Author's note: I began posting this fic on AO3 on 28/5-15. This fic depicts the unlikely, hilarious scenario in which the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, Bilbo included, and Gandalf are brought to see their own movies (the Extended Editions). It's the first of an intended series (of one fic per movie, or that's the plan at least) which can be found on AO3 with the title "Will You Look At That, We're Watching Us. Ourselves. On screen. I'm confused (as narrated by Bilbo Baggins)". This is the first part, where they get to see An Unexpected Journey. It's great fun to write, and I hope enjoyable to read! Remember this is a non-serious crack!fic for like 99% of the time.

I think these tags may better explain than any summary: the company watches the movies, Oblivious Bilbo, Thorin Is an Idiot, quite a bit of nonsense, lots of facepalms, The Company ships Bagginshield, Gandalf is a Troll, all characters appearing in the movies will be mentioned at some point, book-verse mixed in too, Characters Watching Themselves, An Unexpected Journey, Crack, Fluff, Angst, headcanons may appear, this is silly, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Thorin is a softie and a dork at heart, there might be a plot of a sort somewhere around here, BAMF Bilbo, Emotionally Constipated Thorin

(Uhmm yeah.)

Please enjoy! And don't it too seriously, yeah.

An Unexpected Viewing
or: Excellent Burglar Material Indeed
(as narrated by Bilbo Baggins)

Chapter 1:

Introduction

wherein the members of the company of thorin oakenshield find themselves magically whisked away
(but not to oz), meet nobody in particular, and are introduced
to a … 'moh-vee'? (no kíli it can't be eaten!)

The house of Beorn is huge and slightly intimidating, much like the skin-changer himself. Seeing him both as a bear in the shadow of twilight and then in the morning as a very, very tall man chopping wood with the biggest axe Bilbo had ever laid eyes on, it took quite some self-control not to try run and hide or squeal in surprise when Beorn got close or spoke in his direction.

They have been allowed to rest for a couple of days at the house, which is a great relief - to most of them, anyway. (Thorin refuses to relax for a second, because he is a very stubborn, very paranoid Dwarf, and since he does not let down his guard for a second neither does Dwalin, Glóin or Fíli. And Dori has started sleeping with one eye open at the time like some kind of owl, probably to keep guard of his brothers. Come think of it, Bilbo thinks maybe he and Bombur are the only ones actually somewhat enjoying the relative peace and quiet of this short rest).

It means sleeping on something more comfortable than the bare ground; it's not a proper bed but Bilbo won't complain, since the piles of hay are the softest things he's had chance to sleep on for weeks and weeks and weeks now. They get to eat hot food at last, too, and some very sweet honey and moist bread; not thin broths and dry rations that not even Bombur's cooking skills can improve much. And the hot baths! With both a big tub and a fire available Bilbo is so, so happy to finally wash all that dirt and grime out of his hair.

But not all of the Company are as happy as the Hobbit. There's a great deal of muttering among them, and Thorin has a watch set up during the night, which Bilbo thinks is a bit silly; Beorn, while large and probably very deadly, means them no harm and Gandalf says it's safe here, so why can't they all be allowed proper rest for once? But the Dwarf is adamant and ignores anyone's complaints, and if it soothes his paranoia - which in fact isn't that much paranoia, after what happened with the trolls and the goblin caves and with the wargs, Azog appearing and Thorin's flash near death - then they'll let him have his way (though there are lots of grumpy grumblings at the prospect of less sleep, especially from Fíli and Kíli).

So they spend two days at Beorn's house, just recuperating and gathering strength for the next length of the journey, which could prove even more perilous than the last. They have the Elven forest between them and the mountain, and from what Bilbo's gathered it's not a nice place, certainly nothing like Rivendell. There are still many miles left to cover.

It's a sunny afternoon and Beorn is out keeping to his beehives, and most Dwarves gathered around the big table making plans, distributing supplies in packs and sharpening weapons. Bilbo comes to join them after a few hours walking around in the garden surrounding the house.

It's nothing like a garden in the Shire, but close enough, and it'd been nice to just sit under the trees and smell the flowers. Too long has passed since he had the chance to do that. Beorn (still obstinately addressing him as "little bunny" which is rather rude, Bilbo thinks, but the large man is their host and it wouldn't do to anger him) kindly let him pick any flowers or seeds of his choosing from the fruitful garden, and the Hobbit realized that not much was going to survive the journey to Erebor and then back; but an acorn might, so he'd pocketed one, making sure it lay secure with the pocket button (one of the sad few he has left now) tightly closed.

Returning inside he looks toward the giant table - at least giant from a Hobbit point of view – which is center stage. Glóin is methodically counting coins while Ori is making notes in his journal, and it looks like he's drawing a few sketches too. Dori is drinking tea from an oversized wooden cup, while Fíli is sitting some way off polishing one of his many throwing axes. Thorin is there too, with Balin, Dwalin and Bifur; the latter is whittling a toy eagle it looks like. Some way off, Óin appears to be comparing some medicinal looking herbs or another, perhaps also picked from the garden, sorting some out and adding others to his threadbare pack. Last he spots Bofur who's lounging in the giant chair like a misfit king on his throne, hat pulled halfway down over his face, the Dwarf more or less asleep.

"Ah! Come join us, Master Baggins," Balin says noticing the approaching Hobbit. "We're drawing up the last details for the next leg of the journey, so we should be off before nightfall. We have a schedule to keep, after all."

"Word is lunch is going to be served soon," Glóin piques up, adding a few more coins to the pile on the left. He looks for once rather content and not concerned about his currently dwindling finances, his wife or son back in the Blue Mountains, or the journey or any mishaps that may happen along the way (the list of possibilities is very, very long). As Glóin is quite the worrier (and vocal about it), this is a rarity.

Bilbo's stomach rumbles a little at the mention of food. Even if it will be bread and honey again, it's much better than the watery stew and dry rations and cram which they've had for the past weeks. He can't really believe it's already been one and a half months* since he left the Shire. No Hobbit has been this far east for over a millennia, he could just bet!

All of the Dwarves, Thorin included, have become a lot less grumpy and much more kind towards him since the attack by Azog and the eagles rescuing them and carrying them to the Carrock. Most of them have, one by one and at different times, approached him afterward and thanked him (in their own way) for his most surprising bravery, for facing down a pack of orcs and wargs trying to defend Thorin and the others ('Such a tiny, fearless thing!' Bilbo has heard some of them murmur when they think he can't hear; he thinks he even heard Kíli call him 'adorably fierce' once, which was just ridiculous. And he's not tiny!). Fíli and Kíli were especially grateful for saving their uncle. They've stuck to the Hobbit much like glue for the past few days talking about their home back in Ered Luin and in turn asking for (read: incessantly demanding) stories about the Shire and about Bilbo himself.

(And Bilbo doesn't know yet but the young Sons of Durin tend to call him 'Uncle Boggins' now in private discussions and a lot of times when Thorin can obviously hear but is pretending not to.)

Much to his embarrassment, he slips as he scrambles up to join them on one of the oversized benches and a strong hand catches him beneath the arm. "Steady there," says Thorin. "It would not do to have our burglar bump his head and hurt himself before we even reach the Mountain!"

"Indeed. I say his pretty, clever head is one of his best features, though not at all the only one, eh," says Nori, smirking for some reason.

"Ahem, yes, well," Thorin clears his throat, voice a little rough. Belatedly Bilbo realizes Thorin hasn't let go of his arm yet, awkwardly steadying him. "Obviously we need m— our burglar to be whole once we reach Erebor, to be able to reclaim our hom–"

The Dwarf cuts off mid-word.

The ground starts trembling; softly at first, then more and more violently with each passing second, and with it begins a noise that soon drowns out all words and the birdsong from outside and the bleating of the animals in the house. Bilbo would've tumbled to the floor if Thorin wasn't still gently but firmly gripping his elbow. It doesn't stop a yelp from escaping him though. This really isn't good, he thinks. He's heard stories of times and places when the ground would tremor violently, but that never happened in the Shire, at least not since they started proper records of time there.

"What's –?!" cries out the Dwarves in choir, grunting and cursing in surprise. There's no foe for them to arm themselves against. "What's going on?!"

"Is this an earthquake?" Kíli gasps, grasping the nearest part of his brother which happens to be a fistful of braided hair. Fíli's a bit too preoccupied with keeping his balance to demand his brother let go. "Oh Mahal, what if it's the dragon?"

"Dragon?!" cries Bilbo. What? What? No, no, this can't be a dragon thundering towards them. Smaug is miles away, hiding under a mountain, hopefully very deeply asleep and completely unaware that fourteen Dwarves and a Hobbit are making their way toward Erebor.

"If it's a dragon we're fucked," mutters Dwalin. "We're surrounded by wood."

Like the protective mother hen he is, Dori grabs Ori holding him tightly, ignoring Ori's loud protests. Glóin tries to grab all the coins he'd so neatly organized in piles on the table and shove them under his beard as to not lose a single penny. The table rattles, everything on it tumbling to the ground along with things from various shelves and other surfaces in the room. The animals are rushing about, crying in panic. (Nobody sees Nori pocketing several large chess pieces - waste not want not.)

"Mister Gandalf! Mister Gandalf! Help!"

And while everything is shaking a light appears, a white glow without source, enveloping them all and the Dwarves are drawing weapons, screaming battle-cries; and just as the Wizard comes rushing from around the corner, the strange light reaches its peak –

– and the bright light recedes, disappearing into nothing.

They all blink confused and blinded for a moment. As the light clears, they come to realize that they stand on strange ground, and the air feels altogether different. No longer are they in Beorn's house, or in a forest in the Wild or any of the sort.

No, they've somehow been transported into a large room with darkened walls, save for the one furthest off which is entirely white. In front of this white wall there's a row of plump, comfortable-looking chairs - fifteen, to be precise; all of which all in perfect Hobbit or Dwarf size, except the last one which seems more fitting someone of the Big Folk.

The Dwarves react at once as they come to, grasping for weapons but finding to their shock and anger that all of their equipment is missing. Bilbo realizes that the now-starting-be-familiar weight of Sting at his side is also gone. None of them have their packs, so that means no supplies, no food, no blankets, nothing.

"What is going on here?!" Thorin growls, and he and some turn to the Wizard, who is standing utterly silent by the back. Bilbo has never seen Gandalf so shell-shocked before. That can't be good. "What is this place? Tharkûn, give me answers!"

"Yeah, where did Beorn's house go?" Kíli puts in. There's an uncertainty on his face like he can't decide whether he should be distressed, afraid, angry or just intrigued by it all. Fíli is right at his side, quiet and concerned, wrapping a hand around his little brother's arm. "Huh. Never heard of a vanishing house before."

Dwalin scowls darkly - Ori makes a worried noise at the back of his throat. Pushing his way through the group, Dori comes to stand next to Thorin and glares at the Wizard alongside. "Most importantly how do we get back?"

But how can they be here? Have they somehow been all kidnapped in their sleep, a spell put upon them? Were they cast into the place by magic? This is not good, Bilbo thinks, oh, not good at all! What if they can't get back? And what if they starve here? Surely Gandalf must find them a way out!

The Hobbit turns to the Wizard despairingly, silently seeking an answer, a hint of an answer, anything at all to clear up the situation and hopefully bring them back to Beorn's house. But Gandalf is just staring at the wall and humming on his breath, like he's trying to solve this puzzle but can't make ends or tails of it. And if the Wizard doesn't know, then it can't be just bad, it must be very, very bad indeed. Oh, typical! And this had started out as such a good day!

"Yeah," Nori says. "We should split up and look for a door!"

Dori looks outraged. "No, no, that's too risky! We have to stay together!"

"Risky? Risky is staying here, vulnerable to whatever foul play that's at work. We must prepare a defence!"

"Aye! Can any of you find any weapons at all?" Balin asks the group as a whole.

"Oh no, even my hidden knives are gone...all of my sixteen knives and throwing axes... Oh, I loved those throwing axes!"

"Wait, Fíli, how do you keep sixteen knives and axes on you? Where do you even put them?" Kíli blinks at his brother owlishly.

"That's kind of, uh, irrelevant right now. Ahem. Kíli, look around, maybe there's a hidden passage somewhere in the walls or floor…"

"… euhm, Thorin, you are still holding onto my arm. Ahem. Maybe you could let go now, please? ... no?"

Bifur shakes a fist violently. "Zimrith ib-bekan!"

"Mister Gandalf, did you do this? Did you put a spell on us?!"

"Now, Master Dori, I certainly wouldn't –"

"Ah, eh … Thorin, please let go now? My hand is beginning to numb …"

(Glóin is too busy lamenting the loss of all of their shiny coins to make any inputs.)

"... Look! I've still got my journal. Good. I'd hate losing it. Oh, wait! Here's my quill ..."

"And how will a damned quill help us out of here?!"

One by one the Dwarves gather their wits (as much as they can, facing these odd and unexpected events) and soon there are so many voices in the air that Bilbo feels like he's stuck in a pissing match back in the Shire at one of his cousins' parties, where the Sackville-Bagginses would find any way to argument with the nearest Took, effectively dragging all related Hobbits into it all, over some silly (or not so silly) subject like whose mother does the best crochet.

Bilbo is just so tired by everything that's happened so far on this journey that he decides that maybe it's best not to get too involved. Especially since Thorin's tone is getting more and more threatening, and Gandalf is standing there choking on his pipe, which by chance hasn't disappearing unlike all of their other gear. Thorin still won't let go of his arm – the Dwarf doesn't seem to realize he's still holding it, or has simply ignored Bilbo's polite request to be let go. Oh, well. The Dwarf means no ill by it, Bilbo knows, so he'll let it slip. For now, anyway.

Instead the Hobbit glances around the room to make more sense of it. There's no sign of windows or any doors – no ways of escape. There are no carvings or banners or letters on the walls; nothing to indicate what place or Age this is, if it's been made by Men or Dwarves or Elves. It's very frustrating and frightening, and Bilbo feels very small indeed, and would prefer to be back at Beorn's house right now. He was just getting used that place!

Looking back at the Company, Bilbo can see Dori putting a protective arm around Ori, who tries pushing him off in vain; Nori, on the other hand, has moved to the side and is inspecting the chairs and white walls with a frown on his face. Bifur is waving a fist, muttering in Khuzdul, and Glóin has moved on from the coins to instead bemoan the loss of his beloved axes ("Oh, those were made by my great-grandfather! My wee Gimli was meant to inherit those, now they're lost, lost forever!").

Óin is loudly shouting about portents and ill omens and how this has a very foul air about it. And Dwalin has taken to violently throwing himself at the nearest wall in attempt to fell it; it doesn't budge an inch. He's no doubt going to be sporting some heavy bruises before long if he keeps that up.

Heaving a sigh, Bilbo has to cover his sensitive ears for all the noise.

This goes on and on and on for several minutes. Bilbo considers breaking his silence, standing up and trying to do something to stop this chaos, when finally Thorin manages to be heard over the noise with a command in Khuzdul; much like he'd done in Bag End, so many months ago, when there'd been bickering around the table.

"Shazara!"

Whatever the word means it's pretty effective. Bilbo sighs in relief at the descending silence.

Gandalf clears his throat. "It appears we have been side-tracked. Let's have a careful look around. I have a feeling that whatever power brought us here it did not do so for leisure. Clearly this has been planned beforehand; just look at the number of the chairs and the sizes of them! It's an exact match to this Company."

"Don't touch them! They're probably made of some unnatural magic!" Dori loudly cries when Ori pokes at the nearest chair with one of his knitting needles, which also had survived this strange trip.

Maybe whatever force that brought them here only didn't want them to bring weapons? (Even if a knitting needle surely could function as a weapon during an emergency.) Spurred by this thought, Bilbo puts a hand in his pocket - both the acorn and the ring are still there. But becoming invisible wouldn't help much now, would it? There's no way out, no doors – no guards to hide from either. Just a large empty room and fifteen plump, comfortable-looking chairs.

"Quite the contrary, Master Dori, these chairs appear to be entirely normal and magicless," Gandalf says, ignoring both the outraged look on the Dwarf's face and the shadow of Thorin behind him, who is obstinately glaring at the Wizard. "We must have been brought here for a reason, and to find that reason I think we'd all better sit down." And with that the Wizard takes seat on the biggest of the fifteen chairs and pulls out a tobacco pouch from an inner pocket and begins stuffing his pipe with it.

"Are you certain that's a good idea?" Bilbo asks nervously.

"Sit down, all of you, and I'm sure our host will have the graces to appear."

It takes quite some time and further demanding from Gandalf (and patience) but eventually all of them, even Thorin, have taken seat; Bilbo nearest the Wizard who's sitting furthest to the left, with the Company's leader on the Hobbit's other side. Fíli and Kíli immediately claim the seats closest to their uncle, and the Ri brothers next to them, and then Bifur, Bofur and Bombur, and lastly Óin and Glóin.

For a while they sit there waiting and muttering amongst each other in a mix of Westron and Khuzdul. And Bilbo notices that the lights - the sources he can't really pinpoint other than some form of big lamps high, high up in the ceiling - are slowly going out. He turns to Gandalf, but the Wizard looks calm, so the Hobbit tries to calm his own frantically beating heart too. Thorin still won't stop glaring at the Wizard, though.

As Gandalf puts his pipe in his mouth the lights go out entirely, and all Dwarves fall quiet in surprise. Eventually the Wizard harrumphs and says: "You may stop glaring at me, Master Oakenshield. I have nothing to do with our current situation."

Eventually Thorin stops fixing his eyes on the Wizard but Bilbo hears him mutter darkly, "Why am I having difficulty believing that?"

It makes the Hobbit to almost smile. He should've taken seat beside Bofur, who's at least cheerful company, not between these grouchy two!

Within a minute or two after they've all settled down to impatiently wait, a voice echoes through the large chamber. It has no direct source and nobody appears before them. Bilbo can't make out whether the voice is that of a man or woman, or what race they may belong to. It's rather disconcerting.

"Welcome, weary travellers," it says. "I'm certain you'll want some refreshments. I'm afraid I am going to have to keep you for a few hours –"

Before the voice can finish, Thorin stands up, spine stiff, and addresses the white wall (with lack of anyone or anything else to look at). It's remarkable, really, how the Dwarf still manages to appear authoritative and imposing while angrily shouting at a wall.

"Who are you and what do you want with us? Show yourself!"

"Peace, Thorin, son of Thráin. I mean to cause you no harm, and no evil is here but what you may have brought yourself." The voice speaks with the patience of an elderly grandmother who was tiring of her grandchildren's mischief, reminding him badly of Mrs Bell Gamgee whenever she disapproved of something, and Bilbo feels himself shrink even if the words aren't directed at him in particular. But Thorin doesn't even flinch. "Now, as I was saying - you may desire food and drink during your time here, and you'll find that on that table over to your right."

And suddenly there is a table right there, over-stuffed with foodstuffs and bottles and all sorts of edible things, and Bilbo perches up in interest. Real, hot, proper food! And big bowls of popped corn like his Uncle Isengrim used to make! And roasted mushrooms! Oh!

"What are you going to do - poison us?" Thorin spits angrily, pulling back his nephews who have both taken interest in the food and tried lunging for it. Poor things must be tiring of honey and bread, Bilbo thinks; he is too. "We won't fall for your tricks, foul spectre!"

"No, you silly Dwarf, I'm not going to poison you. That'd be rather counter-productive."

Thorin nearly, almost pouts and Bilbo has to stifle a giggle - really! calling Thorin that in his face! Whoever was speaking had to be some sort of Wizard or have kinship with Gandalf.

"I do not mean to harm or kill any of you. What kind of horrible manners wouldn't that be? No, I am here to teach you."

"… You. Mean to teach us," the Dwarf repeats blankly, confusing replacing his anger. He wasn't expecting that. More like, perhaps, an army of orcs suddenly appearing wanting to cut their heads off, or a prissy Elf revealing themself to be the owner of the mocking voice.

"Yes; valuable lessons can be learned through observation. And no, Thorin Oakenshield, I am no Elf, prissy or otherwise, nor am I an Orc. There's no need to be so paranoid here. Who I am matters not. But I've followed your journey and grown quite fond of all of you, but I think there are some things that really need to be changed; and with what you're doing right now, I'm sorry to say that you're moving toward a dark ending."

At the last bit, Óin presses his trumpet closer to his ear and turns to his brother with a hum. "Did they say there's a wedding?"

"No, an ending. Sadly no weddings are involved in what you are about to witness," the voice clarifies. "Someone really must craft him a new ear-trumpet."

"We are to witness a wedding? That's what I said!"

"Never mind that. What do you mean, stranger?" Thorin interrupts sharply. "Speak plainly! I'm weary of these damned riddles."

There's a nearly inaudible sigh. "I mean you're not going to have a happy ending at this rate. Believe me, I wouldn't go through all of this trouble just to amuse myself. Well, maybe," the voice amends and Bilbo raises his eyebrows. Right. So whatever or whoever is speaking might be a mischievous powerful Wizard who Gandalf can't - or won't - identify or stop. Great.

"But who are you?" Thorin demands, again, though his voice has faltered slightly. If this person or force is one of the Valar or the Maiar, who knows what powers they may posess and strike their Company down?

"Oh, I'm Nobody in Particular. Now, if you would all settle down again, please," the voice finishes, "let's get started with the movie."

Kíli, in the middle of filling his arms with roast chicken and other nice-smelling foods, makes a confused noise. "What's a 'mo-vee'? Can you eat it?"

But the voice doesn't answer and the lights have all gone out now, and with a grumble Thorin stumbles back to his seat. Not having partaken in the conversation, Gandalf puffs on his pipe, seemingly content or amused. Bilbo doesn't have a chance to ask the Wizard if he knows what the voice is talking about or if these 'mo-vees' are edible, because the white wall in front of them lights up, then fills with black and new noise is surrounding them. Some kind of music, but without anyone they can see playing the instruments: and then the walls starts being filled with moving imagery unlike what Bilbo (or any of the Company for that matter) has ever before seen.

A large golden text appears, silently and proudly proclaiming:

THE HOBBIT

Bilbo, once again, shrinks in his seat, because now everyone glances at him in surprise or dismay or confusion. Gandalf lays a comforting hand on his arm.

"I wouldn't worry, dear Bilbo," the Wizard says. "Certainly everything will be explained in due time."

To his left Thorin scowls. Really, that Dwarf is never cheery. One'd think he'd swallowed a bitter lemon at some point and it's since become permanently lodged at the back of his throat. "You'd better be right, Wizard. I don't like this one bit."

Oh dear, Bilbo thinks. I wonder if Beorn has noticed we're missing from his house yet?

Wordlist (Khuzdul)
Tharkûn The Dwarves' name for Gandalf
Zimrith ib-bekan! Sound the alarm! (source)
Shazara! Silence!

Additional notes:
*"[…] one and a half months since he'd left the Shire." The Company sets off from the Shire on 27 Astron (27/4) in T.A. 2941 according to the book, but after that the timeline become a little sketchy, and only some events are noted with actual dates. They reach Rivendell in time for Midyear's Day, when Elrond reads the moon runes, and depart on 2 Lithe (that's two days after Midyear's Day), and they reach Laketown on 22 Halimath (22/9) – according to the book, anyway; everything seems a little more compressed in the movies. (In Laketown, by the way, Bilbo turns 51, but I don't remember if that was noted in any way by the Dwarves or himself). I did some research online, including here and at here, but can't give a really detailed/exact timeline either. But this (inexact) timeline means the Company arrives at Beorn's house around early June (maybe the 5th) and this fic begins after they've stayed there for a couple of days – at least one night but possibly two.

I'm going to use book-verse for some parts and movie-verse for others. Backstory and history, which will be discussed and brought up by the characters, is mostly book-verse, but some things are more like headcanons and not really canon, mostly for lack of information from canonical sources (or if these sources contradict each other). Also the whole Azog storyline is movie-verse, for obvious reasons, even if it's completely against book-canon.