“Sorry about that. It’s the Sauron charges on phone calls these days. And, you see, I’ve had a problem talking.”
“Yeah – I got Wormtongue.” In his mind, Bilbo heard a fanfare going and a crowd laughing and cheering. His reaction from Gandalf was slightly less enthusiastic.
“Ah. I see your sense of humour hasn’t improved.”
Bilbo ignored this slur. “But the healing hands of the King saved me! That and Beechams Cold & Flu remedy.”
“Thou shalt not chit-chat! The White Council have decided to move against the growing power of Wamralt, my friend. We need your help. You have access to the Dwarves.”
“The Dwarves? What can the Dwarves do against the many stores of Wamralt?” Bilbo wondered how Gandalf knew that he still had dwarven pen friends.
Once more Gandalf groaned internally at the stupidity of this fat little creature, who was only key to the plot by diabolically deliciously devious downright dubious device of a ludicrously lunatic literary literally lyrical nature. “Dwarves, my old friend, have axes. Because you know what more stores mean?”