"You can't be serious!" Bilba exclaims when Gandalf informs her that she will be continuing on with Thorin and his little troop of adventurers when they depart Rivendell in the morning. She is still reeling from dinner and seeing Fíli, who has been so miserable and quiet the last few days, happily engaged with one other the other visiting dwarves. This news is just too much to take on top of that.
"Completely, dear Bilba," Gandalf puffs on his pipe as he looks at her from under his tattered and discoloured hat. "I cannot allow the treaty between your people and Durin's folk to be put at risk because of your stubbornness. I want you where I can keep my eye on you."
"This is ridiculous!" She snaps. "If you're so concerned, why not just send me with Lord Frerin and his people when they depart?" Not, she allows, that he is wrong to be concerned that she might try to slip out of Rivendell at the first opportunity she might be given.
"Because Frerin has enough problems," the wizard barks, "and he does not need to deal with the potential political nightmare which would result from having to chain you to your pony and lock you in your chambers." He huffs. "I, on the other hand, have no such restrictions upon me. Believe me, Bilba, if it becomes necessary to tie you up and drag you along behind us, I will not hesitate." She gapes at him. "With that in mind, I believe Liriel has packed your belongings and she will wake you in good time for breakfast. I suggest, my dear, that you get a good night's sleep in that bed, it will be your last for some time."
He sweeps from the room before she can muster a response. For a moment she stares at her packed bag and debates pulling everything out so that she has nothing to take with her and will therefore have to remain. Unlike her grandfather, however, who might once have given in to such tactics (and truly the only thing he hasn't let her have her own way with in the last seven years is the trip to Moria) she suspects that Gandalf would just tie her to a pony and make her leave with nothing. If not Gandalf, Thorin would.
Thoughts of Thorin makes her think of Fíli. She's been concerned about him since they arrived but hasn't been able to find him before Arwen and her ladies had come to claim her each day. From his behaviour at dinner this evening she needn't have bothered with worrying over him. He had been so absorbed with his new friend, in fact, that he hadn't noticed her attempts to get his attention. It had made something dark and ugly coil in her stomach to see him sharing warm smiles and laughter with this unknown dwarf, to see their heads almost touching as they smirked and laughed in a way that she hadn't been able to manage with Fíli. She is angry enough, however, to fail to acknowledge that any lack of friendship between them may, in part, be down to her.
She falls asleep still thinking of dinner and wondering if all of Fíli's anger and confusion at the change between Thor and Thorin had been an act. She's just as confused by it all when her bedroom door slams open the next morning and, instead of Liriel, Dwalin strides in already dressed and obviously eager to be on the road.
"Up you get, lass," he bellows, and she groans into her pillow, "you've just got time to dress and eat a quick breakfast."
"I'm not going," she grumbles.
"Oh, but you are, lassie," he grins. "And you'll be going in your underwear if I have to drag you out of that bed."
"Brute!" She cries.
"Aye," Dwalin laughs, "I can't think of many who would disagree with you. You've got half an hour."
Bilba doesn't actually believe that Dwalin will drag her into the courtyard in her undergarments, Gandalf had assured her that Frerin was sending the group who would have escorted her from the Shire with her as protection and chaperones (something her grandfather would have insisted on since unmarried hobbits of the opposite gender are rarely left alone), so she knows that the ones sent to guard her wouldn't allow it. Still, she would be likely to be incredibly humiliated by the time they stepped in. Not only that, however, she also feels she has come to know Dwalin ever so slightly in the weeks they travelled together. Nori she could well believe would drag her into the courtyard naked, probably laughing all the while, but Dwalin hides a gentle soul under his gruff exterior and he might threaten to humiliate her, but he would never do it.
She yawns, her night had been poor, her dreams confusing and her thoughts too full to allow her to rest. Too full of the wrong thing. She is exhausted and with exhaustion the fight has drained out of her somewhat. It will return, it always does, but she has a long journey ahead of her and there will be any number of opportunities to slip away. There is little sense, she concludes, in fighting so hard now that they watch her too closely later. Better to lull them into complaisance so that she can sneak away with more ease later.
She ignores the fact that this very same plan went horribly wrong the last time she tried it.
When she enters the courtyard after a hasty breakfast, she spots five new faces among the gathered company. The dwarf girl she recognises as Fíli's dinner companion from the night before and he is obviously as absorbed by her as he was the previous evening. Even in the light of the new day Bilba cannot work out why seeing them together as they are makes her insides twist and her temper flare. Fíli barely spares her a glance and she's tempted to stamp her foot in irritation but for the fact that such childish behaviour is beneath her.
Balin, dear soul that he is, quickly introduces her to four of the five, Bofur and Bombur, brothers, and the cousin Bifur whose hair is more unkempt than that of any dwarf she has seen so far, his forehead marred by a deep and vicious scar. He only gestures to her, which Bofur translates as a greeting with a wide grin from under his ludicrous hat. Bombur mutters a soft greeting, hands folded over his large stomach and beard braided into a single thick russet rope that he wears looped beneath his chin. Legolas, the elf prince of the Woodland Realm, regards her with an eerie stare, ancient blue eyes cold and almost emotionless, his mouth set in a grim line and his entire bearing tense. She suspects that, like her, he has no desire to make this journey. He spares her little more than a nod before going to his own chestnut mare and Bilba isn't certain whether she is sorry he is gone or glad for it.
The name of Fíli's new friend, she learns, is Adra, the daughter of the Steward of Moria and the one who is supposed to be keeping a watchful eye on Bilba surrounded as she is by all these males who are of no relation to her. Privately, Bilba thinks that the girl ought to look to herself first given how she barely seems to let Fíli out of her sight, after all if an indiscretion were to have occurred where Bilba might be involved it would have happened before Rivendell. She ignores the nagging thought that it very nearly did, if she and Fíli hadn't been interrupted by a troll and that a larger part of her than she would like to admit would have welcomed it. She's aware that by dwarven standards she's hardly pretty, although by hobbit standards she has never been considered the greatest of beauties either, her nose being slightly too pert and her figure a little too trim. Adra, however, is probably considered a great dwarven beauty, at least if the way that Fíli is fawning over her while Ori stutters and flushes is anything to go by. She bites her lip and huffs, ready to march over and cut into the conversation by introducing herself when Elrond, Thorin and the twins enter the courtyard.
"Just say the word," one of the twins says as Thorin approaches his pony. "We can be ready to join you in a moment."
"I have had my fill of you two," Thorin grunts as he mounts, "it could be another two centuries before I show poor judgement enough to desire your company once more."
"I rather call it excellent taste," the other says and Thorin rolls his eyes, though Bilba thinks she sees a flicker of fondness in his exasperation.
"Please, Thorin, you know how we get when we're bored."
"Indeed, I do," Thorin's pony shifts, "which is why I shall leave you here to be bored on your father's watch, instead of tormenting myself with your boredom on mine."
"You have my eternal thanks," Elrond says dryly, and Bilba sees Thorin smirk at him. It is a small sign of friendship between these two races who are known to barely tolerate the existence of each other, and she wonders at it.
Quite honestly, she still cannot quite bring herself to believe that this is really Thorin Oakenshield, the dwarf of legend that her mother had told her so many half-remembered stories about. She knows the dwarves seem to believe it, even Fíli seems to have accepted the idea, and the elves are quite happy to perpetuate the story as well (though she cannot imagine they are doing it to be helpful or respectful given the difficulties between the two peoples). Thorin plays his role well, she will admit, whether he is truly undying, as the stories say, or simply in possession of a hereditary position. A friendship with Elrond, who is immortal as all elves are, would, perhaps naturally, grow over the course of centuries as the only amiable relationship the dwarf could have that would last more than a handful of decades.
"I thought dwarves and elves hated each other," BIlba mutters to Ori, who blinks blearily at her through tired eyes, then turns his gaze upon Thorin and Elrond who are talking quietly.
"Hate is a strong word," he says softly. "Our people have their differences and very rarely see eye to eye. Our history together is complicated, we were friends once, but it soured and failed. We say it was the fault of the elves, they blame us." He shrugs. "I think the friendship between Lord Elrond and Thorin is more a mutual understanding. They have known each other for too long to truly give or take offense any longer."
"Not that he will ever admit to it," Balin adds. "Lord Elrond has earned Thorin's friendship and trust, just as Thranduil has given him just cause for the enmity between them. It is never as simple as ancient history, Mistress Baggins. For every ten of our children willing to accept that the elves may one day betray us there is one, or perhaps two in this case, of them willing to overlook the past to form friendships." She follows his gaze back to Fíli who is obviously saying goodbye to the twins with a wide smile and exchange of handshakes.
Further discussion is prevented by Thorin declaring that it is long past time for them to have departed and that sparks the dwarves into action, their ponies trotting from Rivendell and although they do not look back, Bilba does so more than once. She has a terrible feeling that the few days of peace that she had found there might be the last she will experience for some time. She rides next to Ori in silence for most of the morning, half listening to Fíli as he tells Adra of some childhood mischief in Bree.
"That's not how it happened," she hears Ori mutter. "I had nothing to do with it. It was Kíli," he pauses and glances back, but Fíli and Adra give no indication that they have heard him. That fills Bilba with an odd emotion, one that is warm but vaguely uncomfortable, at the thought that she knows something of Fíli that he seems reluctant to share with Adra. "You don't have to keep me company," Ori adds, when he catches her looking behind them once more. "I doubt either of them would mind if you joined them for a while."
"He'd mind," Bilba mutters crossly.
"It's good to see him laugh," Ori continues as though he hasn't heard her reply. "He doesn't do it much since- well. I'm glad he has more family than he thought. It will make things easier with Thorin anyway."
"Family?" Bilba asks in surprise.
"Lady Adra is his cousin," Ori replies, "or near enough. His grandfather was her grandmother's brother."
Bilba makes a small noise of acknowledgement and glances back once more at the sound of Fíli's chuckle, though she cannot spot any familial resemblance between the two. It isn't unheard of, in the Shire at least, for cousins to marry although it is still discouraged. In truth, nearly every family is related in some way or shape going back to the earliest days of their arrival in their thriving land. The family trees in some of the smials are large enough to cover all of the available wall and floor space if they were to be laid out.
So why does the thought that Fíli has found new family and gets along so well with his cousin make jealousy writhe inside her?
She doesn't know the answer, and the not knowing makes her waspish and short tempered. She retreats into herself for the rest of the day and her temper does not improve when no one seems to notice or care about her withdrawal, when even Fíli doesn't attempt to discover what has upset her so because he is so absorbed in meeting and getting to know his new family. As one who has grown up with family (both wanted and not) around her Bilba has no idea how he can possibly be so excited to discover that he has more relations out there than he knew about. She is an only child, but she has aunts and uncles and cousins enough to have rarely felt that isolation.
She is not, in fact, properly introduced to Adra until they have stopped for the night, the open plains stretching to either side of the road they are following towards the Misty Mountains. It is a craggy collection of rocky outcrops, gorse, grass and heather, exposed and even though it is summer now the night is still cooling rapidly as the sun disappears below the horizon and the chill breeze drifts around them unhindered by any tree cover. With nothing to break the movement of the wind Bilba can easily imagine how this moorland must be harsh and unwelcoming to travellers during poor weather and is likely to be nearly impassable with the snows of winter. With no trees in the area to tie them to the ponies have been hobbled for the night and they graze with only the occasional snort, a sound more reassuring to Bilba than she had ever thought it might be.
"Alright you pair," she hears Bofur say to Fíli and Adra, "you've had the day, but you've a duty here, lass, and you're ignoring it."
"There's no danger here, Uncle," the girl objects, turning wide green eyes upon the dwarf who seems, to Bilba, to carry merriment around him like a comfortable old coat.
"To Mistress Baggins? No, lass, I agree there," Bofur inclines his head, "but you can't be shirking your duty to talk to a pretty lad." Bilba notes that Fíli turns scarlet with some satisfaction and even Adra blushes and squirms. "We've weeks and miles ahead, lass, no need to trade all your stories at the beginning of it."
"Yes, Uncle," Adra's head dips and Bilba turns her eyes away, not wanting to seem interested or be caught watching when they approach.
She looks at her hands instead, her fingers still where they would usually be busy with some small evening task, mending or knitting. She managed to beg some fine wool and thin needles from Arwen while in Rivendell, needles that had promptly been trimmed and altered to fit her small stature, but she hasn't been able to bring herself to start anything. Knitting has never been a source of great enjoyment for her, unlike reading or creating stories for the dozen or so faunts who occupy the Great Smial. Idle fingers, however, are troublesome fingers according to Aunt Donnamira, and so busy work is encouraged. It is still strange to be without it, even after a month, and it is a surprise to find that she even misses turning through the pattern books in search of something new to make.
A shadow falls over her, bringing an end to her musings as quickly as she had begun them, and she turns her gaze up to Adra and Bofur. She looks up at them with a slight tilt of her head, face carefully kept blank in order to hide the emotions that war within her at this addition to her travelling companions. Bofur, Bifur and Bombur she could accept with grace and ease, Fíli has paid little mind to them and they have been open enough with the rest of the group, Bofur and Nori even going so far as to sing several songs together which had turned the tips of Bilba's ears pink. Adra, it seems, is another matter. She doubts she would have taken such a dislike to the girl if Fíli had paid her less attention, but a day of stewing has brought forth the recollection that for all the kindness he has shown her, Fíli has given her his attention out of necessity for the most part and rarely as exclusively as he has been Adra. To see him so eager to please is difficult to accept, even if the one he wants to please is family.
"Can you use that?" Adra asks after a few moments of stilted conversation. Bilba glances down at the little sword Gandalf insisted on her wearing and shakes her head dismissively.
"Hobbits don't use more than a sling, really," Fíli comments, apparently having decided to try and ease the conversation. "Bilba knows one end of a sword from the other, but that's about it."
"Surely," Bilba says with a grin at Fíli and knowing that it will rile him, "all it really takes is holding the right end and stabbing your opponent with the pointy part?" Fíli splutters and, to Bilba's amazement, Adra laughs.
"Expecting you to know how to use it was probably a bit much," she admits. "I didn't expect you to even have a sword. We should teach you, though," she adds, "there's little sense in you having it if you don't know how to use it."
"That's hardly proper," Bilba objects, wondering just how many more people she will be forced to have this conversation with.
"Running away from home isn't 'proper' either," Fíli points out, "and we've already had this discussion."
"Yes," she replies slowly, "and then we were attacked by trolls."
"Which proves my point," he smirks.
"You're insufferable," she flares, ignoring the way her skin tingles when he grins at her like that. "You already know I can use a knife if I really have to."
"Blindly lashing out in the dark is not the same as knowing what you're doing," Fíli lectures, seeming suddenly older than his sixty-nine years, his birthday mentioned when hers had happened while they were on the road. "You were lucky and such luck rarely happens."
"Lucky?" She screeches. "You call being taken by a Man intending to sell me as a slave lucky?"
"You were lucky to get your hands on his knife," Fíli points out. "You were lucky you managed to injure him badly enough that he couldn't follow. You were lucky that injury killed him!"
They are standing almost toe to toe by now, oblivious to the fact that most eyes in the camp have turned upon them while Adra frowns at Bilba's side. The hobbit doubts the girl had intended on this outcome to her innocent question about the sword. -Serves her right- a vicious part of her thinks, -for sticking her nose in where it doesn't belong.- The reminder of her earlier foolishness, the contempt in Fíli's voice as he reminds her that she took a life as a result of that foolishness makes her realise that she hasn't thought about it or really processed it. She hasn't wanted to, and she has lashed out before she thinks, tears prickling at her eyes as her palm hits his scruff covered cheek with an audible crack.
"Enough," Adra steps in before Fíli can move and before Bilba has a chance to think about what she has just done. "Both of you, enough. Clearly, there are some aspects of this that I should have been made aware of," her eyes flicker to Thorin and Gandalf, though the dwarf is glaring at them. "I'm young, Thorin, not stupid," she directs at Fíli's angry uncle who nods in grudging agreement.
Bilba just uses the interaction as a moment to take a shuddering breath and try to get her tears under control. The last thing she needs is to break down weeping and make this whole display more undignified than it already is.
"Come, Bilba," Adra puts an arm around her shoulders and she flinches, "tell me everything about how you came to be in Rivendell."
She is led to her bedroll, which is set up slightly apart from the others, with another unfamiliar blanket beside it. They sit together, wrapped in their blankets, and Bilba finds herself telling Adra everything that has happened. She talks even though she doesn't want to like the dwarf, even though she would rather forget everything that has happened to her since she left Tuckborough, and Adra listens, her face grave and concerned, and her dinner, when Bifur brings it over, almost forgotten.
A.N: I remembered this time! Yay! Don't let me forget
