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.

SHAMELESS PLUG: I'm working on a new story, called No Such Thing As Stupid Questions. Or it might be titled, There Are No Stupid Questions. It's something about Stupid Questions! In any case, it's a fix-it fic without time travel, where Billa confronts Thorin in Erebor about his alleged gold sickness. Is Thorin really as mad as he comes off in the books and movies?

Reviewers, thank you! Your reviews these last few days have helped me keep writing. I really want to finish this fic. Keep giving me solid, meaty reviews, and we can finish this together. Thank you! Would you call this a slowburn Bagginshield? Any other descriptors to throw into the summary?

Veronica- I'm not going to lie. I read your three reviews for the previous chapters and started to write right away! And while I was writing, I kept checking to see if you'd reviewed the final chapter yet. Also- I'll admit to wanting to find a middle-aged widow with kids for Balin, and suddenly he's baffled because his little wife is always pregnant, they're girls, and he's a dad, and Dwalin comes back to visit the Shire one year and he has like, fourteen nieces and when Balin's family goes back to visit Ered Luin all the dwarves are totally boggled by how many little kids introduce themselves as So-and-so, daughter of Balin. And then more and more dwarves start to eye the hobbits, calculating age differences and wondering if they could really have that many children and looking for spouses in the Shire, and a generation later there are enough dwobbits around that the aging difference doesn't matter nearly so much. Centuries from now, people will look back on that as the event that changed the course of history for the dwarves because their population increased and other stuff happened and they all lived happily ever after. Yeah. Totally been thinking about that. I wanted to do Dwalin, but he lives into his mid-300s, and I don't want to have him mourning a wifey-kins who grows old and withers away before he's even 250.

Note: Some people seem to have negative connotations with the word wifey, apparently. I call my husband Hubbykins, and I'm Wifeykins. Deal with it.

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 40

Billa had nightmares.

She saw Lake Town burn again, but this time Smaug didn't die.

He laid waste to Lake Town and cut a trail of devastation west, through Rivendell and into the Shire, where thirteen dwarves, two dwarflings, an elfling and a hobbit fauntling with dark brown curls and wide blue eyes were having dinner at Bag End.

Billa had just served blackberry pie when the wind started to pick up, a hot dry air that swept into a hurricane, and then the pines were roaring, and as they rushed to the windows they could see the Shire burning, and Erebor a few miles away burning, burning, burning, and Smaug flew overhead, spewing fire and destruction, and then Bag End was on fire and the doors were locked and they couldn't get out and her brave, brave dwarves put on their grim faces and herded the young ones into the middle of their war circle, and then Azog was there and Thorin was charging, and then Thorin was there, on the ground, and the snow burned against her skin as she collapsed next to him and he was so pale and there was blood on his face and his hands and his chest, and then his piercing blue eyes grew dull and his rumbling, deep voice fell quiet, and then he was gone, and Billa was alone in the burning snow, weeping, weeping, weeping.

Billa jerked upright, her hand reaching for her war-staff even as her other hand swept the covers off. She rolled off the bed, landing half crouched and menacing the dark figure that loomed in her room. Then her vision cleared, and the menacing figure became her wardrobe, and the sun was rising and the caravan would be here soon.

She dressed quickly, throwing on her trousers and buckling on her sword. She was about to sweep out of the room when she saw, out of the corner of her eye, the sunlight reflecting on something on the bed. Ah, yes, she thought. Thorin's knife.

She sat down heavily.

Last night had been... odd. And overwhelming. There had been the dread of confessing all, followed by the relief and euphoria of having come clean, and then the steady acceptance that, whatever happened next, she would finally have what she deserved, what Thorin and her dwarves deserved, and she could be at peace. Her treachery would be over.

And then, well. Thorin had neither condemned nor forgiven her. He'd given her something of a trial period, she supposed, but the way he had given it-. She blushed hotly.

She dimly remembered, one hundred and ten or so years ago, walking in on Belladonna and Bungo Baggins. They'd been sitting in that very same drawing room, on the sofa together, and Mother had been nibbling on his ears! And Father, Father had been blushing just as hotly as Billa had been last night.

Billa thought she should feel upset at the liberty that Thorin had taken with her. She remembered one of her erstwhile suitors had tried to tempt her into marriage with him by breathing hotly on her ears, and she had felt violated, and then furious! And she had smashed a teacup on his head.

Thorin though... she hadn't felt violated or frightened or angry at all. She had felt... dizzy, and breathless, and there had been fireworks shooting behind her eyelids. Instead of throwing things at him and forcing him to leave, she... Billa shifted uncomfortably, feeling a vague sense of shame. She wanted him to do it again.

Billa groaned and put her head in her hands. It's perfectly understandable to admire Thorin, she told herself. He's the epitome of masculinity, capability, and is a very dear friend.

She sighed deeply. Perhaps it was normal to develop these feelings between very good friends? She'd never felt like this before, but she'd never had a friend go breathing on her ears like this. Somehow, she didn't think any of her other friends would have quite the same affect, should they ever try. Nori and Dwalin and Dis and the lads were all very dear to her, but not so close to her as Thorin. She and Thorin had spent hours together every day, solving problems and sharing stories and even just sitting in companionable silence as Thorin brooded (not so grumpily as he once had) and Billa knitted or read or sometimes just looked at him, wondering over the color in his cheeks and the strange new smoothness of his unfurrowed brow.

Billa heard Dwalin's door open, and realized she'd been wool-gathering all this time. She quickly strapped the beautiful little knife onto her belt, clearly visible next to not-Sting. Then she glanced at the mirror, frowning at the circles under her eyes. Finally, she ducked out of her room to face the day.


Billa thought about taking the dwarflings with her down to the smials to greet their families, but realized with a grimace that they would want Lithir to come with them, and it would be best if an elf was not the first thing these dwarves saw when they arrived at their new home. So, she rode down herself, although Bifur joined her a few moments later, twirling flowers in one hand. Thinking of the children and then flowers made her think of the flower she had given to Lily as a message, and then she got a crazy idea.

"You know, Mister Bifur," Billa said abruptly, "Hobbits often use a different language to communicate instead of just Westron. Unlike Khuzdul or Iglishmek," she said, ignoring the blink of surprise he gave her when she named the super-secret languages of dwarves, "this language requires neither words nor voices nor fingers. You don't even need to be in person to communicate with it. In fact, Mister Bifur, I think it would be a wonderful language for you to learn," she said.

Bifur stared at her for a moment, smiling, and then his face sank. He gave her a sad look, and then rapped a knuckle against his forehead as if to say, I'd learn if I could, but this ax won't let me.

"None of that now," she said sharply. "You are a natural for this language. In fact, you could speak a little this very instant. If you were to hand me the blue flowers in your hand, you'd be telling me you thought I was a great beauty. But, if you handed me the white ones, you'd be saying how courageous I am."

Bifur looked down at the flowers in his hands, twiddling them uncomfortably. Then he glanced at her shyly and cocked his head. Billa had no idea what he meant, but decided to keep talking and hope she answered his unspoken question.

"I know it's not a very clear method of communication- you can hardly ask for the time of day or invite someone to tea, but there are hundreds of flowers in the Shire, and that's a hundred different messages you can convey. I have a book, in Bag End, if you wanted to learn more. Can you... Can you still read Westron?" She asked him curiously.

Sadly, Bifur shook his head.

"Can you read Khuzdul?" she asked, determined to find a way forward. Bifur eyed her thoughtfully and nodded.

"I'm going to get an apprentice, three days of the week," she informed him. "His name is Ori, and he's a shy lad with red hair and wants to be a scribe. Obviously, I can't teach him Khuzdul but... I'd like to set him to translating things from Sindarin and Westron into Khuzdul, and if you were interested, Mister Bifur, that book on flower language could be first on the list," she offered.

Bifur stared at her, hope rising in his eyes. Then a large smile burst onto his face and he nodded furiously. Billa grinned and laughed, and he laughed too. It was a rough, rusty, deep sound and Billa was shocked for a moment to realize she didn't recognize it. Had she never heard Bifur laugh before? She discarded the thought, because it didn't matter because he was laughing now.

Then, he skillfully swept down and plucked more flowers from the path, showing them to her and she explained their meanings, and then she offered to quiz him on them, and so the ride was quickly passed in smiles and good cheer.


A little flock of well-meaning hobbits had formed at the smials, waiting for their guests, and Billa quickly set them to work opening up the windows, airing the bedding and making any last-minute arrangements that were necessary. Then she shooed them all away and dithered over whether to wait here for the caravans or go back to Bag End.

"Well, Mister Bifur," she said nervously. "I don't know whether to wait here and greet them, or go back to Bag End. It'll have been a long trip, and Thorin and Dwalin and the others were going to ride in advance to meet them in any case. What do you think?" she asked.

After a moment, Bifur mimed with his hands. Billa squinted at him.

"Is that a... quill and parchment?" she asked.

Bifur nodded.

"I should leave a note?" she guessed.

Bifur made a waffling sorta gesture.

"You should leave a note?" she guessed again.

Bifur waffled again, and then gestured quickly between the two of them. She narrowed her eyes.

"Weeeee," she drew the syllable out, clearly at a loss, "should leave a note?"

Bifur grinned and Billa smiled back at him before drawing out the necessary supplies from inside the smials.

"How shall we do this?" she asked again. "I hardly know what to say. I want to welcome them here, but I'm feeling unaccountably shy. It's easier when Thorin's around, you know," she confessed, sounding a little guilty. "Because I know that he'll just glower at me if I say something stupid, or at them if they do something stupid. I hardly have any business here. It was different at the work-site, you know, because I was actually needed there to settle things and get them moving. I mean, I'm the landlord but not really, and what should these dwarves want to hear from me? It's been a long journey, they'll probably just want peace and quiet and a hot meal... Do you think I should cook something up to welcome them? Oh, but I hardly know when they'll be here and it would be a waste if it wasn't hot and ready for them..."

She worried aloud while Bifur drew careful runes onto the parchment. Then, he took another parchment and drew lines and swirls on it, and Billa fell silent as a really creditable map of the Shire took shape on parchment.

"Bifur that's..." she trailed off as he charted a path from the Smials to Bag End, and another path to the market, and then left tiny runes in various other places, labeling them.

"That's really good," she finished as he put the quill away. He smiled bemusedly at her and left the parchments on the table along with a vase of freshly picked flowers. Then, still smiling, he tugged Billa gently out of the smial and back towards the ponies.

"Thank you Bifur," she said, and then caught herself. "Mister Bifur," she corrected sheepishly. "Sorry."

Bifur shook his head quickly and Billa back-tracked. "May I just call you Bifur?" she asked, thinking that was the issue.

He smiled at her and nodded. "Then you must call me Billa," she said, beaming at him.

He plucked another flower, and so the discussion continued, all the way back to Bag End.


When they got back, Halfast was puttering around her garden, and she pulled him aside as Bifur took care of the ponies.

"Mister Gamgee," she began as he waved his clippers genially at her, "I was thinking that I'd really love to have some blackberry bushes planted on my property, as soon as we can. I've become unaccountably fond of the taste. Is that something we could do? I haven't the foggiest idea of what they would need, but I knew that if anyone in the Shire could make a fruit-bearing plant bloom, it would be you," she said, referencing his prize tomatoes. He puffed up eagerly under the praise, and promised to make it happen as soon as possible.

"Er," he paused, thinking hard. "How much of a crop would you like, Lady Billa?" he asked. Billa blushed. The title had been so ubiquitous among the dwarves that even some once-sensible hobbits had started using it.

"If I could make a blackberry pie every day from my own garden," she told him honestly, "I would be a happy hobbit." She listened, wistfully, to the sound of clashing metal that meant Dwalin and Thorin were probably sparring in her backyard.

After settling things with Halfast, she made her own way there, Bifur trailing behind her. Halfway, she paused to clutch at the knife on her belt, double-checking to make sure it was there. She breathed in relief when she found it, safe and sound, and really, she chided herself, where else would it be?

She huffed over her silliness and then continued until she found - not just Thorin and Dwalin, but Nori and Balin also, and the dwarflings, and up to a dozen new dwarves, only a few whom she recognized. Dori, Ori, she noted. No other familiar faces though.

One of the dwarves, seeing a hobbit coming, gave a sharp whistle, and Billa smirked as Dwalin and Thorin immediately slipped out of sparring and into dancing. Clearly, the dwarves had been properly instructed on the ways of hobbits.

Then Dwalin noticed it was not just any hobbit and immediately returned to a spar, almost catching Thorin off guard.

"Lady Billa!" Dwalin called. "Won't you join us?" His polite words were totally belied by his bloodthirsty grin. Billa laughed, pleased by the juxtaposition.

"Why thank you, Mister Dwalin, for the kind invitation," she called back playfully. "I suppose I must take advantage of my favorite dance partner ere he departs," she added coyly, dropping a small curtsy. Dwalin snickered, and Billa completed the picture by waving an inviting handkerchief at him and fluttering her eyelashes.

Her antics had Dwalin shouting in laughter, and Thorin ruthlessly took advantage of his distraction. Even as the axe was sent flying out of his hand, he was still giggling. Balin was rolling his eyes genially at his brother's loss of composure, and Nori was smirking. Thorin though... She finally dared to look at him. Thorin was looking at her with the same small, fond smile that she'd grown used to, and she felt a weight drop away from her shoulders.

Things would be all right, she thought. She'd been telling herself that all day but it was only at this moment that she truly believed it.


Dwalin dragged her into a spar, and she acquitted herself proudly. She had spent two months under his brutal tutelage, working until her bones turned to jelly, being disarmed and smacked around and generally humiliated on a daily basis until she learned to duck and block, and then to strike back. Today, Dwalin attacked her fiercely, parading her progress in front of his peers.

When he landed a hit that had made her left hand numb and sent her staff soaring out of her hand, she heard several faint boos from the crowd. She narrowed her eyes and quickly drew her sword, darting in to attack him with as much ferocity and agility as she could muster, buying herself time until she could feel her hand again. When her left hand recovered a little, she skipped nimbly away from his swinging ax, sheathing her sword and seizing her staff. Hearing him come after her, she dropped into a pike position, giving him the option to break off his charge or be speared in the gut. He batted the staff away, and she swung with it, bringing it around to slash at his side.

They went on in this manner for some time, before finally Dwalin called a halt.

Billa was wearing a grin to match Dwalin's as he clapped her on the back. She overheard murmurs on the wind as the dwarves, many of whom looked to be the old warriors come to train the hobbits, evaluated her skill.

"...hardly a warrior, but well enough in a pinch..."

"-scrappy little thing, tough despite her soft upbringing-"

"... made this progress when you tied it into dancing?"

"...Took down three of those filthy khuzdul slavers, and then guided the little ones to safety." That sounded like Nori, Billa thought, with a smidgen of khuzdul curses spattered throughout. "My little sister Lori was there, she told me all about it." Billa observed with a smile how Nori was carefully standing with his back to his family as he regaled his tale. Despite his perceived indifference to them, he was standing where they could overhear every word. Dori was torn between fussing over Nori and scolding Lori. Ori was in an adorably awkward stage, and she realized with pity and amusement that he never seemed to grow completely out of it.

Nori was still talking. "Oh, yes, she first scouted out the camp, giving us the exact numbers of those khuzdul slavers and then the number of younglings. She sent them a message to keep them calm, and then waltzed into the camp when the slavers slept, and got the children out," he continued. He saw Billa watching, and winked at her before sending a glance to Dwalin.

Billa realized with a blush that Nori was doing for her what she had done for Dwalin- talking him up and telling embellished versions of her heroics. Dwalin snickered at her discomfort.

"Billa Baggins, Defender of the Innocent and Protector of the Weak," he whispered in an undertone, clearly viewing this as revenge. She gave him a mock-glare. Then Thorin was there, offering his arm.

She took it, a little bewildered, and nervous despite herself. She felt her ears flush and saw his smirk when he noticed it too. Nevertheless, he didn't tease her.

"We should probably demonstrate some of the hobbit dances," he told her softly, remaining a respectable distance away from her ears even as he whispered. "So they know what to expect for their new students."

That made sense, Billa thought, a little befuddled. She shook off her confusion resolutely, and focused on the steps. This was not the time to be loosing her head!

Dwalin thumped out a rhythm with his foot, even as he produced a violin. The first few strains of a rousing hobbit dance spilled into the air, and Billa felt her nerves melt away. This would be fun!

And it was. Thorin was an excellent partner, and his boots never so much as stubbed her toes. Furthermore, he didn't do anything to make her nervous or blush again. Thorin's eyes were warm, with smile-wrinkles around them, and his hair was mussed and his cheeks were flushed, and Billa thought he was beautiful. He smiled and laughed with her, and they spun together through several dances before Dwalin put his violin away and they skipped to a reluctant stop, still gripping hands for a few moments after the music ended.

Before he moved away, Thorin tucked a stray hair behind her ear, careful not to brush against it, and then let his fingers brush gently against her cheek. Billa couldn't help but beam at him, and he returned with a crooked smile of his own. Then he was turning away, moving amongst his dwarves and listening and nodding, and Billa stifled a sigh, momentarily bereft.

Then she mustered herself and invited them all in for luncheon. Dwalin, Nori and even Balin made the rounds, laying down her rules, Billa supposed. Whatever they said, Billa had very well-behaved guests, even if most of them preferred to speak in Khuzdul.

Her other dwarves mingled, but Bifur kept close to her, and Billa used him as a gauge of those conversations she couldn't understand. As long as he was smiling gently, it couldn't be that bad. There was one instance where Bifur's expression shifted into a glare, and he had stared at a particular dwarf with searing intensity until the dwarf had looked over, noticed, and promptly backed off. Then Bifur was all smiles again, and Billa was too.

Nori circulated around the edges, listening carefully, nonchalantly, to most conversations, and dropping stories and comments into groups. He moved like a shadow, from one group to the next, and Billa smiled to see it, even though most dwarves sent her speculative looks after Nori joined their group. Defender of the Innocent and Protector of the Weak, indeed, she thought, not without humor.

Dwalin seemed to stick with the most war-like of the group, telling war-stories and comparing scars. Balin stayed near Thorin, and Thorin sat at the head of the table while the others moved around him. He held court, Billa thought fondly, even if he hardly said a word. Comments were addressed to him, and bows which he returned with regal nods and occasionally, tiny smiles. Billa noticed his subjects always seemed a bit surprised at the smiles, but would quickly hide it. They seemed to take their cue from the king, relaxing a little more, and it warmed Billa's heart to see it.

She served blackberry pies, and pretended not to notice the misty eyes and cleared throats of the older dwarves. Then she made her way over to Dori, Ori, and Lori and proceeded to sink her hooks into them, too.

"Mister Dori, do you mind if I sit here?" she asked sweetly, gesturing to the seat beside him. Lori looked at her and grinned.

"Lady Billa!" she said happily before turning back to her dessert. Dori quickly nodded.

"You know, Mister Dori, I've been looking for a tailor, as I tend to blend Dwarvish and Hobbitish styles. I was admiring one of Mister Nori's shirts and he informed me that it was actually you, sir, who had made it. I wonder, would you be willing to take a small commission for me?" she asked, knowing that the combination of her admiration, Nori's praise, and her gold would be too much for him to resist.

She was right. They made arrangements to meet again this week after Dori got a look at hobbit styles, and discuss more then.

Then Billa made her move for Ori. "You know, Mister Dori," she said bashfully, pitching her voice lower. "I asked Mister Nori to help find me something of a translator as well as executive assistant, someone who can help me translate parts of my library as well as document all of the changes we've been making. I've also noticed there's a definite chasm between dwarf literature and hobbit literature, and I've been looking for someone to help translate stories and transcribe histories, to help us get to know each other," she explained.

Dori was shooting glances at Ori, and Billa could see Ori's hands trembling as he tried to appear as if he wasn't listening hopefully.

"Mister Nori informed me that his brother, Mister Ori, was particularly gifted with languages, story-telling, history and even art. If you wouldn't mind terribly... could I borrow Mister Ori for a few days each week? In exchange for his help translating and documenting, I'd be happy to teach him all I know of languages, and history. Mister Balin's been giving me history lessons, and it would be wonderful to have someone else to discuss them with," she finished earnestly.

Billa knew that this sealed the deal. On her own, she was an unknown factor. Was she skilled, or was she particularly useless? They had no way to know. But if Balin, adviser to the king was giving her lessons and she was willing to share those lessons with Ori, then it would definitely be worth the risk.

Dori and Ori quickly agreed and Billa grinned. Things were falling into place. Even if Thorin and Dwalin weren't going to be here this winter, she'd still have her dwarves.

No matter what happened, Billa Baggins was strong. She'd be okay.