Authors' Note: Welcome! We hope that you enjoy our romp through Tolkien's world. If you recognize it, it's probably from Tolkien or Peter Jackson. If it's an non-Tolkienian idea you've seen before in fanfiction, feel free to assume it's a (most likely) subconscious allusion/tribute to the original author. Happy reading! Elle and Rhi
Dinner Guests
There is an old saying in the Shire: it is all very well and good if others underestimate you, but don't you go underestimating them! It might very well be the oldest saying in the Shire, but there is another -one perhaps even more essential in the life of any Took: be alert when wizards appear.
Biliana Baggins, daughter of the marvelous Belladonna Took, knew both proverbs perfectly well. She didn't know how many wizards there were in the world, but she knew Gandalf the Grey. He had been a good friend of her grandfather the Old Took, and of her mother and father besides, and ever since she was a child she had looked forward to each of his unannounced visits, and to the tales and the fireworks that came with him.
Even so, the Grey Pilgrim was the last thing on her mind that late spring morning. The month had been even more than usually rainy, and she was laboring over waterlogged rose bushes, determined that the sensitive plants not suffer any ill effects. Prim wished white roses for her handfasting wreath, after all, and it was only appropriate that the flowers planted by Bungo Baggins' wife adorn his heir's wife on her wedding day.
Thinking over again her cousins' plans, Billa was quite oblivious to the world beyond her bushes, until a throat was cleared rather loudly. Not ready to abandon her task, she called out, not entirely politely, "Good morning!"
"What do you mean?" a deep and oh so familiar voice, both serious and teasing, asked. "Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?"
Leaping up, Billa ran down the lawn through the front gate, hugging the tall grey figure round the middle. "All of them! Oh, dear, dear Gandalf! How good to see you!"
"And you, my dear Billa, and you." He patted her head gently, smiling. "Now, won't you invite me in? I have much I wish to speak about with you and your father."
Billa's smile slipped from her face; her hands quivered for several moments. His own smile fell away, and he waited for her to speak with a weight growing in his heart.
"Father passed away this winter," she told him finally, voice barely above a whisper.
Sorrow carved into Gandalf's face, and his eyes dimmed.
"When?"
"Four months ago."
"Ah… my poor Billa…" He shook his head, his hand coming to rest on her shaking shoulders. "I am so sorry, my dear. For your loss, and that I did not come sooner." He sighed. "Has Drogo taken possession?"
She shook her head. "He and Primula wed at Midsummer. He wishes to have a wife to bring to Bag End." She managed a small smile. "He says a bachelor isn't suitable for Bag End. 'Made for a wife, and won't go without', he said."
"And you…"
"I go to Tuckborough. Drogo and Prim have offered, but…" she trailed off, shrugging her shoulders in an artfully careless way, and her face was stonily calm. "Fortinbras has promised me a place; he and Lalia have their hands full with little Ferumbras, you know." Billa turned back to her rose bushes, running her fingers through the soil, frowning mildly at its composition. "Another set of capable hands would prove a blessing, not a burden. And I would hate to intrude on Drogo and Primula so."
Gandalf watched the little hobbit woman he was so fond of carefully. Finally, he asked, "And if you had another option?"
Her brow furrowed. "Another? Where… what do you mean?"
"I came here seeking someone to go on an adventure," he intoned, his voice thick with an impressive gravity and import.
She stared, before letting loose an almost hysterical laugh, bending over with the force of it, and it was some time before she could gather her wits enough to respond to the wizard.
"An...an adventure?" she gasped, one hand on her newly aching ribs. "Me? Oh, Gandalf, you know you ought to be speaking to a Took."
He scowled at her. "I believe I am."
Her merriment faded, and she sighed. "I'm a Baggins, Gandalf. For all my mother's blood, I am useful, not fierce."
The wizard stepped back from her, his posture straightening, narrowing his eyes on her fidgeting form. When he spoke again, it was in a low, purposeful voice.
You are both, and both shall be needed. Yes, you will do very well indeed." The wizard seemed satisfied with himself, his dour air lifting. "The perfect choice, I must say. I think I will outdo myself this time."
"Gandalf, what on earth -"
"It is decided, then. It will be very good for you, and rather amusing for me. Expect us this evening; I do hope you have a good dinner prepared!" With a cheerful smile, he walked away, whistling, leaving a stunned hobbit lass behind him.
"Dinner- what… Gandalf!" Billa cried, her stupor broken as he turned down the lane. She hurried after. "Gandalf, WAIT! What do you mean? Who do you mean, 'us'?" She raced to the hedge-lined turn, but the dratted wizard was nowhere to be seen on the path ahead. Covering her eyes with one hand, Billa muttered every curse she knew in Westron, Hobbitish, or Sindarin, but there was nothing else to be done. With a long-suffering sigh, she retreated for her smial to grab her shopping basket. Her larder was well-stocked, but company always requires fresh meat. She had heard good things of young Tolman Cotton's fish today, and she knew Odovacar Bolger's son was still in town, selling some of his father's excellent pork…
It was a good thing Billa could not bear to be idle, even in her grief. Fingers long used to lace or music making - two activities her battered heart still could not easily endure - had found solace in baking and canning and cooking these last four months, leaving her pantry filled with jams, pickles, preserves, smoked and salted meats and fish, cheeses, breads, cakes, and pies. Much had been given away to well-wishers, but there had been none this month, save for dear Drogo and Prim, and the shelves were now overloaded to the point of groaning. All she had to do, then, to prepare for company was to wipe down her dining table, bring up a barrel each of cherry wine and summer ale, and prepare the beautiful fish and pork haunches she had purchased.
When the meat was seasoned and roasted to her satisfaction, she looked around. She could hardly set the table, not knowing the number of guests to expect: to set too few or too many would both be horrifically insulting. Resigned to waiting, she ran her hands back over her pinned-back hair, smoothing the few distresses there, and looked down at her dress. She ought to change; this was a work dress, after all, and the hems were frayed and the apron grey with age, hardly appropriate for a dinner party… but was this a dinner party? It was dinner, to be sure, but the gathering hardly seemed social. Gandalf, she imagined, would be wearing his normal grey robes, but what of the other? Or others. (Drat it, Gandalf had not even told her if he intended to appear with one or many!) To dress too fine would be to look down her nose at them, but if they were dressed well and she were not…
A solid knock at the door interrupted her fretting. Too late to worry about clothing now - she couldn't leave a guest waiting! So to the door she went and opened it, automatically raising her head for Gandalf or a Ranger's eyeline.
She aimed too high. Blushing, she lowered her gaze until she found herself meeting the eyes of (blessed Yavanna!) a dwarf. At least, Billa thought it was a dwarf. She has seen some before - they passed from time to time through the Shire as they went from Ered Luin to Bree and beyond-but never so close! Yet, with that build, not much taller than the biggest of hobbits but so much broader, with a coarse beard (and, goodness, were those axes strapped to his back?), what else could he be?
"Dwalin, at your service." He bowed, and she blinked, rushing to curtsey.
"Ah, Biliana Baggins, at yours and your family's." She gestured awkwardly behind her, and opened the door enough for him to enter. "Please, come in."
He did so, and looked around. "Where is he?"
"Gandalf? He has not-"
"No. Your… husband? Brother? Father? Mr. Baggins."
Billa's eyebrows rose to meet her hairline. "My father returned to the earth four months past, and I have no brother or husband." She smoothed her hands down her apron and straightened her spine to meet Dwalin's gaze calmly. "The only Mr. Baggins is my cousin Drogo, who has not yet taken possession of Bag End."
The dwarf scowled, at what she knew not. But he was a guest, and a guest must be fed, so softening her expression to a welcoming smile, she gestured down the hall to the dining room.
"Please, Master Dwalin, follow me. I've prepared a large meal, only Gandalf neglected to tell me how many accompanied him. Do you travel alone with the wizard, or…"
Dwalin gave her a stunned look that quickly softened into sympathy, and grunted, "Rolled you over like the rest of us, huh?"
Billa found herself smiling genuinely, and even suppressing the urge to giggle. "You have no idea."
He shook his head. "There'll be thirteen of us, not counting you or the wizard."
"Fifteen…! Well," she sighed, "it will be a tight fit, but needs must." She led him to the table and bade him take a seat, quickly setting first his place and then the remaining fourteen (fourteen!). His eyes were wide as he took in the spread, and Billa found herself growing nervous again.
"There's more in the pantry, or I could still run to market, if there's not enough." She pressed her lips together anxiously, considering her options. "Most stalls will be closed, but Drover's avoiding his wife, so he should be-"
"It's fine, lass." He swallowed deeply. "It's… it looks great."
Billa beamed, relieved. "Truly? Thank goodness. Oh, eat up! No point in wasting away waiting for your tardy friends, is there?"
He snorted, and reached for a roll. The doorbell rang.
"Oh! Be back in a moment!"
At the door was another dwarf, this one with a snow-white beard that split halfway down and swooped into funny flicks at the bottom. He gave Billa a merry grin as he bowed.
"Balin, at your service."
She gave a quick curtsey. "Biliana Baggins, at yours. Please, come in." She opened the door widely and held out her arm for his red cloak.
"Oh, thank you my dear - Brother!" He chuckled loudly and held out his arms for the big one, Dwalin. They embraced with more violence than even tween Tooks, striking their foreheads together in a most concerning manner, but the deep and abiding affection was obvious.
"Come along, brother," Dwalin pulled Balin back towards the dining room. "The lass's put together a fine spread for us."
Billa would have followed them, but the bell rang again. This time, it was two dwarves, young looking even to her ignorant eyes, one fair and one dark, both handsome, and with horribly muddy boots.
"Fili" said the fair.
"And Kili" said the other.
"At your service" they finished together with synchronized bows. She raised an eyebrow at the brothers (for what else could they be?), but her smile was soft and genuine.
"Come in, lads. Only, wipe your boots!"
The dark haired one aimed straight for Billa's mother's glory box, and Billa restrained the urge to box his ears. "Not on that! The scraper by the door will do nicely, I suspect. I'd thank you not to ruin my mother's rugs."
The boys grinned at her as they followed her instructions before bounding into the house.
"Is your mother joining us for dinner?" the dark one wondered as he set down his pack and bow under a side table.
"What does she think of your brother signing on with us?" the fair asked, eagerly scanning the smial.
Again, Billa's brows crept upward. "I have no brother," she repeated mildly. "The only Baggins here is myself."
The lads shared a confused glance, but Kili was quickly distracted by heavy footsteps. "Mr Dwalin!"
Fili paused, taking a long moment to look over Biliana. "Have we misstepped, mistress?" he asked. "Is this not where Tharkûn intended for us to arrive?"
Billa smiled, guessing easily whom he referred to, though her expression felt a bit forced. . "Given that Masters Balin and Dwalin have already arrived, and Gandalf himself has visited this morning, I believe you have come to the right place, Master Fili."
He bowed once, smiling. "Thank you for your hospitality, Mistress Baggins."
Billa beamed. "At your service, Master Fili. Please, go and eat."
Fili was warmly embraced by Dwalin, the two dwarrow pounding each other on the back, and settled in next to Balin, the two of them speaking between bites of food.
The dwarrow fell to eating the spread Billa had prepared, and Balin caught Billa's eye, thanking her with a lifted glass. Beyond that brief civility, their manners were atrocious, worse than a drunken Brandybuck's, but yet another ring at the bell distracted Billa once again.
This time it was not one or two dwarves who darkened her doorstep, but a veritable mob. Eight dwarves tumbled into her entryway, groaning and protesting at each other in a cacophonic mix of Westron and a rough tongue Billa didn't know. And if that was not vexing enough, Gandalf appeared in her doorframe, his bushy eyebrows twitching in amusement at the mass of dwarves slowly separating from the pile and rushing towards the smell of food after perfunctory bows to the mistress of the house, muttered names and "at your services" tumbling in their wake.
"Billa, dear, how are you this evening?"
She opened her mouth twice, but she could not bring herself to speak the words she truly wished to shout at the wizard. Finally, she bit out, "I have guests to feed. Come, please, sit down."
The dwarves did not quiet after reaching the food. Beer was spilt, her pantry raided, food thrown, insults traded, and, by Spring Itself, was that dwarf walking on her table? Despite her best efforts and all her father's training, Billa could feel her good humor fading rapidly in the face of so many loud guests, coming on such short notice. She could say nothing to the dwarves, of course, but she vowed to speak her mind to Gandalf as soon as she got him by himself.
On and on the festivities went, until Billa feared time was not progressing at all, but rather trapping her within an eternity of boisterous uninvited guests rampaging through her home, pantry, and sanity. Suddenly, one of the younger looking dwarves, a rather timid redhead, interrupted her breathing exercises to ask, "what should I do with my plate?"
Momentarily overcome at the sudden hope of this night coming to an end, Billa failed to respond quickly enough. Instead, Fili snatched the plate from the other's hands and tossed it to his brother.
"Here, we'll handle it!"
"What… Wait! Please, I can manage! Oh, do be careful!" Why had she ever thought that Fili was well-mannered?She turned to see two dwarves play fighting with her mother's silver knives. "Don't - you'll blunt them!"
The one with the (rather stupid-looking) hat smirked. "Hear that, lads? She says we'll blunt the knives!" And with that, he began to sing a horrid song, the others quickly joining in, until Billa was inches away from either collapsing in hysterics or throwing said knives at (guests, she must remember, guests) heads.
Chip the glasses and crack the plates!
Blunt the knives and bend the forks!
That's what Mistress Baggins hates-
Smash the bottles and burn the corks!
Cut the cloth and tread on the fat!
Pour the milk on the pantry floor!
Leave the bones on the bedroom mat!
Splash the wine on every door!
Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl;
Pound them up with a thumping pole;
And when you've finished, if any are whole,
Send them down the hall to roll!
That's what Mistress Baggins hates!
So, carefully! carefully with the plates!
As they sung, they passed plates, glasses, and silverware to one another in a haphazard way, from Balin seated at the table to the one with the silly hat, who stood at her kitchen sink. Not allowing her into her own kitchen, they surrounded her, still singing, before ushering her back into the dining room, and showing off the piles of perfectly clean dishes and collapsing into laughter. But Billa did not have time to blister her guests' ears for their insult to her mother's dishes, for once again a firm knocking came from her smial's door.
"He is here," Gandalf said gravely, and it took all her father's training for Billa not to roll her eyes - or scream.
She followed the wizard and the suddenly somber troop into her entryway and watched as Gandalf (without so much as a by-your-leave) opened her green door. Her breath caught. It was another dwarf in her doorway, but this one was different. His good looks reminded her of the two young brothers, but while theirs was the promise of youth, his were the full bloom of maturity. He had a quiet grace and authority about him, more than even Grandfather Took had carried, even if his hair was still dark with only a few grey strands woven in. His beard was short, but his hair reached past his shoulders and he wore a dark cape lined with fur.
"Gandalf," he rumbled, his voice as appealing as his visage. "I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice. I would not have found it at all, if not for that mark on the door." He nodded at Dwalin and the other dwarves congregating around the doorway, several of whom bowed.
"Mark?" Billa turned to Gandalf with a sharp look. "You…you defaced my door?" It was silly, she knew, that after all that had happened tonight she would be hurt at this small thing, but still… the door to the home her father had so lovingly made, and had carefully repainted every spring...
"It was one small rune, hardly a defacement!" the wizard defended himself. She opened her mouth, but again was interrupted.
"So this is the hobbit." The dwarf stepped into the smial, his boots thudding heavily despite the handmade rug at the door. "You did not say it was a female."
Billa's chin came right up. "Biliana Baggins, at your service." For formality's sake, she sketched a curtsey, though her father would have been appalled at its briefness. "And I am hardly an it."
His quick smile might have been intended as an apology, but it was quickly ruined as he began to circle her.
"I don't suppose you have any skill with an axe or sword?"
She shook her head, confused. What need had a hobbit for such bulky, unwieldy…
"Thought not." He turned to the others. "She looks more like a nursemaid than a burglar." They began to laugh.
"I beg your pardon!" she snapped over the din. "Insult me again - in my own home, no less! - and you will find I need neither axe nor sword to bash in your thick head; my mother's skillet would do the job well enough!"
Most of the dwarves started, and a moment of silence fell. Billa blushed deeply, torn between mortification at her own words and fury at the new dwarf's ill-mannered behavior. Dwalin surprised her, breaking the silence by chuckling. The newcomer scowled, but Dwalin remained unimpressed.
"Come and eat, Thorin. We've made sure the lads saved you something." Looking over at Billa, he smirked. "Don't mind him, lass. He's always a bear when he's hungry."
Thorin growled, but he followed after Dwalin without another word and Billa, after a few deep breaths, calmed enough to follow. She passed by the dining room, watching out of one eye as Thorin took the seat at the head of the table, and stepped into her kitchen. She ladled the last of the stew into a blue-glazed bowl, and grabbed a spoon sturdy enough to survive a dwarf's uncaring hand. If she set the bowl down with a little more force than necessary, well, it had been a long night already, and gave no promise of ending soon.
"How was the meeting?" the silver-haired one in purple asked almost as soon as Thorin had his first bite. "Was it well attended?"
"Aye," Thorin answered, lowering his spoon back to the bowl. "There were envoys of all seven Families."
This news seemed to cheer the dwarves, but Dwalin merely asked, "And do they stand by their oaths?"
Thorin sighed, looking down at his meal before meeting his fellow's eyes. "No."
Billa watched Dwalin's eyes dim with sadness and felt a faint prickling of indignation.
"As the Arkenstone's situation has not changed, neither has their excuse. For the rest, they say this quest is ours, and ours alone. We will have aid if we succeed, but not before," he continued, his shoulders sagging as if a mountain rested upon them. Billa's ears twitched in the sudden silence.
"Quest? You're going on a quest?"
Thorin raised his eyes to her, and would have spoken, had not Gandalf gently asked her to fetch more light. Returning with a candle, she was guided to Thorin's side by Gandalf, who had claimed the seat next to him, and directed to place the light in the middle of the table. Gandalf pulled out an old, fraying parchment and unfolded it, revealing a rather crude map. Oh, it was not crudely drawn, but it was very light on detail, more evocative than informative. Billa sincerely hoped that Gandalf or one of the dwarves had a better source of information for any journey they might be planning.
"The Lonely Mountain… Erebor," Gandalf began, and Billa's eyes fixed on him in wonder. He looked at her and murmured, "You know the tale." He barely waited for her nod before continuing, "as, of course, all the dwarrow here do. Long has the Worm lingered where he does not belong, hoarded what is not his. It is time to change that."
"Aye," rumbled the dwarf with the great red beard. "Óin has read the portents, and he says it is time."
"Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain, as it was foretold," the grey bearded one next to him intoned gravely. "All the signs suggest the same thing: the reign of the Beast is as an end."
Billa frowned. "Beast? You-"
"That would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, greatest calamity of our age." The one with the silly hat leaned forward, smirking irreverently, as though hoping to elaborate in grisly detail, but Billa forestalled him.
"Yes, Master… Bofur. As Gandalf said, I know the tale. I just did not realize dragons were mortal, to fade as we do without any wound or sickness."
Balin made a sound of disagreement. "We do not know if he is… we have the signs, but how to interpret them, we know not. It might be our, or his, or no one's actions that end the beast, if he can be ended."
The youngest-looking, the one who had asked about his plate (Ori, was it?) jumped up began to loudly assert his intended actions, in quite graphic detail, until another, sitting beside him, forced him back into his seat. Others began to shout as well, each trying to outdo the last in imagined violence against the dragon. Their voices grew louder and louder, until Billa longed to cover her ringing ears. A sudden shout from Thorin in a language she knew not silenced them.
"If we have read the signs, do you not think others have as well?" He cast a stern glance over the table, settling the boisterous dwarrow. "Rumors have begun to spread; Smaug has not been seen for nearly sixty years. Eyes look to the East, scheming, asking: does the great wealth of our people lie unprotected? Someone, someday, will weigh the risks and judge the treasure worthy. Do we sit here, committing our deeds with words and not with action? Do we allow others to claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?!" he finished with a cry, rising to his feet, and many of the dwarves roared with approval.
"You forget, the front gate is sealed!" Balin protested against the sudden enthusiasm. "We have no way into that mountain!" he added, bringing his hands down to rest upon the table in with an air of sad finality, not meeting Thorin's disappointed eyes.
"That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true." All gazes turned to the wizard; Gandalf produced a key with a twisting of his hand, holding it out to Thorin, who took it hesitantly, almost reverently.
"How came you by this?" The dwarf took the key's solid form in his palm before sliding a suspicious glance at Gandalf from beneath his brows.
"It was given to me, for safekeeping, by your father before Azanulbizar. Now, I give it to you." Gandalf returned his gaze to the map, ignoring Thorin's unspoken question. "I sense this map tells more than is visible to the eye at first glance - your father hinted as much - but I have not the knowledge to find it. There are others in Middle Earth, I am sure, who can."
The blonde lad… Fili's gaze was still fixed on the key. "If there is a key, there must be a door."
Gandalf nodded, pleased.
"There's another way in!" The other (Kee? Kili.) cheered. "And if we can find it…"
"Then we can gain access to Erebor without the dragon's knowledge, and, with the aid of a particularly stealthy person," the wizard said with a significant look at Billa, "achieve our task without alerting him."
Thorin turned his gaze to Billa for the second time since he had entered the dining room. "And is she…?" He trailed off significantly. Billa looked, wide eyed, from him to the wizard several times, her face flushing and mouth narrowing. Her body quivered, and her hands clenched.
"Is this what you were going on about this morning?" She shook her head in disbelief, before turning her gaze back to Thorin. "I see the sense in recruiting a hobbit for stealth, and a Took among hobbits. We are quiet even by our own people's standards, which I assure you are much higher than the Big Folks, who cannot walk softly on a feather mattress." (She left off any additional explanations, strangers aren't entitled to secrets, after all, even if coming with the recommendation of a wizard.) "Even so, I'm not sure anyone can sneak past a dragon to… what, exactly, do you expect me to do?" She spun to question Gandalf, frown firmly in place. "Slay the dragon? I cannot envision Smaug the Golden falling to an assassin's blade, no matter how crafty."
Gandalf held up a hand, delaying any more of her words. "No, not slay. You would play more of the role of a burglar than an assassin. No - now is not the place to speak of why such a role is necessary, but I assure you, it is."
She rolled her eyes. "Leaving that to the side - and I wonder how much the years have addled your mind, if stealing from a dragon seems so much more achievable than killing him - why on Eru's green Arda would you choose me? I've never served with the Bounders, or even been further than Bree! Paladin or …"
"No. It must be you."
The dwarves rumbled and Thorin scowled, but Billa drowned them out with a cry of "But, why?!"
Gandalf sent a quelling look around the room, though his gaze softened when he looked upon the little hobbit, so close to tears.
"Perhaps we should speak of this privately, my dear?" he asked her, and at her miserable nod led her away, merrily ignoring the glare the dwarven king directed at his retreating back.
Billa followed the wizard into the sitting room, sitting in her father's chair while Gandalf claimed his own (dully, she felt some distant pleasure in the gratitude his look conveyed; lugging his big chair out of its storage place had never been her favorite chore).
They sat in silence for a long moment, Billa staring into the fireplace and studiously ignoring the muffled noises coming from her dining room. Finally, the old wizard sighed.
"Are you truly so desperate to stay in the Shire?"
Billa's eyes darted to glare at him.
"That isn't the issue here, and you know it!"
"Do I?" He sat back in his chair. "Isn't it?" Gandalf pulled out his pipe and pipeweed, but kept his eyes on her. "Do you know what I think when I look at you now?" He pointed with the wooden pipe. "I see that beautiful, headstrong girl who walloped me on the backside with a wooden sword, and I grieve at how hard the years must have been for her if she now doubts herself so much."
"I don't -"
Gandalf carried on, ignoring her attempted interjection. "You think Paladin more qualified than you? Paladin, who lost his way in Bindbole Woods at the Old Took's last birthday? Remind me, who was it who found him?"
Billa sighed. "Me."
"And when the youngest Brandybuck, five years ago, nearly drowned in the Brandywine, who alone amongst her kin leapt into the water, even though she had never learned to swim herself?" Gandalf's face was stern, but Billa could see both the sense of his words and the good humor behind him.
"Me," she conceded, but privately she wished he hadn't mentioned that one. She still had horrible dreams about those awful moments when water separated her from breathable air.
"And who's planning and foresight has guaranteed that not one of her father's tenants has suffered want during these last ten winters, no matter how early or late the frosts come?"
Billa gave a wry smile. "I take your meaning; but planning for Shire winters and saving lost faunts hardly means I'm fit company for a troupe of warrior-dwarves!"
"You might find them not as fierce or hardened as you now imagine, my dear." His point made, he lit his pipe and drew a long draught. "And regardless, the fact remains that they need you."
Billa opened her mouth to dispute that, but a look from Gandalf silenced her. This was not Gandalf, her grandfather's oldest friend, sharing a fantastic tale, but Olórin from the far West, the Grey Wizard intoning some great truth too weighty to be ignored. She remained silent for a long time, lost in thoughts, in forgotten hopes and buried dreams. In the next room, she heard a sound begin to rise. Like humming, but so very, very deep.
It was humming, she realized, coming from the throats of her dwarven guests. Then came the light sound of the plucking of harp strings. The humming became a melody, and then a song, rising and blending with the harp music, and the wordless vocalizations became a sorrowful lamentation.
Far over the Misty Mountains cold,
To dungeons deep and caverns old,
We must away, ere break of day,
To seek the pale enchanted gold.
The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,
While hammers fell like ringing bells
In places deep, where dark things sleep,
In hollow halls beneath the fells.
Goblets they carved there for themselves
And harps of gold; where no man delves
There lay they long, and many a song
Was sung unheard by men or elves.
On and on they sang, about a beloved home filled with the heirlooms crafted by dwarven genius, and the drake that came and slaughtered and stole. Of loss, and hatred, and mourning that would break the heart of softer things.
Far over the Misty Mountains cold,
To dungeons deep and caverns dim
We must away, ere break of day,
To win our harps and gold from him!
As the final notes died away, Billa stared into Gandalf's eyes. Finally, she sighed, low and resigned, and turned to the doorway, where Thorin and Balin approached. Looking into the dwarf leader's deep eyes, she gave her answer.
"Since I was a babe, I have heard many tales of a hobbit's stealth. We are the smallest race, after all, and stealth is often our best weapon against those who would mean us harm; but I have never heard of anyone, not even one of us, sneaking past a dragon." She turned back to Gandalf. "But if you truly believe it necessary, old friend, then I will try."
"But she's a lass!" Dori cried. "She can't come with us unaccompanied; it's hardly proper!"
Miss Biliana raised an eyebrow. "Why not? If you take after the customs of men, then neither, I imagine, was my hosting all of you alone this evening, yet that did not stop you."
Dori blushed and stammered. Balin cut over his attempts at explaining the distinctions, directing his question at the wizard. "Do you truly believe her the best choice, Tharkûn?"
"I do."
Balin shared a long look with his king, who gave a small, firm jerk of his head.
"Give her the contract." The king turned away, seeking Glóin and Óin.
Balin pulled a bulky parchment out of his breast pocket, handing it to the bemused hobbit lass. He offered a few platitudinous explanations, but fell silent as he realized her attention was fixed firmly on the document. Her brow furrowed at moments, and she clearly reread certain passages, mouthing the words as she deciphered their full meaning. Balin found himself giving her an approving smile: in this, at least, their hobbit was no fool. She paused suddenly and shook her head with some energy; thick curls of her auburn hair, already slipping from her braid, fell into her face, framing it much as sideburns would have, if she were a dam. Balin smiled to himself, smothering the twinge in his heart, and with Dwalin at his side turned away, returning to Thorin to ask further of the gathering of the Seven Families, as the small lass continued her study.
They spoke for some time, looking up on occasion to see the hobbit pacing the hallway, nose buried in the contact, muttering at times to herself. Much of Thorin's news was predictable: Rathin of the Blacklocks spoke against the Quest, despite his niece's interest in Erebor being restored. His younger brother Rathévi counseled caution, but stood in the end with his king, though his long ill-health made his accompanying Thorin an impossibility. Knútr of the Firebeards was for the expedition, but did not feel obligated to contribute dwarves or supplies to it. The brothers Sveinn and Sweyn of the Broadbeams thought it was madness; Ketil of the Ironfists wished them well. The Stiffbeard Vit thought Thorin had gone mad, even suggesting he might be kept by his lords in protective care until he recovered his wits; Yngvi and Ingvi, cousin lords of the Stonefoots, had barely contained their contempt. Each was railed against in turn, but little was said that was not expected until Dwalin mentioned the nearest cousin of the Line of Durin.
"Dáin did not come?"
"He came." A heavy moment followed. "He spoke with Rathin against us."
Glóin made a choking sound; Óin tapped his ear trumpet. Balin could not blame them; this was a cruel blow indeed. Thorin began to pace in the narrow hallway.
"He found me afterwards, tried to protest his love and loyalty. He wished me success, if I was still determined to wager it, and promised supplies if we take the Mountain. But only in private would he say such things! Before my other lords, I did not recognize him for my kinsman!"
Dwalin's face was as dark as Thorin's, but he said nothing. Óin shook his head.
"The Ironfoot, proved a coward and a traitor! What are our people coming to?" Glóin bemoaned.
As hurt as the others, Balin felt compelled to speak the hard truth aloud. "Sense, perhaps, not cowardice, may have driven him. We have lost much, these last one hundred and forty five years, and have suffered more. Even with the wizard, our chance is small enough. Dáin has more than himself to consider in this."
Thorin grimaced, but did not contradict his oldest advisor. The silence lingered for a time.
"Dunno what Tharkûn was thinking, asking us to take an unrelated female with us; this Quest is dangerous enough without courting disfavor," Dwalin growled, glancing over at the still-reading girl. Balin cleared his throat.
"I had the chance to ask him about that, actually. Until this morning, he believed her father still lived, and could place her into one of our's care. Now that she is orphaned…"
"He expects one of this company to offer her Gátharuthi?" Thorin's visage was openly scornful.
Balin gave him a look, but answered calmly. "It is a perfectly acceptable solution." Thorin gave him a look of his own.
"And you would extend shakt'ashmâru, connect yourself - your noble lineage - to her?" he scoffed.
Balin's expression hardened and grew in disapproval until Thorin looked away.
"She has the recommendation of Tharkûn himself, no small thing. And she handled a dwarrow company's feasting far better than any inn-keeper I've ever seen, despite no prior experience, and even now carefully reads the contract we've put before her." Balin folded his hands into his sleeves, looking pleased. "Yes, I would offer her shakt'ashmâru. I have every faith that she will do well."
"She is sabkh; she cannot fight."
"We have other soft ones among us, and we do not need her for battle, but for stealth. And for that I think she will do quite well. Tell me," Balin's eyes twinkled. "Did you realize she's right behind you?"
Thorin spun around to see that the hobbit lass was, in fact, only a few paces behind him. Dwalin raised an eyebrow, knife half drawn, at their hostess. She held the contract in her hand but was looking at Thorin, a firm set to her expression.
"The contract is acceptable. Before I sign, however, I do have one request."
Thorin did not hold back another scoff, already imaging the ludicrous things a hobbit would demand of a dwarf, but gestured for the now frowning lass to continue.
"I would need two days to put my affairs in order. You and yours are more than welcome to stay here, and rest before we begin our journey, but I would see Drogo's inheritance secured against the Sackville-Bagginses before I depart."
This was clearly not what Thorin was expecting.
"Drogo's inheritance? What do you mean?"
She gestured around her. "Bag End. In his will, Papa named my cousin his heir and myself the caretaker of his estate until Drogo was ready to take possession. The Sackville-Bagginses have already tried to have my father's wishes overturned once, and I do not mean to let my sudden absence embolden them again."
The hobbit lass gave no indication she'd even thought twice of being passed over in inheriting her own home despite being unmarried. Is this how hobbits typically arranged such matters? Thorin fought back a sneer, Balin noted with exasperated approval - irritated as he was at everything that night, this particularity was hardly her fault. He turned his attention to a name that had earned more than a bit of scorn in her voice.
"Sackville-Baggins? Relations of yours?"
"Unfortunately." She gave a wry smile, eyes darting to Balin before returning to Thorin. "A cousin and his wife, and they are both as petty and grasping as a dragon, if only half as bright as a troll."
Thorin, despite himself, gave a chuckle. Her eyes eased slightly.
"May I have it? My two days?"
He nodded. "Set your affairs. We will depart for an inn, if you wish, or pay for our lodgings…"
"There's no need for that!" she protested. "Truly! Only… if you would loan me two of the company when I go to market tomorrow: I doubt I would be able to carry the necessary provisions to feed us all myself!" she finished with a laugh. Seeing his frown, she continued. "Truly, unless it is onerous to you, I would wish you to stay here. You are my guests, after all, and I promise, nothing ill would be said of you if you remained."
"And of you?" Dwalin surprised his brother by asking. "Would any ill be said of you?"
She looked surprised as well, but was quick to shake her head. "No! Of course nothing ill would be said of me in hosting my parents' dear friend Gandalf and his companions, or in assisting them along their way."
Thorin would have questioned her further, Balin knew, but she made her excuses and left the room as soon as she had signed her contract, quizzing Dori as to sleeping needs and customs for dwarrow, as well as planning breakfast for the morrow with Bombur. Thorin's thick eyebrows fell heavily over his eyes, but allowed his questions to fall to the wayside. It appeared, after all, he had months to unravel the mystery their new burglar presented.
Soon after, Thorin stalked off, Dori having told him the master bedroom was prepared for him - their hostess, apparently, remained in her childhood room even after her father's return to the stone. After a quick conference with Dwalin, who was shockingly ready to agree to Tharkûn's scheme, Balin lingered a while, until most of their company had departed to their own beds. He then discreetly beckoned Bifur, whom he judged to have the best memory and most sense out of them all, himself excluded, and sought their hobbit lass. They found her in a storeroom, frowning over bundles of herbs.
"Miss Baggins?"
Billa looked up from her packing to see Balin before her, hands clasped firmly before him, and Bifur peering over his shoulder. She smiled up at them.
"Yes, Master Dwarves? Can I help you?"
"It's just, well, you might remember Dori mentioning that it wouldn't really be proper..." Balin trailed off at her frown.
"I recall, but I have already signed the contract, and I have no intentions of breaking my word." She turned to place two bundles back on their hooks, wrapping a third in cloth.
"No, it's not that, it's…" Balin trailed off, and took a moment to gather himself. "Well, there are ways, among our people, of temporarily making a person kin, for sake of travel, or business, or some such thing. I do not know how such things are looked upon by hobbits, but for the duration of our journey I would offer… that is, if you are amiable, I, as eldest son of Fundin, would extend the kinship of my brother and myself to you, for the sake of your honor, and that of the whole Company." He folded his hands together, his piece spoken, and awaited her response.
Billa blinked twice, and thought carefully over her answer. "I have no wish to impose upon you or your brother."
"Indeed, it is no hardship at all." Balin gave a small, reassuring smile, his stance relaxing somewhat.
"So you say, but your leader has already proved himself less than fond of me; I have no desire to extend his ire to yourself, or your brother." Billa tucked her herb packet into a satchel.
"Let me handle Thorin." His smile deepened for a moment at her clear concern and then faded as he sighed. "I must insist upon this, Miss Baggins. It would be quite scandalous for us, if you journeyed with us with no claim of kin, and our journey is dangerous enough without courting ill fate with dishonor."
Billa hesitated. "This is truly necessary? And it truly would be no hardship or inconvenience to you or your brother?" At his firm nod, she smiled softly. "Then I would be honored, and I will strive to prove myself worthy of such kin."
Balin stepped forward, holding out his hand. She took it, and he slowly pulled out a small dagger, raising his bushy eyebrows. She winced, but nodded, and he turned over her hand and pricked her palm, just deep enough for a bead of blood to glisten on her skin. He quickly did the same to his own hand, and grasped hers again in his, letting the blood smear on both palms. This finished, he gently bumped his forehead against hers. "Welcome to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, Biliana, Daughter of the Line of Fundin."
Bifur came forward then; Balin noticed Biliana starting slightly, as if she had forgotten the other dwarf was there. Balin raised an eyebrow himself; the non-kin witness need not speak during such a ceremony, but Bifur clearly wished to communicate with the halfling lass.
"Melekinh," Bifur patted the halfling's arm. "Maídmi, melekinh amsâlul."
"He bids you welcome," Balin explained to the puzzled lass, shoulders relaxing. "'Melekinh' is our word for a hobbit female, and he's expressing his belief you'll be good luck."
The lass smiled at the dwarves. "Well, I will certainly try to be."
They walked away, Bifur still muttering. Balin only half-listened, his mind mostly on the preparations that remained.
Translations:
Amsâlul: lucky
Maídmi: Welcome
Melekinh: female hobbit
Sabkh: soft (feminine form)
Shakt'ashmâru: temporary kinship
Shakt'ashmâru Gátharuthi: "kinship of the contract", a form of temporary kinship used for business and travel
Tharkûn: "staff-man", Khuzdul name for Gandalf
Authors' Note: This story is cross-posted at AO3, under username EllariSigintarg. Thanks for reading! Elle and Rhi