Chapter Text
In a hole in the ground there was a very flustered hobbit.
This was no ordinary hole, of course—it was a hobbit-hole, and that meant it was clean, warm, and above all, comfortable. The walls were paneled with oak, the floors were polished, and each room was a haven of plush chairs, thick carpets, and cozy hearths. It was, in every respect, the perfect retreat for a quiet evening of tea and a book. Or it would have been, if not for the utter chaos currently unfolding.
Dwarves had invaded, plates had flown, silverware clattered, and food disappeared at a rate that should have been physically impossible for non-hobbits.
All of it orchestrated by one meddlesome old wizard who apparently couldn’t take no for an answer.
Bilbo was at his wits end. He had spent the entire evening running back and forth, fetching food and drinks, all while trying to keep his uninvited guests from breaking anything irreplaceable.
Even though the dwarves were loud, rude, entirely uninvited, and made Bilbo want to tear his hair out, the Baggins sensibilities Bilbo inherited from his father demanded he try to be a good host. It was, after all, the proper thing to do. But Yavanna save him, it was not easy.
At least the dwarves had the decency to clean up after their disastrous dinner. Not that the process was any less terrifying than the mess itself. They had thrown his mother’s dishes around, singing and laughing as if it were all a grand joke. Bilbo had needed every ounce of his self-restraint—and several deep breaths—to keep from throttling one of them on the spot. They were lucky nothing had broken. If something had, Bilbo would have thrown them out—manners be damned.
Finally, though, the worst seemed behind him. The dwarves had settled into serious discussion about some sort of epic quest, leaving Bilbo to stand awkwardly at the edge of the room. Although it seemed the evening wasn’t done trying to give him a heart attack just yet. The aforementioned meddlesome old wizard was determined to include him on this mad adventure. As a burglar of all things! The mere thought was ludicrous, a Baggins going on an adventure, as a burglar, no less! The very idea was as ridiculous as it was insulting.
Bilbo had never stolen anything in his life—unless one counted reclaiming stolen silverware from relatives with sticky fingers, which he absolutely did not.
The only thing keeping Bilbo from telling Gandalf exactly what he thought of this ridiculous plan was the gravely serious look on his face; one that was shared by all of the dwarves at the table.
Before Bilbo could even begin to process the insanity that had been thrust upon him; and explain to the dwarves that no, he would not be participating; regardless of what Galdalf had told them; a contract longer than he was tall being thrust into his hands. His eyes widened as he read through it, each clause more terrifying than the last, detailing all the potentially lethal outcomes of their journey.
When he reached the part about evisceration and incineration, the stress of the absolute disaster of an evening finally caught up with him. As Bofur described what it would feel like to be incinerated by a dragon, Bilbo’s fingers started to shake and the edges of his sight started to blur. He noticed that the floor seemed to sway beneath him for some reason and the last thought he had before fainting was 'oh dear.'
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A loud crash woke Bilbo. He squinted at the rough wooden ceiling, the familiar knots and grooves spinning slightly as he tried to recall why in Yavanna’s name he was sprawled out on the floor. He could hear shouting from somewhere nearby but it sounded oddly muffled and he couldn’t quite manage to understand what was being said.
He groaned, bracing himself on his elbows, and shoved himself upright. His head swam, and for a moment, he feared he might topple over again. Then his gaze focused on the chaos before him.
The rowdy dwarves who had barged into his home standing in a circle with their weapons drawn (as if anything in Bilbo’s home could possibly be a threat to them), staring at something laying on the floor, much like he was a moment ago.
And then it hit him. Weapons. Drawn. In his home.
“What in the Green Lady’s good name are you doing!?” Bilbo yelled, his indignation snapping him fully awake. He staggered to his feet, lightheadedness be damned. If any of them had damaged his walls—or his furniture—they’d be having Words.
“Us!?” one of the dwarves cried out, clearly offended.
“We didn’t do anything! There was a flash of light, and the next thing we knew, this girl appeared in your living room!” the one Bilbo thought was named Fili exclaimed, standing protectively in front of his brother. He jabbed a finger toward the middle of the circle, where the alleged threat lay.
Gandalf turned his attention from the chaos in the living room towards the hobbit. “Are you quite alright, Bilbo?”
“Am I alright?!” Bilbo exploded, his temper igniting. “I just woke up on the floor to find axes and swords waving about like party favors! What if they’d hit something important? I swear, Gandalf, if there’s so much as a scratch on my walls, I’ll have your beard, you infernal old goat!”
The wizard harrumphed quietly, as if amused by Bilbo’s indignation. Kicking him in the shin was beginning to feel like a sound course of action. But before Bilbo could commit to such violence, Gandalf gestured toward the source of the chaos. “Yes, well, I believe the matter at hand requires our attention.”
Bilbo followed the motion reluctantly, his ire dampened but not extinguished. His gaze landed on the girl sprawled unconscious on his rug. She was taller than him, though not by much, her blonde hair a mess of tangles around a pale, too-thin face. She was dressed in clothes unlike anything he had ever seen, but it was the look of her—sickly, fragile—that struck Bilbo the most.
Her skin was far too pale, her lips bloodless and chapped, and her frame so thin that her arms looked as though they might snap if gripped too hard. pang shot through Bilbo’s chest, unbidden and unwelcome. The Fell Winter rose uncomfortably in his mind: haggard faces, shivering children, the hollow desperation in their eyes.
No one should look so breakable.
The dwarves lowered their weapons as it became clear the girl wasn't in any condition to be a threat.
“Oin,” Thorin commanded sharply, his voice cutting through the tension. His chin jerked toward their newest and most unexpected arrival.
The gray-bearded dwarf moved forward with a grunt, crouching down beside the girl. He lifted her wrist with the careful touch of someone who’d done this more times than he cared to remember, checking her pulse. His other hand hovered just below her nose, gauging the steadiness of her breath.
“Her pulse an’ breathin are steady, if weak,” he announced moving his hand to rest against forehead for a moment, “no fever,” he added, though more to himself than anyone else.
Next, he carefully patted her down, his hands moving with the clinical precision of a healer. “I don’t feel anythin broken, or any other injuries.” he reported, raising his head to address Bilbo. “We can move ‘er somewhere more private an’ comfortable so I can take a better look at the lass.”
"You can use one of the spare bedrooms," Bilbo offered immediately, wanting to help the poor girl anyway he could.
Oin acknowledged with a brief nod, carefully maneuvering the girl into his arms. He rose, but apparently, he’d underestimated her weight—or lack thereof—nearly toppling backward. Thankfully Dwalin had been standing behind him and was able to steady them.
The rest of the dwarves started crowding around the pair trying to get a better look at the girl.
Bilbo clapped his hands together, trying to channel the calm decisiveness his mother had always displayed in moments of chaos. “Right, then,” he announced, his tone a bit firmer than usual. “If you’d follow me, Master Oin, I’ll show you to the guest room, and we can see to it that she’s properly tended to.”
“Please lead tha way, Master Baggins,” Oin replied, his voice rough but grateful.
Bilbo led the way down the hall, opening the door to the nearest guest room with a flourish that was meant to be reassuring, but likely came off as slightly manic. Ushering Oin inside, he gave the healer some space to work in peace, returning to the parlor where the others were huddled together.
“How peculiar,” Gandalf muttered to himself, drawing everyone’s attention as he stroked his long gray beard in that infuriatingly cryptic way of his that always spelled trouble for anyone around him.
“What is?” Dwalin grumbled from his spot in the corner, eyeing the wizard suspiciously.
“I am familiar with the energy that brought our mysterious guest to us, but it is one I thought I would not feel again until I left this realm,” he murmured, sounding dazed, “and the power I sensed inside of her should not be possible.” The wizard stared down the hall where Oin was tending the girl. His ancient eyes gleaming from beneath his heavy brows.
“And what power did you sense?” Thorin demanded, his blue eyes sharp and the line of his jaw iron hard.
The wizard didn’t answer right away, still staring down the hall with furrowed brows. He opened his mouth, seemed to struggle for words—a rare and almost amusing sight—then shut it again. After a moment, he shook himself out of his thoughts and strode down the hall, brushing aside the king’s question with a vague, “I will inform you when I am certain what I felt was real.”
Thorin’s scowl deepened, the wizard’s dismissal clearly grating on his nerves, but surprisingly didn’t march after Gandalf to demand answers. An uneasy quiet settled over the group as they pondered the wizard’s words.
It was the young dwarf with dark brown hair—Kili, Bilbo reminded himself—who finally broke the silence. “Do you think she could be a wizard?” he asked, practically bouncing on his toes with excitement.
Bilbo sighed, feeling every last bit of stress from the evening catching up with him. He was absolutely done with the day. All he wanted was to crawl into his warm bed and pretend this entire evening was some bizarre, overlong nightmare. Unfortunately, it looked like that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon, and his fraying patience meant his tongue was a little sharper than he usually allowed.
He leveled a very unimpressed look at the young dwarf. “I highly doubt Gandalf would fail to recognise one of his fellow wizards. Not to mention that all the books I've read agree that there are five wizards in Middle Earth, and that all of them have the appearance of old men.”
Kili either ignored or didn’t notice Bilbo’s annoyance, in fact he seemed to become even more excited, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. “Then what is she? Where did she come from? What power does she have? It must be something amazing if Tharkûn is so concerned about it.”
"Tharkûn?" Bilbo echoed, his annoyance fading slightly as curiosity took its place. He was always eager to learn a new word, especially one from a culture as rich as the dwarves'.
"He means the wizard," Balin clarified kindly.
Bilbo nodded his thanks to the elderly dwarf. "Thank you, Master Balin." There were very few records available regarding dwarven culture, especially their language, so any little tidbit was a treasure in itself.
“She can’t be a dwarrow-dam,” Fili interjected, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. “She doesn’t have a beard.”
“Could be mixed blood then,” Nori suggested, his eyes narrowing in speculation
“Maybe,” Kili said, though he sounded doubtful. “She looks a bit like a miniature Man.”
“Maybe she’s a hobbit,” Fili guessed (which made Bilbo roll his eyes and ask Yavana for patience).
“Can’t be; she doesn’t have the right feet for it,” Kili countered, as if this settled the matter entirely.
Before the debate could spiral any further, Gandalf returned, his presence instantly commanding silence. The wizard moved slowly across the room, sinking into the man-sized chair by the fire with a frown that spoke of deep, tangled thoughts and perhaps a touch of melancholy. His ancient eyes seemed distant, reflecting a strange sense of longing that was almost unsettling.
“Well, wizard,” Thorin demanded, his tone laced with the same arrogance that had grated on Bilbo’s nerves from the start. The hobbit was beginning to wonder if the so-called king had a single polite bone in his body. “What is it you’ve found?”
Gandalf (never missing a chance to be dramatic, Bilbo thought wryly) took a long drag from his pipe before answering.
"Within her soul lies a spark of the Light of Valinor," he began softly, voice tinged with wonder. "The light of the Two Trees, Laurelin and Telperion, who brought illumination to the lands of Arda before the creation of the sun and moon."
A stunned silence enveloped the chamber, each member of the company absorbing the weight of his words. Even the ever-curious Fili and Kili were rendered speechless, their earlier debate forgotten.
"The light of the Trees bestowed upon the elves of Valinor power and wisdom," Gandalf continued, his gaze distant. "Making them strong, swift, and deadly in their anger. There are very few left in Middle Earth who have seen the Light of the Two Trees and are blessed with their power. Compared to them, the light in her soul is but a candle while theirs is more similar to the sun. Although it is faint, the fact that she has it at all is remarkable.”
A stunned silence filled the chamber as each person absorbed what he was saying. Everyone in the room quietly awed by the mention of the home of the Valar from one who had been there.
Bilbo felt a shiver crawl up his spine. He'd heard tales of the Valar and their creations, but to have a fragment of that ancient light residing in his home was... unsettling.
"And how exactly did such a remarkable individual end up here?" Balin inquired warily, breaking the heavy silence.
Gandalf shifted in his seat, his ancient eyes glancing over the company before finally settling on Thorin.
“She was brought here by the power of the Valar. It would appear they have deemed her necessary if you want your quest to succeed. And before you ask,” he added, cutting off the barrage of questions he could see forming on their lips, “I do not know how she will be necessary, only that she is.”
Bilbo watched as Thorin's features shifted, flickering between caution and calculation before settling back into the scowl he had been wearing all night. His eyes flickered over the faces of his company, no doubt weighing their reactions as he mulled over the wizard’s words.
“It would be foolish to disregard the Valars' guidance.” Balin advised quietly, as if reading his king's thoughts.
Thorin hesitated for a moment longer, clearly wrestling with the idea before finally tilting his head in what could only be described as a reluctant concession. “If she has truly been sent by the Valar to assist our quest,” he said, his tone begrudging at best, “then I am willing to let her join the company.”
Any further discussion was cut off as Oin returned and everyone shifted their attention to the healer; eager to hear his report on their mysterious guest.
“How is she?” Thorin asked, his voice gruff but not unkind.
“Tha lass doesn't have any injuries, but she’s far from healthy. I don’t know what she went through but she’s malnourished an' has all tha problems that come with it. Her bones an' muscles are weak, she’ll get exhausted quickly, an' overdoing it will make her faint.” Oin reported, his face serious.
There was an outbreak of concerned mumbling around the group as they discussed what could have happened to her to leave her in such a state.
“Is she able to travel?” Balin’s voice cut through the chatter, bringing everyone back to the matter at hand.
Oin blinked, clearly not expecting the question. “What would she need ta be traveling for?” he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.
“Your young patient was sent by the Valar to aid in your quest to reclaim Erebor.” Gandalf summarized for the dwarf.
Oin’s eyes flickered over to Thorin’s for confirmation. Once it was given, he began to consider the possibility seriously, rubbing a hand over his jaw as he mulled it over.
“It would be hard on her, an’ I wouldn’t recommend it, but it’s possible.” He admitted, before starting to plan out the logistics of bringing the girl along. “We’d have ta be careful. Make more stops ta let her rest, make sure she’s eating small amounts throughout tha day. She won’t be able ta handle big meals for now.”
He started pacing as he spoke, working out all the details. Bilbo noticed Ori pulling out his journal and scribbling furiously, trying to keep up with Oin’s rapid-fire instructions.
“She’ll have ta ride with someone for at least part o' tha day, she won’t have tha stamina ta ride a full day on her own. We’ll need extra clothes an' blankets for her since her body will have a hard time keeping itself warm. We’ll also need ta be careful ta make sure she won’t hurt herself. She’ll bruise an' bleed easily until she recovers more. I’ll need ta stock up on pain remedies. Tha lass will definitely need them, even if she wasn’t being dragged halfway round tha world.”
Thorin and Balin listened intently, their minds already adjusting their travel plans to accommodate their newest and most fragile companion.
Bilbo hesitated for a moment before stepping forward from his place in the doorway. “I may be able to offer you some assistance,” he said, trying not to fidget under the sudden weight of everyone’s attention. “I have some spare blankets and clothes that might fit her. You’re more than welcome to help yourselves to them.”
“Thank you laddie,” Balin smiled and patted the hobbit's shoulder. “That would be most helpful.”
“No thanks needed Master Balin,” Bilbo insisted, “it really is the least I can do. I'll gather them up and put them in her room.” With that he slipped down the hallway and out of sight of his guests.