Fanfic: Empath Thorin (The Hobbit, AU)
Thanks to the wonderful Kittyknowsthings, on my Hobbit fic An Unexpected Landing. As anyone who has followed me for awhile knows, it is super easy to get me to post more of what I'm writing. This is another of my Hobbit fanfics. It's unfinished. I was going to post it on Tumblr, but then I realize even this first section is almost 5,000 words. The entire thing is almost 11,000 words long, and I'm not done. When did it get so long? It's set in modern times, but all the races and cultures of Middle Earth exist.
Tagged for: AU, PTSD, Thorin is an Empath, cultural differences, pre-relationship if you want to read it that way
The boxes full of fruit and vegetables from the C.S.A were delivered every other Thursday to the middle of the three brownstones that had been converted into apartments. It was Bilbo's job to make sure everyone picked up their box during the day. It had use to be Wilcome Goodbody's job until last week, when the younger Hobbit had moved to take another position at a company in High Heath. Really, Bilbo was happy for him. He was. But Bilbo wasn't exactly pleased to have been voluntold to take over the position. He'd spent every other Thursday for the last two months sitting in Wilcome's apartment learning the ins and outs of distributing the boxes, and honestly, so much interaction with his neighbors was exhausting. After the last Thursday when Wilcome was there to help him, Bilbo about up and quit.
"It gets much easier," Wilcome said. "You figure out how to manage the rush after a while. Trust me."
"I'd rather not figure it out, all things considered," Bilbo replied rather sharply. Then he sighed and got back up from where he'd sat down. "Not that there is anyone else to take the job. Now show me again what the different colored tags mean."
There were usually two rush periods: one early in the morning before people had to go to work, and another in the evening when people got home and remembered they needed to pick up the box. Wilcome had come up with a clever system to track it all. Red tags on those who came early. Orange tags for those who came at irregular times during the day. Blue tags for those who came in the evening. It was the kind of system any Hobbit would be proud of.
"What about this one?" Bilbo had asked. It had a green tag with the name Thorin carefully printed on it.
"Oh. That is Master Oakenshield's. It gets left in the hallway outside his door. He pays extra to have it delivered," Wilcome had replied. "I usually do it last after the rest have cleared out. He don't mind."
Bilbo made a non-committal noise. Master Oakenshield might not mind, but Bilbo did. Maybe once he'd gotten into the swing of things, Bilbo would investigate further.
Today had been Bilbo's first day distributing the boxes himself, and it was chaos. Despite sending out emails, verbally telling people two weeks ago, and posting a note on the door of Wilcome's old apartment, people still didn't realize that the pick-up location was now at Bilbo's apartment. He'd been dealing with harried people all day long. Some reacted to the mistake with apologies. Others made snide remarks about how someone should have told them. Bilbo waved away the apologies, and returned the snide remarks with barbed words of his own. Never let it be said that Bilbo Baggins was a push-over.
Now it 9pm and all that remained in his apartment was Bilbo and the lone CSA box and its green tag.
The box was made of waxed cardboard with a picturesque red barn on a rolling green hill printed on one side. It had been designed to be easily packed, easily carried from the field, and to resist falling apart if the produce was wet. It wasn't really that big for a Man, though it was considerably more awkward for a Hobbit to carry. Bilbo huffed as he maneuvered the box through the door of his apartment.
Master Oakenshield lived in the same building as Bilbo did in apartment 4C. So at least Bilbo didn't have to try to wrestle the box down the street. Just up two floors because of course, the elevator was out of service again. His arms hurt by the time he'd made the fourth floor. Sweat pooled in the small of his back, and covered his brow.
"There." He placed the box on the floor of the hallway outside 4C. The door was solid wood, painted dark green like all the rest, with a brass number four and the old rune for the letter C. Which made sense. The building was old, and management liked to use the older alphabet for such things. It gave the place character.
That should have been the end of it, but of course, it wasn't. Bilbo couldn't just leave the box there. What if someone came along and took stuff from it? Or just made off with the box? He'd be held accountable for that. Master Oakenshield had paid extra to have it delivered. It was Bilbo's job to make sure he received it. And Bilbo abruptly decided he was going to start that new policy now, on his first day, rather than letting this whole "leaving stuff in the hallways" business continue.
Bilbo reached up and knocked on the wood. All the doors had brass knockers, but the building had been originally designed for Men. It was only later that elves, hobbits, and even a few dwarves had moved. The insides of most of the apartments had all been redesigned with the various other races in mind. The hallways and the common areas, on the other hand, still left much to be desired, and the brass knocker was just a bit out of reach.
There was no answer to Bilbo's knock. Normally, Bilbo would have assumed that meant there was no one home. He could hear movement on the other side of the door though, and the faint strains of music from a television. Bilbo waited for a few more seconds.
Then he knocked again, this time louder and longer.
Again, there was no answer. Bilbo huffed in annoyance. He was tempted to leave Master Oakenshield to collect his box, for by now more than a few neighbors had stuck their heads out of their doors to see what was going on. Bilbo made sure to give them each a polite, if a bit tight, smile.
Once the heads had disappeared back into their respective apartments, Bilbo knocked again, only this time he kept knocking. And knocking. And knocking. Just when Bilbo thought he'd have to stop because his hand was going numb, the door swung open.
Almost five foot of angry dwarf stood in the doorway, blue eyes blazing out of a too thin face. His hair was a wild mass of black streaked with grey, with only a single braid in front of each ear. His clothes were loose and comfortable. This must be Thorin Oakenshield.
"Who are you?" the dwarf growled. His voice was pitched low and horse, the syllables slightly rough. As if he wasn't use to talking.
"Bilbo Baggins, at your service," Bilbo replied. He thought about giving a little bow, as was proper, but the trouble he'd been through to actually get the door open forestalled such niceties. "I brought your CSA box and wanted to introduce myself." Bilbo had wanted to do no such thing, but it seemed politer than saying 'I was annoyed that you didn't answer your door' even if that was the truth. The dwarf frowned.
"What happened to the Hobbit? The dark haired one?" Thorin asked.
The Hobbit? The nerve. As if Bilbo wasn't a Hobbit as well.
"Wilcome Goodbody? Well, if you had bothered to read the five emails and the letter hand delivered to your door, you would know he moved out. I'm now in charge of the CSA distribution. I wanted to make sure that your box got to you and wasn't stolen from the hallway," Bilbo replied a tad sharply. Didn't anyone read anything anymore?
"In the three years I have had a box delivered, not once has it been stolen." Thorin's eyes narrowed. "Have you really come to deliver my box or have you come to stare at the recluse in apartment 4C?"
"I assure you, Master Oakenshield, you are not so famous that your reputation has spread throughout the building." Bilbo offered his hand. "All I wanted to do was introduce myself, make sure you realized that someone else is handling the distribution for the building, and perhaps discuss alternate ways of having your box delivered."
"The way it has been delivered is fine," Thorin growled. He ignored the hand Bilbo held out. There was a long tense moment, before Bilbo dropped it.
"I'll be on my way then. Good evening to you, Master Oakenshield."
"Master Baggins," Thorin replied. Then he stood in the doorway, watching Bilbo, but not making a move to pick up the box.
"The box..."
"I will get it once you leave."
"Then I will take myself elsewhere." Bilbo turned on his heel and walked off. Once he'd judged himself to be far enough away, he said what he was thinking under his breath. "Rude."
***
The thing was, Bilbo was a Hobbit and hobbits were nosy by nature. Elves liked to say that hobbits could smell gossip from a mile away, and they were not far off. It doesn't take a genius to figure out there's a story surrounding Thorin the recluse. And Bilbo was determined to find out what it was.
He doesn't bother asking the other dwarves in the buildings. While they are no longer as secretive as they once were, they tended to close ranks around one of their own. Definitely not dwarves. Bilbo would get nothing out of them and possibly lose what little goodwill he had managed to cultivate with them.
Elves were also out. Half of them tended to still treat dwarves as beneath their notice and the other half treated them as slightly stupid children. He might be able to get something from them. Then again, he might not. Even if he did, Bilbo would never be able to trust that it was remotely accurate.
The Men were as gossipy as hobbits given time and boredom to motivate them, but Bilbo didn't have the patience to wait for an opportune time. Besides, dwarves lived for a long time - longer than hobbits and certainly longer than Men. Bilbo didn't want to find go through all the trouble of making close enough friends with the big folk to be included in gossip only to find out they didn't know anything.
Instead he turned to the hobbits. Mira Grubb was a single mother with three children, and a husband that had left her over five years ago to go "find himself." She had taught herself coding and now made enough money to comfortably support herself and her children. So much so that it was rumored that her husband had tried to get her to take him back before she firmly showed him the door. The Grubbs were distant relatives to the Baggins by marriage, so that's where Bilbo started.
"It's not often I get a visit from - ROSA PUT THAT DOWN - the Baggins side of the family. I'm so glad you could make - FILBERT DO NOT HIT YOUR SISTER - it for tea," Mira said. Mira's eldest daughter Gilly carefully poured the tea from a china teapot with painted orange roses into a matching cup. "Thank you, Gilly."
"I am glad for this chance to catch up," Bilbo replied. Mira smiled. They both knew Bilbo wasn't being sincere, but politeness dictated that they see the game through. "I admit I haven't been back to the Shire since I left. Some of my relatives were less than pleased with my leaving."
"I bet I can guess which ones. Lobelia, perhaps? I can't imagine why you wouldn't want to visit with her more often," Mira said dryly. Bilbo snorted and managed to turn it into a cough.
"Yes, well." Bilbo looked over at Gilly, who was offering him a sugar cube with tiny silver tongs. "Thank you, Miss Gilly, I would love some sugar in my tea."
"Of course, Mister Baggins," Gilly replied. Then she giggled as she carefully put one sugar cube in.
"I admit I didn't come to gossip about family."
"Then who did you come to gossip about?" Mira asked. Bilbo smiled.
"There's a dwarf that live in 4C. I met him the other day and he mentioned that he was something of a building celebrity recluse. I'm trying to get some more information about him."
"You actually... saw him? Spoke to him?" Mira asked.
"To answer your questions, yes and briefly. I can honestly believe he hadn't left his apartment in a while with how untidy he looked. I don't think either one of use was impressed with the other."
"I have to say, you probably already know more about him than me," Mira replied. She set her tea cup down, then noticed what Gilly was doing. "Gilly, I think that's quite enough sugar for Mister Baggins's tea. Why don't you see if we have any teacakes in the kitchen?"
Bilbo looked down to find his tea had been turned into sugar sludge. He sighed. "No gossip then?"
"All I know is that he's a recluse and has been since before I moved in three years ago. I barely knew he was a dwarf," Mira replied. "You'll have to look elsewhere. Maybe the Hornblowers would know something. They've been in the building longer."
"I'll pay them a visit then. Thank you Mira, Ms. Gilly for the tea and the conversation."
"You're welcome Mr. Baggins," Gilly said in her best adult voice. Bilbo smiled.
***
Over the course of the next three days, Bilbo visited the Hornblower family, Isak Took, Stella and Bill Cotton, and Elanor Goodbody for tea. It was a wonder his bladder didn't burst with all the liquid he consumed, and certainly his latest waistcoat was not pleased by the amount of sweets he had. Really, if he'd wanted to be this social, Bilbo would have stayed in the Shire.
It was not all for naught though. He had learned a few things about the mysterious Thorin Oakenshield.
1) Oakenshield was not Thorin's actual last name. No one knew what his actual last name was, but Oakenshield was an epithet earned in battle.
2) Having an epithet meant at some point, Thorin had been in the dwarven armed forces. Most everyone agreed that he'd served during the War of the Orcs, though no one could say exactly when. Dwarves lived longer than Men and hobbits combined, and the War of the Orcs had lasted well over twenty years.
3) PTSD was the most commonly bandied abound theory on to why Thorin never left his apartment and was rarely seen.
4) The next most common theory was agoraphobia.
5) Thorin rarely had visitors, but he did have them. No one could really describe them though or say when they had last visited. Everyone just knew he occasionally had them.
6) Every single person was shocked that Thorin had opened his door. Bilbo couldn't decide whether to be pleased or mortified that he actually badgered a sick veteran into responding to him.
Pansy Proudfoot was the last Hobbit in the three buildings that Bilbo hadn't talked to. She lived the closest to Thorin - just down the hall - but was a bit of a recluse herself. It was Isak Took that had recommended that Bilbo talk with her. "She's been here the longest. Said the Shire was too tame for her blood. I half think the Proudfoots would disinherit her if she wasn't the richest one of the lot."
That was a feeling Bilbo could certainly relate to, given his relationship with the Baggins side of the family. Perhaps he and Pansy would have more to talk about than just Thorin Oakenshield. He knocked on the dark green door marked with the cirths for 4G. When nothing happened, Bilbo knocked again.
Funny. He'd been told Pansy Proudfoot didn't leave her apartment much. Had Bilbo found the one day she wasn't at home? Or perhaps she was hard of hearing? Was he about to drive yet another recluse from their den?
He was just about to knock one last time, when the door suddenly swung open. Bilbo opened his mouth to get the usual platitudes about hoping he hadn't come at a bad time and to introduce himself when he froze. Pansy Proudfoot looked absolutely nothing like what he was expecting.
"Hmph. You must be Bilbo Baggins." Her hair was blue - shockingly neon blue - and was haloed around her wrinkled face like an over grown bird's nest. Bilbo knew he was staring. He couldn't really help himself. "I slept with a Baggins when I was younger. Can't say I much appreciated it."
"Are you sure the last name was Baggins and not Sackville?" Bilbo said, shock loosening his tongue. Then he flushed bright red. "I mean..."
It must have been the right thing to say though, because Pansy cackled and waved him through the door. She was wearing a red plaid housecoat and fuzzy yellow slippers with duck heads on the front. They quacked softly with every step she took. "You must have some Took blood in you as well. Come in, come in. Tell me who your family is, and especially which Sackeville did what to make you dislike them so."
Bilbo wanted to be upset, but really, Pansy had it right. "My mother was Took." He stepped over the threshold. Inside it looked like any smial from the Shire: handcrafted wooden furniture, braided rugs, hand colored botanical prints on the wall, delicate porcelain plates on display. The mounted warg head over the fireplace and the three swords in the umbrella stand rather ruined cozy effect though. "Isak Took recommended I speak with you."
"Did he now? Bet he was laughing in his tea the whole time," Pansy said as she headed towards the kitchen. "Sit, sit. I haven't forgotten how to treat a guest. I have tea and lemon cookies. The good kind. With icing on them."
The warg head had glass yellow eyes that seemed to stare at him no matter where he positioned himself in the front room. Bilbo eyed it warily. Common sense told him to leave as quickly as propriety allowed. Curiosity had him sitting in the chair. "I wouldn't say no to cookies."
"Here we go," Pansy said, coming back in with a tea tray laden with tea and cookies. She made him a cup of tea, plain, and handed him a cookie on a delicate plate. "Now, I haven't spoken to my children in months - by design mind you - and you don't seem to be the gold digging type. Not with clothes that nice. Bit young for my taste as well. So tell me, why are you here?"
Bilbo took a sip of tea, and discovered it was very good tea. Really, Bilbo would have been hard pressed to brew a finer cup himself. The cookie when he tried it was also very good. He waffled a bit on how much small talk to include, before deciding that being straightforward was the best way to get answers. "I was actually trying to find out a bit about the recluse in 4C. Thorin Oakenshield?"
Pansy watched him with sharp eyes, carefully setting her tea cup down. Bilbo felt vaguely like a fauntling that had just been caught digging in the dirt in his best outfit or with his hand on the cookie plate when guests were due to arrive at any moment. "And why do you want to know so much about Mister Oakenshield? Maybe he's is just a dwarf who likes his privacy and deserves to have it."
"Yes, well. As much as he likes his privacy. I have a task to perform. I am the person who delivers the CSA boxes to everyone. I'm not going to just leave it in the hallway. All I need him to do is what he did last week, which is open his door," Bilbo said.
"He opened his door to you?" Pansy asked. Bilbo sighed.
"Yes, he did. To yell at me. I find it interesting that that is the one thing everyone finds the most shocking."
"Thorin hasn't left his apartment nor opened his door to anyone not his kin for over five years," Pansy said. "Of course people are shocked. I am shocked. That still doesn't explain why you want gossip on him. You can get him to open his door without knowing what happened to make him this way."
"I suppose you are right," Bilbo said. He took another sip of tea. "I would hate to do something to upset him further. Forewarned is forearmed."
Pansy looked at him for a long, long moment. "I supposed that does make sense. Sad story, really. He was a war hero. Received commendations and metals and all sorts of other frip-frap. But as the years went by, his world grew smaller and smaller until it extended no further than his apartment."
Bilbo found himself leaning forward eagerly. "So he was part of the War of the Orcs." Pansy snorted.
"Oh no. That happened long after his time on the battle field. He was there at the Mountain Wars."
"How old is he?" Bilbo blurted out. The Mountain Wars had happened before he'd been born. "I mean, the Mountain Wars were fought over eighty years ago."
"Thorin lived here when I moved in over sixty years ago. I've been told they live to be 250, sometimes even 350 years old. Can you imagine?" Pansy chuckled. "He's probably close to two hundred. Maybe less than that. It's hard to say with dwarves. I know his sister is younger than him."
"His sister?" Bilbo asked.
"Dís is her name. I sometimes hear him yelling it at her when she comes to visit and they get into an argument. It doesn't happen as often as it used to, but it does happen." Pansy took a sip of tea. "She yells right back at him. I've spoken to her a few times. Not for about five years though. Right around the time things got really bad and Mr. Oakenshield stopped opening his door."
"Oh." Bilbo tried to imagine never leaving his apartment for five years. While it would be nice, in theory, to not have to deal with people, Bilbo knew in practice it would drive him crazy. Hobbits weren't meant to be loners. "I'm still not going to just leave his CSA box in the hallway."
"Good."
"Good?" Bilbo asked.
"I will do him good to be forced out of his comfort zone," Pansy said. "Besides, arguments in the hallway make great gossip over tea. I imagine that Mr. Oakenshield will have much to say to his sister about you, and the only way you'll hear about it is through me." Pansy took another sip. "Mr. Baggins, I foresee us having quite a few tea times for the foreseeable future."
***
At precisely 9pm the next Thursday, Bilbo knocked on door 4C. It seemed to him that the amount of time he spent knocking was significantly shorter than last time before the door swung reluctantly open.
"You again. Didn't we already have this conversation?" Thorin growled. His eyes were still as piercing a blue as Bilbo remembered. Tonight he was wearing loose sweatpants in grey and a long-sleeved black shirt. His feet were bare, and Bilbo did his best not to stare at their hairlessness. Were all dwarf feet that pale? No wonder they always wore shoes everywhere.
"We did have a conversation two weeks ago, if you could call it that," Bilbo replied. "If we change topics, we might even manage three conversations. What do you think about the weather?"
"Nothing. In case you hadn't heard, I don't go outside," Thorin crossed his arms and glowered. As if looks alone could intimidate Bilbo. Really. If that was the case, Bilbo would have bowed to his family's wishes long ago.
"You really should. We're having lovely weather. Showers in the afternoon, but sunny and warm the rest of the day. Not hot though. I swear the boxes from the CSA were packed fit to bursting from all the produce we're getting on the farm." Bilbo stepped forward. "It's quite heavy. I'm going to put it down."
Thorin jumped back, acting as if Bilbo had some sort of disease that he'd catch just by accidentally touching him.
"I promise you, I will not cross your threshold," Bilbo replied. He set the CSA box down just inside Thorin's apartment. "I just want to make sure you get this."
"You can leave it in the hallway," Thorin said. His voice sounded strained. Bilbo shook his head.
"So you've said. And I've said I won't. I have decided it is too much of a risk and I won't be responsible for leaving it. You'll have to keep opening your door and taking it in when I knock," Bilbo replied.
"I could ignore you," Thorin said. Bilbo narrowed his eyes.
"You could try. I don't think you'll get very far."
"You can leave now." Thorin continued to glare at him. "I have the box. You see I have the box. There's no need to stand staring in the hall way."
"A pleasure as always, Master Oakenshield," Bilbo gritted out. "I will see you in two weeks."
***
The third time, Thorin did try to ignore Bilbo. It didn't work. He just kept knocking and knocking and knocking until Thorin threw open the door and yelled. Bilbo yelled right back. By the time Thorin got his CSA box into his apartment, half of his neighbors were in the hallway watching the show. He slammed the door shut.
"It would be easier if you'd just open the door for me," Bilbo yelled. "I'm not leaving your box in the hallway."
Whatever Thorin shouted back was muffled by the doorway and in Khuzdul. Bilbo figured it was pretty uncomplimentary though when the only other dwarf that lived on the hall burst out laughing. "Glad my nieces and nephews weren't around to hear that. My brother would have my beard if they repeated that where he could hear," the dwarf said, tipping his ridiculous hat down and giving Bilbo a conspiratorial wink before he went back inside his apartment.
This was not over.
***
The door opened almost as soon as Bilbo started knocking on the fourth delivery. Thorin looked more disgruntled than ever.
"What would it take to make you just leave the box outside my door?"
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing will make me leave your CSA box in the hallway," Bilbo replied. He hefted it across the threshold and put it on the floor.
"Usually its dwarves that have a reputation for being stubborn," Thorin replied. "I have never heard such a thing said about hobbits."
"Well, then you haven't been listening to the right people," Bilbo replied. He wiped at his brow and flexed his hands several times. The cardboard had been digging into them. "I never put much stock in generalizations anyway. They are wrong more often than their right."
"Such wise sounding clichés. Is there a book you memorized?" Thorin asked.
"Always so rude," Bilbo complained. "I will see you in two weeks."
***
"Why do you persist in being so annoying? Just leave the box in the hall!"
"And why do you persist in being rude and condescending? Try answering that question first. I will see you in two weeks."
***
"You could always come out to the farm and volunteer," Bilbo said at their sixth meeting. He squinted. "You look like you could use some sun."
"What part of 'I don't leave my apartment' do you not understand?"
"The offer still stands regardless. If you do decide you want to leave your apartment, you are welcome to come out to the farm. We could always use another volunteer. Especially one that isn't a Hobbit and can reach the top shelf in the garden shed."
"No," Thorin replied. And shut the door in Bilbo's face.
Tagged for: AU, PTSD, Thorin is an Empath, cultural differences, pre-relationship if you want to read it that way
The boxes full of fruit and vegetables from the C.S.A were delivered every other Thursday to the middle of the three brownstones that had been converted into apartments. It was Bilbo's job to make sure everyone picked up their box during the day. It had use to be Wilcome Goodbody's job until last week, when the younger Hobbit had moved to take another position at a company in High Heath. Really, Bilbo was happy for him. He was. But Bilbo wasn't exactly pleased to have been voluntold to take over the position. He'd spent every other Thursday for the last two months sitting in Wilcome's apartment learning the ins and outs of distributing the boxes, and honestly, so much interaction with his neighbors was exhausting. After the last Thursday when Wilcome was there to help him, Bilbo about up and quit.
"It gets much easier," Wilcome said. "You figure out how to manage the rush after a while. Trust me."
"I'd rather not figure it out, all things considered," Bilbo replied rather sharply. Then he sighed and got back up from where he'd sat down. "Not that there is anyone else to take the job. Now show me again what the different colored tags mean."
There were usually two rush periods: one early in the morning before people had to go to work, and another in the evening when people got home and remembered they needed to pick up the box. Wilcome had come up with a clever system to track it all. Red tags on those who came early. Orange tags for those who came at irregular times during the day. Blue tags for those who came in the evening. It was the kind of system any Hobbit would be proud of.
"What about this one?" Bilbo had asked. It had a green tag with the name Thorin carefully printed on it.
"Oh. That is Master Oakenshield's. It gets left in the hallway outside his door. He pays extra to have it delivered," Wilcome had replied. "I usually do it last after the rest have cleared out. He don't mind."
Bilbo made a non-committal noise. Master Oakenshield might not mind, but Bilbo did. Maybe once he'd gotten into the swing of things, Bilbo would investigate further.
Today had been Bilbo's first day distributing the boxes himself, and it was chaos. Despite sending out emails, verbally telling people two weeks ago, and posting a note on the door of Wilcome's old apartment, people still didn't realize that the pick-up location was now at Bilbo's apartment. He'd been dealing with harried people all day long. Some reacted to the mistake with apologies. Others made snide remarks about how someone should have told them. Bilbo waved away the apologies, and returned the snide remarks with barbed words of his own. Never let it be said that Bilbo Baggins was a push-over.
Now it 9pm and all that remained in his apartment was Bilbo and the lone CSA box and its green tag.
The box was made of waxed cardboard with a picturesque red barn on a rolling green hill printed on one side. It had been designed to be easily packed, easily carried from the field, and to resist falling apart if the produce was wet. It wasn't really that big for a Man, though it was considerably more awkward for a Hobbit to carry. Bilbo huffed as he maneuvered the box through the door of his apartment.
Master Oakenshield lived in the same building as Bilbo did in apartment 4C. So at least Bilbo didn't have to try to wrestle the box down the street. Just up two floors because of course, the elevator was out of service again. His arms hurt by the time he'd made the fourth floor. Sweat pooled in the small of his back, and covered his brow.
"There." He placed the box on the floor of the hallway outside 4C. The door was solid wood, painted dark green like all the rest, with a brass number four and the old rune for the letter C. Which made sense. The building was old, and management liked to use the older alphabet for such things. It gave the place character.
That should have been the end of it, but of course, it wasn't. Bilbo couldn't just leave the box there. What if someone came along and took stuff from it? Or just made off with the box? He'd be held accountable for that. Master Oakenshield had paid extra to have it delivered. It was Bilbo's job to make sure he received it. And Bilbo abruptly decided he was going to start that new policy now, on his first day, rather than letting this whole "leaving stuff in the hallways" business continue.
Bilbo reached up and knocked on the wood. All the doors had brass knockers, but the building had been originally designed for Men. It was only later that elves, hobbits, and even a few dwarves had moved. The insides of most of the apartments had all been redesigned with the various other races in mind. The hallways and the common areas, on the other hand, still left much to be desired, and the brass knocker was just a bit out of reach.
There was no answer to Bilbo's knock. Normally, Bilbo would have assumed that meant there was no one home. He could hear movement on the other side of the door though, and the faint strains of music from a television. Bilbo waited for a few more seconds.
Then he knocked again, this time louder and longer.
Again, there was no answer. Bilbo huffed in annoyance. He was tempted to leave Master Oakenshield to collect his box, for by now more than a few neighbors had stuck their heads out of their doors to see what was going on. Bilbo made sure to give them each a polite, if a bit tight, smile.
Once the heads had disappeared back into their respective apartments, Bilbo knocked again, only this time he kept knocking. And knocking. And knocking. Just when Bilbo thought he'd have to stop because his hand was going numb, the door swung open.
Almost five foot of angry dwarf stood in the doorway, blue eyes blazing out of a too thin face. His hair was a wild mass of black streaked with grey, with only a single braid in front of each ear. His clothes were loose and comfortable. This must be Thorin Oakenshield.
"Who are you?" the dwarf growled. His voice was pitched low and horse, the syllables slightly rough. As if he wasn't use to talking.
"Bilbo Baggins, at your service," Bilbo replied. He thought about giving a little bow, as was proper, but the trouble he'd been through to actually get the door open forestalled such niceties. "I brought your CSA box and wanted to introduce myself." Bilbo had wanted to do no such thing, but it seemed politer than saying 'I was annoyed that you didn't answer your door' even if that was the truth. The dwarf frowned.
"What happened to the Hobbit? The dark haired one?" Thorin asked.
The Hobbit? The nerve. As if Bilbo wasn't a Hobbit as well.
"Wilcome Goodbody? Well, if you had bothered to read the five emails and the letter hand delivered to your door, you would know he moved out. I'm now in charge of the CSA distribution. I wanted to make sure that your box got to you and wasn't stolen from the hallway," Bilbo replied a tad sharply. Didn't anyone read anything anymore?
"In the three years I have had a box delivered, not once has it been stolen." Thorin's eyes narrowed. "Have you really come to deliver my box or have you come to stare at the recluse in apartment 4C?"
"I assure you, Master Oakenshield, you are not so famous that your reputation has spread throughout the building." Bilbo offered his hand. "All I wanted to do was introduce myself, make sure you realized that someone else is handling the distribution for the building, and perhaps discuss alternate ways of having your box delivered."
"The way it has been delivered is fine," Thorin growled. He ignored the hand Bilbo held out. There was a long tense moment, before Bilbo dropped it.
"I'll be on my way then. Good evening to you, Master Oakenshield."
"Master Baggins," Thorin replied. Then he stood in the doorway, watching Bilbo, but not making a move to pick up the box.
"The box..."
"I will get it once you leave."
"Then I will take myself elsewhere." Bilbo turned on his heel and walked off. Once he'd judged himself to be far enough away, he said what he was thinking under his breath. "Rude."
***
The thing was, Bilbo was a Hobbit and hobbits were nosy by nature. Elves liked to say that hobbits could smell gossip from a mile away, and they were not far off. It doesn't take a genius to figure out there's a story surrounding Thorin the recluse. And Bilbo was determined to find out what it was.
He doesn't bother asking the other dwarves in the buildings. While they are no longer as secretive as they once were, they tended to close ranks around one of their own. Definitely not dwarves. Bilbo would get nothing out of them and possibly lose what little goodwill he had managed to cultivate with them.
Elves were also out. Half of them tended to still treat dwarves as beneath their notice and the other half treated them as slightly stupid children. He might be able to get something from them. Then again, he might not. Even if he did, Bilbo would never be able to trust that it was remotely accurate.
The Men were as gossipy as hobbits given time and boredom to motivate them, but Bilbo didn't have the patience to wait for an opportune time. Besides, dwarves lived for a long time - longer than hobbits and certainly longer than Men. Bilbo didn't want to find go through all the trouble of making close enough friends with the big folk to be included in gossip only to find out they didn't know anything.
Instead he turned to the hobbits. Mira Grubb was a single mother with three children, and a husband that had left her over five years ago to go "find himself." She had taught herself coding and now made enough money to comfortably support herself and her children. So much so that it was rumored that her husband had tried to get her to take him back before she firmly showed him the door. The Grubbs were distant relatives to the Baggins by marriage, so that's where Bilbo started.
"It's not often I get a visit from - ROSA PUT THAT DOWN - the Baggins side of the family. I'm so glad you could make - FILBERT DO NOT HIT YOUR SISTER - it for tea," Mira said. Mira's eldest daughter Gilly carefully poured the tea from a china teapot with painted orange roses into a matching cup. "Thank you, Gilly."
"I am glad for this chance to catch up," Bilbo replied. Mira smiled. They both knew Bilbo wasn't being sincere, but politeness dictated that they see the game through. "I admit I haven't been back to the Shire since I left. Some of my relatives were less than pleased with my leaving."
"I bet I can guess which ones. Lobelia, perhaps? I can't imagine why you wouldn't want to visit with her more often," Mira said dryly. Bilbo snorted and managed to turn it into a cough.
"Yes, well." Bilbo looked over at Gilly, who was offering him a sugar cube with tiny silver tongs. "Thank you, Miss Gilly, I would love some sugar in my tea."
"Of course, Mister Baggins," Gilly replied. Then she giggled as she carefully put one sugar cube in.
"I admit I didn't come to gossip about family."
"Then who did you come to gossip about?" Mira asked. Bilbo smiled.
"There's a dwarf that live in 4C. I met him the other day and he mentioned that he was something of a building celebrity recluse. I'm trying to get some more information about him."
"You actually... saw him? Spoke to him?" Mira asked.
"To answer your questions, yes and briefly. I can honestly believe he hadn't left his apartment in a while with how untidy he looked. I don't think either one of use was impressed with the other."
"I have to say, you probably already know more about him than me," Mira replied. She set her tea cup down, then noticed what Gilly was doing. "Gilly, I think that's quite enough sugar for Mister Baggins's tea. Why don't you see if we have any teacakes in the kitchen?"
Bilbo looked down to find his tea had been turned into sugar sludge. He sighed. "No gossip then?"
"All I know is that he's a recluse and has been since before I moved in three years ago. I barely knew he was a dwarf," Mira replied. "You'll have to look elsewhere. Maybe the Hornblowers would know something. They've been in the building longer."
"I'll pay them a visit then. Thank you Mira, Ms. Gilly for the tea and the conversation."
"You're welcome Mr. Baggins," Gilly said in her best adult voice. Bilbo smiled.
***
Over the course of the next three days, Bilbo visited the Hornblower family, Isak Took, Stella and Bill Cotton, and Elanor Goodbody for tea. It was a wonder his bladder didn't burst with all the liquid he consumed, and certainly his latest waistcoat was not pleased by the amount of sweets he had. Really, if he'd wanted to be this social, Bilbo would have stayed in the Shire.
It was not all for naught though. He had learned a few things about the mysterious Thorin Oakenshield.
1) Oakenshield was not Thorin's actual last name. No one knew what his actual last name was, but Oakenshield was an epithet earned in battle.
2) Having an epithet meant at some point, Thorin had been in the dwarven armed forces. Most everyone agreed that he'd served during the War of the Orcs, though no one could say exactly when. Dwarves lived longer than Men and hobbits combined, and the War of the Orcs had lasted well over twenty years.
3) PTSD was the most commonly bandied abound theory on to why Thorin never left his apartment and was rarely seen.
4) The next most common theory was agoraphobia.
5) Thorin rarely had visitors, but he did have them. No one could really describe them though or say when they had last visited. Everyone just knew he occasionally had them.
6) Every single person was shocked that Thorin had opened his door. Bilbo couldn't decide whether to be pleased or mortified that he actually badgered a sick veteran into responding to him.
Pansy Proudfoot was the last Hobbit in the three buildings that Bilbo hadn't talked to. She lived the closest to Thorin - just down the hall - but was a bit of a recluse herself. It was Isak Took that had recommended that Bilbo talk with her. "She's been here the longest. Said the Shire was too tame for her blood. I half think the Proudfoots would disinherit her if she wasn't the richest one of the lot."
That was a feeling Bilbo could certainly relate to, given his relationship with the Baggins side of the family. Perhaps he and Pansy would have more to talk about than just Thorin Oakenshield. He knocked on the dark green door marked with the cirths for 4G. When nothing happened, Bilbo knocked again.
Funny. He'd been told Pansy Proudfoot didn't leave her apartment much. Had Bilbo found the one day she wasn't at home? Or perhaps she was hard of hearing? Was he about to drive yet another recluse from their den?
He was just about to knock one last time, when the door suddenly swung open. Bilbo opened his mouth to get the usual platitudes about hoping he hadn't come at a bad time and to introduce himself when he froze. Pansy Proudfoot looked absolutely nothing like what he was expecting.
"Hmph. You must be Bilbo Baggins." Her hair was blue - shockingly neon blue - and was haloed around her wrinkled face like an over grown bird's nest. Bilbo knew he was staring. He couldn't really help himself. "I slept with a Baggins when I was younger. Can't say I much appreciated it."
"Are you sure the last name was Baggins and not Sackville?" Bilbo said, shock loosening his tongue. Then he flushed bright red. "I mean..."
It must have been the right thing to say though, because Pansy cackled and waved him through the door. She was wearing a red plaid housecoat and fuzzy yellow slippers with duck heads on the front. They quacked softly with every step she took. "You must have some Took blood in you as well. Come in, come in. Tell me who your family is, and especially which Sackeville did what to make you dislike them so."
Bilbo wanted to be upset, but really, Pansy had it right. "My mother was Took." He stepped over the threshold. Inside it looked like any smial from the Shire: handcrafted wooden furniture, braided rugs, hand colored botanical prints on the wall, delicate porcelain plates on display. The mounted warg head over the fireplace and the three swords in the umbrella stand rather ruined cozy effect though. "Isak Took recommended I speak with you."
"Did he now? Bet he was laughing in his tea the whole time," Pansy said as she headed towards the kitchen. "Sit, sit. I haven't forgotten how to treat a guest. I have tea and lemon cookies. The good kind. With icing on them."
The warg head had glass yellow eyes that seemed to stare at him no matter where he positioned himself in the front room. Bilbo eyed it warily. Common sense told him to leave as quickly as propriety allowed. Curiosity had him sitting in the chair. "I wouldn't say no to cookies."
"Here we go," Pansy said, coming back in with a tea tray laden with tea and cookies. She made him a cup of tea, plain, and handed him a cookie on a delicate plate. "Now, I haven't spoken to my children in months - by design mind you - and you don't seem to be the gold digging type. Not with clothes that nice. Bit young for my taste as well. So tell me, why are you here?"
Bilbo took a sip of tea, and discovered it was very good tea. Really, Bilbo would have been hard pressed to brew a finer cup himself. The cookie when he tried it was also very good. He waffled a bit on how much small talk to include, before deciding that being straightforward was the best way to get answers. "I was actually trying to find out a bit about the recluse in 4C. Thorin Oakenshield?"
Pansy watched him with sharp eyes, carefully setting her tea cup down. Bilbo felt vaguely like a fauntling that had just been caught digging in the dirt in his best outfit or with his hand on the cookie plate when guests were due to arrive at any moment. "And why do you want to know so much about Mister Oakenshield? Maybe he's is just a dwarf who likes his privacy and deserves to have it."
"Yes, well. As much as he likes his privacy. I have a task to perform. I am the person who delivers the CSA boxes to everyone. I'm not going to just leave it in the hallway. All I need him to do is what he did last week, which is open his door," Bilbo said.
"He opened his door to you?" Pansy asked. Bilbo sighed.
"Yes, he did. To yell at me. I find it interesting that that is the one thing everyone finds the most shocking."
"Thorin hasn't left his apartment nor opened his door to anyone not his kin for over five years," Pansy said. "Of course people are shocked. I am shocked. That still doesn't explain why you want gossip on him. You can get him to open his door without knowing what happened to make him this way."
"I suppose you are right," Bilbo said. He took another sip of tea. "I would hate to do something to upset him further. Forewarned is forearmed."
Pansy looked at him for a long, long moment. "I supposed that does make sense. Sad story, really. He was a war hero. Received commendations and metals and all sorts of other frip-frap. But as the years went by, his world grew smaller and smaller until it extended no further than his apartment."
Bilbo found himself leaning forward eagerly. "So he was part of the War of the Orcs." Pansy snorted.
"Oh no. That happened long after his time on the battle field. He was there at the Mountain Wars."
"How old is he?" Bilbo blurted out. The Mountain Wars had happened before he'd been born. "I mean, the Mountain Wars were fought over eighty years ago."
"Thorin lived here when I moved in over sixty years ago. I've been told they live to be 250, sometimes even 350 years old. Can you imagine?" Pansy chuckled. "He's probably close to two hundred. Maybe less than that. It's hard to say with dwarves. I know his sister is younger than him."
"His sister?" Bilbo asked.
"Dís is her name. I sometimes hear him yelling it at her when she comes to visit and they get into an argument. It doesn't happen as often as it used to, but it does happen." Pansy took a sip of tea. "She yells right back at him. I've spoken to her a few times. Not for about five years though. Right around the time things got really bad and Mr. Oakenshield stopped opening his door."
"Oh." Bilbo tried to imagine never leaving his apartment for five years. While it would be nice, in theory, to not have to deal with people, Bilbo knew in practice it would drive him crazy. Hobbits weren't meant to be loners. "I'm still not going to just leave his CSA box in the hallway."
"Good."
"Good?" Bilbo asked.
"I will do him good to be forced out of his comfort zone," Pansy said. "Besides, arguments in the hallway make great gossip over tea. I imagine that Mr. Oakenshield will have much to say to his sister about you, and the only way you'll hear about it is through me." Pansy took another sip. "Mr. Baggins, I foresee us having quite a few tea times for the foreseeable future."
***
At precisely 9pm the next Thursday, Bilbo knocked on door 4C. It seemed to him that the amount of time he spent knocking was significantly shorter than last time before the door swung reluctantly open.
"You again. Didn't we already have this conversation?" Thorin growled. His eyes were still as piercing a blue as Bilbo remembered. Tonight he was wearing loose sweatpants in grey and a long-sleeved black shirt. His feet were bare, and Bilbo did his best not to stare at their hairlessness. Were all dwarf feet that pale? No wonder they always wore shoes everywhere.
"We did have a conversation two weeks ago, if you could call it that," Bilbo replied. "If we change topics, we might even manage three conversations. What do you think about the weather?"
"Nothing. In case you hadn't heard, I don't go outside," Thorin crossed his arms and glowered. As if looks alone could intimidate Bilbo. Really. If that was the case, Bilbo would have bowed to his family's wishes long ago.
"You really should. We're having lovely weather. Showers in the afternoon, but sunny and warm the rest of the day. Not hot though. I swear the boxes from the CSA were packed fit to bursting from all the produce we're getting on the farm." Bilbo stepped forward. "It's quite heavy. I'm going to put it down."
Thorin jumped back, acting as if Bilbo had some sort of disease that he'd catch just by accidentally touching him.
"I promise you, I will not cross your threshold," Bilbo replied. He set the CSA box down just inside Thorin's apartment. "I just want to make sure you get this."
"You can leave it in the hallway," Thorin said. His voice sounded strained. Bilbo shook his head.
"So you've said. And I've said I won't. I have decided it is too much of a risk and I won't be responsible for leaving it. You'll have to keep opening your door and taking it in when I knock," Bilbo replied.
"I could ignore you," Thorin said. Bilbo narrowed his eyes.
"You could try. I don't think you'll get very far."
"You can leave now." Thorin continued to glare at him. "I have the box. You see I have the box. There's no need to stand staring in the hall way."
"A pleasure as always, Master Oakenshield," Bilbo gritted out. "I will see you in two weeks."
***
The third time, Thorin did try to ignore Bilbo. It didn't work. He just kept knocking and knocking and knocking until Thorin threw open the door and yelled. Bilbo yelled right back. By the time Thorin got his CSA box into his apartment, half of his neighbors were in the hallway watching the show. He slammed the door shut.
"It would be easier if you'd just open the door for me," Bilbo yelled. "I'm not leaving your box in the hallway."
Whatever Thorin shouted back was muffled by the doorway and in Khuzdul. Bilbo figured it was pretty uncomplimentary though when the only other dwarf that lived on the hall burst out laughing. "Glad my nieces and nephews weren't around to hear that. My brother would have my beard if they repeated that where he could hear," the dwarf said, tipping his ridiculous hat down and giving Bilbo a conspiratorial wink before he went back inside his apartment.
This was not over.
***
The door opened almost as soon as Bilbo started knocking on the fourth delivery. Thorin looked more disgruntled than ever.
"What would it take to make you just leave the box outside my door?"
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing will make me leave your CSA box in the hallway," Bilbo replied. He hefted it across the threshold and put it on the floor.
"Usually its dwarves that have a reputation for being stubborn," Thorin replied. "I have never heard such a thing said about hobbits."
"Well, then you haven't been listening to the right people," Bilbo replied. He wiped at his brow and flexed his hands several times. The cardboard had been digging into them. "I never put much stock in generalizations anyway. They are wrong more often than their right."
"Such wise sounding clichés. Is there a book you memorized?" Thorin asked.
"Always so rude," Bilbo complained. "I will see you in two weeks."
***
"Why do you persist in being so annoying? Just leave the box in the hall!"
"And why do you persist in being rude and condescending? Try answering that question first. I will see you in two weeks."
***
"You could always come out to the farm and volunteer," Bilbo said at their sixth meeting. He squinted. "You look like you could use some sun."
"What part of 'I don't leave my apartment' do you not understand?"
"The offer still stands regardless. If you do decide you want to leave your apartment, you are welcome to come out to the farm. We could always use another volunteer. Especially one that isn't a Hobbit and can reach the top shelf in the garden shed."
"No," Thorin replied. And shut the door in Bilbo's face.