Belladonna "Bilbo" Baggins comfortably rested by the warn blaze of the hearth's fiery embers. The long wooden contraption holding her beloved pipe weed sat gingerly between her lips, her breath swallowing the heavy smoke into her body. Her mind, however, traveled leagues away, focused on the past more so than the present. She sighed, the sound full of sadness and home to many memories. Her hand delicately removed the pipe from her lips, placing it on the table next to her. Feet touched the solid wooden floor as she stood. The floor's warmth tickled her toes, making a smile stretch on her face. Fires were lovely things. They warmed a home even in the cold of winter. Speaking of which, a fire must surely be out by now, and such a thing should be remedied lest the small faunt grow cold.
With that purpose in mind, she strove into the halls of her home, walking to the room of beloved little… something broke. In her home… preposterous. Nothing is ever out of place, she knows better than that; no single object is left precariously settled. Quick feet whispered her to the kitchen. She thanked the Valar she forwent shoes while inside, allowing her stealth and silence. The weight of the letter opener she acquired in her journey felt steady and sturdy in her hands. The callouses spoke of training and experience, even if the time spent with this specific weapon, or any of its kind, was few and sparse. No matter, she could well use it now.
A shadow flickered, making an abrupt noise, almost completely devoid of noise; almost. She struck, confidently and assuredly, as she was taught, into the shadow. Her sword was parried, and she prepared for a counterattack or defense. However, no such thing required action. Metal clambered onto the ground as the shadow stepped out. A black beard and matching mane, both streaked with silver, framed a strong jaw and forehead; cheekbones cut from stone, a forehead of marble, and dark brows framed eyes that glittered like dark sapphires. She knew this man, or rather, dwarf, and better than she knew herself.
"Rendered the mighty Bilbo Baggins speechless? Better men than I have failed in such an endeavor," resounded the deep husk of Thorin Oakenshield.
"None died after banishing the hobbit for a rock," she snapped back, dropping to pick up her weapon, "What are you doing here?"
"No greeting?" he questioned.
"No apology?" she countered, glaring.
"Bilbo…" he began, eyes softening, but a small whimper stopped his words.
"Mama?" asked a tiny voice, soft, "Mama?"
Bilbo's eyes softened immediately, turning to the side to see a small shape leaning behind the round doorway. One little arm held a stuffed horse, the other grabbing the wood framing the entrance to the kitchen.
"My darling," she stood to pick up the little hobbit, who curled into her arms and tucked his face into her shoulder, "Awake at such a late hour? Has my brave boy been battling orcs and saving damsels again?"
The little figure giggled.
"Not without mama. No adven'sure without mama," proclaimed the little boy, who peeked at Thorin before curling into his mother again, "Who that, mama?"
"Properly, Frodo," she lightly scolded, "Properly ask, my lad."
"Who… ish that, mama?" he asked again, looking at her with big blue eyes for approval.
"My clever boy," she praised, smiling gently at him, before lightly flicking his nose, "My lazy boy. You know better!"
He giggled again. She looked at the boy with affection smoldering in her eyes, before turning to the dwarf in front of her. Her hand reached and slightly petted the dark brown, almost black curls of her son.
"Mama?" he asked.
"This is Thorin, Frodo," she said.
"Thorn?" he asked, "From your adven'sure?"
"Yes, darling, the very same."
"Oh," he said, "He short."
The dwarf recoiled in offense.
"No insult offered, young Frodo, but you yourself are not tall in stature," responded the king.
"He talk funny," was the response. Bilbo laughed.
"You are tired, my boy. Let's get you to bed, yes?" At the nod, the hobbit-elf spun on her heel and walked out, "Wait here Thorin."
"Mama, is Thorin a king?" came the quiet voice again. Thorin heard them, their voices quieting as they drifted from him.
"Yes, little one. King Under the Mountain."
"Gran Gandy said you were Queen Under the Mountain," said Frodo innocently, and Bilbo gently laid a hand on his mouth, knowing his next question.
"My little faunt has had quite a night, and needs sleep. Tomorrow we will discuss this Under the Mountain business, my love. 'Tis not a happy business, more like a bother, my little one."
"Yes mama. G'night mama."
"Goodnight, Frodo." Steps became louder as they reached Throin.
"We will not wake him again. Follow me." He did as ordered.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded.
