Honey, pick a blossom
The Green Dragon is quiet for a weekday night, and she relaxes into a quiet table at the back, near one of the roaring hearths. The nights are growing darker, and Billa knows that while she may have escaped Thorin's scrutiny for now, he would appear at some point to escort her home. If not him, it'll be one of his sister-sons.
She sighs, sinking her tired bones onto the sticky pub table. A week ago Maisy Boffin, soon to be wife of Noid, son of Thoid, appeared on her doorstep in tears and hauled her into wedding planning and all of her time was suddenly filled with drying plants, baking and finagling Maisy's tricky family on top of all her other normal duties.
However, there's only so much she can blame hieing it from one end of Hobbiton to the other as playing a part in her failure to notice that the tarts she crammed down her gullet every morning were not made by her own fair hand.
A few days ago, Thorin started to appear in the kitchen with a pot of steaming coffee every morning. She accepted a cup, swapping a few morning greetings with him (and desperately trying not to be too distracted by those stupidly handsome smiles). Billa doesn't usually see him again for the rest of the day, but judging by the dirt streaked through his hair and under his fingernails, she presumes he spends his hours training with the other lads and helping her neighbours with the odd task.
Then suddenly there's a plate of pastries, and the odd morning roll, with that coffee - and she's sharing a meal with Thorin alone every morning.
She should have been more suspicious. This dwarf is related to Kíli and Fíli - and they sure didn't get the full measure of their mischief from their mother.
Instead, she tries not to think too much of it. Not all dwarves are aware of the meaning behind sharing food and, beyond the weird moment at the Brandywine, nothing has changed between her and Thorin.
Her resolve remained steely - until yesterday morning, when she turned and caught his expression in the last of the autumn light. His eyes were fixed on her, two twin flames, burning with determination. It frightened her, the strength of the look in his eyes, and stole her breath away. She blinked and it was gone, his face easing into his usual soft morning smile so quickly she almost pretends that it never happened. Almost.
Those Durin blue eyes swept into her dreams, teasing her with possibility until she woke that morning her blood hot and her face flushed. It is too much for one Hobbit lass to take.
So she does what Billa Baggins does best, she hides.
She rests her forehead against cool wood with a groan, why does she torture herself so? Kindling any kind of hope is setting herself up for devastation and heartbreak again. Would she never learn?
"Alright, Miss Baggins?"
She peels open one eye to see Dwalin peering down at her, a large tankard in his hand. She grunts in reply, closing her eye again.
The bench on the other side of the table groans, Dwalin settling opposite her. She doesn't raise her head.
"I'm gonna take that as a no."
She exhales, lifting her head to rest it on crossed arms. The dwarf is staring at her with a raised eyebrow.
"Have you ever been in love, Dwalin?"
She expects him to laugh and shake his head, or brush her off with some roundabout way of saying no.
The last thing she expects is for the dwarf to nod and go, "Aye, I have."
She blinks at him, "You have?"
"Did I not just say so?"
"I…" she gapes at him like a fish, unable to find the words to finish off her sentence. What could she say? That he'd never mentioned a love in a previous life where they fought side by side to reclaim a mountain all while she was pretending to be male?
"Their name was Storn," he says gruffly. He runs a hand over his head, thick digits trailing over the run of tattoos etched into his skin. "And we loved each other something fierce."
"What happened?"
"They died," Dwalin's hand draws to a slow stop. "Killed by Smaug in the devastation of the Lonely Mountain. I couldn't get there in time to save them."
She reaches out to gently pat his other hand, "I am sorry."
He gives her a rare smile, "No need tae be sorry, lass. It happens. I'm no the first to lose their love, that's for sure."
His gaze settles heavily on her and she squirms. The dwarven warrior knows; she can read the empathy in his clear gaze. She coughs slightly, "Yes, well-"
"Which is probably why I'm one of the best to tell ye, lass, that I understand how hard it is to let go of the things you lose unwillingly," his voice is low and quiet, but Billa has never heard anyone speak more clearly. "But ye cannae let the murky waters of the past capsize yer boat."
"What if I can't fight the waves?" She smiles mirthlessly, "Hobbits aren't strong swimmers, you know."
"I'm sure there's a light on the shore waiting to guide ye home."
Billa's eyes feel suspiciously wet. Is Thorin her light? She's not sure. It has been so long, five years here and an entire lifetime before that; when she returned to the Shire in that first life she bottled away any thoughts on what could have been. She mourned a lost friend, and tried not to dwell on the deeper feelings that lingered under the surface.
"That's not what I'm here to talk to ye about though, lass."
Dwalin's words pull her back, and she blinks at the large dwarf, "No?"
"We've been here a good few months now, but I've no seen much sparring between yer people," he says. "Am I right in assuming it's no somethin' you dae often?"
"It's mostly just the Bounders who spar. They only learn enough to keep our borders protected from wolves and the stray goblin."
Dwalin nods as if happy with her answer, "As I thought."
She watches the dwarven warrior for a moment. She can literally see the thoughts turning over in that thick head of his, and she knows she only has to wait-
"I'd like tae set up some training classes."
She almost spits her ale onto the table. "Classes?" She splutters.
"Aye," he grins, flashing those sharp teeth of his. "It was wee Prim's idea, she wants to learn. I also talked to Fortinbras and he mentioned the Fell Winter…"
"Prim?" Billa says baffled, "My cousin Prim, tiny Prim, came up with the idea?"
Dwalin nods sharply, "She's fiercer than most warriors I've trained."
Billa takes a long draw of her ale, turning over the image of Prim as some sort of warrior Hobbit. She shouldn't be so surprised, Frodo had been every bit Primula Brandybuck's son and he had ultimately been the one to bring Sauron to his knees.
The thought swirls uncomfortably in her stomach, the faint memory of the still and pale Frodo, barely hanging on by a thread, knocked loose. She thought she had done all she could for Frodo now, biding her time until the Lonely Mountain was reclaimed.
Unbidden, the thought of the lead box hidden safely under her floorboards comes to her.
Would arming Prim give Frodo a better chance?
A slow smile stretches across Billa's face, and when she looks up at Dwalin again, her eyes are bright with mischief, "I think it's a brilliant idea."
His smile matches hers, "I might need some input, ye know what Hobbits are like."
"Does this mean I don't have to pay you in cheese pies to convince you to spar with me?" Billa asks cheekily.
The dwarf barks a laugh and shakes his head, "I'd be honoured to spar with ye, lass."
"Grand, because Kíli keeps pulling this sneaky move on me, and before I know it, my bum is on the ground and he's grinning down at me victoriously," Billa says. "It's really quite painful to my pride, Dwalin."
"Hm," Dwalin takes a gulp of his tankard, his gaze drifting beyond her shoulder to some point behind her.
"Something to do with a sweeping leg, I think. I'm not sure, he's too fast for me to catch it." He doesn't respond this time, his eyes still fixed behind her. She snaps her fingers in front of his face, "I'm sorry, am I boring you?"
The dwarf visibly jumps, his gaze moving back to her, "Aye. No! No, I mean-"
"If you are not interested in conversing the finer points of sparring, you could just say so."
"Lass, I-"
"Evening."
That familiar voice sends shudders down Billa's spine. She glances up over her shoulder to see Thorin standing behind her. A dark blue tunic covers his torso, a plain brown Hobbit waistcoat pulled over the top. Billa can't help the twitch in her fingers when she sees the plain unadorned fabric, her hands pleading to embroider the edges of the fine clothing with the garden plants that decorated most of her own clothing.
She moves her eyes resolutely up the waistcoat, past that tempting glimpse of throat, to his eyes. They are bright and soft as they gaze down at her.
"Hullo Thorin," her voice cracks halfway through and a deep flush spreads across her face at the sound.
"Billa," his lips twitch, before he turns to his friend, "Dwalin. Do you mind if I join you?"
Join them? As in, sit beside her at this tiny table near a roaring hearth, so she'll be aware of the mere inches between them until his elbow brushes against hers, or his knee touches her thigh softly. No, no, no. A Hobbit can only cope with so much and the thought alone is enough to-
"'Course, sit," Dwalin replies before she can get her words out.
Great Yavanna.
Thorin settles in the space beside her. She can feel the heat blasting off him before he's even fully seated and she has to sit on her hands to resist the urge to move closer to that precious heat source.
"These are for you, gamzûna."
She glances up just in time to see pink flowers placed on the table in front of her. She blinks. Camellias. Pink. Longing. Her blush grows even fiercer, and she can feel the eyes of the nearby Hobbits stabbing into the back of her neck. Surely he's not aware of the meaning of these flowers, right? Would he be so blatant as to announce his intentions so boldly in the middle of The Green Dragon?
"I found them on my way over," Thorin continues. "I thought you'd like the colour."
Yes, but did he think she'd just like the colour or like it because of its meaning? The flowers stare at her innocently from the table. To accept them would be to say that she reciprocated his feelings, or was at least entertaining the thought of them, but to reject them would be to reject Thorin and also potentially hurt his feelings in the process even if he doesn't understand the true meaning behind the flowers, not to mention all the Hobbit lasses who would undoubtedly jump to court him if Billa publicly rejected him-
"Billa?"
She blinks, her eyes lifting to meet Thorin's. His lips twitch, "Take the flowers."
"I-" Her fingers trace the stems softly, and then she pulls them towards her, "Thank you."
"You're welcome, gamzûna," the smile is small and it only lingers for a brief moment, but she sees it. Her chest warms, and a gentle smile crosses her face too. The name is new, she tries not to think too much about it.
"So," Dwalin pipes up, and she startles, wide eyes lifting to meet his gaze. The big grin, all teeth, he gives her tells that he knows she forgot he was there, and her flush deepens, rising to her ears. "Noid tells us ye've been helping Miss Maisy with her weddin' plans."
Billa shakes away the embarrassment, and tries not to think of Thorin's hands on the table, wrapped around his pint, "Yes, she was a little…manic, with the planning."
"Not long to go until the big day, eh?"
"Not long at all, but there is still much to be done," Billa says. "Hobbit weddings may sound like simple affairs, but they really can be quite extravagant by the food alone."
"Hm," Dwalin says. "Are ye goin' with anyone?"
Billa's brow furrows, "Well, I rather hoped we would all be going together, Master Dwalin-"
"Naw, lass, I mean has anyone asked ye to accompany them?"
"Oh!" Is it just her or is Thorin's eyes boring a hole into the side of her head? "I can't accompany anyone, I'm part of Maisy's bridal party."
"I see," Dwalin says.
"B-but," she keeps her eyes on her pint, as her heart hammers so loudly in her chest she swears her companions can hear it, "Even if another Hobbit had asked me, I would have said no."
When she glances up at Thorin, he is beaming - or as much a stoic dwarf like Thorin can beam, his eyes practically twinkling in the dim pub light. For a moment, Billa can pretend that smile is only for her.
...
A/N: We inch towards the finish line of Part I. I listened to Hozier's Eat Your Young while writing and re-reading this and I can't help but think of Thorin in the first line. Poor dwarf's starvin' for his wee Hobbit lass.
Next week - A WEDDING!
"I've watched you protest at every single person who told you that you should tell him," Maisy frowns. "I'm not sure what is going on between your ears, Billa, but it's clear to everyone with eyes that the dwarf is head over heels for you."
