Brief note: I know in Tolkien's work, the dwarves are commonly referred to as 'dwarfs'. However, for my own sanity (as I constantly switch between the two) I will be sticking to the common spelling of dwarves. Anyway, hope you all enjoy!
As the midday sun reached its zenith, it cast a warm glow across the lush fields of the Shire, bathing the landscape in its light. A lone figure emerged from the horizon, riding into Hobbiton with an air of urgency, though she remained cautious as to not draw much attention, nor to invoke fear in the gentle people of the Shire. The sun illuminated the she-dwarf's determined features, her honeyed gaze reflecting the resolve forged in the perils of the night past. With each hoofbeat of her trusted pony echoing through the tranquil streets, the dwarf sought solace amidst the cheerful bustle of the hobbit-folk, her presence alone a stark reminder that even in the midst of daylight, the shadows of darkness loomed ever closer.
Ilona rode her horse, aptly named Star due to the silvery glisten of her mane, across the lush green landscape of the Shire, glancing carefully around as she did so. A part of her was hoping to catch even a subtle glimpse of a broad statured dwarf, or perhaps the draping robes of a particular wizard who had conjured this entire voyage. She knew their meeting was here, but could not recall when or where, a fact that frustrated Ilona to no end. What was it the grey wizard had said? Look for the green door at the top of the knoll and watch for the writing of 'thief.' Or something to that effect. Curse that cryptic old man.
Ilona's thoughts wandered back to the previous evening. Flashes of violent growls and teeth plagued her mind, leaving her lightheaded. The blood loss she had sustained probably did her no good either. The wound on her side pulsed at the thought, reminding her of how close she'd come to being ripped to shreds by the jaws of the wargs and how most of her companions probably had been.
The young she-dwarf wondered of the fate of Felrin, the ginger haired steward she had brought along on her journey. She had hand picked him for her travels as he was a long trusted and dear friend, as well as her most trusted guard since she was young, no more than 32. Normally, she would have taken him along regardless, mostly for the company; but she had only planned on traveling with only him in order to account for better traveling time and less liability. Balin remained adamant that she take along more manpower for her protection; however, and the young she-dwarf quickly compiled her travel company, including Kral, a fighting companion of Felrin's and another trusted guard. Looking back, the advice now seemed suspicious. Eight was a large party, no matter how you looked at it. For a simple escort, it was borderline excessive. She knew her father to be the worrying type but never thought he'd exude more resources than necessary, especially knowing of her skills and ability when it came to traveling parties. Could Balin have possibly known of the dangers awaiting her?
Ilona's mind swam with the frenzy of thoughts that now worried her entire being. She'd heard the stories of The Battle of Azanulbizar. She'd grown up hearing them. Azog had been a force to be feared. He had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin. The very line she had been raised and welcomed by. The orcs chilling words ran through her head, the chilling meaning now blatantly obvious.
"She is the child taken in by Durin! She is the master's prize."
She had been hunted. They knew who she was, and given the opportunity, she would be hunted again. The orcs would use her to get to the man who had taken her in as a young dwarrow, and raised her with his nephews. The man she had come to call father.
Thorin Oakenshield
The lush green covering the knolls of the shire seemed endless. A sea of emerald dotted with the brass knobbed doors that could only be home to the numerous hobbits that inhabited the area. Though Ilona had never met any hobbit personally, she'd heard stories of the few that took to adventuring past the eastern border away from their homeland. They were a friendly, portly people who enjoyed most the comforts and joys of home; especially in their pantries, which were always stocked full of fresh produce, breads and cheeses. The young she-dwarf wondered amusedly to herself how any of these people would be of any use to the company as a 'burglar.' These hobbits seemed more interested in their smoke pipes and gardens than stealing back a kingdom.
Ilona's wounds cried out and she leaned forward on her horse to counteract the pain. She would probably need a good few stitches to seal up the larger lacerations in order to keep them from becoming aggravated. She hoped that Thorin had thought to bring along a good medic. She could not imagine he hadn't, but on the off chance he didn't, she would be forced to miss out on the first leg of the journey in order to find one. And knowing her father, he'd leap at the opportunity to leave her behind and out of harm's way. But Aulëbe damned if she would be left behind while the buffoons went on the adventure of a lifetime.
The buffoons in question were the two heirs of Durin, Thorin's sister-sons. Though Ilona had been taken in by Thorin and she would be married in order to continue his legacy and name, the right to rule belonged to Fili and Kili. They were young, Kili only preceding her by a few years years, but incredibly capable as warriors.. But their general hard-headedness and charm could leave a bit to be desired. In actuality, the princes were among the most pig-headed dwarves, as well as her closest friends.
As Ilona grew older, she had always known that the possibility of being engaged to one of the brothers was high. Thorin had mentioned it more than once, though she had always brushed the notion aside as she was content in the familiarity of friendship. But as the years passed and she reached the age of formal courtship, everything had changed. When she and Kili were finally betrothed, it was as if a veil had been lifted. Like something between them had been there all along, simmering just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to fully take shape.
Looking back now, she realized that the love they shared had been woven into their bond from the very beginning, subtle yet steadfast. It had always been there, growing with them until at last it could no longer be ignored. A soft smile played on her lips as her fingers instinctively reached for the delicate braid behind her left ear, its strands woven with care. At its end, a small silver clasp bore the symbol of Durin's line. It was a quiet yet undeniable declaration of her future. To outsiders, the braid was simple and unassuming, but to a dwarf, it was sacred. Braids held meaning. Milestones of life, love, and legacy. And this one, in particular, was a promise. A binding of hearts.
Despite her current trials, the thought of that future and what awaited her beyond the struggles ahead filled her with warmth. There was still so much to fight for, so much to look forward to. And when all of this was over she would return to the one thing she knew with unwavering certainty. Kili.
The day continued to pass rather quickly, as the colors of dusk began to dance along the sky line while the sun set to the west. Ilona had given up on her search for the burglar's home and had taken to exploring the ends of a nearby town fair. Mostly just local vendors with random booths and stalls filled with textiles, foods, spirits and all sorts of miscellaneous goods. Not surprisingly, Ilona saw no weapons and was receiving several sideways glances for the sword on her back and twin hammers fastened to either of her hips. Some of the looks were inquisitive, for she held a good head and a half on most of these hobbits. Not to mention, her raiment and cloak didn't quite fit in with the homely dress of these...well, homely people.
She slowly approached a booth that was filled to the brim with fruits and dried meats. After acquiring a few apples and a half pound of dried veal, she turned to the shopkeeper, a decent looking older gentleman with silver hair and a crimson vest.
"Pardon sir, but you wouldn't happen to know of Gandalf the Grey?"
Seemingly shocked at her manners and use of language, the old gentleman was slightly taken aback, but quickly composed himself so as to not be seen as rude.
"The wizard?" He spluttered while trying to think to himself if she were trustworthy or not. After looking over her travel worn face and seeing no danger he continued, "He's quite well known in these parts, especially for his fireworks."
So, the wizard was here. Or he was close at least.
"Mrs. Evingloom actually saw him this morning," the older gentleman continued, clearly now unaware of Ilona's existence, more wrapped up in his thoughts than her strange appearance, "Somewhere around the old Baggin's place I believe."
Baggins. That name sounded familiar. Probably had been mentioned the last time she'd spoken with Thorin. Ilona turned around after hearing an odd ruckus from the other end of the fair. There had been womanly screaming and some gruff voices. She could swear she heard something about "bloody, useless hobbits," and "where's the bloody food that was promised?"
"What on earth?" Ilona questioned, looking bewilderedly toward the commotion, "How strange. Good sir, could you tell me-"
She had turned back to speak with the shopkeeper, only to find him gone. Must have caught sight of the sword on her back. Bloody thing wasn't even hers and she got into trouble. Damn the brothers and their protective manner.
A couple of hours later and the sun had well set. There seemed to be a full out party going on in Hobbiton and glittering lights had been strung up and gave the impression of glittering stars on the nearby lake. Many hobbits had gathered and were partaking in a hearty meal, music and general merrymaking. Ilona felt quite at home for the first time in weeks, since she'd started her travels from Belegost. She missed the dwarves and their general celebratory nature. The music, the dancing, the singing: it was enough to make anyone homesick.
Ilona saw a strange movement out of the corner of her eye. A large, stocky group was standing not far off, standing near a figure nearly twice their size who just so happened to be wearing a quite recognizable wizard's hat.
'Gandalf?'
As if on cue, the group moved away, making their way up a nearby knoll towards one of the large round doors that Ilona had seen earlier. How peculiar.
Ilona followed quite a distance behind and watched quite amusedly as the entire group fell face forward into the threshold of what looked like a very well to do, yet cozy hobbit home. She had to stifle a laugh for fear of drawing attention from a passing neighbor. She watched as the group collected itself and moved on into the house, leaving the host standing wide mouthed at the door. Snapping out of his trance, he fixed his gaze on the old wizard, glaring pointedly at the old man. Ilona took this opportunity to approach the door, quickly walking through the slightly rusted gate. The creaking sound it created drew the attention of both men at the door.
"Ah, my dear, looks like you found the place after all."
Ilona smiled at the old wizard despite herself. She had been irritated by his cryptic words earlier, but now simply found happiness in finally finding her way to the meeting.
"No thanks to you Gandalf. I'd still be wandering the forest right now if I'd only relied on your information."
The wizard laughed heartily while turning to the small hobbit beside him.
"Bilbo Baggins, I would like to introduce a very exceptional young dwarf. Ward of the leader of our company."
Ilona looked toward the hobbit who simply stared at her, taking in her appearance from her dust covered face, to her twin hammers and sword. Her natural, feminine beauty shone through even so and Bilbo couldn't help himself staring.
"Pleasure to meet you Mr. Baggins. I am Ilona," she bowed low and chuckled as she watched as the hobbit collected himself from the corner of her eye.
"At your service."
Bilbo Baggins couldn't decide what bothered him more: the numerous dwarves that were currently in the process of pillaging his pantry and kitchen, or the young dwarf maiden they'd brought along. She looked incredibly out of place among the group of burly dwarven men, the bronze skin of her face quite smooth in comparison to the many tales he had heard of the bearded dwarrows of lands far from the shire, save the dark shadow of sideburns that came down to her jawline. However, the intricate steel weapons that adorned her side clearly dictated otherwise. He could not imagine why they would have her along on a journey that had taken them so far from their home…wherever that was. But something about her presence at the once rowdy gathering had brought a new type of peace almost. Though Biblo did not understand why she was misbehaving in the same manner as the other dwarves and that frustration could nearly bring his head to bust.
Ilona had fallen right in tune with the dwarven company, even picking up on their horrible manner of taking copious amounts of food from the pantry and placing it at the now overcrowded dining room table. She had already passed by with three plates, all piled high with collections of ham, cheese, fruits and bread, though he could not for the life of him figure out what she, of all people, would do with that much food. She was quite a bit smaller than most of the dwarf party, yet she carried herself with the same level of bull headedness, ignoring the poor hobbits cries for sensibility.
"Do you really need that much?" he exclaimed, catching her eye as she breezed past him again while balancing another precarious stack of food.
Ilona flashed a bright smile, her dark hair gleaming under the warm light of the dining room. "If we're going to celebrate the beginning of this perilous journey, we'll need plenty to sustain us. And this is just the beginning master burglar!" She gestured animatedly toward the kitchen, her enthusiasm infectious.
Bilbo could only gawk at her boldness and the way she seamlessly fit in with the others despite being the sole female among them. He watched in horror as two younger dwarves; Vili and Gili, or something to that effect, took the liberty of moving an entire barrel of ale into the dining room while the rest of the company gathered more chairs and, much to his dismay, more food from his once plentiful pantry. He also noted how Ilona seemed to keep close to the two young dwarves, joking and laughing with them in a way he had only seen among close family. The way she teased them, her laughter bright and melodic, made the atmosphere feel lighter despite the impending chaos. Yet, the closeness between her and the darker-haired male was quite, what was it... heartwarming.
As she navigated the crowded dining room, Ilona bumped shoulders with Kili, the warmth shared between them evident in the shared looks and subtle touches. Bilbo had to wonder what was going on between them, though he would never think to ask directly.
"Careful there lass!" Kili laughed, trying to steady her as she nearly stumbled under the weight of a particularly hefty platter. "You might just end up wearing all that food."
"Oi Kili!" she retorted playfully, rolling her eyes, "I'd like to see you try to lift half this food without your brother to aid you."
Bilbo sighed, despite himself, and he felt a new wave of irritation wash over him. Ilona glanced back at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Don't worry, Mr. Baggins! There's always room for second helpings. Especially with this company."
Ilona's eyes sparkled with excitement as she continued to embrace the reunion with Fili and Kili, the one who had become brother and much more to her over the years. It had been too long since their last meeting in Belegost where they had all resolved to join Thorin on his quest, much to the dismay of her father. She couldn't blame him, though. The quest had become a family affair and the last thing he wanted was to see any of them in danger.
Amidst the raucous gathering, Ilona took a brief moment of reprieve, following Kili back to the pantry. The room was quieter, away from the sounds of clashing mugs and hearty laughter. She sighed, the familiar scents of home; ale, breads, and herbs, calming her for just a moment. Her gaze met Kili's and an unspoken understanding passed between them. He hadn't wanted her to come any more than her father had, but her resolve had left them both no choice. Despite everything, she knew that beneath his initial reluctance he was glad she was here.
"I do believe this is yours, love," she said, her voice light but with a hint of affection. She untied the sword and sheath from her chest and held the blade out to Kili. He took it, though his brow furrowed with reluctance.
"I'd rather you keep it," he said softly, his thumb brushing over the worn hilt. "You need it more than I do."
Ilona smirked, shaking her head. "It's been weighing me down, and you know I've got enough to handle with my hammers."
Kili's silence spoke volumes, and she read him as easily as an old tale. His concern was palpable, a protective instinct she both cherished and sometimes resented. He hesitated before taking a step closer, the warmth of his presence easing the tension between them.
"You know," he began, his voice low and tinged with earnestness, "I'd rather you be prepared is all. I can't bear the thought of anything happening to you out there."
Ilona's expression softened, and for a moment, the noise from the other room seemed to fade entirely. "Kili, I chose this. I'm here because I want to be, and I know the risks." She reached up and cupped his face, a gesture meant to reassure him though she did her best to ignore the twinge of pain that shot through her side, "But I promise, I'll be careful."
He let out a reluctant chuckle, his eyes finally glinting with a spark of mischief. "You'd better be, or Thorin will have my head. And Dwalin will probably help him."
With that, Ilona's laughter joined his, a brief moment that felt suspended in time. With a final reassuring smile, she turned and moved into the adjoining room where Dwalin sat, his eyes scanning the map spread out before him.
"Aye, lass," Dwalin's gravelly voice greeted her, a hint of affection warming its usual roughness. "I trust your travels went well?"
Ilona decided against mentioning her harrowing encounter with orcs on the road and instead regaled him with stories of the Southlands, where she had visited kin to discuss matters related to the expedition.
"All went as expected," she said, leaning slightly closer over the table, her voice carrying the weight of both patience and exasperation. "Beral sends his regards, though he's as proud as ever and still refuses to see me as an equal."
Dwalin snorted into his drink, setting it down with a solid thunk against the table. "Aye, Beral's never been one to change his ways. The lad was puffing out his chest even as a beardling, always trying to outdo his elders. I imagine age has only made him worse." His lips curled into a smirk. "But you've done Thorin proud, lass. There's not many who could handle diplomacy with that stubborn mule."
Ilona exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. "It's hardly diplomacy when the other party refuses to acknowledge you as an equal. It's more like a battle of endurance."
Dwalin chuckled, his deep voice rolling through the room like distant thunder. "Then you've bested him, same as any warrior in the field."
Ilona's lips quirked into a wry smile. "I'll take that as a compliment, Dwalin."
She shifted her gaze around the room, letting the familiar noise of the gathering settle into a comforting hum. It had been too long since she had been surrounded by such company. The warmth, the camaraderie, it was a stark contrast to the nights she had spent on the road. Not that she would complain. Ilona was no stranger to solitude, nor to the perils that accompanied long travels.
Her mind drifted to thoughts of the orcs again, the ones who had attacked her just outside of Bree just the night before. She thought of the sharp glint of their blades in the moonlight, the rasp of their guttural voices. But what good would it do to speak of such things now? The company had enough to worry about with the task ahead.
After they had finished with the food preparations and setting of the spread, the dwarves all settled around the table to partake in the meal they had prepared. Ilona moved gracefully around the long table, handing out extra plates and baskets of bread while engaging warmly with each dwarf she passed. The evening buzzed with a symphony of conversation ranging from stories of past adventures and dangerous exploits to the ever-changing weather and the simple comfort of food, a topic particularly beloved by Bombur whose love of hearty meals was well known. And seen. Ilona soaked in the joy of the gathering, cherishing the rare warmth of being surrounded by friends.
Bilbo, seated at the end of the table, couldn't fathom how she managed it. Even among the boisterous dwarves, Ilona's presence stood out. Her darker complexion already set her apart from the others, who were usually fair or ruddy, and yet she carried her beauty with an effortless grace that was quite surprising for a dwarf.
The room swelled with noise as the dwarves exchanged jokes and banter. At one point, Fili hopped up to retrieve tankards of ale and made his way back by walking across the tabletop, passing out drinks as he went. Ilona's laughter rang out when Dwalin grumbled something about a "great galumphing git" and then, with a mischievous glint, poured ale into Oin's ear horn, sparking roars of laughter throughout the company.
Ilona watched the merrymaking unfold, leaning back slightly as the warmth of the fire and the thick scent of ale and roasted meats filled the air. The dwarves, now deep into their tankards, had abandoned all pretense of civility, roaring with laughter as they engaged in a particularly rowdy belching contest. Nori, already three pints deep, thumped his chest and let out a burp so loud that it rattled the dishes on the table, earning a chorus of cheers and a playful shove from Kili. Next to them, Ori, cheeks flushed from drink, managed to release one even mightier, and the cheers broke out once more. Excited whispers and bursts of laughter rippled through the gathering, the company swept up in the easy camaraderie of the night.
Yet despite the warmth of the gathering, Ilona found herself struggling to keep her focus. Her side was now burning with a deep, persistent pain that had only worsened as the night wore on. It had started as a dull ache, something she could ignore, but now it throbbed beneath her tunic with every breath she took. Her fingers instinctively pressed against the source of the pain, hoping to ease it without drawing attention, but she was not so lucky. Across the table, Fili and Kili noticed the movement immediately. Their conversations faltered, their easy smiles dimming as their eyes locked onto her with barely concealed concern.
Ilona did not meet their gaze. She already knew what looks they were giving her; ones filled with unspoken questions and an impending argument she had no desire to entertain, especially not here, not now, with the table still alive with merriment. She could already imagine Kili's voice, sharp with concern and pressing her to explain while demanding she be looked after, and Fili's steady, calculating gaze as he assessed just how bad her injury might be.
No, she would not deal with this now.
Pushing to her feet as smoothly as she could manage, Ilona made her way toward Oin using the bustling movement around the table to mask her retreat. The old healer was half-listening to Bifur's latest tale, nodding along in amusement while his fingers were idly stroking his beard. Ilona slipped into the seat beside him while leaning in to whisper into his ear. She had barely gotten the words out before Oin jerked back in surprise, his hand cupped around his ear as if he had misheard her. But the look on Ilona's face left no room for doubt. Before he could blurt out anything loud enough to attract the company's attention, she clamped a firm hand on his arm, silencing him before he could disrupt the feast. Oin's expression darkened with worry but Ilona gave him a warning look while leaning in once more to murmur a few more words, her voice barely audible over the din of the room. He searched her face, his bushy brows knitting together as understanding settled in his gaze. He made to rise, no doubt intending to usher her away immediately, but Ilona's grip tightened on his sleeve. She shook her head, her voice low but firm.
"After dinner."
Oin hesitated, clearly debating whether to listen to her or to throw caution aside and force her into treatment then and there. But after a long moment, he relented with a nod though not without a final look that told her this conversation was far from over. Satisfied, Ilona released him and schooling her expression into something neutral, turned to make her way back to her seat.
But Kili had been watching.
Even as he laughed along with Bofur's wild gesturing and Fili's occasional remarks, his sharp eyes had never left her. And now as she made her way back through the crowded space, his unease only grew. She was moving carefully, too carefully. Like a soldier nursing a wound they didn't want others to notice. And then it happened.
Ori, hurrying past with a plate in hand, accidentally clipped Ilona's shoulder as he went by. It wasn't much. It was a mere brush honestly, a minor collision, but it was enough to jolt her.. And in that brief second, Kili caught it.
The fleeting contortion of pain that twisted her features. The way she sucked in a sharp breath before smoothing it over in an instant as though nothing had happened.
Kili straightened in his seat, his easy demeanor vanishing as Fili, too, caught sight of the moment. The brothers exchanged a glance that was silent yet knowing. By the time Ilona slid back into her seat her face was composed, her movements steady, but neither Fili nor Kili were fooled. Kili felt it like a stone in his gut, the growing certainty that something was wrong. His hands curled into fists beneath the table.
He wouldn't press her now. Not in front of the company. But this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
While Mr. Baggins darted through the house in pursuit of Nori, muttering frantic protests about doilies and dishcloths, the dwarves settled in comfortably with their bellies full and spirits high. Some remained at the long table, contentedly nursing their drinks, while others retrieved their pipes and filled the air with the rich scent of pipe-weed. Laughter and idle chatter wove through the room as the dwarves settled into their satisfied comfort.
Ilona had managed to secure herself another tankard of ale which she cradled with both hands. She relished in the weight of the tankard and the warmth it brought to her fingers before lifting it to her lips and taking a generous sip. The brew was strong and bitter, yet comforting and she sighed in satisfaction while leaning back against her chair as the evening's revelry unfolded around her. Kíli had taken to wandering about the room with his pipe in hand, absentmindedly puffing as he listened in on the various conversations. That left Fili seated beside her, quiet for once, fingers idly tracing the rim of his own tankard. Ilona barely had time to enjoy the brief lull in the chaos before Fili spoke.
"What happened?"
His voice was calm. Matter-of-fact. Not a question, but a statement. As if he already knew. Ilona's fingers tightened around the handle of her tankard, her knuckles turning white. She kept her gaze fixed downward, avoiding his eyes. She had known this was coming. Fili was observant, more than people gave him credit for. And Kíli…well, if Kíli hadn't noticed something was wrong yet, it was only a matter of time.
She swallowed hard. She knew she should tell them about the attack. About the orcs. About the bite wound still burning against her ribs. But what good would it do? The danger had passed. She had handled it. No need to make them worry.
"We will speak of this later, Fili," she murmured, voice low. "When we are not so... public."
Fili exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly displeased with her answer. His brow furrowed as he studied her face as if searching for any sign of weakness, any indication that she needed help but was too stubborn to admit it. After a long pause, he pushed back his chair and stood. He wasn't happy, but he let it go. For now at least. Without another word, he made his way over to Ori, who was hovering beside Bilbo while clutching his empty plate.
"Excuse me. I'm sorry to interrupt, but what should I do with my plate?" Ori asked, standing confused near the visibly frustrated hobbit.
Fili grinned, his irritation momentarily forgotten. "Here you go, Ori, give it to me."
Before Bilbo could react, Fili snatched the plate from Ori's hands and sent it sailing through the air. Kíli, ever quick on his feet, caught it effortlessly and without hesitation tossed it across the room to Bifur, who stood by the sink. The older dwarf caught it with ease and set it down, already reaching for the next airborne dish.
Bilbo's face went pale. "That's my mother's West Farthing pottery! It's over a hundred years old!"
Ilona nearly choked on her ale as she burst into laughter. The poor hobbit looked on the verge of collapse, running back and forth between Fili and Kíli in a desperate attempt to reclaim his airborne dishware. Each time he reached for something, the dwarves tossed it again, simply keeping it well out of his reach. Ilona yelled out, over the sounds of stomping and the clang of silverware, "You have to admit, Master Baggins, it's efficient!"
Bilbo, flustered beyond reason, threw his arms in the air. "Efficient? This is madness!"
The rhythmic clatter of cutlery echoed through the Baggins' home as Bofur, Dori, Nori, and Glóin stomped their feet in time with their makeshift percussion, silverware clashing together in a rowdy and unpolished beat. The din was enough to make Bilbo's skin crawl, his fingers twitching as he fought the urge to seize the utensils from their hands.
"And could you please not do that?" he huffed, eyeing the offenders with exasperation. "You'll blunt them."
Ilona nearly snorted into her ale, already anticipating what would come next. She knew exactly how this was going to end for poor Mr. Baggins.
Bofur, ever the mischief-maker, grinned wide as he continued drumming on the table. "Oh, do you hear that, lads?" he called, "He says we'll blunt the knives."
The grin Kíli wore could only be described as wicked delight, and before Bilbo could even think of stopping them, the young prince burst into song.
"Blunt the knives and bend the forks!"
Fíli was not far behind, radiating the same mischievous glee as his brother.
"Smash the bottles and burn the corks!"
Ilona, feeling the infectious energy sweep through the room, tilted her head back and joined in. Her voice, smooth and rich in contrast to the deep, gravelly timbres of the princes, wove seamlessly into the melody.
"Chip the glasses and crack the plates!"
That was all the encouragement the rest of the company needed. Like a single, raucous wave, the dwarves bellowed the next lines together, their voices shaking the very foundation of the hobbit's home.
"That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!"
The room exploded into motion. Pans, silverware, and dishes flew through the air, passed between the dwarves with an ease that spoke of years spent turning chores into entertainment. Fíli and Kíli worked in tandem, launching plates and mugs between them with playful flourishes, while Dwalin, despite his gruff demeanor, thumped his fists against the wooden table in time with the song.
Ilona twirled between the chaos, laughter on her lips as she caught a plate mid-air and sent it spinning into Bifur's waiting hands. She could feel the energy of the company shift, the burdens of long roads and darker thoughts temporarily forgotten in the whirlwind of merriment. Even Balin, ever the dignified one, hummed along while nodding his head to the beat.
Bilbo, on the other hand, looked utterly horrified.
"Cut the cloth and tread the fat!
Leave the bones on the bedroom mat!
Pour the milk on the pantry floor!
Splash the wine on every door!
Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl;
Pound them up with a thumping pole;
And when you've finished, if any are whole,
Send them down the hall to roll!
That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!"
The final verse rang out, a triumphant crescendo as every last dish was stacked neatly in the center of the table now spotless, shining and unscathed under the warm glow of candlelight. The laughter that erupted in the aftermath was hearty and full, the dwarves basking in Bilbo's speechless shock. Even Ilona, breathless from singing and spinning, couldn't help but grin at the poor hobbit's expense.
Then.
Three loud knocks.
The sound silenced the room instantly as the laughter died. Even the air in Hobbiton seemed to still, thick with a sudden weight of expectation. No one moved. No one even dared to breathe, as if the very act might somehow alter fate. Ilona's fingers curled at her sides as her breath hitched in her throat.
She knew exactly who stood on the other side of that door.
It was Gandalf who finally broke the heavy silence, his deep voice filling the room with quiet finality.
"He is here."