Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, or any associated characters or concepts. Consider it disclaimed. Quotes in this chapter taken from The Hobbit by JRR Tolkien.

Summary: On the way to the Undying Lands, Billa is eaten by a time-traveling sea monster. The elves on board attack the monster in retaliation, and it escapes by swimming into the past: several decades into the past. Billa wakes up in a sweat, gasping and frightened, only to realize that she is back in her thirty-three-year old body. What on earth is she going to do?


Chapter 9

Billa fussed and agonized the next morning over what to wear, which was ridiculous and she knew it. Knowing that it was ridiculous only made her frustrated, which made her fussier and she was starting to become distraught. There was a frilly, silly part of herself that was insisting that she wear a dress and leave her hair down like a pretty, proper hobbit lass. The older and wiser part of herself kept arguing that she was here for business, with tough, hobbit-eating dwarves, and the tougher she looked, the more likely it was that this meeting would go well. Finally, she threw the dress against the wall with a roar, and pulled on her trousers before wrenching her hair up into a knot under her hat. She put on her cloak and glared into the mirror. I can do this, she reminded herself. She brought her new satchel, with her oldest set of pans wrapped inside.

The pans were important. They had been passed down in her family for several generations. Her great, great grandfather, one of the few hobbit-smiths in the Shire, had forged them as a courting gift to her great, great grandmother, and they had remained in the family. Billa imagined that they had been treasured for the first few centuries, but by the time the pans had come to her and her parents, they were old and battered and almost falling apart.

In her original timeline, as the dwarves were invading her kitchen and pantry, these pans had been discovered. Fili, in his enthusiasm as a budding blacksmith, had pointed out several faults in the metal and told her that a master blacksmith could make these old pans as good as new. In her discomfort and displeasure at the dwarven invasion, she had been rather sharp with him and snapped that if he was up to it, he was welcome to give it a shot. He had blushed and confessed that he hadn't attained his mastery yet and couldn't quite do the job, before earnestly assuring her that his Uncle Thorin would be able to perfect the pans easily.

Billa had come to give Thorin a chance to do just that - after she goaded him a little bit. Turn about is fair play, after all. For all that she had come to fervently admire Thorin during the quest, she was not at all blind to his various faults.

"More like a grocer than a burglar, indeed," she huffed irritably as she left the inn. "I'll show you grocer, you sour-faced prune!" A couple of passersby eyed her warily before carefully edging away.


Thorin was scowling as he took out his frustration (and a little bit of fear) on some horseshoes in the forge. Kili had snuck out against his express command and had to be rescued by some halfling lass with a stick. He'd come home with a bloodied nose, and Dis had been practically spitting daggers, she was so angry. The lass had spun some tale about how Kili had rescued her, but one hard stare from Thorin and Kili had confessed the truth.

Thorin glared as he dipped one horseshoe into the bucket of water. It hissed almost as angrily as Dis had when she'd heard the full story. He set the horseshoe aside and started another, reveling in the exertion as he swung his hammer, always hitting precisely where he intended to, and exactly as hard as he needed to. Unlike nephews and politics and the impending winter, this was something he could control. This was something he had mastered. It was the only solace open to him right now, because what Kili had done was spectacularly stupid!

Apparently, feeling left out was a good enough reason to leave the safety of the rooms when there were strange people asking questions about them, and go off to dangerous parts of town alone and unarmed. It was only after he'd been set upon by a gang of five armed thugs that Kili had realized the brashness of his decision. He'd had to be rescued by a complete stranger, the stranger who had been looking for them, the stranger who had so beguiled Kili that he'd given away their location, their names, and the precise numbers of the party they were traveling with along with their expected itinerary! Not only that, but Kili had told them precisely where Thorin himself was likely to be, and had nearly spilled out exactly what Thorin was. It wouldn't take much to put together the information. A little study in dwarvish history, and the stranger would know that The King-In-Exile of Erebor, heir to one of the most powerful kingdoms in Middle Earth, was holed up in Bree, almost defenseless. Thorin snarled, and hammered harder.

There had been several assassination attempts spanning the decades after their exile from Erebor. His family had had many enemies, after all. It was very likely that this would be another such attempt, and if Thorin didn't need to complete this order in order to feed his family, he would have packed up camp and ordered them all to flee already. As it was, either he would face another assassin and try to complete this order, or he could flee and his family would very likely starve in the coming winter. Frustrated and already overheated, Thorin flung off his tunic before picking up the hammer again. The tunic wouldn't have done much to hinder a blade anyway, and a forge was no place for wearing armor.

It was a few moments after he'd flung his tunic away when Thorin heard a muffled squeak, and whirled to face the door, hammer in hand. No one was there. Suspicious, he stalked silently, cautiously forward. As he paused, just inside the doorway, he heard quiet breathing, before high-pitched voice spoke softly.

"It's okay Billa, it's nothing to panic about. You've certainly seen a male without a tunic before! You can do this." Confused and more than a little curious, Thorin ever so cautiously poked his head around the door frame to peer outside. Nothing at eye level. He heard a deep, gusting sigh, and looked down. There, crumpled against the outer wall of the forge, was a halfling. It was wearing trousers, but it had long, curly hair that tumbled around its shoulders even as it wrung a hat in its hands. A satchel sat nearby. Judging by the leather that reinforced the trousers, this must be the halfling Kili had met. Hmmm. Even with those trousers, she looks more like a grocer than an assassin.

"Just breathe, Billa. Muscles are nothing to get so flustered about! It's just Thorin. Breathe!" Thorin couldn't resist the smirk that tugged at the edge of his mouth as he took in the very, very red cheeks and ears of the little creature who was so distracted by the sight of him that she hadn't even noticed that the hammering in the forge had stopped, or that she had an audience who was probably the last person in the world she wanted to hear this confession.

The smirk tugged a little higher, and he silently stepped back into the forge before starting to hammer again. He kept one eye trained on the door, just in case the halfling mustered the courage to enter. Silly little creature. He seriously doubted now she had come here to kill him, and half of his frustration melted away. Kili was still stupid, but they might not die because of it.

Finally, a little figure appeared in the doorway. He stifled his smirk, and pretended not to notice she was there. His amusement only grew when she started to make little coughs to announce her presence. He kept ignoring her. She coughed a little louder. He gave no reaction at all. After several moments of the most entertainment Thorin had had in weeks, she had enough and shouted, "Mister Thorin! I'm here to commission a job."

He ignored her for a few moments longer, before taking the tongs and, after turning the horseshoe this way and that to ensure it was perfect, he thrust it into the bucket of water. Taking his sweet time, he finally set it aside and looked up at her.

Her long curls had been swept up and hidden under her hat. She was trying very hard to look him in the eye, but her eyes just kept slipping downwards. Her ears were still cherry-red. It was cute and a little gratifying, and it was almost enough to make him smile.


Billa was trying her hardest to retain her composure. She tried to keep her eyes on his face instead of his chest, or his arms, or his hands, or his stomach, or his- she tried to keep her eyes on his face. She acknowledged the scoreboard in her head.

Billa, 1. Sons of Durin, 1.

This was going to be harder than she thought.