Three of the dwarves popped up and stood all in a row in front of Bilbo. "At your service," they chorused. They hung up their cloaks, as well as the cloak of Thorin Oakenshield, whose cloak stood out significantly from the rest. It was a bright sky blue and had a long silver tassel.

Bilbo slowly stood up, brushing off his waistcoat. "At yours," he said with a nod of his head. He then turned toward Thorin and raised his eyebrows questioningly. Thorin said nothing, instead choosing to stand in the doorway with what some would call an air of sophistication. Bilbo just labeled it as arrogance and grew quickly irritated by it, which may have caused his pointed look to become more of a glare .

For his part, Thorin was rather disgruntled by the fact that he had just landed underneath three members of his company, in front of a potential member of said company too! The fact that Bombur happened to be extremely fat did not help matters in the slightest. When Bilbo turned his piercing gaze toward him, the once king felt as though the fire of a dragon was burning deep within them, barely contained.

Of course, that was crazy. If his eyes had a fire inside hot enough to belong to a dragon, they would be burning at a temperature that would surely destroy the tiny figure standing defiantly in front of him. His eyelids would have burned away; his eyes would have first boiled, then burst. All in all, it would be impossible for this halfling's eyes to contain the fire of a dragon.

Even with all this evidence against the idea that this hobbit could actually be dangerous and hold the power of fire, Thorin had to physically restrain himself from flinching away from his stare. Instead, he forced himself to regard the hobbit, looking up and down and he judged his physical strength and general burglarness. What he saw was decidedly wanting. A slightly pudgy and very short hobbit was not what he had envisioned when Gandalf had told him and his company that he had found a suitable burglar.

The little staring contest ended with Bilbo turning toward Gandalf and asking him if he wanted anything to eat or drink.

He was met with a hearty laugh. "I would hope there is a little something left for the late-comers to eat and drink! What's that?" He turned toward one of the other dwarves who had since crowded behind their host. This one, although Bilbo certainly did not remember it, was called Ori and was holding a mug in his hands. "Tea! No thank you! A little red wine, I think for me."

"And for me," Thorin chimed in.

Bilbo nodded and ventured into his smial to find the old bottle he had been keeping for a special occasion. He had been planning to open it on his birthday, but Gandalf surely would have known through one of his wizardly senses that any other bottle was not the best one in the home and most certainly would have grown frightfully upset at this slight. Everyone knows that if you anger a wizard, it is not likely that you will make it out alive. Bilbo knew this better than anyone, having heard countless stories as a young dragon meant to frighten him from going out on his own. These stories were very effective and left him shivering in a corner for months after he heard the stories.

One particular story still frightened him to this day. A wizard from the far North named Jarl went on a dragon hunt. He felt as though he had been wronged by a dragon who lived in a volcano that inexplicably existed in such a cold climate. Jarl showed up to his lair. Surprised to find a whole family of dragons living there, Jarl showed no mercy and slaughtered the entire family. The parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and two dragonettes that were residing there at the time were all killed in increasingly gruesome ways. I won't go into the details for fear that you would be scarred for life to hear of how they were turned inside out or other horrible things.

Bilbo shivered at the thoughts and grabbed the best wine. He would do his best to never anger any wizard. Poke fun at? Irritate? Sure, that was all fun and games. When actual, full blown anger came into the mix, the wizard was the only one who would survive the encounter.

He returned with the bottle and offered a glass full of red wine to Gandalf. He offered another to Thorin. The entire company was sitting around the table with Gandalf at the head of the party and the other thirteen dwarves sitting around it. Bilbo sat off to the side on a stool near the fire, nibbling on a piece of meat and watching the proceedings with interest. The dwarves talked, and they talked, and they talked. In the midst of all this talking, time got along and it grew dark.

Soon enough, everyone was satisfied and Bilbo began to move to collect the plates, glasses, and utensils. "Will you all be staying for supper?" he asked in the politest voice that he could muster.

"Of course!" said Thorin. "And after. We shan't get through the business till late, and we must have some music first. Now to clear up!"

With that, twelve dwarves converged on poor Bilbo and he had to hold himself back from snarling as the items he was holding in his arms were ripped out. 'Not your hoard,' Smaug had to remind himself silently, taking a deep breath. If his breath was a tad hotter than it perhaps should have been and if a near invisible puff of steam came out of his nostrils, well no one was paying close enough attention to him to take notice of it. Even Gandalf, who was watching the going-on's with enjoyment, did not notice and for that, Bilbo was grateful.