"The dwarf king was right."

Bolg didn't want to hear that. That wasn't…that wasn't good news; not for him. Not if his father was actually agreeing with commendations towards a rival…

"How?" he growled immediately.

Azog didn't once look at him. Not yet. "Her tactic was smart. Underhanded, perhaps, but well-played. You should have done better."

"So you're glad she won?"

"Only an idiot would think she shouldn't have." Finally, those dark, older eyes snapped to Bolg's, and the younger orc fought the immediate instinct to growl and bare his teeth in a sign of challenge or aggression of the statement. No, he couldn't do that in the face of his father, who would snap his neck before he had even made a charge. That would just be stupid. "No, you deserved to lose because you forgot she was there. That is not her mistake; she only used your fault against you."

"But she is a hobbit; they have that—"

"—that is no excuse." The grumbling, low dismissal unnerved Bolg more than he cared to show. "A true, skilled warrior never forgets his enemy or relaxes his guard. You keep track of them. Always."

Bolg grit his teeth, knowing his father was right—always, always right—as Commander of the Orc Army under King Thorin, Azog was the best fighter by far in all of Erebor. If he said Bolg had made a mistake, Bolg had made a mistake. There was no dancing around that.

(Didn't mean he had to like the fact, though.)

Azog's dark, beady eyes regarded his son carefully, heavily, before he snorted his dismissal. "I'm disappointed."

Bolg lowered his eyes a fraction, red-hot anger coursing through him as he thought of the little, insignificant gnat of a hobbit who had stolen his dinner with the king and the glory of winning the first competition all in one small knick against his fingers. Oh, and not only that—but also made his father disappointed in him as well.

She would pay.

"It will not happen again."

A puff of air escaped Azog's nostrils as he gave the subtlest of approving nods. "Good."


Billa was moving in a daze as she prepared herself for the evening. Dinner with the king—she couldn't believe she was about to have dinner with the king. Alone. Exclusively them two. And she had earned it.

Well, kinda. Sort of. The jury was still out on that.

(Really, looking back on it, she only considered it pure luck that she won at all. It had been a reckless move, that charge. There had been nothing composed or planned about it. No strategy, no game. Just pure adrenaline and dumb Took-blood. But was that right? Was that justified? Did she really cheat? Did she deserve this victory?)

Billa looked at her reflection in the mirror as she pinned small, white bittercresses in her hair that Kili and Fili had picked for her from outside the palace. ("It was all we could find on such short notice in congratulations!" "And we know hobbits like flowers, so—" "—we hope you like them!" Speechless, she had given each of them a kiss on the cheek in dearest thanks and affection for them, which the two brothers seemed to appreciate as well.)

In truth, she loved the bittercresses. They were perfect for what she wanted; they were small, not too fancy or anything stunning.

Just like her, she supposed.

Billa swallowed harshly, gazing long and hard at the hobbit she saw in the mirror. Flowers in her hair, paling skin and thinning limbs. But that wasn't—that wasn't right, was it? Wasn't—wasn't that same hobbit supposed to be home by now? Where had her plans of returning to the Shire and home—Bag End—gone?

What am I doing? What…what do I want, anymore?

Billa touched the mirror and wished she could answer.


"You look nervous."

Did she?

Oh.

Billa swallowed and cleared her throat, flushing as she sat across from his highness. The lit candlesticks did not go by unnoticed to her; neither did the gold-rimmed table cloth and china before her. Even their goblets had gems embedded in their handles.

This, of course, only served to make her flush harder as she took it all in. "W-well…it's hard not to be. Especially when you pull out your best dishes for our…uh, dinner."

Thorin raised an eyebrow and chuckled. "Is it too much?"

Billa lifted her head sharply, shaking her hands in the negative as she met his amused gaze. "Oh! No—no—it's just—"

"—because this is what it will be like should you become queen—"

"—yes, I, uh, suppose it will, it's just that I'm not used to it; that's all. Sorry…sorry; forget I said anything." Bowing her head again, Billa placed her fidgeting hands in her lap, and tried to quiet herself into a more presentable, more pleasant companion for dinner. Because she couldn't well be rambling and making a fool of herself on her one chance to impress the king, right?

(…and if Billa were to be honest with herself, some small, young and thriving part of her found that yes, she very much did want to impress him. But was that okay? Was that allowed?)

Thorin gave a curious inhale and exhale—not necessarily a sigh—but a definite take and give of breath in response that Billa found strange. Wondering, she lifted her head as he spoke, "Halfling, I feel as if something is troubling you. You seem to be…putting on a face while you are here, and I'm not sure if that face fits you, nor that if I like it. Tell me—what is wrong?"

The words shocked Billa into an open stare at the king's expectant face. "W-wrong…?"

The dwarf tilted his head to the side in a flat invitation for common sense. "Do not think I haven't noticed you eating so little at our dinners. Surely, that's not normal for a hobbit."

Oh.

Billa pressed her lips together as he continued. "And just the other day, you were quite fragile at dinner. You left far too soon—just after the meal had been served—and it appeared as if you were about to cry. Now, please don't try to act like I am some blind king who does not notice when one of his subjects is hurting—tell me. Although you have put it behind you enough to have amazingly won today's challenge, what truly ails you?"

The hobbit pulled her shoulders in, and felt very tight and ugly in the face of such kindness. She couldn't even bring her eyes to meet Thorin's stormy greys, and instead stared at the tablecloth in a watery, awkward silence as she tried to find her words.

But finally, they came—very quietly, very hushed, as if she were departing a great secret for the king alone to hear.

"…your highness…I…I regret to inform you that I feel…as if ever since I have stepped foot into your palace…I have done nothing but wrong." Swallowing tightly, the hobbit continued. "I feel as if…as if every move I've made has been in err or been a mistake, and I have…a-angered people. Or upset them, somehow. And it…and I don't know what it is, or what I should do…but I am sorry all the same…"

Thorin was very quiet for a very long time.

And the burning moment continued to stretch before he finally spoke; yet when he did, it was in amazement. "…where in all of Middle-Earth do you get the crazy assumption you've done something wrong?"

Startled, Billa finally looked up and met his stunned gaze with surprise of her own. "I—well—"

"Do you realize my nephews have spoken nothing but praise of you ever since that first night you spent here?"

Wait, what?

Billa's eyes widened as Thorin continued, clearly miffed—but only slightly. "Every day, all I hear is, 'Uncle! Uncle! Listen to this riddle the hobbit stumped us with the other night!' or 'Have you seen the hobbit today yet, Uncle? Doesn't she look stunning?' and even better: 'The hobbit likes flowers, Uncle! Don't you think she'd be more at home if we had a palace garden?' But let me remind you, they know nothing about actual gardening. No dwarf does. They're simply and completely infatuated with you—which, let me inform you, is no easy task—and if they had their own way, I'm sure they would demand to be your companions for dinner every night."

Stunned, Billa could hardly find her voice. "I…" But where she tried to speak, nothing came out. Her lips moved uselessly. "…r-really…?"

"Yes!" Thorin nodded, and began to rant. So caught up in his words, he even stood and left the table, beginning to pace as he rattled off what he had heard. "Bofur thinks you're hilarious and the best thing that's dropped into Erebor since the Arkenstone. Ori is fond of you—admires you, even—and Bombur. Oh, Bombur—he talks about you as if you're his next best friend!"

He—he does?

Overwhelmed, Billa didn't know what to say—still didn't—even after the king turned, marched back to the table and placed his hands on either side of it, leaning over and speaking low as he muttered, "And what about today? Today alone—do you know what you've done?"

Billa swallowed dryly. That, she could answer. Or at least, she thought she could. "I…I cheated…"

"No." Thorin laughed, leaning back, his robus peal of laughter rebounding off the ceiling and back down to the table. "Oh no. You haven't cheated, little Halfling. You've taught people a lesson—specifically, those who considered themselves the underdogs. You've shown them that even without techniques and brawn, they can still be brave—and it may just get them somewhere. Sure, there are those who are against you, who think you cowardly and ill-deserving of winning. There are many who question my decision to have even kept you in the running."

And why did you keep me? Billa wanted to ask, but mystified, listening in wonder, she repressed the words.

"Some people are angry, yes, that you won—but for most of them, that's because they don't realize those other two shouldn't have won because they underestimated you. A fatal mistake for any fighter. Any good swordsman knows that."

Did they, really? Billa could hardly dare to believe that her victory was somehow justified. Feeling her heart grow too big for its small ribcage, she bit her lip.

"Everyone's not sure what to think of you—and I must admit, even I don't know what to think about you—because we're all catching glimpses of this unique courage in you that has never been seen in a hobbit before." Thorin leaned back on the table again, arms bracing him up as he looked deep in the blues of the hobbit on the other side. "So then, tell me. What is it, exactly, that you think you've done wrong, in the face of such remarkable influence?"

Billa felt her face flush and she discreetly waved her hand, covering her mouth with thin fingers as she tried to find her words. "I…" But no—that wasn't what she wanted to say. She shook her head, hand dropping back to her lap as she dipped her head, before looking at him in open thanks. "Your words are much too kind. I…I don't know what to say…"

"Then you can stop using such formal speech, for one." Thorin sat down in his chair. "And be yourself. If you truly are an enigma and can't help that, then so be it. But just be you. It won't make my life easier, but if it will make you stop bowing your head as if you were a servant, then good. I'll live."

Billa bit her lip, watching him. "Oh. Okay. I…I'm sorry. I don't mean to make your life hard, my king—"

"—and no more apologies, Halfling. I speak only because I'd rather finally see you happy than with clouds in your eyes every day. It's wrong to see a hobbit…joyless." Thorin pressed his lips together, before reluctantly leaning back and signaling for the servants to finally enter and deliver their food. "It's like seeing the sky is red, somehow, rather than its normal blue. It just isn't supposed to be. So do us all a favor and smile. Yes?"

But Billa already was, very warmly, very happily, and with trembling, glassy eyes. Thorin tried to look away and dismiss it—but her purely open…whatever-beauty-that-was that lit her from the inside at that moment made her actually quite hard to ignore.

And when she spoke, something very peaceful slid into his chest and spread down his limbs like warm tea.

"…thank you, Thorin."

No 'king,' no 'highness.' Just 'Thorin.'

And the dwarf king found he rather liked that. He slowly smiled back.


Billa leaned against her bedroom door and pressed it back to a closed position, finally feeling fuller than she had in a long time. During dinner, the king had laid to rest her fears about somehow 'overeating' in front of his dwarven companions, claiming it as a stupid and false assumption. Dwarves were free to eat however much they want—just look at Bombur, he had said. ("He just gets a hard time because we've known him since he was a wee lad." She had giggled helplessly at that.)

But she also felt definitely happier and lighter than she had ever felt since this journey first began, and that was a plus. Definitely a relief from all the tumultuous emotions she had been thrust through over the seven days.

And yet, she couldn't believe it. Only week one's over, and already, I feel like I've ridden an emotional roller coaster, the hobbit laughed at herself.

The grin lingering after her amusement subsided, Billa lifted her head from the wooden door and then bowed it forward as she raised a hand to her forehead and pressed fingertips against her temple as if to ground her emotions and happy, flying thoughts that still remained high up there somewhere in the sky. It had…been so pleasant, that dinner with the king. So much so, and leaving such a fluttering, lingering after-effect, that she failed to notice the other dwarf in her room until the woman finally spoke.

"It went well, I take it?"

Gasping, Billa's head snapped up to make out the familiar outline in the shadow of the night, not daring to believe that it was true. "Dis? You're—you've come back?"

The dwarf scoffed loudly and derisively. "Don't sound too excited. Nothing's changed. I'm still your 'attendant' or what-have-you." There was a shift of fabric as she crossed her arms over her chest, and muttered, "But dinner with the king? It went…well, I take it?"

Billa smiled in fondness, sagging back against her door in happy reminiscence. "Oh, he…he's so good, Dis. I'm sure you already know this, but…you have a very good king."

"Of course," Dis quickly dismissed, before stalking forward, her arms falling and hands fisting by her sides as she neared the littler hobbit. "Glad you finally realized it, Halfling. But now the question raises: do you think you'd be good for him?"

The auburn-haired hobbit blinked, and tried to answer as honestly as possible, even while she felt small again. "W-well, I honestly can't say just yet; I've really only just gotten to know him a little, so—"

"—that might just be the way it stays if you don't watch yourself, Halfling. You do realize you've stupidly set the bar high for yourself? Now if you fail, what will happen? One wrong move, and will suddenly those who you've won over by your stunt today lose their faith in you?"

Billa swallowed sharply. "I—I hope not—"

"—all I'm saying is: just don't get comfortable, Halfling. Big egos don't suit you."

Right. She…she knew that. Big egos were never good for anyone.

(Was she really getting one?)

The hobbit nodded, bowing her head slightly. "O-of course. I—I won't."

"Good."


Crystal's Notes: Guys. ;.; I. I don't know what to say. I have over one hundred follows. More than one hundred follows. You know what that MEANS to me? (wants to sob with joy and gratitude) I have only ONE other story that has more follows than this, and that is my hiatus-ed Hetalia one that currently has 14 chapters! Not this wee little babe of 7 meager ones! ;A; MORE THAN ONE HUNDRED FOLLOWS!

I love you all. So much more than you know.

I'm so, so sorry for the long wait on this. It's been finished for forever, but Elsa and I's schedules have been crazy as of late, so she hasn't been able to beta it. This chapter still isn't beta'd, but I just decided not to wait anymore.

Here it is. ;.; You people are too good to me.

Enjoy, and the next one's already underway. Prepare for more fun times to come!