A Changeling in Erebor

After the Battle of the Five Armies, the company of Thorin Oakenshield believe their brave hobbit, Donnabelle 'Bilbo' Baggins, perished in the fight to reclaim their home, taking with her the future of the line of Thorin, son of Thráin. They did not realise a changeling such as Donnabelle had a natural defence that protects her from further harm and helps her to recover when she is emotionally compromised and physically traumatised as she was after the battle… this is her journey to recovery.

[Hobbitish spoken language]

Dedicated to the readers that stuck with me through the journey of writing 'Donnabelle', and especially to Calenthion and Nikolai who helped me so much with Khuzdul.

Prologue

Battle of the Five Armies

Ravenhill

Donnabelle 'Bilbo' Baggins was in so much pain. It radiated out from many different places yet the worst of it came from her lower back and abdomen. It hurt to breath. She took in a shallow breath and knew she needed to find help. But first, she had to make sure that Azog was really dead. Dragging herself to where the Pale Orc lay prone on the cold stone, Donnabelle felt along his arm to his throat. The body was cooling off quickly. There was no pulse.

She breathed a sigh of relief. Her terror that he would somehow come back and haunt her was unfounded. Looking down at her hands, they shook. Why were they shaking? She balled her hands into fists and used the orc's corpse to push herself up onto shaky feet. Pain exploded outward from her lower back. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as she very nearly collapsed again beside Azog's body. She arched her back and reached out for the wall to steady herself. Blood was seeping down her legs and she felt a clump of something slide from her. What was wrong with her? Opening her mouth, she thought about calling for help. It snapped closed as she remembered she was in the middle of a battle. If she wanted help, she would need to go find it.

Another cramp hit her. Tears slipped from her eyes as she placed a hand over her womb. What did all the pain and sticky fluid mean for her and her baby? Donnabelle pushed herself away from the wall and on shaky legs, made her way from Azog's cold dead body. She really needed to find help and fast.

The hobbit did not know how she managed to get herself down from Ravenhill with the amount of blood she had lost. Every step she took was like walking on razor blades. She did not know how she managed to find herself moving toward the men and elven survivors, either, once she got to the valley floor. But someone spotted her making her way toward them when she abruptly collapsed into unconsciousness.

When Donnabelle woke, she had been moved into a tent of healing. There was a strange human hovering over her. The hobbit shifted backward when the woman realised that she was awake.

"It's okay, dear. I won't hurt you. Could you tell me your name?" Donnabelle frowned and shifted further away from the woman until she hit the edge of the bed. "My name is Eira. I've been worried about you. You're very lucky to have survived." The woman, Eira, was an older, plump looking woman. She placed her needle and thread down. "Are you hungry?"

Donnabelle nodded. The hobbit gingerly moved closer as Eira asked someone at the entrance to the tent to bring the patient some soup and a bun. It wasn't long before some was brought and offered to the hungry hobbit.

Eira watched as Donnabelle took the food and began to eat. When it looked like the diminutive woman was calm enough, Eira asked again, "What's your name?"

Donnabelle chewed slowly and then swallowed. [Donnabelle,] she responded.

"I'm sorry. What was that?"

[Donnabelle,] the hobbit repeated.

Eira frowned and sighed. "I'm afraid I cannot understand you." At the child's confused look, the woman explained, "You're speaking a different language, sweetheart. Would you mind terribly if I called you Signý? It means 'new victory'."

Donnabelle shrugged and turned back to her food.

"Or I could call you 'Bella', which is what you sound like when you speak. But I guess the dwarves wouldn't appreciate that after they lost their friend."

The hobbit stopped eating again and frowned. What did the woman mean; the dwarrow had lost her? [I'm right here, though.]

Eira looked over at the small hobbit and gave her a tired smile. "It has been nearly two weeks since the battle. And everyone has heard about the burglar King Thorin brought with his company from the Shire."

[You've heard of me?]

The woman looked over her patient and wondered exactly what the smaller person had asked. So Eira guessed at the question and answered, "We've all heard of Donnabelle and what she did for us. The story goes she fought and killed the Pale Orc up on Ravenhill with nothing but a small blade. She was killed herself. King Thorin and his company have been trying to find her body ever since."

[But…] Donnabelle began and then stopped. If Eira couldn't understand her and it sounded like bells, then she was speaking Hobbitish. Swallowing hard, the hobbit looked down at her food. She took another bite of her bun and finished draining the soup. After she finished her bun, Donnabelle frowned and reached for her braids… that weren't there. When she began tugging on her hair, trying to ask where her beads were, Eira frowned.

"What are you looking for?"

Donnabelle frantically began braiding her hair and pulled on the small beginnings of a braid. Eira realised that the hobbit was asking for her beads and reached for the small pouch they had stored the various baubles in. The small lass reached for the pouch and brought it to her chest. She frowned again. How was she to ask after the mithril shirt Thorin had given her?

"The chain shirt you were wearing is folded up and with your other clothes under your bed."

A small, grateful smile flashed across Donnabelle's face and she nodded her thanks. Eira returned the smile. "Whoever gave you those must care for you very much."

Donnabelle smiled again, yet it did not reach her eyes like before. Did Thorin actually care for her? Was he actually going to search for her?

The last week with him just before the battle had reminded her of the time before they'd reached Lake-town. When she felt cherished by the Mountain King. But then, there were other times she remembered: the times she'd spent alone after Lake-town. After the dragon. When Thorin had treasured his reclaimed gold more than he'd treasured her. What if he went back to that gold lust after he found out…?

No. She couldn't think on that. Not yet. But… Her hand went to cover her womb. There was no pain there. Just the pain from her cracked ribs when she breathed.

Donnabelle felt Eira's gaze on her and the hobbit turned on the older woman. Yet there was no point in asking any of the questions that were running through her head. No one within 100 leagues of Erebor would be able to understand her language.

Not even Gandalf.

It was only after Bofur came through her tent two days after Donnabelle woke that the hobbit knew she was in for a long recovery. The hatted dwarf had not recognised her and neither had Bifur when he'd stuck his head in as well. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes when Bofur murmured, "That's not her." The dwarrow she had grown to know and love were the only ones to help her recover and yet, they did not recognise her while she was stuck as a small, injured human child.

She sniffed and refused to look at Eira after the dwarrow had left. There was no way the hobbit could explain that she was the one the dwarrow had been looking for, nor the fact that she'd suffered so much emotionally and physically that she had triggered her natural defences.

The natural defences of her changeling nature had her speaking Hobbitish and looking like a small human teen.

She was not looking forward to her recovery.