"I'm done."

Bilba paused in the process of rolling up her bedroll and looked at Dwalin in confusion. He was already fully packed and outfitted to leave, which was unusual for him. Usually, she was the one impatiently waiting to move out while Dwalin took his time, often remarking, "You do realize we have nowhere we have to be, right?"

"Done with what?" She thought back over their morning but couldn't place his words into any context.

He gave a loud exhale and, for just an instant, his eyes flickered away from her as if he couldn't entirely maintain eye contact. That wasn't like him, and an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. "I'm going back to Erebor."

Bilba's breath froze in her lungs. Her mouth opened, and then closed again. She wanted to misunderstand him, to assume he meant as a visit, only for a short time, but she knew better. She'd known him far too long to misunderstand. "Is this about Balin?" she finally managed to get out on a strangled breath. "Because you blame me?"

Dwalin made an annoyed sound. "I already told you I don't. It's just time to stop."

"Stop what?" Bilba pushed to her feet. Hurt began to solidify into anger and her voice was sharp.

"Stop blaming yourself for something you had nothing to do with." Dwalin said, the barest hint of resignation already in his voice. It was an old argument, and a repetitive one. At some point they'd stopped having it because it never went anywhere, but now here it was all over again. "This isn't what he would have wanted."

Bilba sucked in a harsh gasp. The anger burst into full blown rage and she curled her hands into fists. "Don't you try think you can speak for him. You have no idea what he would have wanted."

"You forget I knew him too," Dwalin said tightly.

And longer than you. The words weren't spoken but they were there all the same and, under them, that same old question. Why had Dwalin chosen to stay with her after Erebor? Care, or duty? Friendship, or obligation? It was a question she'd never asked, for fear she already knew the answer.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked. Her voice flattened as she spoke and she carefully began the process of packing the pain away, of packing Dwalin away. It was already done, she knew him well enough to know that, which meant her only choice now was to accept it. She was only ever allowed that option, she thought bitterly. Never a chance to change anything, just accept it.

He sighed. "Because it's not healthy, Bilba. Being out here-"

"We're helping people," Bilba cut in. "Or does that not mean anything to you?"

"You're running," Dwalin corrected, "and doing your best to get yourself killed. It's time to let it go."

"I can't," Bilba whispered. She felt cold even though it was mid-summer and the morning had been warm mere moments before.

Dwalin growled in frustration. "You can. You just won't." He gestured at their surroundings. "Do you think he'd have wanted this? Spending your life alone?"

Except she hadn't been alone, not until now.

Her vision blurred and she tightened her clenched fists until pain radiated through her nerves from her fingernails digging into the skin.

She was not going to cry in front of him.

She wasn't.

"Just go," she managed to get out, through gritted teeth.

He sighed, and his shoulders slumped. "Bilba. That's not-"

"I said go!" She drew her sword, his sword, and pointed it at the one person she'd never thought would betray her. Then again, she'd never thought a lot of things would happen in her life, but that had never stopped them. "I don't need you anymore. I can fight and survive well enough on my own."

He stared at her, and the intensity of his eyes was something she would carry with her a long time. "What you're doing isn't surviving, Bilba. It's just dying slow."

Bilba shook her head, and almost lost control of the moisture filling her eyes. "Just leave," she demanded, and her voice definitely did not waver on the end, didn't fluctuate in the slightest.

Dwalin didn't move so, with a curse, Bilba sheathed her sword, and knelt to grab her knapsack which, thankfully, had already been packed. By Dwalin.

She hefted it over her shoulder, turned on one heel and began to walk away, leaving her bedroll, and everything else, behind.

She thought he would come after her, or at least call her name.

He did neither.

She stopped just past the line of trees, out of sight and, after a few minutes, heard the sound of his boots -

Walking away.

She didn't cry.

Not for a long time, not until she was well and truly sure that he was gone far past hearing her.

It took her weeks to accept it was real, that he'd actually left, and wasn't coming back.

It took her weeks to understand she truly had meant that little to him.

Dain had begun doing his checks on her a few months later, but she wasn't stupid enough to repeat the mistake of believing it was because he cared about her wellbeing. It was just another obligation. A way to show respect to the one who rightfully should have been sitting on the throne of Erebor.

It would be a year and a half before Dain grew tired of her beating up his soldiers and sent Dwalin to get her.

By that time, Bilba had managed to finally lock away the pain of his leaving and had greeted him as the stranger he was. The fact she'd gone with him without resistance, then and every time after, meant nothing. He always treated her the same as ever, but she never made the mistake of doing so again. There was no going back, no pretending.

It was simply not the same, and never would be again.

Bilba felt an old, dull ache and a hollowness somewhere deep inside but it was a familiar pain and one she'd long grown used to carrying. Dwalin had been a stranger to her for a long time and was even more of one now. She wouldn't make the same mistake she'd made the last time around. He was not her friend, never had been and never would be.

He was studying her, eyes narrowed in the way she recognized meant he was trying to figure something out. He almost appeared to be evaluating her, and Bilba wondered what it was that was so different about her this time around. Well, besides the obvious, of course and, honestly, was it so very odd? She'd had short hair and worn trousers for decades after Erebor, and no one had ever so much as batted an eye. Now she did it and everyone was up in arms.

Well, everyone in the Shire. Thorin hadn't batted an eye, while Dwalin -

"What'd you do to your hair?" he asked bluntly.

Bilba frowned. "Cut it. I'd think that'd have been obvious."

Her voice was sharp as she instinctively slid into the way she normally spoke to him, and away from the near saccharine greeting she'd given him moments earlier. She had tried, it was his own damn fault. He just...brought it out of her.

"Huh," he grunted. "Thought you kept your knives sharper than that."

Bilba blinked.

What?

Before her brain could process what he'd just said, and what it meant, a shout came from the door of Bag End. There was the barest flicker of emotion in Dwalin's eyes which, for him, was akin to a shout, and then he spun easily on one heel and strode to meet Thorin where he stood waiting in the doorway.

Bilba stared after him in confusion.

Did he -

He turned from where he'd been speaking to Thorin and called down to her. "You planning to come in or just stand there gaping like a fish?"

Bilba's heart jolted in her chest, and she felt her eyes go wide. Thorin raised an eyebrow and leaned over to say something to Dwalin. She couldn't hear what the response was but the two of them walked inside the smial, leaving her on the pathway below.

Did he remember?

It made no sense. Why would he remember? Her, yes, because she couldn't very well destroy the ring without remembering it needed to be destroyed to begin with. Gandalf because he wasn't exactly the human he pretended to be, and a few others she suspected for logical reasons.

But Dwalin? She couldn't explain that one. He didn't fit in any of the categories, didn't fit any category in fact, besides the simple fact that he'd still been alive when she'd been stabbed in the back by a Nazgul.

Was that it? Everyone who was still alive remembered? If that were the case it'd mean...what? That Gloin, Bombur, Bofur, and Dori would soon arrive demanding to know what was going on?

No, no, she didn't think so. If they remembered, they'd already be there. They hadn't been far, just off in the Green Dragon over in Bywater. She couldn't imagine them just choosing to stay and wait to find out what was going on.

Dwalin...Dwalin she could see doing exactly that for no other reason than he was Dwalin.

Still. She frowned in the direction of her doorway and tried to decide how she felt about the possibility. As far as she was concerned she'd seen him less than three weeks ago, back when he'd shown up to bring her extra supplies because the weather had been colder than normal. As usual, she'd demanded to know how he always knew her location and, as usual, his response had been to simply ignore the question.

Things had been stilted and awkward, and Bilba had absolutely not felt any measure of relief at not having to be alone for a while, just as she refused to feel any relief now at the thought he might remember. If he did, he'd probably just make her life harder. Mahal knew his stubbornness rivaled her own and he'd undoubtedly have opinions on how things should go.

Maybe she could set him on Gandalf. He certainly had opinions as well, on about every damn subject there was. He and Dwalin could spend all their time arguing with one another about what should or should not be done and leave her alone to actually get things done.

Chewing on her lower lip, she started toward the stairs, albeit slowly. If he did remember, then he hadn't seen Thorin in eighty years, after a lifetime of them being best friends and shield brothers. The least she could do was give Dwalin a few minutes to catch up before she barged in and started passive aggressively trying to find out how much he did or did not know.

The women had finished bringing food and Lobelia had vanished, off to pretend she didn't know Bilba outside of wanting to get Bag End from her.

She reached the top step just before her door and sank down on it, absently stretching one leg out and resting her arm on her other knee.

The shuffle of footsteps signaled her next guest's arrival and she closed her eyes at the last memory she had of him -

Balin

Son of Fundin

Lord of Moria

Bilba scoffed. "Fool. What does it matter if you're dead?"

She sighed, lowering the tip of her sword toward the ground. She'd known her trip was in vain as soon as she'd snuck in through Moria's back gate but still...

She'd hoped. If she could just find Balin, then he could send word to Erebor that he was all right and then maybe Dwalin -

Her shoulders slumped. Idiot. She raised her head to study the empty chamber, silence hanging like a thick blanket over the dark and dusty room. The beam of light coming from a hole in the rock did little to make the place feel any more than what it was, a tomb.

Old memories of the last time she'd been in a tomb threatened to surface and she scowled. This whole thing had been a waste of time.

She shot one more look at the tomb. "Was it worth it?"

There was no answer, and, with a muttered curse, she spun on her heel and left, leaving the room silent once more, and Balin the lord of none but the dead strewn about him.

"Excuse me, Miss." Balin stopped just before the gate and gave her a pleasant expression. "Would this happen to be Bag End?"

"It is." It was hard to keep the coldness out of her voice, but Bilba figured it would come across as little more than typical suspicion given toward a stranger. She'd harbored a lot of anger at him over the years and, even now, was tempted to yell at him for so stupid a decision as thinking he could take back Moria with a paltry band of soldiers. Balin had always been the reasonable one. Whatever had driven him to do something so utterly insane, something she wouldn't have even dreamed of trying, was a question that had haunted her a long time.

Balin opened the gate and Bilba pushed to her feet and stepped aside. "You're the third to arrive, the other two are already inside."

Balin nodded his thanks and walked past, vanishing inside the house. Briefly, Bilba considered following, to give Dwalin some sort of support as he was potentially faced with both his dead best friend and dead brother but decided against it.

He would not thank her for it.

Instead she began to pace before her doorway, arms wrapped around her chest and fingers digging into her forearms. She knew what came next, who came next, and now she was past the point of putting it off, no more pretending it wasn't happening.

"Okay," she whispered to herself. "You can do this. You can."

Her breath grew short, and she felt lightheaded. She'd started shaking as well, and she tightened her grip on her arms in a futile effort to try and calm down.

It would be fine. He was a stranger. A total stranger and he would come and look straight through her and it wouldn't hurt because it was just a stranger. Just another, random dwarf come to join the quest and he wouldn't find her beautiful and he would find her abrasive and off-putting just as everyone always did and he'd choose to stay as far from her as possible and it'd be fine.

Just fine.

She'd go on the quest and keep to herself and, at the end, everyone would be alive and she'd just...go away. Go away and finally be left alone and, damn it all, why couldn't she seem to stop shaking?

A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she staggered, leaning hard against the doorframe. Gorge rose inside her and she had the sudden surreal thought that she was on the verge of losing food she'd eaten yesterday, eighty years in the future.

A near hysterical giggle escaped her and, in that precise moment, she heard the sound of voices coming up her path.

Voices, and one of them sliced through her like a sharp blade slicing flesh, and then she felt hollow, and she was choking, and acid was rushing through her mouth all at once.

She stumbled inside, and caught sight of Dwalin, standing near the entrance to the kitchen. There was no sign of Thorin or Balin, for which she was eternally grateful.

Dwalin had his arms crossed over his chest and the look on his face was set, as if he stood before some nameless foe he had no choice but to face.

She could relate.

For the briefest of seconds, her stomach settled. Then the voices came again, now at her very gate, and suddenly it was all she could do to scramble for her bedroom, slam the door behind her and race to her bathroom.

She barely made it in time and, as she spectacularly lost everything she'd eaten in the last month, her one and only thought was how utterly wrong she'd been in this whole thing.

She couldn't do this.