A Very Soggy Meeting

TA 2935

Adventure, Billa decides nought five years later, is a mean-spirited mistress.

Despite having a near half-decade of travel experience under her belt (not to mention an entire life's worth of adventuring), Billa still can't predict the abrupt turns of the weather, an unfortunate misfortune that has continually plagued her over the years. Why just four years ago when she first stepped out of The Shire after her abrupt return to the past, it only took three days before she was struck by a rather unfortunately timed thunder storm.

This journey to Bree started out well enough, even though her spine complained solidly for the first three days after having spent so many months in her cosy warm bed in Bag End; the sky was pretty as a picture, and with nary another soul in sight, Billa was afforded the rare opportunity to enjoy the tranquillity as she ambled along the roads that would lead her to Bree.

Then the clouds grew darker and thicker, and the sunlight dimmed behind a thick wall of grey. The heavens broke a day later, much to Billa's annoyance.

It is a very soggy, unhappy Hobbit that happens upon Bree three days later.

Things aren't made much better when she arrives at the Prancing Pony.

A dispirited Hobbit is an unfamiliar sight, and even the Big Folk give her a wide berth as she marches up to the innkeep and demands Hobbit-sized lodgings.

'I'm sorry, Master Baggins, sir,' the innkeep stutters, recognising her sandy curls under the damp hood, 'but we have no room.'

She sets a dark stare on the poor man, 'What?'

'We have no Hobbit rooms left,' the innkeep says. Then with a shaking finger, he points to a small group huddled in the corner of the pub, 'I gave my last room to the dwarves over there.'

The word dwarves sends a nice little thrill through her. But Billa is cold, and hungry, and tired to her very bones and she has been dreaming of a bed in the Prancing Pony for the last three days, and it is well known that a cold, hungry, tired Hobbit is not to be trifled with.

She pushes back her shoulders and stares up at the innkeep, 'What is the next best you've got?'

The innkeep blinks at her, 'I have one child's room left, Master Baggins, but it's hardly fit for–'

She drops a coin purse onto the table with a loud thunk, 'I'll take it. That and a hot Hobbit-sized meal, if you please?'

The innkeep nods and skitters off. Billa gathers her very soggy self and heads towards an empty table in the corner near the fire. She divulges herself of her wet cloak, doing her best to leave it out to dry on the seat opposite her and sets up edging as close to the warm flames as she can.

'Get caught in the deluge, did ye, laddie?'

Billa looks up to see a pair of very curious, but mischievous dwarven eyes. She allows herself a small smile, trying to bury the irritation that's crackling in the pit of her very empty stomach. Even as the feminine part of her wails about being thought to be a lad once again; it is her own fault, the baggy worn travel leathers does very little to emphasise her womanly figure.

'I did, unfortunately.'

'Did no one warn ye the weather was to turn?'

Billa hesitates. She knows if she were to tell this stranger dwarf that she is a lass travelling by herself on the roads, he would be scandalised, if a little horrified.

'I'm travelling alone, Master Dwarf,' she says. 'There was no one to warn me.'

The dwarf blinks at her, 'By yourself? But yer just a wee thing.'

'I'll have you know I am perfectly capable of protecting myself,' she huffs. 'Just not from rain.'

'It does look like yer travel gear has seen better days. See this, lad,' the dwarf swings an arm up to flex his bicep at Billa. He waggles some fingers towards the strong leather material, 'this is the kind of material ye should be looking for. Leather enforced, waxed to keep off the rain, lightweight so it fits under yer armour, ye cannae really ask for better.'

'Oh, can I…?' She holds out a questioning hand towards the material, and the dwarf nods. She gives the material a good tug, feels it flex beneath her dainty fingers. She ohs and ahs and the dwarf grows more and more chuffed by the minute.

'Where did you get this?'

'My brethren made it, he's skilled in materials, and in making travel and armour gear especially.'

Billa deflates at his words. The dwarf is instantly concerned.

'What's wrong, lad?'

'I was looking to purchase new gear in Bree as I'm not sure I can travel much farther from home,' she says with a pout. 'I was hoping to find something like that here.'

'Yer in luck, laddie!' The dwarf reaches for the one sitting next to him and pulls him closer. 'My brethren's right here!'

'Eh!' The fellow dwarf says, half a sausage hanging from his mouth.

'This here's Bromor, son of Remor, and I'm Bimor, son of Pemor, at yer service.'

'I'm Bil-bo Baggins, at yours.'

Nice save, Billa.

'Nice to meet ye,' Bimor says. He nudges Bromor, 'The wee one here is looking for some new gear to travel in. I said that yer the best.'

Bromor swallows the last of his dinner, eyeing up the small, dripping creature before him.

'How'd I know ye can pay for my services?'

The two dwarves look at Billa, who shrugs.

'How much are your services?'

The dwarf tears another chunk from his meat and chews slowly as he considers the question. Billa keeps an even stare on him, even as her inner-self squirms in glee at the thought of nice new comfortable travel gear. It's been too long.

'Two pouches of coin for new armour, one for travel gear,' the dwarf says finally. 'But since yer so wee, I'll knock it down to one and a half for the armour, and one for the travel gear.'

Billa considers his offer, tallying up how much coin she has on her with how much she has at home.

'That seems fair,' she says. A flicker of shock passes over Bromor's face, but the look is quickly wiped away. Billa's heart clenches at the sight, knowing that the dwarf must have expected her to call him out on his fair prices, 'I need only the travel gear, however. I don't find myself marching off to battle very often as a Hobbit.'

Not right now anyway, she thinks.

'How quickly can you make it?'

'Two days,' Bromor says. 'I have enough scraps to start work tomorrow.'

'It's a deal then, Master Dwarf,' she holds out her hand, and he shakes it briefly with a shark-like grin.

'Yer gonnae need to keep an eye on that one, Bimor,' he says. 'She's sharper than she looks.'

Billa starts to smile–until his words catch up with her.

'Eh, what do ye mean she?' Bimor asks.

Whoops.

'Ain't ye never seen a Hobbit before, cousin?' Bromor says, pointing at her. 'This one's sheared her hair and all but she's clearly a lass.'

Bimor turns to look at her with wide eyes, 'Are ye a lass?'

Billa flushes, 'I...uh...yes?'

The dwarf is scandalised, 'What's a wee lassie like yerself doing on the roads alone?'

'Alone?' Bromor blinks in shock, 'She's travelling alone?'

'Aye, told me herself and everything!'

'Now, wait here a minute…' Billa starts to puff up, watching as the dwarves switch into rumbling khuzdul to mutter to each other. The language seems to involve twitching hand gestures and furrowed eyebrows as much as it does strange words; with no idea what in Great Yavanna's name they are saying, all Billa can do is scowl at them. The dwarves are certainly taller than her, and stronger, but that doesn't mean they have to talk over the top of her head like she is some waylaid fauntling.

Bromor turns to the others in their group, drawing them into a conversation with a few rough words, a nod of the head towards her and a concerned tug of his beard.

Bimor turns to her with a small smirk, 'Ain't ye got anyone to travel with ye, lass?'

Older, shrewder Billa rears her head indignantly.

'No,' she says. 'I would like to point out that I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself and have done so for a very long time.'

The dwarf's gaze turns sad at her words. He reaches out to gingerly pat her on the arm.

'I'm sorry for prying, Bilbo. We're just no used to seeing wee lassies like yerself wondering about on their own, it's no right to us,' he says. The dwarf then flushes and looks away, 'I'm also sorry about the, ye know, calling ye a lad and all.'

Billa softens and sighs, 'Billa.'

'Eh?'

'My name is Billa,' she says. 'Billa Baggins, at your service.'

Bimor inclines his head with a nod, 'It's nice tae meet you, Mistress Baggins.'

'Just Billa please,' she waves an embarrassed hand, 'and it's a pleasure to meet a dwarf with impeccable manners, Master Bimor.'

Bromor nudges at Bimor, and the dwarf turns to mutter with his cousin. They nod at each other and Bimor turns to face Billa with a wide grin.

'It's been decided, Miss Billa,' he announces with no lack of glee, 'We dwarves from the Blue Mountains will escort ye during yer stay in Bree.'

Billa's eyes widen at the dwarves smiling at her, 'Really?'

'Aye, of course!' Bromor exclaims, 'We cannae in good conscience allow a wee lass like yerself to be wandering about alone. So we'll look after ye, and ye look after us.'

'I would be honoured,' she says and a raucous cheer sounds up from the dwarves. Bimor pulls her into a tight one-armed hug and calls for more drink and for a moment, Billa is hopeful that her first meeting with her dwarves will go just as well as this one. There's just one more question she has to ask.

'Tell me, Master Bromor, can you make a Hobbit-sized sword?'