Honey, please, try to love me

"Billa, I can't do this."

Billa looks up at Maisy's face and the hands that clench fitfully at her pale dress. She is a beautiful sight, and it almost brings joyful tears to her eyes. Her dark curls are twined with thick twigs, and dried plants, mostly sprigs of evergreen and thick flat leaves from the few bushes that have not yet shed its greenery; her dress, soft and loose, is embroidered with an expensive green thread, each edge representing a season for good luck.

The last wedding Billa attended was Prim and Drogo's. The memories have faded with time, but she can still recall the sweet scent of Spring in the breeze, the early May flowers that were woven through Prim's hair, the sound of Drogo's laughter as they tried to sample as many dishes from the wedding table as they could, the happiness rising in a cloud above them.

She looks up into Maisy's eyes and sees the same flicker of fear that she once saw in Prim's face all those decades ago.

"Do you love him?"

"Yes," the words burst from Maisy with no hesitation.

"Even though he's a dwarf?"

"Don't be ridiculous, of course I- oh."

Billa grins, and rises slowly to her feet. Maisy's face is flushed with embarrassment and she reaches out to pat her shoulder, "I think you'll be fine, Maisy."

Tears spring into Maisy's eyes - and then she is pulling Billa into a tight hold. "Thank you," she whispers into her ear.

A small smile tugs at Billa's lips and she briefly tightens her hold on her fellow Hobbit, "It's my pleasure."

She pulls back, drying her tears on the edge of her sleeve, "Now, I suppose I better get out of your way. Your grandmother will be along shortly to escort you."

Billa takes a step back, when the other Hobbit grasps her sleeve, halting her progress, "Billa, wait."

"What is it?"

"You have been such a great help over the last few weeks," Maisy smiles. "Allow me to return the favour."

"You don't need to do that, Maisy, it was my pleasure-"

"You've had many suits, haven't you?"

Billa blinks, "Well, yes, although I suppose you could say Bag End has received many suits."

Maisy laughs, "And you turned them all down?"

"Yes."

"Hm," Maisy sets a curious gaze on her, twirling a stray curl around her finger. "Do you love him?"

Billa's brow furrows as she looks at her friend, "Who?"

"Thorin."

"I'm sorry, I…" Billa trails off, and her friend erupts into peals of laughter. She can feel a blush spreading across her face and it makes her want to bury her head in her hands. Has she really been that obvious?

"Yes," Maisy says.

"I didn't say anything?"

"You didn't need to," Maisy grins. "It is written all over your face."

The blush intensifies. Maisy reaches for her hands as they flutter towards her face and gives them a quick squeeze.

"Billa, you should tell him how you feel."

She shakes her head, "I can't."

"Why?" Maisy cocks an eyebrow, "Because you are afraid?"

"I-" The words get jammed in her throat.

"I've been watching you, Billa, ever since you first threw yourself out of Bag End five years ago searching for something that did not yet exist in Hobbiton," she smirks. "I've watched as suitors have come and gone, as seasons changed, and you hied yourself off to Bree and back again. I have never seen you look at someone they way you look at Thorin Oakenshield."

Billa flushes.

"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."

She releases Billa's hands, and smiles so beatifically at her that it steals her breath away. For the first time in a long time, Billa feels content and calm wash over her, "Whatever you decide to do, Billa, know that it is you alone who can decide how and who you want to love. But personally, I think you should do it the way you always have, brightly and unapologetically. Our time is too short to do it otherwise."

Billa stares at her friend, and then scoffs, "Since when did you get so wise?"

That piercing gaze softens, revealing the young blushing bride once again. Maisy pouts, "I've always been wise, you just never noticed."

"A keen error on my part."

"Obviously."

A knock on the door draws their attention, followed by a loud shout, "Maisy! You better not be reading that poor lass' fortune!"

Maisy rolls her eyes, "No, Grandma!"

"Good," the door creaks often and Widow Boffin's head peers through the gap, her wily grey curls exploding from a loose knot at the back of her head, "She's got enough on her plate, contending with those stubborn dwarves! Hard-headed, iron dolts!"

The older Hobbit mutters to herself as she shuffles into the room. Billa tries to swallow her laughter, and exchanges a quick mirthful smile with Maisy.

"What are you doing still standing here, lass!" Widow Boffin prods her side as she walks past, "There's a wedding to be had and you're standing there like there's nothing but cotton between your ears!"

"Grandma!"

Billa laughs, feeling some of the weight on her shoulders ease, "She's right, I best be getting on."

She starts out the room, Widow Boffin's disgruntled mutters following her.

"Billa!"

She turns at the sound of Maisy's voice. Her friend smiles at her, "From one Hobbit who loves a dwarf to another, tell him."

Billa gives her a wry smile. "Thank you."

"Thank you."

"Stop it now, ladies," Widow Boffin cries. "Or you'll both be greetin' before young Maisy even reaches the Great Table and I know that will not end well!"

Billa holds her hands up and slips from the room, allowing the door to shut quietly on Maisy's grandmother's curses. A cold wind nips at her hair and clothes as she steps into the fresh air. She exhales heavily, pulling the cold into her lungs, her gaze lifting to see the crowds starting to gather around the Party Tree.

She allows her gaze to slip through the crowds, before finally landing on him. Thorin stands tall and proud amongst his brethren, in a newly tailored tunic made from the finest bolt of Durin blue fabric she could find. She knows even from this distance, his sleeves are plain and unadorned, announcing his unattached status to every single Hobbit within the vicinity. Her fingers twitch with the need to darn those edges, feel the push and pull of the needle through the fine velvet, to hear his rumbling thanks when she presented it proudly to him. Lily of the valley, she thinks, it would be perfect.

Thorin turns, as if feeling her eyes on him, and meets her gaze across the top of the crowd. In an instant, his furrowed brow smooths out and a small smile tugs at his lips. He nods to her and she nods back, even as her mouth dries at the magnificent sight of him.

Her knees feel weak.

Hungry eyes trail down his face, his throat and across his shoulders, to his chest - she stops. A single flower is pinned to his breast.

Her eyes flicker up to his and then back to that flower. She can just about make out how his smile grows, and how one hand gently touches the flower before pointing at her. It is a slight movement, one for her alone and one she cannot miss despite the distance between them.

Then he turns away, his attention grasped by something someone says at his side. The crowds pull him away and closer to the Party Tree - but Billa cannot move. Her hand raises to her mouth.

Thorin is wearing a red carnation. Admiration and adoration. My heart longs for yours.