13 The Royals That Weren’t (III)

"Speech! Speech! Speech!"

Naturally, the lean hobbit acquiesced. Standing tall, he twirled his bow between his fingertips. "My dear Bagginses and Boffins!" He carelessly but unerringly tossed the bow across the crowd, to the bonnet-wearing woman manning the cheese stand. "Tooks and Brandybucks!" He sent the violin flying in a similar manner, and Thorin's heart skipped a beat at the blatant abuse. But it was caught by clever fingers belonging to an unknown hobbit man, and the crowd cheered again. "Grubbs!" More cheers and laughs, each time he spoke the name of another family. There were dozens of them and he knew them all, until he finally finished with "Chubbs, Hornblowers, Bolgers, Bracegirdles aaand Proudfoots!"

The cheers were loudest, almost raucous to Thorin's ears, but even so the old hobbit manning the produce wagon, with the largest feet Thorin had ever seen – feet propped horizontally on the same stool that had been used to make a walkway for Bilbo Baggins earlier – shouted over the clamor. "It's Proudfeet!"

"Actually, it's not!" Blbo shot back from his high perch, throwing the older man a cheeky grin. "And I put together a complete etymologic and lexical treatise to prove it." He reached into his coat and pulled out a small notebook, bound with a strap. "Behold! The marvels of Westron grammar!" He tossed it like a disk. The object landed with a plop on top of the open corn sack right next to the old Proudfot hobbit. The latter glared up at Bilbo Baggins and bit on the mouthpiece of his pipe, but even from his poor, far off vantage point Thorin could see there was no real ire there. "Hmph!"

Bilbo only grinned wider, then looked back down at his enraptured audience and threw his arms wide. "My dear gentle and not-necessarily-quite-as-gentle hobbits!" With a flourish, he stuck a pose, one hand on his hip and the other forward, index finger pointing to the horizon. "I'm going on an adventure!"

There was no sensible reason why the crowd would react as it did. There was no reason the Halfling could even command their attention, let alone the reverence he was being shown. But it happened. Right there, the crowd erupted in cheers yet again, and Thorin was no longer wondering if he'd fallen down a rabbit hole.

There was no need to wonder. He knew it with utter certainty now.

Bilbo Baggins looked startled, though Thorin could tell he was faking it. He brought his hands up to ward off the noise, and when it settled down he dared speak again. "Whoa! The way you keep going on it's like you can't wait to see me gone!"

This time, everyone sputtered denials and tripped over each other trying to reassure the speech-giver. Though at least half of the repliers seemed only to be humoring Bilbo Baggins because they realized he was making jest.

"Ah!" Bilbo relaxed. "So it is that you're just excited about the party you think I'm about to throw. I'm sorry if I insulted anyone with my doubts but 50 years is far too short a time to live among such excellent and admirable hobbits!" Cheers abounded. "After all, I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

The crowd made an aborted movement to cheer but stopped. Hobbits stared blankly at each other, unable to figure out if they'd just been insulted or not. After a while, it became apparent that most wouldn't figure it out, and those that did were going to keep the secrets under their foothair. So they focused on the part of the speech that they could make sense of.

Until one particularly courageous lad asked. "Party we think you're going to throw?"

For his part, Thorin was stumped. Did that mean that Bilbo Baggins always threw a feast in his own honor before traveling? How… vain.

One of the children (Mahal, there was so many of them too) hesitantly spoke up when no one else would. "…Aren't you throwing one, Mister Bilbo?"

"Of course I am!" The Halfling assure with a careless wave. "Unfortunately, many of you probably won't want to come so I'm not sure I should even-" He couldn't say anything more because no small number of people burst into declarations that more or less went along the lines if Of COURSE we'll all come if YOU throw a party!

Eventually, though, someone managed to shout louder than everyone else. "Why do you think people won't come? Everyone wants to come when you're entertaining!" That settled everyone down, but then the follow-up came. "Unless you won't be entertaining?"

Even having listened to two instances of Bilbo Baggins playing music, Thorin couldn't understand why the Hobbitry would turn so crestfallen. It only got even more stupefying when the crowd erupted in distress of all things over what could prevent "Master Baggins" from playing. Was he okay? Had something happened? Had he come down with something and only barely managed to play those two tunes earlier? Because they could whip up a mean tea and fix him right up if that was it-

"It's not that I won't be there to entertain. I will." It caused a visible ripple of relief. I was mindboggling. "Thing is… This time I don't intend for the party to take place in The Shire."

There was silence. "What?" Old Proudfoot yelled. "Why not?"

Bilbo Baggins raised an eyebrow, reached out and pointed. "That's why."

As one, everyone twisted or craned their necks to look at the newest-looking building in Bywater, which also happened to be the tallest. Thorin found himself doing the same and recognized it as the "Big Folk Wing" of The Green Dragon Inn. It stood by the main road, just outside the entrance to the market square, and was perfectly visible from there.

"Mister Cotton!" Bilbo's voice drew them back to the matter at hand.

The Innkeeper was leaning against the fence close enough to the "stage" to hear fine but far enough to also see Bilbo without having to twist his neck upwards. "Aye?"

"How many patrons does that building currently have?"

"One," the plump Hobbit bit from his apple and chewed for a bit. "Although since Master Gandalf's more your guest than mine, I s'pose 'none' is just as right."

"Exactly!"

Beside him, Dwalin shook his head in amazement and muttered. "Oh, here we go again."

The Master of Bag End began to pace on the roof of the stall he was on. "Six years it has been since that building was erected. Six years and we only ever had a handful of our brave protectors dropping by to take advantage of the complimentary hospitality we ever so hospitably offered!" He sounded positively peeved as he paced back and forth. Thorin was shocked by one word. Complimentary? Did that mean Hobbits provided the Rangers with free lodgings and service? "Six years and we only ever had a dozen of them passing through the Shire instead of going around it, through fog and rain. Even though taking the direct path between the Ruins of Annúminas and the Far Downs would shave three days off the trip. Three days!"

A wave of assenting murmurs and mutters washed through the assembled populace.

"It would not have been so odd if, say, the Rangers shifted their patrols to focus more around the northern border and the Brandywine river to the west. But if that was the case, the fine Hobbit establishments of Nobottle and Buckland would have been put to good use instead, and they have not! I checked! And wouldn't you know it, Harcot and Springdell in South Farthing informed me of the same! Now what does that tell us?"

Instead of piping up with answers, everyone just waited for Bilbo Baggins to get to the heart of the matter.

"It means…" Bilbo narrowed his eyes and sternly gazed down at the crowd. "It means that the Dúnedain Rangers still aren't comfortable passing through The Shire." Thorin could almost hear the weight dropping in the stomachs of everyone present with a figurative plop. "Now why would that be the case, I wonder…"

Hobbits shifted uncomfortably.

"I bet it's them Sackville-Bagginses," someone muttered. "'S'just our luck that they live in The Far Downs, right where the southern path turns around. I'll bet them big folk made the mistake of taking the Sackville-Hardbottle path once when finishing their patrol and knew better than to make the same mistake again, with how rude and gossipy the folk is down those parts." The quiet had become all the deeper the more he spoke. The grey-haired Halfling realized he was the center of attention and ducked his head in embarrassment, but managed to peer up at Bilbo. "'Sorry. No offense, Mister Bilbo, I know they're your family an' all but it's true."

"None taken," Bilbo waved the issue. "And I may as well lay your fears to rest. That's not the reason. I had the possibility investigated a couple of months back. Besides, Sackville is a small town to the southwest, hardly capable of influencing the appeal of all other paths."

Thorin narrowed his eyes at the choice of words. Had the possibility investigated. That implied he had human resources he could call on to do it for him. Or, well, Halfling resources.

"Beats us, then," The innkeeper said then. "Earth knows we've all been itching to see more of'em ever since you were kind enough to clear up the whole misunderstanding about'em defending our borders an'all." He scratched his cheek. "My daughter Petunia used to have all these nasty suspicions from when she spotted them during her patrols up North, but now she's mooning over'em whenever they come by, as rare as it is. I'm half-scared she'll try to elope with one someday."

Thorin had to tighten his jaw to avoid scoffing. That'll be the day. Imagine, a Halfling wed to a descendant of Númenor. He'd never heard something more ridiculous.

Most of the crowd did laugh though.

"And that is where the problem lies," Bilbo's voice rung again as his pacing resumed. "We've made it clear that they are welcome here. We've made it clear that we would like to have them over as often as possible. And we made it abundantly clear that we're straightforward folk who speak our mind, which means we meant every word when we said all that. So, by all accounts, there is no reason they would still avoid coming into The Shire. That leaves two possible explanations."

Thorin had no idea what Bilbo was getting to, but unfortunately he didn't see any way to cross the Halfling sea to where his Dwarves were, all the way on the other side. Most seemed just as enraptured by the spectacle, though some were multitasking and… was Bofur carving a wooden toy for that tiny creature? Oh wait, even he stopped to pay more attention.

"One!" Bilbo stopped pacing and held up one finger. "They don't think we're worth their time." Frowns and head tilts, but no ire. "Which is impossible." Ah, so that was why. "After all, if we were not worth their time they would not dedicate pretty much their entire lives to protecting us from the creatures of the dark. They would not do it now and would not have done it during all the centuries since the fall of the kingdom of Arthedain. So that leaves one other option, which, unfortunately, is worse."

Everyone seemed to hold their breath, and even old Proudfoot was sitting on the edge of his seat. And though he didn't realize it, Thorin was anticipating the answer too.

And then it came. "It means… that our dear Dúnedain defenders think they can have a merrier time without us." It was completely against logic, but that conclusion really did seem to cause a storm cloud of annoyance and depression to fall over the ones assembled. Thorin didn't get it. How in Mahal's forge fire was that worse? "And we all know that that notion is completely, patently absurd!"

"Damn straight!"

"Them big folk must be too close to the sky, they're getting addled by all the wind and sun in their hair."

"The nerve!"

And so went the grumblings of the Halfling population. Thorin found he could do naught but blink dumbly at the bizarre spectacle.

"And so I say that this cannot stand!" Bilbo shouted over the din, sweeping his arm in a flourish. "To think more merriment can be had in our absence! Ridiculous! Everyone knows that there are none who know how to have a better time that The Good Folk of The Shire! And so, tomorrow I will depart, by myself if I have to, and show them the error of their ways! Show them the Truth that none but Hobbits know the meaning of a true party!"

The crowd went insane, as if their Maker himself had descended from the sky on a diamond chariot studded with stars. Thorin blinked, then did it again, several times, so stupefied by how surreal the scene was that he was wondering if he'd actually passed out at some point in the night. Maybe everything from before first tune onwards was actually an elaborate nightmare.

He bit his cheek enough to draw blood, but nothing happened. Nothing that made any more sense. So it was real. It almost made him despair. It proved once again that Hobbits definitely had a different view of life than dwarves, and that it was the kindest thing he could find to say or even think about them. Not that Thorin spared enough thought to that realization. He was too busy wondering who the hell the "everyone" was that knew that only Hobbits knew how to throw a party.

Dwarves were the ones that threw unrivalled feasts, thank you very much!

Eventually, the uproar calmed and Bilbo Baggins could speak again. "So that's why I said I wasn't sure about the attendance-"

"As if!" One shouted. "Ye're nuts if you think we'll miss it! Why, imagine, when we show up there… the look on their faces alone! It's bound to be priceless!"

About a dozen agreements came before another hobbit had this to say. "Besides, you can't think you can drag all the party supplies on yer own, lad! The trip'll take days! Why, you'll need things to carry them in! Ponies even!" It somehow made a hush fall over the assembled multitude.

"Excellent!" Bilbo grinned. "Then if we go, we go in force! Ready the carts and load up the clay ovens! And make sure to bring the strongest and tamest animals you've got. Bring sacks of corn and rye while you're at it. The Rangers' horses deserve a treat too. Don't they?"

"Aye!"

"Aye indeed!" Bilbo echoed his kinsman, and the enthusiasm rippled, echoed on itself and only grew from that further and higher. "If they go out of their way to refuse our hospitality then we'll drag our hospitality to them! Especially if we find out they did it out of some misguided sense of propriety. For we are Hobbits, and Hobbits don't stand for such nonsense!" The outcry was massive, as if their maker had enacted the Second Coming. "So let us waste no time!" Bilbo did not yell, but his voice carried over the uproar anyway. "The day is half-way done! Load up the ovens and ready the carts, for tomorrow!" Instantly one hand was on his hip and the other had a finger pointing at the sun above. "We leave for Sarn Ford!"

Thorin forgot to blink for a good five minutes. He only stopped when the revived chaos of the market somehow caused a speck of dirt to fly unerringly into his left eyeball and made him swear hard enough to leave even the crassest miners stunned. It had been bad enough that his eye started tearing. The only mercy he got for that was that only Gandalf and Dwalin saw it. His gruff but oddly vindicated old friend moved closer to hand over a patch of cloth.

All the while, the wizard laughed.

Everything that had happened would have been enough to leave a lesser dwarf shell-shocked, but Thorin was not a lesser dwarf. It was close, but his self-defined, majestic flair withstood the siege he was subjected to by the forces of Halfling unconventionalism.

So of course there would be more to come. There always was. "Umm…. Mister Bilbo, sir!" A Hobbit lad asked shyly from where he'd walked right at the foot of the stall roof where the not-burglar now sat, one leg swung over the edge. "How many carts will there be exactly? My brother's the one that minds the cattle this week." He rushed to explain. "I wanted to know how many oxen I should tell him to herd back from the pastures."

"All of them."

Somehow, that made the entire marketplace freeze.

"All of them, mister Bilbo?"

"Aye," the Hobbit grinned. "And the rams too… After all…" With surprising grace, he stood to his feet again and leaned on one foot, gaze roaming over the entire market, not even stopping to acknowledge the two errant dwarves staring at him. He stopped, instead, when he locked eyes with the middle-aged meat vendor. After a few seconds, he turned his attention to the fingernails he was polishing against his waistcoat. "We'll need them because I am hereby buying everything you have."

There was silence.

It was like everything had gone still, like in a painting. A swallow flew by, then made a U-turn and circled the scene from above, several times, as if trying to figure out if it was real. Finding inconclusive results, it went on its way before it had to think about it too much.

Thorin couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe how envious he was on behalf of his own people, for not having had something like this ever happen to them after Smaug the Terrible. It was the sort of miracle that only happened once in a century to those that depended on selling what they produced to survive. So one could excuse the effects that what happened next inflicted upon the dwarf king.

The meat vendor gasped and stood, horrified. "You can't! We won't have it!"

Thorin's jaw dropped so far that Dwalin recoiled in surprise.

Bilbo looked and sounded so crestfallen. "You… you refuse to sell to me?"

"Yes! No!" The man sounded so pained. "Bilbo… Lad, you can't…" He was so flustered but also so pale. Then he breathed in and his look became determined. "We won't have it! Not after what happened last time!"

"But…" Bilbo either felt like someone had kicked his puppy or really was that good an actor. "But I paid what I owed-"

"And most of the food ended up in our bellies!" The meat vendor stuck a finger at him. "And the leftovers only went back to our larders because you left on your adventure the same day so there was nothing else we could do with them but take them back! And you only bought a fifth of the market then. Well I for one won't have it happen again! It was shameful that we allowed it last time! It's basically the same as paying us to attend!"

Bilbo's dejected façade turned into a mulishly stubborn one. "Well, I've made my claim! I'm buying everything and you can't stop me!"

"Yes we can!" Various other hobbits nodded and crossed their arms. "Even if we have to outbid you to do it!"

Thorin was… he didn't know… What was this he didn't even…

Bilbo frowned, then a smile slowly, slowly overtook his face, even as his head dipped forward, casting a faint shadow over his eyes. "Well then." Without warning, he hopped off the roof and landed lightly on the ground, facing the older but just as determined meat vendor. "Challenge accepted!"

The tension was thick in the air. The standoff was strained, and the meat vendor's fingers twitched at his side, unnerved by Bilbo's easy countenance but unwilling to give in. For one whole minute they stayed that way, ramrod straight and refusing to blink.

Then the apothecary, who had the most valuable merchandise and who'd been turning his head from one star Hobbit to the other, sighed and sat back in his seat behind the stall. "Well, count me out of your competition because I've just decided to donate everything on my stall to the cause."

Thorin tripped on an empty bucket he did not know was behind him and fell on his backside.

Across the market square, Bilbo Baggins slumped.

Bilbo Baggins and palmed his face, then rolled his eyes and turned his exasperation on the totally unruffled concoction and salve maker that had started it all. "Now that was just unfair!"

Thorin would have seen the odd glint in the eyes of the sure-fingered man, even from that distance, if he wasn't too busy being sprawled on the ground and groaning away the pain in his back.

As it was, he only heard the response. "All's fair in love and war, my lad."

The dwarf king was about ready to let Dwalin help him up when, on their side of the square, Old Proudfoot the cereal and flour stall holder puffed his pipe. "That's actually not a bad idea. Methinks I'll be doing the same. Doubt I'd have enough time to hammer out the books by tomorrow anyhow."

All fight left Thorin's body and he slumped on himself with a sigh. "That's it. I'm done."

Halflings were just so backwards.