4. A Full House

            I hope he can forgive me for my outburst. This thought constantly rolled around in my mind. I wanted Bilbo to forgive me, I felt terrible for storming out of his hobbit-hole like that. I should have known better than to do something stupid.

            I kept bashing myself all the time it took to reach Bag End. I had tried to figure out how to best apologize to my best friend, but nothing seemed to stand out. I decided I would just apologize on the fly and hoped that I didn’t stumble on my words.

            I made my way through the gate and up the stairs. I had my hand ready to knock on Bilbo’s door, but noise from inside made me pause. I pressed my ear to the door. It sounded noisy in there, as if he had company or something. Since when did Bilbo Baggins ever have company over? Judging by how loud it was, it sounded as though he had quite a bit of people over.

            Was it a bad time to apologize to him, when he was supposedly entertaining others? But I came all this way to apologize, and at night of all times! I huffed, irritated that I was going to interrupt Bilbo’s get-together with other people just so I could apologize to him.

            I rapped on the door a few times. I doubt he heard me knocking, what with all that was going on inside. I knocked again, louder and harder this time.

            “I can’t take any more of this!” I heard Bilbo grumble from the other side of the door. My brows knitted together. What was he going on about?

            Bilbo looked as startled as I did when he opened the door. Whatever look of annoyance he had had on his face disappeared entirely. The noise level increased as it flowed to me.

            “Lily,” he stuttered. “What are you doing here? It’s a bit late to visit, isn’t it?”

            “It is?” I asked. “Listen, this couldn’t wait until tomorrow. I really want to apologize for my behavior earlier today. You didn’t deserve that kind of treatment from me.”

            “I kind of wished you had talked to me about this tomorrow, actually.” Bilbo looked over his shoulder. “What are you doing?!”

            I tried to peek past Bilbo to see what the commotion was about, but he was blocking my view.

            “Bilbo, what’s going on?” I asked curiously, trying to worm my way past him.

            “Lily—”

            My mouth dropped the moment my feet hit Bag End’s floor. What on earth was this?

 I saw dishes flying from one room, being caught by a Dwarf with dark blonde hair, tossed to another one—this one with much darker hair, and the dish flew away into the next room. My eyes widened. I even realized the Dwarves were singing, but I was too stunned by the sight to pay attention to the words.

            Also, it sounded as though there were many more Dwarves than the two I was staring at.

            “Did you let in a circus or something?” I asked Bilbo, feeling befuddled.

            “It’s a long story,” he whimpered. “I don’t think now is the proper time to explain it all.”

            “You’ll have to tell me sometime, preferably before I leave.”

            It was as if the Dwarves didn’t realize I existed, they kept singing and tossing dishes around the house as if they weren’t fragile.

            “Stay right here, will you?” Bilbo asked me.

            I nodded, rooted to where I stood while my best friend scampered off to another room, tearing off after the two Dwarves.

            There was a loud cheer coming from down the hall. Just how much company did Bilbo have in his home? Why were Dwarves even in the Shire to begin with?

            So many questions, so few answers.

            I yelped, startled, when three pounding knocks were unleashed on the door behind me. I whirled around, my heart still recovering. I swallowed.

            “Oh,” said an aged voice.

            I froze where I stood, determined to not turn around to face whoever saw me. I wasn’t really scared, only because whoever seemed to be in Bilbo’s home didn’t seem threatening. Still, this person—whoever it was—was a stranger to me.

            If it was a Man, I would surely flee and hide. Like most Hobbits, I was wary of the human race. But why would Bilbo have a Man in his house, let alone Dwarves?

            Mustering a bit of courage, I glanced over my shoulder to see an elderly Man with grey robes towering over me. I blinked, taking in the old Man’s features. He looked good for whatever age he was. His height was obviously not right for a Hobbit home; he had to hunch over so he wouldn’t hit the ceiling.

            “Am I in your way?” I asked in a small voice.

            “I was about to get the door, actually,” he said gently. “Pardon me for asking, but who are you?”

            “Lily Petrova.” I cleared my throat. “Wait…you’re Gandalf!” I realized. The old Man smiled. “I need to talk to you about something.”

            “Later, my dear. I must get the door.”

            “Oh, right, right.” I skittered away from the door only to nearly bump into Dwarves behind me.

            This just got really awkward, really fast.

            I felt as though most of the Dwarves’ eyes were on me, though I was sure half of them were on the door as well, since that was why everyone was gathered together.

            Gandalf pulled open the door to reveal—I didn’t know why this was somewhat of a shocker to me—another Dwarf. However, this Dwarf seemed like the type you didn’t want to come across in a dark alley. His hair was long and dark—what was with Dwarves and long hair? Though his eyes were light, they looked to hold nothing but business.

            Maybe I should have come to Bag End at a better time.

            “Gandalf,” said the Dwarf, his voice very deep. He waddled into Bag End. “I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice. I wouldn’t have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door.”

            “What mark?” I questioned.

            “Mark?” Bilbo’s voice piped. He squeezed past me. “There’s no mark on that door. It was painted a week ago.”

            “There is a mark,” Gandalf said. “I put it there myself.”

            “I didn’t see it,” I declared.

            “Bilbo Baggins,” Gandalf said, ignoring me, “allow me to introduce the leader of our company: Thorin Oakenshield.” I cleared my throat. Did I not get an introduction as well since I couldn’t just sneak out of the house at this point? “Oh. My apologies. This is Lily Petrova.”

            “She was never mentioned, Gandalf,” Thorin said.

            “I just happened to pop up,” I explained. “Not for the same reason as you—whatever that is.”

            “So…” Thorin’s attention turned to Bilbo. “This is the Hobbit. Tell me, Mr. Baggins, have you done much fighting?”

            “Pardon me?” Bilbo squeaked.

            “Ax or sword? What’s your weapon of choice?”

            “Well, I do have some skill at conkers, if you must know, but I fail to see why that’s relevant.”

            “I thought as much. He looks more like a grocer than a burglar.”

            The rest of the Dwarves present chuckled.

            All of the Dwarves herded themselves into the kitchen, Gandalf among them. I made sure Bilbo stayed back with me so he could explain what the hell was going on.

            “What is all this madness?” I asked, eyeing down the hall, barely hearing the Dwarves’ low voices.

            “Well, remember how I mentioned Gandalf and how he was looking for someone for an adventure?”

            “Yes.”

            “That’s the reason why all these Dwarves are in my house!”

            “How many are there?”

            “Thirteen, I believe.”

            “Thirteen?” My mouth dropped open; I quickly picked it back up.

            “Oh, you think the number is the worst part about this? Ha! They’ve emptied my pantry, they’ve nearly torn up my house, oh, and I don’t think you want to know what they did in the bathroom.”

            “I’ll pass on those details,” I said quickly. I crept down the hall, just so I could hear the Dwarves more. “Thirteen Dwarves, a Man, and two Hobbits manage to fit in this house.” I snorted a laugh. “Who would have thought it? Bilbo Baggins housing thirteen Dwarves and a Man.”

            “I’m not housing them, they decided to gather at my house and use all of my food for a big feast.”

            “They will not come,” came Thorin’s voice from the next room. His words caught my attention. “They say this quest is ours and ours alone.”

            “Quest?” I piped, peeking into the room. I instantly felt embarrassed since all eyes fell onto me.

            “You’re going on a quest?” Bilbo asked.

            “Bilbo, my dear fellow,” Gandalf said, “let us have a little more light.”

            I crept into the dining room to see Gandalf unfold a piece of parchment as Bilbo went off to find something to light.

            “Far to the east, over the ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands lies a single, solitary peak,” Gandalf murmured.

            I was at the table’s edge now, trying to see where Gandalf was talking about. Bilbo pushed into me to put the candlelight over the map.

            “‘The Lonely Mountain,’” I read.

            “Aye,” said a Dwarf with a massive amount of auburn facial hair. “Óin has read the portents, and the portents say it is time.”

            It sounded as though most of the Dwarves believed their comrade’s words to be rubbish of some sort, judging by their reactions.

            “Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain, as it was foretold,” said a grey facial-haired Dwarf, who I took to be Óin. “‘When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end.’”

            This sparked my interest further. I was sort of glad that I came to Bag End tonight; otherwise I would be missing this.

            “What beast?” I asked curiously.

            “That would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible,” said a Dwarf with a hat atop his head, his hair in dark braids, “chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. Airborne-fire breather. Teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks. Extremely fond of metals.”

            “Yes, we know what a dragon is,” Bilbo said, slightly annoyed.

            “I’m not afraid,” a younger Dwarf declared, rising from his seat. “I’m up for it. I’ll give him a taste of Dwarvish iron right up his jacksie!”

            He was ripped back into his seat by the Dwarf seated closest to him.

            “The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us,” said a white-bearded Dwarf. He looked to be one of the elders out of the group. “But we number just thirteen, and not thirteen of the best…nor the brightest.”

            His words sparked a little controversy at the table.

            “We may be few in numbers,” said another Dwarf. I vaguely recognized him, only because I had seen the back of his head—covered in dark blonde hair. “But we’re fighters, all of us, to the last Dwarf.”

            “And you forget,” said the one sitting next to him, the other Dwarf who had tossed dishes in Bilbo’s home, “we have a Wizard in our company. Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time.”

            Bilbo failed to mention to me that Gandalf was a Wizard of all beings. Had he not known that about the Man himself at the time?

            “Oh, well, no,” Gandalf said dismissively. “I wouldn’t say—”

            “How many, then?” a Dwarf cut him off.

            “What?”

            “Well, how many dragons have you killed?”

            Gandalf refused to answer. Instead, he coughed a little, smoke billowing from his mouth.

            It seemed as though arguing with each other was common amongst this troop of Dwarves, because they all broke out into verbal arguments. I sighed, slapping my forehead. This was not how I envisioned this night to go.

            A loud shout in another language—Dwarvish, I believe—brought them all to silence. Thorin was out of his seat, and the only one to be.

            “If we have read these signs do you not think others will have read them too?” he questioned his fellow Dwarves. “Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon, Smaug, has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look east to the mountain, assessing, wondering, and weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?”

            This inspiring speech made all the Dwarves cheer.

            “You forget,” the white-bearded Dwarf interjected as Thorin sat back down, “the Front Gate is sealed. There is no way into the mountain.”

            It sucks to be them.

            “Lily, I think you should go on home,” Bilbo whispered in my ear. “It’s late.”

            “I don’t want to just yet.” I stared at the company of Dwarves before me. “I want to listen in on the rest of this.”

            “Suit yourself.”

            “That, my dear Balin,” Gandalf said, “is not entirely true.”

            The Wizard pulled out a key, everyone’s eyes locked on it.

            “How came you by this?” Thorin asked, his voice full of astonishment.

            “It was given to me by your father, by Thrain. For safekeeping. It is yours now.” Gandalf handed the key to Thorin.

            “If there is a key, there must be a door,” said the dark blonde-haired Dwarf.

            “These runes speak of a hidden passage to the Lower Halls,” Gandalf explained, his blue eyes down on the map at the table.

            “There’s another way in,” said the younger, dark haired Dwarf.

            “Well, if we can find it,” Gandalf pointed out. “But Dwarf doors are invisible when closed.” The Wizard sighed. “The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map, and I do not have the skill to find it. But there are others in Middle-earth who can.

“The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth and no small amount of courage.” Gandalf shot a look at Bilbo, but he could have been glaring at me as well. He turned his attention back to the Dwarves. “But if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done.”

            “That’s why we need a burglar,” piped one of the younger Dwarves.

            “Hmm, and a good one too. An expert, I’d imagine,” Bilbo commented.

            “And are you?” asked the auburn-bearded Dwarf.

            Bilbo looked at me, then back at the Dwarf. “Am I what?”

            “He said he’s an expert!” said another Dwarf. I really wished I had names to some of them.

            “Me?” Bilbo stammered. “No, no, no. I’m not a burglar.”

            “He’s never stolen a thing in his life,” I vouched.

            “Well, I’m afraid I have to agree with Mr. Baggins and the lass,” Balin said. Finally, I have a name to at least two Dwarves. “He’s hardly burglar material.”

            “Aye,” said a Dwarf with a balding head, “the Wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves.”

            Again, this caused conversation to erupt. I watched the Dwarves disdainfully. All they seemed to do was argue with each other. It amazed me how they were all still together in one group.

            “Enough!” Gandalf bellowed, his voice thundering in Bag End. Bilbo grabbed my arm, pulling me away from the Wizard, as if something bad was to happen. “If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is.” Gandalf inhaled deeply, it seemed to help him calm down. “Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unseen by most, if they choose.

            “And, while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of Dwarf, the scent of a Hobbit is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage.” Gandalf’s gaze turned to Thorin. “You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company, and I have chosen Mr. Baggins. There’s a lot more to him than appearances suggest. And he’s got a great deal more to offer than any of you know. Including himself.”

            Bilbo and I exchanged glances.

            “You must trust me on this,” Gandalf said imploringly to Thorin.

            All was silent for a moment.

            “Give him the contract,” Thorin said.

            “No, no,” Bilbo tried to protest.

            “It’s just the usual,” Balin said, whipping out a folded piece of parchment. “Summary of out-of-pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth.”

            “Funeral arrangements?” Bilbo stammered.

            “Let me see that,” I said, trailing Bilbo as he unveiled the contract.

            “‘Terms: Cash on delivery, up to but not exceeding one-fourteenth of total profit, if any.’”

            “Seems fair,” I concluded.

            “‘Present company shall not be liable for injuries inflicted by or sustained as a consequence thereof, including, but not limited to lacerations…evisceration.’”

            “This sounds like a lovely contract,” I said bitterly.

            “Incineration?” Bilbo asked, looking to the company in the dining room.

            “Aye,” said the Dwarf with the hat. “He’ll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye.”

            Bilbo paled.

            “Are you all right, laddie?” Balin asked.

            “Huh? Yeah. Feel a bit faint.”

            “Do you need to go lie down?” I asked.

            “Think furnace with wings,” the Dwarf with the hat continued.

            “Air. I need air,” Bilbo sputtered.

            “Do you need me to take you outside?” I said.

            “Flash of light, searing pain, then poof. You’re nothing more than a pile of ash.”

            I glared at the Dwarf with the hat angrily. If he made Bilbo faint…

            I looked back to my best friend. He tried inhaling deeply.

            “Nope,” he squeaked.

            I yelped as Bilbo collapsed to the floor. I jumped down to be at his side.

            “Oh, very helpful, Bofur,” Gandalf snapped.

            I waved my hands in front of Bilbo to give him some air. He seemed to be out cold. If only he was his teenage self, he would not have fainted like he did just now.

            “Can someone help me get him off the floor?” I pleaded. “I can’t lug him into the next room by myself.”

            “We’ll do it,” said the dark blond-haired Dwarf.

            “Thank you.”

            With the help from the Dwarf and the younger, dark-haired Dwarf, they picked up Bilbo and carried him into the next room.

**And now from this point forth is where the real story will finally begin!**