A Bout of News
In the days following Bimor and Bromor's departure, Billa finds that Kíli is not much changed in this life, and that he's just as capable in mischief alone as he is with his brother.
Dwalin keeps his distance, other than to occasionally growl at Kíli and to drag him off when said mischief goes awry. She tries not to let his behaviour get to her, reminding herself that he does not know her the way she knows him. It doesn't stop her from fawning over him, offering up bramble tarts, raspberry scones and apple crumbles, knowing he can't possibly resist.
Once she's sure he's let his guard down just slightly, she sets the other Hobbit lasses on him.
She starts by spreading some of the more heroic (and tame) versions of the tales she knows of Dwalin. The Hobbits are guarded at first, but it helps when they spot the gallant Noid's attentiveness to one miss Maisy Boffin, and the care old Magnus pays to the wee fauntlings - and then they're suddenly falling over themselves to be attentive to Dwalin, following him to his sparring, offering him endless treats, tucking flowers into his armour, some of the younger lasses even trying to go so far as to share a meal with him. Dwalin bears it all with a dwarven stoicness, but Billa can spot the tick in his cheek growing and the panic in his eyes as he lets down yet another disappointed lass.
With Dwalin preoccupied with his suitors, it leaves Kíli plenty of time to teach her and Fortinbras a few tips about archery. Fort is a natural, but Billa, well, she was always better with a sharp blade in her hand anyway.
"How'd you manage it?" Kíli asks one day as they relax amongst the tall grasses near the Brandywine. Fort stands a few metres away taking practice shots with his bow, while Noid and Maisy enjoy a meat pie together.
"Do you fancy a reading, Billa?" Maisy asks as she neatly finishes her slice.
"No thank you, Maisy, not now," she turns to Kíli with a cocked eyebrow. "Manage what?"
"All that interest in Dwalin," he glances at her with a sly look. "I know it was you."
Billa acts affronted, "How dare you excuse me of such mischief, Master Dwarf!"
"She told 'em stories," Fort pipes up without looking away from his target. "Billa's a master storyteller, Yavanna knows she's been on the road enough times to have gathered ample."
Kíli raises an eyebrow, "You're a traveller Hobbit."
"When the occasion arises," she shrugs. It would take a keen eye to spot the stiffness in the young dwarf's shoulders, fortunately for Billa she spent months on the road with him in another life and has learned to read all of the dwarf's body language.
"How far have you gone?"
Ah, there it is. Kíli is yet to reveal the truth of his identity to the others, something she imagines comes from a desire to be treated without the reverence that is usually attached to his title.
"A young lady never reveals all her secrets," she says.
Kíli huffs, and sets wide eyes on her. She scoffs as the tension leaks from his stiff form, "Put those away. They may work on your large friend, but they will not work on me." Decades of raising Frodo and shepherding dozens of her cousins made sure of that.
"Billa!" The cry comes their left and they all turn to see the flash of a fauntling sprinting towards them through the long grasses. Billa sits up, just in time for a small body to almost barrel her over.
Two wide watery blue Hobbit eyes stare up at her. A breath catches in her throat.
"P-Primula?"
The Hobbit girl tightens her hold around her middle, sobbing loudly. Billa notices Fort and Maisy exchanges brisk glances behind her but tries to keep her full attention on the lass in front of her.
"Cousin Billa!" She cries loudly. Billa's hands hover over the fauntling, unsure of what is going on. "It's horrible, just horrible!"
"What's horrible?" A thousand nasty situations ring through her mind, and she's pulling the tween away to look her in the eye, "What's happened, Primula?"
The wee thing sniffs, and rubs at her blotchy face, "It's Hamish Proudfoot!"
Billba blinks, "Hamish?"
The name rings a very vague bell, and she distantly recalls a Hobbit male with a halo of auburn curls, a grocer, if she remembers correctly.
Primula nods furiously, "He said you're mad! That you're the Mad Mistress Baggins of Bag End."
This is not what Billa expected. Wolves coming down from the hills, strange Men traversing through The Shire, the dwarves attacked at Bree, some goblins maybe, not the harmful words of a silly child.
"So I kicked him."
Billa stops, "You what?"
There's some soft snickering behind her and she pins Kíli and Fort quickly with a baleful glare.
"I kicked him," Primula repeats. "Right in the shin, the way you taught me. But he tattled and now I'm not allowed to have any blueberry pie!"
Billa blinks, once, twice before a loud laugh erupts from her. Primula scowls, "It's not funny!"
"Oh but it is," Billa crows. "The horrible thing is…no blueberry pie!"
"The horrible thing is calling you mad!" Primula insists, "He said since I was your cousin I must be mad too and that no one should be my friend."
In an instant, Billa's good humour deteriorates, "He said what?"
"That being mad is contagious and that no one should be friends with me."
"Why I-" Fort stops Billa from surging to her feet with a firm hand on her shoulder. She gives him a dark glare, to which he sighs, "Injuring annoying fauntlings won't help anything."
"It will definitely help me."
Fort kneels before Prim, ignoring Billa's rage, "Have you told your parents, Prim?"
She shakes her head, "I tried to but they didn't understand."
Fort and Billa share a look over the top of the young Hobbit's head - they are not surprised. Gorbadoc is Master of the Hall and father to seven children, Prim being the youngest, and his attention is often held by the matters of Buckland over the matters of his own children, and Mirabella, well, she has not been the same since Belladonna's death near on a decade ago.
"Why don't you sit with us for a while?" Maisy says. The trio of Hobbits turn as one to the lass, who's offering another plate of chicken pie to Noid. He's going to get as big as Bombur at this rate, Billa thinks mildly as the dwarf tucks in happily, unperturbed by the chatter going on around him.
Prim sniffs, "Really?"
"Of course. Maybe I can tell you your fortune while we sit," Maisy beams, patting the empty space next to her on the old blanket Billa pulled from storage earlier that day. The blanket has seen many a picnic at the Brandywine, and is rumoured to have been the sole reason for Bungo and Belladonna's engagement. Billa knows that is far from the case, but Prim must recognise the fading patterns, for her eyes widen and she shakes her head.
"It's alright, Prim," Billa says quietly to her. She turns wet eyes to Billa, who barely manages to smother her wince; she looks so much like Frodo, "Maisy packed enough food for a dwarven army apparently, so there's more than enough to share."
The Hobbit fauntling shuffles forward and settles gingerly on the smallest possible corner of the blanket, tucked tightly into Billa's side. She softens at her cousin's obvious wariness, the behaviour reminding her so much of Frodo, how the other children at times ostracised him for his wildness and thirst for adventure. Thank Yavanna for the creation of Samwise Gamgee. The quiet, shy Hobbit was Frodo's complete foil and his greatest friend.
Prim doesn't have a Samwise Gamgee, and that breaks Billa's heart a little.
"Prim, I'd like you to meet my friends, this is Noid, son of Thoid," the dwarf nods, chewing furiously on his pie, "and-"
"Kíli, son of Dis, at your service," the dwarf reaches gently for one of Prim's hands, and presses a kiss to her hand, bowing his head almost reverently. The fauntling flushes brightly and Billa hides her smirk with a dainty cough.
"P-Primula Brandybuck, at yours," she says quietly with a quick bob of her head.
"Prim's our cousin," Fort explains cheerily as he moves back to his archery practice.
Kíli blinks, "I thought you were cousins?"
"We are, Prim's also our cousin."
"How many cousins do you have?"
"Oh, I'm not sure, I haven't counted in a while," Billa replies. "My father was one of five and my mother was one of twelve. I think Fort's mother is one of six and Gorbadoc's one of nine, and each of their siblings have their own broods, so-"
Noid chokes and turns startled eyes to Maisy. Kíli splutters, "Twelve!"
"Yes," Billa nods, as Fort and Prim shoot her confused looks. "Do you have cousins, Master Kíli?"
"I mean, distant cousins," Kíli replies distractedly. "But my uncles never fathered any dwarflings."
"Such large families are unusual amongst dwarves," Noid explains.
"Well they might not be so unusual in yours, Noid," Fort retorts. Maisy flushes brightly and throws an apple squarely at his head, "Hey!"
"Don't be crass, Fortinbras. It's not respectable."
"I was just saying," Fort scowls.
"So who's in your family then?" Prim speaks up. The dwarves turn to the wee thing and she flushes brightly, despite the curiosity shining in her eyes. She continues quietly, "I mean, if you don't have cousins like us."
The dwarves exchange a quick look, and Billa's sure she's the only one who catches the quick flashing gestures between them that she was so familiar with in another life. She sighs, nothing changes it seems.
"I've got a brother, lass, Boid," Maisy's dwarf replies finally. "And his wife, as well as a few near relatives through my Ma's side."
"I've also a brother, Fíli, my Ma and my uncle," Kíli adds. Billa's chest aches at the thought of the stoic king. Would he come here? She wonders briefly, then bats the thought away. There's no guarantee she'd meet Thorin in this life, that he would even be the same dwarf she once knew, and she wouldn't spend it mooning over the dwarf. Even if his striking blue eyes still haunt her dreams.
"Is it a rule that your names have to rhyme?"
Billa is jolted back to the current conversation.
"Prim!" Maisy exclaims, "You can't ask questions like that!"
"Why not?" The Brandybuck asks boldly, "They do have rhyming names!"
"It's alright, lass," Noid chuckles, reaching out to brush thick fingers against Maisy's face. "It's no rude. It's just how it's done."
Kíli grins widely at the wee hobbit, "Besides it's a lot easier to remember our names when we're wee if they rhyme, right?"
"I guess," Prim shrugs. Then she sets her gaze on Maisy, "Can I have some pie?"
Fort snorts, but the lasses ignore him. Maisy grins, and hands over a pie to the small Hobbit.
"Kíli!" The shout comes abruptly from beyond the trees and the small group turns to watch as a cursing figure stumbles through the foliage to their spot. "Kíli!"
"I'm right here, Dwalin!"
The tall broad dwarf breaks through the treeline, twigs in his beard, clothing rumpled and expression dark. Billa swallows a smirk at the sight of him; the brave warrior dwarf defeated by Hobbit bushes.
"Well, hello there, Master Dwalin!" Billa chirps. The dwarf stumbles back as his gaze lands on the mischievous Hobbit. "How do you fare on this glorious afternoon?"
"Mistress Baggins, Master Took, Mistress Boffin," he hesitates at the sight of Prim, "Wee one. I need to speak with my kin."
"Of course, Master Dwalin."
"Kíli," the dwarf juts his head in the other direction. Kíli stands with a huff and moves away from the small group with the dwarf at his side. They spend a few moments muttering to each other in khuzdul, the rich language rolling over their tongues, as Maisy and Billa try not to appear too nosey. Noid has no such concerns and stares openly at the two conversing dwarves, his neatly braided eyebrows jumping into his hairline on occasion.
Eventually, the two part and head back to the gathering, Dwalin scowling. Prim stares up at the giant dwarf with an awestruck gaze and Billa smirks. It seems not just the adult Hobbits are taken by the tales Billa has been spinning.
"Who's the wee Miss?" Dwalin grumbles.
"I'm Prim!" The lass exclaims. "Are you Dwalin?"
"Hm," the dwarf nods. Kíli pouts as the fauntling's attention remains firmly on the elder dwarf, much to the amusement of the others.
"Ahem," Kíli says. "Dwalin was just informing me of some good news."
Billa raises an eyebrow, "Indeed?"
"My uncle and my brother will be joining us for our stay in Hobbiton."
Billa's heart stutters and she struggles to keep a hold on the abject panic that bursts to life in her chest before anyone notices.
"Oh, that'll be nice, won't it, Fortinbras?" Maisy replies with a bright smile.
"Indeed," the older Hobbit says, joining the group. "Do you know where they are planning on staying?"
"We wouldn't want to presume-"
"They can stay with me."
The group turns to face Billa, who plasters a bright smile on her face, even as she hides her trembling hands behind her back.
"Are you sure, Mistress Baggins?"
"Of course, we wouldn't want family to be separated when it can be avoided now, would we?" She smiles. "Besides, that smial was built for a large Hobbit brood, and as I once said to Master Bimor, I bet it could hold a great many more dwarves than you'd expect."
Kíli and Dwalin exchange a look, before the taller dwarf nods.
"Wonderful," Billa says. "When should we expect them?"
"Sometime next week, I believe," Kíli replies.
"Well then," Billa stands, dusting the mud off her skirt, "Suppose I better start preparing for their arrival. Do you want to stay Prim or do you want Fort to take you back to your parents?"
The Hobbit turns to the large dwarf, "Are you staying, Master Dwalin?"
"I…I suppose I could, just for a wee bit."
Prim beams and shuffles along the blanket to make room for the large dwarf, "Come, sit! Tell us a story!"
The dwarf hesitates before folding himself awkwardly beside the wee lass, as Noid and Maisy scooch forward.
"Until later, Master Kíli," Billa says with a quick curtsy. "Bye Fort."
"Billa," the Hobbit nods stoically, although she can see a calculating twinkle in his eye.
Billa sets off on the path that will lead her back to Bag End. She waits until she's definitely out of sight before she starts to run, as if she can outrun the truth of her own heart.
