No one came to say goodbye. There was no tearful farewell, no promises of coming to visit her back in Bag End (though when she thought of it now, she was no longer sure that the Shire would even be pleased to see her should she return), nor even a simple parting gift. She left with a chest stuffed with gold, and an empty feeling in her chest.
So much for adventures.
Gandalf sat smoking on his horse. They did not meet each other's eyes, nor did they speak an entire word to each other that day. Perhaps he was regretting what he had done. Had he not known the dwarves well enough? Of all the dangers that he had listed, her own companions were not one of them.
The ponies they had taken were not too fast, and she spent a long time looking back at the scenery. Then came the boat ride to Laketown, where she made slight conversation with a sailor. It was just a few questions on the dwarves. Bilbo pretended to care, and answered everything he asked.
Still, she wanted to forget about dwarves. Her thoughts should not have remained focused on them.
The lake air did do good for her. It was so fresh, so different from the inside of a mountain that still stunk of dragon. She looked over the edge of the boat at the clear water. She could see fish swimming around. The slight chill did not bother her.
When lunch was brought out, she ate it heartily. Bread and fish had never tasted so good.
When the sun set, they reached the shore.
For a moment, Bilbo could not remember where she was. The room was too big, disorientating in a way. She blinked away the sleep from her eyes and slowly remembered. This was an inn in Laketown, a man place. The only good thing of it was that the humungous bed was at least soft. She wrapped the large blankets around her and went back to sleep; at least here she was not expected to wake early.
A few hours later, long past when anyone usually would be asleep, she finally opened her eyes again. She stretched out her limbs, then pattered to the inn's small kitchen. A tired looking woman was working there.
"Do you need any breakfast?" She wiped her dirty hands on her apron. "I can whip you something up."
"Oh no," Bilbo said. "If you would please be so kind, I could make it myself."
She frowned. "Really, I am a good cook." She yawned.
"No, I want to make a dish of my people."
The woman nodded. "I see. I will step out. Please do not use too many supplies."
"Of course I will not."
When she left, Bilbo began to make her people's "special" dish. Really, it was just eggs (done right). Her father had said that there was only a certain way to making them, and she had taken his words to heart.
When Gandalf finally found her, she was eating. He chuckled. "Do you believe that you will be ready to leave soon?"
They stopped to visit the famed bowman. Bilbo had met him before, but under much different circumstances.
Bard seemed a bit surprised to see her. He was in a large group, his children off to the side. All three of them had bows out. The people all had papers with them, plans for what they said would be a reclaimed Dale. The more the group spoke, the more that Bilbo knew of the old city of men.
"Halfling," Bard said, "it is good to see you again."
Bilbo nodded. "As for you." Absently, she rubbed the large lump on her head. Would it ever leave? Though her hair covered it, it caused a throbbing pain. Originally, she had hardly thought of it, too worried of the rest of the damage caused by war. "How have you been?"
"Busy," he said, looking around. "I had heard stories from my family when growing up of being the heir to a kingdom and never believed them." He chuckled. "Now, I have to be glad that I at least listened to my grandfather. Believe me, the people here will not let me forget my new duty." He looked off into the distance. "It was truly a surprise."
"Of course it would be." Her stomach twisted. "How have you been faring?"
"I am recovering," he said. "Everyone is. When I look back, it could have been much worse. That is my only comfort. But enough of that sad talk; let us discuss what truly matters: Dale will be even better than before."
"I have no doubt of your claim." The dwarves had spoken little of Dale on their quest. From what she could tell, their memory had seemed hazy. Those who remembered it were all high up officials; she doubted they had even left the mountain often.
Bard frowned. He clutched his bow tighter. "You have surely been asked of this before, but how are the dwarves?"
"I do not know. It has been a day since I left them and the amount of things that they can do in a day is horrific."
Bard chuckled. "I would say that you are right."
A man came up to them and held up a sketch. It was incredibly detailed, showing off a large tower with horns attached to the side. "This," he said, "would alert anyone of incoming attack. We have no need for any extra harm. I based it on what I have heard from before."
Bard's eyes lit up. "These look wonderful. Yes, this is certainly something that we need."
Bilbo closed her eyes, seeing the barren lands of what had once been Dale. Could it truly be remade?
Yes, she thought when she opened her eyes once more. These men were going to make sure.
They stayed an entire day and rested. Bilbo lazed around, indulging herself once more. The men had chocolate and other sweets still at their disposal. The air outside was beginning to chill, so she wrapped herself in blankets and sat in front of the fire. Gandalf played chess with her, an affair that ended in Bilbo winning three to one.
"You must have used magic," Gandalf said, clutching one of his pieces in his large fist.
"That is no magic, Gandalf." She chuckled, looking down at all of the pieces that she had collected from him. "That is simply skill."
"Then I must admit defeat." He placed the piece down, then put his hands in his lap. He did not move even an inch. No slight twitches, no twinkles in his eyes. Gandalf looked calm.
That was never a good thing.
"I have heard word that you are not returning to the Shire." His face went blank. "Now why is that? Not that I mind where you go. In fact, I have been looking for a companion-"
"Do not even dream of it. I am not interested in helping you meddle in the lives of others."
"Then what will you do?"
"Simple," she said. "I will keep traveling until I finally find where I want to be."
The next day, they packed up and left. They said their goodbyes, Bard promising that should she ever want to visit Dale then she was always welcome. She responded that she with a yes.
The future was bright, it seemed. At least until they stepped inside the forest. Other paths had destroyed over time, and they did not have any boats to pass the rivers with. Most trade with the elves had halted.
The forest seemed even darker than Bilbo had originally remembered it to be. She kept her ring in her pocket and clutched her sword even tighter.
There are going to be spiders, she thought. Not the kind you found inside your home, the small ones. Nor will they be the ones that you tried to scare the Baggins ones with. These spiders can kill you, at least if you do not kill them first.
"No thank you," Bilbo said to the servant.
They gave her an apologetic smile and went onto the next guest. Bilbo took a bite of the meat in front of her, the blood around it slightly pink. She had known that these elves were different from the others, but she had never realized just how so. This food would have disgusted Lord Elrond.
"One thing," Bilbo's mother had always told her, "is that the elves do not like meat. I would casually bring up my love of hams or beef and they would all pale."
It was certainly well done meat. When the servant came around again, she requested seconds, along with extra bread.
There really were not too many attending the dinner. Gandalf sat at Bilbo's side, clearly enjoying his own food. Without the dwarves around, eating was finally a peaceful affair. The elven king sat at the head of the table, his son on his left side and the captain of the guard on the right. All three were focused on their food. Other than the clink of dining utensils on plates and servants' footsteps, everything was silent.
They had been questioned earlier on why they were there, standard Mirkwood motto. But once that finished, they were not thrown into the damp, cold dungeons again (quite thankfully). If they were, Bilbo did not know what she would do again. One time was more than enough for her.
Still, the ring sat in her pocket in case she ever had use of it again.
What would the dwarves say if they heard of her doings? They would surely fall over dead.
Perhaps that was a bit dramatic. Still, she did not believe they would be too pleased to hear of her being here. Once the alliance on the battlefield ended, the dwarves had gone back to their rude comments. More than a few were made on Thranduil and his shagging habits - with trees of all things.
The scent of wine was thick in the air. After the barrel incident, she did not ever want to drink it again. Not that she had tried it before. The time in the prisons of Mirkwood had been hard on her; she had eaten little to nothing. By the time she had arrived in Laketown, she had been sick both because of the river water and because of hunger.
If she had thought that the rooms of men were large, then she felt absolutely overwhelmed by the rooms of the elves. Gandalf fit right in, but she had trouble even getting onto her bed. The room was large, made of nature itself.
She wrapped the thick blankets around her, unsure of what they were actually made of. Had her mother gone to Mirkwood? If she had, she had either never told Bilbo or she had forgotten of it.
She closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Though she had no idea what she would be doing the next day (packing more supplies with Gandalf and looking for where to go next?), she was sure that she would be busy.
Two large hands wrapped around her throat, and two cold blue eyes met her own. There seemed to be no life in them, just an empty hate. She could feel her legs moving below her, looking for ground that was not there. So this was it.
This was where she would die.
It was an ironic, sad feeling. She had expected orcs to do the job, a few times she had been sure that her death would be at the hands of elves, and she had feared the dragon finishing her off. But no, it was going to be Thorin Oakenshield. Thorin, whom she had single handedly saved from orcs. Thorin, whose brooding she had put up with. Thorin, whom had nearly cut her chest while she was trying to leave.
She looked over to the other dwarves. Their eyes were cold, filled with the same empty hate. Were those really the dwarves that she knew? Bofur was not happy, and Ori looked ready to kill. Nori was a good man despite his acts.
What was wrong with them?
There was no time to think over that; the final bit of air left her lungs.
She woke up in a cold sweat. Were it not for the strange blanket, she was not sure that she would have remembered where she was.
She might have believed herself to be dead.
