Chapter Text
It had been very difficult at the start, for Dwarves (ahem, Dwarrow) were incredibly different to Hobbits for all their kinship in matters of height.
Although, in Bilbo's defense, Gandalf ought to bear the brunt of this whole mess. Him and the whole business of "adventures". The Wizard had long since mastered the art of making miscommunication fall in his favor.
Bother and confusticate him, the wretch.
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Bilbo had initially been terrified when the first dwarf (Du-all-in??) had knocked on his door during dinner. And then the second, apparently a brother to the first, (Ball-in?) had shown up. A polite enough sort, but the strange greeting exchanged by his two Dwarrow guests (are they still guests if you've not invited them? Intruders seems too harsh a term....) fairly rattled his Hobbitish sensibilities. What few he actually had anyhow.
And then two more Dwarrow knocked, reminding him fiercely of his mother's kin and all the mischief that entailed. He wasn't certain it would manifest the same in Dwarrow rather than fauntlings, but these two (feely, and keyly?) had plenty of energy and no place to put it. Bilbo made a mental note to stow away the breakables.
But before he has the chance to do anything about the heirlooms on display, he was suddenly dealing with an armful of knives and swords and blades of various shape, size, and metal.
"Careful. Just had them sharpened."
Oh goody.
"Nice place you've got here."
Is he...? "THAT'S my mother's glorybox!" With an irate huff he dumped the swords to scatter on his polished floor, and he stomped over to shove the darker Dwarrow from the treasured item. "It is not a bootscrape!"
The first two Dwarrow had joined the three already in the hall to see what all the fuss was about.
"Aye, Kílí-lad, you know better than to muck up another's belongings," said the shortest dwarf. "Help our host tidy up your mess now lad, wouldn't do to have tainted his mother's.... What did you call it, Master Baggins?"
Bilbo sighed as he supervised the dwarf named Kílí very carefully. "A glorybox; it's where my mother kept all the gifts my sire gave her during their courting."
All four Dwarrow seemed to deflate a touch at the news and Dwalin chided the youngest, "Aye, Kílí, make sure it is in pristine shape; it's not right to damage the courting gifts of a couple, no matter the race."
"I didn't mean to damage it! It looks just like the bootscrape Amad has! And I'm cleaning it, don't you fret, Master Boggins!! It'll be good as gold by the time I'm done!" And with that statement, the youngling bent to his task with renewed vigor.
The blonde dwarf who had arrived with him moved to help him. Balin made his way to their host. "I'm assuming that was the pictures of your Mother and Sire on the mantle, laddie? Will they be joining us tonight?"
Bilbo flushed. "No. I... That's my mother and father. They died... My father last winter and my mother the winter before."
A long stretch of silence filled the hall, before the youngest dwarves began working with greater effort. Then there was a series of heavy knocks from the front door.
"Oh, I didn't mean to... You've my condolences lad. I'll make certain the boys do a fine job of the work. Why don't you go on and get the door?"
And so, to avoid further discussion of the uncomfortable topic, Bilbo made his way to the door and pulled it open. Only to be buried under a mountain of dwarves.