Then:
The moment Bilbo heard her mother's first cry of surprise and fear, she was scrambling toward the front door. She wrenched it open and stared for a moment in horror.
Her mother was struggling through the deep snow as fast as she could, away from the woodpile and in Bilbo's direction. Her dark cloak was a stark contrast to the blinding white of the snow and the dull gray of the sky. She held the ax they kept for splitting firewood in a white-knuckled grip and her face was full of terror.
At first, Bilbo couldn't tell what her mother was running from, but then she saw the shadow, dark against the snow. The creature who cast the shadow, she realized, had fur as white as the snow itself. It was lean and looked half starved, but that in no way diminished its powerful loping strides as it closed in on her mother.
A wolf.
"BILBO!" her mother cried upon spotting her. "Get inside!"
But Bilbo could only stand wide-eyed in the doorway and desperately will her mother to run faster.
"HURRY!" Bilbo found herself screaming, arms outstretched as though she could reach out and pull her mother closer to the safety of Bag End. "HURRY, MOMMA!"
The wolf was too swift, however, and Belladonna was weak with hunger.
"LOOK OUT!" Bilbo shrieked as the wolf closed in. It was picking up speed, running faster and faster and-
Bilbo's mother stumbled to a halt and, fighting to keep her balance, turned to face the wolf. She raised the ax in her hands and swung just as the wolf darted forward.
She missed, although her swing forced the wolf to fall back a step. It lunged again, and this time Belladonna's ax struck true. The wolf yelped and limped backward.
In the doorway, Bilbo searched the space around her frantically for something she could use as a weapon. She had to help her mother! But there was nothing and Bilbo's mind was too full of panic for her to think clearly. She would later kick herself for not running to grab the fire poker or a knife from the kitchen.
A cry of pain forced Bilbo's gaze back to the battle at hand and her heart seized when she realized the wolf's jaw was locked around her mother's arm.
The Hobbit lashed out again but her strike was much less powerful one-handed. There was an awful sort of crunch sound and a heart-wrenching cry of agony. The ax fell to the ground, useless.
The wolf let go, falling back a step, then lunged again. This time for her mother's throat.
Before Bilbo could think any better of it, she was scrambling out the door and stumbling through the snow. The wolf lifted its head at the commotion, raising its bloody snout to growl menacingly at her.
She snatched up the ax and darted forward, swinging at the creature with a strangled cry. The ax didn't touch the wolf but it did drive it back enough that Bilbo could put herself between it and her mother. The wolf began to circle them, its eyes never leaving Bilbo.
This close, Bilbo could see the hungry gleam in the wolf's eyes. Its fur was matted and she could have counted each rib if she'd so desired. It made a terrible picture, with fresh blood dripping from its jaws. For those few moments, it seemed the world had narrowed itself down to white and red.
The wolf lunged and Bilbo barely managed to bring the ax up in front of her. Heat and pain seared across her arm and she nearly dropped her weapon.
The next few moments moved so quickly, Bilbo could never truly say what had happened. A swing of the ax, a yelp of pain. Another swing. And another. The wolf collapsed to the ground. Another swing.
Finally, the wolf stopped moving and Bilbo allowed the ax to slip from her grip.
Bilbo turned from the creature she had killed - killed, she had killed another living being - to see her mother. A few stumbled steps and she collapsed next to her, a sob bubbling up past her lips.
There was so much blood. So much. Bilbo pressed her hands to her mother's throat in a futile attempt to stop the flow.
"Momma," she whispered, heartbroken. "Momma, please. Please don't leave me."
.
Now:
Bilbo woke to the wetness of tears upon her cheeks and the frantic beating of her heart. Her forearm ached so fiercely that Bilbo nearly looked to make sure the scars weren't somehow bleeding anew.
The terror and loss of her dream - her memory - were so fresh in her mind. She wasn't able to keep a sob from slipping out.
She threw back her bedroll and scrambled to her feet. She felt too vulnerable on the ground, like at any moment she would be attacked where she lay, unaware and unprepared.
The fire was still crackling merrily, casting dancing light and shadows on the sleeping forms of the Dwarves. She approached it gratefully, reaching up to scrub the tears from her face.
"You're okay," she tried to assure herself in a whisper. She stared at the fire, fists clenching as though she could somehow fight off the remnants of her dream. "You're okay."
"Are you alright, Miss Baggins?" came a voice right behind her.
Bilbo let out a squeak of fright, whirling away from the fire so quickly that she nearly tumbled backward into the flames. She would have if not for the Dwarf who quickly reached out and grasped her elbow, steadying her.
She regained her balance and pressed a hand to where her heart was trying to escape her chest again. She must have been very far inside her own head to not have heard his approach. "Thank you," she said.
"Of course," said the Dwarf and Bilbo realized that it was Thorin. He was staring down at her, brow furrowed unhappily. The light from the fire cast eerie shadows on his face. "I did not mean to startle you, Miss Baggins."
"It's alright. I didn't… I didn't wake you, did I?"
Thorin shook his head and gestured behind him to the large boulder where Bombur had been sitting when she retired for the night. He'd been on watch, he told her. Bilbo nodded, relieved that she hadn't woken him, but then her cheeks grew warm as she realized he had likely seen and heard everything.
"Are you alright?" he asked again, and Bilbo realized she'd never answered his question.
"Yes, yes," she replied quickly, wrapping her arms around herself, "just fine, thank you."
It was a blatant lie and she was glad Thorin didn't call her out on it.
"Although," she said, glancing to her bedroll and frowning at the idea of trying to fall back asleep, "would you mind terribly if I sat with you for a while?"
Thorin raised an eyebrow in surprise. Bilbo couldn't blame him, she had hardly uttered ten words to him since their journey had begun. But then, to Bilbo's relief, he gave a single nod and strode back over to the boulder where he had been keeping watch. Bilbo sat beside him, glad to see that his foul mood from earlier seemed to have dissipated. She wasn't sure she could have bared to sit with him otherwise.
They sat beside each other in silence for a long while, studying the darkness around them for any sign of danger. It was cold, far from the fire as they were, but the brisk air kept Bilbo awake even as it tormented her.
Bilbo listened carefully to the sounds of the wilds around them. It took her longer than it should have to realize she had her ears strained for the sound of wargs or wolves. She rubbed at her weary eyes with both hands and tried to focus on watching the stars instead.
Eventually, Thorin cleared his throat and inquired, without looking away from their surroundings, "It is not Fili and Kili who have upset you, is it? I will have them apologize in the morning."
"No," said Bilbo quickly, touched by his concern. "No, it wasn't them."
"If you're sure," rumbled Thorin, sounding skeptical.
Bilbo didn't want Fili or Kili to be in (even more) trouble with their uncle, so she thought she ought to explain. "It's just…" she started reluctantly. "The wargs… they sound so much like wolves. The howling. It stirred up some bad memories, is all."
"I did not think the Shire had wolves," commented Thorin. Bilbo had not thought he would inquire further. He hadn't given off the impression of being the conversational type, and especially not with her.
"We don't," said Bilbo after a moment of quiet. Her hands were restless in her lap, twisting and fidgeting. "Not normally, anyway. But there was one winter… When I was younger, the Shire experienced a terrible, terrible winter. The Brandywine River froze and the wolves, they came down from the north."
"I believe I remember that winter. It was…" he thought for a moment. "Ten years ago?"
"Eleven," corrected Bilbo miserably.
Thorin nodded. His eyes flickered to her, then returned to observing their surroundings. "Many of my people went hungry that winter. And many fell ill. We did not see as much of the wolves in the Blue Mountains that winter as we usually did. I had not realized…"
They lapsed into silence again. Bilbo had never spoken to anyone about that winter. In the Shire, it was common knowledge that both of her parents had been killed, that Bilbo had been discovered just steps from the door to Bag End. The snow had been made a sea of red by the blood of Bilbo's mother, the wolf, and Bilbo herself. Bilbo was the only one left alive.
She was not sure if telling it would make her feel better or worse, but Bilbo decided that perhaps it was time to bare this story to the world. Hand clasped over the scars on her right forearm, she began her tale.
"That winter was the worst in Shire history," she began. "The Fell Winter, we called it, and-"
.
Then:
In the two days since Bungo Baggins had succumbed to hunger and illness, Bilbo had hardly moved from where she held vigil on the floor outside of the room that was his temporary resting place.
Her mother had tried to rouse her, to prod her into bed or into eating what little they had left, to no avail.
They had heard wolves howling the night before, sounding closer than ever. Belladonna did not wish to venture outside but they had used the last of the wood for the fire and already the smial was beginning to grow cold.
When she could put it off no longer, Belladonna crouched down in front of Bilbo, calling her name softly. Bilbo's chin lifted slowly as she struggled to focus on her mother.
"Momma?" she murmured after a long moment, seeing the way her mother's eyes were tight with worry and the way her hands fisted in her skirt. "Something's wrong?"
"No, dearest," her mother soothed, trying to smile. "There's nothing to worry about. But I must go into the yard to fetch more wood. Will you come have some tea while I do?"
Bilbo was suddenly more alert than she had been since her father's passing. A terrifying thought seized her mind and sent her into a near panic.
"No, Momma!" Bilbo pleaded, lunging forward to wrap her arms around her mother and nearly knocking her to the ground. "Don't go. Please, don't go."
If her mother went out into the cold, Bilbo thought, she would fall ill. She would die too.
It took her mother nearly a quarter hour to calm Bilbo, holding her close and stroking her hair until the onslaught of tears subsided. Her mother's dress was blotched with tears and snot, and the worry lines seemed etched more permanently into her forehead.
Bilbo, too, had deep frown lines, even after being calmed by her mother. "Please don't go, Momma," she pleaded again and again.
"You know I must," her mother would murmur in reply.
And Bilbo did know. As much as she hated it, she knew that they had no choice if they were to see out the rest of this dreadful winter. They had already chopped up and used what wooden furniture they could turn into kindling. Now their only options were to bring in firewood from outside or freeze.
So Bilbo watched with wringing hands as her mother bundled up, pressed a kiss to Bilbo's forehead, and approached the front door.
She didn't know it then, but her mother was walking to her death.
.
Now:
Bilbo had thought it would get easier to speak as she told her story. She'd thought that the words would fall out, maybe in a rush or a jumbled mess. That she would feel better for speaking these words aloud.
Instead, the words were trapped behind the lump in her throat, barely able to bubble up between ragged breaths. It became more difficult as she reached the end of her tale, the part that was still painted vividly in her mind and haunted many of her dreams.
"My mother…" whispered Bilbo, swallowing hard. "She was… attacked and killed. By a wolf. Just outside of Bag End."
She sucked in a deep breath, curling further into a ball to try to ward off the chill she was only half sure was a product of this night. Maybe the icy breeze was all in her head.
Beside her, Thorin shifted for the first time since she'd begun her tale. Bilbo huddled in closer, her knees almost to her chest, sure that she had drawn this out too long and Thorin had lost interest. Maybe he had never been interested in hearing it in the first place. Had Bilbo imagined his concern? He rose to his feet and Bilbo's heart sank.
She only hoped he hadn't found some reason to be angry with her.
But instead of walking away like she expected, he merely shrugged off his coat and settled it gently on Bilbo's shoulders. Bilbo looked up, shocked, and their eyes met. His eyes were sad and kind. Soft.
He retook his seat, staring out into the wilds once more.
"I killed the wolf," said Bilbo, encouraged to continue by the kindness in his eyes and in his gesture. "But it wasn't… it wasn't enough to save my mother. I was… too weak. Too slow. I should have-"
Bilbo broke off, shaking her head. She didn't like to think about the should-haves or could-haves.
"I am sorry," said Thorin, voice low and soothing.
Bilbo thanked him weakly. They sat for a while longer, Bilbo burrowed down into the warmth Thorin's coat provided. Eventually, she found her eyes slipping closed, her head drooping momentarily before she shook herself awake again.
"You should try to sleep, Miss Baggins, if you think you are able." He looked to her with a frown. "Fili and Kili worry that you have not been sleeping well."
Bilbo huffed out a laugh. "Honestly," she said, shaking her head. "Those boys. They're like the overprotective brothers I never wanted."
Thorin looked considering for a moment, and Bilbo worried that she had crossed a line. Perhaps Dwarves did not joke about family matters. Then Thorin nodded, saying in all seriousness, "I believe they would be pleased to hear it."
Bilbo looked incredulously to him. Then she stood, to Thorin's mild surprise, and handed him back his coat.
"I… You can't be serious. I must be sleep deprived and imagining things." Bilbo shook her head. She was certainly exhausted; that had to be the reason things had stopped making any sense.
She bid Thorin goodnight, ignoring the judgmental raise of his eyebrow, and picked her way around the sleeping Dwarves to her bedroll. Perhaps if she slept then the Dwarves would begin making sense again.
Honestly, as if Fili and Kili would be pleased to hear she thought of them as family. They had only known each other a month, after all. And Freddie had been the only one to ever choose Bilbo like that.
No one else ever had, and no one else ever would.