Part Two: the road goes ever on and on

A New Start

It is cold, a bitter wind has swallowed the sun whole, leaving dark looming clouds in its wake. Billa shivers, and pulls her jacket tighter around herself.

She won't go inside, not yet.

Instead, she lingers on the front step, watching as her dwarves check, double check and triple check their ponies. Fíli and Kíli nudge each other, battling over their preferred pony with tired elbows and cross brows while Dwalin watches on exasperatedly.

Thorin remains stoic and silent through the final exchanges, his heavy gaze flickering between his companions and the cold Billa, huddled in her jacket on the front step. He has been strangely quiet over the last few days. Every time she thinks she's pinned down what is going on in that rock hard head of his she catches a flicker of something else in his eyes. A curiosity, muddled with strong adoration that makes her flush right down to the tips of her hairy toes.

In the corner of her eye, she can see her kniphofia weaved around his saddle, the muted reds and oranges standing out against the dark hair of his pony. And for a moment, standing on that step, she can feel the same rousing call to adventure she felt in that previous life; a sort of blossoming warmth within the pit of her stomach which ultimately propelled her to chase after an entire company of dwarves and one brooding King. She remembers standing in her hall, listening to the lament sung by the dwarves, the fear and sorrow that tinged every note, how her will grew steely and heart raced at the sight of Thorin's noble brow. How her ribs contracted and something nestled deep, and took root, behind her left lung, a place that had lain dormant since the death of her parents.

She's been dreaming of that song over the last few nights. She even dreamed Thorin had sung it to her in front of the hearth the other night, just as she wished he would have done in that old life. Then she awoke in her own bed, alone, the following morning.

"Billa."

Thorin's sombre tone pulls her from her musings, and she looks up to see the four dwarves standing before her in the little garden of Bag End. Finally, the time has come. The ponies are ready, and the day is wasting while they hover in her garden.

Fíli tries to shake her hand until she pulls him into a bone crushing hug. Kíli follows shortly after, wrapping his arms tightly around her before spinning her around in a rapid circle until she is squealing. Dwalin just pats her on the head and reminds her to keep putting Prim through her paces - she doesn't have the heart to tell him she won't be able to meet his request.

Then Thorin approaches. He looms over her with a stern expression, so she forces herself to beam at him, and she watches as a smile twitches at his own lips, before suddenly, he is everywhere: his hands buried in her hair, his lips moving against hers, Thorin kisses her like she is a lifeline.

They part after a moment, chests heaving, faces flushed. He presses his forehead gently against hers, and she scowls at him, "You come back with so much as one hair singed and I will be cross with you, Thorin Oakenshield."

His lips twitch, "You know I cannot make such promises, gamzûna."

"Humour me."

Thorin leans over until his lips are brushing against the pointed tip of her ear, something she has learned he loves to do, "I will return, Billa Baggins of The Shire."

He pulls away, his hand tracing her cheek softly, "I will return with enough books to fill multiple libraries. Then, and only then, will I take you to Erebor and there, we will plant all the trees you wish, and for the rest of our very long lives, we will watch them grow, and we will be happy. This I promise you."

Billa stiffens at his words, an echo of similar words from an entire lifetime ago. She blinks up at Thorin, her eyes wet as he smiles down at her. Could it be…?

"But no kitchens, gamzûna."

Laughter bubbles up from within her, the memory of his own amusement at her own previous words.

"Perhaps one small kitchen?" She grins teasingly.

"Hm," he grunts with an imperious nod although his eyes twinkle with mischief, "I will think about it."

She swoops up to press one final kiss to his cheek, "Be safe."

"Always," he breathes.

He pulls away reluctantly, his steps slow as he approaches his pony and pulls himself up into the saddle. He spares her one last searing look, and then he starts to lead his pony out the gate of Bag End. The others fall into line behind him, pushing their mounts out onto Bagshot Row and away towards the Lonely Mountain.

She waits and watches as their figures grow smaller and smaller in the distance, until they finally vanish.

It is only then that she allows herself to breathe. She gulps in a gasp of cold, clear air.

"Go back to your books and your armchair. Plant your trees, watch them grow. There is more in you…of good than you know."

No, no, no, she shakes her head. The words are different this time. In that life, that old forgotten life, they marked the end of their great adventure, of a friendship that blossomed despite the odds stacked against them; this time, they are a fresh start, a promise of more to come.

Does he know? She wonders, as their distant figures continue to fade beyond her sight. Did he also remember that failed life?

She waits one moment, then two, just to be sure they have finally left. When they fail to reappear, she exhales, cracking her fingers, a thrill of anticipation slipping through her. No use pondering what she cannot receive answers for now, she has other matters to attend to.

She turns back to Bag End, and settles on the bench outside her home, pulling out her little pipe and lighting it. She puffs, and sinks into the wooden bench.

Now to wait.

#

It only takes two hours, an hour later than they'd agreed, but an hour less than she actually expected.

Her green door closes behind her with a soft click. A bright grey sky looms over Hobbiton, an omen of the colder months about to settle over The Shire. Billa shuffles towards her bench, a fresh steaming cup of tea warming her cold hands. Despite the excitement thrumming through her, she feels weary. Billa knows her bones ache for rest, five and a bit years on and off the road after a lifetime of chasing after Frodo has exhausted her thoroughly - and her body is already protesting at the merest thought of what she plans to undertake in the coming months. If anyone deserves a break, Billa thinks, it is this Hobbit.

She wonders if Thorin would be interested in taking a holiday when he returns - if he returns. He never seemed like the sort of dwarf who would settle in one place for too long - in this life or the other one.

As she's pondering this, a long shadow stretches across the path next to her gate. So lost in her thoughts, Billa fails to notice the appearance of her guest for several moments, until he clears his throat loudly.

She startles, eyes lifting to meet an amused gaze.

"Good morning," her guest intones in a deep rumbly tone. She grins at his words, raising an eyebrow at the man as she takes a sip of tea.

"What do you mean?" she says. "Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?"

The wizard smiles at once, "All of them at once, my dear friend."

Billa smiles and stands to embrace him, "It is good to see you, Gandalf."

"And you as well, my dear," he rumbles. "Imagine my surprise when a missive arrives from Belladonna Took's daughter, imploring me to return to the Shire at once without one mention of what the emergency could be.

"It seems Hobbiton is fine order, so I cannot imagine what could be so urgent," the wizard says. She flushes guilty, averting her eyes from his stern gaze. "Do you care to explain, Mistress Baggins?"

"I do, and I will, Gandalf," Billa says, "But perhaps, this is a conversation meant to be had away from prying ears. Would you like some tea?"

"Hmf," the wizard grumbles, and then nods his head. "If you do insist. I hope you have some of that fruit cake your mother favoured."

"I would not think of offering you anything less, my friend."

Gandalf walks up the path towards her little green door, Billa lingering behind him. The wizard is evidently annoyed, but when is he not with some issue or another. She would take irritation over the fear or stress that the quest to the Lonely Mountain and later the Fellowship brought him.

Frodo, she reminds herself as the wizard enters Bag End. I cannot forget I am doing this for Frodo.

She sighs, her dwarves may have left her behind - but it is time for Billa to 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.

This time it would be up to her to carry on the story.

Watch out, Sauron, she thinks as she shuts the door behind her with a solid thump, This Hobbit is going to tear all your evil plans into itty bitty pieces. There's no fury like a Hobbit aunt scorned.