"Three more ales, lass! And two beers!"

"Coming right up!" Ducking behind the bar, Baylee grabbed the five tankards, arranging them on the serving tray she held. "Which group are they for?" she asked. She went over to the barrels of beer stacked against the wall and started to fill them, being careful to keep them tilted in order to keep an overabundance of foam from forming.

"Ernest Bolger an' his lads," the innkeeper replied.

"They got here awfully late." She blew a stray lock of hair from her face, though it was of little help; it was clinging to her sweat-covered brow. "The wake's almost over, isn't it?"

The innkeeper snorted. "Lass, this is a wake. It don't end until no one's left awake." He shook his head and glanced over at her. "You're keepin' up well, though. I would have expected a small thing like yourself t' need a break by now."

At that, she laughed. "I made sure to sleep in until ten this morning," she admitted. "And I had a nice, hearty elevensies." With all the mugs filled, she hoisted the tray up, balancing it with one hand while the other brushed the hair from her face.

She made her way from behind the bar and across the room to a table of five hobbits. They were stained with dirt and their hair stuck to their foreheads a bit; she knew well enough that these five had been out on their farm, getting it ready to sow the summer crops. "Alright, sirs, here are your drinks," she said, smiling at them. "Two beers—" she set the beers down, and then the ales "—and three ales. Anything else I can get for you?"

"Is there any o' Petunia's chicken stew left?" the elder of the bunch, Ernest, questioned.

"Last I saw there were about three bowlfuls left, but that was nigh five minutes ago. I can't make any promises that there's some left."

"If there's any left, I'll take as much of it as I can get. The boys here will have whatever you bring 'em."

"We're not a picky bunch—just hungry," one of his younger sons said, a tired smile on his lips.

She nodded in understanding, tucking the tray under her arm. "Well, then, I'll see what I can do for you." Turning, she wormed her way through the intoxicated crowd, and went in search of some food. She ducked into the kitchen, where it was a bit quieter, but even warmer, than it was in the common room.

Peering into the cauldron that had contained the chicken stew, she was relieved to see that there was just enough for one bowl left. As she ladled it into a large serving bowl, there was a burst of drunken laughter before a chorus of voices started to sing. She winced slightly; being drunk, the owners of the voices weren't exactly on key…or very good. It was also the third or fourth time the same song had been sung, as it was apparently Old Pearl's favorite.

'At least I get to go home soon,' she told herself. 'I'll get to go home to a nice, quiet supper with da', maybe read a book and have a pipe before dinner…'

Grabbing a plate, she started to pile food onto it—a mixture of sausages, fried tomatoes, chips, and some dinner rolls. Another plate got a hearty helping of mashed potatoes and gravy, a thin steak, some asparagus, and some rolls as well. She did her best to vary the foods on the plates, not wanting the brothers to starve, but also not wanting to seem like she didn't really care about what she gave them.

By the time she was finished, she had filled two of the serving trays. Each one she lifted up, balancing them in her palms as she walked through the kitchen and out into the common room. Her brows furrowed slightly—some of the tables had been shoved off to the side and a group of Bracegirdles and Bolgers were dancing in the middle of the room as music started to play. Ernest and his boys were on the far side of the room, past the dancing hobbits and the stacked-up tables.

"Oh dear," she murmured. "Now this is a bit of a pickle." She looked around for any sort of path that would let her get through. Finally, she spotted one—it'd be a bit risky, as she would have to get close to the drunken dancers. 'I think I can do it, though. Just need to time things with the song…'

She made her way through the room, carefully weaving and winding her way along the invisible path. More than once, she found herself having to duck under flailing arms or sharply turning her body to avoid hitting a patron. But, after five harrowing minutes, she finally made it to the table of Bolgers.

"Sorry about the wait, sirs," she apologized. Setting one of the trays down on the table, she began to unload it with her free hand. "Things got a wee bit crazy, as you can see."

"It's no trouble, Miss Baggins," Ernest told her. "When you put Bolgers and Bracegirdles together, 'crazy' is usually the least of your problems." He grinned as she set the bowl of stew in front of him. "Ahh, there was enough left for a bowl, then? My stomach is going to be mighty happy."

"You got the very last of it, in fact," she chuckled. "I almost had to hop inside the pot to get all out!"

One of the brothers snickered. "Well, no offense, Miss Baggins, but you are about the size of a walnut."

Her brow rose and she let out a laugh. "That's funny—da' was just telling me the other day that I was the size of an acorn!" She placed the final plate in front of him before setting a gravy boat in the center of the table. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Oh, this is more than enough, Miss Baggins," Ernest told her. "Thank you very much."

Plucking up her serving trays, she smiled. "Just give a holler if you do need something—we might hear it over this racket." She then turned and let them be, knowing that they wanted to get their bellies filled. Navigating her way through the crowd, she glanced at the clock when she finally reached the other side. Seeing that it was half-past six, her eyes widened.

"Oh bollocks," she murmured. "I told da' I'd be home by now!" She looked around the room and, spotting a hobbit lass with dark curls as well as one with golden waves, she let out a sigh of relief. 'Good, good—Wenna and Rosamunda are here. I won't feel too guilty about clocking out…' she thought.

She went over to the innkeeper, where she set her trays down. "Mister Posca, do you mind if I head home? I told da' I'd try to be home by this time."

At her words, the older hobbit jumped, his eyes wide in surprise. "Blessing above, Baylee—you just about scared me half to death!"

"I'm sorry, sir," she said with a small frown. "I thought you had seen me coming."

He shook his head. "I must have been distracted…There are a lot of mugs that need washing, after all." Then, looking at the clock, he swore under his breath. "It's already half past six? Aye, Miss Baggins, you're free to go home. The others should be able to handle it from here."

A bit of relief came to her features. "Thank you, Mister Posco. I'll see you tomorrow—two to seven, right?"

"That's right, lass. Have a good night an' tell your dad I say hullo!"

"Will do! Goodnight!"

Taking her leave of the Green Dragon, she paused once she was a few strides from the front door. The air out here was much cooler; it was refreshing to breathe in and to feel against her sweaty skin. She began to walk once more, reaching behind her and undoing the ribbon that held her apron in place before taking it off and wiping her face down with a clean corner.

'Oh, this is so much better,' she told herself. 'As much as I love a good party, I prefer them to be held outdoors—where the smoke can be blown away and the drunks have more room to mill about.' A small chuckle left her mouth and she lightly shook her head.

As she walked, she looked up The Hill, where Bag End was. She could see that the parlor and kitchen lights were lit and a smile came to her lips. 'Da's probably got supper cooking away—well, actually, it's probably done by now.' Her stomach suddenly growled with hunger and, despite no one being around, her cheeks started to burn with embarrassment. 'That's what I get for not eating since second breakfast…'

Within half of an hour, she was walking into the front hall of Bag End. "Da', I'm home!" she called out. "Sorry I'm late—things got a bit crazy down at the Dragon!" She hung her apron up on a hook near the door only to stop and frown. There was an unfamiliar, forest-green cloak hanging there.

Bilbo suddenly came hurrying into the hall; he was in his dressing gown, though he still wore the day's clothes beneath it. "B-Baylee, dear," he said, his voice a mixture of panicked and exasperated. "I-I think it's best if you-you stay in your room for a while, alright?" As he spoke, he grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around so that she was facing ahead of him.

"Why? What's wrong?" she asked. "And who owns that cloak?" she questioned, her brows furrowing as he started to gently push her down the hall.

Her father nervously looked over his shoulder, as if expecting someone to sneak up on him. "W-w-well, you see, I was eating supper when this dwarf came to the door. Before I could stop him, he just—he just came barging in! Like he owned the place!"

Looking over her shoulder at him, she frowned. "Why in the world would a dwarf just barge into Bag End like that?" she replied, her voice sounding a bit bland. If this was her father's idea of a prank, it wasn't very funny.

"I don't know! And to make matters worse, he's gone and eaten the supper I had prepared for us—"

The doorbell suddenly rang, startling them both. Swallowing hard, Bilbo stiffened. "Baylee. Room. Now."

Baylee's brow rose as she watched her father walk towards the door. She crouched down beside her grandmother's glory box, peeking over the top of it. As the door swung open, she could see a dwarf with a long, white beard that was forked towards the bottom. Her head tilted; hobbits didn't normally facial hair, so to see a beard as long as his was a bit fascinating.

"Balin, at your service," he said with a friendly and a small bow.

Bilbo, however, was clearly still in shock. "G-good evening."

"Yes, yes it is!" Balin agreed with a chuckle. He then walked into the hall, as if he had been invited in. "Though, I think it may rain later…Am I late?"

"Llllate…for what?"

Balin suddenly turned his head towards the parlor. "Oh!" he exclaimed before heading in. "Evenin' brother!"

Baylee darted out from her hiding spot, ducking into the kitchen through the side door. On the kitchen table, she could see a mess of a plate, fish bones and bits of vegetables that had gone uneaten scattered around it—certainly not the fashion her father would leave a plate. Peeking around the corner, she could see another dwarf; this one standing a good four inches taller than Balin and who, from what she could see, had tattoos in place of hair along the center of his scalp.

'That is the largest dwarf I've ever seen,' she thought, her eyes widening. Not that she had seen many dwarves in her lifetime—the few she had seen previously, she had seen from afar in the market. They would sometimes drop in to trade minerals and gems for tobacco or wool.

There was suddenly a dull thud as the two dwarves butted their heads together. The sound made her cringe, but they were, apparently, unaffected.

"Uh, excuse me—sorry, I hate to interrupt," her father squeaked, "but the, ah, thing is, I'm not entirely sure you're in the right house!"

Balin and the other dwarf continued to converse with one another, ignoring Bilbo. As they came towards the kitchen, she pressed herself against the wall—and just in time. They walked right past, taking no notice of her; Bilbo didn't seem to notice her either. The three made their way to the pantry.

"Have yeh eaten?" the big dwarf asked. He grabbed a wooden mug and started to fill it with ale.

"Not yet, no—I was told there'd be food. And it looks like there's plenty of it!" Balin let out a hearty laugh.

Bilbo, meanwhile, continued to ramble on as if the two were paying attention to him. "It's not that I don't like visitors; I-I-I like visitors as much as the next hobbit," he told them, "but I do like to know them before they come visiting!"

"Ah, that looks very nice indeed." Balin had picked up loaf of bread she had baked the previous day.

The other one motioned towards a lump of cheese. "What's that?"

Plucking it from the shelf, Balin inspected it. "I don't know—looks like cheese? But it's gone blue."

"It's riddled with mold." Taking the cheese from his brother, he tossed it over his shoulder.

Baylee's eyes widened and she lunged forward, catching the cheese before it could hit the floor. "This is supposed to be blue!" she scolded.

All three males spun around, looking at her in shock. She felt her cheeks beginning to burn as she realized she had been caught. An innocent smile came to her lips as she saw how flustered her father now looked.

"Well, aren't you a little thing!" Balin chuckled. "We weren't told that you had a family, Mister Baggins."

Bilbo's cheeks were burning with frustration. "Baylee, I told you to go to your room," he said, doing his best to remain polite in front of these strangers.

She was about to reply when the doorbell rang again. "I'll get that!" she chirped. As she turned and darted away, she could hear Bilbo uselessly protesting. Passing through the kitchen, she set the cheese on the table and grabbed a dinner roll in its place.

The doorbell rang a second time just as her hand touched the handle. Opening the door, she was greeted by the sight of two more dwarves—these two being much younger looking than Balin and his brother.

"Fili," said the blonde.

"And Kili," said the brunette.

"At your service," they chorused, bowing in unison.

As Kili stood upright again, he grinned. "You must be Mister—" The smiled faded from his face slightly as he realized he was not talking to a male hobbit, but a female one. "Ah, Miss Boggins!"

"Baggins, actually," she gently corrected. "Baylee Baggins at your service." She then squeaked and hurriedly stepping aside as the two came walking into the house. "U-Um, pardon me, but why, exactly, are you lot here?"

Fili removed a belt from around his torso. "He told us to come here, of course." He dumped the belt—which was attached to a pair of swords—on the floor.

"And who is 'he'?"

"It's nice, this place!" Kili complimented. As he spoke, he scraped some mud off his boots on the edge of the box that Baylee had hidden behind earlier. "D'you do it yourself?"

"N-No, my grandfather—" Her eyes widened as she saw him cleaning his shoes on the glory box. "Excuse me, please don't do that! Tha-That's my grandmother's glory box! It's rather precious to us!"

The large dwarf suddenly appeared, clapping Kili on the shoulder. "Fili, Kili, come on. Give us a hand," he gruffed.

Kili looked as if he were in awe. "Mister Dwalin!"

"So that's his name," Baylee murmured. She followed after them, barely remembering to take a bite of the roll she had snatched just a few minutes ago.

"Let's shove this in the hallway," Balin was saying from the dining room, "otherwise we'll never get everyone in."

"Ev-everyone?" Bilbo cried. "How many more are there!?" He looked over at his daughter, the scolding look coming to his face. "Baylee, I said—" But, yet again, the doorbell rang, interrupting him. Before his daughter had the chance to move, he stormed past her. "Oh no. No, no, no!" he cried, making his way to the door. "There's nobody home! Go away and bother somebody else!" He winced as his toes caught on the hilt of one of Fili's swords and, holding onto his foot, he hissed quietly in pain. "There's far too many dwarves in my dining as it is. If-if-if this is some clot-head's idea of a joke, I can only say that it is in very poor taste!" Despite his words, his hand grabbed the handle of the door and yanked it open.

Baylee, of course, had followed him. When he opened the door, she had to bite back a giggle as nine dwarves came tumbling in in a large heap. One of them, she could see, was very fat—and he was the one at the top of the pile. From behind the dwarves, though, an old man caught her attention. He wore grey, travel-worn clothes and had a large, pointy hat on his head. In his hand, he held a walking stick and, on his face, there was an amused smile.

"Gandalf," she whispered, her eyes widening. She had never seen the old wizard before, but she had heard plenty of stories about him.

"Careful! Careful, now!" Gandalf chuckled. Reaching down, he hoisted the fat dwarf onto his feet. "It's not like you, Bilbo, to keep friends waiting on the mat and then yank open the door like that!"

Freed from the weight of the fat dwarf, the others hopped to their feet.

"Dori," said the one with silver hair pulled back in intricate braids.

"Nori," said the one with reddish-brown hair in the shape of a star.

"Ori," said the youngest of the group, his dirty-blonde hair cut short.

"Oin," said the eldest of the group, his grey, braided mustache resembling tusks.

"Gloin," said the one with the largest red beard out of them all.

"Bifur," said the dwarf with wild black-and-white hair and—was that an ax?!—sticking out of his forehead.

"Bofur!" said the one with a hat and brown, braided pigtails.

"And Bombur," said the fat dwarf, whose gingery beard was braided in an immense circle.

"At your service!" the lot of them chorus while bowing.

She looked at her father; his face was pale and almost clammy; a part of her wondered if he was going to faint. Clearing her throat, she stepped forward. "And Bilbo and Baylee Baggins at yours!" she replied, offering the group a friendly smile.

A curious look came to Gandalf's face as the dwarves filed in past the two hobbits. "…I wasn't aware you had taken a wife, Bilbo," he said.

"Wh-wh-what?! Wife!? No—heavens, no!" Bilbo stammered. "Baylee's my daughter!" He then shook his head and rested both palms on his forehead. "Oooh dear…oooh dear, what is happening right now…?"

"It would seem that we're having an unexpected party," Baylee said, rubbing the side of her neck. She glanced over in time to see—was it Nori? Yes, Nori—walking by with a stack of plates balanced in one hand. "O-oh, be careful please!" she called out. "Those are our good plates!"

Finding herself ducking and weaving through the throng of dwarves, she hurried towards the pantry. "Please not all the wine! I was going to make stew with that!"

"Here, be a good lass and take this to the table," Gloin said, tossing her a platter containing an entire roast chicken.

She nearly swore as she leapt forward, catching the plate; the bottom of it was still warm, letting her know that her father had cooked it earlier in the day.

"Take this, too, lass!"

She just barely had time to get the chicken balanced on one hand when Nori tossed her a bowl of bread. How she caught it, she wasn't sure—but she thanked her blessings that she had. With little choice left to her, she moved to take the food to the dining room, finding herself having to navigate through the dwarves as they all but ransacked Bag End in their search for furniture and food.

"No, no! That's Grandpa Mungo's chair!" she heard Bilbo cry from the parlor. "No, I'm sorry, you'll have to that it back, please."

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. Turning around, she looked up to find Dori. "Excuse me, Miss Baggins," he said, "but would you be so kind as to tell me where your wineglasses are?"

"Uh-um, in the cabinet in the back-left corner of the pantry," she replied. "Be careful with the door; it likes to get stuck."

"Thank you very much!" And with that, he hurried off.

'I don't know if this is better or worse than the Green Dragon,' she thought, pressing herself against the wall as Fili and Kili carried a table in from the smoking room. "Oh, be careful!" she squeaked, her eyes wide.

"Sorry, Miss Boggins!" Kili said as they set the table down right up against the end of the dining table.

"It's Baggins, you knucklehead," Fili sternly corrected. He then looked at Baylee, giving her an apologetic smile. "But aye, we're sorry! We didn't see you. Could you tell us where we could get more chairs?"

She blinked, her mind racing with all the chairs she had already seen be dragged out that night. "Um, I think all the chairs are taken—but there is a bench out in the garden?"

"Wonderful! How do we get out there?"

"Follow the hallway until the fork at the end. It'll be the last door on the left."

"Thank you, Miss Baggins!"

As the two walked off, Baylee wondered if she should have told them where the garden was. Before she could think on it much longer, however, someone came around the corner and slammed into her. A small yelp of surprise left her mouth as she tumbled sideways, but someone caught her before she could fall.

"Sorry 'bout that, Miss Baggins," Dwalin called from inside the dining room. "I didn't see yeh there!"

"You're not hurt, are you, miss?" She looked up only to see Ori. "Dwalin's got a lot of spiky bits on him; I hope he didn't cut you…" He set her on her feet, a worried look on his face.

She shook her head, brushing down her skirts. "N-No, no, I'm fine, I assure you," she told him. "Have you seen my da'?"

"I saw him by Mister Gandalf by the front door."

"Thank you, Master Ori."

As she walked towards the front entrance, she could see that it was still just as chaotic as she had left it. Feeling like she was being followed, she glanced over her shoulder to see that Ori was following her, a bowl of tomatoes now in hand.

"Fili, Kili…Oin, Gloin…" Gandalf was muttering to himself, counting on his fingers. "Dwalin, Balin—Bifur, Bofur, Bombur…" He turned around in a circle, his eyes narrowing as he tried to keep track of all the dwarves. "Dori, Nori…ahh, and Ori."

Spotting Bilbo, Baylee went over to him; he still looked a bit pale. "Da'? Are you alright? Do you need me to make you some tea?"

The only thing he could muster in reply was a somewhat squeaky half-groan.

Bifur walked past them and up to Gandalf. He spoke to the wizard in a strange tongue before raising his forearm and smacking it with his other hand.

Gandalf nodded in understanding. "Yes, you're quite right, Bifur. We do appear to be one dwarf short."

"There's supposed to be another!?" Baylee gawked, though she went unnoticed.

"He is late is all," Dwalin replied. As Bofur walked by with two mugs of ale, he grabbed one. "He travelled north to a meeting of our kin. He will come." He then turned, joining the rest of the dwarves in the dining room.

Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, no, no," he groaned. "Not more dwarves…"

Baylee lightly patted his shoulder. "There's still a chair in the parlor, da'," she told him. "Why don't you have a seat and I'll bring you a spot of tea and a bite to eat?"

"What's left to eat!?" he cried. He motioned at the dining room. "They've got all our food, Baylee!" He slumped against the wall, a hand on his forehead as he groaned. His brows suddenly furrowed in confusion as he felt something slip into his hand. Looking down, he found a dinner roll with a single, small bite taken out of it. He then glanced around for Baylee, but couldn't find her.

And that was due to the fact that she was in the kitchen. Her father had been right—the pantry had been picked clean of nearly everything, as had the kitchen. Spotting an empty bowl, she grabbed it before looking into the dining room. The dwarves had packed themselves in quite tight—there wasn't much space between them and the walls of the room. In fact, Fili was forced to climb onto the table in order to bring an ale down to Oin.

'But there's enough room for a hobbit to sneak through,' she thought, a determined look coming to her features.

Pressing herself against the wall, she started to make her way through the room. Whenever she spotted a bit of food that was untouched and within reach, her arm darted out, snatching it up before adding it to the bowl. It was an extremely tricky task, given how much the dwarves were throwing food around and how their limbs were flailing about. She did get a bit of a reprieve halfway, though, when they suddenly paused to chug their ales down in unison. Finally reaching the end of the table, she narrowly avoided getting squished under Bofur who, in a fit of laughter, fell off his stool.

"You're quite the little sneak, aren't you?"

She squeaked and spun around, clutching the bowl to her chest. There stood Gandalf, an amused smile on his lips. "M-M-Mister Gandalf, sir!" she stammered. "I-I was just getting some food for my da' is all!"

He chuckled and nodded his head slowly in understanding. "I suppose it's not counted as theft if you're taking back your own food." He inhaled some smoke from his pipe as he looked her over. "You seem to be handling this much better than your father."

She swallowed hard, glancing into the parlor where Bilbo was pacing. "T-to be honest sir, I am quite overwhelmed. But I was just down at the Green Dragon, helping out at a party even more rambunctious than this one—"

"A hard feat to accomplish!" he laughed. "But then again, an inn full of drunken hobbits can be quite hazardous to one's health."

"Especially when you're toting around trays full of drinks that you just filled and food that's piping hot," she thought aloud.

"Hm?" She glanced over as Nori leaned forward. "Drink refills you say? Aye, I'll take one, lass!"

"N-no, I was just telling Gandalf—"

"I could use a refill, too, Miss Baggins!" Dori said, holding up his wine glass.

Before she could correct them, the others were all calling for refills on their drinks. Not wanting to be impolite, Baylee tucked the bowl of food away in a safe spot before going to grab some trays for the mugs and glasses to sit on.

'So this is what da' meant when he said wizards bring nothing but trouble,' she thought some minutes later. She turned the spigot on the ale barrel, making sure to keep the mug tilted so it wouldn't over-foam. 'I would have never guessed dwarves to be such rowdy folk! The ones who come to the market always seem so polite and careful.' Shaking her head, she set the full mug aside in favor of grabbing another empty one. 'I can't say it's all bad, though. I've never seen this many dwarves at one time…and, individually, they can be polite. But, they're not hobbits—why should I expect them to act like such?'

Getting the last mug filled, she went over to the wine and, finding that Dori had left the bottle on the counter near the wineglasses, she grabbed it. She had to used her teeth to uncork it, however, as the cork had been pushed back in rather tightly. A small curse left her mouth as, thanks to the force she had to use, she was thrown off balance when the cork came out. Luckily, as she fell to the floor, her layers of petticoats cushioned her fall.

Unluckily, she now had a large splash of red wine right down the front of her light-green dress.

"Oh, bollocks," she grumbled. "Thankfully, this wasn't one of my favorites, anyway." Standing up, she sighed and went to refill Dori's wine. She then replaced the cork—not nearly as tight as before—and arranged the mugs so that their handles were all facing outwards.

It was a hard task, fitting eleven tankards and one wine glass onto just two trays, but she managed by fitting the wineglass in the center of one tray. She then lifted the trays, balancing each one on her palm, and made her way back through the nearly-empty pantry to the dining room.

"Alright, lads, your drinks are back," she called overtop the noise they were making. "Take one down and pass it around!" She handed one tray to Nori and the other to Gloin. "Make sure Master Dori gets his wine!" Taking a step back, she watched as the dwarves did just that—they each took one of the tankards before passing the tray along. She was surprised by their politeness with this act; considering how they had been throwing food around earlier, she had half-expected them to fling the trays.

Brushing some hair from her face, she walked into the kitchen just in time to grab the now-empty trays from Fili and Kili. She placed them on the counter before leaning against it for a moment as a wave of lightheadedness washed over her. A small groan left her mouth and she closed her eyes.

"Food. I need to get some food in me," she mumbled. Remembering her hidden bowl, she retrieved it from the cupboard and started to sort through what she had managed to scavenge. She had meant to give this to her father, but after having caught a glimpse of him in the parlor, she knew he was in no mood to eat. "Two chicken legs, some cherry tomatoes, a bit of cheese—a pickle? Why in the world did I grab that? I don't even like pickles!" Shaking her head, she set it off to the side before grabbing one of the chicken legs.

'Maybe when they're done, I'll see if I can get anything for da'…' Taking another bite of chicken, she could feel the lightheadedness beginning to fade away. 'And I really must remember to not go so long between meals! There's a reason we hobbits have seven meals most days!' She reached over, grabbing a napkin—curiously, one of the few items the dwarves did not grab—and used it to wipe her face before taking a third bite of chicken. 'Da' used the good seasoning salt on this one…'

After eating both chicken legs and the tomatoes, she returned to the pantry in hopes of finding something that she could use to make herself a proper meal. What she just ate could hardly be considered a snack, let alone a meal, to a hobbit, and her stomach was demanding more. She thoroughly searched the room, even climbing onto counters to see the top shelves and practically climbing under them to see if anything had been dropped and rolled under.

Her search wasn't in vain. She found that there was a crate of potatoes and a crate of onions left untouched due to them being uncooked. Upon going into the cold cellar, she found a couple of jars of chicken stock that she and Bilbo had made just a few days ago, so she grabbed those as well.

'I can make a decent potato soup with these,' she thought. 'And if the lads have any leftover ham, which I doubt, I could throw that in, too.' She then paused in her steps. 'Wait. We didn't put the good ham in the pantry…' A small grin appeared on her lips and, jars in hand, she darted across the hall into the kitchen. After putting the jars down on the table, she hurried to the corner where a set of cabinets had been built into the wall. Flinging open the doors, her eyes widened and she did a little hop of joy.

Hanging from the top of the cabinet was a large, cherrywood smoked, bone-in ham. Then, remembering that they had company, she shut the doors again. 'Don't need them taking this just yet—especially since Halfast saved it just for me and da'…' Her cheeks flushed slightly at the thought of the handsome, young butcher.

She was in the middle of sautéing some diced onions when Bilbo came in. He wasn't nearly as pale now, but he still looked quite irritated.

"How're you doing, da'?" she asked him. She moved to grab the kettle and, finding it full, put it on the stove grate to heat up.

"I don't know," he admitted, plopping down at the table. "There are twelve dwarves and a wizard in our house; our pantry's all but empty; and our plumbing is in ruins. You tell me how I'm doing." Slouching forward, he buried his face in his hands for a moment.

Baylee sat beside him and rested her head against his shoulder. "At least they've quieted down now," she murmured. "They must finally be eating rather than playing with their food."

A small, albeit feeble, laugh left his mouth. "That's true," he agreed. Looking up, he sniffed the air. "What're you cooking?"

"It's going to be potato and ham soup."

His brows rose and he glanced down at her. "We had that many ingredients left?"

"The onions were raw, as were the potatoes. And the chicken stock was in the cold cellar, which wasn't really touched." A mischievous twinkle came to her eyes and she grinned cheekily. "And the cherrywood-smoked ham was hidden away, so it's untouched."

Bilbo's eyes widened and a grin slowly spread across his lips. "Are you serious?" he whispered, afraid that the dwarves may overhear and come steal the ham, too. As Baylee nodded, he got up and went over to the cupboard. He opened the doors just enough to peek in. "Oh, bless me, it's true!" Just as his daughter had done, he quickly closed the cabinet so no one else could see inside.

Baylee giggled as she stood up, moving to stir the onions around. "I was so relieved when I remembered it. I wish I could use it in something better than soup, but…desperate times call for desperate measures." Lifting a large bowl filled with cubed potatoes, she carefully poured its contents into the soup pot. "Can you bring me the stock, please?"

Spotting the two jars, he grabbed them and brought them over to the stove. "Would you like me to pour them in for you?" he questioned as he opened both jars for her.

"Yes, please." She grabbed a wooden box and flicked it open to reveal its contents—salt. As Bilbo poured the stock into the pot, she used a spoon to scoop some of the salt out of the box and into the pot.

"Shouldn't you use more than that?" he asked, his brow rising.

"After I add in the ham, I'll check it." She set the box down in favor of another, smaller box—this one contained pepper. "Hm. I might need some cream once these potatoes cook down…"

At that, Bilbo frowned. "I saw the dwarves take the cream. It's probably gone by now."

Her brow rose. "Why in the world would they want cream?" She then shook her head. "Never mind. I'll go see if they've left any."

His frown grew in size. "Wh-wh-what do you mean, you'll go see if there's—" But as he glanced over to look at his daughter, he found she was gone. Spinning around, he was just in time to see a bit of her green skirt disappear around the corner and into the dining room.

'Cream…cream…where is that pitcher of cream?' she thought, trying to see the table from between the dwarves. It was easier than her first venture in; the dwarves really were concentrating more on eating than amusing themselves. She was a little surprised to see that Gandalf had wedged himself in amongst the group, eating away.

Then, as she found herself behind Ori, Fili, and Kili, she spotted a familiar pitcher. 'Aha!' Carefully, she leaned forward, her small arm slipping between them. But it was just out of reach. She frowned, doing her best to stretch, but her fingertips could just barely brush against the handle.

"Kili, be a good lad and hand Miss Baggins that pitcher of cream, will you?" Gandalf suddenly said.

She blinked in surprise and confusion, lifting her head in time to see Kili looking down at her with nearly an identical expression. Startled by her sudden appearance, he cried out and tried to shove himself away from her only to get pushed back by Fili. Yelping herself, she hopped backwards—not that she could hop very far, thanks to there being a wall behind her.

"Mahal's beard, when did you get there!?" he gasped as the others started to laugh at their reactions.

"A-a-about two minutes ago," she stammered, wondering who 'Mahal' was. She bit her lower lip, feeling her cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I promise I didn't mean to startle you. I just need that cream there."

He stared at her for a few seconds longer before nodding slowly. Grabbing the pitcher, he made to hand it to her, but before she could take it, he pulled it out of her reach and pointed a finger at her. "No more sneaking around like a mouse," he jokingly scolded. "Or we'll have to put a bell on you." Only then did he hand over the pitcher.

She quickly thanked him and made her way back to the kitchen, where Bilbo was nervously pacing. "Got the cream," she told him, pushing a bit of hair from her face. She suddenly squeaked as Bilbo gently grabbed onto her shoulders.

"You're not hurt, are you? I heard yelling!" He looked down at her, worry all over his features.

"I'm fine, da', I'm fine," she assured him. "Kili and I startled each other is all." She gave him a small smile and reached up, patting the top of his head.

A heavy sigh left his mouth and he nodded, letting go of her shoulders. "Good, good…I don't know what I would have done if you had gotten hurt—there's so many of them in there, I don't know if I would have been able to reach you!"

"I don't think you'd have to worry about that." She set the cream down on the table before going to stir the soup. Her brow rose—there wasn't nearly as much stock in it as she expected. "Yes, they're rambunctious, but they're not a particularly violent lot." Looking at the counter beside her, though, she discovered why the pot wasn't full: Bilbo had only added in one of the jars. Sighing, she picked up the second and poured its contents into the pot as well.