Chapter One

"Hopelessly Devoted to You"

"Bebother and confusticate Dwarrow kings!" Billa cursed.

Thorin was late—again. Perhaps, she thought viciously; he's gotten lost again. According to her husband, his stone sense meant that he could never be lost inside of his kingdom. However, his routinely late arrivals when she, Balin, or Dwalin left him to make his own way to various meetings made her suspect that he might have been embellishing that particular talent. Billa glanced at the door again—willing it to open. It didn't.

Billa sighed in defeat and returned her attention to her nervous crocheting. It was too late, anyway, for him to merely have gotten lost, even with his dismal sense of direction. Plus, they'd lived in these rooms long enough that he really ought to be able to get back and forth from his office without getting lost.

Billa used to spend many a sleepless night crocheting. Recently, she hadn't had the time—Thorin would return to their chambers, distract her with this or that, and she'd eventually succumb to sleep wrapped in his protective grasp. At least, that had been the way of it. As of late though, a new batch of Dwarrow had arrived, and Billa had found herself left alone night after night.

Dinner had been a last resort of sorts. Thorin always joined her on Tuesday evenings—always. It was their little tradition since the Battle of Five Armies. It was their chance to be Thorin and Billa without all the pressures of rebuilding Erebor. Or, it had been, until tonight. Billa glanced at the table filled with uneaten food. It had been a feast to be proud of, even by hobbit standards—two hours ago. Billa let out a frustrated growl and forced her attention back to her crocheting. She'd always been quite good at crochet. Before the quest, she'd go so far as to say she was proud of her skills. Then, she'd dared to "go on an adventure."

Billa's fingers flew automatically across the lengths of yarn. She barely had to pay attention to the stitches, at least not for something so simple. Unfortunately, this blanket would come together with or without her notice. Given Thorin's unexpected absence, she remained stubbornly distracted; wondering where her husband was and what had kept him. It's not as though I spend my days crocheting, she tried to comfort herself, but all the same, she continued to glower at the door—as if it had personally offended her.

As the Consort of the King Under the Mountain, Billa faced the never-ending task of overseeing housing, food, and care for all of the Dwarrow returning to their mountain home. Although she had not initially thought much of the task, likening it to the many social committees in Hobbiton, Balin had explained to Billa that it was actually a most-respectable task because it fell to her to allot the crown's coin to various endeavours. Seeing how seriously the Dwarrow took their wealth, Billa was beginning to understand the true respect they held for their Dwarrowdams who were almost always in charge of financial matters.

Billa forced herself to take a deep calming breath and roll her tense shoulders-attempting to ease the tension. It might be disappointing that Thorin had forgotten their date night, but it was hardly his fault. As King Under the Mountain, he had to oversee the restoration of the kingdom both in terms of construction and defense and was spending many hours going over new political treaties to strengthen their tenuous alliances. That particular committee, Billa knew from experience, spent hours placating and preventing future conflict. Thus, although Billa barely had the chance to attend to the precious hair on her feet, more often than not, Thorin came to bed after Billa and was long gone before she woke.

Once more, Billa tried her best to focus on her crocheting, but once more, her mind wandered. Before the Company's arrival at Bag End, she'd taken to testing new and increasingly elaborate patterns on doilies. Now, she smiled to herself, remembering how confused Bofur had been over those same doilies. Dear Bofur, she missed their late-night talks during the quest. After all, he had been her first friend.

These days, she barely saw any of the Company save for during official visits. Although they had been close before, as Erebor's population grew, so too did their various tasks and meals were no longer taken together. Losing her friends had been a hard blow for Billa. She missed them and, even though the quarters that Thorin had painstakingly designed as her last courting gift, were beautiful and homely, Billa still felt lost alone in them.

Billa glanced longingly at the clock for the umpteenth time. A measly four minutes had passed. She turned back to her to crochet. It was a Tuesday night—she glanced at the calendar on the wall to confirm. She'd insisted on its installation, always worried that she would forget an engagement. Even back in the Shire, she had always needed her date book. That was, after all, how the whole mess with the Dwarrow had begun. She'd forgotten to write down that careless invitation to Gandalf.

According to her clearly-marked calendar; however, the date was indeed Tuesday. Billa had known it—had looked forward to this Tuesday in particular. Maybe, Thorin just forgot, she lamented—trying to quell the mixture of disappointment and concern that rose in overwhelming force in her chest. Forgot, even the idea of it made her throat tighten. Was it really so much better for him to have forgotten about her? Did she want that? On every other Tuesday, Thorin had given up his work in time for them to share their dinner. They'd sit and converse about the week, and enjoy each other's uninhibited company. Tonight's dinner sat untouched on the table.

Maybe something happened, maybe there's been an accident or an attack or some awful news from the West, once more, Billa lost control of her fears, her attention straying down forbidden paths. However, it wouldn't be the first time that there had been emergencies. There had been tunnel collapses and even a minor orc attack that some remnant of Azog's army had orchestrated. Maybe, one of those dreadful things had happened again, and that was why Thorin had missed their meal. Billa looked to the door again.

She had had no appetite—not without Thorin. Her gaze roamed over the table. Each dish had been carefully prepared. She'd rushed through her work all day to be able to come home early and then she'd made this special dinner, hoping to tell Thorin her news. Billa allowed herself one long over-dramatic sigh as her restlessness and worry spiked. Standing and leaving the half-made blanket behind her, she began pacing their living room.

It was past midnight. As of late Thorin had taken to working late, forgetting the time as he toiled through the mountains of paperwork. Billa tried to console herself with that likelihood, but it was a cold comfort at best. As disappointing as it was, having him forget their meal was better than him being in trouble or something happening in the Mountain. And, if some had happened, someone would have alerted me, I'd be part of our official response, Billa reassured herself—hoping that it was true. He was working terribly hard too, seeing over the massive project of interring the dead while restoring the Kingdom to its former glory and fighting with Dale and Mirkwood for trading rights and treaties. Privately, Billa also suspected he was working harder to prove that he could be a good king—that the Gold Sickness truly was over.

Billa's strides gradually slowed and then she stifled a yawn. Recently, she had been more tired than usual. She glanced once more towards the door, wondering if it might not be better to go down and seek out Thorin. Abruptly, she decided against it. He would only feel even worse if she pulled him away. Whatever was keeping him had to be important and, her news could keep.

Billa sat down once more, resuming her crocheting, with one eye on the door. It was a full half an hour before the door opened, and her husband stumbled in. Thorin rubbed wearily at his eyes, freezing as he caught sight of Billa. She had only just started back to full wakefulness when the door opened, and their exhausted gazes met.

"You're up late," he commented before his tired gaze took in the loaded table. Billa remained silent while Thorin cursed under his breath in Khuzdul. Mentally, Billa reminded herself to pester Ori again about teaching her the secret language. She was Thorin's lawfully wedded wife according to both Dwarrow and hobbit traditions so surely someone could teach her Khuzdul.

"Billa," he croaked in apology.

"It's alright," she offered him a smile, feeling her previous anger melt away as she sensed his genuine guilt. It was almost strange, but since their marriage rituals when they were together, at times she could almost sense him; his presence and, when they were particularly strong, his emotions. It was like they truly were One.

"Did you eat, Ghivashel? I can-" Thorin worried, and Billa rose, abandoning her crochet.

"I'm tired," she asserted, and he nodded; looking no less miserable.

She took his hand, and they abandoned her ruined meal.

"Maybe, we could try again tomorrow?" she suggested as they changed.

"I have a Council dinner," Thorin replied, "I could cancel-" he offered immediately, and she shot him a knowing look. Thorin hated the Council dinners, and always looked for an excuse to get out of them. If he did, however, Balin would be none-too-happy, and they would pay for it for weeks as their nobles passive aggressively protested their boycott.

"You know you can't skip that, and anyway, I'm not in a rush." Billa reproached. "I have something I want to talk to you about, but I promise, Thorin, it will keep until you're less busy." she insisted when he raised an eyebrow in question.

"Now you have me curious, you can't just tell me?" Thorin asked, and Billa laughed.

"No, I don't think I will." she decided, crawling into their bed. He harrumphed behind her, but crawled in shortly thereafter, letting the matter rest.

Almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, he began snoring, and Billa was curled inside his warm protective embrace, smiling as she inhaled his scent. It would have been a wonderful meal, and a good time to tell him, but like she'd said earlier, the news would keep. What mattered was that he was here now. She could feel him physically and through their bond. He had been sorry, he was under a lot of stress, and as long as this didn't become a habit, she had been more worried than annoyed. Her earlier concerns melting away and Billa resolved to tell him in the morning. Decision made, she felt herself relax as Thorin's steady snores lulled her into a peaceful sleep.