"Very well then," said Thorin, "supposing the burglar-expert gives us some ideas or suggestions." He turned with mock-politeness to Bilbo.
"First I should like to know a bit more about things," said he, feeling all confused and a bit shaky inside, but so far still Tookishly determined to go on with things. "I mean about the gold and the dragon, and all that, and how it got there, and who it belongs to, and so on and further."
"Bless me!" said Thorin, "Haven't you got a map? Haven't we been talking about all this for hours?"
"All the same, I should like it all plain and clear," said he obstinately, putting on his business manner (usually reserved for people who tried to borrow money off him), and doing his best to appear wise and prudent and professional and live up to Gandalf's recommendation. "Also I should like to know about risks, out-of-pocket expenses, time required and remuneration, and so forth"-by which he meant: What am I going to get out of it? and Am I going to come back alive?
"Oh very well," said Thorin.
And so he launched into the history of his kin and a dark history it was indeed. It had started so gloriously however, as these tales often do. The discovery of the Lonely Mountain and the immense wealth within. Wealth which Thorin's family had managed to dig from the deep rocks and turn into great prestige. But then that wealth had grown too great and its allure too tantalizing and Smaug the Terrible came to them from far-off lands, laying waste to Dale and Erebor both in a cataclysmic attack. Some dwarves escaped. Many did not. Of those that did, they were now resigned to a life of vagrancy and hardship, lowered to blacksmithing and coalmining. Their meagre numbers spread to the far corners of Eriador as they sought refuge with distant kith and kin. Gone was their wealth, their prestige, but most importantly, their home.
"But!" Thorin said with strength in his voice, "we have never forgotten our stolen treasure. And even now, when I will allow we have a good bit laid by and are not so badly off"-here Thorin stroked the gold chain round his neck-"we still mean to get it back, and to bring our curses home to Smaug-if we can."
For a moment, he remained silent as he let the chain fall back under his shirt again, his dark eyes focused on the thin parchment of the map in front of them.
"I have often wondered about my father's and my grandfather's escape. I see now they must have had a private Side-door which only they knew about. But apparently they made a map, and I should like to know how Gandalf got hold of it, and why it did not come down to me, the rightful heir."
"I did not 'get hold of it,' I was given it," said the wizard. "Your grandfather Thror was killed, you remember, in the mines of Moria by Azog the Defiler."
"Curse his name, yes," said Thorin.
"And Thrain your father went away on the twenty-first of April, a hundred years ago last Thursday, and has never been seen by you since?"
"True," said Thorin.
"Well, your father gave me this to give to you; and if I have chosen my own time and way for handing it over, you can hardly blame me, considering the trouble I had to find you. Your father could not remember his own name when he gave me the paper, and he never told me yours; so on the whole I think I ought to be praised and thanked! Here it is," said he handing the map to Thorin.
"I don't understand," said Thorin, and Bilbo felt he would have liked to say the same. The explanation did not seem to explain.
Gandalf gave a sigh, before turning towards Thorin and divulging all that had happened.
"Your grandfather," said the wizard slowly and grimly, "gave the map to his son for safety before he went to the mines of Moria. Your father went away to try his luck with the map after your grandfather was killed; and lots of adventures of a most unpleasant sort he had, but he never got near the Mountain. How he got there I don't know, but I found him a prisoner in the dungeons of the Necromancer."
"Whatever were you doing there?" asked Thorin with a shudder, and all the dwarves shivered.
The very name had seemed to invite a chill into the room as dark images played in the back of their minds unbidden. But then the shining light still swirling merrily above the table increased in brightness with a gesture from Ben, and the chill was chased away by a comforting warmth and the frightful images replaced by thoughts of hearth and home. Their spirits restored, Gandalf continued his tale.
"Never you mind. I was finding things out, as usual; and a nasty dangerous business it was. Even I, Gandalf, only just escaped. I tried to save your father, but it was too late. He was witless and wandering, and had forgotten almost everything except the map and the key."
"We have long ago paid the goblins of Moria," said Thorin; "we must give a thought to the Necromancer."
"Don't be absurd! He is an enemy far beyond the powers of all the dwarves put together, if they could all be collected again from the four corners of the world. The only one who could contest with that dark being is the Head of my Order and even then such a battle is likely to shake the very lands. No, put such thoughts from your mind Thorin Oakenshield! The one thing your father wished was for his son to read the map and use the key. The dragon and the Mountain are more than big enough tasks for you!"
"Hear, hear!" said Bilbo, and accidentally said it aloud.
"Hear what?" they all said turning suddenly towards him, and he was so flustered that he answered "Hear what I have got to say!"
"What's that?" they asked.
"Well, I should say that you ought to go East and have a look round. After all there is the Side-door, and dragons must sleep sometimes, I suppose. If you sit on the door-step long enough, I daresay you will think of something. And well, don't you know, I think we have talked, and drunk and played and sung long enough for one night, if you see what I mean. What about bed, and an early start, and all that? I will give you a good breakfast before you go."
"Before we go, I suppose you mean," said Thorin. "Aren't you the burglar? And isn't sitting on the door-step your job, not to speak of getting inside the door? But I agree about bed and breakfast. I like six eggs with my ham, when starting on a journey: fried not poached, and mind you don't break 'em."
After all the others had ordered their breakfasts without so much as a please (which annoyed Bilbo very much until Ben nudged him with a wink), they all got up. Many of them still clasped bottles of whiskey close to their chests as they rose to unsteady feet. Briefly Bilbo fretted about how he was going to find a sleeping place for the gaggle of dwarves, before Ben took charge of the group and led them all towards one of Bilbo's spare bedrooms. Except now it was more like a tavern's sleeping hall, with beds and storage coffers aplenty and the dwarves happily trotted in, snippets of various songs Ben had taught them that day intermittently starting up throughout the night as they kept trying to polish off their ever-filling bottles.
"I understand why this quest must seem daunting to you, my friend." Ben turned back to Bilbo, who was still wringing his hands and shaking slightly in his chair. "But consider this: Adventures like this, they come along once in a lifetime, once in every four lifetimes, perhaps. And it is not for gold you journey, nor for friendship in your case. Rather it's for the adventure itself, seeing the world beyond the borders of the Shire. And you may tell the others what you like, but I remember how your eyes sparkled watching the Pevensies go adventuring in Narnia."
"Well yes, but that's vastly different from trying to sneak through dwarven halls with a dragon inside them!" Bilbo replied, although he was no longer shaking.
"You'll have help. I'll be with you every step of the way," Ben assured him. "I promise you, Bilbo, in a few months you'll be back home, after seeing impossible things and doing quite a few impossible things yourself."
Bilbo stared at the young wizard for a long moment, before giving a resigned sigh. "Very well. Now if that's all, I'd like to get some sleep...in my own bed, while I still can." Ben agreed with a chuckle.
As he began walking off to his room, Bilbo heard Gandalf say, "Who are these Pevensies and what is this Narnia?"
Bilbo rolled into his bed with a thankful sigh of relief, putting all worries of tomorrow firmly out of his mind. All that really mattered to Bilbo was that he was grateful he needn't make those wretched breakfast orders in the morning. He wondered what Ben would cook up for them instead.
—
Bilbo was roused early that morning (at a very un-hobbit like hour, mind you) by the grinning face of his housemate. As he trotted into the dining room, still desperately rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he could see why.
Breakfast consisted of a spread of sardines on toast (with the head and tails still on), a thick soup of chicken broth (legs and feathers and all) and a large mug of pickle juice (which Bilbo could immediately identify on account of the pickles still being in the glass).
The gaggle of dwarves sat in various stages of misery at his dining room table, either staring at their hangover cures with ill-disguised disgust and distrust, or taking as small a bite as possible from the strange arrangement, occasionally shuddering whenever they chowed down on some gristle.
The only exception to this was Bombur, who had already cleaned off his plate and was now digging into the one originally belonging to the awed-(and slightly disgusted)-looking Ori, the clever young lad having stealthily pushed his plate in front of the rotund dwarf when he wasn't looking.
"Good Morning." Bilbo called out to various moans of varying levels of enunciation.
From around the corner, Gandalf's grey head poked into the dining room, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth. Said twinkle was enough to trigger Bilbo's reflexes, honed after a week of living with Ben, rousing him to full wakefulness in an instant as he stared at the old wizard with his hands on his hips.
"Don't you start."
Gandalf pouted, but if anything the mirth in his eyes increased, so Bilbo merely sighed as he put on the kettle for some coffee. It was a strong drink made with beans that came from far off lands and which were thus hard to get and it was (alongside the dainty porcelain in his cabinets and the silverware in his drawers) another sign of young Bilbo's rather impressive wealth.
Though he supposed it would not amount to much in the eyes of the Prince of Erebor, who had sat upon literal chairs of gold. Privately, Bilbo thought his great leather-upholstered chair at his rough dining table suited the important dwarf much better, especially since Thorin had been reduced to slumping against its tall back with his head resting in his hands, his fish on toast barely touched.
At least he had finished off his pickle juice.
"Now then!" Ben called out loudly, clapping his hands and causing a wave of moans and mutterings to sound out from the bedraggled gaggle of dwarves as the wizard's smile merely widened in vindictive glee.
"Let's get talking about contracts and compensation!"
At that, Thorin roused himself with nothing but sheer force of will, picking off one of the sardines from his toast and sending it, head and tail and all, down his gullet, before he swallowed with a shudder. When he glanced towards Bilbo, however, the hobbit was surprised to find great clarity in those eyes, even if they were a little bloodshot.
"Indeed. Master Baggins, Master Carter, greetings. For your hospitality our sincerest thanks, and for your offer of professional assistance our grateful acceptance. These are our terms:
cash on delivery, up to and not exceeding one fourteenth of total profits (if any);
all travelling expenses guaranteed in any event;
funeral expenses to be defrayed by us or our representatives, if occasion arises and the matter is not otherwise arranged for.
I trust you will find these terms acceptable? They are the same as I have prescribed for any other in my company, myself excluded of course. As well as Gandalf, as he never signed anything."
Bilbo looked towards the wizard in surprise, but the aged wizard merely kept puffing away on his pipe in amusement, so the hobbit turned back towards the leader of the dwarves.
"A fourteenth of the treasure underneath a mountain in cash? How would I ever carry that back with me?" Bilbo asked in surprise, but once more Ben eased his worried mind.
"I'll open a portal for you once we get to Erebor. You'll be able to return to Bag End instantly from there with all your earnings without spending months on the return journey." The young wizard assured him, before he looked at Thorin, who was now downing his second sardine with a grimace on his face.
"I require neither gold nor precious stones, Thorin, son of Thrain. I have no need for them," Ben said, to the outraged and offended gasps of the assembled dwarves. "In return for my assistance in reclaiming your homeland and killing the dragon, I ask for one thing and one thing only."
Thorin steepled his fingers, looking resolutely at the young wizard. "And what is that?"
"The dragon's corpse," Ben replied without hesitation. "There is a plague, an undead curse looming in another world. Ancient, asleep but about to wake soon. We need ingredients from a powerful dragon, one that has lived for atleast 5000 years, in order to stop it. That is partly why I was sent here by my school," he declared.
Whispers broke out among the gaggle of dwarves, while Thorin looked at the young wizard speculatively. "Let me be clear - In return for taking part in this undertaking, you wish to be compensated with Smaug's corpse, and nothing else?"
"Indeed," confirmed Ben.
Thorin looked at the young man for a moment longer, then nodded. "Very well. It will be written into your contract."
"Excellent! Let's be underway then, the journey is long and perilous! We must away with great haste!"
"But-" Thorin tried.
"There's no time for that!"
"But-" Bilbo tried.
"There's no time for that either!"
And so it was that the wizards almost threw them all out of Bag End as they all trouped down Hobbiton towards the Green Dragon Inn in Bywater, Bilbo having left without a proper breakfast, or money in his pocket, or a kerchief in his jacket!
As such, his mood fouled until it resembled that of the still-bleary eyed dwarves as they trudged down the road in single file, Thorin (of course) at the front. Quite by contrast, the moods of Gandalf and Ben seemed to be soaring far above them. Which was further punctuated by the young wizard's boisterous exclamation of "road trip!"
"What is a 'road trip'?" Bilbo asked, blaming the early morning and lack of breakfast on his lapse of judgement as he almost immediately regretted his question.
"It's a great undertaking, requiring camaraderie, snacks and most importantly, song!"
And with that, Ben took out his strange string instrument and burst out with a great bellowing voice that could be heard all throughout Hobbiton as the odd group continued on.
Country roads, take me home
To the place I belong...