks accompanied by cheerful smiles.
“If you insist, Mister Baggins,” Kili shrugged under the blanket. “All that climbing was exhausting to tell you the truth and I am afraid that if you don’t feed us, we will have to take matters into our own hands.”
His voice was teasing, but there was something in his dark eyes that made Bilbo’s hand hesitate over the pan he was about to pick up. A glint of something serious and cold… that lasted until a broad hand smacked the lad on the head and his brother sighed in exasperation. “You will stop eying those biscuits, Kili, or I will tell Bombur to sit on you.”
“Oh, okay, okay,” grumbled Kili and Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh at his sullen expression. He opened the mentioned tin and without hesitation placed it on the counter between the brothers.
“Here you go,” he encouraged them with a gesture. “I hope it will tide you over until the soup is ready.”
“Oh no, we couldn’t possibly…” Fili tried to protest, but Kili was already dipping the pastry in his tea so it was pretty useless. “You greedy monster! I swear, I’m ashamed to be related to you!”
Bilbo smiled at the bickering duo and went back to opening cans and rummaging through his spice cabinet.
Little did he know what feeding these two strays would bring on his head in the nearest future.