Chapter Text
“No. Absolutely not. I refuse. Good day.”
Bilbo should’ve known that wouldn’t be the end of it. Try as he might, Bilbo’s fate was never in his own hands and the well-meaning, yet meddling actions of a friendly wizard was the least of his problems.
That day, the last day of a normal life which Bilbo hoped to have, was bright and apart from the brief, unwelcome interlude of Gandalf on his doorstep Bilbo was quite content. With that comfortable feeling in mind Bilbo was forlornly unsurprised to find his kitchen raided that evening by loud, large, boisterous dwarves.
As the night unfolded, and the reason why he had dwarves traipsing through his house was revealed, Bilbo sent many unhappy looks in Gandalf’s direction. However, before he could build up a good, well-constructed protest and argument so that everyone would just leave him alone…
Thorin Oakenshield arrived.
Bilbo was thrown completely off-course due to the unexpected arrival and, honestly, the insults from the heir of Erebor barely registered in Bilbo’s mind. He couldn’t muster up much more than a weary sigh when Gandalf insisted that Bilbo would join the company on their quest to the lonely mountain.
He had heard the stories before.
Everyone in his old line of work liked to pass on the tale of Smaug, the mighty fire drake whose greed was so great that he stole a kingdom.
Bilbo had never been overly impressed.
His dear, departed mother had always shook her head sadly when hearing the story. The first thing that she’d ever taught Bilbo about dragons as a child was that they all adored treasure.
Bilbo was lost in thoughts of men and women who’d returned unsuccessful from the lonely mountain and he missed an embarrassing portion of the conversation surrounding him. Then, the dwarves began to sing and Bilbo could think of nothing else.
He was going to go and see a dragon.
The first few days of the journey were complete hell. Every bone in Bilbo’s body ached and he regretted his association with Gandalf with every rolling movement of his pony. He also regretted his laziness that had set in after he’d retired. His own discomfort was so distracting that it took him a frightfully long time to realise that the company of dwarves really did have no idea about what he was capable of.
Then, one night, when Fili and Kili were telling stories, Bilbo couldn’t keep quiet, “That’s not true.”
All eyes were suddenly on him and Bilbo fought down his shyness. Kili spoke, “What’s not true Mr Boggins?”
Bilbo sighed and kept his eyes on the campfire, “It’s Baggins and not all dragons eat meat. A large percent of them eat flora and there are those who live by the sea and eat the creatures in the water.”
Bilbo could see in their eyes that they didn’t believe him but Ori, surprisingly, was the first to speak, “Did you read that in a book Mr Baggins?”
Bilbo turned to glare at Gandalf, “What on earth did you tell them to assure my place on this trip?”
Gandalf’s eyes were twinkling though his expression was solemn, “I told them that you were light on your feet.”
Bilbo growled a few unsavoury words which only Gandalf understood and he turned back to Ori, “Yes, I own many books about dragons, Ori, but I didn’t learn everything from them.” To stave off any more questions Bilbo announced, “I’m going to sleep.”
Bilbo would like to say that he told the company everything after that but, although Thorin was clearly unhappy about Gandalf keeping things from him, the trolls delayed any serious questioning. Events tumbled into one another. Bilbo barely felt like he had a chance to breathe until he was sitting at a table in Rivendell.
Bilbo had travelled but he’d never passed close to Rivendell before during his short life. He’d always wanted to see it and Bilbo was not disappointed in the slightest. It was beautiful. So open and graceful. Of course, the dwarves were not happy but that was to be expected. They mostly left him alone to wander and learn about the elves. Bilbo tried his hardest not to resent the dwarves obvious lack of interest.
Lord Elrond, in particular, was impressive and Bilbo was very surprised when he was sought out by the elf when they were alone. Bilbo had been wandering, as usual, and he’d stopped underneath an impressive hanging basket when he was approached by the lord.
“I am honoured, Bilbo Baggins, by your presence here.”
Bilbo tried not to blush like a tween, “My Lord, it is I who am honoured to be welcomed into your magnificent home. I have never seen such a beautiful place before.”
Elrond smiled, “Master Baggins, I would ask you many things if we had the luxury of time, but we both know that is not the case.”
Bilbo leaned against the twisted stone rail of the balcony and supressed a sigh as he looked out over the valley, “Indeed. I would gladly answer any of your questions but no, time is short.”
There was a moment of surprisingly comfortable quiet and Bilbo listened patiently to the crashing waterfall on his right-hand side. The hobbit in him had been impressed and fascinated from the start about the valley’s irrigation system due to the natural falls. Elrond took the time to gather his thoughts and he looked at the hobbit with fascination. He’d heard so many story about Bilbo Baggins yet, he’d never expected such a distinguished figure to be so… small.
“Do you believe that you can reclaim the mountain?”
Bilbo stiffened, “The mountain is not mine to claim. I’m merely going to chat to a dragon.”
Elrond’s lips twitched as if he suppressed a laugh, “Then, good luck Master Baggins. I wish you well on your journey.”
Leaving Rivendell was bittersweet and Bilbo made a promise to himself that he would return. He was truly curious about Elrond’s questions and he suspected that the elves would benefit from Bilbo’s pumpkin pie recipe that he’d learned at his mother’s knee.
Bilbo’s mood soon turned sour again thanks to the Misty Mountains. It was the first time when Bilbo genuinely resented everything in his life that had led him to that horrible place and stone giants were much larger and scarier than anything else Bilbo had faced. The only good thing that came from time spent in the mountains was his friendship with Bofur.
He’d always found the smiling dwarf to be decent company but, when Bilbo was ringing out his wet socks and complaining, Bofur displayed genuine worry about Bilbo turning back and leaving the company. Bilbo tried not to voice as many complaints after that.
Thankfully, after the close-call with the giants, there were no more incidents until they’d scrambled off the mountain and came face-to-face with Thorin’s enemy. It seemed longer than it had been since Balin told the story of Azog and Moria to the company around the campfire one evening. The reality was jarring.
Bilbo was suddenly out of his depth and the company were panicked as they worked together to save their lives. The trees were on fire and Thorin was charging forward away from the cliff’s edge with a bellow of rage. It was looking at Gandalf which finally made Bilbo realise that he could help.
He had no magic.
He was not great (or even good) with a sword.
However, he could ask for help.
No one paid him any attention. No one saw as he stuck his hand in the flame and grit his teeth to stop himself from crying out at the burning pain. No one knew.
He had no time to question whether or not it had worked as he saw Thorin fall. Bilbo hadn’t even realised that he’d moved until he was blocking a sword from striking the throne-less king down for good. Luckily they arrived.
Even half-panicked, sore and trembling Bilbo was in awe as the dragons drove away the orcs and saved his friends. There was no time for words as he scrambled onto the offered back of a dragon with scales the colour of copper which shone in the dying firelight.
Bilbo was safe enough on the dragons’ back to cry. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks and he was flying for the first time in years. He sent out a silent prayer, apologizing to his mother for taking so long to realise that she’d given up more than he’d known when he was born. For what remained of the night, Bilbo savoured what it felt like to ride a dragon again.
They were taken to a carrack, further away than Bilbo had hoped for, and while the rest of the company, and Gandalf were hovering around Thorin, Bilbo was bowing low to the copper dragon he’d ridden on.
“Thank you, my friend, for your assistance.”
The dragon answered wryly, “You should get your wizard to take a look at your hand, little one.”
Bilbo resisted the urge to roll his eyes, “Yes, yes. You may tell your king that I am fine.”
The dragon trilled, a dragon’s version of laughter which Bilbo had always liked, “He will expect good news, little one. Do not let him down.”
The dragon took off and Bilbo grumbled, “Damn, nosy dragons.”
Bilbo turned and found the company, all of them as Thorin was now standing, staring at him with gawping faces. Even Gandalf looked mildly surprised. Bilbo tugged on the lapel of his coat nervously and barely resisted the urge to shuffle his feet.
Thorin strode towards him with a thunderous expression while he spoke, “Did I not say that you did not belong on the quest? I have never been so glad to be wrong.”
When Thorin embraced him, Bilbo’s mind sort of shut down for a few seconds after acknowledging that it was quite nice. Then he spotted their destination and for his own piece of mind he had to avoid looking at Thorin’s wistful smile when the mountain was pointed out to him.
Before they went anywhere Gandalf insisted on seeing to Bilbo’s burned hand just as the dragon had suggested and the dwarves finally demanded answers. Oddly enough, it was Dwalin who began.
“Why is your hand burnt?”
“It was the only way to call the dragons.”
“You called the dragons?”
“Of course I did.”
“Why?”
Bilbo masked a shiver in favour of wince in the face of that question that came from Thorin. They’d barely spoken since the beginning of the quest and Bilbo was rapidly learning that Thorin’s rumbling voice was much more potent when he was addressing Bilbo directly.
“Quite frankly, it was the only way I could think of getting us away from there. I didn’t come all this way and avoid being eaten by trolls just so that we could be slaughtered by orcs.”
“Why dragons Mr Baggins?”
Bilbo sensed that evading the matter had come to an end. So, he told them.
“Many generations ago, an ancestor of mine who was a Took, of course, saved the life of a dragon. The dragon had been attacked and flown for miles before his strength had given out. Now, this was in the days when they were hunted relentlessly and their population was decimated so I’m sure that you can imagine the dragon’s surprise when he was saved by a hobbit who had been vexed to find a dragon crushing his crops in the field. The dragon turned out to be the King and he created a partnership with the hobbit. For generations we’ve taken care of the dragons and vice-versa although there is no obligation on either side. It is a noble tradition and hobbits are no longer the only race who dedicate themselves to it. I learned everything about dragons from my books, from my mother and from my dragon Ysir.”
Bilbo didn’t watch as the others acclimated to the information. He kept his eyes on the horizon and hoped that Gandalf was almost finished in healing him as best he could.
“Where is your dragon?”
Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut tightly and tried in vain to ignore the hollow emptiness that filled his chest, “Gone. Flying among the stars. He is so very far away from me and some partnerships end too early.”
Bilbo blinked away the tears that were threatening to escape, he didn’t want to talk any longer, and he straightened his shoulders as well as his resolve, “We should leave the carrock before nightfall. The orcs will be looking for us.”
Thorin seemed to agree as he said solemnly, “Let’s go.”