When the Dwarf Came A-visiting ~Míriel

            Chapter 3 ~Bedtimes, Bedrooms, and Things Like a Good Night’s Sleep  

            Since Bombur was having an extended stay in Bag End, the first order of business (well, actually second, the first was to write a very long list of all the food we would need from the market) was to fix Bombur a place to, er, live.  

            Bombur, of course, could not go down any of the halls, and he certainly could not enter any of the bedrooms, thus, we were left with the daunting task of finding Bombur a place to sleep.  This proved rather difficult, as Bombur was extremely picky about where he would sleep.  

            “The couch?” Frodo suggested.  

            His statement was quickly rejected.  The couch?  No, of course that would never do, Bombur was much too large for the couch.  

            Bilbo furrowed his brow in deep thought.  “What about the floor?” he asked.  

            Bombur nearly fainted at the thought.  The floor!  How in Middle-earth could he, an honored guest, one of the great Dwarves of the Iron Mountains, one of the renowned companions of Thorin Oakenshield, possibly sleep on the floor?  How could we even think of such barbaric things?  

            Bilbo was getting very fed up.  (I could tell by the way his right eyelid kept making that funny little movement.)  Taking a deep breath, he spoke through gritted teeth:  

            “Well, then, Bombur, oh, honored guest, great Dwarf of the Iron Mountains, one of the renowned companions of Thorin Oakenshield, who cannot sleep on the floor even though he is too large for anything else, where do you purpose that you sleep?”  

            “Well, how am I supposed to know?!” Bombur said in indignation; “This is your hole, not mine!”  

            Bilbo glared, then opened his mouth and started to tell Bombur just what he thought of his honored guest.  My eyes widened at words emitting from Bilbo’s lips, and Merry’s eyes looked like they might come right out of his head.  Frodo clapped a hand over Bilbo’s mouth and held it there, and Bilbo instantly fell silent.  (It wasn’t like he had much of a choice in the matter.)  

            “Bilbo,” Frodo said calmly in Bilbo’s ear; “Might I have a word with you in the kitchen?  Away from our, ahem, younger guests.”  Frodo looked pointedly at me as he said this.  

            Bilbo nodded.  Frodo carefully removed the hand from Bilbo’s mouth, as if he was afraid Bilbo might start yelling again, then they walked quietly into the kitchen.  All was silent for a moment, except for Bombur muttering to himself about how he, the guest, was receiving such abominable treatment at the hands of these accursed Hobbits.   Then Merry swiftly turned to me and fiercely grabbed my arm.  

            “Ow!  Merry, what are you doing?”  

            Merry shook me slightly.  “Peregrin Took,” he hissed; “If I ever; and I mean ever, hear you repeat anything that Bilbo just said; I will personally see to it that you are soundly punished.  Do you understand?”  

            I shook Merry’s hand off of my arm.  I wasn’t an idiot; I knew that those weren’t words to use.  “Yes, Merry, I understand.”  I also knew that if anyone found out where I had heard those words, it would be the end of visits to Bag End for both me and Merry.  

            Merry looked relieved.  “Good,” he said.  

            Bilbo and Frodo re-entered the room, Bilbo looking somewhat apologetic.  “I beg your pardon, Bombur,” he said.  “You must understand it is rather difficult to realize that you now have three guests.”  

            “Apology accepted.” Bombur said, breaking into a huge yawn.  “I say, I am completely exhausted.  Have we come any closer to solving the problem that you have a sufficient lack of proper beds?”  

            Bilbo gave a strange smile.  “My problem.” he said with an equally strange laugh.  “My problem...”   

            There was that funny little movement of his right eyelid again.  

            Merry cleared his throat.  “If I may, Cousin Bilbo,” he ventured.  

            “You may.”  

            “I have several ideas on how to solve this, er, difficulty.”  

            All attention was on Merry.  I rolled my eyes.  Why was it that Merry always came up with the solutions?  I sighed.  Would I ever be that smart?  

            “The first and easiest solution would be to place many blankets on the floor as some sort of a sleeping mat.”  

            Bombur gave a snort of disdain.  

            “The second solution would be to drag several of the beds into the front room and push them together.  Thus, Bombur’s weight would evenly be spread on all of the beds, and he would have enough room for himself.”  

            Bombur nodded.  “It meets my approval, Master Meriadoc.”  Merry practically glowed at the praise of the Dwarf.  

            Frodo’s brow was furrowed in thought.  “But—Bilbo, we only have four beds.  That would mean—” he turned to Merry.  “How many?”  

            “How many what?”  

            “How many beds do you think that Bombur will need?”  

            “Three.” Merry said promptly.  

            “That would mean three people will have to go without beds and sleep on the floor.” 

            Bilbo gave a truly happy smile for the first time all evening.  “Well, I can assure you one thing gentlemen,” he said.  “I am sleeping in my bed tonight.” 

            Frodo and I moaned in unison.  This was going to be a very long night.

~~~  

            “A little to the left!”  

            “No, my left!”  

            “No, that’s too far, move it back to the right!”  

            Frodo and I glared at Merry, who had somehow managed to get out of the arranging of beds, having stated that as he had come up with the idea, he should “supervise.”  He had then proceeded to make out lives miserable: Don’t drag it, you’ll scratch Cousin Bilbo’s floors, don’t knock that over, watch where you going, move it this way, no that way, no you’re doing it all wrong!  We were now moving the second bed, and I could tell that Frodo was getting very fed up with Merry by the frightening things he kept muttering under his breath.  I caught the words “he’d better sleep with one eye open tonight” more than once, also “kill him” and also just your basic growling.  

            Merry tapped his foot.  “Come on now, this shouldn’t take all day!” he said impatiently.  

            Frodo muttered something about the future Master of Buckland not making it to his eighteenth birthday.   

            We somehow managed to get all three beds in the room without Frodo attacking Merry, scratching the floors or knocking anything over.  I gave a sigh of relief and sank down in Bilbo’s chair.  Bilbo and Bombur also had opted to “supervise”, leaving Frodo and me to all of the work.   

            “Good job lads,” said Bilbo.  

            Merry bowed.  “The pleasure was mine.” He said.  

            Frodo ahemed loudly.  

            “Frodo and Pip helped too,” Merry added.   

            That last comment saved his life.  

~~~  

Author’s note:  Bilbo’s “swearing” consisted of things such as “Blast you Bombur” and the like.