[Frodo's POV]

Dear God, what happened? She now thinks me an idiot. I shouldn't have kissed her. That's not what she wanted at all - all those herbs must have drugged her slightly. I run my shaking hand over my head, pacing infront of the fire. Pinpoints of light dot the skies outside. Wait, it's nightime?! (Y/n) will be alright, yes? Maybe I should go after her... No, she's fine - what's the worst that could happen? I shouldn't be so concerned for her anyway.

There's limits I must have, looking after my friend. 'Don't get carried away,' I repeat to myself, humming along to an old travelling song Bilbo taught me. My pacing slows and I come to rest on the nearby dining chair, crossing and re-crossing my legs, as if anticipating something. Which is ridiculous, of course. It's not as if (y/n) is going to come cantering back her to declare her undying love for me. I'm just lucky she even let me touch her like that.

I circle my throbbing temples with the cool tips of my fingers. Surely I should have known better? What does it matter now, though? She's probably gonna running home to tell her mother all about that strange Baggins boy.

Sighing is getting me nowhere.

"Frodo?" A slightly drunken voice calls out my name. Clacking of keys and such echo off the walls as the door is pulled to a tight close. I know who it is immediately.

"I'm in here, Bilbo." I call out, poking my head through the arch to great his slightly flushed grin.

"Ahh, there you are, my boy." He simpers. "Gandalf was just telling me about the little talk you two had earlier."

Gandalf? I rake back through my memory of this evening, to come up almost blank. All I can remember is (y/n), without any complaints at that. Knitting my brow together, realisation strikes and I regain composure.

"You mean about visiting the dwarves?" Gandalf had talked to me earlier about going to Erebor for some sort of family business. It all seemed a little shady to me, considering they all know Bilbo so well, especially about his younger days.

"Yes! I think it's a wonderful idea!" Bilbo hurries into the kitchen to boil a kettle over the fire. I lean against the wall watching the water fall into the brass and slosh against the sides.

"Will you be coming to?" I ask. It's such a scary thought, travelling so far to an unknown place to meet dwarves who seem to know so much more about my own uncle than me.

"Yes, yes, yes." He waves it off, scouring the cupboards for teacups. He comes to no avail, so I reach to a higher shelf and pull down two mis-matched mugs. He smiles thankfully before place ing them on the hard oak table and setting about the room to find milk.

"What about (y/n)...? I mean, we'll be gone for so long..." I sigh. My eyes suddenly find comfort in tracing the lines separating the terracotta floor tiles. The sound of Bilbo's shuffling stops, but I daren't meet his gaze. I've never told anyone about my feelings for (y/n), apart from hinting to Sam, though he picked up on it soon enough.

"Well, you tell me." Says Bilbo. His sober stage has started to kick in, his tone a little more serious.

"I just don't want to leave her... If anything happened to her, I couldn't live with myself..." Water-filled eyes trail up to meet Bilbo's. "I-I think I love her, uncle."

The older hobbit's once understanding face now changes into a sad sort of smile. He pads over from the counter and swings a gentle arm around my shoulders. My tears follow close behind; I feel them stain my cheeks, but don't let out a cry. I won't let out a cry.

"Now, I don't know how to tell you this." Voice clear yet warm. "But she's already engaged."

The pricking in my eyes stop, all my muscles loosen, my vision blurs. If I had been holding china right now, my heart wouldn't have been the only thing in pieces on the floor. (Y/n) can't be engaged, she just can't. And surely if she is, I know she would have told me. Right? She's too young and innocent for that sort of thing - sure, she just turned thirty, but shouldn't she be able to live out her childhood fully?

"Who?" It comes out in a croak, my throat too dry to from any proper coherence.

"Peregrin... The Tooks and The (l/n)'s have been close for years, Frodo. Surely, you saw something like this coming...?" All humour from his voice is dropped, replaced by melancholy and empathy. Well, at least he cares.

"No." My voice barely above a whisper. "She can't."

"I'm not even sure she knows it yet." Bilbo's attempts to reassure me can't move me. "It's not her fault, lad."

"But she kissed me..."

Tired of throwing myself deeper into an emotional spiral, I slip out from under his arm and drag my feet back to the room where only moments ago I was so overcome with happiness. I lock the door behind me, calling for Bilbo not to bother me. He seems to listen as the whistle of the kettle squeals through the house and is swiftly silenced.

All the candles still burn a friendly orange glow, almost mocking my sadness. Medicines still line the low table and a small, remembering smile creeps over my lips. I can't help but throw myself down onto the coffee-coloured sofa, her sent still lingering on the cushions. It's not wrong to inhale the scent of an already-promised woman, right? Too late for that now, I guess, as her sugary, floral smell comforts me into a questionably easy sleep.