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.
Loathe: to feel hate or disgust for.
Loath: not willing; reluctant.
The map in this chapter: blog. lefigaro. fr/hightech/ middle-earth-map. jpg
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 43
Billa sighed tiredly. It had been a week since Thorin left, and she was missing him badly. She kept up with her lessons with Balin and Ori, made plots with Nori, commissioned a new wardrobe from Dori and generally stayed busy, but Thorin's absence weighed on her heavily, and the days seemed cold and gloomy.
Since the knives hadn't worked out so well and she only wore one ceremoniously, she made sure to practice fervently with her staff. She sparred with Bifur, Nori, and even Balin as often as she could.
Ori, she was teaching Sindarin, as well as Hobbit, Elf, and Mannish history. She set him to translating books from Westron to Khuzdul and Khuzdul to Westron. First was the flower book for Bifur, and then Ori translated a set of Dwarvish fairy tales into Westron. When Balin had protested her teaching Ori Sindarin, Billa had locked Ori and Balin in a closet and held a long conversation with Lithir in Sindarin. When she let them out, she glared at Balin for a moment and then spoke.
"Well, what were we speaking about?" she asked him pointedly. Balin scoffed.
"How would I know?" he said glowering at her. Billa looked at Ori and raised a commanding eyebrow.
Ori coughed and shuffled his toes, looking down. "Well, Master Balin," he said softly, "Lady Billa asked Lithir how she liked it here, and how she was being treated. Lithir told her that although only Gimli and Lori really liked her, no one had been cruel or rude to her and that Nori was protective of her when necessary. She also said she was grateful to Lady Billa for letting her stay. Then, they made plans to make dinner together tonight, and Billa would teach Lithir how to make the strawberry tarts she likes so much, as well as the blackberry pies that you favor, sir," he said, eyes still fixed on the ground.
Balin's jaw worked angrily for a moment, torn. It irked Balin that such a promising young dwarf was learning Sindarin, of all things, but Billa and Ori had just proven how useful such a skill was. And there would be blackberry pie tonight, for the first time in a week.
He let it go, and Billa didn't hear another complaint about it from Balin, although his eye twitched in vexation whenever he overheard their lessons. Billa smirked to herself when Nori reported that Balin began to take Ori aside for unofficial tutoring after each Sindarin session as if to counter-act any damage Billa might have done. Billa made sure to encourage such practice by inviting Balin in for a discussion near the end of her sessions with Ori, and then excusing herself when the lesson was over. Typically, Ori and Balin would linger in the study for an hour or two afterward, and she was pleased to see them grow closer.
After a discussion with Lithir where she learned the elf had very little knowledge of the culture and history of the elves, Billa realized that the elf had no official guardian and had no other elves to look up to or learn from. Something had to be done, and Billa would do it. As it happened, Lithir was a perfect excuse to begin writing to Lord Elrond, and hopefully start to foster a friendship between the Shire, her dwarves, and the elves of Rivendell.
Lord Elrond, Billa wrote thoughtfully in Sindarin, wishing she could begin with Dear Elrond, as she used to in her old life when Elrond had been her friend and then host.
Please excuse my presumption in writing to you without formal introduction, but this is a matter of some import and you are the nearest authority of which I can think.
I am Billa Baggins of the Shire, and some time ago a few of our fauntlings were abducted by slavers. I and a party of dwarves who were staying as my guests rode out to rescue them. When we found and rescued them, there were three hobbits, two dwarves, and one elfling by the name of Lithir. It is on Lithir's behalf that I write to you.
Lithir has no family left, and has been staying with me in the Shire. She has formed friendships here, and is welcome to stay with me as long as she likes. I can teach her a little of your history and your stories, but I do not know and cannot teach the private rites and magics of your people.
Lithir has become family, and I am loath to send her away. I am also loath to deny her the upbringing she deserves. What would you advise, sir? Is there some middle ground in this circumstance?
Winter is upon us, and I do not think we could make the journey to seek your counsel in person at this time. However, I would be agreeable to hosting a small envoy, if and when you deemed it wise to send one to obtain a first-hand account of the situation. While I am sure my hospitality does not begin to rival the famed generosity and elegance of Rivendell, I can provide comfortable furnishings, excellent food, new songs and stories, and as much or as little conversation as you might desire. If you chose that course, I would only advise that you send patient and level-headed representatives, as my dwarven guests are well meaning, but occasionally a little hot-headed.
In lesser matters, my dwarven guests have spoken briefly of their history and particularly dragons. I have heard of the legendary warrior, Earendil, who defeated the dragon Ancalagon, but had (apparently mistakenly) thought that was a myth. Are dragons real? How can I learn more about them? Are there any other stories or books I could study? I am afraid that all the libraries of the Shire are quite quiet on this subject, and I am at a loss.
I hope this letter finds you in good health, and you will not think it unbearably impertinent – perhaps only slightly impertinent.
Best wishes,
Billa Baggins of Bag End,
Bagshot Row, Hobbiton, The Shire
Billa smiled to herself and read the letter over again. While she was fond of Lithir, her reluctance to send the elfling to Rivendell stemmed less from affection and more from a desire to force her dwarves to get over their animosity of all elves. It also gave her an excuse to write to Rivendell and hopefully, one day, to Mirkwood, and help to smooth the way for their future quest.
When Balin eyes the Sindarin letter suspiciously, Billa gritted her teeth. He'd been a little hostile since Thorin left, and Billa's patience was thin. She wanted to lash out, but the shame she'd feel from picking a fight with a guest of all things helped her keep her temper.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and wondered about what she could do to put him at ease. Perhaps if Ori read the letter?
She initially scoffed, but then thought to herself, Last time, Ori seemed the only dwarf to truly appreciate the beauty of Rivendell. And he's a level thinker. I think if I explain what I am trying to do, he would understand. A second opinion is never a bad thing.
She decided it would be good homework for Ori (and Balin, by extension) to translate the letter into Westron and Khuzdul. Ori would do well with the Sindarin, but she would assign him to write the letter as if he was writing to a dwarven lord, and Balin would be able to help with that.
Once Ori had his Westron version of the letter down, and a copy of the Sindarin, she sent her letter on its way and left Ori to his assignment with Balin.
Once Balin was finished (and gave her a considering look as he left the study), Billa sat Ori down for a more serious discussion. She began by showing him a map of Middle Earth, spanning from Ered Luin all the way across to the Iron Hills.
"Ori," she began, "Today will be a little different. Imagine you'd led a quest and stood at the gates of Erebor this very moment," she said. Ori swallowed uncertainly. "If you want to retake your homeland, what obstacles do you face at that very moment, the very first problem?"
"Dragon," Ori squeaked, and then blushed.
"Exactly," Billa nodded. "Say the dragon is defeated, and you reclaim Erebor. You first go down to the treasury, and it stretches a mile wide, filled deep with gold. What's your second problem?"
Ori looked down and shifted uncomfortably, unwilling to say it aloud. Rumors of gold sickness and madness in the Line of Durin would never be spoken to an outsider – not even her.
Billa nodded again. "You don't have to say it, but we're both thinking it. Keep those two problems in mind. Now, where is Ered Luin?" she asked.
Ori immediately pointed it out.
"And where are we?" she asked. Ori unerringly found the Shire.
"And where is Erebor?" she asked. Again, Ori pointed.
"Do you know what route the dwarves took after the fall of Erebor?" she asked. Ori hesitated. "I know they were dark times, Mister Ori, and I am not revisiting this on a whim. Please, show me," she said.
Ori's finger trailed from Erebor, across the River Running, around the southern edge of Mirkwood, down past the Mirrormere and the Misty Mountains, through the Gap of Rohan, up into Dunland, past Moria, north around the Shire and finally west to Ered Luin.
"Good," Billa said. Now, Ori, if you were to lead a quest back to Erebor, what path would you take?" she asked.
He stared at the map for a while, uncertain. She could understand his hesitance.
The directest route went through Rivendell, across the Misty Mountains, and through Mirkwood. But, seeing as they distrusted the elves, that route was out.
If they took a detour north, they went through the troll-infested Ettenmoors and came near to Mount Gundabad, an ancient dwarven kingdom that was now an orc stronghold. Sheer numbers of enemy fighters would doom them unless they moved in overwhelming force – which was unlikely, as most of their people were now miners and tradesmen, not warriors.
If they went south, they'd pass by Moria where they'd lost so many in the battle of Azanulbizar. In Moria yet stalked Durin's Bane and it had, perhaps, been re-infested with goblins. Since they wouldn't risk Moria, they'd have to go further south, down through the Gap of Rohan and up around Mirkwood, in the longest possible route to Erebor.
No, there weren't any easy options for a return trip to Erebor.
"There's no safe path," Billa said, and Ori nodded. "The shortest and most direct route takes you through elves, the next path through orcs, and the safest path is over three times as long as the other two options. Now, take the shortest route," she said, and Ori obediently traced from the Shire, through Rivendell and the High Pass, and straight through Mirkwood to Erebor.
"The first obstacle on that path, what is it?" she asked.
Ori tapped on Rivendell, and then blushed and looked at her apologetically. Ori knew she had a fondness for elves, and was embarrassed to show his distrust of elves in front of her. He'd read many of their stories and was learning their language, and was slowly beginning to think they weren't all bad. Still, Rivendell was definitely an obstacle.
"Yes, I agree," she said, surprising him. "The Rivendell route is the best choice, because you can restock your supplies, and rest in real beds in relative safety. However, it is an obstacle because of the distrust between elves and dwarves. What have I told you about enemies and allies?" she quizzed him.
"If you can make an enemy into an ally, you've destroyed an enemy and gained an ally," he recited. She nodded approvingly.
"So, Ori, think back to the letter I had you translate. With this quest in mind, what does that letter mean?"
She gave him a few minutes, as he glanced over his notes of her letter.
"Well, Ori?" Billa prompted. "What am I up to?"
"You're... befriending the elves, and trying to get them to come and bring information..." he said slowly.
"Which leads to...?" she led him.
His eyes widened. "You're trying to mend the rift," he whispered. "Re-make the alliance. Destroy this enemy and make them an ally, so that when the time comes to return to Erebor, we can take our rest at Rivendell safely, and perhaps have an answer for the dragon."
Billa smiled. "Precisely," she praised, "Very clever."
His brow furrowed again. "But after Rivendell, there's still..." Mirkwood.
"Yes," Billa agreed. "That will take a little more planning and scheming on our part, whether we go straight through or have to go around. I'm hoping after correspondence is established with Rivendell, we can open correspondence with Mirkwood and feel things out. Never the less, the journey of a thousand miles-" she began.
"Begins with a single step," Ori and Nori finished in unison.
Ori's eyes widened to see his brother step silently into the room, and Billa grinned at her partner-in-crime. Nori smirked at them both.
"Well, Ori," Nori said, "Welcome to the plot. First step, Dwarf – Hobbit relationships. Second step, Dwarf – Elf relationships. Third step, Dwarf – Dragon relationships. Are you in?" he asked, revealing that he'd been eavesdropping for some time.
Ori looked nervously at Billa, but relaxed when he saw her smiling mischievously at Nori, clearly not minding his spying.
"Yes Nori," Ori assented, pleased to be included in this plot. "I'm in."
Thorin was soaked to the bone, and freezing cold. It had been snowing relentlessly for the past three days, and they were forced to wade through waist-deep snowdrifts, leading their ponies and carving a path through the snow with their bodies so the wagons could pass. It was miserable going. They were hungry, and starting to sicken.
However, they had pressed on and today, Thorin knew, they would arrive at Ered Luin.
Four hours later, the sun was setting and they finally made it. The pristine white snow turned to grey slush, and the road cleared as they rode into the little town clustered around the gate into the Blue Mountains. The horses were left with ostlers at a stable, and the wagons were dragged by the dwarves themselves into the gates of Ered Luin.
Here, there was no gold nor jewels to work with as in Erebor, nor true-silver as in Moria. Here was iron, and though it did not bring them great wealth, mining and shaping it allowed them a livelihood and a little shelter in the mountains. This place was cold, dim, and harsh after the soft warmth of the Shire. In comparison to Erebor, they were poor lodgings in exile*, but any lodgings were better than nothing.
Thorin sighed as he dragged a wagon, Dwalin pulling at his side, down the long, rough-hewn wall. A few dwarves saw them coming, and either lumbered away to share the news, or came closer to lend a hand.
The rations were brought to the store-room, and Bombur and his wife, Lorida were reunited there and put in charge of unloading and cataloging all the goods. They would report to Dis when they were done, who would keep an official record of it. Billa had told him she had sent some specific gifts for Dis, Fili and Kili among the wagons, and that such gifts would be clearly marked. Bombur would set aside those, and make note of them, and Thorin would see them properly delivered- later, after a bath and a hot meal and a long night's sleep.
His bones aching, his boots squelching with each step, and his fingers numb, he made his weary way to the 'royal quarters'. They were far different from the golden extravagance of Erebor, or the elegant comfort of Bag End. They only differed from common housing in that the royal quarters were suites, not rooms, and had guards stationed out front.
As he made his way down the royal hallway, from which the royal suites branched, he saw the door next to his own open, and a dwarf on a wheeled chair clumsily made his way out of the room. The dwarf's arms were as strong and powerful as ever, and the blond hair long and well-groomed. The legs, however, were disturbingly skeletal, as they'd been ever since the blonde dwarf had taken a blade to the back during the Battle of Azanulbizar.
Thorin grinned to see him, and felt his spirits rising when the dwarf looked up and grinned, too. The dwarf often suffered from depression, but it seemed that today was a good day.
"Frerin!" he exclaimed, and ran down the hallway, squelching loudly. He bent over and gripped his brother's forearms firmly, and they slammed their foreheads together despite the odd angle. Thorin went a step further and bent to embrace his brother, ignoring his withered legs and his thin cheeks, or the way the wheeled chair rolled slightly back from his advance.
"Thorin!" Frerin said affectionately as Thorin pulled away. "It's good to see you, brother. What's this I hear about the Shire?" he asked, the smile still faint on his lips.
"I'm frozen to the bone, and disheveled besides," Thorin said, still gripping one of Frerin's forearms. He was loath to release his brother, whom he'd not seen in four months, and not seen smiling for nearly twice as long. "But I'd like nothing more than to tell you. Will you care for my hair as I bathe, Frerin?" he asked. "I'm afraid my fingers are numb and I can't quite manage."
Frerin blinked, obviously surprised at the vulnerability Thorin betrayed by his request, and Thorin felt hope rising. He'd learned a lot in the Shire, and hoped that taking a page from Billa's book of tactics would work on his brother. Frerin hadn't been the same since he lost the use of his legs, and the normal stoic interaction between warriors, which was all either of them knew, simply wasn't enough anymore and Frerin had slipped slowly but surely into isolation, unable to spar, uncomfortable in the crowds, and hardly ever leaving his room. However, Thorin had learned in the Shire that asking for help didn't mean you were weak- it showed trust and respect, and he hoped he could thaw Frerin's pride like Billa had thawed his own. He waited anxiously, wondering what Frerin would do.
Frerin's mouth tipped up into another smile. "Very well," Frerin acquiesced, and Thorin grinned in elation.
"Do you mind if I lean on your chair?" Thorin asked, pushing his luck.
Frerin, still in a good mood, laughed and easily turned the chair around so Thorin could lean on the back, pushing it a little.
"I suppose your fingers are too numb to open the door?" he teased.
Thorin laughed too. "As you say," he admitted as Frerin easily opened the door and held it open as Thorin pushed him in.
Frerin wheeled his way over to the bathtub and got the water running, as Thorin set down on his bed and fumbled at his clothes. He managed to get his scarf, gloves, and hat off, and wrestled off his jacket and tunic, but his boot laces were beyond him. His fingers were burning now, as they thawed, and his face felt the same.
Frerin rolled back over, and batted Thorin's ineffectual hands away from his boots. "Give them here," he commanded, in a way he hadn't since he'd lost the use of his legs. Thorin obeyed.
"I feel ridiculous," he admitted. Frerin glanced up at him sharply.
"Because you need the help of a cripple?" he said bitterly, his smile gone and his fingers pausing on the laces. How did Billa react when I was offended? Thorin tried to remember. Oh yes, she either apologized, or laughed at me.
Thorin snorted at Frerin. "Hardly a cripple. I remember the way you trounced Dwalin on Durin's Day last year when he dared you to an arm-wrestle," he said, smirking. "I feel ridiculous," Thorin repeated, "because the last time I needed help to unlace my boots was back in our teens when I broke my-"
"-hand because I smashed it with Father's hammer when we snuck into the forges at midnight and tried to lift it!" Frerin interjected, sniggering. They grinned at the memory of mischief, and Frerin was smiling again.
Thorin let go of his pride for the rest of the night and unashamedly leaned on his brother getting in and out of the tub. He told Frerin about the little hobbit lass who saved Kili from a gang of Men and threw a sack of gold at his head, and everything that came after.
When his hair was clean and braided and a still-smiling Frerin showed himself out, Thorin thought that maybe the best thing from the Shire wasn't food for the winter, or shelter for his dwarves. Maybe, the best thing was learning how to show vulnerability from Billa's example so he could make his brother feel like a dwarf and a brother again, instead of a cripple.
As he shrugged his now-warm body into clean sleeping clothes and settled onto his clean, soft bed, Thorin let out a long sigh. He wrapped the covers more tightly around his body, and looked up towards the ceiling, through the blackness of the room.
"Thank you, Billa," he whispered, closing his eyes to imagine her face and her warmth here beside him. "Wait for me, please... I'll be back in the spring."
