If You Wish Upon A Dwobbit

by Soledad

Author’s note: There’s something I wanted off my chest before someone starts to complain. I know Tolkien considered using the word Dwarrow instead of Dwarf, all right? The fact is, however, that he decided against it, and in all his published (and unpublished) works he still uses Dwarf and Dwarves. The only exception is Dwarrowdelf, which is a direct translation from the Khuzdul name Khazad-dûm. So yes, Dwarf and Dwarves is actually canon, no matter what some freshly-minted “experts” would say.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter 12 – A Change of Heart

After a short night's rest the thirteen Dwarves met with Gandalf in the common room of the Green Dragon for an early yet opulent breakfast. Thorin wanted to set off as soon as possible – with or without a burglar. He made no secret of the fact that he was unconcerned about Gandalf’s Hobbit and was determined to go on, despite their unlucky number, declaring to be free of such foolish superstitions.

The other Dwarves were less sure about that, and soon a lively discussion arose about whether the Hobbit would change his mind and show up yet.

“Nah, he shan’t,” declared Nori haughtily. “’Twas a waste of time to make a detour to this place. No offence, Tharkûn, but a Hobbit is of no use on a Quest like ours.”

Bifur withstood the urge to direct a few sharp words at the youngest son of Orin Glowhammer. Unlike his brothers, Nori was a Dwarf so full of himself that there was no room left in his head for sensible arguments. His looks alone revealed him as a self-centred person whose main goal was to draw attention to himself at any costs. He had his hair coiffed in that ridiculous starfish shape that had become very fashionable among the master artisans in Uruktharbun (despite the fact that he had yet to achieve his mastership as a crystal cutter), instead of the artfully arranged ceremonial braids of the BlackLock Clans, much to Dori’s dismay.

He was the vainest Dwarf Bifur had met in her entire life; and she had seen her fair share of vain males. Never one before that would have his eyebrows braided, though. Or that would look down his big, pointy nose at anyone of a lower status.

Consequently, Nori was not the most popular member of the Company and Bifur was not the only one whom he rubbed the wrong way. Óin, in particular, did not react well to the young Dwarf’s self-important manners and never missed the opportunity to put him in his place.

“Would you like to take a wager on that?” he asked with deceptive mildness, weighing a small sack of coin in his palm. “Ten silvers that he will turn up ere we leave the village.”

“If you feel the weight of your purse too keenly,” laughed Nori disdainfully, “I bet fifty silvers that he shan’t.”

“And I bet fifty that he will,” announced the wizard, glaring at the Dwarves from under his thorny eyebrows.

Dwalin shook his head. “You are wasting your coin, Tharkûn. The Hobbit was clearly frightened out of his mind, he will be glad to see us gone. I’m with Nori; twenty silvers against him showing up.”

Balin, Dori, Ori and Glóin were in agreement; and so was Bifur, to be honest, although she was more sensible than to go wasting her hard-earned coin on such folly. Bofur, though, who still felt a tad guilty for having frightened their host into a faint on the previous evening, felt honour-bound to bet for him and put ten silvers – which was the half of all his savings – to risk, much to Bombur’s exasperation. Only Prince Kíli bet for “Mister Boggins” from the rest, clearly having taken a liking to the Hobbit.

It seemed, though, that Nori would prove right, as the Hobbit didn’t show up at the Green Dragon while they were having breakfast; nor afterwards while they were packing their saddlebags and readying their ponies. The latter took some time, as they had a great deal of supplies to pack. Thorin had the common sense to ask the former Wanderer Dwarves about what they would need on such a long journey, and Bifur, Bofur and Bombur had done their best to think of everything that might prove needful.

They had decided against taking a supply wagon, due to the condition of the roads before them, especially on the last leg of their way that would lead them through Mirkwood. ‘Twas better to rely on the strength and endurances of the Dwarf ponies, of which they had brought twenty with them; thirteen to ride and the rest as beasts of burden.

When they were ready to go, Thorin ordered them not to wait any longer, and they left Bywater, turning their backs on the rolling hills of Hobbiton, without a catching a sight of their burglar. As much as Bifur hated to see Nori triumph, she felt something akin to relief. She found the Hobbit a kind and gentle soul and did not want him to join a quest that she herself found hopeless and foolish.

Not that she would voice her opinion within Thorin’s earshot, of course. Balin could afford to do so. She could not.

They left the village and turned onto the Great East Road – resigned to the thought that they would make their journey with their unlucky number and without a burglar – when they heard a breathless call from behind.

“Wait! Wait!”

They stopped their ponies to look back and to their surprise they saw a little figure running after them across Hobbiton, jumping over fences and pumpkins in his haste. He was carrying a rather large backpack and waving with something that looked suspiciously like the contract. It was indeed Bilbo Baggins, trying to catch up with them and ignoring his neighbours who were shaking their heads at him in obvious disapproval.

He caught up with them and handed the contract to Balin who happened to be closest.

“I signed it,” he announced, beaming, clearly rather proud of himself.

For which, in Bifur’s opinion, he had every right. It was quite a feat from a peaceful Hobbit to join an undertaking which even most Dwarves found utterly hopeless.

Balin accepted the contract and inspected it with a pocket glass. Then he smiled at the still beaming Hobbit.

“Everything appears to be in order,” he said, passing the contract to Ori who stowed it with the other documents concerning their quest; he was their archivist, after all. “Welcome, Master Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield.”

The other Dwarves cheered… with the exception of Thorin who seemed distinctly unimpressed.

“Give him a pony,” he ordered and rode forth without a backward glance.

The Hobbit was clearly shocked by the idea of riding.

“No, no, no. That won't be necessary,” he protested, making Bifur wonder if he had ever sat in a saddle in his life. “Thank you, but I… I'm sure I can keep up on foot. I've done my fair share of walking holidays, you know. I've even been as far as Frogmorton once…”

Which was quite a distance from Hobbiton, Bifur knew; well, for a Hobbit anyway. Still it was highly unlikely that Bilbo would be able to keep up with the pack ponies, no matter how well used he was to walking considerable distances. Not to mention that he would completely exhaust himself and be useless for the rest of the journey.

The Hobbit’s babbling was cut off mid-sentence as Fíli and Kíli rode alongside him, picked him up and put him on one of the pack ponies, grinning evilly as they were doing so.

Bifur had to admit that it was a funny sight: the little Hobbit enthroned on top of the saddlebags, clutching to the reins for dear life, looking quite terrified. The pony neighed and tossed its head, making him even more uncomfortable. Still, he managed to remain in the saddle as the pony fell in step with the others.

Óin, in the meantime, was grinning like a loon. “Come on Nori, pay up. Go on.”

With an unhappy scowl, Nori tossed a small sack of coin to Óin; then another one to Gandalf, a third one to Bofur and finally one to Kíli. The others who had bet against Bilbo’s coming did the same, and Bofur’s grin grew behind both ears when he collected his winnings.

“One more,” he said, catching Ori’s bag of coins contentedly. “Thanks, lad,” and he handed over everything to Bombur, who was also grinning.

This was quite likely the largest pile of coin either of them had earned on one day in their entire lives, and the beamed at the Hobbit who had helped them to it with pride.

Bilbo, for his part, watched the sacks of coin being pressed between the Dwarves with a frown. “What's that about?”

Gandalf laughed. “Oh, they took wagers on whether or not you'd turn up,” he explained. “Most of them bet that you wouldn't.”

“What did you think?” the Hobbit asked, although it should have been obvious by the way Gandalf was putting small sacks of coin into his pack.

“My dear fellow, I never doubted you for a second,” replied the wizard, his eyes twinkling. “You are a Took, after all.”

“Half a Took,” Bilbo corrected; only to sneeze loudly in the next moment.

“Blast all this horse hair,” he cursed mildly. “Always giving me an allergic reaction,” he searched his pockets for something and clearly didn’t find it because he became really agitated. “Wait, wait. Stop. Stop. We have to turn around.”

The entire company came to a halt; Óin and Glóin started objecting to the delay while a highly annoyed Nori (still smarting from having lost the bet) angrily demanded to know what the problem was.

So did the wizard, for that matter.

“What on earth is the matter?” he asked, more amused than angry, as if he knew already. Perhaps he did. Wizards were a strange lot.

“I’m awfully sorry,” replied Bilbo in that forcedly polite manner of his, “But I’ve come without my hat; and I’ve forgot my handkerchief; and I haven’t brought any coin with me. I woke up a little late, you see; and I had to pack hastily to catch up with you.”

Half the Company had a very hard time not to laugh; Fíli and Kíli didn’t even try and only calmed down when Dwalin gave them a truly frightening glare. Bifur managed, in the last moment, to keep Bofur from tearing a strip of cloth from his shirt and offer it to the Hobbit’s use (who probably wouldn’t have been charmed by the offer), while Thorin watched everyone with impatience and disgust.

Dwalin, however, made a – likely futile – attempt to open the Hobbit’s eyes for what lay before them.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “You will have to manage without handkerchiefs and lots of other things before we get to our journey’s end. As for a hat, I have a spare hood and cloak in my saddlebag that you can borrow.”

The offer led to another bout of hilarity among the Dwarves because Dwalin was exceptionally large for a Dwarf (having a lot of BlackLock blood could do that to a person) and the Hobbit was smaller than even the smallest of them… which happened to be Bifur.

“I believe Mister Baggins would be better off borrowing some of my clothes,” she said. “Nothing against your generous offer, Lord Dwalin, but he’d get lost in your cloak and we might never find him again.”

The Hobbit still looked a little doubtful, so she added encouragingly, “Since you don’t have a beard, you cannot be mistaken for a Dwarf; not from close to, even if you were wearing Dwarven clothing.”

“Not very likely,” Gandalf agreed. “Still, as I said, I knew you would show up in the end, my dear Bilbo, so I took the liberty to do some packing for you.”

With that, he handed the Hobbit a very handsome maroon travelling coat (made of the finest wool and obviously fitted for his size), as well as a whole pile of handkerchiefs, a pipe and a large bag of pipeweed. Finally, he shared his winnings with Bilbo evenly, saying that the Hobbit, too, should benefit from the bet made of trust in his courage.

Bilbo was delighted to have some of the basic comforts he had forgotten in his haste, and thus they could finally move on before Thorin would lose his temper. Which was a good thing, as far as anyone who knew the crownless King of Durin’s House would agree.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

They rode on, following the Great East Road for about a month, crossing the River Baranduin (which, hilariously enough, the Hobbits called the Brandywine) at the Bridge of Stonebows and travelling along the northern border of Buckland for a while, after having left the Shire proper.

The route was a known one for Bifur, Bofur and Bombur, as it was the same they had regularly travelled with their caravan. Other Dwarves of many travels – Óin in particular – knew it well enough, too, thus they had no difficulties find the few inns along the road; at least not in the beginning.

They passed through Bree again, having a short rest in the Prancing Pony, where they also restocked their food supplies. Óin paid Missus Sandheaver’s herb and tincture shop another visit, organising a second medicine kit with all kinds of salves and pills and tinctures they might need on such a long and potentially dangerous journey. He also bought large bouquets of dried herbs and lots of linen strips to have enough bandages, should they get into a fight on the way, which was more than likely.

Because the Road turned worse after they had left the Bree-land, as Bifur knew it would. They barely met a soul on their way, save for a Dwarf or a tinker or a farmer ambling by on business; and even those seemed anything but respectable folk, though such a large group of Dwarves, most of them trained warriors, had nothing to fear from them.

By now they had come far into the Lone-lands, where there were no people left, no inns, and the roads grew steadily worse. There were hills in the distance, rising higher and higher, dark with trees. There were old castles on some of the hills, crumbling with age; they seemed as if they had not been built for any good purpose.

What was even worse, the weather that had been as good as Thrimidge can ever be, had taken a nasty turn, much to the Hobbit’s dismay. Now it was cold and wet, and they had to camp when they could, which was far from the comfort of the Shire.

"To think that we’re well into Forelithe already," grumbled Bilbo as he splashed along beside Bifur, Bofur and Bombur (having recognised them as the most potentially sympathetic souls right at the beginning of the journey) in a very muddy track.

He was very obviously miserable and he had every reason to be – from a Hobbit’s point of view. It was well beyond tea-time, as he had pointed out to the most unsympathetic Dwarves; it was pouring with rain (and had been all day) The hood that he had accepted from Bifur, after all, was dripping into his eyes, his fine travelling coat was soaked water; the pony was tired and stumbled on stones, rattling him rather painfully at every other step – nothing could be further from the comfort of his home.

"And I'm sure the rain has got into the dry clothes and into the food-bags," he grumbled. "Bother burglary and everything to do with it! I wish I was at home in my nice hole by the fire, with the kettle just beginning to sing!"

“I fear this shan’t be the last time you’d wish for that,” Bombur, also tired and saddle-sore (he was used to travel in a wagon, after all), said with compassion. “Tell me, Mister Baggins, what made you join our quest after all? You seemed quite opposed to the idea at first, if memory serves me well.”

“Because I was a fool,” replied the Hobbit dully. “When I remembered one of you calling me a fat little fellow bobbing on the mat I lost my mind and wanted to prove him wrong. The Took side in me won; and when I saw you gone in the morning, I just ran out of the door without a second thought… something no Hobbit – and especially no Baggins – was ever supposed to do.”

Bombur laughed quietly. “So we can thank Lord Glóin to have a burglar at all.”

“I suppose so,” muttered the Hobbit doubtfully; then something clearly occurred to him. “Tell me, why are you calling him Lord Glóin? No-one else does, just the three of you.”

“No-one else but the three of us is as common as dirt,” commented Bifur dryly, having caught the tail end of their conversation. “Balin, Dwalin, Óin and Glóin are cousins of Thorin. Dori, Ori and Nori are also from Durin’s blood, through a different branch. Fíli and Kíli are Thorin’s sister-sons; Fíli is also the heir apparent. That leaves the three of us as common folk; the only ones not nobly born as, I’m sure, Nori would be only too happy to point out if you asked him.”

“But you never call óin a lord,” said the Hobbit, revealing his observant nature.

Bifur shrugged. “We go way back,” she wasn’t about to reveal any details but felt that their burglar deserved at least some answers. “He travelled with our caravan for a while in his youth; before Thorin would settle in the Blue Mountains.”

“He is a Dwarf with a great deal of wanderlust,” added Bombur. “Never to remain long in the same place, that one. Which is why he serves as Thorin’s emissary from time to time; when he can tear himself away from his studies, that is. Only Ori is even worse when it comes to books and scrolls and parchment and lore.”

“There is nothing wring with books,” said the Hobbit a bit defensively. “I wish I would be sitting with one at my fireplace at home right now.”

To that the Dwarves had nothing to say, so they rode on in silence. Somewhere behind the grey clouds the sun must have gone down, for it began to get dark. Wind got up, and the willows along the river-bank bent and sighed. The river was a rushing red one, swollen with the rains of the last few days, that came down from the hills and mountains in front of them.

As the winds broke up the grey clouds, a waning moon appeared above the hills between the flying rags. It was nearly dark when Thorin finally stopped their tiresome forward struggle and looked around.

“Let us see where we shall get a dry patch to sleep on,” he said. “And some supper would be welcome.”

He looked at Bombur who usually did the cooking for the entire Company – with the help of the Hobbit.

“I shall try my best,” promised the old Dwarf,” but I will need somebody with the fire-touch to help me lit the fire.”

“I’ll do it,” said Óin, as they moved to a clump of trees where it was drier underneath. Well, a bit dryer anyway, for the wind shook the rain off the leaves, and the drip-drip was most annoying.

“What is the fire-touch?” asked Bilbo as he was helping Bombur unpack the cooking paraphernalia.

“An affliction for fire, specific for the FireBeard Clans,” explained Bombur. “FireBeard Dwarves can make a fire almost anywhere out of almost anything, wind or no wind. Most useful when on the Road.”

“But I thought Óin and Glóin were from Durin’s folk,” said Bilbo a little confused.

Bombur nodded. “They are. But their mother was a noble FireBeard dam and a fierce warrior. They come very much after her, as you can see – especially Glóin.”

The Hobbit eyed the magnificent red beard of Glóin and nodded in understanding. Unfortunately, not even the mythical fire-touch of the FireBeards seemed to help in that night. Óin and Glóin were unable to get the fire going, no matter how much they quarrelled about the right way of doing it.

“’Tis no use,” said Óin after he’d almost come to blows with his own brother. “The mischief seems to have got into the fire. Let’s Tharkûn give it a try.”

That was when they noticed that the wizard had gone missing. So far he had come all the way with them, never saying if he was in the adventure or merely keeping them company for a while. But now he simply was not there at all.

"Just when a wizard would have been most useful, too," growled Nori, who missed the comfort of Uruktharbun as much as the Hobbit missed the Shire. As Bifur had realised right at the beginning, he was a spoiled brat.

Dori, although he, too, shared the Hobbit’s opinion about regular meals, lots and often, gave his youngest brother a quelling look. Whining about the lack of comfort was clearly considered unseeming for a son of Orin Glowhammer.

Before Dori could have done more than glaring at his brother, though, there was a frighteningly loud crack, as if the sky itself would break in two, as lighting struck down awfully near them. One of the ponies took fright at nothing and bolted, heading to the river.

“Fíli, Kíli, go after him!” ordered Thorin. “We cannot afford losing supplies out here.”

The young princes ran after the pony but the frightened little beast got into the river before they could catch him. They went in after him without hesitation, and after much struggling they managed to get him out, even though they were nearly drowned for their pains, for the current was frighteningly strong. Unfortunately, all the baggage that the pony carried was washed away off him; a fact that made Thorin even more grouchy.

“What was that pony carrying?” he asked Ori who had lists of such things.

The scribe sighed. “Alas, mostly food. I fear there is mighty little left for supper, and even less for breakfast.”

“Which is a moot point anyway as we cannot make a fire and thus cooking is out of question,” added Bombur glumly.

Morale dropped deeper than the mines of Khazad-dûm after that. Dwarves were a hardy people – Mahal had made them to endure, after all – but they loved food almost as much as Hobbits and reacted badly to the lack of it. There they all sat, glum and wet and muttering, and Bifur knew it was only a matter of time before a fight would break out. That was the Dwarven way to deal with frustration, and she had no intentions to hinder the others in blowing off some steam. She was, however, worried about their burglar accidentally getting between the fronts and getting hurt.

“Be careful, Master Baggins,” she murmured to the Hobbit who had instinctively sought out her company. “Glóin is about to blow up with anger and the others are not far behind. You’d want to stay out of their way if that happens.”

The Hobbit sighed and wiped rainwater from his face.

“Not that I’d blame them,” he said. “I’m close to blowing up myself. But you don’t have to be so formal with me, you know. We’ve known each other long enough for you to call me Bilbo.”

“I would be honoured,” she said simply.

Most of the others called the Hobbit by his given name, but most of the others were also nobles. She did not want to pretend. She did feel flattered by the offer, though.

If Bilbo wanted to say something else, he didn’t come to it. For Dwalin, who was always their look-out man, suddenly said: "There's a light over there!”

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End notes:

1) I used Bilbo’s movieverse departure because it’s more mature than Gandalf practically forcing him out of the house.

2) My Nori is the youngest of the three brothers, simply because his name means “little scrap” in Old Norse.

3) According to Tolkien, Fíli and Kíli weren’t irresponsible, prankster idiots, thank you very much.

4) From the earlier versions of The Hobbit it is clear that originally Dwalin was meant to be the look-out man; which is why he arrived at Bilbo’s as the first. His role was later transferred to his brother, but I found that it would fit him better so I gave him back his job. *g*

5) Forelithe is, according to the Shire calendar, the month between 22^nd May to 20^th June. In the book Bilbo mentions that June is coming up soon, so they would be somewhen in the middle of Forelithe.