Too late, Billa remembered that she had worn breeches and a vest the previous day, which—more probably than not—was what had caused the gender confusion.

All the same, when those words tumbled out of the king's mouth, she felt her burning face flare—and without thinking—clearly, it had to be without thought; why else would she talk to royalty in such a way?—she lifted her head to indignantly correct, "Excuse me. I am a female, thank you very much. Just because I like to wear pants doesn't mean I'm not."

And then there was startled silence.

(Looking back on it, Billa Baggins admits that it probably took her a second too long to remember just who she was talking to.)

But once she did, again, the hobbit felt both the swelling horror and sudden desire for Middle-Earth to eat her whole. She stumbled back in a dazed terror—Oh no, what have I done? Insubordination to the king!—and hoarsely tried to remedy, "Oh…I…I mean…"

Well, clearly she had worn her welcome out.

Time to leave before things get worse, she knew. So without another word, embarrassment flooding her face with hot, annoying red, she bowed her head away, fingers fisting themselves in the white folds of her dress. She turned to leave as quickly as possible, knowing in her gut this was it. She had ruined it, now; there was no hope for her people through her. Might as well go home and just sit this adventure out.

But then she felt a hand on her wrist, and an uttered, "Wait."

And when she turned, it was the king, whose steel eyes regarded her with such an emotion she couldn't quite place, but somehow instinctually knew involved curiosity.

It was a long, tense, silent moment as their eyes met—tentative, fearful blue with battle-worn, stormy grey—yet for all that time stretched, the world might not have existed. They wouldn't be able to tell; not in the strange distort of reality they suddenly found themselves in.

Until Thorin broke it by pulling Billa forward, back into line—and then past it to stand beyond them, apart in a clear message.

You still will I consider.

Billa could scarcely believe.


One of five.

She was one of five.

Billa looked around at the other four the king had chosen, gathered as they were in a side-room for an important announcement after they had been selected. A tall male orc stood to one side of her, arms crossed over his chest; Billa couldn't help but feel incredibly intimidated by him, dressed as he was in his ceremonial battle gear—and she just in a plain white gown. The other three were also dwarves—two men and one woman—who conversed with themselves on the other side of her in their best, most artistic and colorful furred and beaded garments.

All in all, Billa felt terribly underdressed and extremely out-classed.

She clasped her hands together in front of herself, lowering her eyes as she suddenly felt meek and unassuming. She tried to breathe easy as they waited, continuously thinking, Just keep to yourself. Don't mind them. One of a hobbit's greatest gifts is to remain unseen and underestimated. So just keep quiet.

Too late, though, the orc on her right turned to her suddenly and smirked. "Cute to see you try, little hobbit. But you have no chance, in the long run. You are not what he is looking for."

Billa flushed, but met his gaze anyway, cursing her Took-blooded recklessness while at the same time rising to the challenge to defend herself. "What do you mean?" she asked, voice smaller than it should have been for such a demanding question. "And who are you? How could you possibly know what he wants? As far as you know, I could have as good as a chance as you do to be Consort or Queen."

The orc wrinkled his nose in clear disagreement, although the amusement did not leave his hard eyes. "Disillusioned. My name is Bolg, and unlike you, I am familiar with the royal dwarven customs concerning their queens. You, however, wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

No. Actually, she wouldn't. Billa pressed her lips together in a blank gaze.

Bolg smirked again. "A hint, then; for good luck: queens are not permitted to enter upon the king's chambers without being summoned."

Billa frowned, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. "Um. Wait, what does—"

"—If you should entreat upon him without his prior request for your presence, it could cost you your life."

Billa's eyes widened, her breath leaving her. "What? Why? Do I—are queens just—"

The orc shrugged. Glee shone in his dark eyes as he glanced away almost disinterestedly. "I am not sure, since I, myself, am not a dwarf. But the meaning is clear: queens are not considered equals to their king." At Billa's growing lost, pained expression, he continued, eyes snapping to hers. "And that is not what he is looking for, I am certain. There are three males here, and only two females. Surely this is a sign—if nothing else—that what he is looking for is a partner, not a pet."

That grabbed her attention. Knowing it was probably true, but her Took blood not allowing herself to go completely down without a fight, Billa muttered to him, however weakly, "I assure you, should he choose me, I will not be his pet." I will be his lover.

Bolg's mouth twitched upward at the side once again. "On that, you may not have a say, little hobbit."


"Congratulations on catching the king's eye. My name is Balin, and personally, I wish each of you the best of luck. However, I also have very heavy information to bestow upon you."

Billa packed in a daze, hardly seeing what was passing through her hands and into her trunk. She was lucky Freya was with her, making sure she had the essentials, as well as everything else she would need in order to survive one month away from home. Else, she would have been missing something; perhaps even something as embarrassing as undergarments.

"Because you are the final five, you will no longer be residing within your individual homes. Instead, for the duration of the next month's 'competition'—if you wish to call it that—you will be staying here, within the castle."

"Billa, are you all right?"

Detachedly, she nodded.

After a long pause, however, she then shook her head.

"Oh, dear," Freya murmured soothingly, and without another word, pulled the younger hobbit into her comforting arms.

"The next four weeks will be trying. There will be various events, tournaments, all for you five to compete for the king's affection. One week after another, one of you will be eliminated until there remains just one—the one King Thorin will have chosen."

"What if I don't love him?" Billa couldn't help but whisper into her friend's shoulder, clutching tight to the one who had helped her get into this situation in the first place. Curse those hepaticas and geraniums and asters. Curse that dress. Curse everything. "Oh, Freya, what if I have to marry someone whom I don't love…? Or what if he's…oh, I—I don't know anything about him…"

Freya shushed her, rubbing a hand up and down the auburn-haired hobbit's back. "Well, that's what the month is for, right? You'll be living under the same roof for four weeks. Surely that's enough time to fall in love with him…?"

Billa sighed delicately, lifting her head. Everything still felt so muffled, so far away—as if it were happening to some other unfortunate hobbit and not to her. "I…I don't know…"

"Tonight, we will send you home to gather your things. It is tomorrow morning that we will expect you to arrive at the castle, where the competition will commence with dinner later that evening. Work on your etiquette, practice your table manners—but whatever you do, be prepared for a grueling month."

When the hobbit went to bed that night, it came as no surprise to her that she couldn't sleep. She laid there, listless and worried, stomach churning at all the scenarios she hoped never happened.

"That is all."


King Thorin was used to his good comrade Balin acting the role of advisor. It came with the territory of having known for him nearly his entire life. So when the older dwarf approached him just as he had been making his way to his bedchamber, he was unsurprised.

Even less surprised was he by the actual question the other dwarf asked him.

"The hobbit, my king?" Balin's voice was delightfully curious as he matched the younger's brisk pace down the polished hallway. Thorin restrained a smile at the familiar tone; not condescending, not skeptical or doubtful. Merely interested. Kind. As always. "I understood your other selections quite well—I have known you for many and many a year—fought wars for your father, even. But never had I thought I'd ever see the day when an Oakenshield would entertain the idea of a hobbit companion."

"Curious, isn't it?" the king muttered, shaking his head with a rueful smile curling his lips. "Even I am not sure, my friend, why I have chosen to keep her with them. Perhaps part of it is a rough apology." After all, he had made quite the blunder earlier that day concerning her.

Balin scoffed at the idea. "That I know is not the truth. If you were sorry, you would have let her go. Not forced her to stay here with you for an entire other month."

Thorin shrugged. "If she is not to be, then she is not to be. As it is, I couldn't help but…give her a chance. If anything, her words and instinctive courage were surprising. It provides a startling contrast after all of her incessant blushing and shying."

"Such words, however, are not allowed of a queen. Not out of turn."

Something in Thorin's expression hardened—the results of years of conditioned thinking and traditions, as well as warring, rising new interests. "Right…well, we'll see."

Balin nodded in agreement. "We will see."


When morning came, Billa didn't want to move. At all. And actually, she would have been quite happy to just stay in bed, ignoring the summons placed upon her, and pretending like the king wasn't fancying her as a potential mate all day. She would have liked to just shut out the world and be Billa Baggins who lived at Bag End in the Shire and was really, actually, a nobody to the general population once again.

Instead of possibly going to be a queen.

Oh gosh.

Stuffing her face into her pillow, Billa breathed deeply and slowly. In, then out. In, then out, repeating to herself over and over again, It's just for a month. I won't even last a week. It's just for a month. After a week, I'll be home again, and nobody will ever know who I might have been.

Knock. Knock.

"Billa…?"

Billa took a breath and lifted her face from the pillow, glancing at the doorway to her bedroom, where Himie stood, smiling tentatively. The other young hobbit continued, hand drifting up to idly finger her dark brunette hair curling over her shoulder. "Freya and everyone else is waiting for you. Outside."

That brought a frown to the suitor's face. She slowly sat up, puzzled. "Everyone else…?"

Himie smiled brilliantly back. "Grab your trunk, and I'll show you what I mean."

Everyone else, apparently, meant all the other hobbits of the Shire, gathered together at the front steps of Bag End, with banners and gifts of good luck for their single champion.

Billa had never been more overwhelmed, felt more appreciated, or had so much pressure and so many expectations placed upon her small pair of shoulders before. She was very close to throwing up. Or hyperventilating. Or passing out. Any of which sounded likely as she tremulously stepped forward and down the parted path of her fellow hobbits, lugging her heavy trunk behind her.

Hand after hand reached out to shake hers, wishing her the best of luck, making her assure them that she would do everything she could in order to insure her people a voice in politics. Or, as it was for some amusing families that made her unexpectedly laugh, simply promising them to at least write letters, confessing if the dwarven palace food was really as good (or horrible) as it had been rumored to be. To these, at least, she definitely nodded.

But it was almost too much. Even though they all expected one thing of her—to put her duty to her people above her own desires and consequently snag the title of queenship for the good it could do for them—it was this affection and absolute devotion, loyalty to her, their fellow hobbit, that reminded Billa why she loved being one.

"Affection and love don't come to other races as easily as it does to hobbits, some rumor."

Jolted out of her thoughts at the end of the procession, Billa blinked, startled, and turned around to see Gandalf the Grey, gazing down at her with fond amusement and pride.

His lilting, ever-wise voice continued. "Humans come close, but even small disagreements tear them apart. What I like about your people, Miss Baggins, is that hobbits are delightfully optimistic creatures. They tend to think the best of others, even when under great duress."

Billa swallowed tightly, suddenly so very appreciative of her friend. "What do you think will happen, Gandalf? Should I…should I even dare to get my hopes up?"

"That, I cannot say," the wizard responded, nodding carefully to himself. "But I would advise you, if I may say…to leave no regrets. When everything is said and done, no matter the outcomes, the results, when you look back upon this time in your life, make sure you can remember it with fondness. Never disdain. Use this to make happy memories, Miss Baggins. It is an adventure. So treat it as one."

Billa nodded, heart lifting and easing back into its natural rhythm in her chest with the words as she gave her old friend a half-smile. "I…I will try. Thank you, Gandalf."

The wizard in grey smiled. "You are quite welcome, Miss Baggins."

Suddenly wary and so very afraid of being alone, the hobbit swallowed and shifted in her place on the grass of the Shire, at the front of her wonderful friends and neighbors—a place she would not be for a good long while. "Will you…will you accompany me to the palace, Gandalf? I…well, I don't want to be…alone."

The old wizard nodded, his smile brightening as if he had been waiting for her to request his company for a very long time.

"It would be my pleasure, Miss Baggins."


Crystal's Notes: Waaaaaaah! ;A; People like this. That...that fills me with such joy! I've come to really, really enjoy writing this; fulfilling my inner-girly-girl who's a sucker for romances. So...just to see that people are enjoying it as much as I am fills me with inexplicable, bubbling happiness! You guys have me smiling stupidly! Darn you all! (But I love you so much!)

Also, there's a reason it's Bolg whose her other competitor and not Azog. 8D Because, remember, this is based on the story of Esther, so that means our lovely orc from the movie will be playing an entirely different role that will appear later, but still be incredibly important.

Also also, I looked up the future image of Bolg that will apparently appear in the later Hobbit movies...but honestly, he looks so different from Azog, that I have a tough time imagining him looking like that. ;A; So I'm keeping his appearance here very vague. Imagine him as you will. 8D

I hope you've enjoyed this chapter! Thanks so much for reading! And I honestly adore you all who have favorited, reviewed, and followed! You're all such beautiful people! ;A; Believe it!