A Means to an End
TA 2931
For many years, Billa Baggins was considered to be a very respectable hobbit–and the object, once, of many suits. She had renowned patience, treated folk with the care and consideration she believed everyone was due. She was a sweet thing, but timid.
Later, when she returned from her journey to the Lonely Mountain, Billa's patience disappeared. She grew to dislike roundabout people, folk who spoke cloyingly sweet words. She grew curt and to the point, and the soft, timid side to Billa became reserved only for the eyes of those closest to her. When she passed her hundredth year, they started to whisper how she was becoming doddery in her old age; her mind failing to keep as sharp as it once was.
This Billa is a new Billa, a mixture of all the Billas that came before or perhaps have never been or never will be. In short, she is no longer sure who exactly she is.
The older, more shrewd, wiser part of herself has the reins, but she can still feel that timid, soft Billa lingering in the back of her mind.
It's the shy, quiet part of her that stops her from flying out the door in search of her dwarves.
She sits at her desk, a million scribbled notes lying before her in haphazard piles. The sun is starting to set in the distance, and she can see the smoke from a few nearby smials starting to rise. The letters grow hazy in front of her eyes.
Her plans are starting to come together–and while a few minor concerning gaps remain, she reckons they will pull together nicely. There is, however, one concern above all that plays on her mind.
The Ring.
To disrupt the quest could disrupt her chances of ever finding the One Ring, and thus, all chances of ever defeating Sauron. There is, not to mention, the necromancer Gandalf told her of, many years after he was defeated, the chances of the dwarves returning to Moria and hence, the birth of Gandalf The White, and the very teensy weensy small minor fact that the dwarves never discovered her true gender.
Balderdash, why is this all so complicated! She exhales heavily, pinches the bridge of her nose.
The thought of disrupting The Quest galls her, but the thought of repeating the whole thing verbatim is no more enticing.
Blast it all, she thinks, slamming her hands down on the desk, couldn't she have travelled back to the middle of their journey? Just a little less time would have been sufficient to fix some, if not all, of the little niggles.
As it is, she has years to prepare for the onslaught of dwarves upon her small smial. What on earth is she supposed to do with all that time? Food she will need aplenty, and fresh travel gear. The wear and tear of her best travelling trousers by the time she returned to Bag End last time was no laughing matter–and neither was her lack of handkerchiefs.
Nor was her hostessing of the dwarves anything to be particularly proud of–even if it was their fault for showing up announced. The thought of her poor manners the last time is enough to make her quiver. Forget elven dungeons, starvation, giant spiders and dragons, there is nothing more sacrilege to a Hobbit than poor hosting!
No, this time, Billa Baggins will be well prepared for her dwarves and the dangers that lie ahead. If she couldn't bring the quest and her dwarves to her early, then dang flabbit she would take herself to those blasted dwarves.
She is staring down at her notes when the idea suddenly comes to her. Why it's a terrible idea, a terrible sneaky idea, that could solve a lot of her issues. But would it be safe?
Probably not.
If she goes now, before the necromancer and the change in the world, surely she could do it. One very sneaky slippery Hobbit could make the journey there and back again very easily. Her hands tremble, this could be monumentally stupid. But what choice does she have?
Decision made, Billa starts to scribble out notes to her uncle Isumbras and to Hamfast Gamgee, keen to avoid the ruckus Lobelia Sackville-Baggins caused when she last set off from Bag End. Once her letters are penned and prepped for posting, she sets about packing what she would need for her first, and perhaps last, journey. As the sun's light fades, Billa is prepared.
As she lies in her bed that night, staring up at the ceiling in the darkness, she turns over all the questions and concerns in her head.
She is concerned about what kind of dwarves she will one day be faced with. Would they resemble the company she grew to know and love? Or would they be different people entirely?
Already, Billa is different from when she had first met them originally. Her face may look the same, her small stature and jelly muscles unchanged, but she can see it in her eyes. They are haunted, and a little bit sad.
It turns out not even travelling back to the past could remove the ghosts that reside there.
She turns over, hoiking the duvet up to her chin. A little moonlight spills into her room, illuminating the dark.
She just has to take this one step at a time, and put one Hobbity foot in front of the other. Despite her fears, the Tookish part of her is dancing in glee at the thought of another adventure. To hear the call of the wild, feel the gravel and dirt underneath her toes, to paint herself in travel grime and to get those muscles burning again.
Billa hums contently at the thought.
Now, if only she could find somewhere that will sell her a hobbit-sized sword.