Book One: Little River | Thorin Oakenshield

Chapter Two

~ | Unexpected Guests | ~

Bilbo opened his front door to find a dwarf standing in his garden. The dwarf's back was turned, but he slowly turned around as the hinges of the old, wooden door creaked open. His bald head was adorned with runes tattooed across its top, adding an air of mystery to his rugged appearance. From just above his unusually large ears—decorated with silver cuffs and spikes—long, unbrushed brown locks tumbled down his shoulders.

His moustache and beard, nearly as long as his hair, framed a face marred by a deep scar that cut through his left eyebrow. He wore a long brown cloak, fastened at the top with worn silver chains, with a large hood draped over his back. The dwarf bowed deeply before the confused Hobbit, who stood in his doorway, stunned by the unexpected presence of a dwarf outside his warm, familiar home.

The dwarf straightened from his bow and met Bilbo's puzzled gaze. "Dwalin, at your service," he rumbled in a deep, gruff voice, nodding slightly.

Bilbo blinked, taken aback by the formality. "Hm. Uh... Bilbo Baggins, at yours," he stammered, still trying to grasp the situation. "Do we know each other?" he added, a note of uncertainty in his voice as he searched the dwarf's face for any sign of familiarity.

Bilbo quickly and awkwardly tied the two ribbons on his checkered dressing gown, fumbling with the knots as he tried to compose himself in front of the unexpected visitor. His hands moved hastily, betraying his nervousness, as he tightened the gown around his waist, still unsure of what to make of the dwarf standing before him.

Dwalin shook his head. "No," he replied curtly. "Which way, laddie? Is it down here?" Without waiting for an answer, the dwarf strode into the home, ducking slightly as he passed through the doorway. He removed his cloak, revealing his broad, battle-worn frame, and began to look around the small rooms with an air of familiarity, as if he had already decided this was his new domain.

Bilbo blinked in confusion, his mind still trying to catch up. "Is what down where?"

Dwalin spun back around to face him, his expression expectant. "Supper. He said there'd be food and lots of it." Without further explanation, the dwarf tossed his cloak into Bilbo's arms and continued deeper into the house, his eyes scanning the small rooms as he clearly searched for a place to sit and eat. Bilbo stood there, clutching the heavy cloak, utterly bewildered by the turn of events.

"He... He said? Who said?" Bilbo stammered, still trying to make sense of what was happening. But the dwarf was already making himself at home, sitting down at the table and tucking into the food Bilbo had prepared for himself.

The Hobbit, feeling increasingly out of place in his own home, quietly retreated to a small chair in the corner of the room. He perched there, as if trying to make himself invisible, watching in disbelief as the dwarf devoured his supper without so much as a second thought.

Dwalin nodded appreciatively as he chewed. "Mmm. Very good, this. Any more?"

Bilbo snapped out of his daze. "What? Oh, yes, yes. Ah. Help yourself." He quickly stood up, grabbing a plate of scones from a nearby shelf. In his flustered state, he hastily stuffed one into the pocket of his dressing gown before placing the plate in front of the dwarf.

"Hmm. It's just that, um, I wasn't expecting company," Bilbo added nervously, his voice trailing off as he watched Dwalin reach for more food. The sight of the dwarf making himself at home in his dining room left Bilbo feeling more bewildered than ever.

Suddenly, a loud banging echoed through the house, startling Bilbo out of his thoughts. He jumped slightly, his eyes darting to the door. Dwalin paused mid-bite, looking up at the Hobbit with a gaze so intense it could pierce through the mightiest of warriors.