Star-Crossed

Chapter 35

A knock sounded at the door. The Hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, was already flustered with all of the commotion; he didn’t want one more dwarf in Bag End than there already was. There were four dwarves, FOUR! Four boisterous, indecorous, and ravenous beings of a race unbeknownst to the Shire, in his house, eating his food, destroying the plumbing, and apparently rearranging the furniture.

Hobbits, if you didn’t know, are very quiet people. They go about their business, staying safe in their own territory and never poking their noses in the business of the big folk. They are so separated from the world, that people such as dwarves were an extremely rare sight within their village. Hobbits are friendly, quite friendly, but, just… shy. They like their comforts, their beds, feather pillows, and most of all food. If you were not a stranger to them, and were in need of aid, you would most likely… no, you would be welcomed in, fed a right proper meal, and put to bed with the fire crackling in the hearth. Now there is one thing you must remember about the gentle Shire folk… they despise adventures.

Bilbo stomped to the front door, his temper (quite a small one compared to that of the dwarves) had flared. He shook his fist as he spoke.  “Oh no. No, no! There’s nobody home. Go away, and bother somebody else. There’s far too many dwarves in my dining room as it is. If- if- If this is some clotterd’s idea of a joke, ha ha, I can only say, it is in very poor taste.” He threw open the door, a small crowd of dwarves toppled into the house. They all yelled at one another to get off as they laid in the middle of the doorway. Another figure stood behind them. Gandalf bent at the waist, peering into the Hobbit Hole, once his eyes landed on Bilbo, he smiled. “Gandalf.” He sighed.

The wizard had been by earlier that morning. Telling him stories of adventures and urging him to join him on one. That is a major rule of being a hobbit, no adventures! They had conversed for a while before Bilbo abandoned the man and hid within his home. A scrapping sound on the heavy green wooden door caught his attention, but he saw nothing the next time he looked at the door.

The Dwarves were out of control. They were transporting food from the pantry into the dining room. Nothing was spared. Not even the antique furniture, he got after a dwarf with an ear trumpet for trying to move Grandpa Mungo’s chair into the dining room to sit on.

Then the feast commenced. They shouted, put their elbows on the table, spoke with their mouths full, and used their hands to serve the food. Gandalf was no exception. He hoped that it would end and they would calm down. It didn’t.

“Who wants an ale?” The blonde dwarf, Fili… or was it Kili… was walking on the table, several mugs in hand, passing them out accordingly, then plopping down in his seat next to his brother, Kili… or Fili… he’d have to get that straight. The noise silenced, then a loud belch echoed through the halls, then another. Disgusted the Hobbit sighed.

She sat down in front of the vanity in the corner of the room. Her brown hair was not as long as it used to be, but it had gotten longer, her bare shoulder blades were tickled by her locks. Beuren braided her hair tightly, knotting beads into it every so often. It was a braid that would make Frerin proud. Five diamonds lined the shell of her right ear, three metal ear cuffs with intricate designs clasped tightly to the outside of her left ear, the silver chain which held her ring decorated her throat. Her shirt was simple, white, long sleeved, loose fitting. A dark brown leather bodice matched her boots; dark pants covered her legs from the rain that was sure to come. Beuren stood, tying on her cloak and placing her weapons in their appropriate settings. Her belt was tied tight, and she was ready to go.

Thorin sat at the table, Gandalf was arguing with the Hobbit about going on the journey. He’d fainted earlier. There was no way he was cut out for this journey. Gentle folk do not belong in the wild, as Dwalin had said earlier. Gandalf however insisted. It all came down to Mister Baggins; really, he had to sign the contract, not them.