#I do get Bilbo's autumnal travel bug

[setaripendragon]

Not All Who Wander - Chapter 6

[Chapter 1] - [Chapter 2] - [Chapter 3] - [Chapter 4] - [Chapter 5] - [Chapter 6] “Fingers crossed the next chapter won’t take quite so long“ I said. Well, obviously, every last one of you crossed your fingers, because LESS THAN A WEEK LATER, here’s the next chapter. ...I had so much fun writing this one you have no idea =D Have some hijinks and fluff to make up for the dark tone of the last chapter.

Bilbo had absolutely no idea what he was doing. It was stupid, foolish, ridiculous. He was behaving like a tale-addled fauntling, and the worst part of it all was that he couldn’t even bring himself to regret it, even though he knew he should.

It was just that Thorin’s letters over the autumn and winter had been so sad. Well, actually, they’d been clipped and formal. Still just as informative as ever, and still full of just as much gratitude and curiosity as ever, so Bilbo was relatively assured that Thorin wasn’t mad at him, at least, but… Bilbo was concerned. And usually, when he was concerned about a friend, he would pop over for a visit.

Of course, Thorin wasn’t a hobbit, and he didn’t exactly live just down the lane. He was a dwarf, and  he lived in a mountain. It was an insane notion, and Bilbo had spent all winter trying to shake it out of his head. But he couldn’t shake the memory of how Thorin had smiled to see him, and his nephew’s words about his more usual demeanour, and… If Bilbo could help make the dwarf a little happier, then- Well, then he wanted to, and that was reason enough, surely.

Thorin had ever so helpfully provided him with a map that had his home marked on it – marked, but not named as more than ‘dwarven settlement’, which Bilbo thought was rather sad – and his own maps helped him plan out a route, and there wasn’t really anything stopping him, was there?

It had been like taking a walking holiday, and just… not turning back. The first night he stayed with his Took relatives, which was normal enough, and the second night he spent at the inn in Michel-Delving, and that wasn’t too odd, but the next night he was forced to camp out on the Far Downs, and at that point he was rather forced to admit that this was very much akin to an adventure.

On his own.

In the wilderness.

Gallivanting off to meet dwarves, for heaven’s sake!

What was he thinking?!

Only, of course, he knew what he’d been thinking. He’d been thinking of Thorin, of how the homesickness had been so very plain in every word he spoke about Erebor, of how he cared so deeply for his nephews, of how he looked at Bilbo like he was something remarkable. He was thinking of Thorin’s letters, how Bilbo could match the tone and cadence of the latest ones with the way he spoke to the other hobbits, but never Bilbo. He was thinking of that last letter, that had mentioned his plans to travel yet again being derailed by… Well, by something. He’d been annoyingly vague about that part.

He’d been thinking that he really, really just wanted to see Thorin again soon. Far sooner than his vague promises of ‘perhaps in the summer’. Why, by then it would be almost a full year gone by without seeing the stupid dwarf, and Bilbo couldn’t bear the thought of it.

One more night was spent camping in the foothills of the Blue Mountains, and then he was there.

His first clue was the huts. There were several little clusters of them, scattered across the slopes in a way that reminded Bilbo of nothing so much as stubborn goats perched halfway up garden walls out of sheer tenacity. They were not the best-built houses he’d ever seen, nor were they particularly elegant, but they looked sturdy enough, despite Bilbo’s fear that they might just go sliding off down the side of the mountain at the first nudge.

He got more than a few stares as he passed through the make-shift little village, and it made Bilbo feel very out of place indeed. Goodness, but if this was how Thorin felt in the Shire, no wonder he’d been scowling so fiercely. There was another slightly larger cluster of huts further along the path, but by that point, Bilbo was feeling a little uncertain. Thorin had said that they lived in the mountain, but was that another cultural difference? Had Bilbo walked right past Thorin’s house and not known?

He pulled out his map, wondering if it might hold any insights for him, but no, the little dot that symbolised this particular settlement spanned half a mountain, and offered him no details. There could be dozens of these little hamlets, and Bilbo could be wandering them for days looking for ‘a dwarf named Thorin’. He hadn’t thought this through at all.

“‘Scuse me, Mr Hobbit?” Bilbo’s head snapped up, startled. There was a dwarf standing nearby, head ducked forward as though he was trying to peer around Bilbo’s map to look at his face. He had the most ridiculous moustache, but there was a friendly, inviting smile underneath it, and his eyes were surrounded by laugh-lines. “Bit lost?” The dwarf suggested, tone light like they were sharing a joke.

“Ah, somewhat.” Bilbo admitted, going a little pink with chagrin.

The dwarf perked up and stepped closer now that conversation had been engaged. “Maybe I can be of service?” He offered, and then leaned in to look at Bilbo’s map. “Why, that’s a dwarven map, or I’ll eat my hat!” He exclaimed with some surprise.

“Well, yes, I should hope so, as it was a dwarf who gave it to me.” Bilbo agreed. “It’s no help, though. I know I’m in the right place-” He jabbed his finger at the little dot. “-I just don’t know where Thorin lives. I should have asked, really, but I never thought- Well, never mind. I don’t suppose you happen to know where I might find him?” He asked, hopefully, giving up on scowling at the map to look over at the helpful dwarf, only to find him looking startled.

“Thorin?” He echoed. “You’re looking for a dwarf named Thorin?” He checked, sounding a little incredulous, although Bilbo couldn’t imagine why. Unless that was like asking after a ‘Daisy’ in the Shire? Bilbo would be a bit incredulous if anyone asked where to find Daisy, without adding in a last name, or anything else to separate that Daisy from the dozens of others living in Hobbiton alone.

“Yes. Ah, he’s a blacksmith. He said dwarves don’t really do last names, but he did have one of those epithets you lot bestow for acts of valour or whatever.” It took Bilbo a moment to root it out of his memory, but he’d remembered weirder names for many a distant cousin, and, well, he liked Thorin a great deal more than he liked any of them, so he had ascribed the name a good deal more importance. “Oakenshield? Do you know him, by any chance?”

The dwarf was gaping at him now, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. “You-” He began, but didn’t seem to know how to finish that sentence. He mouthed helplessly for a moment. “Oakenshield.” He repeated. “You’re- you’re quite sure that’s the name?”

“Yes.” Bilbo insisted, getting a little impatient now. “He’s about so tall-” He gestured well above his own head and a little above the dwarf’s, even with the extra inches his hat gave him. “Long dark hair, short beard, impressive scowl.”

The dwarf started nodding about half-way through, one fist pressed to his mouth as if in thought. Bilbo stared at him, entirely befuddled and unsure whether the dwarf did or didn’t know Thorin. “Oh, Mahal’s balls.” He breathed suddenly, and Bilbo’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head at the profanity. “Blacksmith.” He squeaked. Snorted. And then he started laughing so hard he doubled over, wheezing. “‘Acts of valour or whatever’! Don’t know where he lives! Oh, by Mahal’s forge!”

Bilbo was feeling more and more embarrassed, and more and more annoyed about that fact. “Yes, alright!” He snapped eventually. “It’s very funny, I’m sure. But in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not a dwarf! I’m sure you’re all well versed in where you all live and what you’ve all done, but this is the first time I’ve even left the Shire, for goodness sake! I just wanted to visit a friend, because that’s what we do in the Shire when someone you care about is having a rough time, but I’m really starting to feel like maybe I just should have stayed home and not bothered!”

“Ach, sorry, sorry.” The dwarf said, but he was still smiling, so that took some of the sincerity out of it, in Bilbo’s opinion. He seemed to notice that, because he went so far as to sweep his hat off his head as he sank into a bow. “My most humble apologies, Master Hobbit.”

“Well, now you’re just mocking me.” Bilbo grumbled.

“I promise I’m not.” The dwarf assured him, straightening up but not replacing his hat. “Well, not much. It’s just, uh, that Thorin, you see, he’s… Well, he’s a little bit famous, round these parts.” He admitted with a sheepishly amused grin.

“Oh.” Bilbo muttered, still feeling a touch irritable.

“He lives inside the mountain, too, and you might have a little bit of trouble getting in. We don’t usually have non-dwarves wandering around up here. I can show you the way, though, and maybe, uh, vouch for you, or something.” The dwarf offered.

The last of Bilbo’s irritation melted away, and he sighed. “Thank you.” He agreed, and then. “Oh, where are my manners? Bilbo Baggins.” He went to hold out his hand, and then remembered that Thorin tended to bow, so he did that instead, even though it made him feel very silly. “Um… at your service?” He offered, hoping that was the right thing to say.

The dwarf beamed at him. “Bofur, son of Bomfur, at yours and your family’s!” He replied, bowing again. Bilbo blew out a quiet, relieved sigh, glad he’d at least got something right. “This way, then.” Bofur encouraged, tipping his head back the way Bilbo had come. Bilbo sighed again, this time at himself, and then fell into step with the dwarf.

They walked for a minute or two in silence, weaving between the little stone huts, Bofur waving or nodding cheerfully to anyone and everyone who paused to stare. He didn’t get much in the way of response. Maybe a cautious nod if he was lucky, or a frown if he wasn’t. “You dwarves aren’t a very sociable lot, are you?” Bilbo asked, before he could think better of it.

Bofur snorted. “Nah, we’re plenty sociable among ourselves. It’s just… well, we’ve been through a lot, and it makes a people a bit wary and suspicious-like. No offence to you specifically. If, uh, if Thorin thinks you’re a decent sort, then you probably are, at that.” Bilbo felt oddly flattered by that, both for himself, and at the implication of trust in Thorin’s judgement. “D’you mind if I ask how you met him?” Bofur questioned, not exactly tentatively, but in a tone that suggested he was half expecting to be shut down.

For a moment, Bilbo was confused. Then he remembered the way that ‘blacksmith’ had been one of the reasons why Bofur had been laughing at him, and frowned. Was Thorin not a blacksmith? That hardly made any sense; Bilbo had seen him hard at work at the forge on more than one occasion. Had stopped to watch for long enough that he was pretty sure it couldn’t have just been for show. “He stopped to ask for directions to Bree.” He said casually, watching Bofur closely out of the corner of his eye. “He had business there, and his nephews had gone on ahead to advertise. I suggested he might want to try selling his wares in the Shire on his next trip, since we’ve a lot of need for good quality farming tools and such.”

Bofur looked surprised, but not as startled as Bilbo might have expected. “And did he?” Bofur wanted to know.

“Well, yes. Several times now.” Bilbo confirmed. The conversation faltered when Bofur didn’t seem to have anything to say to that, but before Bilbo could think of trying to find a new topic, the dwarf pulled up short and rapped his fist against the cliff-side they’d been ambling along. Bilbo froze, blinking in bewilderment.

Only, to his very great shock, a slab of the rock-face swung inwards in two parts. Like doors, Bilbo realised, staring open-mouthed in wonder. They were more than tall enough to accommodate four or five hobbits standing on each other’s shoulders, and wide enough to allow half a dozen or more to walk abreast, and the tunnel beyond was lit with glittering crystals that revealed a smooth hall lined with intricate geometric carvings.

“Oh…!” Bilbo breathed in awe, taking a step forward without thinking.

He pulled up short when a very long-handled axe was lowered across his path. Although, it was nothing like any axe Bilbo had ever seen before, with pointy bits on top and on the back and across the top of the handle as well. It looked like it would be next to useless chopping firewood, and Bilbo was fairly sure that meant that it was meant for a far more gruesome purpose. He stepped back again sharply. “Who’s that, and what’s he doing here?” The dwarf holding the axe – if it was even called an axe when it was meant for people and not trees! – demanded of Bofur.

“He is right here.” Bilbo huffed, irritated by the rudeness. “And he can hear you perfectly well and speak for himself just fine, thank you.” The dwarf gave him a long, incredulous look. “My name is Bilbo Baggins – at your service – and I’m here to visit a friend.” He offered a short bow, because that was apparently the polite thing to do, and it would be just the thing to make the dwarf ashamed of his own behaviour, really, to be better at dwarven manners than a dwarf.

“A friend.” The guard echoed incredulously. “What friend?”

Bofur cleared his throat. A glance told Bilbo that he looked like he was about to burst out laughing again, but was valiantly restraining himself. “Ah, I know we’ve got rules and whatnot about outsiders not being let into the mountain without King Thorin’s say-so, so I was just going to run on in and let His Majesty know he’s got a visitor?”

The guard nearly dropped his axe in shock. Bilbo couldn’t honestly say he would have done any better. Indeed, his fingers felt rather numb all of a sudden where they were wrapped around his walking stick. It felt a little like Bofur’s words were drifting over to him from a very, very long way away, but slowly, they filtered through into his mind in a shape that made… well, it didn’t make any sense at all, actually, but he understood what the words were supposed to mean, anyway.

It seemed like a small age that the guard just stood there uncertainly, before, eventually, he nodded, and gestured Bofur through with his axe. Bofur slipped past him and flashed a reassuring grin at Bilbo that Bilbo barely registered. “You just sit tight, Master Baggins.” He called, the words echoing in between the confused repetitions of ‘King Thorin’ and ‘His Majesty’ still swirling through Bilbo’s mind. And then Bofur was gone down the hall, and it and the guard vanished from view as the invisible rock-doors swung soundlessly shut again, leaving Bilbo gaping like a fish at a blank stone wall.

“King?!”

Bofur wasn’t really expecting anyone to stop him on his way to deliver a message to the King. Oh, there was a gamut of guards to get past, but ‘message for the King’ opened a lot of doors, even if Bofur didn’t have the braids of a courier. He was from the surface dwellings, which meant that if he made himself look a little bit harried, everyone expected him to be reporting on some new disaster, and they ushered him on quickly. He was glad that he’d get to deliver good news, instead.

He assumed it would be good news. Thinking back to the awkward little hobbit he’d left on the doorstep, Bofur had to stifle a grin. He knew very little about hobbits, all told, but that alone was enough to know that they didn’t exactly get out much. To have one come all the way here was remarkable, and the fact that it had all been for the sole reason of lifting the King’s spirits? That was sweet, and something Bofur most definitely approved of.

The guards pointed him towards the King’s office, an area of the halls he’d never ever had cause to visit before. It was a little intimidating, even if they didn’t look all that different from the rest of the halls. The carvings were more artistic, and the rooms and walkways better maintained, maybe, but only barely. And that was why Bofur liked King Thorin. Unlike the puffed up old sods on the Broadbeam council, who insisted on their station being venerated despite the fact that no one bloody well had time for that rot anymore.

Before he could reach his destination, though, he was halted by a pair of stony-faced suspicious-looking guards. “I’ve a message for the King.” He told him.

“What message?” The guard demanded.

Bofur blinked, but, well, it wasn’t like it was a secret. “There’s a visitor for him at the Gate.”

One of the guards nodded to the other, and the other one left, heading down the hall, while the other remained in place and kept a gimlet stare pinned on Bofur. There wasn’t anything for him to do except wait, so he leaned against the wall, and started humming an old mining song to keep himself entertained. The guard didn’t relax, even when Bofur pulled out a jauntier tavern song, and then started singing a song that was perhaps not appropriate for the royal quarter.

He was on the fourth verse when the King came into view. The guard grimaced, and gave Bofur a ‘shut up right now!’ sort of look. Bofur stopped singing, but he didn’t stop grinning. Especially since the two Princes, who were a step behind their uncle, both looked to be struggling not to laugh. He offered them a wink, and the youngest snorted into his muffling palms.

King Thorin shot the Princes a reproving glower, and then swept the same look over Bofur. It was very intimidating, and Bofur bowed to get away from it. “Bofur, son of Bomfur, at your service, m’lord.” He offered politely.

“At yours and your family’s.” The King replied, entirely serious, bowing back. It left Bofur a little stunned, if he was being honest. He knew, of course, that King Thorin was good to even the poorest of his people, but that was a level of respect Bofur just about never saw these days. “You said there was a visitor at the gate?” King Thorin pressed on, already setting off past Bofur down the hall and gesturing for the poor surface-dwelling ex-miner toy-maker to walk beside him. “What sort of visitor?”

“A hobbit.” Bofur informed him, and had the distinct honour of being one of the few dwarves ever to see their good King stumble like a wee pebble still taking their first steps.

“Mister Baggins?!” The younger Prince asked in what Bofur could only describe as glee.

Bofur looked over his shoulder at him, grinning again. “Yes, as it happens. He did say he was looking for a friend. You do know him, then?” He asked, feigning innocence as he looked to the King. “Only, I wasn’t entirely sure, seeing as Mr Baggins was very clear he was looking for a simple travelling blacksmith and all. But I don’t think there’s another ‘Thorin’ in these halls, so…”

The younger Prince was howling with laughter, and if Bofur wasn’t much mistaken, their great and noble King was blushing. He had to press a fist to his mouth to keep from joining Prince Kíli in his mirth. “That must have been an awful shock for Mr Baggins.” The elder Prince interjected, his moustache quivering with the laughter he was biting back.

“He did seem a little stunned.” Bofur acknowledged.

“That’s enough.” King Thorin snapped. Bofur did put some effort into repressing his grin, but that was kind of ruined when Prince Fíli sniggered into the ensuing silence. “Fíli.” King Thorin growled.

“Sorry, Uncle.” Fíli offered, not sounding very sorry at all. “But really, he had to be told some time before you present him with your first gift.” Bofur’s eyes maybe bugged out of his head a little bit at that, because that sounded an awful lot like the King was intending to court the fussy little surface-dweller Bofur had left standing outside the gate.

“Yes, I know.” King Thorin huffed, sounding resigned. “I had only hoped to be able to inform him in my own time.”

And there was no denial. Which meant the King was planning to court a hobbit. That was… Oh, that was going to put a raven in the tinker’s shop, and no mistake. Still, Bofur wasn’t an old tradition-bound councillor and, in his opinion, a dwarf could do a lot worse than someone who would go out of their way just to keep your spirits up.

It didn’t take them much longer to reach the gate, because the pace King Thorin had set had been only just this side of eager. The guards standing sentry in the watchtower carved into the mountain either side of the main tunnel opened the gate without needing to be ordered to on seeing the King approach. It took Bofur’s eyes a moment to adjust to the sunlight, and then another moment to find Mister Baggins, because he wasn’t standing on the path anymore. Instead, he’d taken a seat on a boulder not too far off, travelling pack and walking stick leaning against the mountainside beside him.

“Bilbo.” King Thorin greeted, hand raised to shield his eyes from the sun, but not hesitating to step out to greet the little hobbit.

Mister Baggins got to his feet as Thorin approached, and Bofur only then noticed that the poor thing’s feet were entirely bare, because he was digging his toes into the shale and gravel like some kind of living tree attempting to root itself even in stone. Then he cleared his throat, lifted his chin defiantly, and said “Thorin.”

And King Thorin laughed.

Bofur was pretty sure his own jaw wasn’t the only one to have dropped. The two guards shared looks like they were wondering if their ale had been spiked. Everyone in the mountain knew that King Thorin didn’t laugh. By Mahal, he barely smiled. Not that anyone considered it a flaw, as far as anyone Bofur had talked to was concerned, the King had precious little to smile about, so fair enough, really.

“What are you doing here?” King Thorin demanded. “You must have been walking for days…!”

Mister Baggins frowned at him. “Well, yes, a few. But it wasn’t so very different from a walking holiday, really, and I’ve been on plenty enough of those that I knew what I was doing. And I had that lovely map of yours to show me where to go.” He paused, and then peered up at the King’s face intently. “You sounded upset, in your letters, and I rather thought- Well, if you’d lived in the Shire, I wouldn’t have thought twice about popping over to check in on you, and really, it’s not so far to walk. Less than a week, and it’s that far to Bree. Which I haven’t actually visited, mind, but a fair few hobbits do, so it’s not as though I’ve done anything scandalous-”

Bofur couldn’t see the King’s face, because he was facing away from the rest of them, but he didn’t need to, to know that he was staring at the little hobbit in wonder. It was all right there in his voice, when he said; “Thank you, Bilbo.”

“Oh, I- Well, yes.” Mister Baggins stammered, clearing his throat again, before smiling warmly in response. “You’re quite welcome.” He offered, and then promptly shook the moment off with a brisk little sniff. “Now, are you going to make me stand on your doorstep all day?”

“Of course not.” King Thorin said quickly, and turned to usher Mister Baggins into the mountain. The guards stepped smartly into flanking positions either side of the gate and raised their weapons in salute. Putting on a proper show for the first surface-dweller to step inside dwarven halls in- Well, since Erebor fell, probably. Mister Baggins squeaked, though whether in surprise or fright, Bofur couldn’t tell, and though King Thorin nodded respectfully to the guards, his momentary solemnity doing nothing to dim his smile.

“Oh, Fíli! Kíli! Hello! I’m afraid I didn’t see you there.” Mister Baggins greeted as he approached the cluster of dwarves. Bofur edged away, not wanting to intrude, but still a little caught up in enjoying watching someone else’s happiness. The Princes, while clearly not besotted the way the King was, were still clearly delighted to greet Mister Baggins, and were doing so with all the rambunctious enthusiasm of dwarves half their age.

Before he could actually retreat back through the closing gates, though, the King turned to him. “Thank you for taking care of him, Master Bofur.” King Thorin said, still with that fond half-smile on his face. He actually looked a little dazed by his own happiness, which made Bofur grin in sympathy, and maybe a little amusement.

“Oh, it was no trouble, Your Majesty.” He assured him cheerfully.

“If it would not be too much of an imposition, would you be willing to see Mister Baggins home when he wishes to leave? You’ll be paid for your time and trouble, of course.” King Thorin requested.

Bofur maybe gaped at him a little. He was doing a lot of that today, but he dared anyone else to keep their composure better after the day Bofur’s had. “I’d- O’course I’ll do it,  but- I’m just a toymaker. Not even a miner, anymore. Wouldn’t you rather send an actual guard for- for someone so important?” He asked, bewildered.

For a moment, the King looked pained, but then he cleared his face, even though his smile looked a little less happy. “The guards are currently stretched rather thin, and I don’t expect there to be any real trouble on the road to the Shire, but Mister Baggins is of a gentle, peaceful folk, and I would feel better if he had someone with a strong enough arm to swing a pickaxe with him.” He paused, and then fixed a steady, intent stare on Bofur that startled him, just a little. “I have no doubt in your skill, nor your honour, Bofur, son of Bomfur.”

“A’right then.” Bofur managed, feeling a little ridiculous for being so flattered at the trust being put in him, but it was King Thorin. He figured that earned him a little leeway. “Yeah. I’ll- Whenever he’s ready to go, just- ah-” Bofur gestured uselessly, in a vague attempt to communicate that he wasn’t going to be busy doing anything that couldn’t be dropped with a few minutes notice.

“We’ll find you.” King Thorin replied, and Bofur felt a laugh bubbling up at the thought of King Thorin dropping by the tiny clumsy surface shack he shared with his cousin.

“What’s this?” Mister Baggins asked, finally released from the Princes, it seemed. “Why will we need to find Mister Bofur?”

“He’ll be escorting you home, once you wish to return.” King Thorin informed him.

Rather than being grateful, Mister Baggins’s face scrunched up in what looked like annoyance. And sure enough, his next words were damn near to a scolding, hands on hips and everything. “I’m not a helpless fauntling, Thorin, I hardly need babysitting-”

“It’s not that I believe you to be helpless, Bilbo.” King Thorin retorted in frustration. Bofur’s shoulders shook with laughter at the long-suffering look on his face. “I’ve no doubt that with a little training, you would wield a blade well enough-”

“A blade?!” Mister Baggins squawked.

King Thorin jabbed a finger at Mister Baggin’s horrified expression. “But that – that right there – is why I’d rather you have someone with you while you go cavorting about in the wilderness! The world is a dangerous place-”

Bofur finally exited the mountain to the sound of the hobbit’s flustered, indignant blustering, and the King’s fondly frustrated retorts. He whistled a jaunty little ditty to himself as he ambled home, marvelling at everything he’d seen and learned today, and the strange little turn his life had taken, just because he’d stopped to give a hobbit directions. Bifur was sure to get a laugh out of this story, sure enough.

#Lord of the Rings #The Hobbit #Thilbo #Bagginshield #Bilbo Baggins #Thorin Oakenshield #Bofur #Fili and Kili #LotR #Not All Who Wander #time travel #outsider PoV #I love me some outsider PoV #I have not gone over this chapter for mistakes as thoroughly as I ought #so please forgive any mistakes I missed