Trying my hands on a proper background this time… wish me luck!

Also, I have no idea at which point Bilbo's hair turned into a pouf, but I am rolling with it.

-Bilbo-

Dwarrow were not quiet sleepers. 

Fortunately, Bilbo did not mind. He was a light sleeper, but when it came to tuning out constant sound to sleep, such as snoring, he could do so. He’d slept in far less ideal areas before and traveled with much louder sleeping companions. While dwarrow were loud, they were not the worst. 

He opened his eyes, enjoying the feel of elven sheets against his skin as he stretched languidly before sitting up. 

When he arrived at the room last night, the dwarrow had all opted to sleep on the floor, laying out their sleeping gear and situating themselves close. The elves, being aware of the dwarrow deciding to sleep in the same room, had placed multiple beds in one large room to accommodate them.

Bilbo was aware of the dislike the dwarrow held for elves and why it was so, but it was so blatantly childish that he had a difficult time containing a laugh. The dwarrow would much rather inconvenience and be uncomfortable than take anything that they did not need from the elves. 

But he did not intervene or try to get them to sleep on the beds in the room, simply taking one of the beds and taking a much-needed rest. 

The dwarrow were still asleep as he slipped from the bed. He stepped around them as he headed to the door, leaving quietly. 

Rivendell smelled of elven magic and enchantment. It threaded through every passing breeze and breath, smelling of the charged air before a storm - pleasant but with a biting undertone. It wasn’t something anyone could smell, Steeds were more in tune with it than everyone else. 

Scent fading to the background, Bilbo walked through the halls, Estien not so subtly following behind him. 

He stopped. “If you wish to accompany me, walk beside not behind me, Estien.”

Hesitantly, Estien drew to his side. “How are you feeling, my lord?”

The shackle still sapped his power with every brush above the wrapping around his ankle. “Drained.”

“If you want I can-”

“Estien, there is no need to use your powers. It will do nothing.”

With pursed lips, Estien nodded. 

“I haven’t had the chance to hear of what you’ve been doing all this time.” He said.

“Traveling, mostly. I participated in many battles against orcs and have spent much of my time in the Woodland Realm.” He paused, hesitating. “Vala’s there.” 

Bilbo released a harsh breath. “How is she?” 

“Well. She married centuries ago. She has a child.”

“Who.” It was less of a question and more of a statement.

“Thranduil, I believe.”

“Does he treat her well?”

Estien smiled. “Like she’s the only star in his sky.” 

He withdrew as Estien continued speaking. He’d have to be satisfied with that until he saw her. To think that all this time he’d been so close . . . 

“I participated in many battles as a healer - I even fought with Glorfindel.” 

“Glorfindel - news of his accomplishment reached even the Shire, though I heard of his achievement from Throrondor. He was given a new body if I’m not mistaken.”

“He was. Given to him by Manwë . I heard he was residing with Lady Galadriel.”

Manwë. The name inspired a sharp ache in his core. He could remember existing with a being that defied all physical description, and a mighty voice that roared like thundering wind. 

He was pulled from his thoughts as they passed a room. 

“But I feel fine!” Kili whined.

“This is not something you can negotiate - you’re staying in bed until you're fully healed.” Thorin’s voice brooked no argument. 

Estien’s healing would have boosted Kili to perfect health, and there was no doubt that Kili was fine. But as it seemed to be impossible (especially after being stabbed by a wraith), Thorin was adamant about his nephew recovering and putting no strain on his body. 

They passed the room. 

“I don’t know why you insist upon traveling with a group of dwarrow.” Estien said. “You could easily travel to Erebor on your own.” 

“I’m not too sure myself. I simply know I must.”

Not pleased with the answer, but not arguing, Estien walked with him onto a small outlook from the building over Rivendell’s gardens. Elves could be seen below, tending to the plants with a gentle love, dedicated in their ministrations. 

“Rivendell reminds me the most of Nienna and Estë, I must say.” Bilbo murmured. 

Estien smiled. “I echo that sentiment every time I come here.” 

“High praise indeed.” 

Bilbo and Estien turned, nodding their heads in greeting to Elrond, who had a small companion next to him, a dark gray cloak covering them. 

Elrond smiled. “We had another guest arrive last night. I believe you will be happy to see her.” He turned towards his companion. 

His core was ringing even before the hood was lowered. 

The dwarf had fiery red hair, and brown eyes and her beard was intricately braided with beads fastened among them, falling to her belt (an envious length for many dwarrow). 

“My Lord.” Afena inclined her head, giving him a toothy smile. “It’s good to see you again.”

He returned the smile. “As it is you. I’m glad you’re seemingly unharmed.”

"You aren't so 'unharmed'." She responded, kneeling and  looking at the shackle. She touched it, hissing and quickly pulling back. "It must be draining you quickly. A parasite, it is."

"Can you remove it?" he asked. 

"I can - if I'm shifted. It won't be able to endure my fire." She gave him a once over. "You'll need to shift to. Hobbit bodies aren't necessarily impervious to my fire." 

Bilbo nodded. 

"We can use the chamber," Elrond said.

Elrond led the group through the halls of Rivendell, back until they reached a secluded area where two doors stood. 

The doors were large and ornate. The stone was carved into shapes of feathers and mountains, craggy cliffs, and foliage lining the edges. They were pushed open, a gust of air rushing out. The hall inside stretched long, and as they stepped in, the rock surrounding them lit up, a pale blue light emanating from within. 

The hall led downwards - Bilbo knew that it led into the mountain behind Rivendell, deep into the center.

He’d been in the room before when he was first brought to Rivendell. It was where he finished his healing, tended to by Elrond and his healers. The room had an enchantment upon it, to protect him when he shifted. 

“Since it was broken the last time, the enchantment has been enforced and should help you escape Raldag’s eyes,” Elrond said. 

The ceiling stretched upwards as they went further in, the hall widening and opening into a large, circular room. Like the rest of Rivendell, the room showcased the elves' workship, arches rising to meet one another at the apex of the domed ceiling. A walkway rounded the room, outside the pillars that rose into the arches. Steps led down from the pillars into the large center.

Even without natural light, the stone in the room gleamed faintly, lighting the room with a pale light. 

“I'm sure the absence of windows is not to your liking, but we couldn’t find a way to secure the enchantment as tight as we did with windows.”

Elrond was right, but Bilbo wanted to keep his whereabouts concealed from Radag. Because of the curse, Raldag was privy to his location whenever he changed forms - without shifting, Raldag could only place his location, not pinpoint it. 

“Leave Estien’s leather on - with protection you should be able to shift. I doubt you’ll be able to do it in full, the shackle won’t allow it.” Afena said. 

He nodded. He knew the shackle wouldn’t give him much rein, but he wasn’t looking forward to a half shift. Shifting was painful enough, but being in a perpetuating state of shifting, unable to escape the contorting would be excruciating. 

He undressed, folding his clothes neatly before placing them in the far side of the room. His shift would tear the clothes,

His skin ripped and knitted itself together, a massive force exerting itself on his head as his skull elongated, eyes enlarging, teeth sharpening and lengthening. 

Hard scales began consuming his open skin and with a sharp sting, nails pushed from his fingertips. 

The shackle around his ankle burned, Estien’s leather barely holding on. He could feel his shift being stopped, his body refusing to grow to the shape and size it needed to. 

His core was being quickly drained, and his shifting was slowly beginning to revert, forcing him back into hobbit form.

Afena raced behind him, focused on the shackle. She opened her mouth and a thin stream of fire poured out, coating the latch, and turning slowly from red to blue to white.

The agony came straitway, dragon fire touching unprotected skin as Estien’s leather fell away. A mangled roar came from a half shaped mouth, echoing up into the dome. 

Dragon-fire hurt, but a Steed’s fire was excruciating, especially when it came from Mahal’s steed. In his true form, though Steed fire was unpleasant to experience, its bite was tapered down. In a cursed and weakened form, its power was amplified, melting his skin as Afena tried to get the shackle off. 

With a sharp snap, the shackle came off. A mighty wind ripped through the room, shaking the arches and howling through the alcoves. He felt the air brush his freed ankle and then the rest of his transformation ripped through him like the wind, cutting and angry. 

He slumped to the floor as the transformation completed, his serpentine body curling inwards, tail wrapping up one of the nearby pillars, his body giving one last shudder before sinking fully into the floor, relishing the cool stone.

“My lord,” Estien’s voice was horrified. 

Knowing what he was referring to, Bilbo’s wings rose weakly. Instead of the four he was meant to have in this form, he only had three. Where the lower left one was meant to be, was empty, a mass of upraised scales taking its place, covering a stump. 

Raldag’s attack had been vicious, going for the vitals. 

For a dragon, wings were akin to a leg or arm - if one was destroyed, they could die without proper care. Bilbo had little doubt that it was what Raldag had intended, and in his cursed form, Bilbo’s dragon-core would’ve been unable to help him survive. 

Eyes sad, Estien began tending to Bilbo’s ankle. Estien’s magic felt like the gentle pouring of water, tingling and numbing the injury. The burning ease, and though the smell of burning flesh remained in his nose, his skin no longer sizzled. 

“You’ll need to come back here every day to shift. You’ll heal more effectively if you’re in dragon form.” Afena said. She’d already shifted back, clothes on. 

Bilbo gave a low growl in acceptance. He’d have to plan so that the dwarrow, mainly Thorin Oakenshield, did not notice his absence. 

Time passed slowly, and Bilbo found himself drifting. He attributed it to all the naps he’d taken as a hobbit - it was a wonderful thing, the way hobbits lived, not focused on opulence or power, but rather good comfort and company. 

His breathing grew deeper and he was aware of himself falling asleep, letting it happen, mind and body calming.

---

When he woke he was back in hobbit form, something soft under his head and warm draped over him. He sat up slowly, body protesting at the movement being sore from the shift. His ankle ached and looked to have been bandaged by Estien, wrapping neat and not too tight. 

He limped across the room to his clothes, gingerly pulling on his pants (careful not to ruin the bandaging), tugging on his shirt, and buttoning up his vest. 

Estien slept, sitting and leaning against a pillar, breathing softly, arms crossed. Afena was slouched against him, snoring loudly, twitching, and mumbling every so often. 

Bilbo smiled, picking up the blanket and pillow as he stood, favoring his left foot. He limped over to his two companions, tucking the blanket over Estien and Afena, setting the pillow next to them before he slowly made his way from the room. 

Moonlight was drifting through the pillars and spilling across the walkway when he exited the hall, shutting the door gently behind him, and heading back in the direction of the room the company was staying in. He would forego dinner for sleep.

His stomach protested unhappily at the thought. 

Perhaps he could spare just enough time to eat before falling asleep. He could feel the craving begin low in his stomach, slowly beginning to grow. 

The dwarrow sitting fell quiet and looked at Bilbo as he entered. Kili was sitting by Fili, fork halfway to his mouth. It seemed he had convinced his uncle to at least let him out of bed for dinner. 

Thorin pushed away from the table he sat at with Elrond and Gandalf, walking towards Bilbo. “Where have you been all day?”

“The library. Time passed so quickly I hadn’t realized it had gotten so late.” The lie came easily to his lips. When Bilbo had stayed at Rivendell before, he would spend his time in the library and lose himself in the stories and histories that’d been recorded. 

As a Steed, he was knowledgeable and was aware of many histories and tales, but he’d never had the time or pleasure to read them. And Rivendell had a library that was meant to be boasted of, the rows of shelves seemingly endless, stretching from wall to wall. There were multiple tiers in the room, and all of the room was lit by the light that flowed in from the window wall directly across from the entry, spanning the length of the wall and giving an astonishing view of the waterfall that poured downwards. 

“You must tell me where you are the next time you go off - I shall not be accountable for you, but I must know if we are to leave without you or not.” Thorin said, face still displeased.

Bilbo nodded. “Very well.” It was better to soothe the dwarf than to cause friction.

The company began talking with one another once more, devouring the food on the table.  

He settled in a seat near the end of the table. The elves had included meat this time, glazed ribs, slow pulled meats, and roasted venison, a tempting sight. They were accompanied with a myriad of vegetables, roasted potatoes, pickled onions, green salads, and even an assortment of cheeses that Bombur was eating eagerly. Wine casks were placed near the end of the table, and though Bilbo doubted it was the best kind the elves had (those were saved for select occasions), it certainly would be delightful; elves prided themselves on their drinks and the flavorful undertones. 

Bilbo helped himself, partial to the meat. He had a craving, one that needed to be sated. When his plate of meat ran out, he would find more meat, freshly prepared, next to his arm, ready to be eaten. Elrond had clearly spoken to his kin to ensure that Bilbo would not go hungry. He looked towards the elven lord, giving him a grateful nod. Elrond smiled. 

-Ori-

“He wasn’t in the library. I was there all day and didn’t see him once!” Ori whispered. He’d stayed quiet at dinner when Bilbo had said he had been in the library, but with Fili and Kili, nothing stayed unsaid. They were outside the room, there wasn’t much privacy in there, to avoid being heard.

“He came in limping - his leg is hurt.” Fili hissed. “What happened is obvious.”

Kili’s eyes were wide. “You don’t think . . .”

Fili nodded gravely. 

“What?” Ori looked between the two. “What happened?”

“Our hobbit was beaten up by the elves.” Fili shook his head, saddened. 

“Beaten up?”

“Don’t you see, Ori? Bilbo comes in, trying to hide a limp and looking like he hurts everywhere, and proceeds to lie and say he was in the library. He’s trying to hide the fact he was beaten!”

“Why wouldn’t he tell us?”

Kili placed a hand on his shoulder. “Pride. He can’t admit it because he’d be embarrassed about it. Who would want to admit they were bested by a treeshagger? Besides, he doesn’t want to cause any problems for the company.”

He frowned, contemplating. What Fili and Kili were suggesting made sense . . .  almost. Bilbo didn’t look afraid of the elves who served the dinner, and he’d still smiled at Lord Elrond . . . 

“Don’t overthink it, Ori.” Fili said. “You’ll only come to the wrong conclusion. First impressions are the closest you’ll get to the truth.”

“Mr. Boggins is too soft and kind for his own good. He’d have trouble not being nice to the elves, even after they beat him up.” Kili added. 

He sighed. Fili and Kili were so adamant, they must have been right. “Okay. What do we do then?”

---

- Bilbo -

Any attempt to look innocent by Fili, Kili, and Ori could only be seen as an attempt to distract from their misunderstandings or mischievous intentions (well, not exactly Ori - the attempt could only be seen as deceiving if he was with Fili and Kili. Otherwise, he’d just come clean about the whole thing. The young dwarrow had little room for telling lies and a massive guilty conscience.)

After coming across them last night, Bilbo knew he could expect something, and wasn’t surprised when they began following him (not so secretly) through Rivendell. During breakfast he could feel their eyes glued to him, but as soon as he looked up they looked away just as quickly. 

He wasn’t certain what they were thinking, but he knew they had concocted it in their minds and wouldn’t be letting go of it any time soon. This was solidified in his mind as the trio began following him around that next day, trailing him as he wandered through the halls, gardens, and even the library. He could tell they were getting anxious for something when he was approached by Estien and Elrond. They had agreed upon a time for him to go into the chamber and revert to his form, Elladan and Elrohir agreeing to keep the rest of the company occupied with dueling them. 

When it came to frustrating opponents, Elladan and Elrohir were certainly masters, doubling down on their opponents and driving them mad with taunts and jokes. He’d no doubt that it would keep the dwarrow distracted for many hours - a dwarf would not take defeat from an elf easily. 

“Do you want me to get rid of them?” An arm was placed under his arm, helping relieve some of the weight off his foot. 

“There’s no need.” He said, thanking Afena for her help. “They won’t cause any trouble. If it were any other combination of dwarrow, I would have to say yes.” 

Estien cast a dubious glance towards the trio. “If they see . . .” 

“It is of no consequence to me.” He said. “They’ll come to know at some point - I haven’t much desire to tell them or to keep from them what I am.” 

“Very well, my lord.” 

- Ori -

“I don’t think we should be doing this.” Ori fidgeted uncomfortably next to Fili and Kili.

“This is for Bilbo’s own good.” Fili said. “Don’t worry about whether or not we should be doing this.”

They were crouched behind a pillar, watching Bilbo converse with Lord Elrond and Estien. They’d been following him all day, watching for any signs of abuse. 

“Which one do you think did it?” Kili whispered. 

“Estien.” Fili said.

Kili frowned. “No way. He healed me. A dwarf. He wouldn’t beat Bilbo up. It was Lord Elrond. 

“Lord Elrond isn’t with Bilbo as much as Estien! Estien’s the one who’s always alone with him!”

“He’s like Bilbo’s guard - protects him when he needs to be.”

“Then why is Bilbo hurt?”

“He can’t be with him all the time!”

Fili scoffed. “Some guard he is.”

Ori tuned out the squabbling and watched as a third figure approached Bilbo’s group. Far too short to be an elf and taller than Bilbo, Ori startled when the figure’s hood was removed. 

“Hey.” He tried to interject. 

No response. “Hey.” he tried again.

Nothing.

“Stop it!” He whisper-shouted, gaining the brothers attention. “What about a dwarf?”

The brothers looked confused. He pointed towards Bilbo.

“Mahal’s beard.” Fili whispered. 

“It’s a dwarf.” Kili’s comment was met with an eye roll from Fili.

“You don’t think . . .” Ori trailed off. 

“Treeshaggers are too weak to beat up a hobbit.” Kili stated suddenly. 

“I’ve heard that elves and hobbits are related. No way they’d beat a hobbit up.” Fili added.

With a look at each other they nodded. “The dwarf beat Bilbo up.” They said together.

“Wait.” Kili paused. “How are we supposed to do this then? A dwarf isn't as stupid as an elf, and I’m sure she’s quite strong.” 

“Good point.” Fili turned to Ori, “Go tell Dwalin that an unknown dwarf is beating up Bilbo. He’ll take care of the dwarf.”

“They must be in on it together - the three of them.” Kili said. “We’ll have to make sure we must take care of them all.” 

Fili nodded. “We’ll stay with them while Ori gets Dwalin. We don’t want them moving.”

Ori had some issues with the plan. Couldn’t they just ask Bilbo? If Bilbo didn’t like something, he didn’t look the type to take it.

He was yanked down as he began to stand to get Dwalin. “What is it?”

Fili held a finger to his lips, nodding in Bilbo’s direction. “They’re moving.”

“You don’t think . . . “ he trailed off. 

Kili’s face was solemn. “They’re taking him somewhere to beat him - they don’t want us nearby to help.”

“How do you know they’re going to beat him?”

“See how she’s restraining him to keep him from getting away? She wouldn’t be doing that if they were just going to talk.”

Ori squinted. It looked like she was trying to support Bilbo, not dragging him away. He turned to tell Fili and Kili that, but they were gone, crouching behind another pillar, following the group. With another dubious glance, he followed the brothers. 

It was a quiet area they were led to, tucked behind a corner, and Ori started when he saw the large doors. The group had already entered, one of the doors still slightly ajar. It was strange, by all accounts. 

Fili and Kili obviously thought little of it as they opened the door and entered gesturing for Ori to follow. 

As they followed the glowing path, Fili and Kili stopped. "Someone's coming back." Fili hissed. 

A small alcove was conveniently located to the side and the three of them pressed themselves in as the dwarf passed, headed back out. When they heard the door closed, they breathed a sigh of relief. 

"Wait here, whistle if the dwarf comes back," Fili said, ducking away with Kili. 

Shifting uncomfortably, Ori stayed pressed back in the alcove as he could. Something about being alone seemed to heighten the stakes. Footsteps sounded and Ori stiffened.

Elrond and Estien turned the corner, and he tried to make himself as small as possible so he wouldn’t be seen. Estien stopped, casting his eyes to the shadows where Ori hid. 

His heart thundered as the elf seemed to look right at him. Was he going to be caught? Would he be imprisoned? Beaten? 

Estien turned away and Ori held back a sigh of relief. He was safe. 

“Stay here and whistle if the elves and dwarf come back.”

Ori fidgeted with his gloves as the brothers weren't around the corner. 

Only moments after that Kili came racing back, a smile absent. That was worrying. 

Kili was pale. “D-do elves keep dragons for pets, Ori?”

That was a strange question. He shook his head. “Dragons can’t be considered ‘pets’, they’re far too intelligent, and I doubt one would be submissive enough to be called, much less treated, like a pet.”

The thought of a dragon pet was intriguing. He assumed the closest dragons would get to being ‘pets’ would be when they were under instruction of Morogoth. 

Dragon history was fascinating, though there wasn’t much written about it. One of the books he had was given to him by Gandalf, containing much, but still incomplete, information. He’d found himself rather curious of what had been called a ‘Steed’. They were said to be the ancestors of the dragons, who’d served the Valar directly. There was mention of a great battle that took place between the Steeds after they’d been cast away from the Valar (for reasons unknown). It was recorded that there were many losses and that the fight ended bloody, neither side truly winning. 

He’d looked everywhere he could for more history on the Steeds, but there was nothing. He’d been meaning to ask Gandalf, but hadn’t gotten to it with all that had happened. He’d have to do so after they finished saving Bilbo. 

“Then why, in the name of Mahal, do they have one?” Kili hissed. 

Ori frowned. “Have what?”

“A dragon. In their basement. Sleeping.”

Fili rounded the corner. “It's still asleep. It doesn’t look like Smaug, not from the stories Thorin has told us.” He turned to Ori. “I thought there weren’t any dragons left besides Smaug.”

“There shouldn’t be. Great dragons - that is. Dragons beside Smaug exist, just not large or malicious enough to be called a ‘great’ one.”

“I’m not sure how big Smaug is, but if he’s bigger than the dragon in that room, I’m not sure how Uncle Thorin intended for us to defeat the wyrm.” Though not as pale as Kili, Fili was nervous, the continuous rubbing of his knuckles betraying his calm exterior.

“Is Mr. Baggins in there?” Ori asked. 

Fili cursed.

“We forgot to check.” Kili said. 

“Let’s go back in.” Fili said, gesturing for them both to follow.

Like Fili and Kili said, the beast was curled up in the center of the room, body rising and falling with each breath. There were a few steps to enter the center of the room with the dragon, and Ori found himself on the edge of them. 

He should’ve been frightened, the dragon was massive, (he would put the beast at 1.5 times the size of Smaug) but the creature was beautiful.

Unlike the red scales Smaug was said to have, this dragon was covered in burned gold and copper scales that reminded him of an eagle’s feathers. The scales were longer than most scales (based on his books) and each seemed to have some kind of serrated edge. Not a sharp one, but certainly one that could cut.

“Not so close, Ori!” Fili hissed. 

He hadn’t realized how close he’d gotten, standing mere feet away from the dragon’s head. He backed a few paces away from it, next to Fili and Kili.

“What should we do? Should we tell uncle?”

“We can’t tell Thorin yet.” Fili said. “We need to be in a secure location before we tell him anything. The treeshaggers have ears everywhere.”

Ori thought they were overestimating the elves. His eyes drifted from the dragon, looking at the empty circular room. Empty. He looked back around. “I don’t see Mr. Baggins.”

The hobbit was nowhere to be found, and there were few places he could be hiding in such a barren room.

He choked as he saw a small pile near a pillar. Mr. Baggins clothes. He nudged Fili and Kili, pointing towards the pile.

“Mahal.” Fili’s voice was horrified. “They fed Mr. Baggins to their dragon.”

If you are feeling so inclined, let me know what you thought! I always enjoy hearing from people.

Part 1

An Unexpected Party

Bilbo hadn’t exactly been expecting a wizard when he woke up that morning, but then, who would? He hadn’t seen one since the War of Wrath, and even then at a frightful distance.

And this was the Shire, where nothing exciting ever happened, and nobody got into any adventures at all; or so dear Belladonna had assured him.

“Peace, quiet,” she’d said, “good food. A hole to call your own. It’s not quite a barrow, but I don’t think you’d mind that, would you?”

And Bilbo had found he hadn’t, after a while. He’d been very comfortable, in fact, before a wizard showed up to ruin it, and dragging some ridiculous number of dwarves with matching and easily confusable names along into the bargain.

Bilbo was rather out of the habit of feeling covetous; there wasn’t anything worth hoarding in the Shire, not by Second Age standards, and food, plentiful and of which all hobbits were proud, was for eating and not wasting, spoiling away in the ground - come to think of it, that was the way dwarves were supposed to feel about gold, wasn’t it? - but there was something about uninvited guests every which way he turned, underfoot and in one’s face, with their needs and appetites and disregard of doilies - Belladonna’s lace! - and lack of basic manners, and there were such a lot of them - oh, Bilbo was going to have words with the wizard! And then they were all in, and then there was Thorin, who looked Bilbo up and down as though he were a substandard copper ingot, or some such, which Bilbo might normally have found rather funny, but with his nerves shredded to pieces it was very nearly the last straw.

Oh yes, he and the wizard were going to have words. Whatever did he mean by it, turning up here in such a way?

And then there was all that about a quest, and a mountain, and something about a treasure, at which Bilbo’s ears pricked up despite himself, and then apparently Gandalf had represented him as some sort of burglar, which was such a staggeringly insulting perspective on Bilbo’s achievements in the Second Age that he was briefly struck speechless - and then there was something about a dragon.

“A dragon, you say?” Bilbo asked, interested.

“Smaug,” Thorin confirmed, “the great calamity.”

“Gracious,” said Bilbo. Well, that put a different complexion on things, didn’t it. Certainly it would explain why Gandalf had come here, instead of finding something Tookish young thing to go haring off into the wilderness. He squinted, suspiciously, at the wizard, who merely puffed his pipe with an enigmatic smile, and said nothing.

“Oh, aye,” said one of the interchangeable dwarves. “The great dragon. Melt your flesh from your bones in a single breath. Rend you limb from limb without breaking a sweat. Took down a whole kingdom in an afternoon. Think you can handle that, Mr Boggins?”

Bilbo very nearly eats him. The nerve! The brass nerve! They come in here! They eat his food! They wreck his house! Abuse the laws of hospitality past sense and meaning! They bring a wizard! (Bilbo conveniently forgets for a moment that it was the wizard who brought the dwarves). And they have the nerve, the unmitigated gall, the insupportable impudence -

“Alright, alright, give him some air,” says one of the friendlier, more fatherly-feeling dwarves. “I can see this has all been a bit of a shock to you, Mr Baggins -”

Indeed it has! Bilbo ought to eat them all! Bilbo ought to go and fire their silly little mountain all over again, just for good measure. Why he ought to - 

Bilbo takes a deep breath. He takes several more deep breaths. He rearranges his face into something more suitable. Several dwarves flinch, and then wonder embarrassedly why. 

“Not at all, my dear fellow,” he says, and Gandalf spits out his pipe. “This adventure thing of yours sounds just the ticket. It’s been a long couple of decades, and I could do with a holiday.”

This causes a lot of spluttering and handwringing, and entreaties of a “are you quite, quite sure,” “don’t think you’ve entirely understood,” “a holiday? What on earth can this fool be thinking” sort of tenor, which Bilbo ignores in order to more effectively seethe behind a blank, amiable face. It’s the face Belladonna always used when dealing with Sackville-Bagginses, and a more useful skill he’s never learned.

“Oh no, gentlemen,” he says, when they’ve finally worn themselves out. “I’ve quite made up my mind. You are, as the fauntlings say, stuck with me.” He sticks out his hand with a flourish. “Contract?” It is provided. “Pen?” several pockets are patted, until Bilbo loses patience and summons one of his own. “There,” he says, when his full name has been scorched, illegibly, into the parchment. “You are quite welcome.”

This causes more uproar.

@bagginshieldtwit

Merry Christmas my dear! I drew you a baby!Bilbo!Dragon and a smitten Thorin!

Snug little bug

Dragon Under the Mountain or sth, idk