Disclaimer:  The Professor’s wonderful characters don’t belong to me; I just get to think about them day and night.

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MORE THAN MEETS THE EYE

Chapter 1 – By Hearth-light

They came back with viols as big as themselves, and with Thorin’s harp wrapped in a green cloth. It was a beautiful golden harp, and when Thorin struck it the music began all at once, so sudden and sweet that Bilbo forgot everything else, and was swept away into dark lands under strange moons, far over The Water and very far from his hobbit-hole under The Hill.

‘An Unexpected Party’, The Hobbit

How long had it been since he and his comrades had gathered like this, playing their instruments for the sheer joy of music -- the ancient melodies washing away, for a time, the bitter memories and heartsick longing that never fully left them? How many innkeepers had welcomed his songs merely as a bit of diverting entertainment, offering a night’s lodging or hot meal in exchange? How low the proud sons of Durin had sunk, how nearly forgotten, how...

As he played, his thoughts swirling into dark places, Thorin happened to glance at the hobbit. This Mr. Baggins was so excitable and unknowing of the wide world, and so very young. Not a hint of a beard yet graced his round face. There were no weapons proudly displayed in this home, neither sword nor bow nor axe; and he wore upon his simple garments no sign of any rank or position among his people. How could his merit be judged? What did Gandalf see in this one that he could not?

But just then, in the flickering hearth-light, he noticed something odd. The hobbit was gazing out one of the windows into the night. His face was flushed, his small, fidgety hands utterly still in his lap, his breathing slow and measured. With a slight shiver, Thorin felt the stirring of true seeing, the rare gift that those of the royal line of Durin the Deathless carried in their blood. With the effort of a long-unused skill, he followed the hobbit’s thoughts as they flew beyond his comfortable parlor and secure homeland. Mr. Baggins, his eyes suddenly aglow with wonder, was caught and held by a vision of caverns and gems, fire-spouting beasts, and mountains his physical eyes had never known. Thorin felt the young one’s heart burn, his breath quicken.

Thorin sensed someone looking at him with thoughtful regard. Still playing smoothly upon his beloved harp, he turned slightly to meet Gandalf’s even gaze. The wizard gestured with his chin towards the hobbit, nodded, then with a twinkle of his eye his face was once again lost behind a curtain of smoke.

So there was more to this hobbit than met the eye. He possessed at least the depth of spirit to be stirred by the ancient power of Dwarvish music, and the courage to follow where it led. So, then. Let him choose his path full willing. Let him hear and feel what truly lay beyond his gentle land’s carefully tilled fields and predictable lives.

And so, closing his eyes, Thorin began to sing.

“Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old...”  

** TBC **     

MORE THAN MEETS THE EYE

Chapter 2 – Musings on the Doorstep

To the end of his days Bilbo could never remember how he found himself outside, without a hat, walking-stick or any money, or anything that he usually took when he went out; leaving his second breakfast half-finished and quite unwashed-up, pushing his keys into Gandalf's hands, and running as fast as his furry feet could carry him down the lane, past the great Mill, across The Water, and then on for a whole mile or more. Very puffed he was, when he got to Bywater just on the stroke of eleven, and found he had come without a pocket-handkerchief!

"Bravo!" said Balin who was standing at the inn door looking out for him.

‘Roast Mutton’, The Hobbit

Balin found Thorin outside the round green door of the hobbit hole, and joined him in a smoke.  After a long silence, Thorin grunted in displeasure.

“I doubt that hobbit has done an honest day’s toil in all his life,” he grumbled, to which Balin began to chuckle quietly.

“So much nonsense in one sentence,” he chided Thorin.  “You quite surprise me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Of course he would not be entirely honest.  He is a burglar, after all.”

“Perhaps,” Thorin said, not entirely convinced of this fact no matter what Gandalf said.

“And of course he does not ‘toil’,” Balin continued.  “A burglar hones his skills carefully and slowly, as do Dwarvish miners, gem cutters, and craftspersons, and with as much joy in his achievements.  No doubt he has spent time apprenticing, as we do.”

“I just meant---”

“And finally,” Balin concluded with a flourish, “to use the phrase ’in all his life’ is quite droll.  Mr. Baggins is obviously too young to have had much experience in the world, either in this land or any other.”  He glanced at his companion shrewdly.  “You are not so convinced of his total uselessness in our quest as you pretend.  I saw your intense gaze upon him, and was not totally unaware of the thought-trails you both travelled.”

“I forget, at times, that the gifts of Durin flow as strongly within your blood,” Thorin said with a smile.  “Think you then that this hobbit will leave his home and comforts, and join us?  And be of use, if he does?”

Balin was silent for a time, then he turned to Thorin, his gaze level and serious.

“Yes,” he said, “but I cannot say why.  Perhaps it is because I do not know what a wizard is, nor what a hobbit is, so I cannot judge what they may achieve, or what part they play in the affairs of the world.  Gandalf seems certain in his choice, and Mr. Baggins... there is something of a destiny about him, and you cannot deny you have sensed the same.  Perhaps that destiny lies with us.”

Thorin blew out a series of smoke rings.  “You are wise, cousin.  Perhaps it is not by battle or force, or even a wizard’s magic by which our mountain will be reclaimed, but by guile... or a skill practiced by no Dwarf.”  He gazed thoughtfully back at the door of Bag End.  “Our burglar lives a comfortable life, to be sure, but I saw no gold within, and precious little silver; he has obviously not stolen anything of great value as yet. A one-fourteenth share of our reclaimed treasure would bring him wealth beyond the dreams of any burglar.  Whatever would he do with it?”

“Re-stock his larder, which we have sorely depleted!” Balin said with a grin, and was gratified to hear what he had sorely missed in recent years -- Thorin’s hearty laugh, ringing out into the night.

** TBC **

MORE THAN MEETS THE EYE

Chapter 3 – A Memory of Song         

Somehow or other Fili was got on to the branch, and then he did his best to help the hobbit, although he was feeling very sick and ill from spider-poison, and from hanging most of the night and the next day wound round and round with only his nose to breathe through. It took him ages to get the beastly stuff out of his eyes and eyebrows, and as for his beard, he had to cut most of it off. Well, between them they started to haul up first one dwarf and then another and slash them free. None of them were better off than Fili, and some of them were worse. Some had hardly been able to breathe at all (long noses are sometimes useful you see), and some had been more poisoned.

‘Flies and Spiders’, The Hobbit

Kili woke up screaming from a nightmare of webs and terror and being smothered.  He was dizzy and nauseated, and began to retch.

“Easy, brother.” From somewhere close came Fili’s voice, more gentle than Kili had ever heard it, and around him wrapped not sticky webs, but strong arms that held him until the latest bout of sickness had passed.  He was too wretchedly ill to be embarrassed, and only when he felt a blanket being wrapped about him did he realize that he was shaking as if with a chill.  He sought to see his brother’s face, but everything was blurred.

A water skin was held to his lips, but he couldn’t drink without being sick again.  Not yet.

“You got the worst of it, we fear,” said Fili, wiping his brother's mouth with a damp cloth.

“What...” Kili began.

“Rest easy, my lad.  The sickness will soon pass.”  Fili kept his voice light to conceal how dreadfully worried he had been.  “You must have put up quite a fight for the spiders to have injected so much poison.”  He lightly brushed his fingers over two stings on Kili’s bared arm, and another on his throat.

“It all happened so fast, I barely knew what I was fighting,” Kili said, struggling to clear his thoughts. “Is everyone else all right?”

“Very nearly so.  If not for Mr. Baggins, though, we’d all have been...”  Fili shook his head.  “Well now, best not to think about it.”

Fili spoke softly to his brother while Gloín kindled a sturdy fire, and those who were fully recovered began to prepare a meal.  After awhile, Kili began to feel a bit better, and was able to take a small drink.  He was surprised to see that the light was fading from between the tree branches above them, and he wondered how long he had been caught in evil dreams.  When Bilbo came to smile down at him and ask how he was faring, it triggered a memory that startled him.

“Bilbo... I remember hearing your voice,” Kili said. “You were singing.  But no, it must have been a dream.”

“He was singing indeed,” Fili said, grinning at the hobbit.  “I heard him too.”

“As did I,” said Gloín.  “My compliments, Master Burglar.  If you steal nothing more than all of us from those loathsome beasts, I will be content.”  There was a murmured assent from many voices. 

Now that the fire was warming him, and the nausea fading, Kili was feeling drowsy again. 

“Perhaps Bilbo will sing to Smaug, and enchant him into giving up our treasure willingly,” he murmured. 

There was a roar of laughter, accompanied by a small, indignant “Hmmph!” from the hobbit.

Fili could see that Kili was fighting to stay awake.  He felt his brow, and nodded to himself.  The worst was over.

“Sleep, brother.” Fili's voice came to Kili as if from a great distance.  “It is the best medicine for you.”

With the soft voices of his comrades surrounding him as protectively as his brother’s arms, Kili felt himself sinking back into darkness.  This time his sleep was deep and healing, and he dreamed not of smothering webs, but of butterflies and sunlight and clean air... and a hobbit singing from within a mountain of gold.

** TBC **

MORE THAN MEETS THE EYE

Chapter 4 – A Father’s Pride

`The Company of the Ring shall be Nine; and the Nine Walkers shall be set against the Nine Riders that are evil. With you and your faithful servant, Gandalf will go; for this shall be his great task, and maybe the end of his labours.

`For the rest, they shall represent the other Free Peoples of the World: Elves, Dwarves, and Men. Legolas shall be for the Elves; and Gimli son of Glóin for the Dwarves. They are willing to go at least to the passes of the Mountains, and maybe beyond.

‘The Ring Goes South’, The Fellowship of the Ring

“Be seated, my son,” Gloín said, gesturing to one of the ornate – but rather fragile looking – chairs in their quarters.  Gimli sat down carefully, then grunted in approval at the comfort of the Elvish furnishings.  “Master Elrond is sending forth the Company of the Ring, and I do not know when we shall see one another again.”

Gimli reached out and took his father’s gnarled hand.  “I will return from this venture with honor.  As you did.”

“As I did, yes,” Gloín smiled.  “All your life you have heard the tales of our grand adventure; it did not surprise me that you volunteered to accompany Burglar Baggins’ nephew on his journey south.”

“I would ask you about something,” Gimli said.  “I have spoken at length with Gandalf regarding Frodo, and learned that he has reached the age of 50.  He looks as young as his cousins, and Peregrin is not yet even an adult by his people’s reckoning.  It seems that hobbits age slowly, as we do.  But Bilbo is younger than I, and already so frail.  Has he suffered a great ailment?”

Gloín gazed into the hearthfire and was silent for a time, and Gimli could tell that his father was remembering long-ago days.  Finally the older Dwarf stirred, and sighed.

“Bilbo is actually quite advanced in years, as hobbits measure their lives; he has lived longer than many of his race before him.  He is not ill, but greatly aged, as you observed.”

“But when he visited Erebor a scant 17 years ago, he was hale and hearty.  I scarcely recognized him when we arrived here.”

“Nor did I,” Gloín admitted.  He looked sadly at his son.  “I have observed much, and deduced a good deal over these weeks.  Bilbo bore Sauron’s ring for 60 years.  When he left it behind with Frodo... well, it is my opinion that his age has now caught up with him.”

Gimli frowned, following his father’s train of thought.  “Are you saying that Frodo appears unnaturally young?  That when we see the Ring to its destruction, he will age before our very eyes?”

“I hope not; that would be a cruel fate for him, and a difficult experience to bear.”

“The Ring-bearer will continue to be hunted,” Gimli said quietly, thinking ahead to the journey ahead of him.

“Aye,” Gloín agreed, “as will those with him.  Swore you any oath to Frodo to remain with him to whatever end?”

“Master Elrond requested none.  Do you advise that I do so?”

“My son, none know where the road may take them, once they set their feet upon it.  Who could have foreseen that Erebor would be reclaimed with the aid of a hobbit accompanying Dwarves, or that the Enemy’s Ring might be unmade with the aid of a Dwarf accompanying hobbits?  Do as your heart bids you, and you will know how far to travel with the Ring-bearer’s Company.  Perhaps you will learn the fate of my brother and cousins in Khazad-dûm, from whom we have heard nothing for these many years.”  Gloín felt a stirring of foresight, and as he spoke his eyes were distant, as if seeing something Gimli could not.  “Perhaps you will see lands beyond the knowledge of any Dwarf before you.  Perhaps you will win great renown, and hear your name in song.”

“And perhaps the Elf and I will refrain from throttling one another in front of the hobbits,” Gimli muttered, only half in jest, and Gloín laughed heartily.

“What will it be like, travelling with hobbits?” Gimli asked curiously.

“It will be entertaining and eye opening,” Gloín said with a fond smile.  “Let me tell you a story...”  And Gimli listened eagerly to yet another tale of Burglar Baggins, who with a song and a sword had rescued his father and companions from certain death in the depths of Mirkwood.

When Gloín’s tale was done, Gimli was more determined than ever to step forth as a stalwart and trusted member of the Ring-bearer’s Company.  He got to his feet, pressed both hands to his heart, and knelt formally.

“Send me forth with your blessings, father,” he said quietly.

Gloín lay his hands upon Gimli’s head, and spoke an invocation to Mahal for guidance and protection. 

“My son ventures forth into lands under Shadow, far from his home.  May those whom he meets see in him the strength of his people.  May he use prudence when required, and swift action when needed.  May his life be long, and his honors well earned.”  He paused, then murmured, “And may time pass quickly until I once again gaze upon his face.”

Gimli raised his head, his eyes glistening.

“Thank you, father,” he whispered.

“Now and always, my treasured son... be thou blessed.”

After Gimli had departed, Gloín sat long by the fire.  Once again, a hobbit of the Shire was the unlikely center of great events, possibly the greatest and most perilous any of them would live through.  And once again, a child of Durin's line would bear witness, and perhaps be remembered by generations yet to come.

“May it be so,” he said quietly, pride and love swelling his heart.  “May it be so.”

** THE END **