Oh my love, my love will never die
Billa feels sick.
Bimor will live, but their skirmish on The Shire's outskirts has yielded many casualties. Not for the first time, Billa wishes for Oin's skill. She misses the crotchety old dwarf.
The rest of the wedding party was dispersed after the dwarves were escorted to the Healers, along with the freshly married bride and groom, although Noid had to be told at least thrice that he was not needed and that he should go enjoy his wedding night. He grumbled the entire way to the small smial they were renting as part of their honeymoon, but off he went.
Now Billa sits in front of the hearth in Bag End, while Kíli paces restlessly from one end of the room to the other. She wonders briefly how many times it would take him to wear down her carpet before her concern is directed at the immovable shadow that looms over the small fire in her grate.
Thorin has not said a word since returning to her smial, his brows drawn together in a dark frown. Oh, how she longs to smooth over those creases, wipe away his problems with a sweep of her arm.
A clock ticks somewhere, reminding her of the growing lateness of the hour. She aches everywhere, her hip twinging thanks to an old injury.
"Billa," Dwalin draws her attention. "Ye should get to bed, it is growing late."
She firmly shakes her head, "Not until you do, unless you are all planning on sleeping in here in a great pile of dwarves."
"We shouldnae keep ye-"
"Nonsense," she says. "Besides, I am very good at scheming and it seems to me like what you need is a very good plan."
"Well, aye, but-"
"Billa, do you even know who the White Orc is?" Fíli asks abruptly.
"Fíli," Kíli hisses. The blond prince does not react, simply remains staring at Billa until she gives him one sharp nod. "Then you must know that one Hobbit scheme will be nothing against Azog."
"I think you underestimate the might of Hobbits, Fíli," she says.
"He will kill you all in a single blow."
"It is The Shire's borders he is lingering outside like some stray dog. We will not stand aside and watch while you wave pointy sticks at him."
"What will you do?" Fíli asks darkly, "Offer him some bramble tarts and ask him to tea? Azog will not be won over by your chatter, Mistress Baggins."
"You have fought him before, have you not? What good did it do? He still lives to tell the tale and his hatred for your people grows stronger every day," Billa spits back. "And if you defeat him, what then? His army will still exist."
"What would you have us do? Hide behind your bounders like snivelling cowards?"
"I would have you think about what action you want to take and what outcome you want from that action, like a true King would."
"And what would you know of being a true King?"
"More than you-"
"Enough."
Billa and Fíli freeze at the utterance of Thorin's single command.
"Uncle-"
The dwarf turns a hard stare on Billa. She has seen this look before, so she squares her shoulders, meets him firmly in the eyes.
"Leave us."
"But Uncle-"
Thorin turns a narrowed gaze on his nephews, "Leave."
"Come on, lads," Dwalin says, rising slowly to his feet. "Let's leave the Hobbit Princess and yer uncle to battle it out."
"Dwalin-!"
"Kíli, get," the dwarf says, shooing the two boys out of the room. Billa watches them go, eyes skimming over the defeated slump in their shoulders, the heavy weights that rest on them. She forgets just how young they are, or even were in that original life.
The door closes softly behind them, and she turns to face an impassive Thorin.
"You cannot fight him."
He nods, "I know."
"What will you do, Thorin?"
He exhales, "I must protect my people."
She inches closer to him, until the gap between them could be bridged if she reached out her hand. The fire warms her bare skin, and in an instant she is back on that dancefloor, his hands around her waist. For a moment, she allowed herself to believe it could work, that they would work.
Then reality came crashing in as it always does.
"I cannot rally my people when they are scattered to the four winds," he says finally. Her heart sinks to her hairy toes.
"You mean to reclaim the Lonely Mountain."
"I must," he says. "Even if we were to fight and defeat the White Orc, should his armies follow Ered Luin does not have the defences to hold them back - and my people are already weak."
"Your people are not weak."
"They are struggling," he exhales. "I must do better, be better for them."
"Thorin…"
"We shall work together to come up with a plan to draw the orc away - and then we shall reclaim the mountain," he says. "I will take as many with me as willing."
"You have my sword."
"No."
The word echoes in the silence around them.
"What?"
"I cannot, Billa."
She holds her ground, glaring up at the impetuous dwarf, "And why not?"
"I am not discussing this," he turns as if to leave, but she's skidding to a stop in front of him before he can make his escape. He won't leave her behind, not today, not in this life.
"Why?" His eyes are fiery and his nostrils flare with a heavy exhale. She knows she is playing with dragon fire, prodding the dwarven king when he is already at tipping point, but she will not - cannot - let this go. She will not step idly aside while her dwarves march straight into danger once again, not when she promised to protect them until her dying breath, not when the scent of dragon fire and ash haunts her dreams every night, "Why can I not go with you?"
His lips curl into a grimace, and his fists clench so tightly, she can see his knuckles turning white under the black hair that is dusted across the coarse skin there.
"Why-"
"Because I cannot risk you!"
"Risk me?" She blinks, "What is that supposed to mean?"
He runs a hand down his face wearily, "Billa-"
"Do not 'Billa' me, and expect me to bow down to your every accord, oh Great King Under the Mountain."
He flinches, "I am no King."
"You will be once you've reclaimed the Lonely Mountain," she takes another step forward, prodding him in his firm, hard chest. He is as immovable as stone, "Richer than any dwarven King has ever been once you sit upon the caverns of dragon treasure that lie waiting beneath Erebor."
His gaze is suddenly sharp, "How do you know about that?"
"Not to mention the glory that awaits those that succeed in reclaiming the lost mountain." Billa knows she is bordering on hysterical, furious tears spilling down her cheeks. But she can't shake the memory of Thorin's gaze on that Eru-damned treasure, dripping in Erebor's gold, his gaze not full of care for her or the Company, but distrust and betrayal. "And what is the might of one mere Hobbit against the call of the gold in the Lonely Mountain, huh?"
Her heart is thudding so loudly in her eyes she's surprised he cannot hear it. Fear quivers through her, and grief, so loud and powerful like a wave threatening to pull her under and into her deepest fears: that she would never be enough for the King Under the Mountain when he inevitably comes face to face with that cursed gold.
"That is what you think of me?" His eyes are soft, and her knees go weak at the look. "That I think you worth less than the treasure that led my father, and my grandfather before him, to painful deaths? To the destruction of what was once my home?"
Think? That is what she knows .
He takes two slow steps forward. The earthy musk of him surrounds her and Billa stops breathing. Her back hits the wall and she goes rigid, unable to run any further. She watches warily, as he reaches for a half-loose golden curl and pulls it free. His fingertips trail across her skin; his warm breath plays across her face, reminding her of the mere inches between them.
"All the precious metals and gems under the earth are nothing in comparison to you," he says quietly. Thorin leans in, until his nose is brushing along the line of her neck, inhaling her deeply and leaving a fiery trail of goosebumps in his wake. She swallows a moan, even as her knees quiver.
His hands cradle her face and tilt her chin up. She keeps her gaze on the point of his nose, the stubble dusted across the rough, weathered skin.
"Know this, Billa Baggins," his voice is rough and it rolls over her like storm waves, threatening to tip her over and capsize her little boat. "I spent centuries fumbling in the dark, until you threw yourself into my path, illuminating my life like the Evening Star, guiding me through the darkest night."
Billa raises her gaze, vision still blurred by tears.
"So aye, I cannot risk you, because all I find myself able to live for…to breathe for, is you. You consume my very being, gamzûna, and should you perish, it would be the end of me because without you, there is nothing to live for."
A soft thumb brushes away Billa's tears and her vision clears. Thorin stares down at her solemnly, his hands cradled around her face almost reverently.
His breath blows warm against her cheek, "It has always been you."
She barely has time to absorb those words, before his lips are slanted over hers.
...
A/N: YUS We made it! Finally!
So Thorin knows, but Billa doesn't know that Thorin knows and Thorin doesn't know that Billa knows, soooo...
Two more chapters to Part Two. No sneak preview this week, BUT I can confirm Billa WILL NOT be going with Thorin. I have other plans, MWHAHAHAHA.
See you next week!
