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The day dragged on as the company rode on through the downpour. Only a week on the road and Bilbo was already regretting his decision, but his memories of his Took-ish family, along with his contractual obligations, kept him from turning tail and running back to his Hobbit hole. Even now he could feel his cousins’ scornful looks at the thought of it.
Bilbo sighed as he shifted once more, in hopes to ease his aching behind. He watched as the passing trees melted into one as he counted the minutes until nightfall, hoping to get off of the saddle as soon as possible.They continued to ride for many hours in silence as the dwarrow’s mood was also dampened by on pour.
Finally they reached a hollow etched out of a hillside that they could find refuge in for the night. It was slum living as they tried to find comfort on the drenched terrain. Little could lift the mood as they struggled to find game or dry kindling for dinner. Yet still the youngest in the group kept spirits high as they reenacted tales from the day or past, long ago lived.
Even Bilbo, himself, found himself smirking, once or twice, in amusement at story or two, even though he was the butt of many of those jokes in between. A few of them even reminded the poor hobbit of his family, who took to adventuring more than him and would stop by to share a tale with Bilbo when they returned. The thought moved the Hobbit so much that he had to silently excuse himself in order to recompose himself.
“Of all the times,” Bilbo whispered angrily as he wiped away a raindrop trailing down his cheek.
“You alright there Laddie?” A voice asked from behind. Balin had noticed the hobbit leave quietly and took it upon himself to check on the burglar.
Bilbo sniffed and wiped a couple more water droplets away from his eyes before turning around. “I’m alright,” He said, “just a bit homesick.”
Balin nodded his head in understanding. “Aye, the feeling dawns upon us all from time to time.” The old dwarf said with a hum. “Perhaps a conversation and a smoke might ease your heart?”
Bilbo offered a small smile before fishing out his own pipe and a small pouch of pipe-weed. He offered some to Balin, who refused as he had his own. Then proceed to light it, taking in a big puff to calm his nerves.
“The boys,” Bilbo started, gaining Balin’s attention, “they remind me of my family.” He said with a smile before taking another puff. “More so, of my cousins. Those that bear the family name ‘Took’. They're the more adventurous ones, you see. Absolute horrible gentle hobbits you would ever see but some of the best adventurers. Always looking for the next brawl or hidden treasure or damsel in distress, but they tell stories just as well when they come home.”
Biblo could feel more water in his eyes and continued to blame the rain even though it had long since turned into a sprinkle. Balin sat pensive at his side while the sound of laughter and stories were heard in the background.
“I was actually thinking of sending one of them on your trail after you had left.” He noted as he gave a humorless laugh, “What was a gentle hobbit like me going to do on an adventure like this? You’d have done much better with a Took as your burglar.”
“Well why didn’t you?” Balin couldn’t help but ask. Bilbo sat in silence for a few moments.
“I think it was because I wanted to be the one who came home with a good story this time,” He explained. Balin hummed in thought. Bilbo took another puff from his pipe.
“What kind of story are you hoping to return with?” Balin asked as he himself took a puff. Bilbo hadn’t really thought of that before.
“My mother, ‘Took’ by birth, always told the best stories. She spoke of elves and places never before seen. She spoke of adventure, much like those two,” He said as he casted a sideways glance towards the two young dwarrow who were reenacting yet another battle. “My uncle, the eldest of his batch, told stories of dwarves and forbidden love.” Bilbo recounted as he turned away. “I always found his stories less than noteworthy but as I’ve grown it seems it is his stories I miss more.”
“How so?” Balin asked.
“Well, I hear about adventure everyday, all my life, but love and simple joys are not things often conveyed as grand stories all on their own.” Bilbo told him with a sort of sad smile upon his lips.
In silence they sat for a few moments as they listened to the soft fall of rain and quiet stories of old.
“What was your Uncle’s name?” Balin found himself asking after a moment.
“Vialli Took, he was named after a type of primrose. Grandmother always hated it but Grandfather said it was a way to make him more Hobbit. So the other Hobbit families would accept him more. Grandmother understood but refused to call him anything other than his dwarf name Vili, son of Merma.” Bilbo told him with a fond smile.
“Dwarf name?” Balin asked in confusion. Bilbo turned his gaze to him and saw the shock and confusion upon the old dwarfs face.
“Ah, yes. Uncle Vili was a dwobbit. Son of a hobbit and a Dwarf,” He said with a chuckle.
“And are you also of dwarf lineage?” Balin asked.
“Me? Oh no! Y’see Grandfather married twice. His first wife was a lady dwarf who bore three children but died giving birth to the third, my aunt Dahlia. Then he married my blood grandmother, a hobbit lass, who gave birth to my mother and the rest of my aunts and uncles before dying of old age,” Bilbo explained, yet still the look of shock did not leave his face.
“Balin are you alright?” Bilbo asked as he clasped the Dwarf’s shoulder and wondered if it was the rain cold catching up to him.
“Tell me Bilbo, what stories did your Uncle tell you?” Balin asked in a grave voice.
“Just romance tales,” Bilbo answered, still confused.
“What were they about?” Balin cried.
“They were just romance tales! Forbidden love and all that,” Bilbo exclaimed.
“Bilbo, you must provide more detail. What stories did your uncle tell you when he came back from his adventures?” Balin asked once more.
“Why? Why is that important?” Bilbo shrieked. Balin grabbed him by the arms, dropping his pip in the process, before turning the Hobbit to look back at the young princes.
“Their father was a silversmith, an apprentice when he met their mother but soon became a master during their courting and proposed. He was a strange dwarf only a little taller than you are now and seemed younger than he claimed, and couldn’t grow a beard longer than Fili’s is right now. He had no home in the Blue Mountains yet never came from Erebor or any other place. It was as if he just appeared one day. Then without warning he vanished leaving Dis, their mother, with two babes to care for. Now I will ask again: What stories did he tell you when he came back from adventuring?”
Bilbo felt the air escape his lungs as his mind processed the information just received and his mind started connecting the dots.
“He told a story of forbidden love. He had made a home in a place foreign to Hobbits, disguised as their own under the teachings of his own uncle, who had taken him under his wing and taught him his craft. As he was learning, he met a beautiful dwarf who took his heart and soul at first glance. They fell in love and were quick to court and marry but the lady Dwarf’s father and grandfather despised him and what his marriage to the lady dwarf ment. Blinded by their hatred for him they planned his death. The lady dwarf’s brother overheard their plot and warned his brother-in-law. He had to disappear and go back from whence he came, but in order to do that Vili the dwarf had to become no more. He had to die. So he went to his wife and children, shared tearful goodbyes and left that night saying that he was going on a hunt. The brother then told the Father and grandfather the next day that Vili the dwarf had died and was no more.”
Balin eventually let go of Bilbo as he thought it over. The dots connected but weren’t entirely there.
“You know what this could mean?” Balin asked in trepidation, staring into a void that seemed endless.
Bilbo sat there as he looked towards the boys, unaware of the conversation that just took place a few meters away. His gaze drifted as he watched the merry face of the rest of the company before settling on the leader, their uncle, Thorin Oakensheild, who was staring right back.