Still not mine.

Lightly edited 3/25/2018

Chapter One – It's Raining Dwarves!

Gandalf set off not long after that, and Bilba frowned thoughtfully around her home. She would need some proper male clothing. Bandages to make bindings for her breasts. She chewed her lip thoughtfully. She considered that Gandalf would bring whatever concoction he had to help with the side effects of being a female hobbit – but she doubted he would think about her actual cycles. She grabbed a piece of parchment from her desk and began to make a list of things she would need to gather on her trip to the market.

Gandalf had said he would return with the dwarves tomorrow evening, so she had a busy day ahead of her tomorrow. She went to bed that night and tried to ignore the small tendril of hope that she felt budding in her chest. Maybe, just maybe, away from her meddling relatives, she could finally find some peace.

When she woke the next morning she went straightaway to the shed and pulled out her father's old cart, knowing that there was no way she would be able to carry back everything she intended to buy that day. She was at the morning market just as they were beginning to open and, ignoring the queer looks she was receiving, began the purchases she had already planned. She didn't need to hear the tongues wagging to know that before she even made it halfway through her purchases she would be the topic of a lot of questions and gossip.

Three pairs of men's sturdy work pants should suffice for travel. Three tunics, each just loose enough to conceal her feminine figure if something should happen and her bindings come undone. She had a gender-neutral cloak at home that would do fine enough for the journey. Next, she passed into the medicinal stands and purchased enough supplies to put off her monthlies for four months. That was as long as the herbs would be good for, even dried.

"Bilba Baggins!"

Bilba froze at the harpy's cry and turned slowly, mindful of her cart behind her. "Good morning, Lobelia."

Lobelia was pointing at the herbs in Bilba's hands. "I know you hate what you are, but you can't make it just go away!" She sneered down her nose. "What are you thinking?! You'll ruin any prospects you have left!" Her expression changed. "But perhaps that is what you want?"

Bilba shook her head. Not that it wasn't a bad idea, she just doubted that it would work. Then she thought of just the thing to give Lobelia a heart attack. "I'm going to be on the road for a while, Lobelia. It's much easier to travel when one doesn't have to worry about bleeding through their clothing." And then she smirked, leaning in low she mock-whispered. "I'm going on an adventure." Straightening up she began to smile as she walked away. "Oh, but don't worry. I've already made sure that you won't have to worry about the care and upkeep of BagEnd should I perish. Have a good morning, Lobelia."

Now then, what did one feed a horde of dwarves?

By the time she returned home, her pockets were much lighter and her shoulders were straining slightly from the weight of the cart. She brought everything inside and went immediately to change. She bound her breasts tight so that no hint of feminine softness could be seen before slipping on a burgundy tunic with a pair of deep brown trousers. She twisted this way and that in the mirror before frowning. Almost. Just... She twisted her hair back into a low ponytail but still the curls gave off too much of a hint of womanliness to her. Which was almost funny considering how many times her cousins had informed her that the scar on her face took away from anything even remotely feminine about her.

It was a hideous scar. It started at her left temple and slashed down across her cheek and lips. It had taken it weeks to heal when she'd received it, and even now when she smiled that side of her lips twisted in an odd sort of way. However... now perhaps the scar would come in handy. Perhaps if she could roughen her appearance enough...

She huffed and then gave herself a nod in the mirror. It must be done then. She retrieved a set of scissors from her drawer and began by gathering a bunch of her hair to one side and cutting the majority of it off in one go. She cut her hair so that it framed her face, making her jaw look more square and making the scar stand out more prominently. It had been her experience that people, no matter what race, did not linger over long on ones facial features with such a scar, and just in case there was a hat in her mother's glory box she could take with her that would also help break up the feminine lines of her face.

Bilba was immersed in a world of simmering meats and baking sweets when a thunderous knock sounded upon her door. She frowned, glancing out the window. The sun hadn't quite started to set yet, and Gandalf had said to expect them for supper. Could something have happened? She scurried towards the door, worry filling her mind that perhaps something had happened to the wizard. She jerked the door open and was brought up short by the sight that greeted her.

So it wasn't the wizard after all. No, indeed. The dwarf before her was tall, for his kind, bald, heavily tattooed, and downright frightful looking. "Am I the first then?" He asked as he made to step forward.

Bilba quickly blocked his path. "That depends entirely on what you are the first of!" She replied tartly.

He blinked, looking surprised as though he had expected to simply breeze past the hobbit. His lips quirked and he gave a slight bow. "Dwalin, son of Fundin, at your service Master Hobbit. The wizard, Gandalf, said to meet here at your... burrow?"

Bilba returned his bow with a small one of her own. "Bilbo Baggins, at your and your family's service. We call our home smials, not burrows, and to answer your first question – yes. You are the first one here, and on top of that Master Dwarf," she emphasized his race as he had done with hers before continuing. "You are early. Gandalf was supposed to tell everyone to be here for supper. That is six o'clock on the dot. Not," she glanced at the grandfather clock in her living room, "two hours early!"

"Ah, well, I suppose he may have said something along those lines..." Dwalin hedged, even as he found himself pushed into the house and his traveling cloak taken.

"Nothing for it now I suppose, but you'll just have to wait for food. Nothings ready yet. Boots off here," she stopped to point at a spot in the hallway, "and you can put your weapons wherever they're least likely to do damage." Despite her words, he found himself being seated at the kitchen table with a generous chunk of cheese and meat. "That's all I have for now so you'll just have to make due while you explain to me why you are so early."

He puffed up. "I am Thorin's guard. As such I wanted to leave early and make sure that the way was clear. I made sure there would be nothing unsavory to meet my king on his journey here." And if he had also been placing discreet markers to try to keep his friend, cousin, and king from getting lost – well, that was no one's business but his own. "Thanks," he grunted, gesturing to the cheese as he took a large drink of mead, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

Bilba grimaced slightly before shaking her head. For the most part, she ignored him after that, although she was most certainly aware of where he was in her dining room at all times. One couldn't be too careful. It was nearing to five when another knock sounded on her door. Bilba cursed as she had her hands in sticky dough she was currently patting out.

"Mother of makers!" She shoved her elbow against the kitchen window to prop it open and shoved her head outside. There was a short, slightly round, dwarf standing on the door stoop who had swung around at the sound of the window opening. "Let yourself in Master Dwarf. My hands are covered in dough."

And so Balin, son of Fundin, found his way into the hobbit home. Upon sight of Dwalin's boots and cloak in the entryway, he quickly shed his own and hurried to where he could hear the sound of cooking. Or what sounded like a lot of pots and pans being slammed in frustration. "I am not sure if the bad manners are on my part for being a bad host, or your lots for being bad guests! Is there none among you who can tell time!?" A voice railed.

Balin stepped around the corner in time to see Dwalin staring at their host with slightly wide eyes. He took the moment to cast his eyes over the hobbit. Well fitting clothing, sturdy by the looks of them. They also seemed to be of good quality, which meant either this hobbit was quite good with needle and thread, or had enough money to buy clothing of this quality. The face was soft and almost feminine, but that softness was broken by a harsh scar that slitted across the fellow's left cheek, even across his lips.

Bilba stopped her rant as she was finally able to slide the bread into the oven and remove the excess dough from her fingers. Turning to Balin she gave a perfunctory bow. "Bilbo Baggins, at your service."

"Balin, son of Fundin, at yours." He returned.

"Brother!" Dwalin suddenly exclaimed. "You've gotten shorter and wider since last we met!"

"Wider, not shorter," Balin automatically answered even as Dwalin was knocking their heads together.

Bilba stared at them in mortification. "Well, if that's how dwarves greet each other, I certainly hope you don't include other races in such a greeting!" Her head ached just thinking about it.

Balin gave a surprised snort of laughter. "Certainly not. We would knock any other race senseless if we did, lad."

"Good to know," she muttered. "Supper won't be for another hour I'm afraid, though if you can find something to snack on in the pantry you are more than welcome." Before she could say another word, there came a third knock on her door. "Oh for Valar's sake!" She hurried to answer it, ripping the door open, only to have the wind taken out of her sales. "Gandalf! Thank heavens!" She gestured frantically behind her. "I already have two dwarrows taking up room in my kitchen."

Gandalf, however, was simply staring at her, a look of sadness and approval in his eyes as he reached out to run a hand through curls that were ever so short. "Your curls," he choked.

Bilba took a breath, allowing him his moment before shaking his hand off. "Yes yes, so very sad. It is hair. It will grow back!" Still, she gave him a moment longer before rolling her eyes. "Come on, Gandalf. You can keep Dwalin and Balin company while I finish setting up."

They both stepped into the kitchen and Gandalf was immediately greeted with cries of "Tharkun!"

Bilba snorted and shook her head as she disappeared down into the cellar. She wrestled free two kegs of ale which she then had to take up the stairs one at a time. She banged the kitchen door open causing her guests to jump and the big dwarf, Dwalin, hurried to take it from her and upon learning there was a second keg Balin was down the stairs before she could protest. She frowned at them both as she pulled out nozzles for the kegs. "I appreciate the help, truly, but you act as though I might break." She hoped they hadn't already figured out that she was female.

Balin hurried to assure her. "It's not that laddie, its just that you're, well... a bit on the petite side. It stirs our protective sides."

Bilba gave a snort. "Master Dwarf, I have been alone in this smial since I was a tween. I assure you, I can take care of myself and any guests – rare as they may be." As though to contradict her words, the bell on her door rang again. She hurried to answer it while the two brothers frowned at each other.

"Since he was a tween? He doesn't look like more than a tween now, especially with how soft his face looks!" Dwalin scoffed.

"Hush!" Balin hissed. "We know nothing of how hobbits age! Besides which, you know as well as I do that even some dwarves can look a bit girly in the features. Look at poor Ori." His apprentice was teased horribly for his soft appearance and mannerisms.

Gandalf merely sat back and listened to them with an amused smile, which faltered slightly when he heard, "Wow! That's a wicked scar!" from the entryway.

Balin and Dwalin both appeared to have heard it as well if their winces were anything to go by. Balin let his head smack against the table. "I have tried... I have tried and tried and tried to beat subtlety into that boy's head."

There were quiet murmurs for a moment and then a slight roar. "That is my mother's glory box! Prince or not I will beat you all the way back to Ered Luin!"

Bilba reappeared with Fili and Kili at both sides, both of whom she was scowling at. Fili was looking much amused as he took a seat next to Balin while Kili slunk down next Dwalin. "Tis just a box." He muttered. Bilba shot him a murderous look as she began to take silverware and plates from the cabinets.

Gandalf cleared his throat while giving the dwarf prince his own stern look. "It is much more than 'just a box' Master Kili. Bilbo's mother was quite the adventurer as well as the daughter of the Thain. That box you just attempted to wipe your feet on has quite a few precious belongings and even more memories attached to it."

Gandalf was quick to rise and help her, chattering until he saw the tenseness in her shoulders begin to fade. The next round of door rings came as she was taking bread from the oven. She peered out the kitchen's window once more to see two more dwarves standing at her door. "Gandalf is there a reason all your dwarves cannot arrive together?" She grumped, even as she once more dusted off her hands and headed for the door. Only to find instead of two there were three. Dori introduced himself and Ori, the sons of Kori, leaving the third dwarf to frown at his back as he stepped closer.

"Nori, the not worth mentioning son of Kori, at your service, Master Baggins." And with that Nori was the first dwarf she officially liked as he had referred to her by name, rather than race.

"Please," she answered as she took his cloak. "I am master over nothing but my home. Call me Bil-Bilbo," she choked, having almost said her true name. She walked with him into the kitchen where she noticed Dori had sandwiched Ori between himself and Dwalin. Nori took a seat across the table from them, sitting beside Kili. She was just about to take a seat herself when the door rang again. And again. And then continued to ring as though someone had tied a cat to it.

"Quit abusing my doorbell!" She snapped as she hurried through the hall and flung the door open.

And promptly wished that she hadn't. For apparently the dwarves outside had all been leaning against her door and the moment she swung it open they toppled in, taking her down in a tidal wave with them. All that Bilba could see was a pair of dark brown eyes staring into her own, and the curious thought of why wasn't she being squashed with all the weight on top of her. Gandalf must have heard the commotion because he was quickly there with the other dwarves helping to sort them out. As they were untangled and removed Bilba discovered the reason for her lack of utter discomfort was the dwarf who had fell directly on top of her. He had braced his hands against the floor to keep as much as their weight as possible from crushing her.

Thus, Bilba was introduced to Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur. Bifur scrubbed his foot against the floor at her softly uttered thanks. Bofur, with his funny hat simply grinned, finding the whole thing amusing, and Bombur kept demanding to make sure that everyone was okay as he was well aware of how heavy he was thank you very much. Oin, with his healer's bag, and hearing horn loudly proclaimed that if no one was injured they all needed to shut up and move on. The large dwarf standing next to Oin just shook his head before stepping forward and bowing to Bilba.

"Gloin, son of Groin, at your service. This is my brother Oin, the company's healer, and completely deaf!"

Bilba nodded as she bowed back. "Bilbo Baggins, at your service."

The last dwarf left did not bow and offer his service to Bilba. His eyes scanned over her head to toe in a manner that made her want to cross her arms. "So, you are to be our fourteenth," he said, at last, walking a slow circle around her. He snorted slightly. "How old are you boy?" He finally asked.

Bilba bristled, but bit her tongue and counted to three. "I am past my majority, beyond that it is none of your concern."

"Sword or axe?" He then demanded.

"I prefer a bow, but I can use a sword well enough, though I need practice." She answered, seeing this question as reasonable. They would need to know if she could protect herself after all. He actually looked surprised at the answer.

"You've been on a quest before?"

Bilba hesitated. "No, not such as this." She finally answered. "As a tween I went adventuring with my – with my mother. Gandalf has made sure that I stay able to protect myself, should the need arise." And now she wondered if he hadn't known for years that this particular quest would come along.

The dwarf made a noncommittal sound before finally introducing himself. "Thorin Oakenshield."

She merely raised an eyebrow at him. "Bilbo Baggins, at your service." She knew who he was and that as King-In-Exile he could not offer his service. That did not stop her from offering her own, however. He gaped at her for a moment and then she turned her back and walked into the kitchen.

She couldn't help the grateful look on her face when she discovered that some of the dwarves had taken it upon themselves to finish setting the table and even had sat the food out. Gandalf himself glanced up in the middle of cutting some of the meat into servable sizes. They sat and they ate and if the dwarves' complete lack of table manners bothered Bilba, she didn't say a word. She did let out a gasp though when Bifur's hood slipped back to reveal an ax embedded in his head. He glanced up at her sound and followed her gaze, reaching up to hurriedly replace his hood.

"Please, don't be alarmed," Bofur began, "he won't hurt anyone -"

Bilba cut him off sharply. "Why in the Valar's name would I think he would hurt anyone when he is clearly the one injured?!" She demanded in return and all the table fell silent to stare at her. She shifted slightly in her seat at the sudden attention. "What?"

Bifur answered her in a confusingly guttural language. Gandalf was the one who translated. "He says you're the first person of another race to ever show concern for him instead of what he might be capable of."

Bilba's eyes narrowed. "Then the other races are more foolish than I had believed, and I hope the Shire holds no bargains with any place you have been that has been so mentally challenged." She looked into Bifur's eyes as she spoke. She did not want him to feel as though they were speaking about him, rather than to him. "Do you not know Westron?"

A negative shake of the head followed by more of the unknown language. "He did at one point." Bofur now spoke. "He's the one that taught me and Bombur, actually. The ax though..." he trailed off for a moment, his eyes far away as though reliving a moment. He cleared his throat. "When he came to after the battle, he couldn't speak anything except Khuzdul."

Bilba wracked her brain but of all the books she had read, she could remember none that spoke of such an injury. Bifur placed a hand on her arm and she looked up to meet his gaze. He rumbled at her, and she shot a questioning look to Bofur who gave a shake of his head. "He says you needn't worry yourself. It was a long time ago. He still has his family and his health, and there is always someone nearby who can understand him."

Bifur fell silent after that and Bilba was content to listen to the conversation around them. A pang settled in her heart at the realization that everyone in this group would have someone to go to, someone to lean on, throughout the journey. They all had family. But then, if she had family – true family - she might not even be considering going – or perhaps her mother would be convincing her father to let her go as well.

"Excuse me, Mr. Baggins? But what shall I do with my plate?" Ori's soft voice broke through her thoughts, but before she could answer Fili had jumped to his feet.

"Give it to me, Ori!" Fili cut in quickly, and before Bilba could so much as open her mouth she discovered her plates flying through the air to be juggled by most of the dwarves.

"Ex-excuse me!" Her voice went unheeded and the dwarves still seated began to make a rhythm with their silverware. "Oh dear. Could you please not do that?!"

That set off a round of song and dance and cutlery tossing that left her heart throbbing in her chest. She was almost certain that they meant no harm, and it was the only thing that kept her from exploding at the end of the song. Gandalf seemed to understand her mood for he cut across the merriment and laughter. "Perhaps a look at the map now Thorin?"

Thorin cast a distrustful look Bilba's way and Gandalf scoffed. "He is to be part of your company Thorin, you can hardly expect to keep him in the dark."

And thus, Bilba learned the fine details about Smaug and how he had taken away Erebor from the dwarves. She heard the heartsickness in Thorin's voice when he told them that their cousins of the Iron Hills would not be joining them, and she watched in utmost admiration of such foolhardy loyalty as each dwarf present claimed that no matter what they stood with their king – they would follow him to death if necessary to reclaim their home.

"It may be best this way," Bilba offered quietly into a silent moment. "Smaug, if he still lives, would no doubt hear an approaching army of dwarves... but a small company such as this? No one, certainly not a dragon, would expect such."

Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin all raised their eyes to look at her in surprise. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Really, if she was going to keep getting such reactions perhaps she should keep her thoughts to herself!

"Which brings us to our unlucky number of thirteen. Hobbit, you are to our fourteenth member to disperse any such bad luck. As such your duties will be helping to fill in whatever duty needs doing whenever it needs to be done, be it cooking, guarding, or stealing into the flames of Smaug himself." Then Balin shoved a rolled up contract under her nose which she took into her study to go over.

As she poured over the contents of the contract, and a very nicely written one she noticed, she heard the dwarves in the other room begin to sing. As she listened to the song of a home lost she thought of all the dangers for a female hobbit on the open road. But she would not be traveling as a female, she reminded herself. She would be Bilbo, a hobbit from the Shire, accompanying a traveling party of thirteen dwarves and one wizard. Who would want to go through the trouble of hassling dwarves to bother a male hobbit? It was with this thought in mind that she signed her name at the bottom of the contract.