A Shot in the Dark (Thilbo - Bagginshield)

Epilogue

Out of all of his nephews and nieces, Bilbo was the one that Isengrim Took III never worried about.

In hindsight, that was rather foolish of him.

Belladonna had always been the wild and untamable sister. She had driven their parents out of their minds with her antics when they were younger. Whether it was stirring up food fights among the taverns to running off on spontaneous adventures to Rivendell with their brother Hildigrim, she was always up to some sort of mischief. When she finally married Bungo and settled down, he thought he wouldn't have to worry again about such matters any longer.

He was wrong. So very, very wrong.

"Leave it to Bella's son to outdo her," his brother Isembard muttered at his side as they took in the sight before them.

Their nephew stood before them with an awkward smile on his face. He was... dressed interestingly in slacks and a tunic that was tied with a belt that held a sword. His hair was longer than he had ever seen on a Hobbit and held back in little braids with gold beads that glinted in the sunlight. But the oddest thing of all, the thing that made the hair on the back of his neck rise, were the legion of Dwarves behind his nephew.

"Uncle Isengrim," Bilbo greeted, his brown eyes wide as he tried to pretend he was calm. "It's good to see you again. Have you been well?"

"Bilbo, what is going on?" he asked, getting straight to the point because he was a Took, damnit, and not a Baggins. "Why are these Dwarves here?"

Bilbo's smile grew even more tense and false. "These are my friends. The ones I went on that adventure with. They... They came here to meet my family and friends. Isn't that nice?"

Isembard snorted without restraint. "Bullshit. Tell us the truth, lad, or I'm breaking out the embarrassing childhood stories."

One of the Dwarves — who had long red hair and an impressive beard — raised his hand in the air and waved it until he got their attention. "Can you share those stories anyways? Maybe over a drink?"

"Shut up, Glóin," Bilbo hissed as the tips of his ears began to turn pink.

Another Dwarf stepped forward until he stood in front of Isengrim. He easily towered over the Hobbits with his wide shoulders and thick arms. His long black hair held glints of sliver and his deep blue eyes looked old and tired under their thick brows. Seeing such a person made him wonder, not for the first time, why his nephew was with such a group.

"Isengrim Took," the Dwarf greeted, his baritone voice echoing through the room. "I am pleased to finally meet you. Bilbo has spoken very highly of you."

"Thank you," he returned slowly, never looking away from the strange Dwarf. "Now who are you?"

The Dwarf gave a short but low bow. "I am Thorin Oakenshield, King of Erebor."

Isembard snorted again.

"That's nice," Isengrim said, not feeling very impressed. Why the hell would he care about a title? "Now why are you here?"

The Dwarf — Thorin — stood up straighter and looked at him with a serious expression as if he was about to announce a death sentence. "I have come here to ask you for permission to marry Bilbo."

Isembard began to choke on what he could only assume was air.

His nephew turned a bright red that he had only ever seen on his tomatoes.

The Dwarf's serious expression never wavered even as he reached for Bilbo's hand.

And Isengrim was certain that somehow, somewhere, Bella was laughing at him.