Thank you so much to my lovely reviewers with the last chapter, I'm amazed there's still so many people reading! We're at 70 CHAPTERS, guys! That's so awesome! My mum's sure you're all sick of this story now, especially since I've been writing it for over a year, but even if it gets to the point where only one of you reading this now is still as amazingly, unbelievably passionate about this fic as you have been for so long I will keep writing until the story is done, I can promise you that (though it hopefully won't get to that point!)
Unfortunately, this chapter is a bit of a filler, but in the next chapter things will pick up in a less angsty way for a change, so I'm looking forward to writing it!
So, forgive any mistakes in this chapter.
Read. Enjoy. Review.
Chapter Seventy # For the Love of Baby Hobbits #
Pushing open the door to Bag End gently, Dís stepped into the dark hallway. She jostled Frodo on her hip slightly as she turned to close the door behind her, lighting the candle that always sat on a little table by the front door. The flame's soft light was more than enough for her dwarven eyes and she walked into the living room, resting the candlestick on the coffee table as she eased herself down into Bilbo's armchair.
Frodo let out a soft, whimper like sound and she quietly cursed herself for waking him as she shifted him into a more comfortable position in her lap. For a few moments the only words to come from Frodo's lips were the nonsensical murmurs of a half-dreaming child, but then he blinked his impossibly wide eyes several times and gave a sharp gasp. His fingers curled around her sleeves and she could feel his tiny muscles tense up in fear.
"It's alright, mizimith, I've got you." She murmured comfortingly, aware that Frodo would be disorientated after such a horrific day, especially since they had still been down in the middle of Hobbiton when the boy dozed off.
Frodo's head had snapped up as he hitched in a breath as if in preparation to scream, but when he heard Dís' voice and met her eyes he relaxed and slumped against her chest with a soft sigh of relief. The tight grip he had around her sleeves lingered and he yawned.
"Auntie Dís? Wh… when did we get home?" Frodo's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
"Just a few moments ago," she explained gently, rubbing circles on the lad's back as he stretched a little. Frodo had taken to calling her 'Auntie' after the first few weeks – an unexpected, foreign title for her, but one that she embraced and cherished nevertheless. "Sleep if you wish, kurdith. I did not mean to wake you."
Another soft sigh was drawn from Frodo's lips as he yawned again, snuggling further into her arms. Dís stared into the empty fireplace, mulling over the day's events. She had thought – hoped – that the incident in the Shire would be no more than a skirmish, a bad raid at the worst, but it had been a battle. A small battle, thank Mahal, but a battle nonetheless. At its height she had feared that the casualty rate would be far higher than they suffered in the end, though she truly mourned each and every one of the lives lost – the lives of the hobbits, in any case.
They had finally received word from the Blue Mountains late in the afternoon, announcing that their proclaimed treaty had been accepted. It had taken Bilbo, Dís and her sons almost three hours to draw the cursed thing up in the first place but she had been quite proud of it when it was finally finished. The treaty granted the hobbits of the Shire the guarantee of dwarven aid should they ever fall under attack as an act of gratitude for their protecting the prince. They had been able to offer the dwarves the chance to trade freely with the Shire four times a year in a massive, festival-like market – courtesy of the Tooks of Tuckborough. There were several other little legal details, but in essence the treaty encouraged the cooperation of the Shire and the Blue Mountains to mutual benefit, without forcing either race to step too far out of their safe bubble of isolationism.
To her immense relief, Lord Arnor had accepted the treaty immediately; signing the copy they had sent him the very evening of the first attack and sending it back with one of the ravens of Erebor. He had also enclosed a letter to Dís to inform her that a company from Ered Luin would likely pass by the Shire within the next week and she would be more than welcome to join it if she wished. While she appreciated the gesture, Dís had not had much time yet to ponder his offer. There were more important things to think of than her own comfort and safety.
When Rosa Goodchild and Andwise Gamgee returned (which would be in the next few days if all went well) Dís hoped to come to an agreement with the Rangers around the Shire to enhance the hobbits' protection even further. One battle in the Shire was enough. It was more than enough.
There was so much to be done, so many things that had to be taken care of. The bodies of the dead ruffians had been already been disposed of, having been hauled into wagons and buried in an old, nearby sand-pit now known as the Battle Pit. A separate Hill Side grave – apparently an honour for the simple people – was set aside for the bodies of the seventeen hobbits who fell in the fray, with the burials scheduled for the next day.
"They deserve something proper, a proper funeral." Odo Proudfoot had wheezed weakly, to the agreement of all.
Dís had spent a good portion of the day securing the prisoners taken during the battle in the storage tunnels beneath the Old Mill, ensuring that there would be no escape for any of them. It had been rather difficult with the younger of the two surviving dwarves – Sindri had not taken Dagr's death well and he fought like a savage thing with gnashing teeth and wild eyes, but eventually she had managed to restrain him completely.
It had been-
"Auntie Dís… Auntie Dís I can't sleep!" Frodo whimpered, sounding rather distressed by this as his hands tightened around her sleeve even more.
"Can't you?" Dís tried to keep her tone light enough to reassure him. "Why is that, then?"
Frodo sniffed, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I keep seeing them!"
"Seeing who, kurdith?" she frowned.
"Sam and Hamson," Frodo's voice was all but a keen. "An' all the… all the people who…"
"Oh, Frodo…" Dís whispered, feeling like an utter idiot as she cast her mind back to the afternoon.
Though she had not been there at the time, Kíli had told her in a solemn, shaking voice that Bilbo had left the room for several minutes while Daisy Took was checking Frodo for any injuries (of which there were none save a few scrapes, to everyone's relief) The child had panicked and scampered away to find his uncle, stumbling instead into the blood-stained meadow. Before anyone could do anything to prevent it, Frodo Baggins had seen the long line of bodies laid beneath the Party Tree. It was one of the reasons why Dís had brought him home in the first place.
"They were… it was so…" Frodo broke off with a sob, pressing his face into her chest.
"I know, sweetheart, I know."
"I don't want to close my eyes! I don't want to see them all the time!"
"I know," Dís swore. "Oh, Frodo, I know…"
Dís had much experience with comforting traumatised, grieving children – the Valar knew she had had enough practise with Fíli – but that did not mean that she knew how best to relieve Frodo's pain, so she just kept running her hands through his curls, gently humming wistful lullabies into the night.
The next day, beneath the midday sun, they laid their fallen to rest.
The funeral was beautiful. Somehow, by the time the last body was laid into the ground, the chosen hill was adorned with more flowers than Dís could name. The sun shone on the green grass and their colourful petals, and the immediate families of the dead stood amongst the brightest of them all, each whispering a few quiet words of goodbye into a tiny posy of flowers. Kíli later explained that every individual flower in the posy represented something that the mourner wished to say to their lost one, with each and every posy containing a red tulip to symbolise undying love and a black rose with the simple, devastating meaning of farewell.
After a few moments of silence, the members of the families of the dead stood forward and dropped their posies one by one into the grave. Everyone helped to replace the earth on top, a tradition that went back centuries according to most, and when it was done the entire population of the Shire returned to a meadow – though not the one where the battle took place – to share a sombre meal with each other, before heading back to their own homes. There were exceptions to this, and Bag End quickly became very full, but the day was one of quiet remembrance.
In the evening, Kíli left the house alone with a little basket and when Dís asked Bilbo what he was doing, the hobbit replied in a barely audible voice that the young dwarf had gone to place his own posies on the burial site.
Confused, Dís let a frown adorn her face. "Then why did he not do it at the funeral?"
Bilbo sighed, staring mournfully at the door. "I believe he wanted some privacy for what he wishes to say."
Another weight dropped onto Dís heavy heart at those words, but she had held her tongue and changed the subject. When Kíli did not return in time for supper, she ventured into his room and found a short list in his cursive, hobbit-like handwriting on the desk.
Wormwood - absence, bitter sorrow
Rue - regret
White Heather - protection
Sweetpea- gratitude
Rainflower - I love you, I must atone for my sins, I will never forget you
Pear Blossom - lasting friendship
Asphodel – my regrets follow you to the grave
"I wanted to get it right."
Dís turned at the sound of Kíli's voice, seeing her son in the doorway.
"I know the language of the flowers as well as any, I didn't really need the book or the list, but I wanted to make sure it was right." He elaborated in a soft, sad tone.
"I think you most probably did get it right." She murmured as he crossed the room towards her. "Were you alone?"
Kíli nodded as he wrapped his arms around her.
"Did it help?"
"It did…" Kíli sighed heavily. "It did…"
On the third day after the battle, Rosa and Andwise returned with a tall ranger named Ned, who looked rather impressed when they showed him the prisoners locked beneath the Old Mill.
"The wandering wizard did seek us out and ask us to watch the Shire," Ned admitted, rubbing his bristly jaw as they retreated away from the swearing ruffians and into the sunlight. "I am sorry that we have failed you before we even began our task – we do have eyes on the Shire but as of yet there are but three of our number in any position to make a difference, for Gandalf told us that he deemed your people safe for now. I shall speak to my superiors and arrange a far greater watch."
"Thank you." Bilbo said sincerely. "That would be a great comfort to many, I am sure. I was wondering if we could possibly ask you for one more favour?"
"And what may that be?" Ned's pleasant face morphed into a curious frown.
"Here in the Shire, we are not used to taking prisoners. The dwarves must go to Erebor to face justice, but the first part of that which I mean to ask is that we do not know what should be done with the men."
"I will arrange for them to be brought to justice," Ned swore. "That will not be a problem. What is the second part?"
"We need the dwarves to go to Erebor, but we are not keen on the idea of taking them. We mean to take the same journey ourselves, but there are quite obviously some feelings here that would make so long a trek rather distressing - for the younger ones, in particular. Might you know of some honourable, trustworthy folk that might shadow our journey with the two dwarves in tow, for a good wage?" Bilbo seemed to hold his breath as Ned took in his words with a solemn face.
"I will ask around, Master Baggins. With your leave I shall depart in the morning to organise that which you wish to be done to the best of my ability."
"Brilliant, thank you very much." Bilbo bowed slightly, a gesture which Ned returned. "The Green Dragon has several guest rooms that should be available – you would have to ask Celandine Goldworthy."
Dís waited until the man had excused himself to speak to the woman Bilbo pointed out and then sighed softly. "Well, that is one weight off of our shoulders – assuming this 'Ned' is trustworthy, of course…"
"He does appear to be one of the Rangers of the North – do you see his cloak clasp?"
"The star is their symbol, their uniform if you will." Dís nodded, having searched for the six pointed star herself when Ned first introduced himself. A small, teasing smirk crossed over her face without her consent, but she could not help herself. "From which book did you garner that worldly knowledge, Bilbo?"
A wry half smile accompanied her reply. "I met one once."
Dís raised her eyebrows. "When did you meet a Ranger?"
"During the Fell Winter…" Bilbo's smile saddened. "I was nine at the time, no older than Merry or Nelly. The Brandywine froze over, you see, and wolves were able to cross it. You've seen how well hobbits are suited to any form of fighting – and this we anticipated!"
"Will you tell me what happened?" Dís asked carefully, well aware that recounting past traumas may well be the last thing Bilbo wished to do.
"I was playing with young Rowan Noakes. He was my best friend, at that time. We were collecting icicles to make a crown for our snowman, but we wandered a little further than we intended to, and we were set upon by three wolves. I managed to get up into the trees in time, but Rowan… Rowan was not quite so lucky." Bilbo shuddered slightly and Dís regretted asking. "A Ranger found me three hours later, almost frozen solid. He warmed me up and brought me back to my parents, but not before he distracted me from the blood and gore with his shiny broach and clever stories."
"Oh, Bilbo, I'm sorry I asked…"
"Don't be," Bilbo smiled at her. "It is long in the past now."
Dís fell silent, though she returned the hobbit's smile.
"What have we missed?" Kíli asked as he appeared before them, Frodo on his hip and Fíli by his side.
"Ned the Ranger has arrived." Dís nodded towards the man now speaking to several hobbits as Frodo held out his arms to be transferred to Bilbo.
Kíli's face crumpled and he looked around. "Rosa and Andy-"
"Have already gone to the grave. Hamfast took them." Bilbo interrupted softly.
It had been the heart-breaking duty of poor Hamfast Gamgee to inform his brother and his sister-in-law of the death of his wife, and Dís had watched with a heavy heart as Rosa let out a harsh wail of grief.
"Kíli, look at me." She murmured, drawing her son's eyes away from the direction of the hill. "Stop now. You can stop now."
Pursing his lips as if to stop them from trembling, Kíli nodded, and Dís was relieved to see a little of the guilt seep away from his eyes. This was not her son's fault, not by any stretch of the imagination, and she would not have him believe that it was.
"Stop doing what?" Frodo asked with a frown.
"Feeling guilty." Fíli interjected. "Kíli is still silly enough to think this is all his fault."
Frodo wrinkled his nose in distaste as Kíli scowled at his brother. "This is the baddies' fault, not Kíli's! Why would you even think it is your fault?"
Kíli just shook his head slightly. "No reason at all, Frodo, I'm just being silly."
"Well stop being silly! There are enough bad feelings in your head already, you don't need any more!" Frodo ordered, his face set sternly.
Dís could not help but smile as her son finally gave a little smile himself.
"Alright, Frodo. I'm sorry."
Frodo nodded with a triumphant 'Hmph!' that just screamed 'so you should be'.
A surge of protectiveness swelled through Dís as she laughed at the little hobbit, and with it came a realisation of something she was sure that she had known for months, even if she had not yet admitted it.
This family she saw before her, this wonderful, mismatched, hodgepodge family, was hers. She belonged to them, to this strange collection of hobbits and dwarves, and they belonged to her.
And Dís, daughter of Thráin was nothing, nothing, if she were not more protective of her family than a mother bear.
Bilbo met her eyes above Frodo's head, speaking hesitantly. "Do you think... do you think it's time?"
Pursing her lips, Dís nodded slowly. "Yes, I do think it's time…"
Kíli sucked in a deep breath but he nodded and steeled himself. Fíli's eyes fluttered closed to hide the despair that sprung in them. Frodo looked to the adults, confused and more than a little concerned.
It did not take long to gather the majority of their friends and neighbours together – those who had answered their plea for help from the surrounding villages were yet to return home in any case, and most everyone seemed to spend most of their time in the centre of their little village. That was how hobbits strove through grief and misfortune, it seemed. They huddled together, knuckled down and did whatever they could to make the best out of a bad situation.
This time, it was Kíli who addressed the crowd.
"The first thing that I must say, the one thing that truly matters, is thank you. Thank you for everything each and every one of you has done – for more than twenty years now. This is my home, but that's only because you made it so. In fighting with us the other day you gave more than I would ever have asked you to, and I love you all dearly for it." Kíli's eyes filled with tears, but he did nothing to prevent their fall. "But I have to go."
As expected, uproar arose at his comment. It was utterly justified – these people had just lost loved ones to keep Kíli safe in his home, but Dís' son was not yet done.
"I don't want to, goodness knows I don't! But if I stay here, trouble will follow me again. I won't – can't – put you in this sort of danger again. I can't do that…" Kíli shook his head and swallowed, clearly struggling to get the words out.
There are two sorts of people who cry in public, Thráin had told Dís and her brothers on one of their cold nights of exile, the very weak, and the very strong.
Dís was certain that her son fell in the latter category.
Kíli cleared his throat. "You have protected me for twenty years and you have given so much to do so, so please let me protect you, too. I cannot bear this, what has happened. If I stay here, others may come, angrier and more dangerous and I know that we cannot go through this again. I do not want to go, but I don't have a choice."
The quiet that fell over the crowd was broken by quiet sniffles and sobs from various folk across the field. Even Lobelia and Otho Sackville-Baggins looked mildly moved.
"But we don't want you to go. That was why Mama died, so you can stay!" May Gamgee called in a wavering voice.
"I know," Kíli nodded, trying to smile at the distraught girl. "But moreover she died to keep the Shire safe, and I have to do whatever I can to do that too. This is my sacrifice for you."
"Your sacrifice?" Otho sneered, all sympathy gone from his face. "What exactly are you sacrificing? You've made a mess and you're running away before it's all-"
"Home, Otho." Kíli interrupted quietly. "I'm giving up my home. It was all I wanted throughout most of the journey – to return to the Shire, to my family, my friends… This is where my heart is, where I belong, but I cannot stay here. I cannot put you through this again."
"So we won't ever see you again?" Fredegar Bolger called up in a choked, mournful voice.
"I wouldn't say that," Kíli smiled weakly at the boy. "I'll be visiting, of that I'm sure."
"Five years." Hugo's voice called out strongly across the field. "You'll go no more than five years in a row without visiting us or so help me we'll keep you in the Lockholes at Michel Delving!"
Even as he laughed softly, Kíli looked to his mother. Dís smiled as she spoke. "I'm sure that we'll be able to manipulate that politically and practically if we put our minds to it. You'll be sick of travelling by the time you're one hundred, my boy."
Kíli nodded, smiling with a quivering lip as he turned back to the crowd. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I truly, truly am. But this is for the best."
For a long moment the hobbits kept silent, until Peony Burrows shook her head with a tearful smile.
"We all just love you, Kíli."
Through her own misty eyes Dís watched Kíli smile through his tears.
"I love you all, too." his voice broke slightly and a blind man could have seen just how much Kíli meant it.
"When do you have to go?" Rosa asked quietly.
"Two weeks." Bilbo announced. "We mean to leave on the last day of April…"
A small weight collided with her lower body and Dís looked down to see little Pervinca staring up at her. The child's emerald eyes lacked their usual sparkle and her copper curls were a tangled mess around her face, but she was altogether unharmed, for which Dís was very, very grateful.
"Hello, Sweetpea." Dís murmured quietly as she ran a hand over Pervinca's hair, only for her fingers to get tangled within seconds. "My goodness, that's a bit more tangled than usual!"
Pervinca just nodded wordlessly and buried her face in Dís' skirt, her hands clutching at the simple green fabric. Dís frowned. Paladin and Ellie's youngest daughter was not nearly as talkative as Nelly, but she was rarely silent. Supposing it was due to the fact that Bilbo was still talking, Dís began to absently tease out the lass's tangles.
After a few moments, Pervinca raised her hands up to Dís, staring imploringly into the princess's eyes. Dís scooped the little girl off of the floor, smiling slightly to herself as Pervinca shifted around. Pervinca's locks locked around the dwarven woman's waist and her wayward curls tickled Dís' chin as she nestled her face into the princess' neck.
"Don't go."
The girl's murmur was so quiet that Dís almost missed it.
"Oh, sweetheart, we don't have a choice." She whispered back.
After a few minutes, Pervinca's warm tears began to soak the shoulder of Dís' tunic as her soft, impassioned sobs broke from her little lips. It broke the heart of the princess, it truly did, but at least the little girl would be safe. At least the little hobbits Dís had grown so fiercely, protectively fond of would be a little more protected from the evil ways of the world. As occupied as she was in hushing the little hobbit, Dís failed to notice the child's aunt storming away from the crowd and towards her own house.
Esme was not happy.
How dare he? How dare Kíli get up and announce something like that without even mentioning it to her first? She had known that something like this would come, of course she had, but the least Kíli could do would be to give her a little warning!
Furious, she pushed open the door to her house and strode into the study, pulling books from the shelf and slamming them onto the desk. She thumbed through the leaves to find the right pages and began to make notes, so many notes, researching things as thoroughly as she could in her seething state. They would find it difficult to argue if she had facts.
He may have chosen what he was going to do, but Kíli Baggins was not the only one with a choice.
Esmeralda Brandybuck had one too.
And there I must leave it for now! Thanks for reading this chapter, I hope you enjoyed it.
Now, I have something exciting to celebrate the seventieth chapter – IT'S COMPETITION TIME!
I've been trying to come up with a nickname for Pervinca, so I thought I would turn it to the readers. If you have an idea for a nickname for her, simply mention it in a review of this chapter. I'll announce the winner at the start of the next chapter, and when I have done so the winner will be able to commission a Hobbity one shot from me with any plotline or characters that they wish :) Fun, huh?
I'd really appreciate your help with this guys, thank you so much!
Even if you don't want to get involved with the whole nickname thing, please do leave a comment telling me what you think of the story so far. While I have an increasingly busy schedule, reviews really do motivate me to write so much faster and I am doing my best to get as many good-quality updates to you as possible, so please let me know how I'm doing if you have the time yourself :)
Thank you so much!
