A/N: Hello lovely readers~! I am back from my posting break and I come to you with an announcement about a new upload schedule: Due to still having difficulties writing, I'm going to post one chapter from each of my three stories once a month. This will hopefully make me get back on track with writing, since I still have a deadline motivating me to write, while also giving me some leeway should I have absolutely no energy for writing a night or two in a row. The new schedule can be found in my bio, so if you'd like to stay up-to-date on things, feel free to check that out.

In story news, this chapter is definitely one of my favorites so far. It starts off very sweet and cute, but at the end...well, it's (in my opinion) hilariously unexpected and I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it~!

"Are these the best you've got?"

"I'm afraid so, master dwarf."

"Yeh can't even call these weapons—they're just…cobbled together tools!" Dwalin dropped the makeshift mace down onto the table, shaking his head. There was almost a look of disgust on his face.

Bard frowned as he watched Thorin and Balin set a makeshift flail and a makeshift sword down on the table as well; both didn't seem very impressed. "I'm sorry, but these are the best you'll find outside of the armory—and the Master keeps that locked up just as tight as the town's coffers if not tighter."

"Why is that?" Bilbo questioned, his brows furrowed slightly. "Shouldn't the armory be easily accessible in case of attack?"

Bain shook his head. "The Master fears that, one day, the people of Laketown will rise up against him, so the only people who have access to the armory are his closet allies and the city guard."

Sigrid scrunched her nose up in distaste. "If he wasn't so greedy and cruel, he wouldn't need to worry about a revolt," she sighed.

"Regardless," Bard said, bringing the conversation back on track, "these are the best weapons you'll find in the town that don't belong to the city guard…Or to your two hobbits here." His brow rose slightly as he looked, first at Bilbo who stood before him, and then at Baylee, who was standing on a chair at the kitchen counter.

Thorin let out a small curse in Khuzdul, his eyes closing as he crossed his arms over his chest. "These can barely pierce flesh, let alone orcish armor," he grumbled. It was a struggle for him to remain relatively polite; he had promised Baylee he wouldn't be harsh with the human and his family, but when he and the company had given this man all their coin in return for promised weapons, these were most definitely not what he had had in mind.

"…We could try sharpening them," Ori suggested. "They're made of good metal. Put them to a grinding wheel an' they'll get a good edge in no time."

"Where are we going t' get a grinding wheel in this place?" Nori grumbled. "At most, we'll find half-worn whetstones."

"And some of these would need to be fire-hardened if we wanted them t' hold proper edges," Fili stated. "The metal's good, aye, but a bit brittle. It needs a forge."

"If there's a blacksmith in this city, then he'd have a grindin' wheel an' a forge," Gloin offered. "We'd just need t' find out way to the smithy."

Baylee lightly shook her head as she heard the others starting to discuss the possibility of breaking into a blacksmith's shop or even the armory itself. Blowing a stray lock of hair from her face, she continued to knead half of a large ball of dough she had made. Beside her, Tilda also stood on a stool as she kneaded the other half of the dough.

"Am I doing this right?" the girl asked, a look of concentration on her face as she pushed the dough, folded it over, turned it, and then pushed it again.

"You are," Baylee smiled. "Though, you might want to try using the heel of your hand more. It'll help keep your fingers from getting as sore."

She nodded in understanding and started to do as instructed. "And how long do we have to knead this for?"

"Until it's nice and smooth. You're already about halfway there, so not much longer." Looking down at her own dough ball, she found that hers, too, was about halfway to the stopping point.

Tilda glanced over at her; the stool she was on was shorter than the chair Baylee was on, and yet she was still the taller of the two. "Then what will we do with the dough?"

"We'll let it rest for a bit while we work on the soup." She used the back of her wrist to push the loose lock of hair out of her face. "Then, while the soup is cooking, we'll turn this dough into dumplings."

"I don't think I've ever seen dumplings made from a dough quite like this…Will they turn light and fluffy?"

She shook her head. "They'll be a bit chewy, but just as filling as the fluffy sort of dumplings."

"And you really think a big cauldron of soup will be enough to feed everyone?" She looked over at her again, continuing to knead.

"I'm hoping it'll be enough," Baylee replied. "The lads can be quite…voracious at times."

Tilda's head tilted curiously. "What does 'voracious' mean?"

"It means to have a very big appetite. Very big." She lifted her half of the dough and plopped it into the large wooden bowl on her right. "Luckily, though, our group isn't starving by any means—well, except for maybe Bombur, but he's always hungry." Shaking her head, she scooted the bowl so that it was in front of her. "The dough should be good now, dear. Go ahead and add it in with the other half."

Doing as instructed, Tilda lifted the wad of dough before placing it into the bowl. She watched as Baylee draped a clean dishtowel over it before sliding the bowl away. "Now onto the vegetables, right? What sorts of vegetables will we be using?"

"Hm. That is a good question. Let me see what you have and then I'll know." Sitting down on the chair, she slid her legs over the side of it before slipping down onto the floor. She then followed Tilda, who had also hopped back onto the floor, into the pantry. Guilt filled her stomach as she looked around; aside from a large sack of grain and a bounty of root vegetables like potatoes, carrots, and parsnips, the shelves were sparsely filled.

'I don't like that there's so many of us staying here,' she thought. 'While this food could keep four humans fed for months, it's hardly enough to keep thirteen dwarves, two hobbits, and four humans fed for a few days…'

Tilda frowned slightly when Baylee had been quiet for a few minutes. "Is everything alright, Miss Baylee? Are you not seeing anything you want to use?"

The young voice pulling her from her thoughts, Baylee looked up at her, giving her a reassuring smile. "No, no, that's not it at all. I'm just trying to think of how to make things stretch is all. I don't want to be using up all of your family's food, after all." She then put her hands on her hips. "And I think I know just how to do that. It's going to take a number of potatoes, about four onions, and a good handful of carrots to do it, though."

"And what about meat?" Tilda then asked.

"Hm. Do you have any chicken?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm afraid not. We've got some ham, cured pork belly, and smoked brisket, though."

A contemplative look came to Baylee's features. "I don't think any of those would go too well with the rest of the soup, I'm afraid."

"Shall I have Sigrid or Bain run to the market?" Both girls squeaked and spun around to find Bard standing in the doorway, an amused smile on his lips.

"O-Oh, there's no need," Baylee assured him. "I'm sure I could think of something—"

"I still have some silver leftover," he interjected. "And these coins are worth double our currency. One silver could fetch four hearty chickens at the very least." Though he continued to smile, Baylee could tell he was exhausted and she really couldn't blame him.

Nodding slowly, but still feeling guilty, she said, "Then I suppose sending one of them wouldn't hurt too much. The birds will make for a richer broth at the very least."

"And given how many mouths you'll be feeding, I'm sure it'll also help keep bellies full," he added with a small chuckle. "Which, thank you again for doing this. Even though you're our guest and we should be the ones cooking."

Her hands still on her hips, Baylee pouted and wagged a scolding finger at him; she heard Tilda giggle beside her and could see that Bard was biting back a laugh. "You're the one who's being severely inconvenienced by our presence," she told him. "Cooking a meal or two is the least I can do to repay your kindness. I'm just sorry there's not more we could do to make things easier for you and your family."

He quietly laughed once more. "That's very kind of you, little mistress," he told her. "But I'm sure we'll continue being able to manage. Now, let me find my son so he can go fetch you some chickens." Turning, he left the pantry.

"Your poor da' looks like he could use a nice, hot cup of tea and a long nap," Baylee sighed quietly.

Tilda nodded in agreement. "Yes…He's normally quite tired after retrieving the barrels from Mirkwood, but I'm afraid you lot have him worn out." As Baylee motioned for her to help her lift one of the baskets of potatoes, she went over and grabbed the opposite handle. "But if it's any consolation, he'll get a good night's sleep tonight!" She gave the hobbit a broad, reassuring smile as they carried the basket out of the pantry.

After getting the potatoes out of the pantry, the two went back in; Tilda grabbed about six carrots while Baylee, standing on her tippiest of toes, grabbed four large onions. Once they had all the ingredients gathered together, it was time for peeling and cutting.

"Now," Baylee said, brushing off her apron, "let me see what sorts of knives you have."

"Not many, I'm afraid," the girl admitted. She took Baylee over to a drawer where there were just four knives: A cleaver, a paring knife, and two carving knives.

She somewhat frowned. "Alright…how well can you use a knife?"

Her cheeks turning a bit pink, Tilda gave her a bit of a bashful smile. "I'm not allowed to use them yet. Sigrid, though, can use them pretty well. So can Bain. Bain's always helping her by peeling the vegetables…but since he's running to town for da', he won't be able to help."

"That's fine. Knives take a long while to learn how to use well. Why don't you fetch your sister and I'll fetch my da' to help peel all these?"

Nodding, Tilda wore a large grin and darted off to go find her sister. Baylee, meanwhile, picked up one of the knives and flicked her thumb across the blade. She was pleased to find that the blade was quite sharp—a good thing, as cuts from dull knives were always far worse than cuts from sharp knives. The other three knives were just as sharp, making her smile slightly.

'Well, now I know I won't have to use my sword for peeling,' she thought. Turning around, she searched through the crowd of dwarves for any sign of her father, but she was too short to see very far. As such, she instead went to the nearest dwarf—Dori—to ask if he knew where he was.

"Aye, he's over there, lass," Dori said, pointing across the way to where Kili had been getting his leg tended to. "He an' Thorin are fussing over Kili at the moment."

"Thank you," she chirped before heading off. Walking past the table, she saw that it was still covered with the makeshift weapons. 'I don't know what the others were complaining about…those look more deadlier than most of the weapons they had been wielding on this journey,' she thought.

"No, no, no—you absolutely cannot do that," Bilbo was saying as Baylee approached, his tone stern. She also noticed that he sounded a bit nasally, as if his nose were stuffed up. "You need to keep your weight off that leg for a few hours at the very least."

Kili pouted. "But I want t' get up and move around! I don't like sitting still for so long."

"Master Baggins is correct," Thorin told him, his tone firm. "You need to keep your weight off of that leg for as long as possible. Ever since you got hit with that arrow, you were walking around with it inside your thigh. There is not telling what sort of damage has been caused to your muscles."

"Not to mention, how much blood he might've lost," Bilbo added.

"Actually, since the arrow stayed inside him, he didn't lose too much," Fili corrected. "Which is why you don't pull arrows out o' wounds until you're with a healer. Not only will the wound bleed pretty badly, but there's also a chance o' the arrowhead being barbed, which will tear as it comes out."

Baylee's nose scrunched up slightly. "I came here at the wrong time…" she said, startling the four males. An apologetic smile came to her lips as she looked up at them. "Sorry to interrupt, but I need to steal my da' for a bit."

Bilbo frowned slightly in confusion. "What do you need me for?"

"To help peel potatoes. If you don't mind, that is."

He made a bit of a displeased face at this; Bilbo hated peeling potatoes. He had always maintained that they were better (and better for you) with their peels on, so it was of no surprise to Baylee when he protested the notion. "You should just leave their skins on, dear. It'll be quicker to get them all cut up that way, too."

"Except I need them to thicken a soup and I don't think bits of peel floating around in it will be very appetizing," she told him. "If it were potato, bacon, and leek soup, it'd be fine. But creamy chicken and dumplings? Not so much."

Bilbo opened his mouth to reply, but he paused, his face contorting slightly. Then, turning his head away from his daughter, he sneezed into the crook of his arm. Before he could pull his face away, he ended up sneezing again…and a third time…and a fourth time. "S-sorry," he groaned after the small sneeze attack. His brows furrowed when he suddenly felt a cool hand on his forehead. Looking down, he saw Baylee wearing a concerned expression.

"Never mind about helping me, da'. Your forehead is warmer than normal. Combined with these sneezes, you should probably find a comfortable place to sit and get some rest," she told him.

"Why? What's wrong with him?" Kili questioned, one brow rising.

"I'm fairly certain I'm coming down with a cold," Bilbo sniffled, his voice sounding even more nasally now.

Thorin, Fili, and Kili exchanged curious glances with one another. "…A cold?" Fili questioned.

"Does that mean we need to warm him up?" Kili asked.

It was Baylee and Bilbo's turned to exchange confused looks. "A cold is an illness," Bilbo explained.

"A mild one," Baylee quickly added, "but an illness nonetheless. I know you lads can't get sick, but I'm fairly certain Big Folk like Bard and his family can catch colds…" A sigh left her mouth and she brushed a lock of hair from her face. "Looks like you got out of peeling potatoes."

Bilbo smiled apologetically. "If it's any consolation, I was going to help, despite hating th-th-th—" He sneezed into the crook of his arm once more.

She gave him a pitying look. "Would you like me to fetch you some of the mulled wine to sip while you rest?"

He shook his head. "No, no—not right now anyway. You've more important matters to attend to."

"Well, this is bound to be interesting," Kili then chirped. "I've never seen someone who's sick from an illness before!"

Thorin closed his eyes, a sigh leaving his mouth. "There is very little difference between being sick with illness and being sick from hangovers," he told him, voice dry. "Fili, why don't you go help the lasses with the potatoes? I'll make sure your brother stays resting."

Fili nodded slowly in understanding. "Alright. I can't promise I'm very good at it, but I'll try my best," he said with a small chuckle.

"So long as you don't cut yourself and there's some potato left when all the peel's gone, then you'll do fine," Baylee chuckled. Her cheeks turned the slightest bit pink when she felt Thorin's hand slip over and give her hand a small squeeze. She glanced up at him, her smile turning tender for a few seconds when she found him peeking down at her. Though she wanted to stay beside him, she forced herself to walk away from Thorin, leading Fili towards the kitchen portion of the house. "There are only four knives, by the way. One paring knife, two chef's knives, and a cleaver."

"I've used all but a cleaver before. If it's anythin' like an axe, though, I should be decent with it."

She let out a small laugh, her brow rising. "Maybe when it comes time to chop the vegetables, but for peeling, you'll want to use either the paring knife or one of the chef's knives."

By the time they reached the kitchen, Sigrid had already started to peel potatoes, using the paring knife. She had also readied a bowl to dump the peels into as well as a pot to put the spuds into once they were peeled. "Do either of you want to use this one?" she asked, pausing in her work. She thought for certain that Baylee would accept the small knife, but the hobbit lass instead went over to the knife drawer.

"I'm fine using with using a larger knife," she said. Pulling one of the knives out, she held it out to Fili, holding by the blade.

"A-are you sure?" Sigrid questioned, her eyes widening. "I'd be more than happy to trade." She watched Fili sit down on the floor near the garbage bowl before grabbing a potato and began to carefully peel it.

"It's alright," she assured her. Holding the second chef's knife, she went and also sat down beside the garbage bowl. She grabbed one of the larger potatoes and, with surprising ease, started to peel it. "Back home in the Shire, I work at an inn and whenever I help out in the kitchen, the paring knives are almost always taken by someone else. Because of that, I've gotten used to using the larger knives."

Sigrid nodding slowly, still paused in her own peeling as she watched both the hobbit and the dwarf peel the potatoes. Fili's method of peeling was different than the girls' method. Instead of carefully pulling the knife towards him, he was sliding it away from him, shaving off bits of peel. "Um, master dwarf, I mean no offense, but I think you might find bringing the knife towards you will make the job a bit easier."

"Hm?" He looked up at Sigrid and then at Baylee; he saw both of them held their knives in a similar fashion to how Bofur held his when whittling wood. "Doesn't it make it easier t' cut yourself, holding it like that, though?"

"If you start off slow and your knife is sharp, you shouldn't be risking too many cuts," Baylee told him. She looked over at him in time to see him changing his grip around on the knife. "Hold it a bit further up the handle—your index finger should be actually on the blade. Yes, just like that. Now, hold the potato in your hand like this…"

Sigrid quietly giggled as she watched the two interact. She had no idea how old either of them was, but with the way Baylee was instructing Fili, she thought it was very much like watching a mother instruct her son. "The two of you seem to be good friends," she commented once Baylee had finished giving him instructions.

"I'd like t' think we are," Fili replied. "Especially since Kili an' me have been teaching her how to fight."

Baylee's cheeks turned a bit pink. "Well, not much teaching has happened of late. It's mostly been us running from one trouble to another."

He nodded in acquiesce. "Aye, that's true. But I don't think we need to teach you much more. You've fought against goblins and orcs and lived to tell the tale—I'd say that's pretty good."

Sigrid's eyes widened as she looked down at the two of them. "Y-you've fought goblins and orcs?" she questioned, her amazement all too evident in her voice.

"An' trolls," Fili added.

"Well, we didn't so much as fight the trolls as flounder around with them," Baylee corrected. "You lot tried to fight them, though, so I suppose that counts."

"N-no offense, little mistress, but I wouldn't have expected someone of your stature to be much of a fighter," Sigrid said, her voice a bit shy. "I honestly mean no offense by that—it's just…you're smaller than my little sister!"

Baylee gave her a reassuring smile. "None taken. I'm honestly not much of a fighter. I'd much rather hide somewhere than fight, especially since I've only one good eye now. Oh, Fili, don't bother with those spots just yet." She had seen him trying to remove a small, blackened portion of potato with the big knife. "We'll deal with those when it's time to cut them into smaller pieces."

He nodded in understanding, moving to toss the peeled potato into the pot; from the sound of it, it was filled with water.

"Do you mind if I ask how you got your eye injury?" the girl asked after a few moments.

"One of the trolls threw me after I stabbed him in the hand," answered the hobbit. "I'm still not sure what, exactly, had happened, but we think I got thrown through some brambles or holly and that's how it happened."

"Did it hurt…?"

"It did, but the worst pain came when we had to clean out my actual eye."

Fili stuck his tongue out. "Ugh, aye, I remember that," he murmured. "I don't think anyone's squeezed my hand that hard before."

Shuddering, Sigrid shook her head. "I don't think I'd be able to handle pain that bad," she admitted. "I can hardly stand bumping my elbow on something, let alone getting my eye injured…"

Baylee gave her an understanding smile. "I used to think much the same," she told her, "but ever since my da' and I joined this group, I've come to learn that my pain tolerance is much higher than I used to believe. But I sincerely hope you don't find the limits of your pain tolerance in the same ways that I have."

Fili nodded in agreement. "Aye, I hope the same. It's no fun, learnin' your limits." He frowned slightly when he sliced off a good chunk of potato with the peel. "Oops…"

"That's fine," Sigrid told him, chuckling quietly. "Like the little mistress said, so long as there's still enough potato left to add to the pot, you're doing fine." She let a long, curl peel fall into the bowl.

"Ooh, you peeled that one like an apple? I've not done that before," Baylee chirped.

Sigrid's cheeks turned a bit pink. "It was small enough, I thought I'd give it a go," she chuckled. "It worked fairly well, though I don't think it'd be a very good technique for the bigger potatoes."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind, though most of these potatoes seem to be big to me," Baylee joked. She dropped a potato into the pot of water before grabbing another from the basket. While it looked quite large in her small hand, if Fili or Sigrid were to hold it, it would appear to be average sized.

"Baylee…even the paring knife would look big if you were t' hold it," Fili snorted.

"And it would look absolutely tiny if you were to hold it," she retorted, amusement in her voice. She glanced over at the girl as she quietly giggled; Sigrid, she noticed, wasn't quite as talkative as her little sister and definitely seemed to be much shyer.

'I can't blame her much…Her father brought home fifteen strangers,' she thought. 'I can understand how overwhelm she must feel. Especially with how much smaller this house is compared to Bag End! I wonder what the sleeping arrangements will be like? More than likely, everyone carefully scattered across the floor.' She paused in her peeling to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. 'I also need to start thinking about how to make a filling breakfast for everyone that will also taste good. I did see that they had a fair bit of grain tucked away in their pantry…Maybe porridge? It might be a bit bland, since I don't want to use all their spices and sugar.'

Fili gently reached over, giving her shoulder a slight shake when the knife wasn't in immediate use. "You alright, Baylee? You went quiet there."

"Yes, I'm fine," she said with a small smile. "I just got a bit lost in my thoughts is all. Sorry if I worried you." She tossed another peeled potato into the pot. "How many potatoes are in there?" she then asked.

Sigrid leaned over, doing a quick count. "Eight. How many would you like there to be?"

"Hm…About sixteen or seventeen, judging by the larger size of these."

Fili's brow rose. "Sixteen or seventeen? That's quite a bit o' potato, don't you think?"

"It is, but they're going to cook until they're very tender. At that point, they'll fall apart and thicken the soup, while also making it a bit creamy without having to add actual cream." She picked up another potato, starting to peel it as well.

"Really?" he questioned, his brow remaining lift. When Baylee nodded, he blinked. "Huh…I didn't know potatoes could do that. Whenever they're used in stews, they're soft, aye, but never fall-apart soft."

To Baylee's surprise, it was Sigrid who spoke up this time. "That's because soups and stews have different cooking methods," she began. "Stews you let slowly simmer all day. Soups, unless you're making a base stock, you cook quickly and usually at a higher temperature, so they boil. The boiling is what makes the potatoes fall apart, since they're bouncing around all over the place and bumping into other vegetables and pieces of meat."

Nodding in understanding, Fili dropped a potato into the pot. "That makes sense," he said. "I suppose it also helps that soups are gettin' stirred more often than stews, too, since the stirring could also disturb the potatoes." He glanced up in time to see Tilda coming over, a rather perplexed look on her young face. "You look confused, little one."

Tilda opened her mouth to reply only to close it again as she pondered how best to ask what it was she wanted to know. After a moment, she came to a conclusion and asked, "Is that an actual axe in your companion's head…? Or is it some sort of decoration?"

"It's a real axe," Fili answered with a small laugh. "I'm not sure how he got it, but I do know he'd like t' find the orc that put it there an' return it to him someday."

"Dwarves have far thicker skulls than humans and hobbits," Baylee added, making Tilda and Sigrid giggled.

Fili, however, quietly snorted. "It did manage to get through his skull a bit, though—which is why he can only speak Khuzdul anymore and why he's a bit…why he's a bit…"

"Eccentric?" Baylee suggested.

"Aye, eccentric," he said with a nod. "He's still a nice fellow, though. Great at makin' toys."

At that, Tilda perked slightly. "He's a toymaker?"

"Aye, him an' his cousin, Bofur, are toymakers."

"Bofur's the one in the hat," Baylee added.

The girls nodded. "What kind of toys did they make?" Sigrid questioned.

"Oh, all sorts. Little teething toys for babies, rockin' horses for toddlers, toy soldiers for children…Bifur even managed t' come up with a way to make some of the wooden animals t' move. They've made bunnies an' frogs that hop, toy horses that move when a child bounces on them, chickens that waddle…"

"Those sound amazing!" Tilda gasped, her eyes widening. "I've never heard of toys that could actually move!"

He laughed. "I don't doubt it—they're not terribly common outside o' the Blue Mountains. At least, that I know o'. There could be toymakers in the Iron Hills an' in the East who've figured it out." He lightly shook his head and plopped another spud in the pot. "Ah, I wish we hadn't gotten attacked in the Misty Mountains—Bifur had been working on this really elegant eagle that flapped its wings when you spun a little wheel. But he was gettin' it so the device moved so smoothly, it was as if it were actually flying."

Sigrid's eyes widened slightly. "R-really? That sounds amazing!"

"It was," Baylee smiled. "He had started working on it shortly after we left the Shire. He started with a single branch and, by the time we had reached the mountains, it was an entire contraption with spinning wheels, little chains, and flapping wings…it was really quite amazing. Hopefully, he'll be able to make another one in the future and it'll be even better."

Tilda let out a quiet sigh. "I wish there were toys like that here in Laketown. There are only dolls, toy boats, and spinning tops here."

"Spinning tops?" Baylee tilted her head slightly. "I've never heard of those. What are they?"

Even Fili gave her a strange look upon hearing that. "The Shire doesn't have spinning tops?" he questioned. "Out of all toys, I would have expected that one to be universal among all o' the races."

"I'll go get one and show you!" Tilda chirped. She hurried away again and, soon, Baylee could hear her running up the stairs.

"They're little toys, usually made from wood or stone," Sigrid started to explain. "They're usually rounded with one end being short and pointed while the other end tapers into a sort of handle. You spin them and, if you've done a good job at it, they spin really fast in place."

"But if you don't get the spin perfect, they can move all over the place," Fili said. "I don't know if other races do this, but dwarves will sometimes make what we call battle tops. They're meant t' knock into each other and make your opponent's top stop spinnin' while yours keeps going. They've got bits that stick out on them, unlike normal tops."

"Oh, we do that!" Sigrid smiled. "Except our 'battle tops' are normal ones, just spun in a slightly more violent fashion."

Baylee nodded slowly, trying to envision such toys. "They certainly sound interesting." She turned her head as she heard Tilda come racing back down the stairs; she had just put a potato in the pot when the girl arrived in the kitchen, her hands filled with spinning tops of all sizes.

"These are tops," she chirped, plopping herself down between Baylee and Fili. Grabbing a medium-sized one with a line of rabbits painted around its fat center, she held it by the long, spindly end. Then, with a quick twist of her fingers, she let go and it started to spin, moving in small circles on the floor. As it spun, Fili and Baylee could see that the painted rabbits now looked like a singular rabbit running and hopping.

"Now that is impressive," Fili grinned. "I don't think I've ever seen someone put a movin' picture on a top before. Lamps, aye, but not tops."

Sigrid quietly laughed. "There are some tops that are as big as my head that have even more intricate moving pictures on them," she told them. "Those ones have to be spun using twine."

Wiping her hand off on the hem of her dress and carefully setting the knife aside, Baylee plucked up one of the smaller tops, looking it over. Unlike the one Tilda had spinning, this one's middle was wide and flat. She glanced over at the young girl as she spun a second top, watching how her fingers moved. Copying her, she watched as the small top started to spin.

But instead of staying in place, it spun away from her, knocking into the edge of the potato basket and pushing itself away in the direction of Fili. She let out a small squeak of surprise, instinctively trying to reach for it, but it was already too far out of her reach. Beside her, Tilda burst into a fit of giggles.

"They do that sometimes," she assured the hobbit. "If you spin them just right, they can go all over the place."

"Or, sometimes, they get stuck in the grain of the floor," Sigrid said. "They're get stuck and follow a path for as long as the board lasts. Rarely, they manage to 'hop' back out and continue on their merry way." Leaning over, she peered into the pot of water and potatoes. She quickly counted them, a small smile coming to her lips. "We've eighteen potatoes, little mistress."

"Good, good—that should be perfect," she replied, her eyes still on the tops. "There's no need to be so formal, by the way. You're more than welcome to just call me 'Baylee'."

"I'd say you could also call her 'Mouse-Lass', but that's become my uncle's pet-name for her." Fili quietly snickered as a pout came to Baylee's lips.

Tilda tilted her head. "'Mouse-Lass'?" she repeated. "Why is that your nickname?"

Baylee's cheeks turned a bit pink. "Because, according to Thorin at least, I'm as small as a mouse and just as quiet as one."

"Therefore, she's become his Mouse-Lass." He laughed again as Baylee reached over and gave him a small push, her cheeks even pinker now. Then, seeing Tilda and Sigrid exchange somewhat confused looks, he added, "She and my uncle are courting."

Tilda tilted her head again, this time in the other direction; the action made Baylee think of a young puppy. "Which one is your uncle?"

"That one." He pointed across the room to where Thorin was having a quiet discussion with Balin, Dwalin, and Kili.

"…Do you mean the one with the pictures on his head or the one with dark hair?" she questioned.

Baylee quietly snorted. "The one with dark hair," she answered. "The one with tattoos is Dwalin and the older one is Balin. Balin and Dwalin are brothers."

"And Kili and I are brothers," Fili said. "Gloin and Oin are, too, as well. Nori, Dori, and Ori are also brothers." As he spoke, he pointed out the dwarves so the girls wouldn't get confused. "Bofur and Bombur are brothers, with Bifur being their cousin."

"And then Miss Baylee is the daughter of…the little master," Tilda chirped, not actually knowing Bilbo's name.

Nodding, he chuckled. "An' his name is Bilbo."

"Though, right now he's more of an 'ill-bo' than a 'Bilbo'," Baylee said with a small sigh. "He's come down with what I'm hoping is just a cold," she elaborated when she saw the confused frown on Sigrid's lips. "I told him to find somewhere to sit down and get some rest so he doesn't go sneezing all over the place."

Tilda frowned. "I hope it passes quickly. Colds are annoying things to have."

Sigrid nodded in agreement. "They truly are…You're too sick to leave the house, but you're not sick enough to stay in bed all day to laze about."

"But you also can't do any of the cooking because you're sneezing so much," Baylee added. "What's even worse is when more than one person in the house has a cold, because then almost no chores get done."

Fili rubbed the back of his neck, his brow raised somewhat. "From what I'm hearin', I'm feeling extra lucky that dwarves don't get sick as easily," he said, a small frown on his lips. "Is there any positives to it?"

The three women cracked up in a fit of giggles. "Not usually, no," Sigrid told him. "You feel miserable, you can hardly taste food—and that's when you can handle eating—and, on top of it, you get other people sick!"

"Think of a hangover," Baylee began, "but with your entire body aching, your nose running, your throat dry, and you're unable to keep most foods down."

"And that's not even including having to constantly run to the loo!" Tilda added, amused by the look of distaste that had come to Fili's face. "Or the fever and chills. Oh, and don't forget—"

Fili held his hand up, politely silencing her. "I think I understand how horrible bein' sick is now," he told her, "an' I very much never want to experience it."

"You can't be serious! Do you know how dangerous this is? And not just for us!"

"Shh! This is the only way we're goin' to be getting proper weapons an' supplies."

"But they've shown us such kindness—"

"Sometimes, Master Baggins, kindness isn't enough, especially when we gave them every bit of coin we have and got barely anything in return."

The voice drew Baylee from her sleep. Sitting up, she tiredly rubbed her eye. "What's going on?" she asked, her voice quiet. Looking around, she could see the silhouettes of a few of the dwarves as well as her father standing in the middle of the room. After a moment of letting her vision clear up, she could tell that Nori, Thorin, Dwalin, Fili, and Kili were the dwarves of the group.

She must have taken them by surprise because all five quietly swore and turned their heads in her direction. "It's nothing you need worry about, Mouse-Lass," came Thorin's voice, quiet and almost tender. "We're just discussing a few things."

"This late at night?" Her brow rose, though she knew others couldn't see it.

"None o' us could sleep," Dwalin replied. Try as he might, his whisper was still quite loud.

"Da', you're sick…you should be resting, too," she scolded before yawning. Normally, she would have put up more of an argument about the five of them huddled together like that while discussing plans so late at night. But after the previous day's excitement, she was too tired; she just wanted sleep.

"I will shortly, dear," Bilbo replied, his voice a bit nasally thanks to his stuffed nose. He walked over to her and, crouching down, grabbed her blanket and pulled it up to her shoulders. Normally, he would have also kissed her temple, but with him having a cold, he didn't want to risk her catching it through such contact. "Sleep well, little one."

"Goodnight," she mumbled, snuggling down into the small pillow she had been given. When Bilbo walked away, she did her best to stay awake and do a bit of eavesdropping; it was useless, however. Not only had her father and the dwarves quieted themselves a great deal, but she had drifted back to sleep barely two minutes later.

The next time she woke up, it was also because of other people making noise. This time, however, it wasn't dwarves and a hobbit: It was armed, human guards forcing their way into Bard's home. She let out a squeak, bolting upright when she heard the door burst open and someone loudly giving orders. Being early in the morning, the room was still dark, but the soldiers who were flooding into the room had lanterns with them.

"There should be another eight dwarves and one halfling," the leader of the men was saying, ignoring the cries that came from the house's occupants. "We're not leaving until all nine of them are found!"

Jumping to her feet, Baylee pressed herself against the wall, hoping the soldiers wouldn't see her. All around her, there was chaos. The human soldiers were trying to catch the dwarves who, having also been jolted from sleep, were ducking and weaving their way around the place. Their efforts were going to be in vain, however, as they were quickly penning themselves into a corner of the house.

On the stairwell, Bard was standing in front of his children, who were clutching onto one another. They were watching on in a mixture of fear and horror as the soldiers all but ransacked the place in their efforts to grab hold of a dwarf. The dining table was knocked over, the chairs and stools kicked over—even some herbs hanging from the ceiling to dry were knocked aside.

Tilda, Baylee noticed, looked especially scared. The poor thing was clinging onto her father, her eyes wide and watery as she whimpered. Beside her, Bain was holding a crying Sigrid against his chest, trying to shield her in case the soldiers tried to come after them. A mixture of guilt and anger started to well up inside her at the sight of the family—the family that had risked so much to help them and who was now watching their home fall to shambles because of them.

Pursing her lips in determination, she stepped away from the wall. "Just who do you brutes think you are, bursting in here like a band of orcs?!" Baylee called out, her hands on her hips. She was more than a little surprised when both soldiers and dwarves ceased moving to stare at her in shock. No one, however, answered her. "Well? Out with it!" she ordered, her tone bearing the full weight of her irritation (which weighed quite a bit more than she, herself, weighed). "Who are you?"

Left flabbergasted by the fact that this tiny creature was talking down to them as if they were naughty children, the soldiers looked between one another. Their leader, being far less affected by the scene, looked down at her with furrowed brows and narrowed eyes. "I am Lieutenant Soury and these are my men. We've been sent to bring you and the rest of the dwarvish company before the Master of Laketown," he told her, his voice cold and bearing the full weight of his authority.

She matched his gaze with one of annoyance. "Well, Lieutenant Soury, you and your men clearly haven't been taught any manners. Bursting into a house whilst shouting orders like you own the place and scaring the poor children like that!" She huffed in displeasure and crossed her arms over her chest. "We're not orcs—you could have simply knocked on the door and asked us to come with you. Especially this early in the morning. And with all the noise you've made, I have no doubts you lot have woken up the neighbors, too. Now, how in the world did you even find out about us being here?"

"Your companions were caught trying to break into the armory," the lieutenant retorted. He started to walk forwards, reaching out towards her with the intent of plucking her up off the ground. "Now, you and the rest of these dwarves will be coming with—"

Baylee smacked his outstretched hand away and, in a surprisingly commanding tone, snapped, "We're not going anywhere until you pick up the mess you've made!" The dwarves exchanged shocked looks with one another; they had never seen her act in such a way. They didn't even know it was possible for her to be so…well, imposing.

Even Soury was shocked by her tone. He then shook his head and tried reaching for her again. "You have no command over me or my men," he growled, finding little amusement in arguing with her. "Now, you're going to come with us willingly or we'll tie you up and drag you away!"

"We'll go willingly if you pick up this mess you an' your men have made," Bofur suddenly spoke up.

There was a few seconds pause before Gloin spoke as well. "Aye! You get all this picked up an' you won't have t' worry about us putting up any more of a fight." There was a chorus of agreement from the other dwarves.

Soury turned slightly, looking between his men and the dwarves; there were only five soldiers, including himself, while there were eight dwarves. He knew that, if they were to put up an actual fight as they were threatening to do, his men would lose. His jaw clenching in anger, he gave a signal to his men and they started to pick up the furniture they had overturned.

Content that the soldiers were doing as they were told, Baylee let out a small sigh before going over to the stairwell. As she looked up at the family, her irritation and anger were completely gone, replaced instead by intense guilt. "I'm so incredibly sorry this happened," she told them. "And after everything you've done for us…you don't deserve this. Not one bit."

Bard swallowed hard; he was understandably upset with the situation. "Did you know the others were planning to break into the armory?" he asked her.

She shook her head; she had completely forgotten waking up a few hours ago. Even if she had remembered, however, she still hadn't known what they were planning. "No, I didn't. And if I had, I would have done everything I could to stop them." Biting her lower lip, she glanced down at the floor, her hands fidgeting with unrolled cuffs of her dress. "I'm sorry."

Before Bard could respond, however, Soury spoke. "Halfling, we're done. It's time for us to leave."

Turning around, she found that the table and chairs had been righted and the bundles of herbs placed atop the table. She let out a soft sigh and nodded, moving to join the group of dwarves. As they left the house, three of the soldiers followed them while Soury and another led them off.

"That was a bold show you put on back there, lass," Bofur quietly told her as they walked. "I didn't know you could be such a wee spitfire." Though there was a bit of amusement in his voice, his tone was mostly laced with worry.

"If you thought that was bold," she grumbled, "wait until I start scolding Thorin."