"We got you a going away present."
Bilba blinked in surprise. She and Rosie were sitting on the couch while Bofur sat in an armchair on Bilba's left. It was early, and they had only a few hours left before she had to be at the airport. None of them had been able to sleep.
Instead, she'd invited Bofur to stay, an action sure to cause more rumors in spite of Rosie's presence, and the three of them had watched romantic comedies all night. An odd choice, given the circumstances, but Bilba had always adored them. Bofur called the movies cheesy, predictable and melodramatic, and he was right, but she loved them all the same. When Rosie had started pulling out her favorites he'd given a long-suffering sigh and headed off to the kitchen to make popcorn.
That had been hours ago and, surprisingly, Bilba had almost been able to forget the nightmare that had been her week. They'd laughed, made fun of the sillier moments, critiqued plot points as seriously as if they were watching a biography, and thrown popcorn at the screen at appropriate, and inappropriate, times.
Finally, as dawn began to threaten, Rosie had jumped up and gone into her room, returning a few moments later with a large, wrapped package she'd plopped on Bilba's knees along with her pronouncement.
"You didn't have to do this-" Bilba started, only to have Rosie roll her eyes and cut her off.
"We know, we know," she waved a hand as if shooing the words away, "open it."
Bilba laughed, along with Bofur, at Rosie's antics. "When did you even have time to get me something?"
"Well, now, that's our secret," Bofur said, settling back in the armchair. "You're not the only one capable of being sneaky, you know"
Bilba gave an exaggerated eyeroll. Classmates at Bag End University had always complained of her ability to walk nearly soundlessly and to blend in to her surroundings. Bilba was pretty sure that meant they were calling her a wallflower but, as the description was apt, she couldn't much dispute it.
With a huff, she tore into the wrapping, and frowned as it pulled away to reveal a box with a laptop prominently featured on top. "You know I can't accept this," she said, looking at them wide eyed. "And, besides, I already have a laptop."
Rosie sighed and reached over to tug the box out of Bilba's lap. "What you have, Bilba, dear," she said, settling the box on her own lap and accepting a pocketknife from Bofur to cut through the tape on the flap, "is a paperweight with delusions of grandeur."
She got the box open quickly, Bilba noting it appeared to have been open already and re-taped shut, and pulled the shiny, metal object out. To her delight, a skin had been affixed to the cover, depicting a ballerina in the midst of a performance, ribbon and lace from her costume soaring about her as she twirled.
"Oh," Bilba breathed, leaning forward running her fingers over the image. "This is beautiful."
Bofur snorted. "I told you. We could have gotten her the cover alone and she'd have been thrilled."
"The cover doesn't have amazing features," Rosie said with a smile. She opened the lid and hit the power button. "We already set it up for you."
"Set up what?" Bilba looked between the two of them but both had decided to be mysterious and refused to explain.
Instead, Rosie let out a tiny shriek of happiness and spun the computer around for her to see.
For the second time, Bilba blinked in surprise. Filling the screen was the log in for Ravenhill, the cover screen featuring a black and gold scrolling design with a raven in flight splashed across it. The social media site had been created, ironically enough, by an exile of Erebor, designed initially to give fellow exiles the ability to connect and stay in contact no matter where they were dispersed throughout the world. The site had caught on and soon spread until it was a worldwide platform, as embedded in the fabric of society as any modern convenience or luxury.
"You," Rosie proclaimed proudly, "are now the newest member of Ravenhill and you already have two friends."
"I only have two friends period," Bilba muttered absently. She lifted her eyes from the screen to give them both a wry look. "Hence the reason I don't have Ravenhill." She'd never had any friends at all, in fact, until the two of them. Her Grandfather had moved her around from school to school so often she'd rarely been in one place long enough to move any relationship past acquaintance and, the few times she had, their luck had invariably and "coincidentally" gone bad until people had learned, no matter where they'd gone, to stay far, far away from her.
She'd been excited to finally graduate from school and, she thought, out from under her grandfather's thumb. She'd taken out loans, gotten financial aid and scholarships as needed and, for the very first time, had moved by her own choice to a place of her own choosing. She'd picked the college she wanted, the courses and schedule, the ballet company and had finally started her life the way she wished to live it.
She'd never expected to make friends.
Rosie reached up to where her email and a password were already entered into the log in portion. She hit enter before Bilba saw what her password was and the screen changed to the home screen for her personal account. The background was a light gray with a watermarked raven. The profile picture featured one of her favorite shots of her, Bofur and Rosie, arms thrown over one another's shoulders, laughing at some joke or another.
Bofur flushed and scratched the back of his head self-consciously. "You can change that if you think it'd cause problems, having me in it and all. You can get rid of me all together, in fact, if you think-"
"You're suggesting I have too many friends and should cut them by half?" Bilba asked with a faint smile. "I'm sure it's fine. We made it clear it was a ruse, no matter what the rumors try to claim. Besides, it's not as if I plan to add the press, or anyone else for that matter."
"Like the Prince," Rosie said with a nod. "We checked. He has an account but it's all buttoned up, almost as tight as I made yours." The last she said with a smug look that had Bilba giggling with fondness. As she looked at her two friends, she felt a rush of affection for them both that very nearly set her to tears again.
Both had had their lives upended, every bit as much as hers. They had reporters following them, people accosting them in the hopes of gaining a meeting with her, and their social media accounts had been flooded with requests by people hoping to achieve fame by association. It had been jarring, and invasive, and she knew full well it wouldn't die down just because she left.
Her vision blurred and suddenly she leaning forward to hug Rosie, and then Bofur.
"Thank you," she whispered, and hoped they knew she meant for far more than the laptop. They could have, probably should have, run the other way once everything had gone to pot but they hadn't. They'd stuck by her side through it all, which was more than she'd ever had from anyone, and certainly more than she'd ever expected.
When she pulled back she wasn't the only one with red eyes. Rosie brushed at hers with a hand before giving a shaky smile. "No one can see your profile picture and there is more than one Bilba Baggins in the world so it's unlikely you'll get hit with a ton of requests, especially when the other Bilba Baggins' out there are probably already getting hit. They won't even notice you popped on."
"Especially when my surname should be Durin," Bilba said. Rosie's eyes grew slightly wide and Bilba hastened to add, "I'm not complaining. I certainly don't feel as if I'm a Durin." She'd never felt like a Baggins either but that was neither here nor there. "This will help throw people off. They'll be looking for Bilba Durin, Crown Princess of Erebor."
"The official one," Bofur added, making air quotes with his fingers.
"True," Bilba agreed. Celebrities had a golden raven next to their name to let people know they were the real person and not someone co-opting the name and likeness for their own purposes.
"Anyway," Rosie tugged the laptop away and set it on the couch. "Enough of that for now. I'll tell you the password so you can change it to something you'll like. Until then, however-" she leaned over to grab a DVD from the giant mound on the table. All were Rosie's movies as Bilba's belongings had already been packed and taken to the airport. Luckily, Rosie shared Bilba's love of cheesy romances and had a massive supply all her own. "What do you want?" Rosie asked, holding up two movies. "Mistaken identity or opposites attract?"
Bofur groaned and dropped his head back against the chair back. "Kill me now."
Bilba giggled and then reached out to snatch one of the DVD cases. "This one, I think. Do we have enough time to watch it?"
Rosie took it back to check the run time and glanced at the clock. "We do, if we get started right now."
"All right, then." Bilba flopped on the couch and then impulsively reached over to grab Bofur's arm and drag him to sit on her side, sandwiching her between her two best, and only, friends. Friends, she repeated to herself firmly as Bofur sat down and her heart jumped in her chest. Her friends, and nothing more. "We best get started then."
It was over far too soon.
The sun rose, and it was time.
Rosie and Bofur were not going with her to the airport, at Bilba's request. The place would be a madhouse with reporters, well-wishers and people who simply wanted to see it. She'd be busy checking through security, speaking to reporters and doing her very best to pretend she was a blushing bride on her way to her exciting new life. She'd have no chance to speak with Rosie or Bofur and their presence would greatly increase the risk of her breaking down and bawling like a child on the tarmac. Not exactly the image her grandfather would appreciate and one sure to bring down his ire on her friends as she'd be out of reach.
She stood at the door hugging them until she risked being late, and promised to contact them as soon as she'd arrive. Then the door was closed and she was standing in the hallway, alone. Her fingers clutched the laptop, hugging it to her chest like a shield, as she struggled to get her legs to move.
She tried to swallow past the jagged rock in her throat, and shivered as the temperature seemed to plummet in the narrow hall. Her legs felt leaden and a wave of dizziness washed over her, bringing spots to her eyes.
She didn't want to go.
The hallway to the stairs stretched ahead of her and she had the sudden, irrational thought she was on her way to her own execution rather than the airport.
The urge to knock on the door and tell Rosie and Bofur she'd changed her mind and desperately wanted them to go with her flashed through her and she knew full well they would go if asked. They would go, and their presence would make the media and public scrutiny of them even worse, and would ensure it lasted even longer.
Bilba Baggins very much wanted to be selfish. She wanted to ask her friends to go with her or, better yet, simply not go at all. She wanted to forget about the alliance and her grandfather and the fact that Shire would probably go into financial collapse and ruin without the support of Erebor.
Bilba Baggins wanted to throw it all away in favor of simply staying where she was and doing what she'd been doing and living her life the way she'd wanted, and chosen, for the very first time.
That was what she wanted.
Bilba Durin, Crown Princess of Erebor whether she liked it or not, knew her duty. Letting out a slow breath, she tossed her hair back, lifted her chin high, and through sheer force of will, strode down the hallway.
The Crown Princess of Erebor did not look back.
Bilba Baggins, laptop clutched against her chest like a lifeline, did.
But only for a second.
It was a whirlwind after that.
Bilba moved in a haze, through a maelstrom of light and sound. Her grandfather was persisting in the notion that she didn't like security so she had little but her driver and Lila to keep the hounds at bay.
As expected, what felt like half the kingdom had come to see her off. Hobbiton was a small place with an equally tiny airport and Bilba felt a flash of guilt for the chaos her departure must be causing for other travelers, as well as the disruption to the normal peace and quiet of the area. She could have left from the capital of course, with its international airport and laid-back attitude to an array of leaders and celebrities coming through, but it would have meant dealing with her family coming out to see her off. The last thing she wanted was the added stress of trying to pretend they were all one, big happy family, and she especially didn't want to deal with her grandfather who, undoubtedly, would have had some last-minute threats to whisper in her ear with a big smile and a false hug as if he were wishing her all the best.
So she'd chosen Hobbiton and, as expected, her family had regretfully begged off, citing their schedules and overall importance to the country as reasons they couldn't make the two hour trip to watch as she left the country for possibly the last time.
Hobbiton's small police force did their best to keep people outside the fence, but more than a few got through and joined the enormous crowd of reporters clustered around her. Quite a few were female, some of whom appeared to be screaming at her that Thorin was clearly fated to marry them and she needed to deliver their love letters to him and then step aside. As everything had happened in a week, Bilba hadn't really had a chance to start getting the mail most royals were used to, but she had no doubt it was coming and that a good amount would express similar sentiments. There were always people fascinated by royalty or celebrities, followed by those who did the best they could to meet their favorite stars. All those people were fine, Rosie was one of them. The problem was the small segment of the population that became convinced they had some sort of connection, or even ownership, over a certain celebrity and took it very personally when said star didn't return their affection, or when they gave their affection to someone else.
Somewhat to her surprise, or maybe not when she thought about it more, the journalists surrounding her did not appreciate random people thinking they could get close to her. They closed around her in such tight ranks that Bilba could no longer see anyone past them, much less the few people who'd jumped the fence.
Still, she could hear them, far closer than was comfortable. She wasn't used to being threatened, and had no stomach for confrontation. The screaming had her breathing increasing and her body tenser than it had already been. She could feel herself trembling slightly from nerves and desperately hoped it wasn't enough that it was visible on camera.
Erebor had sent a plane, after the Thain had insisted the royal planes were all in use and he didn't have one to spare, and Bilba had fully expected them to send one of their diplomatic planes and give her a seat amongst returning ambassadors and a press corps that would hound her all the way to Erebor. That would be if she were lucky and Erebor's disgust with her grandfather didn't lead to them simply sending her a plane ticket, to a seat in coach.
She was rather shocked then, to reach the tarmac and see the very same plane Thorin had traveled in. The feeling faded almost immediately, however, as she realized it was merely diplomacy at play, no different than what her grandfather would have done. It was important to look good.
There were two burly looking men standing at the bottom of the stairs and, with a nod to Lila who was already turning away to begin her live shot, Bilba boarded the stairs and began to walk up. She'd worn a sundress and heeled sandals and had put her hair into a high ponytail but none of it was helping against the near stifling heat that had already set in. Shire was a temperate climate but it had its occasional temperature swings and this day was clearly one of them. Already sweat trickled down her back and she could feel the hair at the base of her skull sticking to her neck. She was looking forward to getting into the air conditioned interior and quickened her pace toward the door. She'd barely made it two steps when she heard shouting behind her and looked back to see one of the more vocal fence jumpers, a young, petite woman with ash blonde hair, rushing at the stairs.
"I have to go!" she shouted, trying to shove her way up the stairs. "I'm perfect for Thorin, don't you understand? We have all the same interests, and hobbies!" Her eyes locked onto Bilba's with a malice in them that made her heart jump. "She doesn't deserve him. I'm prettier than her anyway!"
She started forward, as if to move between the two men at the bottom of the stairs, and Bilba stiffened. Personally, she'd be happy to hand the Crown Prince of Erebor over to one of his adoring fans, though perhaps not this one. She didn't want the marriage any more than he did, but that didn't mean she wished him any sort of harm. Before the woman got close the men closed in on her, pushing her back with ease. Not waiting to see what happened, Bilba spun back and forced herself to walk up the stairs in as dignified a manner as possible. She'd received enough training at least, in schools and ballet, to know better than to slouch or scurry like a frightened mouse.
Behind her, the woman continued to shriek insults but they barely registered. It wasn't anything Bilba hadn't heard before. Her family had made her shortcomings very, very clear to her over the years, particularly in regard to her physical appearance.
Clutching her laptop even tighter, she entered the airplane, nodding at the woman in a uniform waiting at the entrance. Had it been her grandfather, the inside of the plane would have been devoid of anyone other than the pilot but, to her surprise, she spotted a number of people walking about, none of whom appeared to be reporters.
A male flight attendant approached, gave her a bow barely deep enough to be respectful, and turned his back with a curt, "This way, Princess."
Bilba nodded and allowed him to guide her to a forward compartment where several rows of luxurious, padded seats sat empty. It was similar to the small, personal jet her grandfather had, at least according to the pictures she'd seen, but this was an entire plane and she was curious to know what else it held. Several of the seats were placed around low tables and she chose one of these to sit in, sitting next to the window and placing her laptop on the table. There was a seatbelt set into the seat and she clicked it shut over her lap as she heard the door to the plane being closed.
They took off soon after. Gravity pressed her back lightly into the padded seat and Bilba felt her stomach drop as they lifted off.
Bye, she thought with a trace of bitterness, and clenched her jaw as tears threatened. The last thing she wanted was to cry now, in front of strangers. No one had said a word to her since she'd sat down and, as they reached cruising altitude, it became clear no one planned to. That was fine, she preferred it to the alternative. The flight before her was going to be long and she'd much rather spend it ignored than berated.
A quiet sound signified she could take off her seatbelt and she did so, relaxing into the seat for a second. As the adrenaline from the morning began to wear off, fatigue started to set in, reminding her that she'd spent the entire night wide awake. In hindsight, it was probably a good thing. It was morning in the Shire but, thanks to the time difference, it was evening in Erebor. It'd be best if she could find somewhere to lie down and hope she could get started on adjusting her internal clock.
She carefully got up, picked up her laptop, and stepped into the aisle. She briefly considered asking a crewmember for a tour but thought better of it. It was a plane, after all, and she was the highest-ranking person on it. There was no place she wasn't allowed and it'd be impossible to get lost.
She went to the door set in the back of the compartment, past the now sealed door leading outside. Grabbing the handle, she sent a quiet prayer there wasn't a horde of reporters lying in wait, pulled it open, stepped through, and promptly froze in amazement.
There were no reporters. Instead, it was as if she'd stepped off the plane and into someone's house. The room she stood in was a living room, plush white carpeting, sofas and coffee table, and a massive entertainment center. A rug featuring what she guessed was the Durin family crest dominated the floor. The windows had been covered over in paneling, giving the impression she had left the plane all together and entered a high end, luxury home.
She wandered through, finding bathrooms she was sure were larger than her apartment, a fully stocked kitchen and multiple bedrooms with enormous beds piled high with pillows and blankets. Each had a sitting area with a television and a private bathroom. The crest was embossed on the top blanket for each bed and she spotted it in other places as well, on dishes in the kitchens, seat backs around the dining table and monogrammed on towels and dish cloths.
The kitchen was tempting. Bilba hadn't eaten breakfast and had only had popcorn the night before and then the ice cream from the failed amusement park trip. In the end, however, exhaustion won out and she decided to go for the kitchen later. She'd be on the plane plenty long enough to both sleep and eat.
She headed back into the nearest bedroom, almost groaning with relief at the sight of the bed. Unlike the rest of the area, there were windows in here but she ignored them as she set her laptop down on a bedside table and kicked off her sandals. The beige carpet was thick and soft and she gave herself a second to dig her toes into it before climbing onto the bed. Without even bothering to pull the blanket down she flopped on top and let out a sigh, muscles relaxing as she sank into the thick mattress.
She was out in minutes.