Chapter Text
There was a rock in Thorin's boot. It'd been there for the past few miles, which could only mean that somewhere in his boot there was a hole. He considered calling a rest to remove it, but discarded the idea immediately. Stopping would only put off the inevitable and he wasn't sure if any of them would be able to move again should they halt their march.
Of all the futures Thorin had imagined for himself and his people, this had never darkened even his worst nightmares. To be driven from the mighty halls of Erebor, to listen powerlessly while bairns lucky enough to escape the fire drake whimper in hunger as their parents weep into their helpless hands. The world thought dwarrows a greedy race, but in this moment Thorin would have traded all the gold in Erebor for food enough to fill the gaunt cheeks of his sister-sons.
They flanked him, with Dwalin and Balin trudging in their shadows. The bright midday sun and gentle breeze did nothing to spark their eyes. Their clothes, meant for younger dwarves, hung limp. Thorin had not heard his sister-son’s laughter in far too long.
“Almost there, lads.”
His heart ached watching Fíli struggle to focus on him as Kíli tried to smile, his face ashen.
“Maybe this time will be different. The halflings can’t be near as bad as Men, right?” Kíli’s smile wobbled and Thorin cursed their foul fate again. “I mean, they’re smallish too? We’ve got to stick together, us small folk, right? They’ll have work for us and...and we can find a pub to eat at and we’ll be fine. Won’t we, Uncle?”
Small? Dwarves were not small, it was Men and Elves that were stretched too long. Thorin had tried to keep the worst of their customers away from his sister-sons, but if Kili thought himself small now… What belittling had his people been forced to face in the hands of others?
That was the heart of it, really. Driven by the hunger of their children, Ered Luin had sent out parties of skilled craftsmen to find work and ease the strain on the food stores. They wandered, scraping together everything that could be spared to be sent home. Never enough, if Dís’ letters were any indication. Thorin’s small group (numbered only thirteen) had been returning to the mountains when a passing Ranger had shared their fire one night. They had scraped a bowl together while Bofur, amicable dwarf that he was, passed a pipe with the stranger. Though no dwarf revealed their sorrows, the Man spoke of a land filled with small folk, prosperous and unconcerned with the outside world.
To hear it told, these people seemed more insular than even the most secretive of dwarrows, for even a purist must sell their goods. They had no care for the goings on in the world, no army, no battles against dark enemies. According to the Man, this Shire was almost entirely self-sufficient and protected by their god’s favor and the Rangers in exchange for herbs and safe haven. The Ranger was gone before the sun rose the next day, but left a note with a detailed map and promise that his order would not impede their approach should they work in the Shire.
Whether or not these Shirelings accepted their presence was another matter entirely. This had led to a drawn out debate on the merits of enduring the scorn and foul prices of yet another race or if it were better to return to Ered Luin entirely. Surprisingly, it had been soft spoken Bombur who had settled the matter.
“I’ve four bairns and a bearer waiting for me back home. They’re depending on me to bring back food enough to feed them and Mahal have my beard if I fail them without trying everywhere.” He had then proceeded to sit down and ration out the last of their shared food to last them the journey. Thorin only hoped he had not led his people to folly and false hope again.
The gentle, rolling hills surrounding the Shire would have been beautiful any other day. His sister-sons would have frollicked over them, hunting rabbits and ambushing the older dwarrows whenever the fancy struck them. Instead, their heads hung low and they panted weakly. Balin and Dwalin, though their loyalty never faltered, their reserves were fading fast. Thorin cursed the soft hills and the fine day for mocking his family. He no longer bothered to step over the wildflowers in his path.
“Halt in the name of the Thain! Bounder Grubb speaks to you, so keep civil tongues!”
Thorin jolted to a stop, Dwalin’s snarling curses behind him. A testament to their weariness that none (not even sharp-eyed Balin) had spotted the brightly dressed lad in front of them. He carried a long staff and had a feathered red cap set jauntily upon his head.
“A Bounder? What’s that, Uncle?”Fíli murmured in Khuzdul. “He can’t be older than Gimli. Look! Not a speck of hair on his face.”
“Well? Speak quickly, strangers. What business do you have on these paths? Not everyone has a day to squander.”
Balin’s elbow to his ribs cut off Thorin’s sharp reply to the little upstart.
“Good morning, young master. We are the dwarves of Ered Luin and we’re looking for the Shire. Do you think you might point us in the right direction, good sir.”
The lad sneered. “Strangers, indeed! You’ve been walking through the Shire for near on an hour already”
“But we haven’t seen any people at all!” Kíli glanced at his brother, looking for confirmation.
“Nor would you have, with all that stomping about. No self-respecting hobbit would be caught by such bumbling!” The half-man straightened his coat and peered down his nose at them. “As a Bounder, I must see to the safety and well-being of all Hobbits in my region. With that in mind, I can not let you pass. Be on your way and they’ll be no trouble.”
Dwalin sputtered. “Trouble! Why I could snap this lad between my fingers.”
Fíli’s best smile was in place as he stepped forward. “Sir, we are simply traveling tradesmen. Surely we could find wo~”
“Begone I say!” Grubb stomped his massive foot and waved his staff. “We don’t want any wandering hustlers, knock-off tinkerers, or disease-ridde~”
“Barnabas Grubb! Is that you talking such rubbish! Oh! Just you wait. I’m having your great aunt over for tea in two days and don’t think I won’t mention such disrespectful behavior!” An even smaller Hobbit came hurtling over one of the hills, skirts aflutter and long streaks of silver in her dark hair. “I’ll not hear such awful talk and abide it.”
“Now- now see here Mistress Baggins, I’m no faunt to be taken by the ear and scolded. I’m a Bounder, I am, and you~”
“Oh, listen to you! I was there when you came into this world, fauntling. And don’t you Mistress Baggins me or I’ll take you across my knees here in front of these here fine folk and give you such a tanning.” The new Hobbit, Mistress Baggins apparently, turned to them, patted her hair and skirts into some order and smiled. “Well now! It’s not often we get visitors in the Shire. Why might you fine fellows be doing in this quiet part of the world, hm? Will you be staying long?”
Balin opened his mouth to answer when yet another Hobbit came charging towards them, this one carrying a basket over one arm. “Mother! Don’t go wandering off!” The lad bent double, sucking in breath before standing with his hands on his hips. “That was a fine thing to do, leaving me to talk with Old Bracegirdle while you spirit off. Imagine my surprise when I turned to ask whether we should buy one of those cream pies or not and you were gone! Had to ask directions twice to find where you went.”
“Oh hush. You honestly expect me to stand around gabbing with a Bracegirdle when there are Dwarves running about? It’s like you don’t even know me, son.” She turned back to the dwarves. “Goodness, listen to us. Haven’t even introduced ourselves proper like. My Bungo would be horrified! Belladonna Baggins, at your service.” The lass cut a neat curtsy.
The dwarves bowed back, thoroughly baffled, but the hobbits weren’t done yet. “Bilbo Baggins also at your service. Apologies for our manners, it’s not often grocery day is so exciting.” Bilbo bowed as well, careful of his basket which was full to the top of pastries, cheeses, and other small necessities. Thorin was hard pressed to keep his eyes from so much food. It was easily enough to feed his whole company for a few days if they were careful.
“That’s all well and good Masters Bagginses, but I have to insist that they leave. Yavanna knows what such folk would do within the Shire proper! Some of us have to have good sense around here, unlike some hobbits.”
Bilbo’s spine stiffened, his eyes narrowed on his countryman. “Barnabas, I think you should move along.” He lifted his hand and shooed off the other hobbit. “My mother and I have this quite in hand and you would do well not to insult my family so blatantly.” He turned to Thorin. “Master Dwarf, might I inquire why you and your fellows have come to our lands?”
Thorin stared for a moment as the Bounder shifted back on his heels, clearly peeved at his dismissal. “We come to offer our services. My men and I, we have come from Ered Luin looking for work. I am Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, at your service.”
The hobbitess perked up. “What trades do you practice?”
“I am a blacksmith of some skill. My sister-sons practice a little as well, though they seek their masteries in jeweling and silverwork specifically. Balin, son of Fundin, has a steady hand for script work, both in pen and engraving and his brother, Dwalin, is a master engineer and constructor. There are eight more that follow our path, though a few days behind.”
“Splendid! Oh what great news indeed! Bag Hill alone could very well keep you elbow deep in work for a month solid, if you’ve any hand at fixing plumbing. Do let us know where you set up, yes? There’s a few knick knacks around Bag End that need looking after.” Belladonna smiled prettily and dipped a second, deeper curtsy.
Barnabas harrumphed, face turning a deep red. “Now see here! We can’t just let these ruffians into the Shire let alone Hobbiton! You may be the favored daughter of the Thain, but I won’t stand for your oddities and nonsense. Why a sensible hobbit like Bungo ever married someone as remarkable as you, I shall never know.”
Thorin did not like the dark look brewing upon the Baggins’ son face, but Kíli collapsed against his brother who had not the strength to hold them up. They tumbled into the grass at Balin’s feet, Fíli already shaking his brother’s shoulders.
“Kíli! Wake up. You’re alright. Come on!”
Indeed, his sister-son was already stirring and flushed deeply at the eyes on him. He mumbled his apologies, but made no move to stand.
Thorin stepped forward, intent on pulling the lads to their feet, but Belladonna was already there, palm pressed to Kíli’s forehead. The other two hobbits pressed forward as well, cautious concern on their faces.
“Well that was a fine bit of excitement. You don’t feel over-warm, did you sleep well last night, Master Dwarf.”
Kíli’s flush deepened. “Well enough, ma’am, well enough. Please don’t trouble yourself. I’m fine and ready to work.”
“Oh, hush you. Don’t think I don’t know when you faunts are trying to hide something. Bilbo was a right terror when he was younger, believe you me!” She cupped his face, took his pulse, and, strangely, felt his stomach. Her toes dug into the soil and Bilbo was suddenly watching his mother carefully. “My dear boy, when was the last time you ate a solid meal?”
Yesterday, breakfast. His sister-sons had split an apple between them. The days, weeks before were little better.
Kíli looked terrified. “Just recently! We, uh, we had a nice coney stew just this morning with onions and…” Belladonna was pulling back, hands on her hips. “... and it was really tasty and I’m completely fine.”
Bilbo stepped forward then, eyes shadowed. “When was the last time you ate decently, Master Oakenshield?”
“I find that isn’t your concern, Master Baggins.” Drat and thrice be-damned these halflings. If there was one thing worse than scorn and belittling, it was pity. There was a soft hand on his cheek and Mistress Baggins tried to cup his face.
“Hush, dove. No need for that. Tell us true, now. Are you hungry?”
His stomach rumbled an avalanche before he could lie. “We’ve… we’ve been rationing of late, Madame Hobbit. Dwarves are a hardy folk though, do not concern yourself.”
“How rationed.” Bilbo pressed closer and Thorin could feel his shoulders coming up, an itching in his palm. Thumbs stroked along his cheeks when he tried to pull away. He turned his growing glare on Mistress Baggins, to deflate entirely. How could a creature so small have his mother’s eyes?
“There’s been little food among us for a time now. The lads haven’t eaten anything more than a half apple each since yesterday.”
All hobbits present gasped in horror and Barnabas in particular seemed terribly stricken. “Lads? Faunts! I was going to send faunts out into the world hungry? Oh, foul day indeed. Oh! I am ashamed.”
“Quickly! Bilbo, empty your basket, there should be enough. Oh you poor dears. Don’t you worry none, we’ll get you settled.” Belladonna hefted the basket and set about with a will, passing out the many treats and little bottles of milk to both his sister-sons and then to his cousins. Bilbo, however, stayed at his elbow and spoke softly.
“Master Oakenshield, you say your faunts have not eaten much at all, though they ate some yesterday. How long since you ate?”
Thorin could not recall and so spoke nothing. Bilbo seemed to take that as answer enough, staring down at his tremendous feet and muttering to himself. Barnabas had taken to helping Belladonna, fluttering about with his little canteen of water and apologizing profusely. A scone of some sort was pressed into his hands and a cut of meat. Thorin felt too lost to eat and simply pulled it close, watching as Belladonna sat between his sister-sons. She quietly encouraged them to eat, praising their bravery and strength. That they both ate in hurried bites and clung to the food as if it was to be snatched away was proof enough of their hunger.
Bilbo spoke suddenly. “Well! Well now, indeed. That settles it then, the matter is quite decided.” He turned to his mother. “We’ll be having guests for a time, I believe. As long as you agree as well, mother. As a Baggins of Bag End, I simply cannot let it stand as it is.” He nodded to himself, thumbed his suspenders and looked quite satisfied.
Balin leaned closer, puzzled. “What is decided, laddie?”
“Why you and your company will be staying with us of course! We’ll get you settled just as soon as you’ve eaten.”