Hello Everyone and welcome to another fic of mine!
This idea wiggled into my head while eating lunch, so I wrote it, tada~

Also I wrote all of the Hobbity language parts in Latin because well... it's easier for me than making up my own language and I could also rationalise it as revision for my test tomorrow that I should be working on lol

So I hope you enjoy this little story! 3

-FallohideDragon-

...

There is a story I'm sure you all know, if you're here. Of how Bilbo Baggins, a Hobbit, joined the company of Thorin Oakenshield on a quest to regain the Mountain-Kingdom of Erebor, facing many dangers, draconic and otherwise, losing his companions and propriety along the way, until he was no longer a stuffy, puffed-up gentlehobbit as he once was. This is not that story. In this story, there is no Bilbo Baggins, but rather Bell-Heather Baggins, sole daughter of Bungo Baggins and Belladonna Baggins neé Took. Of course, while her mother was still alive, she merely went by Heather, as having two Bells in one smial merely filled the place with ringing, as her father said. But Bungo and Belladonna were dead, killed, by Orcs and Wargs after the Fell Winter, and Bell-Heather lived alone in a grand smial, mourning. In this story, Hobbits are not the soft, helpless creatures they were before. No-sir. Hobbits were quite the charmers for sure, and what rumours there were about them had a ring of truth; Hobbits are good gardeners, Hobbits are welcoming, Hobbits value friendship, family, and loyalty above all else. Hobbit families are tighter than wound thread. They are creatures of love after all. Friendship and food are their passions, if an outsider is recognised as a Hobbit-friend… that carries a lot of weight among Hobbitkind. What nobody knows about Hobbits, other than the sheer depth of their ability to love, is their connection with the earth. For Hobbits, you see, are children of Yavanna of the green fingers, and thereby connected with Aule, her husband, and like the Ents were, have been tasked with stewardship over the earth. They can commune with the plants and ground and rocks, all natural things save for water, and the very air they breathe (unless in truly desperate circumstances). They can influence these things, but it is relational, there is a bond between them that is not echoed by any race, not even the stone-sensing Dwarves of Aule. In order to protect their natural haven, the Shire, Hobbits developed the Bounders, a mild-mannered defence force. They're more skilled than many think. It is rare for one to die in battle, despite how weak they may appear, the earth itself is their shield, the trees their swords. No Hobbit ever truly needs a weapon, though all receive basic training in one, in case the Shire is ever attacked again. For darkness always seeks to find a foothold in this world, and where darkness goes, it goes to destroy light. And in Middle Earth? The Shire is a beacon.

So there we have it, Bell-Heather Baggins, Hobbit, Earth-bonded, daughter of Yavanna.

Except the Company are not aware of any of these things. You see, when Bell-Heather was… recruited to join the Company by Gandalf Greyhame (meddling old codger), Gandalf referred to our dear Hobbit as Bilbo , a nickname she'd worn in her youth. The Company had indeed assumed her a man, as she'd been wearing breeches when they first arrived at her door, having put them on in order to help with a tree surgery that day, and hadn't taken them off. Furthermore, Bell-Heather was not a particularly well-endowed lass, and Dwarves know little enough of Hobbitish anatomy to discern anything off about her higher voice, shorter stature, and longer curls. It's not as if long hair isn't normal in Dwarrow. Of course, by the time that our Hobbit had realised that the Dwarves were unaware of her… femaleness… it was quite too late to correct them. And would have been very awkward. And the wizard saw no reason to tell them anything so she left it there. However, by the time she had figured it out, she also figured that it was a miracle the Dwarves hadn't noticed already.

Yet our tale, a tale of green-magic and good food, begins not at the beginning of the adventure but in media res, as I've heard it called. We begin at the borders of Mirkwood.

"This forest is… sick." Bell-Heather muttered, as they approached the first trees. "We haven't even entered yet and I can feel it."

The wizard at her side, the two lingering at the back of the company, paused. "Will you be alright?" She scrunched her face. It was hard to say. "I can't stay, I'm afraid," he continued, "I must make a trip to a fortress. There is something I must investigate. I'm sorry Bell." Gandalf was the only one now who called her that. It had always been Heather back home, but not here, not with him. He was like a grandfather to her, after her parents died. He'd helped her through the grief. But time never holds a wizard still for long, and he'd slipped away like the breeze. She couldn't resent him for it.

"It's alright, Gandalf. I'll be alright. I'll just feel a bit woozy, 'tis all! Nothing I cannot handle." She desperately tried to quell the rolling of her stomach that ensued at her words. The wizard shot a concerned glance at her pale face, but said nothing. There was no point in trying. She was resolute. With a sigh and another worried farewell, and a pat to the head, he steered his horse to the front and announced his departure, then left before Thorin could say a word.

Bell-Heather attempted to calm herself as she, and thirteen Dwarrow, stood outside what was possibly the most ill forest she'd ever seen. And she was a plant healer. And a damned good one. Breath hitching, she closed her eyes and offered a quick prayer to Yavanna, the air warming around her, the sign of Yavanna's acknowledgement. However it all flew out the window the second her foot stepped over the threshold. Darkness and pain surged into her, and she collapsed.

She awoke to the muttering of worried Dwarrow, and air lightly fanning her face. With a groan she rolled over, before emptying the contents of her stomach, not that there was much, onto the rotting and leafy ground. She was in the thick of the wood. Oh she felt ill. Words bombarded her from the trees, cries of help, Hobbit, save us, help us, sickness Hobbit sickness, sickness, sickness, suffocating . Bell-Heather clutched at the blanket beneath her and attempted to anchor her spirit. She cried aloud to her green mother.

"Yavanna, mater viridis, me defende cum tuis artibus naturae, defende Hobbitem tuam, defende amici mei, defende cum postesta divina!"

The ringing in her ears ceased, the air cleared around her. She sighed in relief and looked tentatively at the trees and leaves. A circle of fresh, healthy green had cleared around her and the Company. Yavanna's protection. Turning, she felt eyes boring into her, and winced at the Company's shocked glares. Ori was the first to speak, piping up eagerly with charcoal in hand. "Is that some sort of Hobbity magic?" She groaned and fell back onto her blanket.

What followed was the painstaking ordeal of explaining to Dwarves exactly what being earth-bonded meant, about what Hobbits could do, and about their deep connection with Yavanna herself. The Dwarrow sat and stared in wonder, exclamations such as, 'is that why that tree fell on that Warg?' and 'So that's why that rock hit the pale Orc in the face!' being thrown about like pinecones in autumn.

"So you fell ill because of the forest's poison?" Thorin growled, although it was more of a concerned growl than an angry growl, she was learning to distinguish, from his place on a rock nearby. Bell-Heather nodded sheepishly. "You should have told us! We would have avoided it, had we known!" She couldn't stand it, she leapt to her feet, the branches of the trees shivering around them.

"You are on a schedule! I can't hold this operation up for a measly sickness! We have places to be!"

"Bilbo, you felt the forest dying ."

"And it will continue dying until after we reclaim Erebor and then I shall return and fix it!"

"You can do that?"

" Obviously."

She refused to allow any more on the subject. And if the Dwarves noticed that the trees shifted around them to give them the quickest path out of the forest? Well they never mentioned it.

...

Bell-Heather sat curled up in a corner, surrounded by softly singing stone as tears leaked from her eyes sluggishly, in the manner of one who'd already cried a while. The mountain whispered to her gently, trying to soothe her, but the mountain itself was hurt and it was no use. The mountain needed her, and she didn't know how to help. She and the Company had stepped onto the soil around Erebor, and her stomach had twisted with the feeling that had been familiar around Mirkwood, albeit less strong. Sighing, she'd managed to hide it from most of the company, save for Dwalin, since, in his words, it was his job to notice things and she was so pale she might as well be glowing. But that had all happened a few days ago, Smaug was dead. And yet Bell-Heather felt no lighter for it. Smaug had terrified her more than much else had, he was cruel and bloodthirsty, and she could just feel the evil rolling off of him. Almost as much as from the ring in her pocket, that she was ignoring until she could ask Gandalf what to do with it. But now she was here, in a corner, crying, because the mountain had reached out to her, sensing something with the power of the earth-bonded, and had wept. The mountain was suffering, deeply, there was a curse in her bones. Bell-Heather slowly drew the Arkenstone out from her inner coat and stared at it, at the twinkling lights and soft glow. It pulsed in her hands, the steady thump of a beating heart, a beat that only she could feel. She knew what she had to do but she didn't know how to do it. The heart needed to be returned to Erebor, Erebor herself had asked her for help, had talked of her dwarves, of the curse on the mountain that had sprung up since the Arkenstone was moved. It needed to return to the mountain, or the land, and her dwarves, would suffer. She could stop Thorin being struck with gold-sickness. But she didn't know how she could tell them what she needed to do.

"Melius est remissionem quam concessionem rogare."

"Rectam es. Sed mihi non placet."

She could feel the mountain's laughter as she made her way down through innumerable stairs, nearly falling several times on the rough stone, deep deep down all the way to the depths of the mountain's roots. Erebor hummed to her when she'd reached the right spot.

"Constasne hunc locum rectum esse?"

Another hum.

"Ita vero."

Taking the glowing jewel, not that it was actually a jewel, she placed it onto the floor. There was a minor quake, and the stone was absorbed into the earth, and she could feel it travelling downwards. Erebor would never let it be taken again. Stretching out her senses through her feet, for that is why Hobbits have feet that do not require shoes, to root them to the earth, she felt the darkness of the treasure hoard dissipate. And if Erebor reclaimed a good portion of wealth, well, nobody would miss it. Bell-Heather turned and groaned at the long journey back up the mountain she'd need to make, before, with a chuckle, the stone cradled her and shot up the wall. Bell-Heather had never really been one to use power for her benefit, it was all about trust. And she knew now that Erebor would let her command her rocks to her will as easy as breathing. Coming to the high gate, where her Dwarrow stood on top, she summoned a pillar of stone to throw her high, coming to land neatly among them. Thorin was teetering, grasping the railing and breathing hard. However the golden lust was gone from his eyes. He was free. They were all free. Free of everything except the advancing army of Orcs that is.

Bell-Heather had never fought with such abandon in her life. She ducked and weaved, the earth flowing around her like water, bending easily to her command. She surfed great waves of rock and dirt, easily swooping around the hapless enemy and finishing them quickly with a slash of Sting. That infernal horn of the white Orc was sounding again. Twisting, she stared as the three Durins, and Dwalin, of course Dwalin, headed up Ravenhill. Azog. With a heavy sigh and a beckon with her mind, answered quickly by Erebor, desperate to save her children, she ran towards them. Each step was a leap, pillars of earth throwing her high, and catching her safely. She travelled a mile in a minute, hopping gracefully from pillar to pillar, side-stepping up the sheer cliff face until with a huge jump she landed next to Dwalin.

"Lass, are there any other tricks you're hiding from us that would come in useful about now?"

"I can think of a few!" She quirked a mischievous grin at him before planting a foot on his chest and launching herself at a squadron of approaching Orcs, kicking up pebbles with her feet that shot straight through their skulls. She cried out to the large bats flying overhead, pleading for them to join her, not Azog, and they listened. No animal would disobey a Hobbit, one of the kindly folk, over an Orc. Azog's own Warg swept underneath her as she travelled, swift as a bird. She could feel nature surrounding her with its embrace. It was time for the child of Yavanna to sing. Huge, twisting vines burst from the ground and sliced through Orcs like butter, rocks towering, the very hill shifting to her will. The ground quaked and shuddered, and plants grew small and tall at her command, trapping the creatures in a deadly embrace, and tangling them together. Dwalin's mouth was agape, and Thorin's too, having rounded the corner. Then all of a sudden, they heard a shout. It was Fili, dangled over the precipice, sword over his head, Fili the golden-haired son of Durin, Fili, the sneaky scamp, no matter how he tried to hide it, Fili with his ridiculous moustache, Fili who was far, far too young for this war. Bell-Heather screamed. It wasn't the usual scream, of high-pitched wailing, and piercing shrieking. It was guttural, like an Orc's, her throat felt like it was tearing to pieces, ribbons of flesh ripping and bleeding, it was less a scream than a roar. And with that roar the air itself sharpened. The earth shook violently, rocks crumbling to ash and being flung about, rising around her as her hair whipped her face. Boulders, vines, and even their own Wargs, turned upon the Orcs surrounding Azog, where he held Fili. And Azog? His head was sliced clean off his shoulders by the invisible wind that cradled the golden-haired prince and wafted him down to safety at her side, his brother being swept from inside the caves to sit with them also. It was over. Thorin and Dwalin's ears and noses were trickling blood, but no harm had come to them. At the same time as Azog's death, great fissures had opened all across the battlefield, swallowing the enemy, until only the Dwarves, Elves, and Men were left, gobsmacked on the plain, surrounded by their dead. With her energy spent, Bell-Heather collapsed.

She awoke to whispers, and a hand in her hair.

"Gandalf." She croaked, hoarse as dust, and the old man smiled at her, though his eyes twinkled with tears.

"My dear Bell," he rumbled softly, in that soothing way of his, "we quite thought we'd lose you!"

She scoffed. "Lose me? I didn't do anything!"

"Ya wiped out all o'the Orcs, lassie." There was Dwalin. Arms crossed by the tent flap. The whole company stood around her bed, in various states of distress.

"Hardly much." She quipped, giggling at the looks of exasperation on their faces. "I'm not much of a fighter, I'm actually a healer-"

" What do Hobbit fighters look like then? " Was Kili's awed whisper.

Gandalf shuddered. "Master Dwarf? You do not want to know." Bell-Heather's laughter filled the tent till the sun set.

...

After the reclamation of Erebor, things had settled. Thorin was doing splendidly as king, and Fili as crown prince. Dwalin was captain of the guard, Bombur head chef, Nori spymaster, the others all heading up their own guilds and businesses. Bell-Heather had been working in the healing halls with Oin, patching up the remnants of the battle. She wore a dress that day. The Dwarves had provided her with new clothes, and she'd requested some skirts. That had been a conversation that went amazingly.

"What do you mean you're a lass?"

"Exactly what it sounds like? It's not like I was hiding it, you're all as thick as troll-hide."

"But… you don't have a lass' name!"

"Gandalf calls me Bell. "

"Gandalf is hardly good evidence for anything!"

"Oin knew!"

"You did?" The whole company rounded on the old Dwarf in horror.

"You didn't?"

"No!"

Dwalin was laughing too. He'd figured it out at Rivendell. As he'd said, it was his job to notice things. And he was looking which helped. He just hadn't bothered to say anything, realising, as she did, that it would be far too awkward. "I knew too." he snorted from his position in a corner.

" What? "

"I've been calling her lass since Rivendell!"

"We thought you were insulting him… her!"

"Oi watch it!" Bell-Heather had huffed in amusement, watching the squabble play out.

Anyway, as of now she was officially recognised as Bell-Heather Baggins, not Bilbo. Some still called her Bilbo, Fili and Kili for one, as well as Bofur and Nori. Dori, Ori, and Balin preferred her full name. Oin, Gloin, Bifur, Bombur, and Thorin all used Miss Baggins, or Heather if prompted. Gandalf and Dwalin, however, called her Bell. She hadn't known how to feel when Dwalin first called her Bell. He'd seemed very awkward about it, and apologised, but said it was faster to yell during times of danger and well… she couldn't argue with that logic. She didn't actually mind.

Of course, this was no ordinary day for the mountain. Bell-Heather had sent messages to the Shire, with Thorin's permission, requesting trade. And the Thain, since Bell-Heather was his favourite grandchild, (another revelation for the company of Dwarves) had readily agreed. So the Hobbits of the Shire were sending an envoy to Erebor, with seedlings for growth and farming instructions, to help settle the mountain's land. Bell-Heather was more connected to the earth than she'd ever been… all Hobbits could speak to it but Bell-Heather felt closer to it somehow, must have been Yavanna's blessings.

A great horn sounded from the front gate, and she flew to meet it, the stone of the mountain aiding her path graciously. She and Erebor were now thick as thieves, and the Dwarrow would be frightened if they knew what was good for them. Should someone tick her off… well, that's that.

Dwalin greeted her at the gates, wearing his new leathers, navy, courtesy of Dori. He playfully gave her a mock salute, before gesturing at the open plains. "One convoy of Hobbits and one Wizard approaching!" Bell-Heather squealed to see her relative, Drogo, and his wife Primula in the party, as well as Hamfast and Bell Gamgee. Oh two Bells would confuse again but it mattered little. She leapt off the battlement, to Dwalin's gasp, and practically floated down. Even the wind around Erebor had become attuned to her. With many tears and much wailing, she embraced her friends, welcoming them into the kingdom.

The Hobbits stayed for a few months, cultivating the land and teaching their skills. They were good craftsmen for farming implements, grudgingly admitted by the Dwarves, who felt cheated out of a skill. However the Dwarven pots, pans, and even jewellery, were eagerly appreciated by the Hobbits, and a happy trade was established. But the most interesting event occurred on the final day of the Hobbits' stay.

"Thorin!" Bell-Heather called, tugging on the sleeve of the regal Dwarf's robe as he stood reading some papers.

"Yes Miss Baggins-" She raised an eyebrow at him. "Heather?"

"The Hobbits have sent me on their behalf to request your permission to host a bring and share dinner for ourselves and the Company." Thorin looked perplexed.

"A what?"

"Bring and share! Do Dwarrow not have such a tradition?"

Thorin frowned at her. "No?"

"Oh! Well then," she patted his arm, "just leave it all to us! Meet us in the Company dining room at 6 bells sharp this evening!"

She had a lot to prepare.

The Hobbitish tradition of a bring and share dinner was simple. Each guest would bring a dish, and then everyone would share them! Except on this occasion, the Hobbits would be the only ones bringing. It was time to start cooking! Bell-Heather herself had commandeered the kitchens in order to make 15 pies, to be shared among the convoy and the company. She had apple, blackberry, apple and blackberry, cherry, strawberry, pear, apricot, rhubarb, raspberry, and blueberry. All varied in number. She was so excited. Having made her contribution, she and the other Hobbits took their food to the dining room, where Thorin would host feasts for a group, usually the Company. Sometimes there would be feasts for the whole kingdom, and that was huge, but the kitchens normally only did one or two dinners a week, and the rest of the time they just cooked for the Company. They'd all become far too used to eating together to stop now.

When the Dwarrow stepped through the door, their mouths fell open. There was a spread. There was fresh bread, butter, cheeses, warm fishcakes and sausages, quiches, salads, plain, asparagus and cheese, and broccoli, there was winter slaw, fruit, hams laid across the table, sausage rolls, and several sorts of drinks to wash it all down with. At the far end lay the puddings, Bell-Heather's pies, as well as some custard tarts and a syrup sponge. The Dwarrow experienced the joy of Hobbit food for the first time. There were tears, largely from Bombur, although the Durin brothers followed his example. Bell-Heather piled her plate high and went to sit next to Dwalin, who was happily munching on a sausage roll, courtesy of Rose Proudfoot, another member of the convoy. She giggled. He was certainly happy. The evening was incredible; there was music and dancing, songs from the Shire, and Gandalf even set off a few indoor fireworks. Then at the very end, was Bell-Heather's announcement.

She stood, and the room hushed. Clearing her throat, she turned to the Thain, her grandfather, as if making a formal petition that hadn't been agreed upon beforehand.

"Thain of the Shire! I, Bell-Heather Daffodil Baggins, do hereby wish to nominate Thorin Oakenshield and Company for the title of Hobbit-Friend."

There was silence. The Dwarrow looked both confused and surprised, unsure of what was happening but aware of its significance.

Her grandfather rose. "Bell-Heather Daffodil Baggins, state your case. Why should they be granted this title?"

She smiled. "These Dwarrow have shown unfailing loyalty and friendship. They have apologised when mistakes were made, and have proven themselves good friends. Their hearths are warm and their love strong. I have found lifelong friends in them. When danger struck, when the storm threatened to overwhelm, they stood firm and continued. They helped me when I was endangered, and they have cared for the land they now own. For these reasons, I nominate them."

The Thain nodded solemnly, before a wide smile broke over his face. Turning to face the table, he raised his hands. "Hobbites!" he cried, "Dwarves pro titulis Amicorum-Hobbitorum subrogarent! Consentis?"

"Aye!" came the roar of the Hobbits.

Her grandfather turned back to her with a beaming face, and clapped his hands together. "A postesta mea Thainis, fit!"

Bell-Heather created crowns of flowers for each Dwarrow's head as the crowd cheered and the mountain herself rumbled in pleasure. "Welcome!" She laughed, "Official friends of Hobbits!" The celebration went on for the rest of the night.

When the Hobbits left, it was with tears and promises to visit, as Bell-Heather would be staying in the mountain, with her Dwarves. It was her home now, the stone and flourishing crops and forests outside. She would visit. But she was happy.

...

A whole year had passed since the reclamation of Erebor. All was well. Bell-Heather now had an official position, the Florist of Erebor! Nobody else was quite as good at it. She had several flower fields that were maintained by Dwarves, she often hired younger ones and trained them, and sold many flower-based wares, also working happily in the library with Ori, and on official matters with the Company. She'd finally regained the weight she'd lost during the quest, back to her chubbier, happier self. It was not good for Hobbits to be too thin. Durin's Day was approaching though, and for that, Bell-Heather needed a dress. A spectacular one! It would not do for her to be seen as unkempt during such an important time. There were envoys from the Shire coming, as well as Elves, Dale, and the other Dwarven kingdoms! Oh it was so exciting! She'd planned the arrangements for the Great Hall, ready to decorate it herself, with Erebor's help, all that was needed was her gown. And luckily, she knew the perfect Dwarf to help.

"Bell-Heather Baggins, you need a new dress!" Dori announced, having strode over to where her stall was set up in the market for that day. She chuckled quietly, patting the Dwarf on the shoulder.

"I thought you'd never ask!"

So there she was, in a beautiful, newly made damask gown of forest green, with pink and gold accents weaving vines and flowers across the bodice and base of the skirt, with sleeves that puffed out and a cinched waist, as well as a neckline that dipped to show a little cleavage, while somehow still pushing what little assets she had up. Bell-Heather wasn't ashamed of her body, it wasn't the way of the Hobbits. Maybe she didn't have the larger chests of some, or the larger backsides of others, but she had hips at least, and small breasts. She'd been wearing baggier clothes for most of the quest, and after, until now. She'd also been skinnier than most Hobbits; loneliness did that to a person. But now she was a good Hobbity weight, with those fatter thighs and soft belly that were so appreciated in the Shire, filled out perfectly. Her hips were certainly visible now. And with a dress that accentuated it this way… well there was no doubt about her figure anymore! The way Dori was nodding in approval made her realise that she was almost certainly never going to be able to get away with wearing baggier clothes again, unless for work. Dori liked everyone to look their best and this… this was her best. That evening the Dwarf had also pinned her tawny curls back with a gold and emerald flower pin, and hung emeralds from her ears and at her throat. She felt like royalty. Profusely thanking the Dwarf, who honestly looked very proud of himself, she twirled on the spot, before it was time for the ball. She draped a pearly pink, silk shawl over her shoulders and left for the hall, Dori taking his own route.

When she'd reached it, however, nerves began to flutter in her stomach, and a few daisies sprouted around her feet. However, she calmed herself, listening as the heralder announced her before striding into the room. She halted for a moment. There were so many guests . But it was too late to back out now, so on she went! She made her way through the dance hall and towards the great table at the far end, where the royal family and the Company sat. Between the melodies of the music, she could catch whispers from those around her as she walked, humming a melody under her breath.

"Erebor," she murmured, "quid dicunt?"

"Putant te pulchrissimam esse." The mountain replied, humour underlying her voice.

Bell-Heather could feel her ears flushing. "Oh."

However, as she reached the main table, she felt herself relax, with her friends, although their reactions were… startling. Dori, of course, looked proud as a peacock with his work. Thorin looked proud also, but of her, like a brother almost, and Fili and Kili both gave her excited thumbs up. Balin was smiling grandfatherly at her, as was Gandalf, who had joined her for the evening. The rest of the Company varied from appreciative snorts and nods (Oin, Gloin, Bifur), to encouraging smiles (Ori, Bombur), to a wink and another small thumbs up (Nori and Bofur, of course). And Dwalin was… she looked at the captain of the guard, next to Thorin, on his left (after Lady Dis), who was very pointedly not looking at her, although his face was as red as a tomato, and one of his hands was pressed tightly to his mouth.

" Oh. " Bell-Heather breathed softly. Erebor's laughter was ringing in her ears.

Never let it be said that she wasn't the mischievous type, because she walked right up to Dwalin, slipped under the table, and plopped herself, if there was any elegance in it, into the chair next to him. He made a stifled squeaking noise.

"Mister Balin!" She called, with humour warming her voice. "I do believe there is something wrong with your brother!"

"Oh aye lass!" he replied, "A grave sickness indeed, a sickness many a fine Dam can cause in a fine dress!"

The table exploded into laughter, and Bell-Heather drew Dwalin's face to meet her eyes.

"Say, Dwalin?"

"Miss Baggins."

"It's Bell to you. You know that." She frowned before breaking into a smile. "Did you know I can talk to Erebor?"

He raised an eyebrow in disbelief, all momentary embarrassment forgotten. "You can do what ?"

She laughed, "She's in my head now, talking to me, telling me things."

"And what's she telling you now?" He knew not to doubt his Hobbity friend at this point. But the concept was… shocking.

"Eum ausculare! Id age! Eum ausculare! Scies te velle!"

"This."

And she drew his face to hers in a chaste, sweet kiss, feeling his cheeks heating beneath her fingers as she pressed his lips to her own.

...

Latin: All words for races and names I have Latinised myself

Yavanna, mater viridis, me defende cum tuis artibus naturae, defende Hobbitem tuam, defende amici mei, defende cum tua potesta divina!

Yavanna, green mother, defend me with your natural arts, defend your Hobbit, defend my friends, defend with your divine power!

Melius est remissionem quam concessionem rogare.

It is better to ask for forgiveness than permission.

Rectam es. Sed mihi non placet.

You're right. But I don't like it.

Constasne hunc locum rectum esse?

Are you sure this is the right place?

Ita vero

Alright/If you say so/As you say.

Hobbites! Dwarves pro titulis Amicorum-Hobbitorum subrogarent! Consentis?

Hobbits! The Dwarves have been nominated for the titles of Hobbit-Friends! Do you agree?

A postesta mea Thainis, fit!

By my power as Thain, it is so!

Erebor, quid dicunt?

Erebor, what are they saying?

Putant te pulchrissimam esse.

They think that you are very beautiful.

Eum ausculare! Id age! Eum ausculare! Scies te velle!

Kiss him! Do it! Kiss him! You know you want to!

...

So how was that? Not one of my worst writings if I do say so myself!

Also if any of you have any ideas for another scenario within this AU... comment it ;) I want to write it! Also someone let Bofur's hat in, it didn't make the Durin's Day guestlist and I feel bad.

Till next time!

-FallohideDragon-