"-. .-"
Bilbo watched the barrow-wight flutter like a sibilant curtain when Kili crested the hill, only to draw back when it was touched by the light the dwarf emitted in the unseen world. Like the magma glow it evoked, his light singed the dark specter. It was a light he didn't emanate when they'd last seen each other in Sarn Ford, but the core of his nature was the same. The same impervious gem faceted specifically so it directed all light and shadow alike inwards, but whose secret fire was now just a bit too large to fit all inside.
Soon, the wight fled back into the drab mists of the Barrow-Downs, to return to the petty tomb it was tasked to guard. Bilbo collected his things and then he and the dwarf set off on the trip back to Tom's house, neither saying a word.
The naked claymore was left behind where it was. Leaving the better half of the necromantic magic's anchor where Bilbo could use it in the future was just good sense. If the wight could make itself strong enough to physically haul it back so far from its barrow, it would have done it years ago.
It was only when Bungo Baggins' distant, drawling tunes became once again recognizable as a song that Kili finally spoke up.
"That thing felt wrong. And it looked wrong."
"What did it look like?"
"It's not the same to everyone?"
"I don't know, Tom's not one for plain descriptions and I've not had anyone else to ask."
Kili seemed disbelieving at something, but he didn't ask… whatever it was that had passed through his head. "I saw a shadow with a pale, icy light gleaming from what would be its eyes. Its voice was deep, hollow and cold. Just sharing the same air felt like I was trying to breathe ice."
"Yes, that's what it's like for me as well."
"You handled it better than I would have, that's for sure," Kili muttered. He was probably wrong about that. "What exactly was that thing anyway?"
"A man's spirit denied rest by his dark master," Bilbo replied. "He was of Númenórë once, but then he followed the rest of the mindless crowd into worshipping Morgoth at Sauron's behest. They've been slaves ever since, used by the Dark Lord and his minions to inflict all manner of terrors and torments on the remnants of the free peoples. The Witch-King of Angmar sent these ones here, to the Barrow-downs, in order to prevent the resurrection of the destroyed Dúnedain kingdom of Cardolan. The barrows here aren't just tombs, they're also treasure stashes. Gold, jewels, artefacts, weapons and other things."
"Everything you might need for a second founding. Or rebellion." Kili's thoughtful hum turned into an incredulous stare. "By Mahal's pickaxe, how did you get them to talk to you, never mind… teach you things?"
"Not them, just the one. Not all traitors are made equal. The greatest of the wights abide in the sepulcher of the last prince of Cardolan, and I was only ever there once, with Tom. This one, well, he's even weaker and more cowardly in death than he was in life. We matched fëa against fëa and he lost."
It had been his best musical improvisation up to that point, if Bilbo did say so himself.
Judging by Kili's face, though, that wasn't enough for the good dwarrow.
Bilbo grinned. "Of all the fell spirits here, that one was among the more skeptical about betraying the realm of Westernesse when alive, but it still did so because it was vaguely uncomfortable with the idea of disagreeing with the rest of the cult. Now, in undeath, it betrays its equally shackled kin and distant master just as readily, simply because the consequences threatened and demonstrated by us busybodies next door are closer. More immediate."
The dwarrow prince seemed most put off. "What could anyone possibly do to coerce a creature like that?"
"Make them remember." Bilbo tapped the strap of the fiddle hanging from his shoulder. "Songs can bring up any number of feelings in listeners. Emotions, memories, dreams, aspirations, memories of dreams and aspirations. With enough practice and heart put in, you can even affect others in more profound ways."
"I suppose you certainly can," the dwarf muttered.
"A mindless sycophant handles it very poorly indeed, when he is forced to recognize his foolishness. Then, too, it suffers when made to remember the time in the past when he was worth something. Such a wretch as that will do nigh everything, offer whatever prize you want in exchange for being allowed to retreat back into the mercy of mindless oblivion. The cowardly and self-deluded do not handle self-reflection well, and self-loathing even less."
"So it's like being blackout drunk all the time, except then you come along and sing it sober, which gives it the most horrid hangover of its life – unlife, whatever." Kili explained in the characteristic dwarrow manner. "Spiritually."
Bilbo laughed. "Yes, I learn foreign tongues and affect all manner of mischief by giving evil spirits hangovers, certainly, why not?"
Bilbo liked to think the creature remembered something of its eminently superior condition during the time of Numenor, and that it always succumbed to his binding incantations at least in some part voluntarily. Perhaps in some secret bid to defy its dark masters like it had never dared before. To cast fort into the world at least some echo of the Isle of Elenna and its denizens, when they were still noble and alive.
The hobbit wasn't going to hold his breath though.
He also had to find some other wording for that. These days he could hold his breath for as long as he could stretch a note, which was actually a fair chunk of time.
"Bilbo!" came his father's relieved cry from ahead. The older hobbit shouldered his lute and rushed to the very edge of the boundary where he proceeded to wring his hands impatiently. "Lad, would it kill you not to go on a megrim when I least like it? It's not as if we get much time together! Let a father have some time with his son, even if it's the most flighty, self-absorbed and selfish son that ever was!"
"What's that now?" Bilbo said blandly as he and Kili finally passed back into the undisputed part of Tom's domain. "Is that – ooph!" He grunted at his father's enthusiastic hug. "Is that lies I hear? For shame, dad, honestly!"
"Goodness me, to be slandered by my own blood!" Bungo let go with a groan most dramatic. "See if I give you your parting gift now, you grasslark!"
"That's definitely a lie," Bilbo said mildly, setting for Tom's home in lockstep with his dad, while Kili trailed behind. "The odds are poor indeed, that you'll keep anything back when there's a good chance this lot will get me killed and you'll never see me again."
"Don't try me," Bungo harrumphed. Any overt fear at that dreadful possibility was kept unvoiced and unseen. It was that same old practicality which had seen the older hobbit build his wife a home with her own money. For part of it, anyway. Bag End had been more than even a Took dowry could cover on its own.
Bungo looked back over his shoulder. "A fine work corralling him for me, Master Kili. I'd say I'm in your debt, but you and yours are going to be leaving this place far better off than I'll be left in the parting, so my thanks is all you're getting."
"I didn't actually do anything," Kili sad modestly. "The Barrow-wight just left and then we walked back."
"A Barrow-wight?! Again!" Bungo balked. "Bilbo, must you? Why do you do this to your poor, woebegone old man!"
"Oh come off it, I didn't do it to you," Bilbo scoffed primly. "I did it to me, you just insist on becoming self-inflicted emotional collateral every time."
"You see? This is what I have to deal with!" Bungo complained to Kili. "Take a good look at what he puts me through, lad, because you're all next."
Now that was neither fine nor dander! "Now see here!"
Bilbo and Bungo bickered all the way back to Tom's kitchen-garden. It was a grand old time, Bilbo wished they could do it more often. Or at least for longer. Alas, it took a lot of thinking time to come up with material good enough to use in contests of caterwauling, even with months and years between them depending on how Tom's time stretched. There were only so many put-upons even the most accomplished of wordsmiths could fletch for his quiver of kvetching, especially when propriety demanded no repeat performances.
Truly, the trials of a gentlehobbit's life had no end.
When they arrived, there was no one to greet them except little Roverandom, who ran over to bark and babble, hopping on his hindlegs while gesticulating wildly with his forelimbs. The frustrated dog then tugged on their bootstraps to follow him to the other side of the property, blabbering all the while in a vain attempt to make Kili understand that he really should hurry up already, there's dwarves crying afoot and it's all his fault, it's not every day that a lackwit regains his wits you know, you gotta come see, you just gotta, tell him Bilbo, Bungo make Bilbo tell him, just tell the silly dwarf already why don't you, you just gotta!
"What happened to him?" Kili worriedly whispered to Bilbo when the dog began running ahead and back in impatient distress at their pace. "I can almost understand him now, somehow, and he's – he wasn't like this last night, he's mucky and – and purple!"
"Don't worry about it," Bilbo waved. "He just took a dive in Tom's wine again, he'll be back to normal by tomorrow. Well…" Bilbo eyed the dog skeptically. "The purple in his fur might take a while to fade, and there'll be a tad more bravery in him than usual for a spell. He might be prone to gesticulating helplessly like a two-legged for the while, when something startles him, but he'll be fine."
"Who cares about him, I'm more worried about us, did you see his jaw strength? He just crushed that pebble between his teeth!"
"He only did that because he's stressed."
"If that's him afraid, I don't want to see what courage looks like."
"Wait till you see him in a boat."
That was when they turned the hill and saw the others gathered around the whole, hale and exasperated form of the one dwarf who'd been absent since the Willow-man.
"There he is now, the little nitwit!" Yelled the voice that had never more than muttered in dwarven before.
Kili came to a sudden, open-mouthed halt at hearing and seeing Bifur holler at him. In Westron.
"You nitwit, you left me!" Bifur stormed over in their direction, yelling the whole time. "You just left me, you dragged my halfwit arse through half the forest only to dump me on the banks of a lake of fire and just left me, you just left me there for my skull to melt all over my brain like an overstuffed smelter, the sod did you do that for?!"
Kili stared in shock at the elder Ur bother. At the dwarf's face. The dwarf's forehead that had no axe stuck in it. Not even traces of it. There wasn't even a scar.
"Don't you just stand and stare there, you can't fool me! There's only one lackwit in this company and it ain't you!"
"Well you's not a lackwit either no more!" Bofur blubbered over where he was sobbing big, fat, happy tears in his hat. "You was but now you's not!"
"I ain't talking 'bout me!" Bifur turned abruptly from his Kili-aimed stampede to snap back. "Forgesmith's beard, you've turned into a complete crybaby since I got axed, what'll mam say?"
"She'll be cryin' into this 'ere hat wimme an' you know it!" Bofur bawled.
"Oh get a hold o' yourself," the fat Bombur snapped as if his own red eyes hadn't dug deep trenches down his flabby cheeks. He was also making a fair bid at emptying their travel rations with his stress-eating. "You're just embarrassin' us both!"
"All three of us, Maker, at least Bofur can still count, and people wonder who I mean when-!" Bifur pinched his nose. "How you two made it so long without being eaten by a troll, I haven't the foggiest."
Bilbo leaned towards Kili. "Rather gruff dwarrow that one, can't blame you for leaving him behind."
"What are you two even talking about?" Kili erupted, which had the unfortunate effect of reminding Bifur that he was supposed to be on a squall. "No! Don't you start with me! The last time I saw you, you got tossed in the lake! Only you never showed back up!"
"And who's fault is that?!"
Bilbo discreetly backed away once the confused argument was properly underway. Not because he was afraid, but because it wasn't his place to get involved.
No, really.
Also, Kili didn't seem to realize that his gone-a-wandering of the day before hadn't, in fact, been just a dying delusion from being tossed into Grumpy Willow-man's waters to drown.
Bilbo would rather not be around for when Kili did realize the truth, and consequently began asking pointed questions about whether or not he'd hallucinated the lake, the tree, the light, Tom, Bungo and Bilbo himself as well.
Which he hadn't, why, the very idea was just silly. To think anyone could ever dream up that there music they all played together, the very notion was just preposterous, cofusticate and bebother these dwarves, honestly!
"That wasn't a dream?" Bilbo barely caught Kili muttering to himself amidst the arguing, just before he moved out of earshot. Well, normal earshot, he could still hear the ruckus just fine.
Alas, for the hobbit, though dwarves couldn't easily be called stealthy or light-footed, the ongoing bluster did serve to mask normal footsteps very thoroughly. It didn't prevent Bilbo from noticing Dwalin plant himself in the middle of his escape route, but it did enough that it would be bad form to evade him. The dwarf had made his deft escape from the drama before the three of them even arrived. And since he wasn't with the brooding Thorin up on the bench by the porch, that meant he wanted something from him specifically.
"Master Baggins," Dwalin said gruffly – no, not gruffly, if just barely. Politely. "Master Tom's got a thoroughly well-appointed home here. And stores."
"I'm sure he'd appreciate the praise directly even more."
Dwalin gave Bilbo a complicated look. He then looked at the delirious happiness of the Ur brothers for a long breath of time, before turning his eyes back to the hobbit with some manner of emotion even Bilbo couldn't decipher. "Master Hobbit, I think we've had enough of disguises and fakery. At least I have."
What did he mean? Or did he find something out? Did Tom tell him something? Maybe something he hadn't even told Bilbo, you never knew with the Master. "Such has always been my position on most matters, yes."
"I'll be asking you about the stuff that's not among the 'most' there," Dwalin promised. Warned. "Later."
"I may or may not answer. Later." Bilbo replied in kind. "Sounds like there might be something more immediately on your mind, though."
"There is." Dwalin hesitated. In embarrassment, Bilbo thought, though the look in his eyes was hard and defiant. "Is the Master as well supplied with, um, personal care products let's call'em?"
Bilbo blinked. He couldn't help but give the big, brawny, rugged, balding dwarf a good once-over. "As in what sort, exactly?"
Dwalin rolled his eyes. "As in things that might work as hair dyes." He practically glared at Bilbo then. "And 'specially the reverse."
Oh.
Oh.
Dwarves have had to make themselves look less conspicuous when traveling, haven't they? More and more as time passed since the last of Arnor's legacy kingdoms failed, and nobody couldn't be sure anymore how many bad men were mixed with the good. Not only were dwarves' colorful hair and beards an eyesore to those trained and raised to hate beauty and whimsy, it also worked as an added way to give away important lineages. Bilbo hadn't had cause to think about it until now, but it didn't much make sense that Fili and Kili had different colors of hair. They were nigh-identical in every other sense, despite not being twins. Also, both their parents and grandparents were blond, that much he'd learned off-hand when he was in Ered Luin.
Come to think of it, Thorin shouldn't have dark hair either. Even if he was an outlier in his family, he was too old for it regardless. And that short beard of his was, quite literally, a sacrilege.
But, if you wanted to give the impression that you're less affluent than you are… And if you wanted to obscure just how many among your lot are dwarves of a certain royal lineage, because you're going on a quest that would call literally every malcontent to seek a piece of you and yours if they knew anything of what you were up to…
Even though it was never going to work because of the personalities involved.
Truly nothing can pass through Tom Bombadil's house without finding some manner of healing, Bilbo thought quietly. Even the dwarven spirit.
"Come with me."
Bilbo led Dwalin inside the house and bid him wait in the den while he went to talk to Goldberry. Thankfully, it was still early enough that they hadn't broken fast, so Goldberry was still inside instead of out floating amidst the rising dew mists. He communicated Dwalin's request, and then his own assumptions about what and why he was asking. The River-Daughter merrily passed Bilbo the job to finish getting breakfast ready and skipped out to take the dwarf by the hands and lead him further in, then out of the house to what he needed.
Dwalin was thoroughly flustered, as well he should at holding hands with another man's lady who was also an embodiment of such daintiness, but followed where he was led.
Since it was a nice day outside, and the dwarrows liked their drama as long and well done as a boar on a spit, Bilbo was able to lay out breakfast on the garden table without them noticing until he rung the triangle bell. He then made his excuses and left them to it. That didn't mean he went hungry of course, perish the thought, he just made sure to eat his fill in bits and pieces and tasting everything being served.
The dwarves asked him to sit down to eat with them of course, very enthusiastically too. They were, in fact, practically demanding of his presence on account of the harrowing adventure they'd endured for his sake, though they still behaved a lot more politely and considerate compared to before. Why, Thorin himself never more than grunted!
Fortunately, Tom showed up singing and laughing and soon had the dwarves doing as proper guests ought, so Bilbo was able to demur on account of wanting to wash the pans before they crusted. It wasn't even a lie, he did in fact take the more gunky ones to the stream out back to clean them. While he was doing that, he looked downriver and spotted trails of new colors in the running stream. Murky ones.
With his keen sight, he identified what looked like limewash, except brown. Trails of foamy murk flowed into the main stream, coming from the tributary brook one hill over, downriver from where he was. From where the bathing spot was. Trickles, splashes, and traces of dark brown in the otherwise crystal-clear water. Drab pigment and stain was mixed with what might have been chalk and some sort of oil.
Dwalin wasn't with the others, Bilbo recalled as he rinsed the last skillet. If he's missing breakfast, it must be very important.
Bilbo put the pans away and then made his real escape while the others indulged themselves. As sympathetic as he'd grown towards the dwarves compared to the first night in Bag End, the reality was that he'd split off from Thorin's Company for more than a whim. He'd come here for a reason he wasn't going to abandon just because they'd decided to stick their nose into his business in spite of his wishes. Again.
Leaving the dishes on their rack to dry, he left the kitchen, paused at the exit from the house for a moment's thought, then doubled back and prepared an extra serving of food for Dwalin. Only because he was curious, so he may as well bring an offering.
The things I do for hospitality, Bilbo huffed quietly to himself as he left Tom's house through the other door
Alas, he was waylaid by an all-new, same-old distraction not long after he left the house, and it wasn't even a dwarf this time. It was Bungo Baggins, who was just as stubborn about following through on his reason for being there as Bilbo himself.
"I figured you'd abscond this way, son. Seems I might finally be getting the hang of your off-notes."
Bilbo was affronted. "I don't strike off-notes!"
"You're building up to one, you are, give it a month or five."
"How ominous," Bilbo said with disquiet he didn't show.
Good old dad was being unusually active this time. And constantly around. Come to think of it, ever since Bilbo had dragged him all the way here instead of letting the unnatural way of sickness run its course, Bungo Baggins hadn't spent so much time awake and away from the First Tree in… ever.
Bungo smirked at him. Bilbo wasn't the only one with a keen mind for unspoken words, alas. Not anymore.
Not here.
"I spend a lot more time out and about than you think, my boy," Bungo said blithely. "I just never tell you."
"Really?" Bilbo asked skeptically. "Why is that?"
"Because then it wouldn't be a surprise. Come this way, if you don't mind. Actually, best come along even if you do mind."
"Wouldn't what be a surprise?" Bilbo asked, to no reply. He sighed and dragged his feet. "Can this wait?" Bilbo motioned with the plate. "One of our guests is at risk of going without."
"Tom's guest, and the Missus has already seen to him. Bring the plate with you, though, you'll not let it go to waste, I'm sure."
Now, Bilbo's curiosity at this new mystery more than matched his curiosity at what Dwalin was up to. He shrugged and did as his dad bid. He followed him.
Bilbo Baggins Followed Bungo Baggins up, down, across the hill, then the next hill over to the gulley between the last and next-to-last mounds not bordering the Barrow-downs which still existed within Tom's territory. Uphill, downhill, through the clearest and liveliest glade, to a not-so-busy and certainly thicker and closier part of the forest, which Tom had ordered Bilbo never to step foot in.
Bilbo had never sensed any strange or dark machinations from the place, but he'd assumed Tom had a good reason for his command. Quite possibly related to all the owls roosting and hooting around the place, those things were tiny pillows filled with seething hatred. At least that's what Bungo always said about them.
Perhaps Bilbo should have thought twice about it.
There was a door in the side of the hill.
A round, green door.
Bilbo stopped and stared. He felt like the rest of the world had stopped completely as well, every bit as much as Tom Bombadil's penchant for pausing after and before the codas of the First Music.
"… That can't be what I think it is."
"It took a fair bit of hands-on work, but everything goes faster the second time," Bungo said proudly. "Who better for the job than the one hobbit who built it in the first place, eh?"
Bilbo didn't say anything else immediately. He was too thunderstruck.
Bungo waited.
"Is… this why Tom told me never to come here?"
"He was kind enough to grant me this small favor."
Bilbo had never been more thoroughly rooted in a single spot. "If that's what you consider a small favor, what even is a big favor?"
"You're perfectly right, 'build my flighty grown-up son an entire second home away from home' would be quite high up there, wouldn't you say?"
Bilbo didn't say. He stood and looked at the door to Beg End and didn't have it in him to say anything. The door was the same type of wood, the same hinges, same green paint, even the individual boards were the exact same size, shape and order.
In any other place, from any other person, he might just smile or scowl at the ridiculous idea that Bag End could have any manner of equal. But this was not any other place or any other person. This was the Old Forest, Tom's demesne sat above the-
"Naturally, it's fully furnished and otherwise appointed as much as was within my means as a single hobbit with access to all the timber and time in the world – and the second-best contacts beyond the woods of course – but alas… it remains a mere copy. A nigh perfect one, if I may say so, but still wholly lifeless. Empty." Bungo treated his son to a most meaningful gaze. "As always, the spirit of a place must spring whole from its master."
But Bilbo wasn't Master here.
… Then again, you didn't need to be the Master to have power and claim of your own, if it was freely won.
Or granted.
Bilbo looked back in the direction of Tom's hill, then back to Bag End. Again. And again several times.
Bungo tapped his son on the shoulder. "I'll let you settle in." Then he left.
Bilbo Baggins stood at the threshold of Bag End for… he didn't even know. Didn't keep track. He only roused from his stupor when the noon sun peaked over the treetops to warm him. The treetops bordered the… actually quite sizable front yard that Bungo had also toiled to clear out. However he'd done it. He'd done the same to a fair length of the path they'd followed here as well. Even found and placed paving stones from the door all the way to the fenced-off brook running between the hillocks.
With how big some of the trees were around here, Bungo had to have had some help from someone. More than one someone. Big and brawny someones. No. really, what did dad do, charm bears to do his heavy lifting?
Willow-man claims the trees as his kingdom, Bilbo thought. He must have been absolutely furious to see all of these ones cut down.
Bilbo hadn't really wondered at Bungo's rapidly growing skill in handling Old Man Willow's rages, but now it all made sense. By necessity, he'd had whole years of practice.
Bilbo reached out, turned the knob and pushed. The door opened inward with nary a creak. He stepped over the threshold. The sunlight followed him inside, warm and joyous. The entrance hall looked identical to the one in Hobbiton, save for the fresh new woodwork and varnish. The floor, the walls, the paneling, the furniture, even mother's glory box were perfectly recreated.
So it was that the first thing that was heard in Bag End was laughter.