Once again, I should mention that I do not own the Hobbit, nor the characters. Just this idea. Enjoy. Have you realized yet that Bilbo is my favorite character? I just love being witty and sarcastic when writing.

Bilbo didn't have to wait for long for the repercussions of this morning's incident to descend on her in the form of a very ill-tempered banshee with a citrus-colored dress that burned Bilbo's retina.

Lobelia stormed through Bilbo's garden just as Bilbo was finishing up her afternoon tea, screeching to high heaven as she did. Bilbo barely had time to straighten up before Lobelia's came barreling through the round greed door, fury barely contained.

"I knew this was going to happen!" Lobelia spat, glaring at her cousin-in-law. "You've cruelly rejected and humiliated my baby in front of the entire town as if you're better than him!"

Bilbo raised an eyebrow but didn't respond immediately. She was used to Lobelia's temper. She could almost hear the shrill notes of self-righteous indignation in Lobelia's voice before the words even left her mouth. Still, Bilbo simply set down her cup and smoothed out her skirts to turn her attention onto the furious woman. "Firstly, it was in my garden, not in front of the whole Shire. And secondly, Embarrassed him? I think you'll find that he did most of the embarrassing. I merely responded in kind to his accusations, and presumptions, while pointing out the obvious: he lacks the intelligence to run an estate and the decency to offer respect."

Lobelia's face flushed with rage, her fists clenching at her sides. "Respect? Respect? You—" she made an odd squealing sound like a distressed pig and stamped her foot on Bilbo's hardwood floors before spitting out the next words like they were venom. "You think you're too good for him, don't you? Too good for anyone!"

Bilbo met Lobelia's gaze, her brow raised slightly. "Too good for him?" she echoed. "You must have missed the part where your son arrived at my door drunk, insulted me, threw flowers in my face, and then suggested I would be content to hand over my life's work to a man barely out of his teens. I'm too good for that, yes, but not for the reasons you're implying."

Lobelia's lips curled into a sneer. "What would you know about handling an estate, hmm? You've had nothing but time to sit around in your little hobbit hole, hiding from the real world! At least Lotho—"

"At least what Lobelia? Lotho is foolish enough to think he can handle something he's never even remotely prepared for," Bilbo interrupted sharply. "The only thing your son seems to have prepared for is how to drink."

Lobelia's eyes bulged, and she took a step forward, shaking with fury. "How dare you speak of my son that way! You have no right—"

"No right?" Bilbo said, turning to face the woman. "Perhaps your right Lobelia, I have no right, but neither do you. You have no right to me, my home, or my choices. Lobelia, let me make something perfectly clear: I do not owe you, or Lotho, or anyone in your family a single thing. If you want the title of Master Baggins so desperately then you must earn it. But it won't be through deceit or childish tantrums. Nothing you, your son, or your husband, have done makes you worthy of holding any sort of authority so far."

"Not worthy?" Lobelia's voice broke from the pitch and volume of her anger, but she pressed on, her eyes full of venom. "You're just trying to hold onto it because you know you'll never find anyone who will marry you! A lonely, bitter spinster—your father must be so proud of you, refusing the chance to continue the family line!"

Bilbo felt her composure crack for just a moment, her pulse quickened as pure rage raced through her veins, whispering promises of pain for the witch in front of her. But she wouldn't give in, despite how her hand twitched with her desire to lash out. Not now, not ever. She wouldn't allow Lobelia to have that power over her. She met her gaze head-on, her voice ice-cold. "My father is dead, Lobelia. And if you ever dare speak of him again, I'll make sure you regret it."

The silence between them was palpable, a heavy weight hanging in the air. Lobelia looked like she might retort, but the fire in her eyes slowly dimmed, replaced by a faint flicker of something like fear—or perhaps realization. She took a step back, as if unsure whether to press the argument further or retreat in defeat.

Bilbo straightened, taking a deep breath. "I will only say this once. I will never marry your son, that is my final decision on the matter so if that is the extent of your grievances I do believe we are done here. You may leave."

Lobelia said nothing more. Instead, she turned sharply, her back stiff and rigid as she stalked off, muttering under her breath. Bilbo didn't watch her go, but instead turned back to her tea hoping to shake off the remnants of the fight with a nice cup of honey lavender to ease the tension coiled around her heart.

The sun, which had seemed so warm and hopeful just hours ago, now seemed distant, the light streaming in through the kitchen windows dimming as clouds began to roll in. This was, by far, the worst spring yet. Bilbo frowned as she went to close the shutters of her home as a dark storm began brewing, both in the skies and in the hearts of those around her.