Chapter Text
Thorin clutched his nephews close and ran for his life. The fire of his burning home had died down and the thick smoke blended into the night sky over Ered Luin. The emergency pack on his back thudded against him with every step but he refused to stop. Balin could give the mob a wrong direction of where he went, but would they believe him? His only comfort was that his small nephews stayed quiet in his arms as he ran through the trees. The meeting spot with the gray wizard was just on the other side of the glen.
The boys still smelled of smoke and the scent of burnt flesh attacked his mind. The image of his sister, the strong and stubborn Lady Dis, bursting from their home with the children in her arms haunted him. The mob had barricaded the doors and windows and set the place aflame. He had been with Balin and Dwalin, collecting the last of the supplies the Durin line would need. They had known that a reckoning was coming, that the dwarves they had known since childhood, before Smaug ever attacked, were now hunting them. But they had thought they had time to spare. They were wrong.
Dis had noticed the smell of smoke too late as she tucked her sons into bed. She guessed what was happening and grabbed them. They fled down the stairs, only to find the flames erupting from every side of the house. Dis protected her children with her own body. She took her axe to the door again and again before throwing herself against it, and it broke into charred splinters. Dis tucked a boy under each arm and jumped through the fire, all the while her own body melting under the licks of the flames. They ran away from the violent crowd through the darkness, but her brother and cousins found them all too late. Dis succumbed to her burns in Dwalin’s arms as Thorin tried to distract his nephews. Dwalin had whispered a blessing in Khuzdul while Balin implored Thorin to run. There was nothing they could do for her except give her a proper burial, and Dwalin swore to see it done. Balin would head for the village and give the mob a false lead. Thorin took his nephews and ran for their lives.
He saw the edge of the forest as he approached. The gray wizard was a beacon with his staff aglow. There were two creatures standing next to him, enormous beings: eagles.
“Thorin! Here!” he called to the dwarf. Thorin passed the last tree and slowed to a stop before the taller beings, panting hard. His nephews clung to him shakily, sniffling and coughing from smoke and sadness. “What happened? Where is Dis?” the wizard asked. Thorin looked up to him wordlessly, an angry and mournful expression he could not remove. The wizard’s eye brows rose slightly, then nodded grimly.
“This is Gwaihir and Landroval. They will bear us from here.” The eagles each gave a small nod and stared at Thorin. It did not help his ego any to know he was smaller than birds as well as most other things.
Thorin nodded back to them and they spread their enormous wings. He expected that Fíli and Kíli would have been amazed had they not just been dragged from their beds and orphaned. The wizard sat himself upon one of the eagle’s back, and Thorin mirrored him on the other.
“Where are you taking us, Gandalf?” Thorin demanded.
“Somewhere safe, I assure you. I sent a raven yesterday to a trusted friend who can house you and your kin. Stay with her and no dwarf will ever find you.”
Thorin was skeptical but said nothing and hugged his nephews closer. The take-off was harrowing and nothing a dwarf would ever be ready for. They could handle the height of any mountain or cliff, as long as their feet touched the earth. Fíli and Kíli whimpered and held him tight in their tiny grasps. Thorin glowered at the thought of what had happened to him. The dwarves he trusted and had led for decades had turned against him and his line. They had tried to murder children! To think, with dwarven birth rates lower than they had been in centuries that they would ever consider…It was disgusting. What had he done to deserve such affronts? Could he control or stop a dragon? Could he feed the entirety of his people alone? Could he win every battle and save every life?
No. He could not.
And they had attacked his family because of it.
He dared to look back at what had been his home for so many years. The smoke from his house dissipated in the clean night air. The lanterns of the village sparkled like stars in the darkness.
What could he do now but follow the wizard’s plan? Who could he trust now that his own people had turned against him?
Balin and Dwalin he knew for sure. Balin was his greatest advisor. He never gave Thorin a bad plan or idea, and always guided him true. Dwalin was his best friend, brother-in-arms, and his sister’s fiancé. Her first husband, the father of her children, had died in a mining accident. Thorin knew Dwalin had always loved Dis, but had been too slow to act. In the years following he was never far from the princess. He comforted her and treated the boys like his own, and in the end he finally asked to court her. She agreed without hesitation. Their wedding was to be in a month.
Thorin wondered how Dwalin was taking it. He decided it was best not to think about.
The boys dozed off after so long. Thorin began to question how far the Gandalf was taking them. And to who. Had he said her? A woman? What race? What kingdom? His people had traveled many lands, and been treated harshly in all but a handful. He doubted that any woman of Man or –Mahal forbid—Elf lineage would care for his line beyond a roof and three cold meals a day. Thorin would likely have to pay his own way by working in the forges or mines of wherever Gandalf left them. But he would do it gladly if his nephews were safe.
Thorin did not trust himself to not fall off the eagle’s back if he slept. He forced himself to stay awake as the lands and rivers passed beneath them. The Hills of Evendium came and went, and the rain came after that. Thunder boomed and the boys jumped alert. He pulled his fur-lined coat over their heads on either side of him. His thick hair was soon soaked through.
This safe haven better be close.
“Are we there yet?” Fíli asked as we scrubbed the sand from his eyes. Thorin glanced towards the wizard. He could barely pick out the gray-clothed wanderer against the night sky.
“How far?” Thorin called out.
“Not long now. We almost to the Shire.” Thorin nodded, pretending to know what in Middle Earth a ‘Shire’ was.
The storm never let up even as they touched down at the edge of the village. The land rolled in waves and hills and homes seemed to be built into the very land.
It was sort of like a tiny, quaint Erebor, now that Thorin thought about it. It seemed equally as abandoned. No one was about anywhere; the only signs of life were a few tiny flickers of lit candles in windows.
Thorin stared at the village a little longer before thunder boomed again and reminded him of his purpose.
“This way,” Gandalf said and continued down a muddy path after thanking the eagles.
Thorin scanned the area again and decided he did not like it. This place was not at all like Erebor. These people, whoever or whatever they might be, did not live in the rock as dwarves did. They lived in the dirt. The village was entirely comprised of little holes in the dirt. They were likely very dirty and full of worms and oozy smells. And to think he’d have to work just to earn his keep in a place like this.
But his nephews were safe, and that was all that mattered.
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Bilba Baggins was a very unusual woman, though not at all unlikeable. She was known throughout the Shire as a very paradoxical person. They said it was because of her lineage; a child of the Took and Baggins clan! Two of the most opposite families blood lines in one person—well one could only reason that was why she was odd.
She was known to have an extraordinarily kind heart, especially for children, and a deeply cutting tongue, especially for the Sackville-Bagginses. She loved to tell amazingly scary stories of adventure and danger, but to the surprise of many, had never gone farther from home than Bree. She had her father’s mind and her mother’s heart. In shorter words, she was not completely and utterly respectable, but she was highly-respected.
So when she got a raven from the wizard Gandalf one morning saying he was calling in a large favor, she did not hesitate to undertake it. Four dwarves needing a place to stay? Her pantry and hearth could easily handle a dozen. So Bilba Baggins spent the day preparing the smial for her guests. Gandalf had not mentioned how long they would be staying, and she decided that could only mean he did not know himself. Luckily her home had plenty of extra rooms and was never short on food. She had an inheritance that could support them for decades—if not longer.
The only thing that unnerved her about it was the urgent tone of Gandalf’s message. The wizard was not one to worry lightly; sure he could speak in riddles, and he tended to do so, but she knew from experience when the wizard sensed danger.
Bilba tried to ignore the gloomy thoughts of what might have occurred to warrant four dwarves leaving their home for the Shire. She busied herself with cleaning and organizing rooms. She baked treats and breads and other dishes she thought they might like. Nothing famished someone like travel.
Unfortunately the storm over the Shire returned her to the dark wonderings of her mind more than once. How dreadful it must be to be out in that. Her guests would want warmth, so she stoked the fire high as night set in, and left a large pot of water over it. They might also crave a soak.
Bilba ran through what she knew about dwarves. There were a few books in her study on them, but they were small with few facts. It appeared the only thing the author’s knew about dwarves was how they liked to keep their culture private and only stay with other dwarves—for fear that someone would steal something from them, from a jewel to a part of their secret language ‘Khuzdul’ that very few outside of their race ever learned.
Perhaps having dwarves as guests would be slightly more difficult than she had immediately envisioned.
But nonetheless she would give them what she could and help them adjust to life in the Shire. No doubt the other hobbits would be quite perturbed by the new residents. The Tooks might welcome them, as they did the idea of adventure and excitement, but the Bagginses would be very wary. Hobbits could be just as private and protective as dwarves sometimes. But Bilba would help them any way she could, and teach them the ways of the halflings. She would show the Bagginses that her guests were not to be feared (as long as they weren’t actually, Gandalf hadn’t really spoken of their character).
She had heard of fierce dwarven warriors and the battles they had fought against orcs. They were known to wield swords and axes and hammers and there were some records of dwarves head-butting their enemies or even punching them in the face in combat.
What her Great-Grand-Uncle Bullroarer Took would have given to meet one.
Or her mother, for that matter.
But Bilba had decided long ago that it was best to not dwell on the past, at least not the sad parts, and went back to work.