What the old dwarf really thought, he kept to himself.
In truth, none of the dwarves found Bella all that striking. Too tall, chin too sharp, voice too soft and lacking in force. A whole list of flaws, really—but they needed her help, and they held mages in natural awe, so they kept their daily flattery sincere enough.
Bella had no clue about these little details. She nodded. "Hmm, that makes sense. So halflings have no taste. Dwarves are the ones with good eyes for beauty. Dwarves are my true friends!"
That evening they arrived as guests at the home of Bilbo Baggins—a hobbit with a heart full of curiosity about the world and a love of adventure.
They were guests in the sense that neither side knew the other and they had simply barged in to eat and drink.
Bella had spent some time in the Shire gathering information, reading through a few local chronicles and biographies of notable figures. By the time she got to Bilbo Baggins's house, the dwarves were already digging in.
The low hobbit cottage made her a little uncomfortable. She had to stoop to keep the chandelier from hitting her head.
"Excuse me, excuse me—I'm sorry. Might I ask? Do I know you? Or rather, do you know me?" Perhaps because Bella didn't seem as boorish as the dwarves, Bilbo Baggins stopped her and put his question to her urgently.
Bella carefully ducked around the chandelier and turned her attention to the halfling.
Bilbo Baggins was wearing suspender trousers and a linen shirt. He had curly hair, pointed ears, and bare feet thick with hair on top.
He, too, ignored her beauty. In his eyes, Bella probably came off as less appealing than the hobbit girls back in the village.
Bella gave a small laugh. This was easy to handle.
Bilbo Baggins's heart was transparent. She barely had to try to see quite a lot.
"Of course I know you, respected Mr. Baggins. How should I put this... I've known you for a very long time. When you were a child, you loved going on adventures in the forest. You loved hunting down the elves' old legends. You explored every border of the Shire. You've always been full of curiosity about the wider world, haven't you? I've got that right, haven't I? We're all old friends of yours, in fact. The year you were fifteen—"
A little more patter, and under Bilbo Baggins's bewildered gaze, Bella became an old friend of his.
Dropping by an old friend's house for dinner? Completely reasonable. Bringing along a few friends? Also perfectly understandable.
The whole company of dwarves and Bella promptly fell on Bilbo Baggins's kitchen and began eating and drinking with abandon.
Mushrooms and cured pork, fish and chips, all laid out on the table at once. Bella grabbed a cumin cake in one hand—far better than wilderness rations. Even Thorin Oakenshield dropped his talk about the corrupting effect of leisure on warriors' spirit and was busy working through a platter of beautifully roasted lamb.
Rabbit, venison, salted pork, dumplings, honey—platter after platter came out. Within ten minutes it had all been swept clean. Bilbo Baggins hurried to bring out more: toasted bread, cheese, apple pie, and broth.
Bella set aside any pretense of being ladylike. Her mouth was slick with grease, and at one point she used sheer force to wrest a small plate of bacon out of the fat dwarf's hands.
She'd briefly considered whether the people of Narnia could be relocated here to the Shire. One look at this table of ingredients, though, and she scrapped the idea. The centaurs and fauns might manage it, but if the little rabbits, little squirrels, and little tortoises moved in—no more than three days and they'd be on a plate themselves. What was she supposed to do then? Swallow her pain and eat an extra two bowls?
Well-fed and well-watered at last, they used Bilbo's long dining table to discuss the rest of the journey.
The Dwarven Council wasn't supporting Thorin Oakenshield's venture. The company would have to make it back to the Lonely Mountain under their own power and retrieve the Arkenstone. Only then would the seven great dwarven kingdoms obey Thorin's summons and march to help him rebuild the Kingdom of Erebor.
Getting back to the Lonely Mountain was not, in itself, the hard part. The hard part was the monster currently sitting inside it.
"A mouth that breathes fire. Teeth like razors and claws to match—Smaug. The last dragon in the world." Old Balin spoke of the obstacle none of them could hope to get past, his weathered face creased with worry.
Bofur—the one in the dog-fur hat—spoke his mind bluntly, pipe clamped between his teeth, tone bright. "What are we afraid of? We've got brave warriors here, and a mage! Lady mage, you must have killed dragons before. How many have you slain?"
"Uhuhhuh—!" A burst of choking sounds came out of Bella. She pretended to have been briefly strangled by a pie. Too awkward—how was she supposed to answer that?
Just as everyone was watching her expectantly and she was at a loss for what to say, old Balin came to her rescue.
"Even if we reach the Lonely Mountain, we can't go in through the front gate. It's sealed off. As far as I know, there's only one very well-hidden side door that leads inside. But only the king knows where that door is—and you need the key. Heaven knows where the key has ended up!"
Bella immediately seized the opening. She produced a key that gleamed with golden light.
"This is a magic key. Any locked door will open for it. Though, granted, only once." It was the brass key she'd dug up at the excavation site at the Sea of Galilee in Israel.
The key was definitely not the one the dwarves had lost—but no matter. In the face of magic, little details like that didn't count.
A skeleton key could open any door, and it neatly sidestepped the awkward dragon-slaying topic.
"But where is the door? Thorin, do you know? Is this side door in a particularly obvious spot?" Fíli—brother to the handsomest dwarf Kíli and Thorin's other nephew—couldn't help asking.
Finding a stone door set into a mountain sounded a bit difficult.
Both brothers had been born in the Blue Mountains. They didn't know much about the Lonely Mountain.
The dwarves all looked at Thorin Oakenshield.
He drew a somewhat worn map out of his coat.
"I won't lie to you. The truth is, I don't know where the door is. My father left me only this map. Not many clues beyond that."
He handed the map to Bella. "I'll need your knowledge to unravel its secrets."
The paper was yellowed. The edges were worn. But the writing was clear. Thorin had kept it carefully.
"This is Elvish. It seems to mention a hidden passage that leads directly into the Lonely Mountain." Bella's elvish was still weak, so she cast Comprehend Languages on herself.
"There should be more information. Take another look." Thorin watched her expectantly.
More? Bella turned the map over in her hands. The only writing on it was those few lines on the left side. Nothing more anywhere else. Was there some extra information she was missing?