Chapter Text
Bilbo Baggins loved telling stories to faunts, to watch their little faces glow as he spun a tale. They were a captive audience – his favorite, and he never turned down an invitation during a community gathering to entertain them, to make their little eyes widen with excitement or glee.
He loved the little darlings. Just never wanted any of his own. He liked his home the way it was, thank you very much. Free from clutter and free from visitors making messes he had to clean up.
Everything had its place, and every place had a purpose. He was a content bachelor and expected he’d stay that way for the length of his days.
The adults in Hobbiton, though – they were a different story. He often caught them looking at him strangely, even heard them speak of how odd it was for him to be ‘living up in that big smial all by himself.’ ‘What a selfish and aloof creature he was.’
Apparently, they had forgotten about all the donations he had offered to help rebuild the mill after it had burned down. They had forgotten how he had given most of his vegetable crop from last year’s garden to help replenish the town’s public food pantry.
They didn’t forget about him when they wanted their little scoundrels out from under their feet though, did they?
The chubby little faces were gathered before him on the ground, their expressions eager and expectant. He was going to do his best to not disappoint and started in on a tale that had been told ever since he was a lad himself; one that his own mother had shared with him.
Most of it was the same, although he would admit to embellishing it a bit for maximum enjoyment. Even Gandalf the Wizard had come to the celebration and stood at the back of the small crowd to listen, his eyes filled with mirth. He knew this story possibly better than Bilbo, though he doubted the old man could tell it with the same flare.
“Just East of the haunted forest, lies a mountain,” Bilbo began. “At one time it was glowing with golden light, bursting with color and activity, its doors open, bidding all travelers welcome. It was a friendly and prosperous kingdom – a kingdom of Dwarves. Now, it is a dark and wretched place; a place where no one dares to go, not because of the ghosts that linger in the woods that surround it, no. But because of the beast that resides within it. A few brave warriors have traveled to the mountain to steal the riches rumored to be contained within – rivers of gold and silver – a vast treasure guarded by none other than a…fire-breathing dragon!”
Bilbo punctuates the final word with a swing of his hands, making all the children jump back in surprise. Then he continues.
“Sixty years ago, a fire drake came down from the north and attacked this prosperous kingdom of the dwarves. It killed everyone inside, they say. Except for one sole survivor: The Prince of Erebor. It was rumored he was a handsome, young dwarf with flowing locks of ebony and eyes as blue as morning glories. He was also brave and would be the only one who would return to his lost kingdom and confront the dragon, to try and reclaim his home and wealth. But like all others who came after him and attempted the same thing, apparently, he met the same fate.”
Little mouths opened in shock while Bilbo paused.
“And yet, there are some who say that during the nights of a harvest moon, they have seen a dwarf clothed in black roaming the battlements above the gates of Erebor. And that sometimes they can hear his mournful cry. You see, all those years ago, he did indeed slay the dragon, but in doing so, he sacrificed himself. For killing a dragon is an eternal curse to those with a selfish and uncaring heart.
So, you see, it is the Prince who flies through the night skies, spreading his black wings and breathing out blue flame. It is the Prince who guards the wealth of his kingdom for all eternity. But beware,” Bilbo quieted his voice for theatrical purposes as he approached the end of his story. “When you are grown, if you find yourselves wandering haunted woods in search of treasure or adventure, listen for the sound of mighty wings or for the touch of heated dragon’s breath, or you too shall be….cursed!”
The faunts all jumped at his loud emphasis on the final word and then they all began laughing, minus one smaller girl at the front who began crying uncontrollably. Her mother quickly picked her up and cast Bilbo a scalding look before hauling her away. Oh well, he thought. It wasn’t his first time sharing that story and probably wouldn’t be the last. The woman should’ve known better.
It was probably the most interesting story he knew, simply because of the fact that his mother, Belladonna Took, had sworn to him that it was absolutely true.
He had laughed the first time she had said it. A cursed dragon protecting a treasure horde for all eternity? What utter nonsense! A dragon was a dragon. They loved gold and used it for their nest. Erebor had too much of it and a dragon just so happened to find it and killed everyone for it, including the royal family. Every last one of them. It was a sad tale, but it had happened before Bilbo was born.
Now that he had performed what he considered his duty to the community, Bilbo wished his neighbor a happy birthday and returned to his home. It wasn’t long after that he heard footfalls approaching his gate, and he swing his great, round wooden door wide to welcome his visitor – one of the few he enjoyed seeing.
“Welcome Gandalf! Come in, come in!” he told the wizard honestly. “Would you care for some tea? A little wine, perhaps?”
“Wine would be fine, thank you, Bilbo,” the man replied while doing is best not to hit his head on the low doorways and lighting fixtures suitable for a hobbit but not a wizard.
Bilbo joined his friend at the kitchen table and smiled at him before he took a sip of his chamomile tea.
“So, what brings you back to Hobbiton? I thought you had some business in the south,” he began, noting that Gandalf was looking especially tired and pensive at the moment. Something was definitely on his mind.
“I loved your mother, Belladonna,” he began, which surprised Bilbo. He knew the two of them were friends, although he didn’t know exactly how close they were. She had never spoken much about Gandalf, except for the one time he had talked her into going on a ridiculous adventure when she was younger – one that apparently was far more dangerous than she had bargained for.
“She was spunky and quick, smart and kind,” he continued.
Bilbo nodded his head. He could agree with that assessment, although he was a little confused why Gandalf had brought her up.
“The story you told tonight. She knew it well,” Gandalf informed Bilbo.
“Yes. She told it to me many times,” Bilbo agreed, growing a little more skeptical. “What are you getting at?”
“You knew about our adventure. I’m sure she told you about it.”
“Yes,” Bilbo agreed, “though not much. Something about going as far as Mirkwood and getting to see the kingdom of the elves.”
“Ah, yes,” Gandalf nodded his head and smiled. “Though we went a tad further than that. I took her to Erebor, you see..”
“You did what?” Bilbo blurted out. What kind of idiot would take a hobbit, even it if was a clever and adventurous one like his mother, to that place? “Why would you do that? And more importantly, why would she agree to go? Unless you tricked her. Did she know that’s where you were taking her?”
“Of course, my dear Bilbo,” Gandalf huffed into his disappearing wine. “I wouldn’t have asked her to go otherwise.”
Peace settled over the kitchen and Bilbo began to squirm. Was that the end of the story? Surely, there was more to it than that.
“And?” Bilbo prompted once he realized the wizard wasn’t going to speak anytime soon.
“I did what I did because I believed your mother was the fulfillment of an ancient prophecy.”
Well, that cleared everything up, didn’t it?
“What prophecy?” Bilbo was forced to say after Gandalf fell silent again.
“There is a story as old as time itself of a dragon’s curse brought upon those whose hearts are filled with greed and pride,” he explained.
“You’re talking about the dragon who destroyed Erebor.”
“Oh, it goes back much further than that,” Gandalf explained with a tone that sent a shiver down Bilbo’s spine. “Dragons have been laying waste to kingdoms since the First Age. They wait for years you see, seeking out those who are overtaken with their own selfishness and arrogance. When that happens, they strike. It is a cycle and one that seems to be everlasting. For it always comes to pass that a swordsman, bowman, or axe-wielding dwarf come to fight the dragon to prove their bravery, though they all suffer the same fate.”
“He must be a ferocious beast to kill every single opponent,” Bilbo points out, not without some awe.
“Oh, no. Death would be a mercy for them,” Gandalf explains, which piques Bilbo’s interest. “For the truth of the matter is, if they just so happen to slay the dragon, then they themselves inherit the curse, take its form, and are bound to protect the wealth of the kingdom for all time.”
“What?” Bilbo sat there in a good deal of shock. Even though it had always been a part of his story, he had always assumed it was just a fable. Some elaborate falsehood passed down through the ages. He had never believed it to be true! Even if it was, he’d always assumed there had been one dragon in Erebor, the same dragon who had lived for such a long time. It was the same one who had laid waste to so many kingdoms. He was just now finding out there was more than one? Possibly several? “Just how many dragons have there been?”
“It’s hard to say,” the wizard proposed, leaning back in the chair that was too small for him and scratching through his long, gray beard. “Some say a dozen while others say less than six. And even others say that the dragon that exists within the mountain is the Prince of Erebor himself: Thorin, son of Thrain.”
Bilbo scoffed a little and reached for a biscuit. “Yes, I’ve heard that rumor. It’s all a bunch of hogwash meant to entertain children.”
Gandalf’s thick raised brows would argue otherwise.
“Wait,” Bilbo said, nearly choking on a crumb that tried to enter the wrong pipe. “You can’t possibly mean to tell me it’s true?”
The wizard’s expression did not change and Bilbo shook his head with disbelief.
“Sorry Gandalf, but that requires a stretch of the imagination, and what does it have to do with my mother? Don’t tell me,” Bilbo said with a dawning realization. “You told her all of this and she believed you, didn’t she? What did you do, convince her that she was the one who could fix this? Break this curse?”
Gandalf’s expression turned a bit sheepish. “Only one of a pure heart without any greed or desire for gold will be able to stand before a dragon.”
“Unbelievable,” Bilbo huffed out with incredulity.
“It is actually very believable once you have all the facts,” the wizard argued. “Which I have, and that is the reason why I’m sitting here with you.”
Bilbo had always considered himself relatively smart. He did well with numbers but was apparently having some trouble putting two and two together at the moment.
“I…you…hold on a second,” he struggled for more time to figure this out.
Gandalf gazed at him more seriously than he had ever done. “I need you to come to Erebor with me, to face this dragon and end this curse once and for all.”
That’s what he was afraid Gandalf was going to say, and immediately one question popped into his mind.
“Why me?”
“You, my dear hobbit, are the last of Belladonna Took’s line. You are pure in heart, unselfish, kind, and want not for things that others go to war for. You care nothing of treasure; just your books and maps, a good meal, and a warm fire.”
“Well…yes,” Bilbo murmured because that was true.
“Hobbits are fascinating creatures and many have these same traits, but there are very few who are brave enough for an adventure such as this. Your mother was, and it is my honest opinion that you are as well.”
Abruptly, the wizard stood and made his way to the door. It took a moment for Bilbo to realize he was leaving.
“I’ll let you sleep on it and be back in the morning for your answer. If it is yes, be prepared to go. We have no time to waste.”
Bilbo’s mouth dropped open. He wasn’t sure if he should refuse right now or wait until the morning to do so. In either case, there was absolutely no way he was traveling through haunted woods to enter a cursed castle and confront a fire-breathing dragon.
No way.