A New Quest
The first threat of winter comes on a chillier breeze than Billa expected. The mornings, while still clear and bright, are heralded with the first frost of the season, green fields giving way to patches of white and shorter days. The market days are wearing late, and more Hobbits take to Dwalin's training classes in a bid to keep warm.
The sudden cold concerns her and threatens the schemes she has been plotting for the last week or so.
As Billa knows, even the best laid plans can go awry.
"What's got ye in such a twist?" Bimor's rumbling voice breaks through her musings.
She turns to the grouchy dwarf, still laid up in Widow Boffin's best bed, with a smile, "It's nothing."
"Yer face says otherwise."
"Perhaps my face always looks like this."
"It disnae," he grouches. "Goan, lass, tell me. What is going on in that head of yers?"
"Nothing!" A croaky cry comes from the door. Widow Boffin appears, a vision in grey skirts and lavender, her wiry white hair coil wildly around the pointed tips of her ears, "She's a lass in love, there's nothing but cotton between those pointed ears of hers now."
"Thank you, Widow Boffin," she says dryly as the old Hobbit bustles into the room with a tray of steaming food.
"It's the truth, Mistress Baggins," she says. "There's a reason they call it young love."
"I'm still no happy about it."
Billa rolls her eyes at the grumpy dwarf. He was not exactly happy when he heard that she officially accepted Thorin's courtship.
"What's it to do with you, dwarf," Widow Boffin places the tray by his bedside with a clatter. Billa winces, as she reaches behind the surly Bimor to fluff up the pillows at his head, studiously ignoring his thunderous expression. "He's a King, what's not to be happy about?"
"A King on a death mission."
"A King she loves," Widow Boffin retorts. "Be grateful she's not still being courted by some of the sops after Bag End."
"I'm no- wait 'still'?"
"Alright, Missus Boffin, I think we're all good here," Billa smiles widely, standing to usher the older Hobbit out of the room. The widow tuts and huffs as she makes her exit.
"Make sure he eats all those vegetables, including the 'damned greens', you hear?"
"Yes, Missus Boffin, thank you again."
"Hmph," the old widow spares her one more glance before disappearing into the depths of her rather large smial.
Billa waits a moment to ensure the Hobbit is gone, before she turns back to Bimor. The dwarf is eyeing up the plate of vegetables in front of him suspiciously. She smothers a laugh.
"You know she's right, you'll recover much faster if you eat the vegetables."
"It tastes despicable," he says petulantly, reminding her briefly of another fauntling who refused to eat his vegetables. He scoops a mouthful with a grimace.
"What put you in such a foul mood today?"
He shrugs, "They're heading out soon, aye?"
"Aye," she nods quietly. "In the morning."
"Yer no going with them?"
"I have been told unequivocally that I am to remain here."
He scoffs, pushing the greens around his plate with a frown.
"What are you scoffing about?"
He raises stern eyes to meet hers, "If that daft King of yers doesn't think yer going to try and follow him then he's an even bigger fool than I first thought."
"Bimor!" She cries scandalised, "You can't-"
"Call him a fool? I can and will when he is being one."
She shakes her head, "I'm not going to follow him."
Bimor raises a disbelieving eyebrow at her, and she scowls at him, "I mean it, I'm not following him."
"Wit are ye up to then?"
"Nothing."
"Why don't I believe ye?"
"Because you always think the worst of me," she snorts. Billa expects him to laugh with her, but instead his expression grows more sombre.
"On the contrary, I always think the best of ye," Bimor says seriously. "Which is how I know yer not gonna let yer King hie himself off into danger without trying to protect him with one of yer stupid schemes."
She opens her mouth, once, twice - and then exhales, "How'd you know?"
"We might not have known each other for long, Mistress Baggins, but I know ye," he says. "And ye would never stay home, and let yer One run off into danger without ye."
She hesitates, biting her lip. Then she sighs, "Fine. I am scheming. But I swear, I am not going to follow after them."
"Hm," he eyes her suspiciously, "Are ye going to tell me about this scheme of yers?"
"Maybe," she grins, "If you eat all your greens."
His gaze flits between her and the plate in front of him, considering. Then he shakes his head, pushing the plate away from him, "Keep yer secrets, ye miserable Hobbit."
She laughs, reaching forward to pat his leg softly, "I'll ask Widow Boffin to bring you some honey tea."
He huffs and then nods. She stands and turns from his bedside to depart.
"Billa."
She stops to turn back to him. The older dwarf gives her a serious look, "Whatever yer planning, be careful."
She nods, "When have I ever not?"
#
Later, she sits in her reading room, watching the sun sink beneath the horizon.
The rolling green hills are tinged auburn, the trees alight like torches in the nearing twilight and in the distance she can hear the final calls of the farmers heading home for the evening. She will never get used to it; the view that stretches out to the edges of The Shire and beyond, no longer hindered by the great, wild oak tree that had, in another life, been rooted in her front garden. A soft breeze blows outside. The last light of day shines dreamily down on a green sea of fields; all is still.
Here she is again, Billa Baggins of the Shire on the eve before another grand adventure looking out over the peaceful Hobbiton. The anticipation is so thick in the air she can almost taste it. She knows that four dwarven packs are resting in the hallway, awaiting the first break of dawn; that two young dwarves are already snoring quite soundly in her second-best bed, while another is at The Green Dragon. She knows that the fourth is making his way down the paths of Hobbiton, back towards Bag End for the final time.
Billa knows, come dawn, they will head for Bree, then along the East Road until they reach the Last Homely House. That their feet will take them across the Misty Mountains cold, onwards and onwards through goblin and elven territory until the sight of the Lonely Mountain will finally greet them, months later.
She knows that the paths will be treacherous, but vastly more safe than they were in the life she once lived. And yet.
Yet, her heart is lodged firmly in her throat, and fear has plunged its sharp fingers into her chest and grabbed on with a vice-like grip.
Every night, her dreams are plagued with the chaos of a long forgotten battlefield, the lifeless eyes of fallen soldiers at the foot of Erebor, its peaks highlighted with dragon fire as Smaug lays siege to Lake Town. Every night she awakes with a scream dying on her lips and her hands grasping at empty air as Thorin breathes his last again.
"Billa."
Thorin stands in the doorway, his expression soft. His sudden appearance startles her, so lost in her own thoughts she hadn't heard him come in. He is dressed in a rich blue tunic, the edges of the sleeves adorned with lily of the valley, the patterns she dreamed of so many months ago. As she watches, he folds those sleeves up to his elbow, revealing small bunches of sandwort embroidered from the memories of the plants she saw flourishing on the Lonely Mountain in silver thread, until his forearms lay bare before her. A sign to all those Hobbit lasses, hands off, he's mine.
She coughs slightly, dragging her gaze back to his eyes, "Thorin."
"What are you still doing awake, little Hobbit?"
"I, uh," she stands, and thrusts a hand towards him, "here."
A handful of brush-like flowers are clenched tightly in her fist, their fiery blooms catching the soft warm light of the hearth beside them. Thorin smirks, "Are these for me?"
She nods, sheepish, her gaze averted, "They're Kniphofia."
"Kniphofia," he rolls the word around his tongue, catching all the rough edges of it. It sends shivers up her spine, and she raises her gaze just slightly to the edges of his mouth. Her heart starts to thud so loudly she can hear it in her ears. She hates this, she knows he loves this, making her squirm under his knowing gaze. She wishes he would just take the flowers and be done with it.
"It's supposed to represent good fortune," she says. "I thought…I thought it might bring you luck."
"Hm."
She scowls, starting to pull the flowers back, "If there is something wrong with them-"
His rough hands wrap around hers, and before she knows it she is wrapped in his warm hold, her gaze meeting his soft one. "There she is," his lips are quirked; her breath catches. Curse him, and curse the dwarves' maker for fashioning them in such an irresistible manner, "My gamzûna."
They stumble back a few steps, until her back hits the wall with a quiet thud. Her eyes flit towards the open doorway, even as her male looms over with mischievous intent.
"Thorin," she hisses. He ignores her, fingers leaving soft hot trails across her skin. She gasps; his head bends to her neck, his nose tracing the soft skin right up to her ear.
"Billa," he whispers, his lips brushing against the shell of her pointed ears. Heat rushes to her face, as trembling hands clutch his tunic even more tightly. When she had grabbed hold, she's not sure. It's hard to think when he's doing this…this seduction! She hates this, she loves this. She's not even exactly sure what this is, but her toes are curling and the smell of Thorin - all earthy musk and fresh rain and smoke from the Green Dragon's hearth - envelopes her.
"You're doing this on purpose," she breathes. A contented hum rumbles through his chest, and heat rushes through her. She pulls back just enough to catch the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Oh! Well two can play this game, Master Dwarf.
The hands fisted in his tunic slowly fall to the belt at his waist. Thorin goes rigid as her fingers dance around the top of his trousers. She slips them through his belt loops, and tugs him closer until his body is pressed flush against hers. Those sneaky hands of her start to climb again until they are wrapped firmly around his neck, one buried in the hair at the nape.
She pulls herself close until her lips are a hair's breadth away from his. Thorin's eyes drop down to her lips, and it is only then she speaks, "Are you going to miss me?"
Thorin growls, the only warning she receives before his lips press against her in a soul-consuming kiss. She gasps into the warm heat of his mouth as she's pressed into the wall, Thorin folded around her until all she taste, smell, feel is him.
She loses herself in the warmth, pressing as close as she can as the last of her worries fall away like drops of rain. It's not enough. It'll never be enough.
They pull apart for a breath; Thorin is swooping down again, claiming her neck as his, nipping and kissing his way up the column of her throat.
"You play with fire, gamzûna."
"I…I am not the one about to face a dragon," she gasps. He stills at her words, pulling away slowly. His hands cradle her face, raising her gaze to his.
"All will be well, Billa."
"I hope so," she breathes with a lopsided grin, "you have made promises I expect you to keep, my King."
He rests his forehead against hers, "Anything that is mine is yours."
"You know Balin mentioned libraries the size of Hobbiton."
Thorin snorts, "Did he, aye?"
"In fact, I'm sure he said there were libraries that could fit two whole Hobbitons inside."
Her dwarf's expression is tender, his fingers slipping between strands of her hair, "If I show you those libraries, I will never see you again."
"Well, I wouldn't quite put it like that," she grins. "Books are grand, but they are nothing in comparison to you."
He preens, his eyes sparkling brightly.
"Now, kitchens however, that's a whole other matter."
A laugh bursts free from his chest, and he pulls her closer to him, her head tucked into the broad expanse of his chest, so tightly she can feel the bright vibrations under her pointed ear. The sound makes her smile, and for one moment, one single moment, she knows everything will be alright.
It'll be this moment that will fuel her in the months to come, she knows, so she grasps it tightly - the earthy musk, the warmth of his body around hers, the soft light of the dying fire behind them - and presses into her brain, like a dried flower between the pages of a book. She tucks it away, close to her heart, to remember in the darker moments when sunlight will be harder to find.
Billa doesn't know if the Valar are listening, if they have ever listened to any of her monologues, complaints, or pleas. She knows that they are vastly older and more infinite than she could ever imagine, and that they are fickle and as ever changing as the seasons that keep Middle Earth turning.
Please, she prays, Please keep him safe and bring him back to me.
A soft breeze blows in through the window, ruffling her skirts and pulling at their clothes and making the fabric rustle softly together in a sound that could almost be a husky laugh.
...
A/N: Aaaaaaand we're done. Part One: Where there's life there's hope is finished. A nice early update as I'm out tomorrow. Part Two: the road goes ever on and on starts next week, with the arrival of an old friend.
Preview:
She sighs, her dwarves may have left her behind - but it is time for Billa Baggins to once again step out beyond her own front door on an adventure of her own making, one that will hopefully bring an end to this Sauron nonsense and allow true peace to finally be welcomed by the peoples of Middle Earth.
