A Good Morning

Billa is awoken the next morning by the sound of banging in her kitchen. She groans, glaring at the small strip of sunlight that stretches into her room.

Another bang from her kitchen rouses her further. It must be Noid. The dwarf has been single-minded in his determination to cook edible food for Maisy Boffin, after Hamfast painstakingly explained Hobbit Courtship to him one afternoon. So far his efforts have been…interesting.

Billa pulls herself from her warm safe bed, there are other guests now residing within Bag End. She would need to warn Noid about keeping quiet or encourage him to move his culinary explorations to the afternoon at the very least. It is only polite.

She dresses quickly, picking a practical dress and corset, and quickly detangling some of the knots in her hair and weaving a couple of wildflowers through the locks. She's just about to depart when she catches sight of herself in the mirror.

Wide hazel eyes stare back at her under a shaggy mop of sandy curls. The face scowls. What is it about her that screams lad? She wonders. Is it the roundness of her face, the indelicateness of her shorn hair?

She smacks the thoughts away quickly, she has no time to dwell on such stupid insecurities.

Still, she hesitates at her bedroom door.

Thorin is here.

She's not sure where, but she heard Fort lead the dwarves into Bag End late last night, so she knows he is here. There's a part of her that is dreading facing him again, facing any of the old company again. She tossed and turned all night, the memory of him pale and lifeless, his eyes grey and dull even as he smiled at her and told her to value food and song and cheer, taunting her.

Would she come to face with that Thorin? Or the dour dwarf she first met in Bag End all those decades ago?

Stop it, she tells herself. You have more important things to be worried about, like saving your kitchen.

She throws open her bedroom and steps into the hallway.

Noid is glaring at her second-finest pie dish when she finally enters the kitchen. "What are you up to?"

"I cannae get this crust right," he mutters. Billa approaches and has to quickly push away a sorrowful moan. The filling of Noid's 563rd attempt at an apple pie smells glorious, and she can see the caramelised apples glistening under the clumsily latticed-top. But the pastry is black.

"How long did you cook it for?"

The dwarf scratches his head, "I dunno."

She sighs, "I've told you before, Noid, you need to watch it carefully."

"I was watchin' it," he says, collapsing into the nearest chair. "Just got distracted thinkin' bout my Maisy."

"Well, she won't be your Maisy if you can't get this pie right."

The dwarf slumps, even his impressive beard drooping sadly, "I'm no used to this. Maybe she'd be better aff with an impressive Hobbit, one who could cook her an entire feast and provide ample food for her and her wee ones."

Billa glances between the pie and the devastated dwarf. She makes her mind up, and nabs a fork.

"Billa, what are ye- no, don't eat that!"

Too late. The pastry crumbles to charcoal in her mouth, but she can taste the echoes of the salted butter in the ash, and the apple filling sings. She turns to Noid with wide eyes, "Master Dwarf, I do believe this is one of the best apple pie fillings I've ever had."

He blushes, "Ye don't have tae be nice, Billa-"

She shakes her head, "I'm not being nice, Noid. Here," she pushes the pie towards him, "Try some."

"I don't think so."

"Come on, try it! Yes, the pastry is a bit burnt, but the filling! I do believe you have cracked that at the very least," she pushes the pie towards him again. The dwarf gives her a distrustful look and slowly reaches for the fork.

"If yer trying to poison me, Mistress Baggins, I will reply in kind."

"Yes, I'm sure you will," she bats his words away. "Now try it."

The dwarf takes a mouthful, chewing slowly. His face grimaces at first, then it starts to clear and his eyes widen, "Mahal, I've done it. This tastes like Maisy's apple crumble."

"Well, not quite, but it is good," Billa smiles and pats him on the shoulder. "See, it's not as hopeless as you would think. Want to try again?"

He nods enthusiastically, "I'll need more apples though."

"There's some in the second pantry," she indicates another door in her kitchen, already moving to scrape the remains of the charred pie into the waste. "Don't you eat anything else in there though."

"Mistress Baggins, how could you accuse me of such a thing?"

"I know your weakness for smoked cheese, good sir," Billa narrows her eyes on him. "Don't think I haven't noticed your night time bread and cheese exploits."

He holds his hands up, "Fair enough."

"I'll start on the morning coffee," Billa says as the dwarf disappears into the pantry. "Could you bring up some more scones and pastries for our new guests while you're in there, please?"

"Aye," the dwarf's voice echoes out from the room. Billa turns to start preparing a big jug of her morning beverage to place on the hearth, reaching for the tin in which she kept her freshly ground coffee.

Only it's empty.

"Fiddlesticks," she mutters, turning her gaze to her cupboards. She always kept some on hand in the kitchen just in case, usually in one of her taller cupboards. She glances back at her kitchen table and- yes, exactly as she thought. Kíli still hasn't returned her ladder for whatever purpose he needed it.

She could wait for Noid to return to grab the tin down for her. Billa pauses, then scoffs at herself. She travelled to Erebor and back again, fought goblins and orcs and won against the One Ring in their decades long battle of wits. Billa Baggins, burglahobbit, barrel rider, elf friend of The Shire could get her own coffee.

With a hmph, she clambers up onto the counter as she has done since she was but a wee fauntling, and delves into the cupboard that holds the beans she's looking for. Her search is successful and she withdraws the tin triumphantly.

Then there's a choked gasp behind her - and she spins to see a shocked Thorin on the threshold of her kitchen. He stares at her, immobile, with wide eyes.

His sudden appearance gives her pause; this is not a Thorin she has seen before. Gone is the large jacket, trimmed in fur, and the travelling leathers she'd seen him don in her first life and again last night. Instead, he is dressed in a simple tunic and trousers, the collar open slightly. Her eyes trail down the strong column of his throat to the glimpse of collarbones. Her mouth drops open slightly.

Heat rushes to her face and Billa barely resists the urge to fan it. She can't help it, she's helpless to the charms of Thorin Oakenshield. She probably would have stared forever, if her roving gaze hadn't caught on his expression. She's not sure what to make of it; it's not one she's catalogued in her book of translating Thorin looks.

"Morning," she chirps.

Her chipper words seem to shock him into movement and he's crossing the distance between them in two long purposeful strides with dark eyes, "Get down from there!"

She blinks, "I'm sorry?"

"Get down, it's not safe!" He growls. His arms are open, hands hovering as if to catch her should she suddenly slip and fall.

The timbre of his voice sends shivers down Billa's spine, even as she eyes the dwarf in complete disbelief, "I'll have you know I am perfectly capable!"

"You could fall."

"So could you!" She retorts, before clambering neatly down off the counters, avoiding his hovering hands. She stares up at him primly, as incredulity flickers across his face. A scowl then stretches across his face, and he folds his thick arms across his chest.

Her gaze darts to those arms, she can't help herself.

"You should be more careful."

The words crack through her daze and she looks up at the taciturn dwarf, eyes skimming across his face. Yes, he is very cross with her, but there's also flickers of worry and concern there. She softens slightly, patting one of his arms gently.

"I've been living alone for quite a while, Master Dwarf, and I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself," she says quietly. "Besides, I'm a Hobbit. I'm very good at clambering up tall things."

Thorin's eyes widen and Billa flushes so brightly she can feel the heat coming off her face. Great Yavanna, she did not mean it like that.

Yes, you did, her mind whispers to her, you wanton Hobbit.

"Billa, I found the…apples." Noid trails off. The two turn to the dwarf as he hesitates at the pantry door, "Master Oak-Thorin, good morning." Noid stutters over his words.

Thorin nods his head in greeting, his eyes dropping to the piles of food in Noid's arms. Billa steps forward, wiping her hands on her skirts as she does, "Come, Noid, place that on the table there, we'll get started on this pie."

The younger dwarf stumbles forward, placing the food down on the table with a gentleness not often seen in dwarves. Billa turns to Thorin, who is still looming behind her. He is warm, like chestnuts straight off an open fire, and it distracts her for a second.

He raises an eyebrow, and she can see the playful twinkle in the deep blue depths.

"Mistress Baggins?"

She blinks, once, twice. Has she been staring? "Yes?"

His lips twitch and her stomach flops, "Can I help?"

"I, uh, yes, yes, yes," She thrusts the tin into his hands. He catches it at the last second, "Would you mind finishing up the morning coffee?"

Thorin follows her gaze and blinks. She pins him with a look, "You do know how to make coffee, right?"

There's a twitch in his jaw and she tries not to laugh, "I can make coffee."

"Wonderful," she beams at him. Quietly, she hopes it turns out better than the dishwater he favoured during the Quest. She turns to the other dwarf, "Noid, you get started on peeling some of those apples, and I'll get First Breakfast on the go."

Noid nods his affirmative, arranging the ingredients for his next pie into neat piles. Thorin settles at the table with her little grinder and the tin of beans. She tries not to watch him out of the corner of his eye, even as he begins to deftly turn the handle, grinding her beans into a fine dust. Instead, she pulls out the ingredients she would need for a large cooked breakfast.

This is not the Thorin she was expecting. The irritable confused dwarf that was in The Green Dragon, an echo of the brooding leader who led the Company under hills and over hills to the Lonely Mountain; that was who she expected. Not this mischievous-eyed, hovering specimen with flickers of worry and concern in every glance.

"Can I interest ye in some pastries, my k-eh good Master Dwarf?"

Thorin glances up briefly at Noid, "What are you offering?"

"Och, uh, there's some scones, some muffins," Billa can hear Noid picking through the plate he brought through with him. "Oh, and these bramble tarts! Billa's been baking 'em non-stop the last few days, ye see-"

"I have not!" She exclaims, scowling at the dwarf over her shoulder. Noid gives her a blank look before pointing at the piles upon piles of tarts around the kitchen. She flushes brightly, and turns back to her cast iron skillets.

"I do see," are Thorin's only words. She can feel his iron gaze heavy on the back of her neck. There's scraping sounds as the dwarves behind her exchange some plates and pick out some pastries. Billa's shoulders creep closer to her shoulders as she starts up a fire for her skillets.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watches as Thorin takes a small bite of a bramble tart. His whole face lightens, and the treat is gone in just a few bites. Billa squirms with happiness, just as he looks up. Their gazes meet.

Thorin's lips tug up into a smile and she can't help but grin broadly at him.

Maybe having the King To Be Under The Mountain here in Bag End wouldn't be so bad after all.

...

A/N: Just the one chapter this week folks.

Next week:

Bilbo may be a wonderful dream, but Billa is real and within his reach.