A Very Hobbity Welcome

Thorin Oakenshield is very confused.

The Shire is not what he was expecting, and neither is the wee Baggins hostess of Bag End.

When he first heard that name, he thought it was a sign from the Valar. That maybe the dreams that had been incessantly plaguing him for the last half decade were true - and if they were true, who was to say that his little Hobbit wasn't real too.

But the dreams lied.

There is no Bilbo Baggins.

Just a Billa Baggins, with eyes the colours of shining emeralds, and a laugh that falls like liquid gold in a roaring forge, and a smile full of sunlight. He can no more keep his eyes off this Baggins, than he could the other - and the others are starting to notice. He pushes their questions away begging curiosity, however, Thorin knows that will only work for so long.

He needs to solve the puzzle of Billa Baggins, and quickly.

Thorin puffs on his pipe, watching as the smoke drifts lazily towards the bright blue sky. She is an odd creature, Billa Baggins, skittish but fierce - and so similar to Bilbo it pains him. Sometimes he catches her eye across a room and for a second he thinks he's looking at Bilbo, then the flowers she weaves into her hair catch his eye and the illusion shatters. Other times he catches her staring at a dwarf with glazed eyes, as if she's somewhere else, seeing something he cannot.

"Good afternoon, Master Dwarf!"

Thorin turns to see the portly Hobbit from the other night approaching him on nimble feet and with a bright smile.

"Afternoon, Fortinbras."

"I hope you are enjoying your stay so far in The Shire," the Hobbit says as he draws to a slow stop at the fence that surrounds Bag End. Thorin takes a puff of his pipe, and exhales thick smoke.

"Hm," he grunts. Then settles his hard stare on Fortinbras, "Is it always so quiet?"

"Well, we are a raucous bunch when there is a party to be had, but for the most part, yes."

Thorin weighs up the words of the Hobbit, and wonders what could have driven his Bilbo from this peaceful place towards a dragon-filled mountain.

"Ah, I have seen that face before," Fortinbras' words interrupt his musings and he turns a stern look on the bemused creature. "You, sir, have itchy feet."

"Itchy feet?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, it happens to a few Hobbits," he takes out his own pipes and sets about it. "The peace is too still, and you are driven by itchy feet to set out upon the road to explore further to find adventure."

"Perhaps," Thorin says quietly, his gaze moving towards the distant outline of the busy Hobbiton market. He longs for the sound of khuzdul over the cheerful chirps of haggling Hobbits, the smell of roasting meat on the breeze, and the distant sight of the forests that surrounded his stone halls. He turns back to his companion - and startles.

The Hobbit's face is inches from his own and he barely manages to withhold a shout at his sudden nearness. Instead, he scowls and leans as far back as he can, "What are you doing?"

"You look like her," Fortinbras says simply. The words strike Thorin hard, and he just manages to keep his expression stoic, even as he bristles at the Hobbit's abrupt invasion of his personal space.

"I do not follow."

"Billa, you look like Billa."

"I do believe you might need your eyesight checked, good Hobbit," Thorin rumbles at him. His hand itches for his axe, and he quickly clenches his fist; it would do no good to hit this weak creature, but he might not be able to help himself if he comes any closer.

Fortinbras rolls his eyes and steps back. Thorin exhales through his nose and watches carefully as the Hobbit efficiently lights his own pipe without removing his gaze from the dwarf's face, "I simply meant you have that ghostly look in your eyes that she does."

"I can assure you there are no ghosts in my head." Thorin starts to wonder if this Hobbit is a few wheels short of a wagon.

"You have lost kin, have you not?"

The abrupt question startles the dwarf, who nods his head slowly.

"So has Billa," Fortinbras says. "Their ghosts remain in her eyes."

Thorin's gaze moves inadvertently towards the smial where the Hobbit lass greeted him every morning with a smile and a bramble tart. His chest tightens, has she been in mourning this whole time without his notice?

"She lost her parents a few years ago now, to the Fell Winter," Fortinbras explains. "We were starving when the Brandywine River froze over. It turned out we weren't the only ones starving."

Thorin remembers the harsh winds that year, how his people struggled to survive. Durin's Folk are a hardy bunch though and they scraped through - how had these small creatures, softer and more delicate than the average dwarf, managed it?

"I have seen the way you watch my cousin."

He draws his attention back to the Hobbit, who is staring at him with a steely look, "Billa has been through a lot, and I do not wish any further harm to come to her."

In an instant, Bimor's words before he parted with them in the woods near Bree echo in his head. 'She is a gift, my King.'

He bows his head to the Hobbit in understanding, "No harm shall befall Billa Baggins, not while I breathe. I swear it."

"If you keep holding onto those ghosts, Master Oakenshield, harm will befall her - and it will solely be your fault."

He startles at the Hobbit's words. The image of Bilbo comes unbidden to his mind, the memory of his bright smile in the dungeon of Thranduil.

As Thorin watches, Billa moves into the window, a book in one hand, her brow furrowed as her eyes dart across the pages in front of her. Then she looks up and catches his eye. She beams at him, and waves brightly. He offers her a stoic nod, and then she turns to continue her pacing, her attention returning to the book in her hand.

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

He turns back to the Hobbit, a contented warmth spreading through him. Maybe it is time for a new dream.

"I understand."

Fortinbras gives him a curt nod, then his face transforms into a bolt of sunshine and he claps his hands together, "Brilliant. Now that that business is out of the way, what do you say about entering the humble smial of my cousin and discussing trade over a cup of tea and cake, King to be Under the Mountain?"

A smile crosses his face as he blows out his pipe and rises to his feet, "I do believe that would be acceptable, Thain to be of The Shire."

...

A/N: A wee short one this week as I'm away on holiday! Off on a big adventure like Billa herself - next week's update will be on Saturday as a result.

Next week:

Her heart and her head were already in a muddle about the dwarf, now - with his sweet morning smiles and enthusiasm for bramble tarts - he's quite frankly irresistible.