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Not two days out of the Shire, the Company took their rest in Bree for the night, under Thorin’s stern reminder that they should get as much sleep as possible, as from there until Lake-town the journey would be a harsh one spent on hard ground.
Still, he was not so tyrannical as to refuse them the comforts of the tavern, so long as they found their beds early, and Thorin joined them that night in the common room of the Prancing Pony, an inn he knew from his meeting with Gandalf, and one of the few that catered to folk of all heights. He had firmly ensconced himself in one of the corner tables, hood drawn up to hide the richness of the heirlooms he wore, and silently prayed that none of the Company would be so foolish as to trumpet their quest to any willing ear. Thorin’s drink sat beside him, hardly touched as he kept a close eye on the mingling dwarves.
He looked up at a heavy sigh beside him, as Bilbo took the other end of the bench, his own beer in hand. Their ‘burglar’ looked frazzled and huffy, which was more often than not how he appeared every day to Thorin, and therefore of little note. He was only curious that the Halfling had sought his company at all.
“This seemed the safest place to be,” Bilbo said without prompting, as if he sensed Thorin’s question before he had asked it.
“Do you have some reason to fear for your safety?” Thorin said. His tone was neutral, in truth he had little to say to the burglar who couldn’t seem to make up his mind if he wanted to be on the Quest or not. There was no point in trying to push him one way or the other, Thorin only hoped that if he changed his mind again, he would do so before they crossed the Misty Mountains.
Bilbo nodded towards the bar. Not to the Company, who milled a few feet away from it, but to a group of four Men in ragged leathers who stood beside it. Thorin sat up straighter as he realized they were looking at the cluster of dwarves, one of them fingering his knife. “So you see it now,” Bilbo said under his breath. “I think they overheard Kili talking about the gold. Maybe you should call them back?”
Thorin looked to the burglar, his first reaction a flicker of irritation, and the urge to ask Bilbo why he hadn’t simply done so himself. This was followed by the niggling realization that had Bilbo done so, it would have been seen as a direct challenge to Thorin’s authority, something the burglar seemed to scrupulously avoid. Thorin felt no need to be charitable towards Bilbo, but as he studied the Halfling, trying to work out which of those instincts he should follow, Bilbo rose half out of his seat.
“Oh no, too late,” Bilbo said, already stepping forward when Thorin looked up.
The Men from the bar had moved to encircle the Company, and Thorin too jolted to his feet as he saw the first flash of steel. His hand was on his sword, ready to draw it, only to hear a shriek.
Bilbo was already there, retracting his foot from where he had just delivered a swift kick to the back of one of the Men’s knees, dropping him. Before the Man could react, he struck again, turning to elbow the second man in the groin and when he doubled over, Bilbo grabbed the Man’s hair and dragged him to the ground, lifting his feet up to bring his full body weight to bear, so the Man yelped and bellowed in pain. The other two turned, and what followed was a blur that Thorin could only watch, aghast, as a flurry of elbows, knees, hair pulling, and biting ensued. It ended with Bilbo red-faced and huffing indignantly as he stood at the center of a pile of Men that wheezed as they clutched their groins, kneecaps, and, in one instance, a broken nose.
“Yes, that’s right, for the moment I’m afraid these dwarves count as Shire-folk, do I make myself clear?” Bilbo said, standing with his hands on his hips looking down at the Men. “And if you’re from around here, I’m sure you know what that means.”
“Apologies, Master Halfling,” one of the Men wheezed. “We didn’t know! They were talking about gold, sir, you know how Dwarves are.”
“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” Bilbo said loftily. “There’s plenty of other establishments where you can find trouble, consider this one off-limits to such barbarity until I and any other Hobbits have departed. They may be Dwarves, but for the moment they are my Dwarves, understood?”
“Yes, sir,” the Man groaned, and with that the murmur of conversation, which had lessened during the outburst, returned to its usual dull roar as if nothing had happened.
Thorin stared. The Company stared. Bilbo scowled in irritation and stomped his way back to the table.
“We could have handled ourselves,” Thorin said once he recovered himself, feeling some urge to defend the Company’s honor.
Bilbo looked up from where he had been busy dusting off the velvet sleeve of his coat, where some beer had spilled during the flurry and glanced up in surprise at Thorin’s words. “I have no doubt, but Shire-folk are well known hereabouts, getting the others involved would have only led to unnecessary fuss.”
“Shire-folk?” Thorin said before he could think better of showing too much interest in the burglar’s life, when he would likely be abandoning them soon enough anyway.
“Yes, yes,” Bilbo said testily, waving the question away. “You don’t honestly think the Big Folk would leave us in peace if we didn’t throw our weight around a little? You know how they assume everyone smaller than them is an easy victim. So my people make sure to get in a scuffle once in a while, drop them quickly, and let the rumor spread that we’re all fierce little buggers that will kill you as soon as look at you. Around here, everyone understands that Shire-folk are not to be harassed, or for that matter anyone under our protection. ”
It made sense. Though Thorin himself was not all that far from the height of shorter Men, Dwarves were well accustomed to being the targets of Men and Elves who thought themselves superior fighters, simply because they had longer reach. The rumors of dwarves carrying gold on their persons at all times only served to make them more tempting targets to such attacks. It had never occurred to Thorin that Hobbits may face a similar problem and had found a solution to it within their own lands.
“I thought you said you could not fight,” Thorin said, thinking back to the flurry of blows that made him wince. That was dirty fighting: plain, simple, and ugly.
“Not with a sword perhaps, good gracious, can you imagine if I had drawn a blade? Someone could have died!” Bilbo said, looking utterly scandalized at the notion.
Looking to the heap of Men still groaning on the floor, Thorin wondered if that was really only a matter of effort.