A/N: Thank you, everybody, for your reviews last week! It's so great to have your support and feedback. :) And a big hello to the new followers and favoriters! I see you (but not in a creepy way)! ;)

Guest 5/7: Thanks for your review! :) There will be lots more Bilbo and Tauriel to enjoy, starting right now! I think you're right that they'll make good friends. ;) And thank you for sharing that super funny "strongly worded letter" scenario. I got a real laugh out of that. :D


A Promise Kept

Chapter 11

A Home Found


Even with her sharp night and distance vision, the Wood Elf saw neither hide nor hair of the mysterious, grey-cloaked traveler who'd stepped out the door just moments ago.

"Vanished again!" Bilbo pronounced, then closed and locked the door. He turned to his unexpected guest with a look of chagrin. "So, er, just how-how-how long are you planning to stay, may I ask?"

"I don't know," Tauriel admitted.

"So . . . indefinitely?" It was more statement than question, and the hobbit twisted his mouth to the side and nodded his head as though at some bystander to whom he was saying, See this? I told you so! "I've not even been back in my own smial as long as I was away, and already Gandalf wants to move more people into it!"

"My apologies, Bilbo, but I thought he was going to discuss this with you."

"When? You both had more than two hours to discuss it with me! That wasn't time enough for either of you?"

He was right, and even though the lapse hadn't been intentional on her part, Tauriel faulted herself. Still, that didn't change that she was here now and needed somewhere to stay, at least temporarily. "I really am sorry for the inconvenience. But if you let me stay, I promise it will be only until I can find a—a—a smial, did you call it? A smial of my own."

The hobbit crossed his arms over his chest and gave her an assessing look. "None of the smials have vacancies at present. But perhaps a room in one of the houses in the village. Or at the inn if need be. Do you have any coin on you?"

"A little. But I was hoping I might barter for my own piece of land. I have a fast, well-trained warhorse outside plus some Elvish weapons that are worth a great deal."

"Not here. We hobbits are a peace-loving people. There's not been a war in the Shire since anyone can remember."

Judging by the little fellow's testy expression, the elven warrior gathered that communication was deteriorating at a rapid pace. Rather than fan the flames, perhaps it would be better to cut her losses and move on. Where to was another question, but she wouldn't impose where she wasn't wanted.

"But it's dark already. Where will you sleep?" asked Bilbo after she had thanked him for the delicious tea and made clear her intention to leave.

Her reply was matter-of-fact and without self-pity. "Elves don't sleep much. More likely than not I'll scout out a good climbing tree and make do in its branches for the night."

The hobbit grimaced and rolled his eyes. "Well, that won't do. I can't very well let you spend the night in a tree, whether or not you sleep in it." He seemed to be waging a duel with himself and finally relented, though still grudgingly as he said, "I suppose it wouldn't hurt for you to stay here for tonight. There are five guest chambers; you can take your pick." And then, more sheepishly, "I was looking forward to making the roast duck for company, after all."

Tauriel inclined her head. "I would like that very much, Bilbo. I am most grateful."

Her smile was considerably more charming than she knew, for elves were a fair race to behold, and Bilbo's face lit up in spite of himself so that he had to make an effort to suppress his answering grin. "J-j-just for tonight, of course. In the morning, we'll find a place for you to live."

"Of course."


But in the morning, Bilbo was on his hands and knees in the garden when Tauriel emerged from the guest chamber she'd chosen. She hadn't rested well as the bed was too short, but the room itself was cozy, its oaken furnishings tasteful and well cushioned, if undersized, and its cheerful color scheme of yellow and blue reminiscent of a sunny sky. On the whole, once you got used to the round doorways and concave walls, it was remarkable how comfortable a hole in the ground could be!

"There's leftovers from second breakfast on the table if you're interested," the hobbit said without lifting his head, as if he didn't really care whether she ate them or not.

"Yes, I found them, thank you. They were luscious, especially the flat, round, fried cakes with whipped cream and syrup!"

"Oh! You mean the pancakes!" he exclaimed, and this time he looked up with a proud grin.

"Is that what they're called?"

"Yes. And these blueberry bushes here are the ones I use to make the syrup."

"Oh, I see! In the Woodland, we tap maple trees for their sap and boil it down into a similar substance called lhend toss, but we mostly use it as a dressing for salads or to sweeten our tea. But I feel sure it would taste wonderful over these pancakes of yours!"

"Hmmm . . . a maple syrup. What an interesting idea! Why, we have gobs of maples in the Shire! But whoever thought of making syrup out of a tree? Do . . . do you think you could show me how?"

"I'd be happy to." Then she crouched beside him. "Would you like some help?"

"Oh, I'm just doing the weeding, nothing particularly exciting," he scoffed.

"Good." In a swift but thorough once-over, Tauriel noted which plants he was uprooting and began to do likewise. "I'm not looking for excitement."

He shot her a sidelong glance. "Thought you warrior types couldn't get enough of it."

"That's true of some. But I myself have always appreciated the quiet moments, as well. It's only in the stillness that you can hear the singing of the stars, the calling of the birds, or the hum of the earth itself. And those are the sounds that refresh the spirit."

Bilbo had stopped digging and was contemplating her with a half smile. "I've always felt the same."

She paused to return his smile, and then they both went back to work.

"Of course, we hobbits can't actually hear the stars sing or the earth hum. Can you?"

"Oh yes."

He stopped again and looked at her with real interest. "Wh-what do they sound like?"'

She furrowed her brow, at a loss to describe sounds that were as commonplace to her kind as rain drumming a roof or wind rustling leaves. Finally she said, "The stars sound like a chorus lifted in prayer, and the earth sounds like a lullaby."

"That must be very beautiful."

"It is." A minute later, she continued, "You know, I left the Woodland because I wanted to live in a place where the stars weren't dimmed and the earth wasn't choked by the blight that's taken hold of the Mirkwood."

Bilbo grimaced and pulled out a few more nettles, perhaps remembering his own harrowing experience in that cursed forest. "I think I understand."

After that, they fell into a silent rhythm of digging and pulling, which they kept up until the sun was nearly at its midpoint, at which time Bilbo retreated into his hobbit-hole for elevenses. Tauriel continued weeding until he returned, and an hour and a half later, they agreed to break for luncheon. They prepared the greens, soup, and sandwiches together, and the elf was gratified when the hobbit couldn't eat enough of her apple walnut salad.

While they were at table, Bilbo expressed his dueling desire and dread to tackle the weeds that had sprung up years ago among the ornamental grasses on the hillside and proliferated until there were now more weeds than grass, so Tauriel volunteered her services for the rest of the afternoon, countering her host's objections with the reassurance that two pairs of hands were better than one. And in that manner the hours passed, with another short break for afternoon tea, until it was time for dinner.

"I must thank you for all the work you did today," Bilbo said as they did the dishes, the elf washing and the hobbit drying. "I never would've had the courage to tackle that hillside by myself or even with another hobbit, and now it looks a hundred percent better! You're an amazingly fast worker!"

"I'm accustomed to earning my keep," Tauriel said simply.

There was a brief silence as he pondered this. Then, "Was your chamber comfortable last night? Not too hot or too cold? I must admit I don't know much about elves."

"We are not easily distressed by changes in temperature. But I must admit the bed was rather . . . small."

"Oh. Oh, of course it would be! Why did I not think of that?" He squinched up his eyes and shook his head as though he could shake off his mistake. "Well, we have some fine carpenters right here in Hobbiton who can make a bedframe to your specifications. I'll take you to meet one tomorrow."

"Thank you! I would be most grateful." For half a minute, the only sound was the splash and clink of dishes, and then she said, "I'll need some other furnishings besides a bedframe, as well. You see, I'm . . . expecting."

Bilbo stared at her, one hand continuing to rub a towel round the plate in the other. "Expecting? Expecting a wh-what, exactly?" But before she could answer, he blinked nervously and began to rattle off a list of possibilities. "A p-package, perhaps? W-with the rest of your belongings? That would require new furnishings, certainly. Or-or-or a payment? Maybe an inheritance? Then you could definitely afford a place of your own! Or-or maybe you're expecting—"

"A child, Bilbo. I'm expecting a child."

"A ch— A child?" He was still drying the same plate, round and round. Then, it slipped from his hand, and it was only due to Tauriel's fast elven reflexes that she was able to catch it before it shattered. "Oh no no! That won't do, that won't do at all! Oh, good heavens, I think—I think I need to sit down."

She took his elbow and helped him to a plush chair by the fire, which he sank into rubbing his brow as if his head pained him. "Oh no no no. I—I'm no good with children. The screaming and the stomping and the— I'm—I'm working on a book, you see! I need at least eight hours a day of quiet—I mean absolute silence!"

"Elves are very quiet."

"Yes, I remember." He glowered up at her, still pinching his brow. "In the Woodland at your Mary-and-Goliath or whatever you call it."

"Mereth Nuin Giliath? The Feast of Starlight?"

"Yes. That. Pounding music, stomping feet! Gave me a splitting headache!"

"But that was a feast day. Elves are normally very quiet, I promise you." She left out that dwarves were most definitely not quiet, and this child would be half dwarven.

"I'm sorry, I—" He sighed and gave her a bashful smile. "I'm sure you're a very nice person, but I'm just not a baby sort of chap."

She smiled back and patted his hand. "It's all right, Bilbo. I understand." And, disappointed though she was, she really did.

He closed his own hand over hers for a moment in return, then set his mouth in a resolute line and nodded briskly. "Right, then! In the morning, we'll find you a place to live."

"Of course."


But in the morning, when Tauriel emerged from her bedchamber rubbing her sore neck, Bilbo looked up from the pancakes he was flipping, frowned, and said, "We'll have to go to the carpenter's today. If you're going to live in Hobbiton, you'll need someone to build you a bed your size."

"And other furnishings, too," she agreed.

"Those as well."

And so it was that after second breakfast, they made their way down the hillside into the village, where Bilbo introduced her to Aldo Sawcutter, a ruddy, round-faced carpenter with a ready belly laugh. He showed her a choice of designs, took her measurements, and declared himself quite capable of adapting his work to her specifications, all interspersed with great rolling laughs for no apparent reason. He seemed particularly amused at the prospect of building her a cradle.

"For an elfling, eh?" More laughter. "Didn't know elves had any of those!"

Tauriel smiled, bemused. "We may live in trees, but we don't grow on them."

He slapped his substantial thigh. "Ha ha ha ha, no! Don't s'pose you do!"

After they'd agreed on a fair price, Aldo estimated a month for completion of the bed and another for the desk and chair, with the cradle and rocker to arrive the month before the babe was due.

"And where do you want these delivered?"

Tauriel was at a loss for words. "My apologies, sir, I'm not sure where I'll be liv—"

"You can put down Bag End. That's Number One Bagshot Row."

She glanced at the hobbit in surprise, and his mouth twitched as his eyes met hers before darting back to the carpenter. "Just temporarily, you understand. In case there are any problems. And we'll-we'll contact you when she's found a new address."

Another belly laugh from Aldo Sawcutter.

"You'd think he'd never seen an elf!" Tauriel said under her breath when they were safely outside his workshop.

"He probably hasn't. I'd never seen one before I was in Rivendell."

"Really?" She paused to reflect. "Well, I suppose I never saw a hobbit before you." And then, "What did you think of the elves you saw?"

His answer was immediate. "Very tall, very pale, and difficult to understand."

"Is that what you think of me?"

He squinted up at her. "Tall and pale, yes, though not as tall or pale as some. But difficult to understand? Not so much. Actually, I think you're quite direct, for an elf."

She raised her eyebrows. "I'm glad you think so."

Back at Bag End, Bilbo prepared a small luncheon of last night's leftovers and shut himself in his study to write while Tauriel browsed his book collection and settled on a history of the Shire. She was immersed in it by the hearth when he reappeared at a quarter to four, a cup of tea in hand. He craned his neck to read the title she'd selected.

"A History of the Westward Migration and Settlement of the Shire, TA 1050–TA 2747. Oh, you must be dreadfully bored!"

"No, not at all." She put a finger in the book to mark her place. "Why should I be?"

"Well, you're an elf! I didn't think elves needed history books since you were, well, there when it happened."

"This may surprise you, but I'm actually quite young for an elf. I'm only twenty-seven and six hundred years."

At the mention of six hundred, the hobbit spluttered into his tea and rolled his eyes. "Oh! Yes, only."

"Even older elves seldom know much of the wider world. Elven cities are very insular—to their detriment, I think. In King Thranduil's Halls, we were taught only Elvish subjects. I know so little of other peoples—their histories, their cultures, their politics. For instance, I didn't know the Hobbits once lived so near the Mirkwood, on the banks of the Anduin—"

"Oh, well, that was ages and ages ago—"

"Or that you fought the Witch-king in the Battle of Fornost—"

"Well, I-I-I-I didn't, personally, no—"

"Or that your mother's ancestors have ruled the Shire for seventeen generations—"

"Oh, now, I would hardly say ruled. Thain is really an honorary title—" He cut himself off and stared at her. "You can't possibly be interested in all this?"

"But I am!" She smiled invitingly, once more without realizing how charming it made her look.

"Well then! if you're really interested in the Tooks . . . "

And so Bilbo pulled up a chair across from her and promptly forgot about the teapot cooling in the kitchen as he proceeded to recount a thorough and quite colorful history of his illustrious maternal line. He was right in the middle of the part about Bandobras "Bullroarer" Took, who was tall enough to ride a real horse and invented the game of golf when he sunk a hole-in-one with a goblin's head, when there came a knock on the door.

"Good heavens, who could that be? Oh dear, oh dear, I didn't set the table for tea!"

"It's all right. You answer the door, and I'll see to everything else," Tauriel volunteered. As she hung the pot back over the kitchen fire to boil and put together a few of the finger sandwiches she knew Bilbo liked, she listened to the high-pitched voices drifting from the front doorstep.

"Cousin Bilbo! We heard you've got company and thought we'd pop round to say hullo!"

"You do keep such interesting company ever since that wizard showed up this time last year."

"I brought those hot pasties you like!"

"Oh, th-thank you very much, but that really wasn't necessary."

"And my lemon drizzle cakes!"

"Good heavens! And what did you bring, Lobelia?"

"Myself," came the reply in a haughty, clipped tone.

"Is your visitor at home?"

"Yes, may we see her?"

"I-I-I don't think that's a very good idea at the moment. Y-you see—"

"Where is she?"

"Here I am." And Tauriel breezed out of the dining room and came face to face with a trio of female hobbits, the first of whom had already pushed past Bilbo's upheld hands.

The two who carried platters exchanged excited glances, then bobbed their heads and curtsied. They each wore a linen short gown over a contrasting shift and petticoat, one in gold and russet, the other in rose and gray, and both had white aprons round their waists and puffed, frilled caps atop their curly hair. Like Bilbo, they stood on large, though somewhat less hairy bare feet.

"Oh, g'day to you, Mistress . . . ?

"Tauriel," she supplied.

"Mistress Tauriel! So pleased to make your acquaintance! I'm Bell Gamgee, Number Three Bagshot Row, your neighbor as it were," said the broad-faced one with dark blond hair.

"And I'm Peony Burrows, Bilbo's cousin, you know," said the thin-faced brunette. "A pleasure to meet you, I'm sure!"

"Lobelia Sackville-Baggins," sniffed the one who had pushed her way in first, barely sparing a once-over for the elf. "Also Bilbo's cousin."

"By marriage," Bilbo hastened to add.

This third lady hobbit, whose curls were nearly black, was styled more formally, her tailored spring green outfit adorned with insets and cutouts, tucks and gathers, buttons and trim. Around her shoulders was a lavishly embroidered kerchief, and on her head was the most outrageous hat Tauriel had ever seen, shaped like a pincushion and half as tall as the lady herself. In combination with the panniers at her hips, it gave her the effect of wanting to expand beyond the limits of her own body and take up more space than she necessarily had a right to.

Tauriel bowed to the three visitors and pronounced them "well met," which earned her radiant smiles from the ones called Bell and Peony. The one called Lobelia started a slow circuit of the front hall, her eyes roving purposefully.

"We saw you in the garden before but didn't come by so's not to be impolite since we were expecting Bilbo'd want to introduce you round himself—"

"But, you see, Cousin Bilbo's an old bachelor and don't know the first thing about what's polite, and after awhile, we reckoned if we were to wait any longer—"

"Good heavens, she's not even been here two days!" the old bachelor protested.

"—we'd be the impolite ones for neglecting to give you a warm welcome!"

"So welcome to Hobbiton, my dear! We brought you some pasties and cakes to go with your tea, hoping it's not too late!"

"Much too late. Much too. We've just cleaned the table."

But Bell and Peony were already headed for the dining room, where they exclaimed over the lovely table that Tauriel had set unbeknownst to Bilbo. As if unsure whether to be grateful to the elf or annoyed at the new intruders, he gave a wavering smile, then, remembering something, leaned back into the hall.

"Lobelia, won't you join us?"

That good lady's head spun around, and she let go of a silver candlestick as if it were hot, setting it back on its shelf with a clunk. Then, gathering her skirts, she flounced past Bilbo and into the dining room with her nose in the air. Bilbo allowed himself a last eye roll before he followed.

When Bell and Peony didn't have their mouths full of pasty, and sometimes even when they did, they were full of questions. When did Tauriel arrive and how long was she staying? Did she cook, bake, can, brew, sew, knit, quilt, embroider, garden, or make soap or candles? How did she take her tea, and did she like the pasties?

And then when Bilbo reluctantly poured them a sweet bubbly with their cake, their questions grew bolder. Where was Tauriel from, and where on earth was that? What brought her all the way out here? They noticed she had a frightfully huge beast outside. Had she really ridden that thing? Was she making what they called the journey West? What were those trouser-like garments on her legs, and did all female elves dress like that?

Up till this point, Lobelia had remained silent, though her appraising glances spoke volumes. But now she narrowed her eyes and said, "Where is the rest of your family?"

Tauriel stiffened, though imperceptibly to anyone else. "I am here alone."

The scandalized lady's eyes and mouth rounded, and she snapped a fan out of her reticule so that she could apply it to herself most vigorously. "But what of your husband? The father of your child?"

"Lobelia!" Bell and Peony hissed while Bilbo dropped his head into his hand.

"Well! Everyone knows. She ordered a cradle from Aldo Sawcutter," Lobelia huffed.

But if Tauriel was offended, she didn't show it, keeping her voice even as she said, "I lost my child's father at the Battle of Five Armies. Surely you've heard of it."

To her, it was the truth. Maybe Kíli still lived, but he hadn't been hers since then.

There was an embarrassed hush around the table, and even Lobelia looked chagrined.

"Oh, that bloody awful row Cousin Bilbo got himself into," Peony whispered, and all attention shifted to the fourteenth member of the Company.

He shook his head, which was still buried in his hand. "C-Could we please not talk about that at the table?"

"Such a tragedy! Our sympathies, dear," Bell murmured, reaching out to pat the Wood Elf's willowy arm, and Peony followed suit. Another few moments passed in silence, and then, daring a grin, Bell leaned forward and said, "But Great Smials, Mistress Tauriel, I was ever so excited to hear you've got a young'un on the way! New blood, that's just what this village needs!"

Taking her cue from Bell, Peony too leaned forward and said confidentially, "If you've any questions—any at all—you just ask us, duck. We know what it's like to be a new mum. Right dreadful it is sometimes!"

"How far along are you, may I ask? Do you still get the morning sickness? How's your appetite?"

"Are you getting enough rest?"

"Oh, by the Bullroarer's club!" Bilbo muttered and downed what was left of the bubbly.

And so, while Bilbo muttered and Lobelia huffed, Bell and Peony gave Tauriel their best advice for expectant mothers. In turn, Tauriel gave them an education on expectant elves, who carried for a full year; didn't experience morning sickness (she'd never known what it felt like to be sick in her life, a fact they couldn't quite wrap their heads around); sometimes had little appetite in the early stages though hers was fine now; and did tire more easily than usual, a problem that was readily fixed with a bit more sleep, but for her own part, Tauriel felt quite invigorated (she just had some difficulty resting comfortably in the guest chamber bed).

By the time the trio took their leave, both Bell and Peony had promised to come back with all manner of sleeping aids plus secondhand clothing for the babe ("Is a new elfling the size of a six-month hobbit, do you think?"), more lemon drizzle cake since he or she seemed to be developing a sweet tooth already, and a tincture to relieve nausea since they couldn't believe Tauriel had really never felt it and never would ("Maybe elves get it in the last months instead of at the beginning!"). At long last, Bilbo shooed them out, catching Lobelia by the elbow lest she "accidentally" cross the threshold with her spoon and fork still in hand, and latched the door behind them.

Then he turned on his only guest left and, after about five false, stammered starts, exploded. "No, no, no, no, no, no! This just won't do! I can't have visitors, well-wishers, and distant relations traipsing in and out as if this were the village square! I like my peace and my p-privacy, and I'll be damned if every time I turn round I have to worry about Lobelia Sackville-Baggins making off with my mother's good silverware or Peony showing up with her pasties!"

"I thought you liked the pasties," said a stupefied Tauriel.

"Well, I don't! They're soggy on the bottoms. But I never tell my cousin that because I don't want to hurt her feelings. And she thinks I don't know how to be polite!" This last uttered on the verge of an incredulous laugh.

"They tasted fine to me," the elf ventured.

"That's because you've never had a proper one!"

Just when she feared he was going to get worked up all over again, he sighed, shook his head, ran a hand over his mouth, and said, "I like you, Tauriel. Really, I do. Having you here the past few days has been . . . rather nice. But I'm a quiet fellow who lives a quiet life, and if you stay, there'll be more uninvited guests and pasties and a b-baby! I'm sorry, but I just can't."

"I understand."

Halfway down the hall, he stopped short and, without meeting her eyes, said over his shoulder, "Thank you for the weeding. And the apple walnut salad. And the help with tea today."

"I was happy to do it."

"Well, thank you again . . . Right. So. In the morning, we'll find a place for you to live."

"Of course."

Then he went into his study and shut the door behind him.


But in the morning, when Tauriel emerged from her bedchamber, sore and thankful a larger bedframe was on the way, Bilbo was writing in his study, and the remains of second breakfast were once again on the table where he'd left them for her.

She smiled to herself and picked a blueberry muffin, enjoying its sweetness as she fingered one of the many knit rags lying about the smial. Worn full of holes, the circular, mostly white scraps must've seen better days since Bilbo apparently tried to hide them beneath lamps, vases, books, and the like. This one, with a basket of fruit sitting on top of it, was dyed red. It would make a good signal, she thought, to send to Glaewen when the time was right.


A/N: In case you wondered about the reference to Biblical characters Mary and Goliath, I do know that Christianity was not a Middle-earth religion. Bilbo's mispronunciation, which would mean nothing to him, is just some meta humor for us, inspired by what the feast name sounded like to me when I first heard Tauriel pronounce it.

In Tolkien's timeline, Bell Gamgee, Peony Burrows, and Lobelia Sackville-Baggins aren't old enough to be married with children. I've taken creative license with their ages, imagining them as 10–15 years younger than Bilbo, who is 52 the year after the quest.

For those who might be confused about the last paragraph, which is probably a lot of people since it refers all the way back to Chap. 6, Tauriel agreed to send Glaewen a sign when the birth was near and that it would be something red.

Up next—angst and drama and death threats, oh my! We're back with Kíli in Erebor.