Gandalf strode up the quaint little path towards Bilbo's home, accompanied by four more dwarves, the last of Thorin's Company to visit the little hobbit's home. As always, walking through the Shire brought a smile to the wizard's wizened face, the peaceful nature of the Hobbit lands soothing to his troubled mind.
Though he suspected that, between the two of them, the mind of their unknowing host would be the much more troubled one. Young Bilbo had been much different from how he remembered him when he was but a young hobbit-lad. Seemingly gone were those inquisitive eyes, that brave and daring heart, replaced by proper hobbit stuffiness.
Seemingly, because Gandalf's eyes saw more than most and he knew that the adventurous little lad was still there somewhere underneath the tweed and hobbit manners and mannerisms.
Still, to host thirteen rambunctious dwarves would be a challenge to any good host, especially if they weren't aware they were one. Poor Bilbo would probably be run off his feet by now, catering to his unexpected guests, and likely not being thanked for it as he should, Gandalf considered as he glanced down towards the companions at his side.
It wasn't that dwarves were rude. Well, not intentionally at least. They were simply… rougher, than most of the other Free Peoples, save for some of the Tribes of Men living in the harsher regions of Middle-Earth.
They could do with some humbling, their leader especially, if only to make it up to poor Bilbo, and to start off the evening with a bit of fun. So, Gandalf told them to wait by the door, as he leaned over to knock on the wood, his eyes searching for the rune he had left there the day before.
He had intended to quickly bash the mark away, and then use his staff to lightly nudge his fellows inside, tumbling into Bilbo's home. As Thorin stood in the front (as he always did), he'd be the first to fall, quickly covered by Bifur, Bofur and (most notably) Bombur on top of him.
Gandalf could already picture the scene and had to suppress a guffaw as he searched for the rune… and could not find it. His wild eyebrows rose in surprise until they brushed against the underside of his hat, but before he could give voice to his confusion, the door swung open on its own accord.
The Hall was pristine, the chandelier was lit and on the coat rack were nine cloaks already, unmistakeably of dwarven make. Yet there was no nervous hobbit standing on the other side of the round green door, wringing his hands and looking far too worried for his own good.
The hall was empty.
But not silent. As the group tentatively stepped inside, hanging up their own cloaks as well (two yellow hoods, a pale green one and a sky-blue one with a long silver tassel, the latter belonging to Thorin himself), the sound of music and singing drifted down the deserted hall.
Well, it was singing in the sense that words were being called out to a tune, but Gandalf, even with his many years wandering the length and breath of Middle Earth, couldn't recall ever hearing lyrics that were quite this… creative.
We're knights of the round table!
Our shows are formid-able!
But many times, we're given rhymes
That are quite unsing-able!
We're opera mad in Camelot!
We sing from the diaphragm a looooooot!
"By Durin's Beard… what manner of bard devised this story?" Thorin breathed out with a frown as he led the way further into the smial. Gandalf decided to slightly hang towards the back of the group. Should anything happen, the dwarves could act unimpeded while he could simply reach over them; the reverse was much more difficult should he lead in the front. Swiftly, their group made their way towards a richly furnished (and impossibly large) living room.
Gandalf's beard felt as if there was lightning running through it due to the sheer amount of magic he could sense here. He gripped his staff tighter as his eyes flitted about the luxurious room, feeling certain he was about to find the answer to the question that had been bothering him all week.
The dwarves, being unable to sense magic not wrought in stone or metal, kept following the weird music. Off to their right, the singing was louder, and so the group cautiously approached a side room, Thorin pushing open the door in order to reveal a room quite unlike any other in Middle-Earth. It was filled with furniture, tables and gizmos that Gandalf couldn't even hope to guess at their purpose.
It was also revealed that this musical number was being accompanied by dance. A tall dark-haired young man was standing on top of a bar, his arms slung around a dancing Bilbo, Fili, Kili and (to the surprise of many) Oin and Gloin.
In war we're tough and able,
Quite indefatigable!
Between our quests we sequin vests
And impersonate Clark Gable!
It's a busy life in Camelot!
The wild dancing came to a halt as the unknown man sunk to a knee, arms spread wide like a performer before an audience of thousands, singing the final line in such a deep voice that Gandalf felt it in his bones and Bag End shuddered on its foundations.
"I have to push the pram a looooooooooooooooooot! " the young man finished, to the immense cheering and hollering of the nine dwarves and one hobbit present.
"Do another one, Ben!"
"Yeah, come on, do another!"
At the calls of the dwarves, the man clambered back to his feet with an indulgent smile on his youthful face, holding up his hands in a placating gesture.
"Alright, alright. Now, for something completely different - this one is called "Men… in Tights!"
Not entirely sure what the next musical number would be but feeling oddly determined to protect the eyes of his company from it nonetheless, Gandalf let out a loud harrumph, punctuated by the slam of his staff on the panelled floor.
At once, the odd merriment came to a halt as the group inside the strange room turned to look at the second group that had just entered. For a moment, silence hung tense and terse between them, before Balin approached, his eyes smiling and his voice gentle.
"Thorin! Bifur! Bofur! Bombur! It is good to see you all!"
"Balin, old friend." Thorin replied, clasping forearms with the aged dwarf, before glancing around the strange room with raised brows.
"What manner of madness is this?" he asked aloud and Gandalf leaned in closer as he awaited the answer as well, bright blue eyes trained on the young magic wielder, who stood leaning unbothered against the bar he had been dancing on with a relaxed grin.
"Ah, well, it is the hospitality of Bilbo and his young friend here. I don't know what has gotten into these hobbits as of late, but they have food and drink and songs that warm the heart and belly!" Balin said in good cheer.
Kili came up then, pressing a glass bottle filled with an amber liquid into Bombur's chubby hands, a lopsided smile on his face as he leaned in close.
"They call it whiskey! I'm not sure who Whis is, or why they took his Key, but his drink is like the fire of a forge caught inside a bottle!"
At that exclamation, Bombur, accompanied by a curious Bifur and Bofur, quickly joined their fellow dwarves in drink and games, but Thorin and Gandalf remained focused on the unknown man standing across the room from them.
"Go, Thorin Oakenshield. Go sit with your fellows. Dark will soon fall, and clearly it is time for song. You could even play your harp, I think Bilbo will be suitably impressed. Me and the stranger have things to discuss."
Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, did not appreciate being sent away as if he wasn't the most important dwarf currently present, but when he glanced up at the wizard to protest, he fell silent. There was a tenseness in the aged man's posture and an intensity in his gaze that made the Dwarven lord wary to go against him.
So he merely inclined his head and stalked over towards Balin and Dwalin, the two brothers amongst his company he relied on most often. Kili and Fili were his cousins and he trusted them with his life, but they were young and brash and currently quite drunk, so the elder dwarves would have to do. Oin and Gloin were eldest amongst the group as well, but considering Thorin had just walked in on them doing a dance that involved a lot of jumping and swinging of feet on top of a bar, he wasn't entirely certain how much he could rely on them tonight.
As the Dwarven lord stalked away, the young man approached Gandalf with a noticeable ease, unconcerned with the aura of power that the wizard had surrounded himself with.
"Shall we?" he said with a smile, indicating the spacious and lavish living room with a hand.
Realising that they could hardly remain standing where they were, bickering on the threshold, Gandalf followed the other's lead, falling deeply into a low-slung couch.
While he did not make a habit of it, during his immense lifetime he had sat on the odd throne or two. Not a single one of them could hope to ever compare to the sheer sense of luxuriousness of this couch. He almost forgot the other being entirely as he closed his eyes with a deep, bone-tired sigh of relief.
He loved wandering Middle-Earth. He did, he truly did. But by all the Ainur, it was tiresome on his poor feet and knees! It felt so good to finally rest them, he only remembered the stranger when the young man let out a deep chuckle of amusement.
"I know. They don't make them like that here," the boy gave a smile. "Benjamin Carter."
"Gandalf the Grey," the aged wizard reciprocated.
"I must say, it's an honour to finally meet you, sir. You have been a role model of mine for as long as I can remember."
Gandalf raised an eyebrow. "A role model, you say? I don't often hear that from young wizards. And never from those I've only just met." His voice was calm, but his gaze was keen. "How is it, exactly, that you know of me?"
And so began the longest half hour of Gandalf's life as he tried to pry the young man for information. It wasn't that he was being evasive, and the wizard didn't even get the feeling the boy was lying. But he was being gleefully obtuse, to the point that Gandalf accepted an offered glass of this whiskey without hesitation after he threw his hat down on the cushion beside him, rubbing his brow with his free hand.
At least the liquor was good.
"I somehow feel like I owe an apology to every adventurer I have ever assisted on their quest for the past thousand years or so." The wizard muttered under his breath, the youngster across him bursting out in amused laughter.
From what Gandalf had managed to pry from young Benjamin (Friends call me Ben) he knew that the young man sitting in front of him was a wizard, currently studying in a School of Magic; said School having sent him to the Shire to participate in their upcoming quest and most importantly, neither he nor this school of his were of Middle-Earth.
The last being that had slipped into Middle-Earth from unknown reaches far beyond the Darkness around Arda had been the terrible Ungoliant, a creature so foul and unspeakable it had forever diminished the light in the world.
So, rather understandably, Gandalf had been wary of this stranger from distant realms. To be sure, he was not some great dread spider as tall as a mountain, but evil often disguised itself in benevolent guises. After all, the Enemy himself, before he was ousted as Sauron, the Black Lord of Mordor, had once upon a time been known to the ancient Noldor of long-sundered Eregion as the Lord of Gifts, having taken the likeness of a great Elven Lord.
But, Gandalf had to concede, even the most cunning Evil was unlikely to disguise itself by hiding away in a hobbit hole and dancing on a bar for the entertainment of a bunch of drunken dwarves.
Which was incidentally what they had begun singing about, the music coming from the 'Arcade' Room created by great drums and cymbals, beaten in a maddeningly fast rhythm with two thin sticks, as well as viol-like instruments with long necks and six metallic strings that made great howling noises (Dwalin and Balin had of course taken to them with gusto).
One mug filled with mead 'til the morning
Too much for an elf
Two more mugs full of mead 'til the morning
Add more from the shelf
There's three mugs filled with mead 'til the morning
Long since I was born
Four more mugs full of mead 'til the morning
Worthy of a dwarf!
With five mugs full of mead 'til the morning
Someone starts to crawl
Six more mugs full of mead 'til the morning
Everybody falls
Seven mugs full of mead 'til the morning
Right or even wrong
With eight more mugs of mead 'til the morning
We will start the brawl!
Nobody is welcome
In a tavern full of drunken dwarves
No respect for humans
Dragons, trolls, or pointy ears!
If you want to run, do it faster than my axe
Don't you dare mess with a tavern
Full of drunken dwarves!
"A song from your world I take it?" Gandalf asked bemused, raising one bushy brow in question, but the younger wizard merely chuckled.
"Indeed. There is an entire genre of music, a sub-section of Metal, dedicated to Dwarves, called Dwarf Metal. I thought it appropriate to start them off with one of the classics," Ben shrugged, further dispelling Gandalf's suspicions.
A servant of dark forces would hardly ever be this… weird.
"I know you have no reason to trust me... not yet. So I won't ask you for that right now," Ben said, feeling the aged wizard's hesitation. "All I ask for is a chance. I promise I'll prove myself to you, and to this company."
Gandalf nodded slowly.
"Very well," he said. "We shall see how the future unfolds. I will accept your aid, Benjamin. The dwarves will need every blade, spell, and sharp mind they can get before this journey is over."
A faint smile ghosted across his face as he added, "And I must admit… it will be refreshing to travel with another wizard for once. Two are always better than one, I've found—though they rarely agree on anything."
Ben laughed softly. "We'll make it work. And please, call me Ben."
"So… everybody's happy then? Two magic wielders aren't going to do battle in my living room? If you really want to fight, I must ask you to please take it outside. I heard that the Overbourn Marshes south of Buckland could use some, ah… trimming…" Bilbo trailed off into a mutter as the two wizards turned to look at him.
Behind him stood arranged the thirteen dwarves, peering cautiously over his narrow shoulders, though Thorin stood tall at his side (or as tall as any dwarf can stand really).
"No, no everything is fine, my dear Bilbo. But, it seems dark has fallen and so it is time to discuss dark business." Gandalf replied, trying to quickly move the conversation along in a bid to distract them, before glancing towards Ben, who nodded easily before jumping off the couch and walking over to a corner of the living room where he leaned against a wall.