Work Text:
It was a few days past the horror of the goblin caves and the confrontation with Azog when someone first said something about the strange growth the hobbit was sporting. They'd all noticed it, albeit for some it was after it had been pointed out in a hissing whisper. None had dared mention it, though, until after the evidence was unmistakable: the hobbit had a beard.
It was a small one, barely worth calling such, and so golden pale that it was more visible for the way it bent the light than for its own sake. Still, it was unmistakably there. Lots were drawn, and it was Bofur who was tasked with bringing up the subject. He chose his time carefully, waiting until they were roughly halfway through the day's march and letting himself fall back to where the hobbit ambled along, looking at every piece of vegetation they passed and occasionally stopping to pick a flower or weed that caught his fancy.
The plan had been to ask in a discreet, indirect way. Ori had suggested approaching it as a scholarly question, and Balin proposed several ways to lead the hobbit to volunteer the information. What Bofur ended up saying was, "Where's Master Baggins, and when did we pick up this dwarfling in his clothes?"
Testily, Bilbo said, "I happen to be forty-three years old, and I do not appreciate..." He trailed off as the others stopped in their tracks, turning to look at him with horror. Thorin, in particular, looked like he was about to be sick.
"By Mahal's..." Dori was the first to recover his voice, swallowing hard before he continued. "Lad, why didn't you ever say? The first sprouting - there's rituals that need to be done, there's..."
"The first what?" Bilbo frowned in confusion, looking at each of them in turn and flinching away from what he saw there. Reaching up to absently scratch his chin just led to an intensifying of the strange looks and he squirmed. "Is it almost time for lunch?"
It was the barest whisper, the source unidentifiable, but one of the dwarves said, "Poor little mite."
Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm not a child."
"Of course not, lad." Balin patted his shoulder as he caught up and fell into step on Bilbo's other side. "Not any more."
With a laugh, Bofur said, "You'll have to start thinking of how to wear it soon. I say you can never have enough mustache, myself."
"Braids," Nori said. "Best thing for a burglar, braids. Keeps everything nice and neat."
Several others chimed in, and Bilbo just let the bickering wash past him, unheeded. The dwarves seemed content enough to leave him out of their conversation, but they kept sneaking looks at him and making sure he was never unattended, even following him as he stopped to pick interesting plants, both ones he recognized and ones he wanted to preserve until he could look them up and find out all about them. The only one not looking at him was Kili, who trudged along with his head down and his shoulders hunched around his ears.
Thorin called a halt earlier than usual, which made Bilbo wonder if perhaps he was finally making some accommodation for his own injuries. The instant they stopped, Kili muttered something about hunting and disappeared between the trees, branches and twigs breaking under his heavy steps. Bilbo looked after him, wondering if he was all right, but Fili caught his eye and shrugged. "He just needs some time to himself. He's happy for you, he is, it's just hard since he's had to wait so long and your beard is so much quicker to grow."
"My..." Bilbo's hand went up to his bristly jaw. "I thought Kili kept his beard short so it wouldn't interfere with his archery."
Dwalin snorted at that, alerting them to his presence, and Bilbo shook himself. "I suppose I'll go look for the firewood."
"No, laddie, no need for that - we don't know what's out there yet." Dori smiled at him and gestured to where Ori was already sitting on a log, a put-upon expression on his face as he pulled out his knitting. "Go on, just rest for a bit."
"Um. Thank you? But, really, it's no trouble - it's my usual job, after all, and--"
"No, no, I insist. We insist," Dori said, looking around to the various dwarves already going about their usual tasks.
Completely mystified as to what was going on, Bilbo said, "Really, I'm not so old that I can't--"
This made the dwarves laugh, even Thorin cracking a smile. Gloin clapped him on the back and said, "Of course not, gaffer, of course not. We're just worried you might trip over that mighty beard of yours."
Bilbo scowled and sat down, wondering once again why he'd ever left his cozy home to hare across the countryside with a troupe of mad dwarves. Pulling his pack into his lap, he once again went through it to take stock of what he had left after the fall in the goblin caves had made a goodly portion of his things fall out and scatter over the floor. The answer was still the same - depressingly little. He didn't even have his book or his pipe, although given how itchy his beard was, it was his shaving powder he missed most of all.
Eventually things settled down, with Bilbo finally allowed to gather firewood and find a place to wash up without the others around - the casual approach the dwarves had to nudity and throwing people into deep water was not in any way something Bilbo wished to experience more than the once he'd foolishly endured it. Kili had returned by the time Bilbo was done, still looking down in the mouth, and Bilbo sighed as he went to sit next to the boy.
"You know, respectable hobbits don't have beards at all," he said casually, and Kili looked at him from the corner of his eye. "My cousin Lotho doesn't even grow one at all, gods rot him. I always envied him."
"There's really nowt as queer as folk," Dwalin rumbled, and Bilbo nodded, glad to have some support for his point.
It was spoiled by Gloin laughing. "Aye, it's true. All the human wenches think Kili is handsome!"
Kili hunched up again, and Bilbo could've gladly smacked every single dwarf laughing. "Well, I suppose it'd be a funny old world if we all liked the same sort of people; certainly the hobbit lasses wouldn't think much of Kili, but they've never thought much of me, either. By Shire standards, I've always been homely and rough-looking."
He looked around, half-expecting someone to agree and tease him as he'd been teased so often growing up. No one did, and in fact most were looking at him in confusion. He didn't quite dare meet anyone's eyes, and he definitely avoided looking anywhere near Thorin. "The only one of us beautiful enough for hobbit attention is Mister Bombur. Indeed, in the Shire he'd be courted assiduously, despite the excess hair. He wouldn't be able to move for lasses offering him flowers and chocolates."
"Already got a wife," Bombur said placidly as the company exploded with laughter. "I'd take the chocolate, though."
"You would," Bofur said, although there was no real heat in it, just affection. "But, Master Baggins, surely you have time to find someone who'd like your delicate figure. You've just sprouted, after all."
Trying not to be offended at being called delicate, Bilbo said, "It's good of you to say, but the only reason any hobbit would want a middle-aged bachelor like me is because, well, because of my wealth. That's not something anyone wants to be wanted for."
"Aye, you'll be wealthy indeed when we're done," Bofur said. "I, for one, am looking forward to being wanted for my money."
With a shrug, Bilbo said, "It's not that much fun. One wretched girl wanted Bag End so badly that she married my closest cousin after I turned her down flat. She keeps stealing spoons when she comes over for tea."
The dwarves seemed to be turning this over in their minds and Bilbo struggled not to roll his eyes over how clearly they'd never thought he might already be quite prosperous despite not wearing precious metals in assorted gaudy displays. Thorin was the one that broke the silence by saying, "And you are truly... middle-aged? It seems strange that you would be so confirmed in your ways and yet be only forty-three."
"Oh, I might be two years either way of that, I always forget, but I suppose I'm not truly middle-aged for a few years yet; my parents died young, but my grandfather and great-grandfather both lived to be over a hundred, so I've likely got as long. Barring incineration, of course."
"So short," Thorin breathed, and Bilbo looked at him with a frown. Shaking his head, Thorin added, "A dwarf is barely considered old enough to think of marriage when he reaches a hundred; he would need to be well-established in his trade and ready to provide a home to his beloved before considering the responsibilities involved."
Tilting his head as he thought about the implications of that, Bilbo said, "I suppose in that we're about the same, apart from the age thing. My father built Bag End for my mother when they were just getting married."
"It's a very nice house, Master Baggins," Ori said loyally. For the first time, Bilbo looked at the boy and wondered just how old he was.
"Thank you." The stew was ready and Bombur handed out the bowls, although they had to eat in shifts since half of them had gone missing in the caves. As he waited his turn, Bilbo scratched at his face again. "How do you lot not go mad at the itching? I can't wait until we've reached civilization again and I can get rid of all this hair!"
It had obviously been the wrong thing to say, as the dwarves were once again looking at him as if he'd dropped his drawers and started doing a lewd dance. "Get... rid?"
"I lost my shaving powder in the caves," Bilbo said. "I still have my razor, but I haven't gotten quite desperate enough to use it without even some soap to make it a smooth process."
"So this whole time, you could grow a beard but were just... taking it off?" Kili sounded both fascinated and disgusted, but at least he no longer seemed to be trying to shrink in on himself.
Nodding, Bilbo said, "No respectable hobbit would ever be seen in public with facial hair. Even Bullroarer Took at his most daring only had sideburns a little longer than most."
"But... Why? How? And what does soap have to do with it?" Fili looked like he was genuinely trying to understand, and Bilbo sighed, digging in his pack to pull out his razor.
"This was my dad's - my mother got it from a trader on one of her adventures, and it keeps an edge better than any blade in the Shire." He unfolded it and held it up, handing it over to be passed around and carefully inspected. "Shaving powder is best, but in a pinch soap will do to make it glide smoothly over the skin, scraping the bristles off. As to why..."
Bilbo paused, temporarily at a loss. "I suppose because it's more attractive? All the men shave their faces, and it's my understanding that the girls shave under their arms and sometimes other places. I've heard men do the same, but I've never known anyone who actually..." He broke off on a cough, blushing as he realized he'd actually just been talking about shaving parts of the body no civilized person would ever discuss in public.
"Do hobbits have hairy cocks, then?"
Smacking a hand over his face, Bilbo reminded himself that very few people would ever think of considering Dwalin as civilized. "No."
"So what do they sha--"
"Just, you know, around," Bilbo said tightly. "The, um, area. And I do think I'd like to stop talking about this now."
Timidly raising his hand, Ori said, "Mister Baggins, sir, if it's important to remove hair, why do you not shave your feet?"
Revolted at the very idea, Bilbo cried, "Shave our feet? What kind of barbarian would do that? No, I assure you, a properly cared for thatch of hair on our feet is a symbol of virility and... and what it means to be a hobbit. Why, the current state of my feet would be enough to make most decent hobbits faint dead away - the very idea!"
"Ah," Balin said. "So hobbits keep their beards on their feet."
"They--" Stopping to think about it, Bilbo said, "I suppose there's some similarities, yes. I'm sorry, I hadn't realized that my shaving might be so... So disturbing. I can forgo it, as long as we're not going to meet up with anyone."
Thorin's voice was a deep rumble as he said, "I daresay we will all survive the sight of your face no matter what its state. Do as you please."
Unsure what to make of that, Bilbo decided to just ignore what it might mean and take it at face value. "It's not as if I really have a choice at the moment - I've managed well enough without hot water, but..."
"I can heat you some water," Bombur said. "You should have said; it's easy enough to set aside some when I boil it for the morning porridge."
"And I've some soap," Dori said, his kindness coming through despite his obvious doubts. "Here, Ori, give him the cake from my bag."
Bifur's contribution was to take the razor and give it a few passes over a strip of leather, making the edge keener. Bofur nodded at the stream of words that accompanied the action and said, "Aye, at least now we know why people wanted these. I always thought they were for cutpurses."
"They are," Nori said complacently, producing his own razor from a hidden pocket. "I didn't know they had any other use."
This led to a relatively low-level bickering session between him and his older brother, and Bilbo was content to end the day's comparison of cultures. It wasn't to be, since the presentation of the soap and a bowl of hot water accompanied the return of his razor. Expectant looks and Ori's eager clutching of his pen, obviously ready to take notes, made it clear that Bilbo was going to be mounting a demonstration.
It was just as well he'd gotten so much practice at shaving without a mirror, Bilbo thought with a sigh even as he lathered up. The soap smelled pleasingly like lavender and musk, and Bilbo made sure to use plenty of it. Once he had a thick layer of foam, he brought the razor to his cheek to a chorus of soft gasps as the blade slid down and left a bare path behind it. Ignoring the whispers as best he could, Bilbo rinsed off the blade and got on with the task slowly and carefully.
When it was done and he'd washed off the remaining soap after checking with his fingers that all traces of roughness were gone, he wiped his face with the tail of his shirt. "And that's about it, really. Normally it doesn't take so long, of course, but out here there's no mirrors to make it easier to tell if I'm about to slice off my own ear."
"You don't look like a dwarf anymore," Bofur said, snatching up the razor and starting to work on it with the whetstone. "It's a shame, really, you could've been a passable one."
"The burglar looks like himself again," Thorin said firmly, his eyes meeting Bilbo's before he rapidly looked away. "That's enough for anyone to be satisfied with."
Bilbo smiled tentatively, feeling a slight blush on his face and telling himself firmly it was from the shave, or possibly the heat of the fire, and nothing at all to do with the warmth inside him at the statement of approval.
The tension of the moment was broken when Oin said dizzily, "He just... He just took it all off, just like that." Bilbo opened his mouth to explain again - or possibly just to say something testy, depending on how his patience went - but he wasn't given a chance as the dwarf in question fainted dead away.