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

In my head, Billa is actually quite shy. She takes a long time to warm up to people, but once she likes them, they are hers forever. In this fic, we don't have to deal with her slowly thawing to the dwarves, because she already knows and loves them. If it had been some other dwarf in that forge, she would have turned away and kept looking instead of starting up a conversation. If it had been some other person set upon by Men in Bree, Billa would have wanted to help, but I don't know that she would have risked herself. We see her at her best because she is totally in her element: in the Shire, well-trained and well-connected, in her prime and with future knowledge of people and events. The game is rigged in her favor, and she is doing her best to make sure it stays that way.

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 34

The market was quiet and subdued in the early light of the morning. Not just one, but three hobbits had been taken. Most people didn't say a word as they went about buying what they needed for the day. Most of them were only here to wait for news, anyway.

If if had been any other party that had ridden out after the stolen hobbits, there would have been tears and condolences and more wailing. None of those parties ever returned, after all. But this time, it wasn't just hobbits that had ridden out after them. It had been a war-party of dwarves. Mister Dwalin's axes had been bright, glinting angrily as he rode through the market. The warriors had been fitted with chainmail, carrying weapons and hard expressions. Miss Billa had ridden with them, a sword on her hip and her staff in her hands.

If it had been any other party, they would never have dared to hope. Since it was this party, they couldn't help but hope- hope for their safe return, hope for an end to the raids, and hope for their children to come home. The hope was painful, but they milled around the market, waiting anxiously and trading mindlessly for tomatoes and potatoes, not daring to speak as they waited.

And waited.

Then, there was a rumbling in the distance, and they stopped, cocking their heads and angling their ears to listen. It grew louder and louder into the sound of ponies' hooves.

Then, they came into view. Armor glinting, weapons shining bright, and at the front of the fearsome column, each dwarf carried a child before them. There was an elf, and some dwarves, and ... there! Three hobbit children!

The hope exploded into reality, and the market exploded into shouts and cheers and laughter and relieved, exhausted tears. The anxious mothers rushed towards them, and the dwarves carefully handed the hobbit children down.

The hobbits pressed around the dwarves, who were hard-pressed to keep the ponies calm. They were hung with flowers chains and bunches, as the hobbits sang and danced around them, overjoyed.

Then someone shouted, "To the Party Tree!"

In a flurry, the ponies were led to the field and runners were sent out to spread the news and call for food. A fiddle starts playing, and soon other instruments join in, and the dwarves and Billa are tugged off their ponies and pulled to the dance floor. Dwalin and Thorin, having learned these dances from Billa, do particularly well to the hobbits' delight. The other dwarves watch and quickly start to pick up the basics. Lithir, Lori and Gimli watch from the sidelines, bewildered but giggling at the spectacle.

Billa, laughing, is twirled from hobbit to dwarf and back again, teaching dwarves the steps and impressing the hobbits with her footwork and stamina.

Dwalin is in extremely high demand and when two lasses quarrel about who gets to dance with him, he resorts to dancing with both of them, at the same time. To the crowd's delight, he does it without a single misstep, and when the lasses are done, two more take their place, giggling at the novelty.

Thorin, Billa sees gleefully, is also in demand, and is swarmed with partners once they see how well he can dance. She laughs at his plight and refuses to come to his rescue, no matter how pleadingly he looks at her. She dances for a few minutes with Bombur, and once he gets the hang of the steps, she hands him off to a stately hobbit matron, and dances her way over to Olvin and Bolin, carefully demonstrating the dance with each of them, too.

Bifur sits on the edge with a small horde of children around him, weaving flower crowns and nibbling on the blooms they brought him by the handful. Already, three flower crowns hung around the axe in his forehead, and as Billa watched, he bent down so a little fauntling could put another one on his head.


Dwarves from the encampment come up, hearing of the party, and Bofur watches his cousin, surrounded by children, and his brother, dancing eagerly in the throng, with soft eyes and a tiny smile. Then Billa comes over and drags him onto the dancing platform, teaching him the steps patiently and cheerfully. Once he has the dance fairly learned, she spins away and then a giggling hobbit female is in his arms, spinning enthusiastically with him.

It was only a month ago that he was hungry and cold, on the road to a dubious new assignment, worrying if Bifur would survive this town or if the inevitable disgust and rejection would drive him to dangerous self-injury again. Two months ago, he'd been scrounging in Ered Luin's slowly-failing mines while Bombur struggled to find work and Bifur carved moodily with downcast eyes.

The past month had been a dream, it seemed. The hobbit princess had been kind to Bifur, with nary a glance of fear or distaste in her eyes. That made Bofur suspicious, because people were only that kind when they wanted something and they thought he could be taken advantage of. She'd lured in Bombur, too, sharing recipes and helping with dinner. Bofur had remained on his guard, waiting for her to spring the trap and reveal her game.

Only, so much time had passed and there was no deception. She'd been down to the work-site almost every day, with kind words and encouraging smiles, bearing food and often leading a trail of curious younglings after her. She would help Bombur for dinner, and then take her seat next to Bifur, and the children would watch with wide eyes as she wove flower chains, and showed him how to weave them, too.

After a few days, the children were sitting next to Bifur of their own volition, chattering absently to him as they wove. A few were particularly brave, and they would sit on his lap and examine his hands, or explore his face, touching his nose and ears and beard with curious, suspicious fingers, and then gently, they'd touch his forehead and ask if it hurt. When Bifur would nod, their eyes would sometimes fill with tears for him, and they would curl into his neck and cry on his beard and tell him they were sorry it hurt. Bifur would gently hold them until they stopped, a gentle smile of disbelief on his face as he relished their nearness. Some of them would kiss it better, putting their tiny lips on his forehead or even on the axe, and asking if that felt better. When Bifur nodded, they would smile gleefully, pleased with themselves, and make themselves comfortable on his lap to play with more flowers.

After a few days of this, Bifur was practically glowing. Never before had he been so welcomed. Bifur had always wanted children, but after Azanulbizar, no one would have him, and when he spiraled into depression, people started to fear him and shoo their children away from him. Bofur was certain that Bifur would stay here for the rest of his life, as long as the little hobbit fauntlings smiled and giggled at the sight of him, and argued over who got to sit nearest him.

Bofur had never seen Bifur so happy. Bombur, a food-loving chef in a land filled with food-lovers, was also gleeful. His girth no longer a source of mockery, he was now a figure of admiration, and Bofur watched as Bombur left the dance floor, huffing and puffing, smiling with ruddy cheeks, to sit with a score of middle-aged hobbits at a table full of food. Everyone at the table had a large belly, and his was admired and commented on, even patted with envious looks at times.

Bofur was sure that his brother, who had long eaten food in search of comfort and belonging, would actually lose weight as he finally found the acceptance he had craved.

As for Bofur, he winked at the third lass in his arms, a stout, middle-aged matron with smiling eyes, and grinned as she laughed at him. They spun cheerfully around the platform together, and Bofur thought that he hadn't been nearly so content for as long as he could remember.


After dancing for an hour or two, Dwalin strides purposefully from the dance floor, and a flock of ladies trails him curiously. He walks until they are some way from the dance floor and the music is not so loud.

"My dear friends," he begins, looking solemn, "Lily, Posco, and Drogo were taken because they did not know how to get away from those who meant them harm. Even though they were within the Shire's borders and not at all alone, this did not protect them. In my long experience, I have learned the quickest and surest ways that a body can use in order to drive off an attacker, and I offer my services to you, to teach you. In a week or so, my kin will arrive and I must leave you. They will be able to take up where I leave off, for those who are interested in the lessons. However, it would ease my heart if I could teach all of you some of what I know, and therefore I will be offering lessons, free of charge, beginning today in this field, and continuing until I leave at Bag End, after afternoon tea," he said.

There was a clamor, and a swell of whispers. Hobbits looked to their friends, considering. This had never been done before, and certainly wasn't the thing. However, never had a party ridden out and rescued an abducted hobbit, let alone three. Whispers turned to determined looks, and then to nods. One by one, hobbits started to step forward, determined to learn while they could. Lily was at the very front, Posco and Drogo flanking her.

Dwalin watched, seeing the resolve in their eyes. He smiled, and then began to explain the humanoid body, and which parts hurt the most when you hit them. With wide eyes, the hobbits listened and learned.