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It all began late in the afternoon, on the first day of the Erebor Quest. And oddly, the first one in The Company to notice was the last one anyone would expect to notice.
“Hey! Fili!” Kili whispered, leaning towards his brother and smacking the blond Dwarf on the nearest shoulder. “Look!”
Fili, annoyed, glared at his brother, whispered back, “Look at what?”
Kili nodded towards Fili’s other side and whispered, “Mister Boggins!”
Fili rolled his eyes. “Its Baggins, you dope, and what about him?”
Kili gave his brother a pointed look. “Just look!”
Fili sighed and looked over at their Hobbit burglar. Bilbo Baggins was sitting quietly, not talking, simply swaying from side to side with the gentle stride of his pony. The Hobbit wasn’t doing anything that Fili noticed; at least nothing that warranted any notice. In fact, the Hobbit almost seemed like was sleeping with his eyes open.
Fili turned back to Kili, whispering, “He’s just sitting there. So?”
Kili pulled a face and whispered back, annoyed now himself. “Look at what he’s doing!”
Fili again turned to look at Bilbo and still did not understand what … Mahal’s beard! Fili was suddenly all attention
Bilbo was, almost absentmindedly, braiding his pony’s mane. And it was not the first braid the Hobbit had done; from Crown to shoulder, Bibo had braided the pony’s Crest, and had already done a few other braids in the animal’s mane. Most were simply, slim, traditional three strand braids; although the one along the Crest was a lovely four stranded one. All where beautiful, skillfully done and ended in bows of twine and or Acorn caps as beads. They were perfect!
“Where the hell he’d learn to do those?!” Fili whispered, looking back at Kili. It wasn’t like Bilbo had enough hair to even think of braiding, nor did Fili recall if Hobbits braided hair. Not like Dwarrow.
Kili just shrugged and both young princes watched Bilbo finish the braid he was working on and then, almost unconsciously, start a new one.
---oooOOO888OOOooo---
It wasn’t long before a few others notice.
“Bombur,” Bofur asked softly. “Ya see what our Hobbit’s gone and done?”
Bombur looked over and his eyes widened a bit, nodded.
“Where’ya think he picked that up?”
Bombur shook his head and shrugged. Both brothers were quite taken with watching Bilbo work his pony’s mane into different size braids; some slim, some thick, some three strand, some four. Why, Bilbo had even done a fine five stranded one.
<Nice those>, Bifur said in Khuz-dul as he too had noticed. <Well done.>
Bofur and Bombur nodded in agreement.
---oooOOO888OOOooo---
After the Ur’s, it was the Ri brothers that noticed next.
“Do you think someone taught him?” Ori said quietly to his brothers.
“Clearly,” Dori said, “But whom?”
“Maybe a traveling Dwarrow?” Ori suggested.
“Are you daft?” Nori replied. “You think some dodgy Dwarf, just sat down and taught a Hobbit how to braid hair?!” Nori shook his head at the idea. “Not likely.” Nori thought about it for a second, then added, “He’s giving Dori a run for his money, make no mistake.”
Ori nodded; Dori was one of the finest braiders in all the Blue Mountains, but Bilbo was indeed equal in skill. Even Dori didn’t say a word to argue.
“I have to wonder,” Dori said, “why he’d even need to braid?”
“Because he has short hair,” Ori stated.
Dori shook his head. “No, I mean, some of those braids are terribly close to courting braids, if you ask me.”
None of the Ri brothers commented on that, but they were all certainly thinking about it.
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By the time the company made camp that first evening, every Dwarf had noticed.
“He’s quite good,” Balin commented, as he stood off to one side with Gandalf, Dwalin, and Thorin to plan for the next-day’s ride.
The four Dwarves watched as Bilbo brushed down Myrtle, as he’d named his pony, and gazed upon Bilbo’s handywork; almost a quarter of Myrtle’s mane had been done up in braids of all sizes and complexity; they were impressive.
Dwalin agreed with his brother. “Who knew he had such skills.”
Gandalf said, a gentle smile on his face, “He has more talents than most give him credit for.”
“That’s more than talent,” Balin said in return. “He’d put many Dwarrow to shame with those braids.”
Thorin huffed out a grated sigh. “Can we talk of … something … anything … other than Mister Baggins’ braids?” He’d listen to talk from his nephews and cousins enough on the subject and now seemed strangely annoyed. Grumpier then usual, one might say.
Dwalin, naturally, ignored Thorin’s directive, and asked, “Why would he need to even know how to braid?!” He tilted his head like a dog trying to understand Elvish.
“Why, indeed,” Gandalf said softly.
“Does it really matter?!” Thorin growled.
“I can only think of one reason,” Balin stated
“What?” Dwalin asked.
“I’m curious,” Gandalf said, clearly amused.
Balin gave his brother and the wizard a pointed look. “Isn’t it obvious?” When Dwalin shrug and Gandalf merely smiled, Balin answered, “He must have a young lass back home.”
“You think?!” Dwalin said, looking perplexed.
Balin nodded.
“Who knows,” Gandalf added.
“But …” Thorin started, as Balin’s comment had snagged his attention. “He … he never said anything about … you know … a … young woman.”
“Maybe more than one,” Balin said offhandedly.
“What?!” Thorin barked.
Balin continued. “Hence why he knows how to braid so well; multiple chances to practice.”
Dwalin looked impressed. “That cheeky beggar!”
“Yes, all right!” Thorin snapped.
Gandalf chuckled. “Bilbo is quite … desirable. Though, he is unaware of it.”
Thorin slowly turned a scowling expression to the grey-haired old man. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Gandalf drew a deep draw from his pipe, then released a perfect smoke ring. “Knowing Hobbits as I do, Bilbo Baggins is most eligible. He is well off but not snobbish. He is respectable and proper but not condescending. He has good taste but is not lavish. He likes fine things, of course, but is still very practical. And when it comes to relations with others, he is thoughtful and considerate but is no fool; not one to have the wool pulled over his eyes. He sees both sides of an argument and makes the choice that is most fair, rather than the most emotional. To most people, he is perfect for a life-long companion, though he does not think these things of himself.”
Thorin stuffed his hands in his pocket and turned away from the others, busying himself with the maps, and snarled, “Let us get back to the business of the journey, shall we!”
Balin and Dwalin nodded and started to lay out ideas for the next day. Gandalf, however, merely sat smoking and smiling to himself.
---oooOOO888OOOooo---
By the time the company reached Bree some four days later, sweet Myrtle had no more mane to braid; Bilbo had done it all. Over the previous few days, Bilbo had collected acorns, small stones, and even a few bones of some unfortunate tiny creature, to use as beads for the end of the braids. A few times he’d even braided in an ivy vine into a braid so that here and there were ivy leaves dotting the pony’s braided mane.
If the pony minded, she gave no indication. In fact, she seemed quite pleased having Bilbo pay her so much attention. Of course, that fact that Bilbo would occasionally slip her a small apple or a wild carrot didn’t hurt either.
Despite the company’s observations of Bilbo’s skills, none dared bring it up. Talking of braids, at least to Dwarrow, was nearly as inappropriate as asking someone what they did in the bedroom with a partner.
That didn’t mean that they didn’t talk among themselves. Balin’s personal assertions to Bilbo’s multiple romantic proclivities had divided the company. Half thought the many-partner theory was right; how else could one explain Bilbo’s expertise of so many varied types of braids? However, the other half of the group disputed that; Bilbo was a Gentlehobbit and, more likely, had been dating one lass for a long time, thus giving him plenty of opportunity to practice all the braids in his attempts to impress her.
Thorin, on the other hand, refused to engage in the debate, on either side, and grew irritated and irate with each overheard discussion; he would hear none of it.
But as they sat down to dinner in the Prancing Pony, it all came to a head.
“So …” Kili said quietly, licking his lips, and asked Bilbo, “You seem quite good at braids, Master Hobbit.”
Everyone at the table either pretend not to listen or slowed in their eating to better hear.
“Why thank you,” Bilbo said, happily munching on his bread and cheese. “I’ve had lots of practice.”
“Have you, now,” Fili said, looking over at some of his companions, whose looks urged the brothers on; all were eager to hear more.
Bilbo nodded, oblivious. “I’ve been doing them since I was a small lad.”
Gloin, Dori, and Bombur all nearly choked, and Ori coughed as he had just swallowed a spoonful of soup. The rest were wide-eyed.
“A small lad!” Dwalin said, not even trying to hide his amazement.
Bilbo nodded, completely unfazed.
“That’s … amazing,” Nori said, bestowing the Hobbit with an impressive look.
“Goodness, Mister Baggins,” Ori said, shocked. “I had no idea that … Hobbits did such things so young!”
“My mother taught me,” Bilbo said casually.
Everyone sat up straight at that, and Ori was incredulous. “Your mother?!”
Bilbo smiled. “Yes, I used to decorate her pies.”
There was dead silence for a few long seconds before quiet confusion spread around the table. “Pies?” “Did he say pies?” “What does he mean by pies?” “Is it code?” “Maybe slang?” “Does ‘pies’ mean something else to Hobbits?” Even Oin shook his ear trump and said, “Who lies?”
But Thorin, who had sat grumpily silent next to Bilbo, asked softly, “What do you mean?”
Bilbo’s turned a pale pink and he said, sheepishly, “My … my mother was a champion pie baker. And even as a fauntling, I loved sitting in the kitchen and watching her make them. She taught me to braid extra dough to decorate the edge of the pie. As I got better, I made more and more elaborate braids; I even used to make braids for the lattice covered pies, rather than plain strips of dough. Eventually, my mother had me make braided breads as well for Yule and other holidays, or to give as gifts.”
Everyone sat frozen and unmoving, while Thorin sat back, his mouth slight gaped.
“Did I say something wrong?” Bilbo asked as he began to grow concerned.
“Baked goods,” Thorin said, staring at the table in front of him. “He braided … baked goods.”
“That’s it?” Kili asked to no one.
“Pie crust,” Fili said quietly.
“You’ve got to be joking,” Nori said, unbelieving.
“What the hell?” Dwalin said, looking at Balin who just shrugged.
“What’s the matter?” Bilbo asked, now very concerned. “What did you all think?”
Balin spoke up. “So, you have no young lady waiting for you back home?”
“Young lady?” Bilbo laughed nervously. “Goodness no!”
“You could have,” Thorin said, softly.
Bilbo’s face reddened, and even his ears turned pink, and he gave Thorin a strange, sad sort of smile. “Not me. I’m … I’m just a confirmed old bachelor.”
Thorin smiled gently. “You are hardly old, Master Baggins.”
“Maybe not,” Bilbo said, avoiding everyone’s gaze. “But, I doubt I will ever marry, or … or have a relationship.”
Thorin almost whispered, “Why would you say such a thing?”
Bilbo shrugged. “I’m … rather odd and … all … by any normal Hobbit standard. I have no desire for a … wife or family … as such.” He turned to look at Thorin and said quietly, “I’m looking for … for someone like me. And I very much doubt that … they … will be found there.”
Thorin held Bilbo’s look for a few long moments, as something unsaid but understood passed between them.
Then someone broke the moment.
“Oh!” Bofur said, slapping the table. “You mean you’d fancy another blok—”
“Privacy!” Thorin said, slamming his fist on the table and making the plates and utensils rattle. “He deserves privacy!” Thorin looked back at Bilbo. “Forgive us, Master Baggins. Many of the braids you made were very similar to courting and intimate braiding done by Dwarves, and we jumped to inappropriate assumptions. We offer you sincere and humble apologies.” Thorin glared at the others around the table. “Do we not?!”
Every Dwarf nodded and offered their own atonement, which Bilbo graciously accepted.
Bilbo stood and gave the table a quick look. “Well, I’m off to bed. Early to rise and all.”
“Good night, Master Baggins,” Thorin offered softly, as everyone else said much the same.
Bilbo gave Thorin a quick smile and then departed. The table was silent for a minute, until Bilbo had vanished up the stairs.
“So …” Bofur said with a twinkle in his eye. “I wonder which bloke will make the first claim?” The others snickered at that.
Save for one.
Thorin’s fist hit the table again. “I said he deserves privacy and I meant it.” Thorin rose from the table. “And as he set the example, I suggest it would be a good idea for us all to get to bed as we have an early morning.” With that he stomped off and up the stairs as well.
Again, silence settled on the table, until Bofur said quietly, “I guess the question of claiming has been answered.” Once more, there were chuckles from the company, but they all got up and took Thorin’s words as a directive and headed to their assigned rooms.
Yet, Gandalf remained sitting, puffing on his pipe, and smiling to himself; his little seed has taken root.
Gandalf thought back to the first day when he rode next to Bilbo, and the Hobbit had asked him, ‘What does one do on the back of a pony all day?’ Gandalf had replied, ‘One could read a book, or chat, or even observe the scenery.’ Gandalf then looked at Thorin’s back and an idea came to him. ‘Of course, I remember a young fauntling who used to braid dough and bread for hours while his mother baked.’ Bilbo had smiled and nodded. ‘Oh, yes. Those were happy times.’ Gandalf nodded as well, adding, ‘Good skill to keep up with … braiding. One never knows when it will come in handy. Even out here in the wild.’ Bilbo had nodded again and Gandalf slowed his pony to trod behind Bilbo. Then, as Gandalf had hoped, Bilbo began to braid his pony’s mane. Gandalf had thought how much Thorin needed someone to ease his troubled heart and maybe … braid his hair.
Gandalf sat now in the noisy inn, puffing and smiling at what a good match Bilbo and Thorin would be, and thought, Skillfully done, old man. Skillfully done.