Do Art. Be Kind.

It takes time for wounds to heal and for scars to form. And even then, things do not always go back to the way they were before. No matter how badly one may wish it. 

And in the twenty years since the Fell Winter, the spring markets of Hobbiton weren’t what they once were. Food was becoming more prevalent again but the nerves that had settled deep into the bones of The Shire were more apparent than ever. Hobbits packed close together like prey animals, sorting through market stalls and speaking loudly with their neighbors. As if the din of conversation would cover up the nervous energy that followed them all these days.

Bilbo Baggins was no stranger to these feelings. And after twenty years, he did quite a good job covering them up, thank you very much. He had managed to wade through his own personal tragedies and come out the other mostly unscathed. Well, at least to anyone’s knowledge. 

He was still hyper aware of every noise that could be made in Bag End. He was more lenient than his father had been with his tenants needing extra time to pay their rent. He could navigate the innocuous small talk that was ever present at the market. With fine clothes, a kind smile, and enough sense of propriety, Bilbo Baggins was a very fine hobbit indeed.

At least he tried to be.

There was a sense of unease that followed Bilbo around. He was too keen on the outside world. Opening one’s home to visitors was to be expected from any hobbit. Opening one’s home to complete strangers, on the other hand, was not. Seeking news by way of gossip was second nature to hobbits. Unless one was curious about gossip that one might find by way of Bree or further still. Monitoring the borders of one’s fields was impeccably normal behavior. Being concerned with the borders of the Shire? Less so. A few mad hobbits had taken it upon themselves to at least scout the borders; staying keen of any danger that might come their way, or trying to talk rangers into some work. But they didn’t mean to fight or defend. Hobbits don’t use weapons. Unless one was a Took, of course. They’d sooner launch a spade at your head than be taken unawares.

Bilbo was in the difficult position of trying to be more a Baggins than a Took.

A Baggins would never be caught dead monitoring the borders of the Shire, or trying to talk to Rangers. No, they would be right at home, where they belonged. Perhaps engaging with neighbors or inviting them over for tea.

Yes, Bilbo’s calling was to be here. In Hobbiton. Managing things from Bag End as best he could like a real Baggins. One shouldn’t worry oneself with any issues beyond their own borders. After all, curiosity killed the cat. Though the Took part of him was quick to remind him that satisfaction brought it back.

Then there was that business of his near the end of the Fell Winter.

That alone was enough for the people of Hobbiton to call him Mad Baggins.

Bilbo turned the peaches over in his hands, looking at the produce closely. The provider of the stall, Dell Goodbody, adjusted his bracers as he cautiously approached Bilbo, as the rest of his potential customers had scattered fairly quickly.

“They are quite beautiful, Dell. I’ll take these,” He smiled at the grocer.

“Well thank you very much, Mister Bilbo, that’ll be two coppers.”

“Right, right, of course,” Bilbo fiddled in his pockets for the coppers, handing them over quickly before picking up the peaches he had decided on.

“I suspect you’re refilling your larder again?”

“Well, as much as one can these days. I’m expecting company tonight.”

“That’s just wonderful to hear, Mister Bilbo. Just wonderful. Does a hobbit well, having a full larder. Even better to have company. Finally have a lass you’ve set your sights on? Or perhaps you’re looking?”

Bilbo paused, shifting his basket as his nose twitched, “Not exactly.”

Mr. Goodbody’s face fell ever so slightly. At least he had the decency to not sneer as other hobbits did. He merely nodded as he pocketed Bilbo’s money.

“Right. One of your dwarves then?”

“An old friend,” Bilbo didn’t correct him any further.

The air between the two hobbits was unnervingly heavy. Bilbo had been known to always open his home to the weary traveler, not that there were very many of those running through the Shire these days. Or any day. And any traveler that was coming through generally wasn’t of the friendly sort. Dell sighed after a long moment.

“It’s not right, Bilbo,” Goodbody’s eyebrows furrowed, “Not these days. If you keep this up then-”

“Then what? I’ll invite more whispers? Any respectable hobbit opens his home to any traveler. No matter who they are. At least that’s what my father told me. I am a Baggins afterall,” He said, rolling his shoulders back ever so slightly as he stood his ground,  “They are lovely peaches, Mister Goodbody. I’m glad your fields are finally producing such wonderful produce again. It truly was a shame that those wolves made a home in your orchards for so long."

The grocer paused and paled momentarily before giving a polite nod.  Bilbo did his best to not smirk. It really had been dreadful business, those wolves. But even where other hobbits did their best to forget, Bilbo did not.

Perhaps other hobbits were content to ignore the state of things at the market. It was easier to gossip and prattle about the lesser intricacies of hobbit life. It was easier to talk about whose son was marrying whose daughter rather than the fact that the couple had met because hobbits were sharing smials for safety in numbers. It was easier to talk about how this hobbit or that was wearing something entirely too tacky for the season rather than the fact that hobbits had to share fields that were closer together. It was easier to be happy for so-and-so’s new baby than to talk about the wolves that were still picking off faunts that wandered too far from their mothers skirts. 

It was easier to pretend that things were fine.

Bilbo Baggins was one of the few hobbits who could not pretend.

One thing that hadn’t changed in Hobbiton, despite the thinner fields and creeping sense of fear, was the need for gossip. And that day was no different. Bilbo was just happy it wasn’t about him for once. The sudden, rolling silences that occasionally followed him in the markets were irritating to say the least. Not that day, however. No one hushed their voices as he walked past, pretending that they hadn’t been talking about him. No, there seemed to be something more interesting that day. 

“Did you hear about the new blacksmith in Bree?” He overheard one of them say, “A dwarf! I took one of my old pots to be mended, looks even better than it did when I first bought it!”

“You went all the way to Bree? Are you mad?

“Oh please, it isn’t as if we have any decent ones here. The one dwarf we get that does pass through here just pops in and out of Mad Baggins’ smial. And the Prancing Pony is plenty safe these days.”

The Shire worked on gossip the same way a mill wheel ran on water. As long as there was some, there would always be life in the Shire. Just as the sky would be blue beyond clouds and rain would turn dirt to mud, there would always be a market for gossip at the Hobbiton Market. 

“Didn’t you hear about the dwarf in Bree? Taking up shop in the old smithy.”

“I thought Ol’ Teddic ran the smithy.”

“Oh he does, but you know him. Any chance to load off some of his work…”

“Well if there’s already one dwarf there, shouldn’t there be more on their way? It’s been a long time since we’ve had a caravan pass through here.”

“I heard this one doesn’t travel with others. Just by himself. Bit strange if you ask me, traveling alone these days.”

“Mr. Bilbo’s dwarf does that.”

“Don’t remind me, two of them are strange as anything. Think of it! A dwarf living in these parts. After all that terrible business so long ago?”

“Shame all that.”

Bilbo stiffened as he heard that bit of gossip. You would think that after twenty years, people would have learned to let that particular bit of information go. Bilbo certainly had. If anything, it was the one thing that Bilbo wanted to forget.

“Aye, his work is good as any, so I hear. Though I hear he’s mangled in the face. Completely blind in one eye from a fight!”

“It’s all they’re good for, really. Dwarves that is. Fighting and smithing. I heard it was from an orc attack.”

“I heard it was from fighting in the Blue Mountains. Heard he was exiled.”

“Imagine, an exiled dwarf thinking he can pick up work here of all places!”

“Oh hush, you. As long as there’s work in Bree he won’t be coming here , thank goodness. Last thing we need is a mouth to feed that isn’t a hobbit."

Bilbo thumbed over a bolt of blue fabric at one stall as he mindlessly listened to the gossip around him. It felt almost normal. Gossip and rumor never changed. Any time there was something new or different–that wasn’t trying its hardest to eat or maim them–everyone would be talking about it. 

A whistle made him look up. His eyes scanned the masses of hobbits for the one person that wasn’t the same. It wasn’t too difficult. Bilbo spotted the dwarf in question, leaning nonchalantly against one of the other market stalls, gaining a cautious look from one the stall’s attendant. The dwarf’s red hair was done up in that overly complex style of his; he smiled and gave a small nod of recognition.

“I thought I might have some time to actually prepare a meal before you were back, Nori,” Bilbo said with a knowing smile.

“Well, you know me, keep ‘em on their toes, I say,” Nori crossed his arms as he walked with Bilbo through the market, “Can’t go becoming predictable now, can I?”

“Certainly not,” The hobbit shook his head with a small smirk. That strange, rolling silence that Bilbo was accustomed to started again. It didn’t bother him too much these days. And it didn’t seem to bother Nori either. He handed the dwarf a bundle of firewood, “Make yourself useful then.”

Nori carried the wood as if it weighed nothing.

The dwarf had been a friend to Bilbo for the last twenty years. Circumstance had thrust them together and a friendship had naturally bloomed. Nori actually seemed to enjoy the gossip of Hobbiton much more than Bilbo did. And while the hobbits were used to Nori’s presence, they were still hesitant around him. They weren’t exactly sure what it was that Nori did. And honestly, the dwarf preferred it that way.

“I’ve got news,” Nori’s voice held that slight bit of mirth that it always did when the news was particularly interesting.

“Oh? Shire news or walking news?”

“Bit of Shire news, bit of walking news. But my biggest news?” Nori looked around and scratched the back of his neck, “Best save it for Bag End in all honesty.”

Bilbo stopped in his tracks, looking at his friend. Nori was always quite forthcoming with any news he might have picked up. After being friends for so long, there wasn’t much between the two of them that couldn’t be said in the company of others. Nori grabbed him by the arm to keep him moving.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with that new smith that’s taken up shop in Bree, does it?” He asked dryly. Nori placed a hand on his chest in mock scandalization.

“Why Mr. Baggins, why would it have anything to do with that?”

Bilbo only raised an eyebrow as the two began heading back towards Bagshot Row. Nori was a good listener. Always aware of his surroundings. And if Bilbo had heard the gossip about the blacksmith in Bree, then there was no doubt that Nori had as well.

“Fine,” Nori shoved his hands in his pockets, “It may have a tiny bit to do with that.”

Bilbo smiled at his friend.

“Walking news first then, I suppose.”

“Dell Goodbody was hoping you’d say yes to his question. He wants to set you up with his daughter.”

“Ha!” Bilbo’s laugh was a visceral reaction he had no hope of stopping. A couple of other hobbits on the road whipped their heads to look at him. Bilbo cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the road, “Absolutely ridiculous. She’s just barely past her majority, I’m far too old for her.”

“Maybe. But you’re one of the only hobbits that still has his own smial and is unmarried. Not to mention renting out a few more. You’re one of the most well off hobbits here, all things considering.  It’s not… a bad match.”

“It’s not a good match either.”

“I think he was mostly hoping to kick me out of my rightful place in your home.” Nori sighed dramatically, “Wandering the wilds again.”

“Oh, really now, Nori,” Bilbo shook his head, “Even if I did take up with a lass, which we both know is the most unlikely situation, I’d hardly kick you out.”

“I would just pop back up, even if you did,” Nori nudged Bilbo teasingly. The hobbit knew he was teasing, but Bilbo would never joke about something like that. Nori had been a steadfast friend for so long.

“And the…” Bilbo looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening in. He was tired and wasn’t particularly in the mood for someone to be scolding him about this topic of conversation, “The Shire news, then?”

Despite his station and profession, Bilbo often held what he called a professional interest on how what was happening outside of the Shire might affect them here. Provincial or not, Bilbo wasn’t an idiot. He knew that the actions of others often had lasting impacts on business closer to home. A habit he developed a lifetime ago that still hadn’t gone away.

“Ered Luin still won’t send help.”

Bilbo stopped and looked at Nori incredulously, “The Blue Mountains have been all but orc free for years and they still won’t even be willing to trade with us? Send us… something?”

“You’ve nothing they want, Bilbo. The Broadbeams are a tough lot to crack. Tougher than many dwarves I’d say. Took me half a week to talk with even a low level noble! They couldn’t believe a dwarf would vouch for the Shire. Besides, I think you lot might be too…”

“Too what?” Bilbo began walking again, eyes fixed ahead as he listened.

“I believe the right term would be… soft?”

“Soft. Like an over ripe tomato then, are we?”

“If you’d like.”

“Indeed,” Bilbo huffed, “Surely they could use some-”

“Bilbo, you don’t have anything they want. And you aren’t the Thain. They ain’t gonna talk to you. Dwarves don’t work for free. And the Shire has no metal work or stone work they could use. I think the sharpest thing around here I’ve seen has been a spade. Maybe.”

“You work for free,” Bilbo said after a long moment, opening the door for his friend.

“You feed me,” Nori smirked, walking into Bag End, “And I like you. Besides, coming to you with news is hardly work compared to what I used to do.”

“What about the Rangers?” Bilbo made his way to the larder to unload the food from the day. Nori kicked off his boots in the front hall, set down the fire wood, and plopped himself down in Bilbo’s little used dining room.

“Not enough of them. And the Shire doesn’t have enough coin for them to invest their necks. Especially for Hobbits. If hobbits will even speak to them.” The dwarf reached into his outer tunic and pulled a piece of parchment out. 

As much as Bilbo hated to admit it, Nori was right. The Shire was extremely insular. Nori was one of the first individuals to have spent an extended amount of time with them. And while Bilbo had found a lasting friendship with him, other members of the Shire still hadn’t warmed to the dwarf’s presence.

“I did find something a bit more interesting than Ered Luin or Rangers, though.”

Nori tossed the parchment onto the table. Bilbo stopped in his tracks and glanced at it. The Khuzdul runes made it impossible for him to read, but it must be important given the meaningful penmanship. He picked it up and turned it over; the wax seal was still attached to the top and he very easily recognized the sigil of the Royal Family of Erebor. A crown set between two crossed hammers and the seven stars of Durin. 

“What’s this then?”

“An invitation. Sent from King Thror, or, more likely, his granddaughter; the Lady Dís. Inviting the noble families of Ered Luin to Erebor for the Durin’s Day celebration. Drinking, dancing, a feast if they can manage one. And a memorial service, to commemorate the anniversary.”

“Hm,” Bilbo set the parchment back down on the table and made his way to the larder with his basket. It had been a long time since he’d heard of Erebor or its royal family.  None of his business now, though. They lay half a world away. And if Ered Luin wouldn’t trade with them, why would Erebor? Certainly none of his business, then. He was hyper aware of the way that Nori was watching him, though. The dwarf spun the parchment around on the table with a single finger, trying to be nonchalant.

“You know, they may not trade with The Shire, but they’ll trade with other dwarves if they can. Erebor, for all its problems, is still one of the richest kingdoms in the land.  An invitation like this is enough to send a caravan their way at the very least. And Ered Luin is willing to bring along some more sturdy seeds to try and help with their food problem-”

“They still can’t grow anything?” Bilbo poked his head out from the larder, his heart sinking. Perhaps it was something locked in the back of his mind that led him to ask. He stopped himself though at the sight of Nori’s knowing smirk. Bilbo huffed in annoyance and went back to replacing his groceries.

Nori shrugged, “I hear they’ve got a few fields up and running, but not enough to be as self-sufficient as they’d like to be. You know us. Don’t like relying on outsiders very much. And dragon fire leaves a mighty large scar.”

“I’m sure it does.”

“They also say that King Thror is not well. Won’t eat. Barely sees his family. They say he’s wasting away to just about nothing. Lady Dís’ cousin, Dáin is going between the Iron Hills and Erebor to try and help keep things floating. All that gold, and no help to be found.”

“Shame, that.”

“Do you know how much gold is in Erebor, Master Baggins?”

“Oh, don’t start that,” Bilbo huffed, “You only call me Master Baggins when you’re about to propose something ludicrous.”

“Enough to buy every ranger and dwarf for hire from the Mistys to The Blue Mountains.”

“Well, if I remember correctly, Thror isn’t about to part with any of it. And if Dáin takes the throne after him, I hardly think he’ll part with any of it either.”

“Dáin doesn’t want Erebor’s throne,” Nori scoffed, “The Iron Hills are his home and I think he’d like to keep it as such. Dís’ young son, Fíli, is next in line anyhow. He’s too young to take the throne right now, so if something does happen to Thror, they’ll have a regent rule until he’s old enough to make decisions. Dís on the other hand…”

Nori paused, the smile on his face was evident from the way he spoke, though Bilbo couldn’t see his face.

“Yes?”

“How long have we known each other, Bilbo?”

“Twenty years.”

“Do you remember what happened twenty years ago?”

Bilbo leaned out from the larder and looked at Nori carefully. The smile on the dwarf’s face was a bit too wide, eyebrows raised, trying to be a bit too convincing. Slowly, Bilbo began to put the pieces together. He walked into his dining room with his arms crossed.

“No,” He shook his head.”Whatever you’re planning, that business is gone and buried.”

“Funny you should say that because they never actually found a body.”

“It’s been years , Nori. Rangers haven’t found a lot of things. And even if they did, do you think they’d share that information willingly? You were there the day they needed to identify the bodies. After all this time, we would have heard something.”

“Exactly.”

“What do you mean exactly?” BIlbo crossed his arms.

“We would have heard if they had found him dead. But would we have heard anything if they had found him alive? They’ve nothing to gain from that. Until now.”

Bilbo didn’t move for a long moment, actually listening to what Nori was saying.

“There are some, I’m not saying it’s me-”

“It’s you.”

“I’m not saying it’s me,” Nori continued. He stood and moved closer to Bilbo, “Some think Prince Thorin might have survived. Lady Dís included. And if the word I hear is good, and it always is, she’s offering quite a hefty sum for any information. And even more for his return.”

“People don’t survive orc attacks. Not like that.”

“Hasn’t stopped some from trying.”

“Trying what?”

“There are a few dwarves that have tried to pass themselves off as the lost prince. The throne is all but wide open. And it sits upon the greatest horde in the whole world. A few have even gotten through the front gates for a meeting, and fewer still have gotten an audience with Dís.”

Bilbo couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up through his chest. He shook his head as he made his way to the living room, snatching up the bit of firewood he had bought “What exactly are you proposing, Nori? You can’t possibly think they’ll take one look at you and think you’re him.”

“I’m not proposing that I pretend to be the prince.”

“Oh, are you going to find some mad dwarf to go along with your scheme then? You’ll never make it past the front gate. What makes your attempt any different?”

“Between the two of us, we have enough skill to teach someone how to be a prince-”

"Since when did I agree to any of this?”

“We have parts to the story that others don’t. And, we have these,” Nori fished in his pocket and pulled out a few silver beads. They were intricately carved and a high quality silver Bilbo had hardly ever seen before. The hobbit looked at them, heart catching in his throat.

“I told you to send those back.”

“And I told you they might come in handy someday. More than these,” He tucked them away again and pointed to the mantle of the fireplace, “We have that."

Bilbo froze and looked at the silver jewelry box that sat on his mantle. He’d never been able to get it open, even after all this time. But it was still lovely to look at nonetheless. And he hadn’t had the heart to send it back to Erebor. Bilbo swallowed thickly.

“You can’t believe this sort of gossip, Nori.”

“I don’t have to believe it,” Nori said with a grin, “The only one who has to believe it is Lady Dís. She thinks Prince Thorin is still out there.”

“Oh, balderdash!” BIlbo cried throwing his hands in the air,  “You can’t expect me to take advantage-”

“It’s not taking advantage.”

“It might as well be!” He huffed and crossed his arms, “You’re asking me to lie to someone who seems increasingly desperate to find family that’s probably dead. And for what?”

“For what? Bilbo, for what?” Nori laughed, leaning down to get in Bilbo’s face, “For an in. For enough gold to buy the help the Shire needs. Is that not enough?”

Bilbo paused, his gaze fixed on the floor. Desperate times make for desperate people. With enough persuasion and the right words one could even convince-

He stopped himself. Desperate times indeed. Bilbo only wondered if he was truly that desperate. Desperate enough to lie or worse. 

Suddenly another piece began falling into place.

“What does this have to do with the blacksmith in Bree?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Nori made himself home in one of Bilbo’s chairs, “I think he might be perfect. I’ve already seen plenty of dwarves in Ered Luin-”

“You tried to pass this scheme off over there?!”

“Hardly. Just talked to a few dwarves who might fit the profile. But what’s interesting is that no one in Ered Luin seemed to know about a blacksmith in Bree. Why would they? And many of my… associates don’t seem to know too much about him either, except that he is there. He’s a blank slate, Bilbo.”

Bilbo shook his head, “I’m not going along with this.”

“I’m not asking you to go along with it. Not fully, anyway. Just- Just lend me the jewelry box to sell the story! I’ll return him to Erebor. I’ll even vouch for the Shire- for you! I get to see... I get to see my family. I’ve got no other way into Erebor, Bilbo. You have to understand that.”

Nori didn’t talk about his family often. But when he did, there was always a tinge of regret. There was no way that he could go back after what happened. Not without something like this. Bilbo could at least be sympathetic to that.

“You know, when I met you, I’d never met a single hobbit who was so desperate to get out of here.”

“That was different,” Bilbo said after a long moment, sitting in his own chair, “Things were different then.”

“Are they?” Nori’s voice took on a slightly desperate tone, “Are they so different? Your community is still crammed together, afraid to be out after dark, farmers still sharing fields even though your land has healed.”

“Things were different,” Bilbo insisted. He huffed,  “I can’t just upend my life on the hope that maybe there’s a- a blank slate out there that can get us what we both want. I have responsibilities here.”

“Dodging gossip at the market and sending out for news from outside the Shire are your responsibilities then?”

Bilbo sighed. When Nori put it like that, it didn’t sound like very important responsibilities at all.

“Come with me. This could be the answer to all our problems,” The hope in Nori’s voice was hard to ignore.

“This dwarf could also be nothing.”

“Come with me anyways then. If it’s a bust then… then it’s a bust. But we’ll still have the jewelry box. And we can still sell half a story. Hold up the Shire’s end of the bargain and maybe drive them to help here. A well guarded caravan of hobbits could make a difference in Erebor.”

Bilbo sighed again, rubbing a hand across his face. They had been so close to gaining help from Erebor so long ago. If not for that attack, both people might be in a better situation than they were. Though time had passed, they might still be amenable to a deal. Especially if Bilbo came all that way this time. And if they came with the lost prince? All the better.

His thoughts drifted to Lady Dís. The pain she must have lived with for so long. To lose so much of one’s family all at once… Bilbo could relate. It was a pain you didn’t recover from quickly. And if someone was desperate enough, they might be willing to believe a lie if it was wrapped in a pleasant story. Bilbo was nothing if not a storyteller. And he could be the best one in the land if it meant helping his people. In theory: everyone could win.

“You are asking quite a lot, Master Dwarf,” Bilbo offered him a tired smile after a long moment.

He knew what Nori had lost in that attack. Even if he wasn’t there in person. He hadn’t seen his family in ages and it was the only way he’d get back into Erebor.

Nori smiled, though it was pained, “I know. But you know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it could work.”

Bilbo folded his hands in his lap, thinking for a moment. It was a good story. A lost prince, returned home. A kingdom saved from ruin. Family reunited. Two communities safe and free from fear. A good story indeed. He pushed himself up to stand and walked over to the jewelry box, picking it up. It was always heavier than it looked. Bilbo ran his thumb over the beautiful engraving done along the rounded sides. Finally he looked up at Nori.

“It’s risky.”

“Not more than some of my other schemes,” Nori shrugged.

“Yes, more than your other schemes. A lot more than the other schemes,” He took a deep breath, “We’ll need time to train him properly, but we can probably do it on the road. Make sure we have all the pieces together. Ponies will certainly help us get there faster, but we’d have to get those in Bree-”

He let out a startled noise as Nori hugged him tightly.

“Aha!” He laughed, with a large smile across his face, “I knew you’d say yes!”

“Put me down!” Bilbo squealed, “With luck–a lot of luck– this will all go smoothly.”

“Between the two of us?” Nori put Bilbo down and placed his hands firmly on the hobbit’s shoulders, “Who else could pull this off?"