They were going to die.
The realization wasn't as daunting as Bilba Baggins would've thought. Maybe it was the Took in her that figured if death was imminent, she might as well go down fighting. Armed with only a kitchen knife, Bilba stared down the orc before her. It smirked evilly at her, its teeth bloody and menacing. She tried to ignore the leaps her heart made at the sight.
Around them a battle was waging. Orcs, wargs, and wolves descended upon the few brave hobbits that dared to attempt to drive away the foul beasts that invaded the Shire. But the hobbits, brave as they were, were few in number, and already very weak from the cold and lack of food. Winter was a season that visited without much fuss every year in the Shire. It came, but not for very long, and before the hobbits knew it, spring was once again upon them and flowers were blooming. But not this time.
This particularly foul winter came without warning or reason. It was colder, darker, and never-ending. By the time the hobbits realized this, it was too late. Not accustomed to the lengthy winter, they had not adequately stored enough food. Attempts at rationing only delayed the inevitable since hobbits generally had large families. They ran out of food when the Brandywine River froze.
And with the frozen river came the predators.
The hobbits never really stood a chance. They weren't made for fighting, and while they had been made to endure during their Wandering Days, the hobbits had become complacent in their peace. Bilba's mother, Belladonna, was perhaps one of the few hobbits that knew how to fight. Being a Took and a good friend of the wandering grey wizard Gandalf, Belladonna had had more than her fair share of adventures. She was adept at the bow and arrow, and knew a thing or two about poisons, but not even her experience with such unrespectable skills helped Belladonna.
Belladonna Baggins had, surprisingly, been one of the first hobbits cut down at the beginning. It was as if the orcs knew her to be more of a threat than the rest of her kin, and subsequently had outnumbered and killed her. In hindsight, her death might be one of the kindest. It was quick, unlike the other hobbits that were made into warg meals.
Bilba tried not to think of her mother as she focused on the orc in front of her. In the back of her mind, she knew the orc was merely playing with her. If it wanted to kill her, it already would have. Her mother might have taught her some things, but Bilba was in no way a fighter. As adventurous a lass as she was, there was a difference between merely play fighting and actually being thrown into a life-or-death battle.
The orc hissed at her in Black speech, making shivers dance down her spine. When the orc lunged, Bilba barely withheld a yelp and sidestepped it. She swiped at it with her kitchen knife, but it didn't connect. The orc laughed at her, a truly evil sound.
Bilba stepped back, only to trip. She landed hard on her rear and noticed with horror that she had tripped over her father's cool corpse. Bile rose, but she choked it down. Now wasn't the time to mourn the loss of her parents. She would weep and grieve later—if there was a later for her.
The orc took advantage of her downed form and leapt on her. She let out a scream and thrust the knife up. It met some resistance as it scraped part of the orc's chest armor, but gravity aided Bilba as the orc ended up impaling itself. It choked slightly before it let out an enraged snarl, and Bilba barely had time to push against the orc. She cried out as the struggle between them increased in viciousness, the orc's jaws snapping in an attempt to feast on the young hobbit lass.
Bilba grit her teeth. This was the end. Already she was getting tired. She thought of her parents, and thought maybe dying wouldn't be so bad if she got to see them again.
Chains wrapped around the orc's throat suddenly and yanked, freeing Bilba in an instant. She scrambled away from the choking orc with wide eyes. Her unexpected savior was snarling something at the orc in a rough, guttural language Bilba had never heard of. He had an unruly mane of graying hair, a scraggly beard, and a long scar over his left eye. With a sudden twist, the orc's neck snapped and it dropped to the ground.
Her savior was a dwarf, she realized with some surprise. She'd only seen dwarves in the books her mother brought from Rivendell. The chains the dwarf used to get the orc off her were, in fact, shackles. The thick, unforgiving metal was clamped tightly around his raw wrists.
The dwarf snarled again, startling Bilba. She looked at him with wide, frightened eyes. He charged in her direction and Bilba threw her arms up to protect herself. Instead of the dwarf attacking her, as she'd thought, he was engaged in a battle with another orc. Bilba cursed herself for ignoring her surroundings.
Horns sounded and Bilba turned. She cried tears of relief at seeing the arrival of the rangers, following an elderly figure in gray that Bilba knew as Gandalf. The orcs and wargs did not like these turn of events and made to flee, only to be cut down. It wasn't long before the battle came to a close, and Bilba realized they were saved.
But turning around and surveying the damage, staring at the blood stained snow and her kin dead on the ground, she couldn't help but feel it was a very hollow victory.
Her tears turned to those of sorrow, and she sobbed quietly when she saw her father's form again. He'd been so brave; he had attacked the orcs with a startling ferocity after Belladonna had been slain. While he also perished at those monsters' hands, he'd also protected his only daughter.
Bilba clutched her heart before she sniffled and rubbed her eyes. She looked around and found her attention drawn to the dwarf. He seemed to blend into the shadows, and stared at his surroundings with no small amount of distrust. Bilba bit her lip slightly. It seemed like the dwarf was ready to run and hide away, which seemed a little suspicious to her. She briefly wondered if maybe he was a dangerous outlaw. His brutally efficient way of taking out the orcs would certainly be proof enough.
But he saved her. He didn't have to, yet he managed to drag her from death's door.
Mind made up, Bilba slowly walked towards him as if she were approaching a wounded animal. The dwarf immediately turned his attention towards her. His hard, cold eyes softened a little, and that alone put Bilba a little more at ease.
"Thank you," she whispered, praying he could understand Westron and not just that guttural language he spoke earlier. "Thank you for saving me."
There was a moment of pause between them before the dwarf nodded. "Yâdùshun," he replied, his rough voice unexpectedly quiet.
Bilba wiped away the few tears that slipped down her face. She looked around and noted that nobody was paying much attention to them. The rangers were preoccupied with either burning the corpses of the orcs, wargs, and wolves, or lining up the fallen hobbits. Everything was just too much. Her head spun slightly, and she leaned against a tree to steady herself.
She was an orphan now. Her parents were among the fallen, and it was too much. She was all alone, too small in a too big world. Her heart positively ached. A part of her desperately wanted to stay with her parents, but a bigger part needed to leave. She couldn't bear to see her parents again, cold and lifeless in the snow.
Lost in her grief, Bilba all but forgot about her savior until the dwarf put his hand on her shoulder. She startled, but when she looked into his eyes, she saw underneath the hardness was a world of compassion. The sob that burst from her mouth surprised her, but once she started she found that she couldn't stop. The dwarf took it all in stride, patting her mess of curls with the same patience her beloved father had had.
She sniffled and wiped her eyes. Exhaustion hit her, and all she wanted was to go home and sleep. She wanted to curl in her bed and pretend this was all just a big nightmare. Turning to the dwarf to thank him once more, Bilba took a good, long look at him.
The shackles clearly implied that he had been held prisoner, most likely by the orcs. He must have been an innocent traveler and was captured. Going by how unkempt he was, it must have been for a long time. Bilba felt a wave of sympathy for the dwarf.
"Do…do you have a place to stay?" she asked, her voice slightly hoarse.
The dwarf cocked his head. "…stay?" he questioned.
Bilba blinked at the Westron. He could either speak a little, or he was just repeating her. Either way, she'd ponder it more later. "To rest? Do you need lodging?" she tried again. When the dwarf continued to stare at her with an air of confusion, she grabbed his hand and tugged lightly. He hesitated, looking around at the still busy rangers. Gandalf had disappeared to Yavanna knows where.
After another tug, the dwarf allowed her to lead him. It wasn't a very long walk to her home, but Bilba felt herself getting heavier with every step forward. She would be returning to the home her father built for her mother, and the place that had always been so comforting to her suddenly seemed like a prison.
Still, she now had a guest to take care of, and she put aside thoughts of her parents. She was tired and she ached, but the dwarf looked so much worse. The least she could do was let him clean up and offer him a place to rest. Bag End had certainly been built for a large family, though her parents had never filled the extensive amount of rooms with the pitter patter of tiny footsteps besides her own.
Once they reached the path that led to Bag End, Bilba let go of the dwarf's hand. He followed her without complaint, eyeing the boarded up windows with an approving eye. She led him into the smial, dutifully ignoring her mother's glory box by the door and her father's arm chair in the sitting room. Bilba went to show the dwarf the bathroom and then shamefully realized that she did not know his name, nor did he know hers.
Bilba cleared her throat a little, capturing his attention. "I'm Bilba," she said, pointing to herself. "What is your name?"
The dwarf blinked for a moment before realization dawned. He pointed to himself. "Thráin," he said gruffly. He said more, but in that guttural language that she didn't understand.
She shivered violently as the chill of her once cozy home sunk in. Bilba ushered Thráin into a chair in the dining area before she moved to start the fire. There was still quite a bit of firewood, and the pantry still had some food. Her parents had of course made sure they had all cut down on meals, though mainly they ensured that Bilba didn't go too hungry. She wasn't sure if it would be last the seemingly never-ending winter, but it was better than nothing.
Bilba would figure everything else out when she wasn't feeling so world-weary. And with that, Bilba lost herself in being a proper host to the dwarf that saved her life. It was a bit of a challenge with communication, but it helped her block out the grief for a while longer.
But the distraction didn't last. When she slept that night, her parents' corpses plagued her dreams. It wasn't until Thráin patted her head and sang softly in his native tongue that she calmed enough to have no dreams, not that she was aware of it. He stayed there until the wee hours of the morning, guarding the young hobbit lass from enemies outside and within.
A/N: So this clearly doesn't follow book canon. For one, Thráin is clearly alive when he shouldn't be. Also, the Fell Winter wasn't as badly as I'm portraying it. I remember watching Desolation of Smaug and seeing Thorin in Bree looking for word of his missing father, and this idea sprung up. Therefore, there will be fudging with the timelines as well as selective use of book and movie canon as well as my own spin on it.
This will eventually feature Thorin/fem!Bilba. Hope you like it. Please review!