Bilba sat on the back of Thorin's pony and watched the path spooling out behind them. As they rode, she could feel Thorin's back pressed against hers, the first, and so far only, point of physical contact she'd had with him.
She'd expected him to feel cold.
The thought led in a dangerous direction, so she sat up straighter and pulled away from him. He was a stranger, she reminded herself for the thousandth time. This Thorin had never raged at her and threatened her life, never bled out in her arms, never lain motionless and cold on a slab.
She didn't know him any more than she'd known him the first time around. Well, aside from the fact that she was aware this time that Thorin truly sucked at insults, and that it only got worse the more fatigued he was.
As far as Bilba could tell, no one had ever seen fit to tell him. Whether from deference to his rank or simply for the sake of humor, she had no idea.
She sighed and lifted her head to study the cloudless sky. The sun was beginning its downward trek and she could already feel the barest hint of coolness in the air as the temperature began to fall. It would be late afternoon to early evening by the time they got back to Bag End. That should give Thorin time to clean up and rest and her time enough to see the food Lobelia delivered set up and waiting.
The barest hint of noise caught her attention from the left side of the trail, and she pushed up even straighter at the exact moment Thorin pulled the pony to a stop.
The sound of hooves chomping through the underbrush reached her ears and she tensed as the scene around her seemed to darken, shifting back to what, to her, was only the day before when she'd last heard hoofbeats like that.
She suppressed a shudder and slid forward, off the back of the pony. Her feet hit the ground and, without really noticing, she put a hand on Thorin's leg to steady herself.
Two cloaked riders emerged from the woods onto the path. For a second Bilba's muscles wound tight around her bones, and her fingers curled into a near claw where they rested on Thorin's leg.
Then she blinked, the scene wavered, and the riders were suddenly Men wearing brown clothing and green cloaks, seated upon two dun colored mares.
Bilba let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and stepped forward. "Rangers," she greeted, coolly, "what brings you so near the borders of Hobbiton?"
The two Men blinked in surprise, staring at her in astonishment, and Bilba guessed she'd, once again, been mistaken for a young boy.
"Apologies, Miss," the one, a middle-aged man with dark hair and green eyes, said. He nodded toward Thorin in greeting. "Master Dwarf. We've had reports of orcs lurking about these parts, so we've pulled patrols in nearer to the borders."
"Orcs?" Bilba asked in surprise. "You're sure?"
"We are." This came from the younger one, a redhead with a quick smile and an easy-going manner about him. Bilba imagined her younger self might have developed a crush on him. Now, all she felt was a momentary burst of sorrow for the man he would undoubtedly one day become, once life had finished crushing him into something unrecognizable. "We can escort you the rest of the way, if you wish."
"I'm sure we'll be fine." Thorin interjected before she could, not that she disagreed. The last thing she wanted, or needed, were two tagalongs. "We passed a young family a way back. I'm sure they would appreciate your offer of escort."
The older man nodded. "We'll take our leave then. Good day to you both."
They turned their horses down the path, toward Bree, and Bilba half turned to watch them go. Once they vanished around a curve she let out an annoyed huff and turned toward Hobbiton, this time walking.
Thorin came alongside her, keeping pace with her while still mounted, and Bilba absently hooked her fingers through the pony's bridle.
"Is that normal?" Thorin asked suddenly, "To have orcs this far in?"
"No. Not since the last time the river froze over, and that was ages ago." Disquiet settled in her. She didn't remember hearing about orcs in the area her first time through but, then again, she hadn't been one to leave her house. There very well could have been orcs, and she'd just been oblivious to it. "I imagine they'll leave now that the Rangers draw close."
Her mind went back to Gandalf's concern about others being aware of time's reset. The thought gave her slight pause, but no more than that. She could see no reason why the orcs would remember anything and, even if they did, they couldn't know the reason for the reset. And while she'd certainly made her share of enemies in that now lost future, she doubted any of them had known enough about her to find where she had once lived, and even if they had, it hadn't even been a full day yet. There was no way for them to get there that fast.
"I didn't think Hobbit females were as rare as dwarven ones," Thorin suddenly, breaking into her thoughts.
Bilba turned to look at him in confusion. They'd been relatively silent with one another since leaving Bree. Thorin had never been one to engage in idle conversation, and Bilba had lost the stomach for it a long time ago. "I beg your pardon?"
"They seemed shocked to see you," Thorin elaborated, nodding back in the direction the Men had gone. "I've seen the reaction when it involves a dwarven woman, but not a hobbit one."
"Hobbit women aren't rare," Bilba said slowly, shaking her head at the odd conversation. "They just don't usually wear trousers or cut their hair short." She frowned and raised an eyebrow. "Dwarven women are really that rare?"
She'd heard of it before and, granted, couldn't remember seeing many during her visits to Erebor but she hadn't exactly been looking. Usually, her visits involved her being, grudgingly, dragged before Dain and then immediately leaving once again. She'd only once stayed for any length of time and that was due to a festering injury she'd been nursing when Dwalin had shown up. She'd mostly stayed in her bed, not wandered about Erebor counting female dwarves.
The timing of Dwalin's arrival on that occasion coupled with a few past coincidences, had actually been what had sparked off the suspicion that -
"They are," Thorin agreed, cutting into her thoughts once again, "and many of the few that do exist tend to dress and look as you do, to ward off the avalanche of suitors they attract."
Bilba surprised herself by laughing. "It's that much of a problem?"
The barest hint of a smile flashed across Thorin's face. "It certainly was for my sister. Imagine being the only single female surrounded by dozens of hopeful suitors. Her marriage was considered a day of mourning amongst some."
Bilba chuckled, even as her good humor faded at the mention of Dis. Not every victim of what had come to be called the Battle of Five Armies had been on the field, or even in Erebor.
"So, does that mean most of your companions are unmarried?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer. "I had wondered how you managed to get so many to agree to a quest that would take them from their homes for close to a year."
"All but one," Thorin replied. "And what of you, Mistress Baggins? Your family has no qualms about you running off with a group of unknown dwarves for a year?"
There was a note of distrust in his voice that Bilba wouldn't have picked up on had she not spent months hearing it every time he addressed her.
She was silent for a few minutes, eyes studying the road ahead now instead of the one behind. The last time she'd walked this path toward Bag End had been in the company of Dwalin. She remembered feeling as if she were being marched to a jail cell, where she'd be left to rot until the end of her days. Had she stayed, that's exactly what it would have ended up being, of that she had no doubt.
"I have no one," she said finally. "Not anymore. My absence will be noted, but I will be little missed."
There was no bitterness in her voice, nor resentment. She'd allowed herself to become a hermit after the loss of her parents, shut away in her home where nothing and no one could ever reach her. People had stopped trying after a while, drifting off to their own lives and families and she'd been too mired in her own loss and lack of confidence to even recognize what she'd done to herself.
It hadn't been until she'd returned, and stood in the ruined bones of her home, picked clean by vultures more saddened by the loss of their plunder than gladdened at news of her survival that she'd understood. Not until she'd had to go door to door and been met with disappointment; been forced to buy back her own property, grudgingly given by those who'd rather have her silver spoons than her, that'd she'd realized.
The dwarves never had. That was why they'd been so adamant about getting her home. They'd believed she'd be taken care of there, surrounded by loved ones and family that could help her heal and carry on with her life.
They hadn't understood that her life had been built while on the quest and shattered beyond repair upon the slopes of Ravenhill. She'd returned to the Shire carrying broken shards, and there was no more help for her there than in Erebor.
If Dwalin hadn't gone with her, hadn't seen her to the very door of Bag End and then delayed leaving again...it was quite possible she'd simply have shut the door and never opened it again. Spent her days living in silence, with little but ghosts and her memories to keep her company.
Dwalin had saved her, though the action had brought him nothing but grief in the end.
"I'm sorry," Thorin said from behind her shoulder. For a second, Bilba thought he was referencing the incident that had led to her finally managing to drive off the only person who'd genuinely given a damn about her. Then her mind went further back, to what she'd been discussing before she'd lapsed once more into her memories.
"The road goes ever on," she said softly.
Here was hoping this time it led her somewhere she wanted to go.
The shadows were just beginning to lengthen by the time they arrived back at Hobbiton. Thorin had dismounted at some point and, together, they led the pony up the narrow path to Bag End's gate.
Bilba hooked the reins of the pony to the front gate. "I'll come back and take care of him in a few minutes."
She bounded up the front steps and let herself into the smial. She showed Thorin the guest bedroom and bathroom and then stepped back into the hall. "I'll put coffee on but feel free to help yourself to something from the pantry."
He nodded, pulling his gloves off. He still wore his sword and Bilba didn't even consider offering to take it. He might be showing her civility, but that didn't mean she'd earned his trust and she wasn't foolish enough to think she had.
"What will you be doing?" he asked.
"Taking care of the pony for starters." The mark on her back was hurting again, and she absently linked her arms over her head and stretched, hoping it would help. The pain faded slightly, back into a faint awareness of its presence, but only if she concentrated on it. "Feel free to wander around if you like and you aren't tired. You'll find Hobbiton relatively safe."
He raised an eyebrow. "Relatively?"
She shrugged. "Is anywhere entirely safe?"
"Fair enough." He gave her another nod and vanished into the room, door closing behind him.
Bilba stood in the hallway, studying the closed door. She was half tempted to open it again, if only to prove to herself that Thorin was really in there and that he was alive. It wouldn't be the first nightmare she'd had of finding one of them laid out in her home, eyes open and sightless. The worst ones were where they didn't stay sightless but instead locked on her, accusing, questioning why it was they were dead, and she was not.
She let out a breath and spun on one heel to head back out.
She tended to Thorin's pony, removing its gear, and brushing it out with a curry comb found in one of the packs. After, she led it around the back of the smial and staked it down in the party field, choosing a spot that afforded access to the river and the shade of a nearby tree. She doubted it would need it, the temperature already having fallen to a pleasant coolness complete with a light breeze that did its best to lift what little was left of her hair.
She returned to the smial to find it silent and figured Thorin must be taking advantage of rest before the evening. She brewed herself a cup of coffee, left the pot on a banked fire and retreated once again to the bench at the base of her front walkway.
By then, the shadows were long, casting most of the Shire in thick shade. Lights were beginning to come on in various homes and she could hear the faint chatter of voices as families began to gather for dinner.
She sensed movement behind her and then, to her surprise, Thorin appeared. He sank down next to her with a sigh, his own cup of coffee clenched in one hand. His hair was wet, and he'd removed his light armor and sword, leaving him looking no less intimidating but at least more refreshed.
"It's a peaceful place," he said, following her gaze, "your Shire."
"It can be," Bilba agreed. "Though it's not my Shire, hasn't been for a very long time."
"And why is that?" She felt him turn his head to look toward her but, fortunately, at that moment she caught sight of someone traveling up the path out of the corner of her eye.
Setting her cup on the bench beside her, she rose and turned to face Lobelia in the gathering twilight. The other woman was carrying a large, covered dish and, behind her, Bilba could see several other women also heading her direction, all carrying dishes and baskets.
"For Yavanna's sake," Lobelia said as she came to a stop in front of Bilba. "Every time I see you there's something new. Have you gone mad since this morning?"
Bilba had assumed she had a black eye from being punched, it still hurt as did her ribs where she'd taken blows but hadn't bothered to confirm it. Now she just shrugged. If Lobelia wanted to decide she'd lost her mind and proceed to tell everyone in the Shire as she was wont to do, so be it. Bilba wouldn't be around to hear, or care.
Lobelia, she noted, had shadows of her own under her eyes and looked haggard. Her hair was tied back, and she'd removed the ever-present hat and even tied on an apron over her gown. There were clear food stains on her clothing, and her hands had residue from what looked like flour and sugar on them. Behind her, many of the other woman approaching looked no different.
"Thank you, Lobelia." Bilba reached out to take the dish from her. "Let me help you with that."
A presence loomed over her shoulder, and then Thorin was reaching for it. "Allow me."
Bilba handed over the dish and reached for the nearest one past it. The smells from the various dishes began to hit her nose and her stomach grumbled, reminding her she hadn't eaten all day. Hadn't eaten since before she died, in fact. She supposed she couldn't be blamed for having her appetite thrown off by a knife in her back, but it was clear it had now recovered and was quickly demanding she address it.
"Is that one of your guests?" Lobelia nodded toward where Thorin was heading up the steps into Bag End, followed by several of the other women with their own dishes.
"One of them," Bilba agreed softly. She frowned as another woman strode past. "Perhaps I should pay them. They put in a lot of work."
Lobelia snorted. "Not with the way you've been behaving. Better they be seen as having helped me than you."
Bilba chuckled. Thorin returned and relieved her of the dish she was holding, vanishing back inside again with a quick grin, apparently as happy about getting to eat as she was. The look briefly made him look younger, boyish almost, and she felt her heart twist at the injustice of the fate that had befallen him the first time around.
"Aren't you going to introduce me?" Lobelia asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Do you really want me to?" Bilba asked. "The less you know, the more you can simply claim your goal was Bag End, not aiding me."
Lobelia scowled, and Bilba could almost hear the internal war raging as her desire to be above reproach warred with her desire to be nosey. In the end, the first won out as, with a huff, she turned and stomped back down the lane again, most likely to oversee the rest of the dishes being brought out.
Bilba stayed on the lane, watching the women of Hobbiton pass her with dishes containing hams, turkeys, fish, pies, salads, breads and everything in between. A few of the women gave her slight smiles but, for the most part, they ignored her, hurrying in and out of Bag End as quickly as possible.
Word spread fast.
Bilba didn't blame them. They had to stay after all, once she left, and face the social pressures of Hobbiton which could often be brutal.
The last rays of the sun vanished as she stood on the lane, leaving only the light spilling from porch lamps and the windows of Bag End and other homes.
Crossing her arms in the face of the sudden chill in the air, Bilba set her legs in a wide stance, turned her back on Bag End and locked her eyes on some empty spot in the distance. Her stomach felt tied in knots, and the desire to do...something, was slowly rising inside her.
Part of her wanted to run.
Part of her wanted to stay.
In the end she simply stood still and waited.
The shuffle of boots on dirt reached her ears finally, and she closed her eyes as a wave of pure ice ran through her. "You can do this," she whispered to herself. "Get it together."
The boots stopped at Bag End's gate and Bilba took a deep breath. She could do this. Remember, it's just a stranger. Just another one of Thorin's guests who'd look at her like he'd never known her, hadn't saved her from entombing herself inside Bag End, hadn't finally had enough of her and left her behind.
"Hobbit," the voice was right next to her and she jumped in surprise. Of course he'd snuck up on her. No matter his memories of her, or lack thereof; no matter the bitterness of that final fight, or the stiffness and distance of their future meetings, nothing could change the fact he was the closest thing she'd ever had to a best friend. Nothing could change the fact that she'd come to trust him with her life, and always would. "I'm looking for a Baggins."
Bilba let out the breath she'd been holding, forced the empty smile she'd worn when compelled to interact with normal people in various villages and cities, and turned to face him.
"You must be Dwalin," she said with all the false cheer she could muster. "We've been waiting for you. Welcome to Bag End."