"Now what do I owe the honor of your visit, milady?" Bilbo asked politely.
"I would think that my purpose would be obvious," she said quietly as she placed her cup into her saucer with a small clink, "Especially to the fourteenth member of the Company."
He instantly felt like a fool for not connecting the pieces sooner. An uncourteous and insensitive fool at that.
"I…" he started, his throat closing up with grief. He'd worked so hard to forget over the last few months. It made the memories no easier to bear now. "I'm so sorry for your loss, milady."
And it was such a monumental loss, Bilbo realized suddenly. Not just her brother, but her two sons as well. And with her parents and husband long dead, that meant she was the last of her family. Just like Bilbo, actually.
"Of all the times I've heard that sentiment recently, I do believe that is the first time it was truly meant sincerely," Dís gave him a bittersweet smile. "Thank you, Bilbo, son of Bungo."
Bilbo ducked his head and took a nibble of his biscuit, unsure of how to respond. He'd already blundered this meeting so badly already.
Thankfully, the lady took charge of the floundering conversation. "That said, I did not come here for condolences. I came for information." She went on to explain that she'd received short letters from Thorin postmarked from Bywater and Rivendell, outlining the Company's misadventures so far. She'd also heard a rumor from some of her Elven contacts that Thranduil had taken them captive, but that nothing could be confirmed. Ravens had arrived in the dwarven settlement approximately two weeks after the Battle, bringing verbal messages of the royal family's deaths and Dain's coronation.
"I hope…" Dís paused as she took a steadying breath, "I hope you will be willing to give me more details than what those bare messages contained. If I may impose upon your hospitality, I can stay three days if that is what your tale requires."
Bilbo took a fortifying sip of tea and wished it was something much stronger.
"You are welcome here for as long as you like, milady," he said after he was sure of his voice.
"Dís, please," she insisted. "You are part of the Company, which affords you honor. From Thorin's letters I know you saved their lives at least once, which grants you familiarity."
"As you wish," Bilbo bit his lip and ducked his head. "Although I daresay I do not deserve that honor, especially considering all of my many failings during our adventure."
"That is for me to decide," Dís said authoritatively. "But if you care to dissuade me, I look forward to hearing your arguments." If Bilbo wasn't so wrong-footed, he might have noticed the twinkle of teasing in her sharp eyes. As it was, he busied himself with cleaning up the dishes in order to have something to do to fill the awkward silence.
Bilbo's hands trembled slightly as he started stacking the dirty plates. He couldn't do this. He couldn't even bring himself to even think of Thorin most days, much less talk about how he… no. Royalty or not, he was just going to have to say no. Balin could tell Dís more anyway, and they already knew each other from Before. Better to hear it from an old friend than a total stranger that knew next to nothing about her people and their customs.
Dís stood and began to help him with the dishes as well. He almost dropped his stack of plates in surprise. As it was, a knife slipped from the top of the stack to clatter upon the floor.
"Blunt the knives, bend the forks…"
Bilbo found himself humming the tune under his breath despite himself as he bent down to retrieve the utensil.
"Smash the bottles and burn the corks," Dís sang in a clear alto voice. Bilbo turned to stare at her in utter shock.
"Where did you think they learned that song?" she smiled, crinkling the crows feet around her eyes. Somehow, it made her look decades younger.
"Honestly?" Bilbo scrambled to gather his scattered thoughts and silverware. "I thought they made it up on the spot."
"Let me guess… they changed the last line to 'that's what Bilbo Baggins hates'?" He nodded, and she chuckled. "It was originally 'that's what tired mothers hate'. Lodin, my husband, wrote it for me many years ago. He had quite the sense of humor, for a poet." Her eyes turned misty. "It's the little things, the mundane memories, that stay with you once they're gone," she sighed, and Bilbo could see the grief lines clearly on her face for the first time. Her true age was evident, as well as the weight of those years. Bilbo swallowed hard. As difficult as this was going to be for him, it was going to be so much worse for her. He felt his eyes tear up in compassion. After everything Thorin and Fili and Kili did for him, the very least he could do was to offer Dís what comfort he could.
"Come," he placed the dishes in the sink for later and led her to his sitting room. How to begin? Bilbo's eyes strayed to his mantleplace, and the array of pipes he'd arranged there. They fixed on one in particular.
"Do you mind if I smoke?" he asked.
"Only if you do not mind if I take notes," she replied. "My memory is not the best, and I do not wish to forget a single word."
Bilbo picked up his longest pipe as she pulled out a small red-leather bound book from her pocket. He busied himself with packing the Longbottom Leaf just so as he gathered his thoughts. He'd not told this story to anyone, not even himself, and he wanted to get it right.
Bilbo pulled a large gulp of sweet smoke into his lungs and just held it there for a moment, letting it relax him as well as to remind him. He closed his eyes and thought back to that fateful morning as he exhaled a perfect smoke ring. Bilbo let himself sink into the memories until he could almost smell the bacon and eggs he'd fried that day, and hear the crinkle of dew-wet grass under his feet as he walked out of his freshly-painted green door.
"It all started, for me at least, when I met Gandalf. I was smoking this very pipe on my porch after breakfast when I saw an old man in a long grey cloak coming down the road. He had a great big pointy hat on his head and carried nothing but a long twisted staff. He was very tall, even for a Man, and his beard was almost long enough to tuck into his belt. I said 'good morning', because that was the polite thing to do, you know. I didn't actually wish to speak with a stranger, especially one so strange as him. I'm a Baggins of Bag End, and I have a reputation to uphold, after all. Or at least I used to…" Bilbo took a fortifying puff of smoke. "In any case, he replied in the most peculiar way…"
A/N: Smoking is very bad for you and everyone around you, and I am not trying to encourage it in any way. But unfortunately there aren't any pulmonologists in Middle Earth to tell hobbits to stop trashing their lungs.
Sorry for the multiple re-postings of the last chapter... First I forgot all the little accents on Dís's name, and then I forgot that Bilbo is the fourteenth member of the Company, not the thirteenth. Silly me. Hopefully this extra-long chapter makes up for it.
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