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.
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Summary: On the way to the Undying Lands, Billa Baggins is eaten by a time-traveling sea monster. She wakes up in her 33-year-old body and realizes she has a chance to change everything. Unfortunately, Thorin has a tendency to run around shirtless, and Dis thinks she has improper designs on Fili and Kili, but if she can convince the Shire that Dwalin is a dance teacher, things might be okay.
Chapter 36
After hearing that the stonemasons were returning to Ered Luin for the winter, the hobbits (who had grown rather fond of having them around) immediately made preparations for a going-away party that would convince them to come back soon.
There was dancing (which the dwarves could do rather well now) and drinking competitions, and the dwarves gifted the hobbits with a rousing display of skill as they cleaned the dishes. Several hobbits fainted during the display, and were relieved to see the dishes clean and unharmed after they were gently roused.
The dwarves were sent on their way the next morning, loaded heavily with supplies and food. Their clothes were newer and thicker, and each of them sported scarves and mittens from well-meaning hobbit gammers. They wouldn't have accepted the gifts, but they had witnessed the ferocity of the knitting competition the night before, and did not dare to refuse. They had also been gifted with a pair of knitted 'sockhats,' but since the socks were made to size for hobbit feet, they were far too big for the dwarves' feet. Several enterprising dwarves, however, had immediately noticed that sockhats were more suitable as hats than as socks, and sported them accordingly to keep their ears warm.
Nori and Bifur stayed behind, taking lodgings at Bag End until the caravans came. It would probably be about a week, according to Thorin. Bifur was carving things in his free time, but accepted the post as babysitter, even if it meant looking after the elf. Nori and Billa were having a thief-off, engaged in a silent, subtle war of snatching personal items and defending their belongings. Dwalin (who was always cautious of the thief) was the only one who had noticed, and if he thought it was a perverse way for a guest to earn their keep, his disapproval was limited to suspicious glares.
Thorin was keeping near to Billa, sitting in on her history lessons with Balin, listening to her ideas for teaching Ori, observing while she arranged for the furnishing of the smials and participating in her lessons with Dwalin. He kept smiling a soft smile, and his eyes followed her.
The payment for his swords was complete, a mountain of blankets having been folded and loaded into wagons, and barrels filled with rice, corn, and wheat having been sealed and loaded also. If Billa surreptitiously arranged for several kegs of Thorin's favorite hobbit-wine to be included, he wouldn't find out until it was too late. In any case, several wagons were loaded and ready to go. They would be driven by the dwarven guards who escorted the caravan to the Shire when Thorin was ready to leave.
Speaking of Thorin's departure, Billa was trying not to think about it. If she happened to drag Thorin off on picnics almost every day, well, no one said anything. If she made sure to bring him lunch at the forge, and made sure he had cool water, no one else was around to see it. If she spent more time in her lessons interacting with Thorin than with her teacher, no one seemed to blame her.
Billa knew that Thorin had to leave, and she respected that. Her best friend was a king, after all. It was foolish to think that he would always be here, in the Shire, in Bag End with her, and she knew that. Unfortunately, Thorin had grown so intimately involved in her new life that Billa wasn't sure what she was going to do when he left. For all that she was eager to see the dwarves arrive, she began to dread the day when the fires at Needlepoint would be visible, because that would mean Thorin had to go.
Billa had never felt this strongly attached to anyone, not since her parents had died. Of course, she didn't consider Thorin a parent, but Thorin was family nonetheless. In her old life, the only family she had was Frodo, the nephew she partly raised. Thorin, being on equal standing with her, was understandably much closer in her heart and in her mind. She would miss him, achingly, when he left.
She arranged for several containers of blackberry preserves to be included in Thorin's wagons. And a few more kegs of wine. And she knitted him a scarf, mittens, socks (the right size) and a cap. And then another scarf. And then a set for Fili and Kili, and Dis. And another barrel of blackberry preserves.
Finally, the dreaded fires at Needlepoint were lit, and the caravans were almost here. Thorin spent the next two days almost entirely in the forge, and Billa moped. Of course, she still went to every lesson, made as many blackberry treats as she could, and spent time in the market, gossiping and tweaking public opinion until it suited her. Dwalin joined her in the market, giving lessons openly and spending as much time with his newfound friends as he could.
Finally, Thorin emerged from his forge and sought her out. It was dark, and she was in the drawing room, on the sofa by the fire, knitting. The caravans would arrive tomorrow, and she had to finish these gifts for her dwarven family before they arrived.
Thorin, when he peered into the room, didn't see any of the worry or loneliness that had been looming over her. He only saw the way the fire reflected in her hair as her curls cascaded over one shoulder, the bead glinting regally in the light; the smooth glow of her skin; the perfect bow of her lips; the nimble industry of her dainty hands. She was beautiful, and he allowed himself a moment to admire her. Then he made his entry.
"Billa," he said softly, and her head darted up, eyes reaching to him. "I've brought you something."
She smiled at him warmly, and nodded her head at the empty place beside her. He padded towards her, socked feet silent. The fire crackled in the hearth as he sat next to hear, sinking into the softness of her furniture. Her home was so comfortable. Ered Luin wasn't this comfortable. Had Erebor been? He couldn't quite recall.
"Dwalin and I intend to return to Ered Luin for the winter," he said to her as she put her knitting away, turning her full attention to him. "Balin will remain behind as my official representative, but you'll have no one to teach you in the sword or staff. I've crafted these," he said, pulling out a package and handing it to her.
She turned the package over in her hands. It was wrapped in cloth which she slowly unwound, revealing metal which gleamed in the firelight. Twelve slender knives had he made, laboring as quickly and as perfectly as he could. They were identical in weight and balance so that when she was familiar with one, she knew them all. The only differences in them were the signs pounded onto the handles, which she fingered.
"I've crafted these," he repeated, "for you. Nori may teach you to throw them, if you desire it. They are meant to be thrown, but can be wielded in necessity. The marks on the handles are numbers so you may keep track of them," he explained quietly. She trailed her hands admiringly over them.
"These blades are beautiful," she said admiringly. "No matter how many times I see it, I can't believe how perfect your work is." He had to smile at that. "I don't recognize the numbers. They're not Westron or Hobbitish or Sindarin," she said curiously.
"No," he said slowly. "They're not from any language you know..." Thorin took a deep breath. This was the serious part. "They are in my language. In Khuzdul."
Billa gasped. "But Thorin!" she exlaimed. "This is-. How can-?" She trailed off, gazing at him with wide, bewildered eyes.
"This is a gesture of trust, Billa," Thorin told her gravely. "Any dwarf who looks at these will be able to tell that they were crafted by me specifically for you, and they will recognize the trust that I have given you. It is as if I was there in person, vouching for your character and recognizing your authority," he explained.
She stared at him, recognizing the weight of the trust he was giving her.
"If ever you were to betray this trust, Billa," he continued, "Every dwarf who has ever seen these would know, and my judgment would forever be called into question."
Billa paled, shaking her head and pushing the knives away from her.
"No, Thorin," she said frantically. "I won't have that responsibility. I can't."
Thorin glared, affronted. "Then you are refusing my gift?" he spat sourly, hurt by her rejection. Was Balin right? he thought, shocked.
"Thorin!" she exclaimed in agitation, "I'm just a hobbit! I've made mistakes, and I will continue to do so. I will not take these, and carry your reputation as well as my own." Her voice was starting to rise, and she gesticulated wildly. "My shoulders just aren't big enough! I could cost you your throne, Thorin Oakenshield. Just one mistake - one well-meaning mistake, a single miscalculation, and I could ruin everything for you," she said soulfully. She grabbed his hand, clutching it with both of hers as she gazed up at him, her heart in her eyes.
"I am honored and overwhelmed by this gesture of trust, Thorin Oakenshield," she told him earnestly, and Thorin, regretfully, could see that she meant that. "That you think I am worthy of such trust means the world to me, Thorin. But... there are things... I haven't been..." She trailed off, hanging her head. She gripped his hands tighter, and he gently squeezed back.
"Thorin," she said softly, seeming to have gathered her thoughts, "You deserve-." She choked gently. Was that a sniffle? "You deserve to have all of the facts. I need to tell you a story. It's a very long, very impossible story, but I swear that it is a true one. And if, at the end of the story, you still want to give me these beautiful, wonderfully-crafted knives, I will accept them. Whether you will give them as a gift or stab one straight into my heart, I leave to you," she said grimly, and Thorin reared back. What on earth did she mean by that? "You would be within your rights, no matter how you choose to react."
Suspicious now, Thorin watched her warily, awaiting an explanation. She huffed softly, humorlessly, her head still hanging low.
"I only ask," she continued, "that you do not leave or interrupt until the tale is over. It will be harder than you know. Can you do this?" she asked, for the first time looking up into his eyes. Her own eyes were glassy, wet with unshed tears. He scowled back at her, not knowing what to expect and not liking the feeling. Recognizing that she would not proceed with her mysterious explanation until he had agreed to her terms, he finally nodded. What is she hiding? he thought.
Instead of launching into her story, she stood, tugging on his arm until he stood as well, the knives tumbling to the sofa behind them. She pulled him outside, gesturing to his boots, which he put on with a suspicious and frustrated glare.
"Well?" he said, voice rough with impatience.
"Let's take a ride," she said, leading him to the ponies. She saddled them quickly as he continued to fume at the delay. She tantalized his curiosity, and then continued to draw out her silence! Oh, it was unbearable. He grabbed her reins and then swung up onto his own mount so she couldn't get away. Instead of huffing or making a teasing comment like usual, she only sighed and obediently mounted the pony. He led them down to the road, and then his patience was at an end.
"Well?" he said again. "What are you waiting for? Speak."
Billa put her face in her hands for a moment, and then began her tale.
