Chapter Text
Gandalf walked slowly along the green hills where the cozy homes of the kindly hobbits — halflings — lay tucked into the earth. Smoke curled from chimneys, laughter drifted on the air, doors opened and shut — the Shire moved through its calm, measured rhythm of life. And it was precisely this that continued to astonish the old wizard.
Hobbits, these small folk, seemed far too fragile for the wider world, and yet time and again they proved otherwise. Gandalf felt curious stares settle on him, heard whispers behind his back, sensed children peeking from the corners of round doorways to study his hat and staff. Some adults offered polite nods; others hurried indoors, as if fearing the wizard might bring trouble in his wake.
Making his way past familiar smials, Gandalf searched for the home of an old friend. He remembered her well — curious, brave, perhaps too brave for the Shire. She had a son, long grown, and even as a child he had drawn the wizard’s attention with questions rarely asked by hobbits.
Reaching the familiar door, Gandalf knocked gently.
“Dear, open the door!” came an unfamiliar woman’s voice from inside.
For a moment the wizard doubted the information he carried — but he had only just received it. According to a kindly hobbitess eager to share the latest news, the Baggins line had gained no new heirs.
The door opened.
“Good afternoon. How may I help you?” the stranger greeted him with a pleasant smile.
At once, Gandalf knew this was not the hobbit he sought.
“Good day. I am looking for an old friend of mine, Bilbo Baggins,” the wizard replied just as politely, casting a discreet glance inside the smial. “I was under the impression that he lived here.”
“My cousin left this home a year ago,” the hobbit answered calmly. “He passed it on to me, saying such a large smial was wasted on him alone.”
“I see. And where did he settle afterward?” Gandalf asked.
“He lives now at the edge of the village, along the road to Bree. You’ll recognize the place at once — it’s built like a Man’s house,” the hobbit explained, describing the way in detail.
“Near the forest, then…” the wizard murmured, a faint, enigmatic smile touching his face. Now he felt certain of his choice.
After thanking the hobbit, Gandalf set off in the indicated direction. The farther he moved from the heart of the Shire, the quieter it became. The hills thinned, lights in windows vanished, and neat pathways gave way to overgrown tracks.
An hour passed. Then another.
The wizard began to grow uneasy. The sun was sinking toward the horizon, and he was already meant to be on his way to meet the dwarves. He was supposed to bring them to the home of the “found burglar,” and instead he still wandered the outskirts of the Shire.
A poor beginning, he thought darkly.
Only after yet another hour did Gandalf glimpse a solitary cottage standing at the very edge of the forest. It looked out of place — too angular, too shadowed for a hobbit dwelling.
“No time for introductions,” the wizard muttered in frustration, not noticing the owner anywhere outside.
Leaving a mark upon the door, he hurried off to meet the dwarves, who were approaching the village from the opposite side. For a fleeting moment, Gandalf considered verifying his choice in person — but once more he entrusted matters to fate and, clearing his thoughts, went to greet the Company.
Naturally, the dwarves had ignored his request not to separate. When they finally regrouped, several of the younger members were missing, and their leader was nowhere to be seen — likely lost again among the countless smials. Sighing, and silently reproaching himself for foolishness, the wizard led the remaining dwarves toward the future companion’s house.
“Dwalin! Balin!” Gandalf called, spotting the group and addressing the most dependable among them.
“Tarkûn, why so long?” Dwalin protested. “You told us to wait until noon, and now you show up at dusk,” the warrior added with a scowl.
“Enough, brother. The important thing is that you found us,” Balin sighed wearily. “We’ve been wandering these hills for an hour and haven’t seen a single sign.”
“As I told you, our new companion is no ordinary hobbit,” the wizard declared with quiet pride, striding confidently in the right direction. “He gave his home to a cousin with a large family and moved to live by the forest instead,” he explained, hoping to elevate the hobbit in the Company’s estimation.
“To the forest?” one dwarf echoed skeptically.
“A hobbit living by the forest…” another muttered.
The dwarves immediately launched into animated debate, discussing their future companion and building their own theories about what he might be like. Naturally, opinions differed.
“I wager he’ll be quick and nimble,” Ori suggested brightly, with Nori nodding in agreement.
“In this quest we need strength above all!” the warriors countered.
“And wit,” Balin added with a weary sigh. “We have more than enough strength as it is.”
The heated discussion carried on all the way to the road leading toward Bree. At last, the dwarves decided to press the wizard for something — anything — about their prospective recruit.
“Tarkûn, why him?” Dori asked, voicing the question on everyone’s mind.
“Well… I simply believe it is fate,” Gandalf replied with a small smile.
Several dwarves snorted in open dissatisfaction.
“And will fate shield him when a dragon tries to burn him alive?” Balin muttered, now genuinely concerned for the hobbit’s future.
“Kíli! Fíli!” Dwalin barked as they stumbled upon the younger dwarves who had strayed from the group.
At last, the entire Company — save their leader — had gathered, and they set off in search of the hobbit in question. Fortunately, they did not have far to go; before long, they encountered their missing leader wandering along the road. With that, the full Company followed the wizard.
Only minutes later, the dwarves stirred again when they spotted a solitary cottage among the trees.
“So it’s not even a smial?” the princes exclaimed in surprise.
“Is he truly a hobbit?” Balin asked skeptically. “As far as I know, they favor comfort, flowers, gardens. I doubt he’d be more at ease near the forest than in the village… and I see no garden at all.”
The wizard shifted awkwardly. Once again, the thought flickered through his mind that perhaps he should have visited the chosen burglar personally — if only to understand how he lived… and who he truly was.
“And there’s no light,” Bofur whispered. “Are you certain he’s expecting us?”
“Does anyone even live here?” Fíli added quietly.
The place unsettled the entire Company — Gandalf included. As they approached slowly, the dwarves instinctively lowered their hands to their weapons.
Fortunately… or perhaps unfortunately, they had no chance to use them.
The moment their boots crossed the threshold, the wooden floor gave way with a sharp crack, and they plummeted into a massive net.
“What in—”
“Tarkûn, where have you brought us?!”
“I’ve dropped my sword!”
“So have I!”
“My slingshot!”
The dwarves shouted and struggled — and then light flared.
A hobbit stood before them.
They found themselves in what appeared to be a cellar, their weapons neatly stacked in a corner.
“I did not think Elrond would stoop to this…” the stranger muttered, leveling a sword at the Company. “Who are you? And what are you doing here?”
The blade halted directly before Gandalf — but it was their leader who answered.
“We are dwarves of Erebor. We seek a new member for our Company, to embark upon a dangerous adventure.”
Even caught in a net, he looked no less regal than ever.
“And why have you come here, ‘dwarves of Erebor’?”
“I brought them,” Gandalf said calmly. “I knew my friend’s son carried the blood of the Tooks… and I believed he might agree to join us.”
“What was your friend’s name?” the hobbit asked, sheathing his sword slowly but keeping his sharp gaze fixed upon them.
“Belladonna Took. An old friend of mine.”
A subtle ripple of surprise passed through the Company. A few dwarves exchanged glances; Balin frowned thoughtfully. The hobbit paused for a heartbeat, weighing the answer — then pulled a concealed lever. The net dropped heavily to the floor. Some exhaled in relief; others flexed their stiffened arms.
“Come inside,” Bilbo said, as though none of this were remarkable.
He led them to the kitchen and laid out a feast, emptying nearly his entire pantry. The dwarves exchanged increasingly bewildered looks — such hospitality they had not expected. Hunger, however, overruled suspicion, and they soon began to eat.
As they did, the hobbit watched in silence, noting every detail — who held a knife like a weapon, who ate cautiously, and who had already relaxed enough to jest.
“Bilbo, allow me to introduce our Company,” Gandalf began with his familiar smile.
Some dwarves straightened; others ceased chewing and inclined their heads as their names were spoken. Only Thorin rose before the wizard could finish, introducing himself.
“Thorin, son of Thráin, I presume?” Bilbo said with deliberate courtesy. “Surely the king himself has not graced my humble home?”
A murmur swept the kitchen. Kíli’s brows shot up; Fíli leaned forward with interest; Dwalin clenched his fists.
“How do you know that?” he demanded sharply, stepping closer.
“That is not your concern,” the hobbit replied calmly, giving a small shrug. “For now, address me by name. As you’ve gathered, I am Bilbo.” He inclined his head slightly. “And the fact that I released you from the net does not mean I believe you.”
Several dwarves muttered darkly; more than one looked offended.
“You mentioned Elrond,” Gandalf interjected, attempting to ease the tension — and satisfy his own curiosity. “Why did you assume our Company was connected to him?”
“That long-eared elf is forever inventing ways to get into my house,” Bilbo muttered while clearing the dishes like the most dutiful of hosts. “I thought perhaps, in desperation, he’d enlisted dwarven assistance.”
Thorin straightened sharply.
“We would never cooperate with elves,” he said coldly. “Least of all carry out their errands.” His restraint was visibly strained.
Several dwarves nodded firmly. In response, Bilbo merely rolled his eyes in weary disbelief.
“Then another question arises,” he said slowly, sweeping a steady gaze across the Company. “What makes you think I will go with you?”
A heavy silence settled over the room. One by one, the dwarves looked to Gandalf.
“Because I am certain you are precisely who we need,” the wizard answered calmly. “Your ancestors — the Tooks — never failed me. Even in the most perilous adventures we shared, they emerged victorious.”
“Perhaps,” Bilbo drawled skeptically, folding his arms. “But what do I gain from this?”
“Gold. Weapons. Jewels,” Thorin stated crisply. “All that fills our mountain — and one fourteenth share of it. Balin, give him the contract.”
The advisor quickly handed over the scroll. Several dwarves held their breath.
Bilbo did not even glance at it before tossing it onto the table.
An outraged murmur rippled through the kitchen. Someone rose abruptly; another scoffed aloud.
“That does not interest me particularly,” the hobbit said evenly. “Do you offer anything more valuable? Something that would truly benefit me?”
“He mocks us…”
“Who does he think he is?” the dwarves muttered among themselves.
“And what, precisely, do you consider valuable?” Thorin asked through clenched teeth. His patience was thinning rapidly; the plan seemed to be unraveling — all because of a small halfling with an inflated sense of self.
“Knowledge,” Bilbo replied without hesitation. “The kind withheld from others. The kind passed down only to heirs of the highest nobility.”
Several dwarves exchanged wary glances. Balin fell into thought; Thorin narrowed his eyes; and Gandalf’s lips curved almost imperceptibly.
A spark of mischief lit the wizard’s gaze the moment the hobbit voiced his desire.