You were out patrolling when you heard them. They were children, which was quite obvious – and one was upset, and you could practically hear his tears.

"-told you, Uncle's going to be mad now-"

"No he won't, he'll just be worried, Ki, so come on – follow me!"

You stop, holding up the lantern to the left side of the road, looking up a few seconds before two scrawny boys burst from the hedge. Upon seeing you, they startle, and the dark-haired one wobbles, before losing his balance. You drop the lantern in an instance, leaping to grab him before he hits the ground, and you succeed, with moderate success. The boy immediately latches onto your neck, and you're surprised at the strength in him before realising something quite important.

This is no hobbit child.

"Kili!" The blonde yelps, before dropping and rolling onto his front, shimmying down the side of the tall brae, hopping to the ground, mucky boots making a dull thud and a slight squelch as they hit the compact dirt of the path. "Let him go, put him down, put my brother down-" the blonde boy runs up, kicking you in the shin and grabbing onto his brother's clothes. Probably in the opposite way he expects, you grip tighter at the assault, the boy in your arms – Kili, you remember – matching your grip, a wet patch already apparent through your loose scarf.

"Woah, woah, hey, stop that," you step a couple of paces back, briefly reaching down to grab the lantern, holding Kili in one arm on your hip as you bring the lantern to the level of your eyes. "You're safe, you're brother's safe, I'm not going to harm him."

"Then put him down!" Then the young blonde boy takes a gleaming silver knife from his belt, and you suddenly feel faint. Why the hell is a child carrying a knife is a question you only half-ask yourself, too focused on the fact that you are getting very mixed signals from either child. "Put Kili down!"

"Where are your parents?" You ask, voice shaky but calm. "Are you travelling with a caravan?"

"Uncle," Kili whispers to you, voice muffled and clogged, even as his brother growls, "None of your business! Put Kili down!"

You have had enough experiences with your Took cousins to know that even if you wanted to, Kili wouldn't be letting go of you any time soon. So, quietly sighing about the dusty path you're supposed to be patrolling, you slowly sit down on the ground, getting comfortable as Kili shifts and keeps holding on tightly, even as you make large, exaggerated motions of letting him go, fiddling with your hair, the lantern, your dress, around the boy whose brother now stares at.

"Kili?"

"I want my uncle," Kili cries to you quietly, and you pet his hair, stroking it softly, tucking a stray beaded strand behind his ear. You look at it, briefly, wondering what the runes are, what they mean, even as you recognise them as Dwarvish. You look between each of the boys, Kili and his brother, and nod to yourself firmly.

"Dwarves. You're dwarf children." You look to the blonde boy, raising your finger sternly even as his eyes suddenly narrow in hatred. "Where are your parents?"

The young dwarf boy clenches his jaw, glaring. He still hasn't put the knife away. "None of your business, khulum. Kili, get away from her." In your arms, Kili has gone still. You look down, frowning.

"What does…" you glance at the blonde, before looking back at Kili, "what does 'khulum' mean?"

"Elf," Kili mutters, before looking up fearfully, hand reaching up to push your mouse-brown curls away from your ears. But unlike his brother, whose face betrays his disgust, Kili's eyes are bright with curiosity. "Soft." He traces the small point of your ear, causing you to shudder a little at the ticklish sensation, before you shake your head.

"I'm not an elf. I'm a hobbit."

"What's a hobbit?" Kili asks.

You hum, thinking on the question, "Well, we're a merry people. The Big Folk – the Men – call us halflings, and so do the elves. We keep to ourselves, mostly, like you dwarves, but we prefer the open sky to dark mountains. We love the dirt beneath our feet, and good food and drink to warm our bellies."

At your words, a distinct, small rumble comes from the older of the brothers, who immediately turns pink. You try not to smile, failing, before you secure Kili and get up, causing the blonde dwarf to tense.

"Sit down again," he orders, but you just shake your head, looking up over the brae.

"No-one is shouting for you, or coming – and it's already past dark. I'm taking you to my home, and giving you something to eat. You can sleep in a guest bedroom, and in the morning, we'll go to see the Thain." You pick up the lantern from the ground, holding it out to him. "Would you like to carry this while we walk? Hobbits can't see very well in the dark, and the moon isn't even out tonight," you motion to the sky, which is moonless, as you said. There's a long, silent pause, and he takes the lantern quickly, jerking it. You glance at Kili.

"Before we set off to my home, perhaps we should introduce ourselves. My name is Bluebell Baggins, but you can call me Bilbo, like everyone else does."

"I like bluebells," Kili whispers, "Kili, son of Dis, child of Thrain, at your service."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Master Kili," you smile gently, before looking to his brother, who grips the lantern like a lifeline, staring at you in suspicion. You can guess what he might be thinking – throw it at you, get his brother; blow it out, make you lose your way if you were telling the truth about not being able to see, which on another note, you had been, though not to the degree he perhaps thinks. "And who are you?"

For a moment, there's more silence. Then, he straightens, heels pressing together, arms flat against his stocky dwarf body.

"Fili, son of Dis, child of Thrain – at your service."

You can see that it's taking him some effort, and as he bows stiffly, you curtsy in reply. "A pleasure, Master Fili. Now, if you would follow me, I believe I have a jar of raspberry preserve waiting to be spread."

There, you see him crack at the mention of food, but it's not visible, and you wonder just what exactly he needs to know etiquette for – you yourself knew all the Hobbit etiquette in the book, though you might not ever use most of it. Being a direct granddaughter of the Thain isn't something you take as lightly as others seem to believe.

You hold out a hand.

"I swear on my mother's heart that I will not harm, nor lead you or your brother astray. Please. I just want to make sure you're safe as you can be until your family finds you again."

Fili hesitates, but it only takes a soft snore from Kili – who had somehow fallen asleep during your short conversation – before he reaches out, grasping your offered digits. Together, you walk along the worn path, further into the Shire. You can only barely see in the lamplight how he reacts as he sees the full magnitude of the Shire, the rolling hills of green and the hobbit houses built into them, pinpricks of light shining all over the valley.

Your voice is soft as you speak, "Welcome to the Shire. In any house, you'll find good food, a warm hearth, and perhaps – if you play your cards right – a happy host. Hobbits live for the simple things of life. We don't fight – we don't raise arms, or join armies. If a King of Arnor took his throne, we would kneel, and probably dissolve the Thainship, but we're self-governing, still would be. We only nominally serve. Our Thain lives in Tookborough, as the Took's are always Thains, and the Mayor lives in Michel Delving."

"What's the difference?" Fili asks.

"The Mayor is in charge of the Shire's business, the people. They're in charge of the Bounders, and Shirrifs, our authority. They also preside at banquets." You pause to help Fili over a stile, taking the lantern briefly before climbing over, being careful not to jostle Kili. You continue after you've begun walking again. "When the last King of Arnor died, we created the Thain to replace them as lawmaker and ruler. We answer to them when there's a crisis, and they can call a Shire Moot in dangerous times – but we're a peaceful race, and rather lazy, if you ask me. Our Hobbitry-in-arms is rather lacking." You glance down at him, smiling slightly. "But it's a good thing the Thain is my grandfather, or I wouldn't have been able to become a Bounder and find you here today."

Fili looks up at you sharply at that, looking shocked, "You're the granddaughter of your people's king?"

You shake your head, clucking, "I already said we'd bend the knee to the King of Arnor, if he took his throne. We hobbits don't take those kind of titles."

"But if you did, the Thain would be called a King? Wouldn't you be a princess?" Fili looks at you, desperate, eyes gleaming, and you tilt your head, before giving in, seeing his logic.

"Yes, I suppose we would."

Fili, at this, looks star-struck, and you have to lead him down the path a little more than before, as he gets lost in his own head, stumbling and not looking at his feet – just staring at -you.

When you come up to the edge of Hobbiton, you can see Otho Sackville-Baggins with a lantern, about to start his patrol.

"Bilbo? Who've you got there?"

"Otho, these little ones are lost – I found them just off the road on the way to Ered Luin."

Otho huffs, approaching, screwing his eyes up to look at each boy. "Those aren't fauntlings."

"No, they aren't," you don't bother expanding, not in the mood to share that information with your hated cousin right now. He would figure it out himself, momentarily, but you don't care. "Would you be able to take the rest of my patrol up by the woods of Rushock Bog, or ask another Bounder while I take these ones to Bag-End?"

Otho grumbles, but nods as Fili's stomach rumbles again. "I'll tell Saradoc to go up the road, you get those ones home – and feed them. They're skin and bones. Would you like me to visit the Thain for you tomorrow on my way to Tookborough market?"

"Oh, if you would, that would be wonderful, Otho. Thank-you very much," you lean over to kiss his cheek in thanks before continuing on your way. Fili looks back at him with a strange expression.

"Who was that?"

"My cousin," you reveal, shifting the snoring Kili on your hip. "Our fathers are brothers. We don't generally get along very well."

Fili frowns as the three of you make your way across the Brandywine, past the Green Dragon and through the village, walking the road towards Bagshot Row. By the time Bag-End is in sight, Fili is lagging, and you realise that to a dwarf – especially a child dwarf – who had already been travelling who knew how long, the way to your home all the way from the wood by Rushock bog must have been terribly long and arduous.

"We're nearly there," you murmur, before leaning down and picking him up, balancing the two boys carefully, clutching tightly as you trek upwards, taking a minute or two longer than you usually would with the two weights on either of your hips. Fili makes it easier by holding on tight, gripping your side and shoulder with a strength that makes your bones creak.

You set Fili down again when you get to the gate, opening it up and letting him walk up the stone path to your door – you'd painted it blue last midsummer, and the paint was peeling a little, faded. Maybe they can help me paint it tomorrow, red maybe – keep their minds off everything.

"Why is the door round?" Fili asks, sounding slightly confused as he pokes at snowy hibiscus, your flower of choice this year for your front garden.

"Hobbits live in the ground – that doesn't mean we always used to be builders," you reply, before checking the handle. You're pleased to find it locked, and knock, causing Fili to give you a confused look as Kili brings his head up at the sound, blearily looking at the door.

It opens, revealing your young cousin Primula.

"Bilbo," she starts, only to see the dwarrow boys, "Oh my, who are these little ones? Not fauntlings…"

"Dwarrow," you reveal, before stepping forwards, Primula opening the door for you all. "Fili, shoes off." He's looking at your home in bewildered wonder. A hand reaches out, knocking the wooden beam of a round doorframe. "Fili," you catch his attention, meeting blue eyes, "shoes off."

"Oh, okay," he nods, before sitting down on the ground, plonking down with a soft thud, beginning to untie his boots, which look like they've been dipped in Frogmorton rather than Rushock. You sit down on a nearby chair, turning Kili around to face outwards, beginning to untie his boots, but failing as the knots confound you. Kili bats at your hands, reaching over, and it's embarrassing how quickly he gets them undone.

"What happened?" Primula asks, crouching beside Fili to take his boots, holding them with delicate fingers. She sniffs them, making a face. "Rushock."

"Yes," you reply, nodding and taking Kili's boots before letting him get off your lap, "Found them on my way past Rushock Woods. Fili, Kili, this is my cousin, Primula Brandybuck. Prim, Fili and Kili, sons of a Lady Dis."

"Not Lady, mama's a prin-" Kili starts, only for Fili to hit him, "-ow! Fili-"

"Shush, you can't say anything about that." Fili hisses, before you take his boots from Primula.

"Fili, don't hit your brother," you say, before kissing Primula on the cheek, "Thank-you for looking after Freylin."

Primula smiles, "It's really no bother, Bilbo, really – she's a darling, and has been fast asleep for a few hours. It's the dwarf in her – sleeps like a rock." She winks as you roll your eyes, opening the door again and letting her out after she grabs her jacket and shawl.

"My next patrol isn't for another two days," you call as she opens the gate, nodding.

"I'll see you tomorrow for tea," she replies with a cheeky smile, and you laugh a little before nodding, waving her goodbye. Once the door is shut again, you look to Fili and Kili, boots in hand.

"I'm going to put these in the sink, and you're both going to clean the mud off of them while I cook you supper. Is that alright?" Fili nods, Kili quickly copying his brother. "Good."

Breathing in, you lead them through your smial to the kitchen, running a half-sink of water before placing their boots in, pulling over two chairs for them to stand on and getting out the scrubbers your mother had gotten you for exactly this reason when you were small.

"The soap is right there, if you want it."

"Okay!" Kili replies enthusiastically as Fili tugs the arm of his jacket off, tiredness from before all but forgotten, it seems. You help Kili up onto a chair as Fili climbs up with ease, watching them for a few moments as they begin to clean their boots, before stepping away and taking off your jacket and scarf finally, stoking the kitchen fire. Preparing a dinner doesn't take long, but you're distracted by a cry from through the smial, and take soup off the stove as you wipe down your hands with a tea-towel, going to exit the kitchen.

"Bilbo? Who's that?" Kili's voice stops you momentarily, and you glance back at him.

"I'll be back in a minute," you promise, not answering his question as you turn back and walk on through the smial towards your bedroom. Reaching it, you call out to your fauntling.

"Freylin, Freylin, shh sweetling," you go over to her bassinet, leaning over to pick her up. Her cries lessen, but don't fully quiet, so you check her over, deciding she must be hungry. "You'll be okay, baby, just wait a few moments." You hold Freylin in one arm, untying your corset with one hand, setting it on your bed. You pop your shirt-buttons and sit on the bed, pulling down your shirt to let Freylin have access. Sitting there, your peace is disturbed almost immediately by a small figure climbing up onto the end of your bed.

"You have a baby?" Kili crawls over, fascinated, muddy hands making marks on your covers. You internally sigh. They needed changed anyway. "What's his name?"

"Freylin, and she's a girl," you say gently, looking over to the door where Fili stands, blonde hair illuminated by the light of the corridor – Primula had capped many of the candles in this room, but not the rest of your home. "Fili, you don't have to stand over there if you don't want to. Come and meet my daughter."

His eyes widen, and he takes a step back, immediately alerting you to the fact that something's wrong. "Fili?"

"I don't want to marry a baby!"

Your eyes widen, "What? Marry her? I don't want you to marry her – is that a dwarven custom, marrying their daughters off with a few words?"

Fili takes a deep breath, obviously relieved, "Girls are special. Mama says to every girl there's ten boys." You stare, shocked.

Because that is a very small amount of women in comparison to men.

"Well, I don't want you to marry Freylin," you say numbly, "She's a bit young yet – not even four months."

"She's very small," Kili whispers, bringing his hand up to her head – but you reach over, holding his wrist gently.

"You have muddy hands and muddy boots to finish cleaning. You can hold her later, if you like," you say, causing him to bite his lip, looking down at the covers.

"Sorry, Miss Bilbo."

"It's okay, just be more thoughtful next time."

"Okay," he replies, before Fili comes over, hands going under Kili's armpits to pull him off the bed gently.

"Come on, we've got to clean our boots. We can see Freylin later."

"Okay," Kili repeats, before they scurry off, feet clunking on the hardwood in a way that a hobbit fauntling's never would. You look at Freylin, curling your finger around a dark curl. You'd just been having an adventure – just some fun. You had planned to settle down, leave the Bounders, find a husband, have fauntlings of your own and stay in Bag-End until you were old and grey. The dwarf had been caustic, yet you'd been tipsy enough and ludicrously honest enough – out loud – about how attractive you found him and how annoying his continual brooding had been the past few days she'd seen him – especially when he directed his anger into something other than getting through tankards of Men's mead.

You never expected to end up with a half-hobbit, half-dwarf baby of your own, let alone to get pregnant from a one-night stand.

"Maybe this is my chance to tell him," you had no doubt in your heart that Fili and Kili's parents would try to find them, and you could probably get in touch with Freylin's father through them. Dwarven children are sacred, you know, and you would bet a pretty penny that with how Kili had been trying to correct you earlier, he and Fili were Royal, if not princes themselves – it wasn't hard to connect the dots. Not to mention the fact that you had the hobbit version of what Fili had put to use earlier, with his high posture and perfunctory bow.

You shake your head. Princess indeed.

In your arms, Freylin wriggles, mouth detaching from your teat, and you turn her around, letting her at the other before she can start crying again. Your spare hand brushes her feet, strange in their lack of hair. Her feet are sturdy though, with skin as tough as any other hobbit's, and you have to wonder if feet-hair is something she'll grow into, like her beard – and while you do find it strange for a woman to have a beard, she isn't just a hobbit, and shouldn't have to deal with anything less than equal consideration when it comes to hobbit and dwarf customs, physical or otherwise.

"Little boy blue, come blow your horn; the sheep's in the meadow, the cow's in the corn. But where is the boy who looks after the sheep? He's under the haystack, fast asleep," you sing without provocation, knowing Freylin likes it. "Will you wake him? No, not I; for if I do, he's sure to cry."

Freylin finishes after a few more minutes, and you clean up before returning to the kitchen, where Fili and Kili are using one of your spare tablecloths to dry their boots. Sighing once more at their actions – good-hearted, honest, but mistaken and raw with youth – you walk over and put Freylin in the spare bassinet you have in the kitchen for exactly this reason, giving her a carven oak horse to play with before returning to the soup, heating it up as Fili and Kili crowd around your daughter, tickling her and making faces.

"I think she looks like mama," Kili says out of the blue, once you've sat them down with soup and bread. You raise an eyebrow.

"Really? How?"

Kili dipped his bread in his soup, "Well, she's got the same forehead – her hair goes in a V-shape, like mama and uncle's," Kili demonstrated by lifting his fringe, making a V-shape with his hands, soupy bread still in his grasp. "And her eyes are the same blue as Fili's and mama's."

"Not your uncle?" You clarify with some amusement. "Does he have brown eyes like you?"

"No, Kili's got brown eyes from our papa," Fili replies, shaking his head, "Uncle's eyes are blue too, but his change colour sometimes, go darker or lighter when he's angry or happy."

"But they're like Freylin's too!" Kili bounces on his seat, causing drops of soup to splatter the table. "And she's half-dwarf, isn't she? She could be Uncle Thorin's baby!"

You feel something tighten in your chest, gasping suddenly. You stare at Kili, eyes blown wide – because you know that name, it's why you named Freylin, Freylin, rather than Freylinia in full. You're well aware of the dwarven custom of hereditary names, endings to names.

Freylin.

Thorin.

Freylin, daughter of Thorin.

And apparently, cousin to Fili and Kili, sons of Dis.

You turn to face the fireplace, shakily ladling yourself a bowl of soup. Yavanna, what kind of coincidence is this, for it cannot be natural! "Clever theory, Kili, but maybe you should focus on eating rather than thinking on your uncle's imaginary children."

Fili starts chattering to Kili as you sit with your own supper, only half-paying attention. They're speaking in Khuzdul however, so it wouldn't have made a difference – it's all blocky sounds and guttural, yet lyrical words. You can't imagine what their poetry must be like.

"Miss Bilbo?"

You snap to attention, "Yes, Kili?"

The brown-haired boy sits up straight, licking his spoon speculatively, "Why do hobbits have such terrible cutlery?" You blink.

"What?"

He holds up his spoon. "I could forge a better spoon."

"Oh, well…good for you."

"Do hobbits not know how to forge cutlery?" Fili asks, sounding terribly honest in his questioning. You hesitate, struggling to find an answer.

"No…not really. I mean, we have a smithy down near Bywater, but they just fix up carts and ploughs and other farming equipment. Usually, we buy our cutlery from the Men. Gypsy caravans come through the Shire sometimes, or one of the hobbits from Stock will order a large bundle from the blacksmith in Bree, to sell to other hobbits…what's wrong with my spoons?"

"They're very flimsy," Fili holds up his spoon, bending it. You gasp at the move, anger rising in you as you set down your own cutlery.

"What do you think you're doing? Bend that back into shape, right now."

Fili looks between the spoon and you, embarrassment and fear sinking into his face. "Oh. I'm sorry, Miss Bilbo." He bends the spoon back into shape, but there's a defining bump to it in the middle, which he tries to smooth out before you reach over to stop him, shaking your head.

"Leave it, it's fine – I can buy another one next time I'm at the household goods market."

"I'm really sorry," Fili scrambles off his seat, rushing around to your side of the table, holding out his hands, spoon left on the table. "I apologise for the injury I caused to one of your household objects, and beg forgiveness, and ask that Kili not be thrown out of your home as well as I."

"Thrown- oh, Fili," you twist on your chair, taking his hands, and leaning over so you were nearer his eye-level. "Fili, it was a thoughtless mistake, and you're still young yet. Yes, you made a mistake, but you've already apologised – twice. I'm not going to kick you out of my home for bending a spoon, Yavanna knows I did the same thing in my youth."

"B-but I broke it! I broke your spoon! I'm a guest, and I broke your things." Fili's eyes are wide and slightly shiny, as he works himself up. You hold his hands tighter, drawing him close into a hug.

"You are always welcome in my home, Fili," you hold him warmly in your arms, his Mahal-made body a slight, childish frame with childish fancies, as you immediately receive a reply to your actions, small, blocky arms slipping around your chest.

"What about me?" Kili mutters quietly from across the tabletop, yawning a little, rubbing his eyes. You bend your head to look at him, smiling kindly.

"You too, Kili. On my honour as a Baggins, Head of the Baggins Clan, you are both always welcome in Bag-End, my home – the smial that my father built with his own two hands, the jewel of Hobbiton."

"Thank-you," Fili says, voice muffled into your collar, and you can feel the wetness on your skin from his eyes and breathe. Oh, Fili.

"You're very welcome," you release him, but he doesn't release you, and you laugh, kissing his blonde hair. "Go and finish your soup. It's very late – you have to go to sleep soon, or I won't be able to wake you up in the morning."

"I'm not tired!" Kili exclaims.

You glance at him, eyebrow raised, "Oh really? What was that yawn I heard earlier then?" He flushes, and you smile, turning back to your soup, taking a peek at Freylin at the end of the table, who is shaking the wooden horse, the acorn inside producing a soft rattling sound. Fili goes back around the table to his chair, climbing up, and you wonder how old they are.

"Fili, Kili, how old are you – and how long to dwarrow live?"

Kili chewing some bread, Fili swallows to answer, "Three hundred, sometimes, but two hundred and fifty, now, usually. I'm nearly fifteen – but Kili's only a baby, he's nine."

"I'm not a baby!" Kili spouts, glaring at his brother as you nod.

"And when do you become adults?"

"Thirty."

You hum, as that's somewhat similar to hobbits, though your kind rarely live to a hundred and fifty, let alone three hundred, though you do age rather slowly. You glance at Freylin again. How old will she be when she finally goes old and grey? One hundred? Two? You doubted she could live to three hundred, what with her mixed ancestry, but it was a nice, if lonely thought, if she decided to stay in the Shire all her life instead of going to live with dwarves – or a dwarf – who might grow old with her, rather than outlast her if they were hobbits.

"How old are you, Miss Bilbo?" Kili asks, as you finish your meal.

"I am twenty-nine," you reveal with little shame, despite the situation that fact found yourself in once the Shire found out about Freylin, your words causing the boys' eyes to widen.

"And you already have a baby?"

"Yes," you nod, "and that is the end of that conversation. Finish your soup, then follow the main route through the atrium and west hall till you reach a family portrait – then turn left into the spare bedroom. I'll join you there. Call for me if you get lost." You stand, going over to Freylin and wonder if she's sated enough yet to fall back asleep as you pick her up.

"What do we do with our bowls when we're done?" Kili asks as you exit the kitchen.

"Put them in the sink!" You reply, before heading to your room, taking the shortcut through your study. Placing Freylin in the cot again, you replace the wooden horse with a ragdoll, murmuring soft things to her. Soon, though, you hear Fili and Kili calling for you, and you leave Freylin in her cot to search them out, eventually finding them in your storage room, Kili sneezing at the dust.

"I'll draw you a map before I sleep tonight, so you can figure your way through Bag-End," you say quietly, before leading them through the smial to your guest bedroom, pausing at your family portrait.

"Is that you?" Fili asks, pointing at your younger self with long golden waves flowing down her shoulders. You remember that your mother had forced you to take it out of it's usual braid down your back – you remember when you cut it all off in rebellion.

"Yes. That's me and my parents, Bungo and Belladonna."

"Is that why they call you Bilbo and not Bluebell?" Kili looks up at you in confusion, but you shake your head.

"No. Female hobbits are named after flowers, and ferns. Males get family names, traditional names. I'm called Bilbo because one of my cousins couldn't say Bluebell right – it just stuck. Everyone calls me Bilbo now."

"Oh," he looks down, "okay."

"Are your parents alive?" Fili interjects, and you pause again before shaking your head, leading them into the guest bedroom.

"No, they died."

"Our father died, too, in the mines of Ered Luin." Kili says sadly. You squeeze his hand, before letting go to pull back the bedsheets for them. He climbs in, with help from Fili, and they tug off the rest of their clothes, except their underwear, and you take each set and fold them, placing them on the chest at the end of the bed, starting a fire in the hearth.

"Miss Bilbo?"

"Yes?" You look back at Fili. "What's the matter?"

"What happens if we need the bathroom?"

You smile a little, chuckling, before pointing to the corner. "A small bathroom is in there. Toilet and sink. There's a bucket of wood-mulch and a jug for water – a step in the cupboard under the sink, if you need."

Fili nods, saying "Thank-you", then burrows under the covers, whispering to Kili in Khuzdul. You keep tending to the fire, getting a blaze going and warming the room before brushing your hands on your apron and coming up to the bed again, tucking them in.

"Good night to you both, and hope that we'll find your mother and uncle tomorrow, so you can go home." You kiss their foreheads, getting a dual 'Goodnight Miss Bilbo' before you leave, returning to Freylin, finding her asleep.

You undress, putting your dirtied clothes in the washing basket in the corner of your room, and change into a long nightgown, going around your home and dousing the few fires and candles remaining, other than in yours and the guest's bedrooms. Other, smaller things you see to, before you finally return to your room, to your soft bed and turn down your covers, checking once more on Freylin.

Then, you close your eyes, and dream of the Fell Winter.