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Bilba didn't recall much of their escape once she had gotten the dwarves into the river, nor could she easily remember their stay in Laketown through the fuzzy haze which settled in her head. Amadel always joked that Bilba had too much fire in her spirit, which was why head colds set in so easily after even a brief dunk in the water.
Never one to let illness get her down, Bilba snuggled by the hearth and tried to shove the sickness from her bones through sheer stubbornness. That never worked as well as she hoped, but she still was on her feet with nary a cough by the time the company headed to the Lonely Mountain.
The less said about that place the better, at least until the hobbit's heart stopped racing.
Presently she sat near the door of the treasury watching while the dwarves sorted through bits and ends of gold encrusted parafinellia. She had been tempted to join them, but worry overshadowed any dwarvish tendencies she possessed. Hobbits, after all, were primarily concerned with where their next meal was coming from and whether or not a giant fire breathing lizard would be knocking on the door for tea. Even the Arkenstone, safely tucked in her bedroll, lost some of its luster to fear.
There was one piece she allowed herself to admire though. Bilba ran her fingers over the smooth cuff of her silvery chain mail. A light blush crept over her cheeks as she relived the moment when the newly crowned King Under the Mountain had given it to her.
She wondered if Thorin's new position contributed to the others' frantic searching through treasure. Was it not customary to give some sort of welcoming gift to kings? Perhaps it was like a birthday party, only where the guests gave out presents. That pursuit certainly sounded like a nice distraction from worrying about a dragon and starvation.
Bilba plucked at the mithril shirt. If it was worth as much as Thorin said, surely it would make a proper gift to give the reinstated king and heirs of the Lonely Mountain. The cost shouldn't be more than her one fourteenth of Erebor's wealth, so surely the dwarves wouldn't mind.
She nibbled on the shirt sleeve, noting how the metal glinted like diamonds against her tongue. Her skill would never compare to her amadel's, but given enough familiarity with a material, Bilba could semi-accurately find purified metals if they were nearby.
She had picked up this trick from her mother, who, before he father's illness, would regale her daughter with tales of how no matter where the hobbit wondered, she could always find her Rohan sword by the coppery taste it left on the back of her tongue. Kayli never shared dwarven secrets lightly, and Bilba suspected Belladonna never knew what a gift she possessed.
Breathing deeply through her mouth, the hobbit cast about the mountain. Sorting through the heaping cold tangs of gold to find the subtler, less numerous tastes of mithril took longer than she would have liked, but after three days of determined walking she found her prize.
The skeins of unfinished chain mail lay folded dustily in the back room of a burnt out workshop located in what once had been the lower levels of the craftsmen guilds. The shop's owner, judging by the lack of mithril anywhere else in the mountain, was probably the only crafter skilled enough to work with the material. Shadows edged Bilba's thoughts at the reminder of the dragon's destruction. She hoped her quick prayer would be enough payment for her theft.
The suits were unfinished, but by comparing the scattered pieces on the table to her own gift, Bilba felt that she could stitch together something presentable. More rummaging around the block produced a spool of thick silver wire only mildly tarnished with time and neglect.
'Just like knitting a sweater,' she thought, as she laced the links together with flowery loops of silver.
The end result held only a passing resemblance to the skill of her own mithril garment, but would hold together until a true craftsman could see to it. Or so Bilba assured herself.
One had no sleeves, and the sides were held together with Bilba's tender stitches. The second was fine, till it stopped a bit below the sternum and Bilba's knitting brought it to a proper length. The third was more of a conglomerate with silver weaving past the elbows and filling in along the collar. Pinned to each was a scrap of paper naming which dwarf the gift was intended, so Bilba could keep the sizes straight. Thorin was much broader in the chest than the boys and Kili was taller than Fili.
The hobbit held up her final project and scowled. Maybe she should think of another gift. She hid the glittering masses under her bedroll and thought no more of them. The bundles clinked against the gem also residing there.
"Oh dear," Bilba sighed. Her worries, held back by trivial pursuits, came crowding back around her pointed ears. What ever was she going to do?
Looking back, Bilba would have been able to come up with several better options than the one she chose. Options which would probably not have left her hanging from the battlements of Erebor by her throat and banished. Obviously she didn't choose any of those, because she was currently sitting in a tent somewhere in the elven king's camp, and not inside of the mountain with her former friends.
Rubbing her eyes furiously, the hobbit swore to not shed any more tears over a man, and get herself situated. There was a war on, after all.
Slapping her cheeks, she got to her feet and took stock of her remaining belongings. She had her sword and chain mail, as well as her sleeping mat and bag.
Something wriggled within the worn fabric of her pack, prompting her to squeak and throw it reflexively across the tent. A round pink object bounced to the floor along with a shower of odds and ends.
"Rufus!" she laughed crossing the space to crouch by the pink ball, "What are you doing inside of my pack?"
The naked mole rat squeaked and cuddled against the warmth of her palms.
"Hasn't Kili been looking after you properly?" A dark thought clouded her momentary mirth, as she held the pet to her chest. "No, I suppose he would have been distracted with his uncle."
The rat grumbled something unintelligible, which Bilba took to mean his agreement.
"I'll get you back to him soon once this is all sorted out," she said with a fond pat. "Somehow." She laughed again, more sadly this time, and tucked Rufus into her coat pocket with a bit of carrot from her dinner.
The rat squeaked and rustled. Confused she gently retrieved him from her pocket.
"No! The Ring is not a chew toy! Bad Rufus!" She tugged the gold band from the rodent's mouth sharply. He grumbled something unpleasant and seemed to shake a fist angrily at the ring, before diving back into her pocket.
Bilba sighed and got a bit of thread and wire to tie the trinket around her neck.
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Review Reply:
LXS:
Crushing on the Captain of the Bounders? Can't fault her type- leadership, apparently. And of course the conversational icebreaker is her love life; to be fair, it's more of a complimentary skills debate than anything (married and sharing an 'office' would produce the best work or the worst arguments. Likely both and at the same time!)
Author: Yes, dwarves are very business minded for everything. I gave Bilba a 'type' to crush on to explain her infatuation with Thorin. She's predisposed to like a guy in leadership roles. Thanks for the review!
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