Chapter 4

The sad and empty ballroom was transformed. Nine dwarves had filled it with warmth and life. None of the guests had arrived yet, for which Bilbo was grateful as he wasn't entirely sure he could handle any more than the twelve dwarves he'd already met. The tables and chairs had been polished and buffed to a point that they reflected the firelight and overhead lights with a soft, honey glow. Dwarfish banners and decorations hung from the walls and lights. The cutlery and plates shone, polished within an inch of their lives. Not a speck of dust or dirt remained. The floor radiated light and health. A quiet air of expectation hung over the room, the calm before a storm. Large barrels of ale, mead and wine clustered near the bar. A space was set aside for the musicians and a small dance floor had been created to one side. The room felt alive and awake. Bilbo wiped his eye, wondering at where the surge of emotion came from. This wasn't his party, but it warmed his heart far more than he expected to see the party room in use.

"Mister Baggins?" Bombur boomed and Bilbo returned to the kitchen, pushing the door open with a touch a sadness. "I think your puddings are ready."

They were indeed and the sauces smelled heavenly. He had elected to prepare three sauces, syrup, toffee and sticky berry. The sauces were being kept warm on the stove, on a low heat. Carefully Bilbo began extracting the puddings and ladled a generous helping of sauce into each bowl. Syrup, toffee, berry, in that order. The sauce covered the puddings, a glistening orb of sugary goodness and looked positively ready to be devoured.

He placed the puddings in the dedicated warming cupboard, giving them time to absorb the sauce and stay moist. There wouldn't be enough puddings for each dwarf (dependent on the final numbe of guests) to have one each, but that hadn't seemed to bother Fili. The roly polys were also close to being ready. He'd only bake the strudel once the feast started. More importantly, the fruitcake was almost done. Bilbo braved the heat of the oven and risked pouring a little more brandy onto the cake. He should really wait for it to be out of the oven, but without the weeks of careful feeding, the cake would not be as moist as he'd like. "Smells fantastic, Mister Baggins."

"Bilbo, please." Bombur bowed slightly towards him, his face bright red with the exertions of the afternoon.

Guests started arriving as Bilbo pulled out the first cake. He heard clear, deep voices in the room, a rising commotion of impressed compliments and comments. A thrill of excitement ran through him, and Bilbo shot Bombur a worried glance. Was anyone there to receive them? Bombur waved his concern aside, "Balin is there. Things will kick off fairly soon. There'll be a lot of talk and reacquainting. Food will only be served once Thorin arrives." Frowning a little, both at the word reacquainting and the idea of bored dwarves in his ballroom, but Bombur did not seem concerned. It wasn't his ballroom however.

Once all three cakes were out of the oven and cooling on the counter, Bilbo cautiously stuck his head around the door. A growing cluster of dwarves were gathered around the bar, all slapping each other on the back, and talking loudly. As promised, Balin was there, resplendent in a bright, rich red coat, his white beard gleaming in the lights. Catching sight of Bilbo, he nodded, and Bilbo returned the nod, before ducking away, lest he be asked to meet the guests. All of the dwarves had been well-dressed and looked smart. Hopefully the party would not become too rowdy. The jam roly polies were now ready and Bilbo placed each roll whole into the warming cupboard, for slicing later. "I should get a custard started," he mused.

"No fear," Bombur replied from across the kitchen. "We've several large tureens of cream and custard in the cold room. For the fruit cake." Relieved, Bilbo felt the top of the cakes on the counter. They were still warm, but cool enough for another feeding of brandy. Bilbo took a small sip himself and smacked his lips together in appreciation. It was the good stuff, no doubt dwarfish made.

"Try this, Master Bilbo." Bombur held out a piece of soft pork on a fork from the carcass he was carving. Pleased, Bilbo walked over and took the piece, still hot to his touch and popped it in his mouth. The flesh was soft and fell apart in his mouth, oozing with flavour. "Oh, that's good," he laughed. Bilbo helped Bombur lay out the meat onto platters and boards, all of which were being kept warm over the special warming plates designed just for that. The lamb was soft and delicate. The chicken's skin crisp and cracking. The pork belly was incredible, soft and delicious. Bombur had even prepared pork crackling, and apple sauce, apple jelly and boats upon boats of gravy. "Which dishes are the starters?" Bilbo asked, looking for and failing to see any lighter dishes to be served first.

"We don't serve in the Elvar-style, but in the dwarfish. We bring out all the dishes at once. It's a display of generosity and muchness," Bombur replied proudly, sticking his chest out as he beamed.

Paling, Bilbo stared at his incomplete desserts and felt an unpleasant panic set in, "Oh dear. Does that include the desserts and puddings?" Shaking his head, Bombur laughed, "No. The cake is reserved for last. A sign that that party is ending."

Relieved, Bilbo returned to assisting with the veritable mounds of meat. The temptation to lick his fingers was great but he resisted. Instead, like Bombur, he carefully popped small, choice pieces to one side and ate those in between moments of wiping his hands. It all tasted so, so good. Just when it seemed everything was under control, the hubbub from outside rose to a crescendo and Bombur looked up. "Thorin has arrived. We'd best hurry."

Help arrived too, as several dwarves hurried in. "Bilbo, these are my brothers, Bofur and Bifur." It was the hat and axe wearing dwarves and they too looked very smart in fur lined coats with intricate embroidered designs on the lapels. "Bombur, you've surpassed yourself," Bofur cried and Bombur beamed. Two more dwarves entered to assist, Oin and Gloin, and the controlled chaos of service preparation commenced. Bilbo retreated to his side of kitchen lest he be trampled by the overzealous dwarves who side-stepped each other expertly, avoiding many a near miss with platters and plates.

He fed the cake a little more and startled enough to nearly lose his grip on the bottle when Bofur appeared next to him. "So, you've promised us edible fruitcake. I see you plan to make us so drunk that we'll not notice any which way." For a long second Bilbo stared at the taller dwarf, wondering if he was being serious or not. Bofur leant forward and took a long sniff of the cake. "Smells boozy and fruity. Looking forward to it. I owe my second cousin Beufor a good caking." With that, Bofur was dragged away by Bifur and began salting potatoes and roasted vegetables. Bilbo stared at him in horror. Caking your cousin? However far removed he was, that sounded like a waste of good cake.

Service started with a crash. Gloin knocked over an empty kettle and then the dwarves were through the doors, bearing steaming platters of food. A chorus of happy voices greeted them. Bombur stayed in the kitchen, laying out more platters and bowls, pouring the results of his hours and hours of work into displays that made the mouth water. Rich golden roasted potatoes. Glistening, heavenly roast vegetables. Hearty soups. Poached salmon drowning in buttery sauce. Dumplings. Suet puddings. Stuffing. Asparagus wrapped in ham. Glazed pork. Buttery mash. Crackling. Cheesy potatoes. Enough gravy to float an armada. Miniature pies. Bowls of apple sauce. It all floated out to the waiting guests on the backs of a steady stream of dwarves, who were laughing and talking at the top of their voices. The music had started, a steady living beat, and each time the door opened, a burst of sound filled the kitchen. Laughter, song and happiness. Bilbo couldn't help but smile.

When all the food had gone out, there was nothing left bar for a generous plate on the counter. Each and every pot, tray and dish had been emptied. Nothing was left. Bombur sat down on a small chair with a groan. "Finished, at last." Bilbo patted the large dwarf on the shoulder and said, "Well done, Master Bombur. I have not seen a feast like that in many a year." Bombur smiled and wiped his forehead with a damp hanky. "Thank you, Master Baggins. And thank you once again for the use of your kitchen. Wonderful kitchen, indeed."

Bofur stuck his head around the door, his hat at a jaunty angle. "Come on, brother. Or there won't be any food left." Bombur clambered to his feet slowly, a low groan falling from his lips as he stood. "Coming, coming." He pointed to the plate on the counter. "For you, Mister Baggins, unless you wish to join us."

An especially loud cheer rose from the room, deep dwarfish voices roaring about something. Bilbo blushed and shook his head. "Thank you, but no. Please enjoy the feast, Bombur." The chef bowed deeply at Bilbo and then left, his brother tipping his hat at him. The door closed, and the noise fell away, lost behind thick walls and stout wood. Bilbo pulled the plate Bombur had put aside for him closer and smiled in appreciation. The dwarf had been indeed generous, leaving him some of the choice pieces of meat and the best potatoes. Bilbo took the plate outside to the little bench and ate the rewards of their labour under the stars.

The street lamps had been light, filling the neighbourhood with soft light, but the stars were still visible overhead. Bilbo was normally quite sociable and enjoyed a good feast as much as the next hobbit. The past few years though he had found himself to be rather unsociable. He enjoyed his own company far more than he should, he supposed and the thought of sitting in a room full of loud strangers was more far disturbing than it ought to be. None the less, Bilbo relished the quiet of the evening, and not even the distant muted noise of the party bothered him. The food was delightful and Bilbo polished off the plate in good order, praising Bombur with each mouthful. He particularly enjoyed the potatoes, which were crispy on the outside and soft and fluffy on the inside. Wonderful.

He had half a mind to walk around to the front of Bag-end and check on how much noise the party was making. He did not want his neighbours overly disturbed by the dwarfish incursion. Bilbo further contemplated making himself a cup of tea, something to wash down the incredible meal. An even further distant thought was, he should really put the strudel in the oven.

"Mister Bilbo?"

Kili's soft voice and touch woke Bilbo from sleep with a start. Blinking rapidly, Bilbo sat up and rubbed his eyes. "What, what?" Kili's smile was broad and full of laughter. "Good thing I came to check on you, Mister Bilbo."

"What, oh? Uhm…" Bilbo stammered, and stood up rapidly, shaking his head to clear the remnants of sleep. "Kili?"

"Yes," Kili answered softly, and the chilly night air raised goose-bumps along Bilbo's skin as he stood staring in shock at the dwarf. His sleep-addled brain raced to wake up and the rush of adrenalin was all his system needed. "The strudel!" Bilbo cried and raced into the kitchen, Kili trailing him. The three strudels were gone and poor Bilbo stared in horror at the empty space on the counter. "What?" he gasped, arms flapping in despair.

Kili joined him and nudged him gently, "I put them in the oven. Not five minutes ago. The feast is drawing to an end." Bilbo clutched his hands, wringing them and wailed, "They need at least half an hour maybe more!"

"We have time, Mister Bilbo. Don't worry. They are only starting the speeches now. Ole Dain can talk the hind leg off a donkey and he's already several cups into his wine. I came to help get everything ready. It's not every feast that the last course is the most anticipated." His smile was a little flat, and he seemed less bright and cheery but Bilbo hardly knew the young dwarf, so he couldn't say for sure. Perhaps he was simply tired. Pulling himself towards himself, Bilbo straightened and slapped himself lightly on the cheek.

"To work then, Master Dwarf."

There wasn't terribly much to do, bar decanting the cream and custard into serving bowls and pouring dishes. Kili had a steady hand, so either he had not drunk terribly much or was just that good, so Bilbo left him to the cream and custard and started on the icing for strudel.

Together they lined up the bowls of sticky puddings which were still lovely and warm, the sauce well incorporated with sufficient liquid still in the bowl. Bilbo had to slap Kili's hand away from the ends of the roly polies as he sliced the perfectly cooked cakes. Between the roly polies, the steamed puddings and the fruit cake, there was more than enough dessert for the guests. Kili made a face as Bilbo topped the fruit cake with icing and marzipan. "You're wasting good marzipan, Mister Bilbo."

With one eyes on the timepiece, tracking the baking time of the strudel and an ear on the noise from the ballroom, Bilbo huffed. "Best you try it before you knock it, my lad. Here."

He pushed a small piece of cake towards Kili who stared it in trepidation. The young dwarf may have been enthusiastic at the idea of moist fruitcake, but when faced with the fearsome stuff, he paused. Bilbo deliberately took a piece himself, one with lots of marzipan on it and popped it in his mouth. It was good, for a cake baked and served on the same day. The brandy left a sharp aftertaste but on the whole, he was fairly pleased with the result. Another three months and the cake would be perfect.

Kili tried a small piece of his slice and Bilbo covertly watched his reaction. Eyebrows raised, a pleased smile broke across Kili's face. "Hey, that's pretty good." The dwarf poured a little cream onto the cake and shoved the rest into his mouth. Munching away, his eyes light up and Bilbo laughed. Swallowing and clearing his throat, Kili joined in the laughter, "Who would have known? That's pretty darn good, Mister Bilbo. I must say."

Given that they had loads more dessert than usual, they agreed to only cut up two of the cakes. Bilbo hoped that they'd leave the third entirely and he planned to invite the dwarves back in three months' time and serve them fruit cake the way it was supposed to be served. Old, moist and heavenly. They were just pulling the strudels out of the oven, when Fili appeared, a blast of noise from the ballroom accompanying his arrival. "They're just about ready. Frenir is threatening to sing the Lay of Durin, so we best head him off with the cake."

Nodding, Bilbo pointed to the waiting trays of puddings, cake and roly poly. "I think we've almost enough trays for each table. Check for me, please Mister Durin." Fili counted, his eyes wide at the sight of all the delicious treats. He re-arranged a few bowls, and said gleefully, "I can't wait to see their faces." Kili drizzled a generous pouring of icing over the strudel, trying to match Bilbo's pattern, and said to Bilbo softly, "I think we should bring the strudel as is to my Uncle. He can then share it with whomever he chooses."

"All three of them?" Bilbo asked, a knife poised over the strudel. Kili nodded, "It's a tradition as well. The King, er, highest ranked noble shares the spoils of the best dish. He'll find it hilarious." Bilbo let the slip pass and smiled, "We best get some help then to serve…"

Bilbo's words faded as Bombur, Bofur and Bifur arrived, all laughing loudly. "Ah, all ready to go. Grand!" Bofur cried and without a further word, the three dwarves took two trays apiece and service started. As they passed through the doors, the welcoming roar of voices was tinged with surprise and Bilbo felt his nerves rise. What if the dwarves didn't like his puddings? He half feared for a moment that his ballroom may end up wearing roly poly and sticky pudding. Kili shot him an encouraging smile and said, "They'll love them, Mister Baggins."

While Bilbo finished the decorations on the strudel, carefully placing fresh cherries and berries around the flaky pastry, he kept an ear tuned to the noise from the other room. The general noise seemed muted, almost too quiet. Kili and Fili were peering around the door, their expressions strange. After placing the last cherry and giving the strudels a critical look, Bilbo could stand it no longer. He joined the young dwarves at the door and the pair made space for him. They said nothing, and let Bilbo take in the room.

The dwarves at the table closest to the door were all silverhaired and old, and several were poking the puddings with their spoons cautiously, like the doughy delights were about to explode. The cake sat untouched on the trays, all of their focus on the puddings. Bilbo felt his heart sink. That was until FIli poked him and said, "Look, two tables over."

Disappointed, Bilbo looked to where Fili directed. This table was filled with younger dwarves, beards and hair festooned with braids and ornaments. At first it was a little difficult to see, as the table was so crowded, and they seemed to be jostling each other. Through a brief gap, Bilbo saw clean dishes and empty trays. A cheer rose from the table and a dwarf stood, his moustache and beard smeared with cream and he cried, "Any one got a spare pudding?" A chorus of 'Nos' rose in the room, and the older dwarves nearest to the door pulled their own puddings closer, and tucked in. Bilbo smiled.

He stood back and grinned at his young apprentices. "They seem to like them." Fili and Kili laughed and Kili said, "No, they love them!"

Once the strudel had cooled enough to serve, Fili and Kili each took a strudel and motioned for Bilbo to follow them with the third. All of the cream and custard had been served, so the strudel was the final note of the grand feast. Feeling more than a little nervous, Bilbo grasped the tray and hurried after them.

The ballroom was a riot of warmth, people and happy noise. Oin and Gloin were playing a rousing tune on a pair of fiddles, and Ori and Nori were behind the bar, passing out drinks to waiting guests. Most of the party though were seated and for all that they were loud and boisterous dwarves, Bilbo felt a wave of affection for them. They were all eating his puddings and judging by the expressions on their faces, they were all pleasantly surprised. As Bilbo passed a table, he heard a pair of dwarves arguing over the last piece of fruit cake on their table. "You said you hated fruit cake."

"I do. This isn't fruit cake! It's too good!"

The main table where the guest of honour was seated drew near and Lady Dis stood as her sons and Bilbo approached. Her smile was broad and welcoming. Bilbo picked out which dwarf was Thorin immediately. He shared the dark, handsome looks of Lady Dis, and his bearing was regal and full of authority. He did not smile as his nephews drew near, but something akin to surprise flickered across his face. Kili and Fili placed their strudels on the table in front of their Uncle, their own smiles barely kept in check. Bilbo finally placed his own, and bowed his head to Thorin who nodded in reply. Dis inclined her head at Thorin's questioning eyebrow and he smiled back.

"Nephews, you honour me indeed." Fili and Kili beamed and bowed. Bilbo felt his cheeks grow red as Thorin said, "And thanks to you, Master Hobbit. Both for the strudel and the ballroom. We are honoured."

"And for the sticky puddings!" a dwarf cried.

"And the roly moly!"

"Roly poly!"

"That too!"

Laughter rose and more cheers of thanks filled the air. Bilbo grew rather quite red in the face. Balin, his nose red from a little too much mead, rose and raised his glass to Bilbo. "Thanks indeed, Mister Baggins. To Mister Baggins, finest host in Hobbiton!"

The dwarves all rose to their feet, even Thorin and raised their glasses in a toast. "To Mister Baggins!"

"And his delicious fruitcake!" a dwarf cried, who sounded like Bofur, but Bilbo wasn't too sure. "Hear, hear!"

As red as a beetroot, Bilbo bowed in thanks, feeling like he had summited a great mountain and truly accomplished something great.

Bilbo awoke to a silent house on a quiet morning. Even the birdsong outside seemed muted, as if the birds were feeling a tad cautious and sensitive to noise. Somewhat belatedly he realised he was not in his soft bed. Instead, he was laying on one of the settees, an old comforter from the linen cupboard draped over him. Bemused, he sat up and stretched, not resisting the yawn that stretched his jaw and widened his eyes. Feeling his back and neck crick at the deep stretch, Bilbo stood, rubbing his face and trying to recollect falling asleep.

He remembered the success of the fruitcake, but did not really recall what had happened thereafter with any sort of clarity. There had been singing and lots of ale. Balin and Bofur had persuaded him to try some strong dwarf ale, and he vaguely recalled signing the Merry Old Inn with Bofur and Kili. Perhaps the ale had been far stronger than he had thought. While the thought of the massive clean up which awaited him did not fill him with any measure of delight, Bilbo bravely decided to go downstairs and survey the damage before a cup of tea. If the disaster was too severe, he'd need to fortify himself with a good cuppa and tackle it after breakfast.

The timepiece in the hall was apparently faulty as it declared that it was nearly ten thirty. Bilbo didn't feel like he'd missed breakfast or second breakfast, so he ignored the device and headed down into the large kitchen, fully expecting a list a sink full of dirty dishes.

A pristine, glistening kitchen greeted him, with surfaces that shone in the morning sunlight streaming in from the window. The place still smelt heavenly, a mix of roast pork, various herbs and the strong tang of well-seasoned fruitcake, but otherwise there was no evidence of the party preparations. No, that was not true. The kitchen was far cleaner than it had been the day before, and looked ready for another day of baking and cooking. Pleasantly surprised, Bilbo checked the various drawers and cupboards and everything was in its place, albeit stacked a bit more orderly than they had been. Even the ovens were clean.

The sole spot of disappointment was the cold room. Bilbo had left the last fruit cake in there and he found the room spotless. No cake in sight. Deflating a little, Bilbo shrugged. It was their cake after all. Feeling more positive about his morning, Bilbo entered the main room, host to so many of his parents balls, parties and dinners, confident now that the dwarves had cleaned up after themselves.

They had indeed. Spectacularly. Every wooden surface gleamed with polish. The windows shone in the sun. Tables and chairs were packed away. Decorations, ale, mead, musical instruments, fiddles, and extra chairs were gone. Bilbo didn't bother counting the cutlery or the glasses. He felt the dwarves had earned his trust and had given him no reason to doubt their integrity. They may have been boisterous and loud, but they had also been polite, prompt and wonderful guests. Beaming, Bilbo looked around the room, his hands in his pockets, bouncing on his heels. For an event that he had feared would be the end of his parent's legacy, it had turned out very well.

Nodding to himself, Bilbo headed back upstairs, ready now for a cup of tea and some breakfast.

Later that day, after a triple breakfast for elevenses, followed by a light lunch, Bilbo was sitting in his chair on his balcony garden reading a book and contemplating iced buns. The sun was temperate, not too hot, and the air was deliciously fresh, but not too brisk. On the street below people's voices were raised in happy tones, greeting friends and neighbours. Across the road, young Violet Took was practicing her flute, filling the neighbourhood with bursts of haphazard perfection. Bilbo put down his book, fought a yawn and wondered if the effort to stand up to make some iced buns was worth it.

A not so gentle knock on his front door derailed that debate, and Bilbo looked up, his heart pounding. Surely not. Not two days in a row.

Frowning, Bilbo cautiously walked to the door and peered out of the side windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of his potential guest, salesman or invading dwarf. Alas, his efforts were in vain and the mystery knocker's identity remained just that – a mystery. Oh well, there was only one way to be sure. Taking in a deep breath, Bilbo opened the door.

Young Kili stood on the doorstep, looking over his shoulder, long hair caught up in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. As the door opened he turned around, a nervous smile on his face. "Mister Baggins!"

"Master Durin," Bilbo smiled. "I trust there are no imminent party-related emergencies?"

"No," Kili laughed, "No party emergencies. Actually, I'm here mostly to relay our thanks. Mother insisted that one of us should extend our gratitude in person." Bilbo waved his words aside, "That's not necessary, Kili. You hired the room and provided the food. I merely assisted in part."

Kili shook his head, "No, you were very kind, Mister Baggins. Not many folk would be so quick to help strangers, let alone strange dwarves. Here, a token from us, in gratitude." He held out a small wooden box, which was simple and plain but well made. Pleased, Bilbo took the box and felt by its weight that the 'token' was inside. He opened the lid and blinked in surprise. A delicate artificial bird rested inside, it's cunning gears and cogs barely visible under the fine brass and gold.

"From my Uncle's workshop. A messenger bird."

"This really isn't necessary, Master Durin. Balin was most generous in his payment and while last night was unexpected, it was hardly unpleasant." Bilbo peered at the fine little creature, fascinated with the exposed gears and wires. Looking up, he somewhat reluctantly handed the box back to Kili, who refused it.

"No, no, please. Consider a gift… and a bribe."

Eyebrows now raised, Bilbo shuffled his feet, "Bribe?"

Kili's smile was both sheepish and wicked, if that was possible. "I'd like to use your kitchen on a semi-regular basis, Mister Baggins."

"Oh?" Bilbo hmmed, his curiosity rising.

"You see, Mister Baggins, Fili and I are both studying at the University and our Mother has limited our stipends, for our own good she says." Bilbo shared a sheepish smile with Kili, remembering well the strictures of a mother intent on teaching a son the value of money. "I have an idea for a business, something small, ad-hoc and well… Fili… we need space, as it were. A kitchen."

Bilbo leant on the doorframe, the box clutched in his hand. "A kitchen?"

"It's the cafeteria, you see. At the University. It's positively awful."

At this, Bilbo nodded in agreement. The culinary prowress of the University cafeteria was atrocious at the best of times. Hence Gandalf's tendency to pop by for a quick snack on a regular basis. A small suspicion began to dawn on Bilbo. Kili continued, "And, well, you made fruit cake and those…"

"No, no, no!" Bilbo began, one hand on the door almost immediately. "I am not a baker, my lad. No."

Kili's face fell, but then he perked up and smiled, "We don't expect you to, er, ah, bake. Just… show us how, maybe? We'll do the rest."

The young dwarf's face was so earnest and hopeful that Bilbo nearly caved. He didn't mind baking for himself and well, when travesties of culinary disaster were about to occur, but after a lifetime of maintaining the Baggins standard and tradition, he wasn't about to allow the pathetic pleas of a poor student to sway him.

"You are welcome to use my kitchen, Master Kili. But if you and your brother wish to supply the students and faculty of the University with baked goods, you are on your own." Bilbo felt that his voice was firm but fair and he resisted the twinge of guilt he felt. And the twist of envy.

Wilting a little, Kili sighed and dragged his booted foot on the welcome mat. "Thank you, Mister Baggins. May we come by tomorrow morning?"

"Certainly. You can go straight in, through the back door below," Bilbo sniffed, feeling a tad uneasy. Some of the golden afternoon sunlight was falling over them, making him squint. It was time to withdraw. "Well, ah, if that's all?"

Kili smiled weakly, doffed an absent hat and bid him farewell. Bilbo watched the dwarf descend to the street, his long hair swinging across his back. He closed the door firmly, just as firmly as he refused to feel guilty or uneasy about his refusal. For a long moment, Bilbo stood in the hallway and studied the box and messenger bird. He couldn't quite identify the swirl of emotions in his heart, and the idea of iced buns was no longer appealing. Feeling slightly put out that his pleasant afternoon had been ruined, Bilbo placed the box on the hat stand, dragged his cloak and left, closing the door behind him.

It was time for a good long walk.

The next morning, Bilbo nearly wore a grove into the hallway, as he paced the floor. The noise and brewing disaster downstairs was almost more than he could bear.

He lasted as long as it took to smell burning sugar.

"That is not how you make caramel, Master Fili!"

Fin.