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Chapter Text

“You will take this pin with you.”

Bilbo startled and rose her head, blinking heavily. She must have fallen asleep, curled up on the bed like a child. Now her mother sat beside her, like she was a little baby again, and stroked her hair gently. In the other hand she held something which looked like a hairpin with an ornate silver head.

“What is this?” Bilbo mumbled, rising up to examine the item more closely. It was a hairpin indeed, and probably very old one, because the flower at the head didn’t look at all like the ornaments which were in fashion nowadays.

“Its name is Sting, and it’s a weapon which my grandmother passed down to my mother, then to me, and now I am giving it to you,” Belladonna said in levelled voice. “It is a poisoned blade, dipped in the extract of the nightshade root. Be very careful, love, a graze may kill you.”

“So why are you giving me this?” A sudden rush of hope and excitement went up to Bilbo’s head like strong wine. A weapon could mean only one thing – she was to go to Don Smaug’s Spring ball. She was to spy on the monster and to save the members of the resistance. She was to finally do something.

“Because if that monster as much as lays his finger on you, you will plunge it into his eye to kill him and run away as fast and quiet as you can.” With this Belladonna pulled the pin through the collar of Bilbo’s dress; it looked now like an extravagant brooch, far too elaborate for the simple gown she was wearing. “Swear to me that you will do this, and that you won’t hesitate.”

Bilbo hesitated even now, her hand hovering over the pin but not quite touching it. She really wanted to save the conspirators and she was willing to risk much to do so, and she did hate Smaug with all her might, but killing someone –

“There are only two things which you can do one you are there: try to sneak to Smaug’s chambers unnoticed, which you probably won’t succeed as the place will be full of guards, or make him let you in, which you can achieve in one way only.” Belladonna cleared her throat and shifted in her seat uncomfortably, and Bilbo could feel her own cheeks colour up. “I know – we all know, I mean, we discussed it with Father Gandalf and you agreed, and…”

“I know, mother,” Bilbo said, trying to soothe, but her own voice trembled slightly. She was aware of all this and she did agree, but thinking of Smaug in general made her shiver. And considering him wooing her or doing anything more was simply revolting. Yet she tried to smile and reassure her mother as well as she could. “But don’t worry, I won’t let him do anything, I’m too clever…”

Belladonna laughed, a low and bitter sound, and she shook her head.

“Maria Bibiana, don’t be too clever or too naïve for your own good, sweet child of mine. Take the pin, feel its weight in your hand, and go back to me safely.”

Bilbo hated her full name and her mother knew it, so she used it only when situation called for the utmost seriousness.

“Promise me that you will use it when you have to.”

Averting her eyes, Bilbo traced the flower at her neckline with her finger. This part should be safe, but she still was wary to touch it.

“Father Gandalf said,” she said slowly, not rising her eyes, “that courage was knowing not how to take a life, but when to spare one.”

“Father Gandalf,” Belladonna replied with an unusual angry hiss to her voice, “never had to take such a risk which you are going to face. Promise me that you will defend yourself. I don’t know what this old fool fed you with, but that is surely not a sin.”

“I will, mother, it’s just – but I will, I swear. I will get back to you, and we’ll both be safe.”

Bilbo’s voice did not tremble when she made her promise, but somehow she knew that neither her mother nor she herself believed in her words.

*

The plan devised by Father Gandalf was as simple as it was risky and likely to fail. He had learned – but how and from whom still remained a mystery – that Don Smaug knew about the supersibo movement and some of its members’ identities. No one though, not even Father Gandalf himself, knew how much Smaug was aware of. Which meant that he could not pull his usual strings to warn the potential victims on time.

“I can’t believe that anyone would betray us. How could they?” Belladonna shook her head in disbelief, squeezing Bilbo’s hand. Her fingers were cold and stiff, revealing her fear. Were we among the ones compromised, neither of them asked, but they both knew that even their small contributions to the supersibo could become a death sentence these days. “All these people exposed, and everyone knows what Guardia Civil does to those who evoke even the slightest suspicion…”

“We must not judge harshly.” Despite his calm demeanour, Father Gandalf was also visibly moved; there was nothing of his usual cheer about him today. “It might have been a… forced confession,” he finished after a moment, casting a quick glance in Bilbo’s direction. He didn’t have to be more specific – Guardia’s methods of interrogation gained it a certain grim fame. “And if we don’t react swiftly, we ourselves might be forced to share what we know…”

This made the whole situation shift out of sudden, and Bilbo could barely believe her eyes. Her mother – a tiny woman that she was – rose from her seat and leaned towards Father Gandalf, unexpectedly towering over him.

“And you expect us to act swiftly, aren’t you? You have to come to ask us a favour of saving the day,” Belladonna said, a cool edge to her voice, “ and let me guess – it is a convenient coincidence that my daughter is to be presented officially at Don Smaug’s Spring ball, isn’t it?”

Mother looked like she might strike Father Gandalf out of anger any moment. The old man almost cowered in the pew he was occupying, making placating gestures with his hands.

“You are bright as ever, my dear Belladonna – I have indeed come to ask you a favour…”

“No.”

“But you must understand that this may be our only chance! Young Bibiana is a woman of exquisite competence, she will surely…”

“I said – no. Never will I allow my daughter to partake in something so ridiculously dangerous!”

Bilbo exhaled slowly, and the sound echoed through the suddenly silent chapel. She forced her hands to unclench and she stood up as well, placing one cold palm on her mother’s shoulder. Belladonna turned quickly, like a snake, and now both her and Father Gandalf watched her with similarly great intensity.

“I think I must go there,” she managed, though it became very difficult for her to utter a single sound. “I know it’s dangerous and I know I shouldn’t do it to you – but I have to. It can save you, mother, and all these people, and – I have to do it.”

“Look what have you done!” Belladonna cried, turning to Gandalf again, hands clenching in fists. “You feed her up with all these stories and…”

“And you have taught your daughter to be brave, Belladonna, and you taught her well.”

For a long while Belladonna didn’t reply anything, but she didn’t move an inch either, still tense as if she planned to hit Father Gandalf, dare he to move. Bilbo was sure that they both could hear her heart, beating frantically right in her throat. She had never been disobedient, and the least thing she wanted was to hurt her mother, but she was terrified like never before. The thought of them being compromised, of her mother being taken away forever – it was too much to bear. She wanted to run and hide under her bed, as if she were still a baby, but she couldn’t. This was really the only thing she could do.

“Go to your room and pray, my child,” Father Gandalf said suddenly, though he didn’t move his eyes off of Belladonna’s face. “And so will we. Much guidance will be needed these days.”

She went to her room indeed, but no words of prayer came to her. There were half-formed pleas and curses and bargains in her head, none of which she dared to say aloud. Pacing her room nervously, she tried to come up with a plan, but she was too terrified to have a single creative thought. When, after what seemed to be an eternity, she heard approaching footsteps, she was almost to cry with relief.

“Are you sure of your decision, my child?”

“I am not sure of anything,” she said truthfully, looking at Father Gandalf like she saw him for the first time. “I don’t want to go there, Father – I am terrified. I truly am, and mother…” She trailed off, because she didn’t want to think about it right now. “But it won’t save me if I don’t do anything, right?”

“No, dear heart. But when you do come back, you will be able to save not only yourself and your mother. You will come back a hero you always wanted to be.”

There was a playful edge in Father Gandalf’s voice and Bilbo couldn’t help but smile; even as a little girl she always wanted to be the brave young warrior to save the day. Running around with a stick, she imagined herself a hero, helping out the poor and needy – and later, when she was older, she saw herself as the one to set her country free from the Spanish rule. Now though, when the moment to act finally came, she felt no urge to grab a stick and run to face her enemy.

“But you can’t promise that I will come back.”

Father Gandalf just smiled sadly, shook his head, and placed hand on her forehead.

“You are clever, kind, and brave, my child. You will assure it by your own means.”

Later in the night, when she laid in her bed with her fingers curled around the head of the poisoned hairpin, she felt though anything but.

*

The next few days leading to the Spring ball should have been thrilling and full of excitement, but instead they merged in one streak of barely controlled fear. She tried not to let it cloud her mind, but all she could think of was Don Smaug’s repulsive smile, and the pin which she wrapped in an embroidered handkerchief and hidden under her small collection of jewellery.

“Miss!”

There were still things to do before the Spring ball – she had some Katipunan pamphlets to distribute to the old Doña Brandybuck, and there was still the sewing gathering for the mission to attend, and she probably should meet with Father Gandalf to sort out some things before going to Don Smaug’s den, and…

“Miss, you cannot go in there.”

Only a sudden movement just in front of her face woke her up from her thoughts. There were several soldiers of Guardia Civil in front of Doña Brandybuck’s house, and one of them – the tall surly type whom she sometimes met on her way to the hospital – reached towards her as if he meant to stop her physically from going any further.

“Excuse me, sir, I got lost in thoughts,” she said quietly, dropping her gaze to hide her nervousness and suddenly flushed cheeks. “I came here to visit Doña Brandybuck, to return her books – may I come in?”

“That’s not possible,” the man barked out, and she was glad that her head was bowed because she could not hide a grimace. All the situation wasn’t good at all – so many Guardia Civil’s soldiers could mean only that some misfortune hit Doña Brandybuck ‘s family. Were the pamphlets discovered in her house? Or maybe her son, young Meriadoc, overheard something he shouldn’t, and then repeated it to untrustworthy people? Or – the worst option of all – was Doña Brandybuck’s identity among the ones provided to Don Smaug? Bilbo clutched her hands on the basket, suddenly hit by the realisation that it was actually full of nationalistic materials, and she was surrounded by the Guardia Civil. If she was to help Doña Brandybuck or whomever else, she had to flee from here, and fast.

“It is a pity,” she said in a small voice, not rising her gaze. She had learned long ago that it made her look humble and vulnerable, and she used that trick every time she encountered Spanish loyalists. In their eyes she became so terrified of tarnishing her reputation that they would never associate her with any dangerous activity at all. Fools. “I am very sorry to disturb you in your duties, sir – I will head back then.”

“But maybe we should check the books you brought here first, miss. Your basket, please.”

Her knees went weak, and it took all of Bilbo’s strength not to sway in place. She turned slowly and looked at the other Guardia Civil soldier – she knew him by sight too, he often accompanied her first interlocutor and seemed more ill-tempered. Or maybe his sickly pale complexion and the pox scars made her think so, which wasn’t a good thought, but then these people were not good either.

“Oh yes, please do check them, sir,” she managed without a tremble in her voice, rising the basket slightly. She still didn’t look neither of the soldiers in the eye. Instead, Bilbo inhaled deeply and said very eagerly, “It is the biography of the blessed Eustochia Calafato, a true woman of faith. Her religious devotion is to be admired – she defended her faith and her religious vows even under threat, and she dedicated herself to live in poverty and austerity, and she should be an example to us all. Please do read the book, good sir, and let the enlightenment fall upon you!”

There was a moment of heavy silence, and Bilbo actually dared to peek at the pale soldier’s face. It showed anger and disgust, and it looked even more scary because of it.

“Why yes, Blanco, let yourself be enlightened, you should embrace the opportunity gladly,” the other soldier said suddenly. The pale one – Blanco, apparently – all but growled. If he could kill with his gaze, his partner would have dropped dead, Bilbo was sure. Yet, she couldn’t allow this chance to go waste.

“Oh, would you, sir?” she asked, finally looking up to the Blanco soldier with the most enraptured smile she could muster. “That’s a blessing indeed! I have here also the writings of the Pope Pius – God rest his soul! – on Immaculate Conception, truly wise and holy words by this most saintly of men. The holy truth on the Blessed Virgin will rise your spirits – let me share the books with you…”

“Get out of my way, girl, and take all your holy words with you,” Blanco snarled, and nodded to the other man. “We don’t have time for these idiocies, the commandant is leaving.”

“This is a pity, good sir – don’t you truly want to rejoice…” Bilbo started, but they weren’t listening to her anymore, heading towards the main house. She could see the old servant running out, crying aloud, and more soldiers leaving the house. She couldn’t see Doña Brandybuck or Meriadoc among the crowd, but she didn’t want to push her luck, so she turned and left slowly towards the hospital. She hoped to find Father Gandalf here, and share the fate of Doña Brandybuck with him; maybe there was still a way to help her and her son. If there was, she would find it, Bilbo promised herself, blinking fiercely to stop the tears. She would be clever and kind, and brave enough for that.

*

Bilbo never was too fond of the idea of balls. She wasn’t unsociable, not at all – she just preferred to socialise in more controlled circumstances than a hall full of strange people plotting against each other. The evening of her debut wasn’t something she daydreamed about, especially not recently when there were so many more important things to worry about. But still, she would never think that her debut in the society would be also her debut as a spy.

Belladonna squeezed Bilbo’s arm as they walked down the brightly lit path towards Don Smaug’s house. The rich black lace around the collar of her dress and the elaborate hairdo made her look very dignified and almost unapproachable – a stern matron judging everyone silently and without mercy more than the kind and charming soul she actually were. Bilbo knew that it was deliberate – it was her mother’s cover she always wore around the royalists – but it threw her off each time she saw it. But then, the cover broke when her mother gave her a small encouraging smile, and Bilbo smiled back even though she didn’t really feel like it.

She’d have to smile an awful lot today, though, so maybe it was a good moment to start.

The noise – music, chatter, high-pitched giggle of the ladies and low rumble of gentlemen – attacked Bilbo’s ear and she would have winced if Belladonna hadn’t squeezed her arm reassuringly again. Only after a few long moments she got used to it enough that she could focus on the people surrounding them. There were some familiar faces she recognised – her cousins the Tooks in the far corner, three Proudfoots-sorry-Proudfeet boys flirting with some girls unknown to her – but the rest of guests just melted into a swarm of strange faces.

Except, of course, of Don Smaug. She saw him going towards them with a wide smile plastered to his face. He never stopped, never slowed down – the people around him just parted to make a way and he manoeuvred among them like a snake in the grass. Bilbo dropped her gaze when he approached, like she usually did; she was very grateful for this habit now, because otherwise she might fix her gaze in Don Smaug’s wide, predatory smile, which would be most unfortunate.

“Doña Baggins,” he said in a low, vibrating voice which made Bilbo shiver. It wasn’t unpleasant, quite the contrary, but there was an evil ring to it, despite its smoothness and rich timbre. “It is a rare pleasure to have you as a guest here.”

“The more should we enjoy it, my lord. But please let me introduce to you my daughter, Maria Bibiana.”

Bilbo made a deep curtsey, bowing her head even lower. She could swear that she felt the touch of the poisoned pin, placed securely at the bottom of her scarf, even though she knew it wasn’t possible. Yet, it made her jerk her head up and look in Don Smaug’s squinted, scrutinizing eyes.

“It’s a pleasure,” he declared, bowing his head slightly, and his grin grew even wider than before. “I hope that you will spend an enjoyable evening here, señorita.”

Despite the revolt she felt, Bilbo couldn’t tear her eyes from Smaug’s face. It was morbidly fascinating to look at his crooked glee, and his intense gaze made her blush. He was known to generously bestow his favours over young ladies, and while the girls became subjects of vicious gossip afterwards, no one as much as criticised him, let alone prevent him from seducing a girl he settled upon. You need to use it, a voice in her head reminded, so she didn’t break the eye contact but forced her lips to smile.

“I am sure I will,” she said, and her voice did not tremble.

Don Smaug laughed, invited them again to have a good time, and moved to greet other guests. Bilbo watched him go and he had to feel it, because he looked back and smiled at her again. Which was very good and very terrifying at the same time.

“Be careful,” muttered Belladonna whilst pretending to adjust laces around Bilbo’s neck. “He has noticed you, which is good, but don’t push it too far to become obvious. You are my daughter after all, no one will believe that you’ve become a flirty coquette all of a sudden.”

There wasn’t a chance for much more advice, as they were approached by Belladonna’s friends, happy to see her after the long period of absence, and curious about her lovely daughter Maria Bibiana. Bilbo bore people calling her with her awful name with dignity – she conversed and curtseyed, and dropped her eyes as a well-bred young lady should. But time and again she searched for Don Smaug in the crowd, and more often than not he was watching her like she was a prey to be caught. Each time he was a few steps closer to where she was standing, and his smile was a bit more crooked.

It was highly disconcerting and Bilbo could barely focus on her surroundings. She danced automatically and without much grace, her conversations were too short to attract attention, and somewhere in the back of her head she knew that this poor debut will reflect on her future. And yet, all she could think of was how to get closer to Don Smaug before the night ends, and how not to faint with disgust and stress when she would finally succeed. She searched the crowd, expecting him to smile at her from somewhere nearby, but Smaug was nowhere to be seen. He made his escape with another lady, she thought and a wave of relief almost knocked her flat. But then she thought about her task and turned to look for her mother, to communicate her the bad news.

“Señorita Baggins,” she heard just above her, and all but squeaked ungracefully. Don Smaug stood just in front of her with a toothy wide smile and predatory gleam in his eyes. He bowed gracefully, but there was something mocking in the movement, which made her colour up with a rush of unexplainable anger. “Will you honour me with your hand in this dance?”

She curtseyed and looked up at him, attempting a smile, and then allowed to be led to the dance floor, too shocked to utter a word. The first notes of a bolero ringed through the room.

“I am pleased that doña Baggins accepted my invitation,” he said, reaching out a hand and inclining head towards her. Bilbo was sure that it wasn’t the done thing, ever if he technically was a family friend. “And that I’ve had a chance to meet you officially.”

“You are too kind, señor,” Bilbo said with a smile, looking up at him. “Your invitation brought us much joy – and I am particularly content,” she said, averting her eyes. He chuckled quietly – a low, vibrating sound which made her hair rise on her head. Too blatant, too obvious, she chastised herself, ashamed for her undignified act. It put even more colour on her cheeks, but apparently it was to Don Smaug’s liking, because she felt him inclining towards her again.

“Oh no, señorita Baggins, believe me – the pleasure is all mine.” He led her to a twirl and for a moment the ballroom and all the guest were spinning in Bilbo’s head. “Indeed,” he said, steadying her afterwards with much more body contact that was necessary, “having you here is a pleasure of an unique kind.”

Bilbo blinked several times, and then giggled, covering her mouth. It came out quite natural, even if a bit nervous. Don Smaug didn’t seem to be bothered by it though – he laughed along and again drew her closer than entirely appropriate. She fought the urge of pushing him away, but couldn’t suppress a shiver.

“Your gracious words make me dizzy, señor” she  whispered, hoping that he’d let her go. “I’m – I’m afraid that the pleasure of your company is too intense…”

“Aren’t you fond of intense pleasures then, señorita…?”

“I don’t know yet,” she said, bowing her head again and feeling her cheeks burn. This fake modesty seemed to work for him, because he grabbed her arm with even more vigour. “Should I be?”

“Definitely.”

There was another twirl, and she landed in his arms again, like a helpless bird caught by a wild cat. The bolero ended; she curtseyed with her breath short and her cheeks red and burning, and only then looked in Smaug’s eyes. He escorted her, but not to her mother – instead he led her to an elderly lady in rich purple dress adorned with diamonds.

“Dear aunt, let me introduce doña Bibiana Baggins, daughter of doña Belladonna,” he said and Bilbo curtseyed again. “Señorita, this is my beloved aunt, doña Ancalagon – she will take care of you in the absence of your mother. We will see each other soon,” he announced and disappeared before the suddenly panicked Bilbo could process what he actually said. What does it mean that her mother was absent? Did he see through her game? Did he arrest–

“Now now, girl, don’t pretend to be that shocked,” doña Ancalagon muttered, grabbing Bilbo’s arm almost as strongly as her nephew did. She dragged Bilbo out of the ballroom through a dim-lit corridor, and pushed her into a room, muttering constantly. “The girls these days have no backbone at all, no grace, they need assistance even in throwing away their honour. You wait here, girl. Smaug will come here soon.”

Bilbo, who struggled to remain silent and keep her head bowed for the whole time, took a deep breath as soon as doña Ancalagon closed the door. She found herself in a small drawing room leading out to a wide balcony, located in the quieter part of the house. This was a good sign – she was probably as close as she could get to Don Smaug’s private quarters. Outside of the room she saw a long corridor with a number of doors, and stairs at the end of it. That must have been where Don Smaug’s study was. Without long considerations, Bilbo sneaked out of the room and ran upstairs as silently as possible.

*

Had he been a superstitious man, Thorin would say that he must have been cursed with a great dark magic, and the curse cumulated over him when he agreed to go to the Philippines. Everything after that was just a downfall. The people here were so foreign and impenetrable, the food was unbearable, and the worst of it was the service itself. Thorin was a soldier and violence was no stranger to him, and yet – he could not convince himself to the fight which took place here. He was too experienced to romanticise fighting the enemy in field, but it had some sense to him, it gave a man a pretence of dignity. But hunting down people for collecting food or shooting them down because they failed to have some scrap of paper with a seal and didn’t want to go to prison for that – that not only stripped him off of what dignity he earned in the battlefield, but made him feel like a hound.

And there was this whole national resistance movement, which he probably hated most of all. Of course he couldn’t admit it aloud, but he had no wonder that the people here hated the Crown with all their might. He understood it well – after his inheritance had been claimed by the Crown and he had been left with nothing but a widowed sister and her sons to take care of, he was no lover of the king himself. He had this deep feeling that the people here should be left alone. They tried to protect what they held precious from the Crown, just like he did – and for that only they did not deserve the treatment they received from Spanish authorities, himself included.

Yet, he had to keep his head down and do what he was ordered to. Hence he was crouching in the nooks and shadows of Don Smaug’s study, to hunt down the nationalists which would come here to steal secrets of the Crown. And he was sick for it, feeling like the worst kind of traitor to his own conscience. Maybe no one will appear, he thought to himself, listening to the echoes of music and laughter of the party below. But then, of course, he heard light footsteps approaching the study. There must have been a curse cast on my head, he decided, taking a step back in the shadow to attack his opponent by surprise. One day it will drive me mad.

There was a small creak of the door and a rustle, and Thorin bit his tongue not to swear when he saw who just entered. It was the little señorita Baggins, whom he set his eyes upon a long ago.

Not that he knew her, not really – they never spoke until a few days ago, when he stopped her from entering to doña Brandybuck’s house – but he watched her frequently on her way to the church or the hospital. She was very pretty for a local girl, and she always walked around with her eyes down, and with a small smile which was both shy and polite like it should, but there was something more about her. Thorin had watched a fair share of young women in his life, both at home and here, and so rarely they had their shoulders hunched, and their heads bowed with what he recognised to be a constant fear of being found out. That is why she drew his attention for the first time – she acted cautiously, like someone keeping a secret. Just like he did. And now he knew why.

And now she was here, clad in a fair gown with a delicate scarf of cream lace draped around her shoulders – just as he imagined her to be sometimes, when he was particularly bold – but all the beauty would go to waste. Señorita Baggins closed the door, rushed to the desk covered in stacks of paper, and started to shuffle them frantically. Her hands shook, and she muttered something under her breath; Thorin couldn’t hear well though because of his blood pounding in his ears. He was angry – no, actually he was furious at her, at Don Smaug, and at himself. It should not be like that, it was not what he imagined, what he wanted. Señorita Baggins was supposed to share his burden of cautious acting and secrets, to be his ally and not his enemy, and he wanted to trust her, and not apprehend her, for heaven’s sake.

It was just too much. After he was driven out of his family home, stripped of his heritage, and forced to leave his homeland to serve at an end of the world for scraps of money, Thorin thought that his bad luck had already worn out. If there was any gain in coming to these islands at all, it was the time and space to cool off his head from the revenge, even if he hated this place to bits. He even allowed himself small dreams. Come back to Spain, buy a house, and maybe take the Baggins girl with him. It would be the good thing to do too – it would shield her from her secret as well. But he was too late.

“There it is!” she exclaimed under her breath, fishing a sheet out of the stack and devouring it with her eyes. Thorin had to act now – to arrest her before anyone else comes to check on the situation. He might be able to shield her a bit from the brutality that was to meet her. He might even warn her and let her go–

Seriously, he became way too good in lying to himself. He would not do anything out of his line of duty. He’d catch her, arrest her, and see her tortured to death for the scraps of information she might have. How would he live with that later on, with his last small wish shattered by his own hands – it was a different story.

Thorin stepped out of the shadow. The Baggins girl turned around with a rustle of skirts and muffled a gasp with a hand pressed to mouth. She clutched the paper in the other hand and brought it closer to herself, as if it could serve as a shield to her. Neither of them moved for a second, but Thorin could see that her eyes darted to the door, assessing chances. That he had not foreseen – he expected screaming and begging, but not fleeing. It seemed the worst option to him, the one that he had to prevent at all costs.

“Put this paper down, señorita,” he demanded in quiet, even voice. He could hear sudden commotion downstairs, footsteps and shouts coming nearer and nearer, but he couldn’t focus on them. “Put it back where you took it from, right now.”

She startled and moved her hand down from her mouth to her bosom, but didn’t put the paper down. Listening out for the yells below, Thorin closed the space between them and reached for the damned document. The girl startled when he grabbed it, but didn’t let go. He opened his mouth to reason with her, but then they both heard exactly what the voices below were shouting about.

“Fire! Run here, this way!”

He yanked the paper out of the Baggins girl’s hand and took a step back, which probably saved his life, because the next thing he saw in the corner of his eye was her trying to stab him with thin silver needle just in the eye. He caught her bare forearm and stopped her movement, and only then did she utter a sound – a small gasp of terror and probably pain.

“If you do exactly as I say,” he hissed, feeling his palms sweat and his heart beat wildly, “we may come out of it alive and unharmed. Do you understand?” He didn’t understand himself, either – it was as if his mind was clouded with smoke, as if all rational arguments he repeated in his head minutes ago just disappeared. There was fire down there, and they needed to get out…

“No, you Spanish cockroach, I don’t understand! Let me go!” And with that, she hit him in the chest and for a fleeting moment he saw all the stars in front of his eyes.

When he came back to his senses, he could only hear her running down the hall. She was already on the stairs when he caught her again. She yelled something back at him, but he didn’t hear her well because the ceiling beams were creaking with fire and – to his terror – the carpet on the stairs was aflame.

“Keep your paws off, you perverted…!”

“Now keep it shut, miss,” he snarled, trying not to panic. He wasn’t good with fires, he admitted that without shame – after one watched his own home burn down to the grounds, the memory of it wouldn’t let go slightly. But he refused to be paralysed by the fear, he refused…

“Look out!”

The Baggins girl yanked him, and then something hot and heavy smashed just where he stood. A beam didn’t withstand the fire and part of it fell down, apparently. So now there was fire in front of him and behind him too, he was trapped and there was no way out.

“Do you hear me? We have to – oh, for God’s sake, give me that!”

She drew his sabre and started to hit the burning carpet fiercely, pushing it away. He stared at her, his eyes wide and blank, but he didn’t see her, not really – all he could see was fire, crawling everywhere, and the smoke filling in his lungs…

“Come on, come on!” The Baggins girl choked out in between coughs, still with his sabre in her hand to make way. She dragged him down between the burning spots, and he moved behind her passively, paralysed with the fire. “We need to run, we need to – oh no!”

Only then, when she shrieked in terror for the first time, he snapped out of his stupor enough to see that the skirt of her gown was on fire. She stepped on it first, trying to douse the fire, and he started to take off his jacket to do the same, when she just tore almost half of the skirt with the sabre and left it on the floor. Of all wild things señorita Baggins did today, this seemed most impossible to him – a lady could be a spy or a traitor if she wanted, but tearing her gown apart, that was so inappropriate. He couldn’t but laugh at the idiocy of his own thoughts – a wild laugh of someone terrified beyond reason.

“For the love of God, just move,” she hissed and grabbed his arm again, forcing him to move forward. The fire flared up from the ballroom and the heat made it impossible to breathe. Coming back to the hall was out of option too, as the flames took not only the carpet, but walls and curtains as well.

“Window!” He coughed; señorita Baggins gave him a short look, and then charged at the window like a soldier at the sound of the commandant’s horn. She smashed the glass with a few smacks of the sabre – who would guess that such a delicate woman would wield the weapon with such fierceness? – and started to wrestle with the frame. “Wait, let me,” he urged, pushing her aside. It took him a few hits to destroy the thing; then he jumped through the hole and leaned back to pull her through as well.

As they wandered through the lawn to where the weeping, screaming crowd gathered, Thorin slowly shook off the panic, forcing himself to breathe slowly, evenly. Señorita Baggins left him at one moment, scooped in her mother’s arms and taken away to a safe place. He had to stay here, to investigate the fire, to explain things to Don Smaug – and all these seemed disquieting at the very least – but he was too drained to bother. Even if there was a curse upon his head, and each day he became more and more sure there was, it didn’t win over him today. He just survived another fire.

Chapter Text

This woman was more – much more – than any man could handle. Thorin cursed under his breath an only the great effort of will prevented him from kicking and hitting anything or anyone as he went. What scruples made him go to this forsaken place?!

The thought that he panicked in the face of the fire and señorita Baggins not only saw him, but also helped him escape kept nagging him. It was a debt he didn’t want to have in his ledger, even considering the circumstances of the event, so he manned up, put on his best civil attire and went to the house of doña Baggins.

The servant who opened door for him seemed ready to kill him with a broom. When she announced him before he entered the drawing room, she sounded like she was announcing that cholera spread in the town – and señorita Baggins glanced at him as if he was the source of it when she rose to greet him.

“Have you come here to arrest me, sir?” She asked, and he envied the calm in her voice. Her body was giving her out though – he could see her hands shaking through the translucent wide sleeves of her yellow dress.

“No, of course not, miss Baggins. I came here to settle a – a matter of private and rather delicate nature.”

“Oh – what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, then?” She said it in the most unimpressed yet polite tone he ever heard. Even his sister who exceled at showing some people how low her opinion about them was without actually breaching the rules of etiquette never managed to sound so condescending. Thorin cleared his throat and rose to his feet.

“I believe that we were not, uh, introduced. My name is Thorin Oakenshield – at your service.” He hated how unsure he sounded, how his voice was shaky on the edges. “I come from the town of Erebor near Salamanca in Spain,” he added, when she said nothing but merely gave him a small nod. “I came here, miss Baggins, to express my gratitude. For – back then, when – when I – uh. When you saved my life,” he blurted out finally, dropping his gaze. There were a few seconds of heavy silence and he didn’t dare to look at her again, not now when she witnessed his terrible weakness two times already.

“It was the decent thing to do,” said miss Baggins slowly, and when he raised his eyes, he saw a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. He would like the smile if it wasn’t somehow mocking him – and he was sure it was. “I couldn’t leave you there then, could I. But where are my manners – would you like something to drink?”

“I didn’t came here for a drink.” Somehow it turned out more a growl than a sentence, which meant that he was becoming angry. “I came here - ”

“A small glass of lemonade would not go amiss, though,” she interjected and bowed to pour it from a tall decanter. Her smile grew wider and wider every second. “And a biscuit to it – I insist.”

Thorin accepted the saucer and glass which she pressed into his hands and drank down the lemonade under her expectant gaze. He wondered briefly if he had to eat the biscuit too before they move to the gist, but luckily he was spared the duty.

“I know very well why you came here, sir – to blackmail me about our unfortunate encounter during the ball. But it doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t talk in a civilised way. And the biscuits are delicious, I assure you.” And with that she took a cookie from the tray and munched it with delight.

He looked at as if he had seen her for the first time, and it lasted for a few shameful seconds. Then he coloured up, jumped to his feet and placed the saucer and the biscuit at the table with much more force than it was absolutely necessary.

“How can you say so!” he exclaimed, and she leaned back, slightly disconcerted by his yells. “To blackmail – how can you! I’ve come here to express my gratitude!”

“Well, I thank you most kindly, sir.” This time, her voice trembled slightly and her grip on the cup handle became so tight that her knuckles went white. “I do not deserve such elevated praise from a – a gentleman like you. Though… you must understand, that for a woman her reputation is all she has, and I am not certain whether I can trust you with it.”

Thorin wasn’t sure what unnerved him more – her accusations or the forced calmness of her voice. Had he been thinking rationally at the moment, he most probably would understand her arguments – or at least he reasoned so with himself later on. But at his moment, he just felt misjudged and mocked, and it made him furious.

“You can’t – for God’s sake, don’t you understand that I am in your debt?! That I am bound by my honour to– ”

That made her jump to her feet too, and suddenly it was he who took a step back. Luckily, this time she didn’t have a sabre in her hand – an absurd thought, but it still seemed rather valid.

“Honour! You! You, sir, are a Spaniard and a Guardia Civil soldier, you cannot have such a thing!”

“What? How dare you! Were you a man, I’d…!” He tried to interrupt, but she clearly wasn’t finished yet. Her eyes glowed, and her cheeks were dark red from the anger; she seemed to have dropped all pretences of a well-bred lady, and looked as if she could hit him any moment.

“You assaulted me, you wanted to arrest me, and now you come here to blackmail me, but I won’t let you. I have my family and all these people to protect!”

“I tried to save you!” He shouted over her, and she finally, mercifully shut up for a second. “If I wanted to have you arrested, you’d be in the prison already, don’t you see?! But I did not!”

“Because you want to use this secret against me!” She shrieked and placed her trembling hand on her chest, where the ends of her lace scarf met, pinned by a small silver brooch.

“Because I want to marry you, for Lord’s mercy!”

The silence after his shouted declaration was absolutely deafening. He breathed heavily, mortified by this confession – but she apparently was too. Her cheeks coloured up even more than before, and she rose the hand from her chest to cover her mouth, as if stopping herself from crying out.

“Now, I think that it is something which should be discussed with me as well.”

To his absolute, mortifying surprise, the armchair turned to the window moved slightly and a person rose from it. It was no one else but doña Baggins who went slowly to the small table which they were sitting at and seated herself on the free chair, nudging señorita Baggins to do the same. Thorin followed suit, feeling apprehended beyond comprehension.

“Madam, I didn’t mean…” he finally uttered, unable to stand the silence anymore. Doña Baggins looked at him expectantly, and it took the remains of his dignity not to squirm under her gaze. “At no point – I could not mean any harm to you or – or señorita, and I am… I am well aware that my affections are unwelcome, and I would never…” he trailed off, because doña Baggins rose her hand and furrowed her brows.

“What you’re trying to say is that you allowed my daughter to escape when you found her… in the most unfortunate circumstances,” she added with a sigh, and he noticed that neither of them said a word about the nationalist movement, even though they knew that he knew. “And that you will not persecute her as you sworn to, because of your – affections?”

“And my debt of honour,” he added, clenching his fists at the thought of it, “as your daughter saved my life in the fire.”

Señorita Baggins huffed, irritated, and turned her still coloured-up face. Her mother however observed him keenly.

“It is a decent thing to do,” she said finally, “but you must understand why we are wary to trust you. To put things dramatically, you are our enemy, sir – you represent the cause we fight against with all humble might we have. And we cannot take the risk of basing our safety on your affections, which may change over time, as affections do.”

He could argue with this, assure of his intentions, but they would not believe him either way. It was laughable – well, if it happened to someone else, he would laugh at him, but he felt as if something broke within him. The thought of marrying señorita Baggins, of uniting with her as his partner in secrets somehow, apparently was more important for him that he expected – and the loss of it was more painful that he could imagine.

“I think there is only one way on which I can prove my intentions then,” he said finally, meeting señorita Baggins’ gaze. “You must not be afraid, because you will never see me or hear of me again. Be assured, that I’ll do everything in my might to protect you.”

She blinked several times, and suddenly stood up, reaching out a slightly trembling hand. He rose too, realising for the first time how small she was. She always seemed much taller to him.

“In this case, as I am put in your debt as well, sir – let’s call it even.”

With a minute, lopsided smile, she offered a hand and he took the ends of her fingertips gently.

“As you wish. Fare well, then” he said with a short bow, nodded at doña Baggins and turned to leave the house.

He walked quicker and quicker, and when her reached the door, he all but stormed out with a bang, much to the old servant’s dismay. All he wanted now was to hide somewhere in a tavern, drink until he forgot what happened, and then keep forgetting. Yet he didn’t make it to go far, because a tall, gangly someone caught up with him and patted him on the arm.

“What!” he snarled, spinning around and facing the imposer. His hands balled up in fists automatically, but luckily he noticed that it was a priest who stopped him before he placed the hit.

“You are Thorin Oakenshield, aren’t you, son?”

“Yes, I am, but I am not in the mood for religious disputes at the moment,” he hissed and tried to walk away, but the priest stopped him again, smiling widely like he expected exactly this reply. “As I said, father…”

“But maybe are you in the mood to talk about the Katipunan spy whom you allowed to escape?”

*

“I wasn’t eavesdropping!” Father Gandalf raised his hands in protest. “I was just waiting outside the house to come in, but you were shouting quite loudly, and I couldn’t help but hear.”

“And of course you had to go to him and confront him about that, didn’t you.” Bilbo hid her face in her palms, feeling her cheeks burn again. She had never felt as embarrassed in her whole life as in the moment when that man – Oakenshield, wasn’t it? – confessed his affections for her. How on earth was a decent woman supposed to react to that? This – this Spanish creature had no sense of shame, to come to her with his… his… Where and when did he develop those affections anyway?

“My dear Maria Bibiana, I’m afraid you’re not paying full attention to what I am saying.”

Bilbo blinked and focused on Father Gandalf, automatically schooling her face in a smile and nodding with interest. She wasn’t on a social gathering, but old habits die hard.

“This situation is most distressing,” she said by way of an explanation. “I hoped that I would be spared the contact with mister Oakenshield in the future. His presence is… highly disconcerting.”

Father Gandalf raised his brows and observed her for a long moment. Bilbo could feel her cheeks go bright red.

“Is that so,” he finally said, and it sounded like she had passed a test she had no idea she was taking. “Well, I’m afraid that I must ask you to tolerate his presence for a while longer because, as I tried to explain, he will be very useful for our case, and eager to help us at that.”

“That is, I must say, rather hard to believe.” Belladonna looked away from the lace of Bilbo’s scarf which she was trying to repair. “He is a Guardia Civil soldier, after all.”

“Which makes him exceptionally useful, my dear Belladonna, I’m sure you’ll agree. And as for his decision to help us… Well.” Father Gandalf dug in his pockets and took out a pipe and a pouch of tobacco. “I used very convincing arguments, mostly regarding his past, which he isn’t too keen to share.”

“You’ve blackmailed him!” Bilbo gasped in shock, hoping that Father Gandalf didn’t actually say what she just heard. For her whole childhood and youth she considered Father Gandalf maybe not a moral compass, but a good man who served a just and noble cause. And now he admitted, almost proudly, that he blackmailed a man just like the repelling Spanish soldiers did. “How could you! You are no better than they are!”

“Bilbo!” Belladonna hissed, rising slightly from her seat.

“My dearest Maria Bibiana, please rest assured that I did not blackmail master Oakenshield.” Father Gandalf poked at his pipe, eyeing her from beneath his bushy brows. “I simply explained our cause to him and convinced him – with little effort – that joining us is more beneficial to his own interests.”

“A Guardia Civil soldier?” Bilbo couldn’t but snort; the idea of the Spanish oppressors having any interest in helping the resistance was little more than absurd. “I fail to see any logic in that.”

Instead of providing her with any reply. Father Gandalf poked at his pipe a little more, and finally lit it – all this with a small, crooked smile and an amused gaze fixed on Bilbo. It made her furious; were her upbringing slightly less impeccable, she’d shout at him or shook him for sure.

“I must ask you to trust me in this, dear child,” he said finally, but his request didn’t win her trust at all. “There is nothing improper in the whole affair, it just requires you to accept master Oakenshield’s presence as a suitor for the time being, so your meetings don’t raise any suspicions, and, well, to trust me.”

“I don’t think it’s very appropriate given the… circumstances.” She tried not to think about the gleam in Oakenshield’s eyes when he had shouted out his confession, but she failed. He looked wild that moment – like a cornered animal who has to bite to break free. Shaking her head, Bilbo forced these thoughts out of her head. “It would be very inconsiderate, I am sure you understand, father. And besides, he gave me his word, and I wouldn’t like to make him break it.”

“I think it solves the issue.” Belladonna rose from her seat and placed her hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “Don’t press her, Gandalf – she’s done enough.”

Father Gandalf observed them for a long while, puffing out circles of smoke into the air. With furrowed brows and thin-pressed lips he suddenly looked nothing like the good old friend of the family who used to tell her marvellous stories when she was a child; there was a striking similarity between him and the Guardia Civil’s soldiers now.

“It doesn’t matter, I’m afraid – even though I appreciate Maria Bibiana’s act of bravery, it isn’t enough. Not when Don Smaug turned his attention to her.”

Bilbo couldn’t suppress a gasp. For the few days which passed after the Spring Ball, she did as much as she could to forget her encounter with the man. His hissing voice and strong grasp on her body came to her out of a sudden, and she could feel her face flushing. Don Smaug scared her and for a these short few days she hoped that she wouldn’t have to meet him ever again, but Father Gandalf’s words brought her back to reality which she definitely didn’t like.

“We were lucky that he didn’t catch you spying around, but Smaug isn’t a fool, my dear,” father Gandalf added, shaking his head. “He surely understood already that the information has been stolen from him and he may connect the fact to you. We need a distraction, someone who can talk to Smaug and cast away the suspicions, and warn you if he comes for you nevertheless. We need Thorin Oakenshield’s help.”

“If you say so, then please don’t hesitate to invite him for tea,” Bilbo snapped and rose as well. She was acutely aware of the colour on her cheeks and her trembling hands, and it made her even more angry and nervous. “Now, if you excuse me, I have some duties to attend to.”

She didn’t have, not really; her visit at the hospital was later on and she had at least two more hours of free time, but she could not stand sitting with Father Gandalf any more. She wrapped a shawl around her arms, took a parasol, and went out of the house as briskly as she could, hoping that a short walk would calm her down.

It wasn’t that she was angry at Father Gandalf, or Oakenshield, or at anyone in particular; she was afraid and thus mad at herself, but it wasn’t the main problem either. It was her helplessness, the fact that she was forced to wait for Don Smaug’s move and rely on Oakenshield’s help in that, which made her furious. Bilbo wanted to do something, to take an active part in freeing her country, but waiting to be caught and hiding behind a man whom she didn’t even trust wasn’t something she would willingly agree to.

And, atop of that, she was to pretend that Oakenshield was her suitor, just a few days after the evening when she was to pretend to be willing to seduce Don Smaug. With a huff, Bilbo kicked a pebble, imagining that it was Smaug or Oakenshield instead. Apparently, all she was good for was faking her feminine charms and allowing herself to be groped like a…

“Miss Baggins, what a pleasure! What do you do here at such a time?”

Of course, she had to meet Thorin Oakenshield here – at the sound of his voice her head snapped up and she shot him an angry glare. He schooled his face into a neutral expression and bowed like a long-time acquaintance. She had no choice but curtsey in reply, well aware that she didn’t manage to collect herself as much as she wanted to. Oakenshield wasn’t alone, there were some other soldiers behind him, but they didn’t stop him, so maybe they were his subordinates.

“I am glad to see you as well, sir,” she lied with as pleasant a smile as she could muster, but judging from his expression she didn’t succeed much. He apparently felt just as uncomfortable with her presence as she did with his, which brought her at least a tinge of satisfaction. “I just – I just went out to walk for a while and enjoy the weather.”

“I am afraid I cannot accompany you, but maybe some of our friends – Father Gandalf, perhaps?”

There was some nervousness in his voice, as if he wanted to tell her more that he could. Bilbo took a deep breath, trying to chase her negative opinions on him out of her head and assess the whole matter unbiased. That was why she went out for a walk in the first place, wasn’t it?

“I have spoken with Father Gandalf already,” she informed him slowly, and the relief which he couldn’t even hide confirmed her suspicions. “He told me that, as an old family friend, he gives his blessing to our arrangement.”

“I am most relieved, then. But now, señorita, if you excuse me – I have to return to my post. I would, however, ask for the honour of your company later today. If you can agree,” he added somewhat hastily.

He is as uncomfortable as you are, she repeated to herself, as she nodded and smiled pleasantly, giving her agreement. Or maybe even more, given his promise. And yet, she reasoned with herself, walking slowly towards the hospital, one cannot forget that he is a Guardia Civil soldier after all.

The hospital building was, all in all, a quite repelling place, definitely too small for its purpose and not kept as well as it should be, and Bilbo couldn’t fail to notice it each time she visited. She hoped that one day the building would be expanded in some miraculous way, but as for now, all the mediocre contributions raised for the hospital were spent on the most necessary means. After the independence would be won, changing the situation was Bilbo’s next life goal – one reaffirmed each time she crossed the threshold.

It should be said that coming here so frequently – or, as some would say, coming here at all – was not the most appropriate activity for a young lady. Helping the poor and the ailing was a decent thing to do, but staying in their presence, vulgar creatures as they were, was definitely not appropriate, at least to cousin Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. A lady of her stance could sew for the church or the hospital, or even organise a social event to raise money, but mingling among the commoners was not an appropriate form of charity – and that was which Bilbo partook in it with special, very selfish feeling of pleasure.

The Daughters of Charity who run the hospital also weren’t convinced that it was the place for her – not in the beginning at least, but she was persistent. After her father’s death she was so drowned in sorrow, so apathetic for weeks and weeks long, that Belladonna, struck with grief as she was, had to reprimand her. You act as if you are the most hurting person in the world, and you aren’t. Take a look around and you’ll see, she said, and after some mumbled protests Bilbo did. She didn’t actually help the nuns in their work, as she had no knowledge of healing all these months ago and she didn’t now, but she did what she could. She held hands of poor women which were terrified that they were to orphan a flock of children, she read the Bible and some other religious books to half-blind crones, from time to time she even wrote letters. But most of all she listened, sometimes she talked, and after some weeks she even stopped crying.

“Make sure not to come late, señorita, or they become disobedient,” the matron once grumbled, looking her hard in the eye, and Bilbo understood it as a compliment. She was doing something good.

But in days like this one the hospital was also an escape, and if she could, she would stay here longer even though the foul smell and the revolting surroundings. She left with promises of new books and with wishes of good health, even for those who could not live till her next visit, she blinked the tears away in the hall and went out to the street, yellow in the low light of the sunset.

“Miss Baggins, would you wait a moment.”

“It’s you again – sir,” she added after a heartbeat, and bravely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. There was only so much unladylike things she could do one day. “And again, it’s a pleasure.”

Oakenshield evened his stride with hers and made a gesture like he wanted her to take his arm, but withdrew.

“For some reason, after our encounter today I expected you to call on us,” Bilbo said after an awkward moment, her eyes fixed in the street before her.

“I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome, or to irritate doña Baggins more that I already have,” he explained, also avoiding her gaze. “The situation is – most difficult for me. I gave you my word, and in any other circumstances…”

“I told you, sir, I spoke with Father Gandalf, so for the time being, I think we can agree that the conversation you are referring to never took place.” She took a deep breath and dared to look at him. Apparently, he just peeked at her too, which resulted in hastily averted eyes, another awkward silence, and a traitorous blush.

They were nearing the busier part of the town; the church bells called for evening service, and the indistinct chattering of the crowd became louder and louder. Oakenshield cleared his throat, clearly manning up for one of his elaborate declarations, but Bilbo wasn’t in the mood to listen to his assurances again. Instead, as they entered an alley shaded by old acacias, she cleared her throat too, and asked a question which she turned in her head for the whole day.

“Tell me – what did Father Gandalf do to convince you to help us?”

Apparently she managed to surprise him, though she had no idea why. The question was more than fair, given the fact who he was. Oakenshield opened his mouth, closed it, cleared his throat again and started to mumble out an answer, but she was quicker.

“Did he blackmail you? He promised me he didn’t, but if he did, then – well, I think that you’re not obligated to do anything for us, you can’t be. We can’t be like them – I mean-”

“I know what you mean, señorita,” he interrupted her and this time, when she looked up at him, he didn’t avert his eyes. “Father Gandalf did not blackmail me, I assure you. You don’t trust me, which is only reasonable, but I wasn’t that hard to be convinced, actually. I know first-hand what the situation looks like.”

“And thank to the short conversation you have suddenly opened your eyes, seen the injustice the Crown commits against us, and decided to remedy it?” Bilbo tried to erase sarcasm from her voice, but she failed terribly. It’s a fair question, she repeated to herself. Even if it was, though, it touched one of Oakenshield’s sensitive points, judging from his sudden frown and grimace.

“Oh, I see. I told you my reasons, but you would rather hear that I have personal merits in this endeavour, wouldn’t you. Well then, I do, and considerable ones at that. Does it satisfy you, señorita?”

“It does,” she said after a while, and then she reached up and placed her fingertips on his forearm. He startled, but recovered quickly, offering her his arm. She didn’t tighten her grip though and they walked in the town centre connected only by her fingertips. “Thank you, sir, for being honest with me.”

*

It was hardly the most trying week in Thorin’s life, but definitely the most unnerving one. He never considered his stealth to be extraordinary – nor did he try to hide his ‘relationship’ with señorita Baggins as it would be counterproductive – but then he never expected to become the subject of the most juicy gossip in town overnight. Apparently though the fire during Don Smaug’s ball was already a forgotten topic and his, to quote the mildest description, ‘romantic engagement’ with a daughter of local nobleman captured the spotlight. Irritating as it was, he ignored this gab most of the time, but retorting to a short shout match – and fists – turned out to be unavoidable. He would have restrained himself, were it for anyone else, but Blanco’s vulgar suggestions crossed the thin line. And he had the audacity to smile meaningfully later on, the repelling creature. Why God sent no lightning to strike his ugly face was beyond Thorin’s comprehension.

Even though he felt deep satisfaction after the incident with Blanco, it left him unsettled. He tried to convince himself that his reaction was justified regardless of circumstances – that any man of honour had not only the right, but the moral obligation to lay several punches on the face of someone slandering a lady’s good name. But deep down he knew that it wasn’t the case, that despite her plain rejection he still didn’t stifle all the feelings he had for señorita Baggins, which was… well, upsetting didn’t even start to cover it. He had no plans to coerce the poor woman, though he was aware that the idiotic circumstances they found themselves in and the pretended relationship put his intentions in question – and they didn’t help in suppressing his unwanted affections either. If only he could force himself to think about something else…

Well, in fact, he could. A courier to Manila left tomorrow and he still didn’t have the letter for Dís ready. Beloved Sister, he wrote then and paused, considering his next words. There were plenty of things he should write her about, but not many he could. It is the first time in years when we have a chance of regaining our home, for example. Or, there is a girl – a woman who I think I am in love with. Or even, there has been a fire, I was in the middle of it and I panicked, I was so scared, but I made it – I survived.

Before he realised that his hands were shaking, the page was blotched with ink stains, so he crumpled it and tossed into the put out fireplace. Beloved Sister, he wrote again, I hope that you and your dear sons are well. Because I am. Dís was a clever woman and she knew him well. She would understand – of that he had no doubts.

“Oakenshield, Don Smaug requests your presence, at once!”

Suppressing the grimace, Thorin left the letter and stood up. He wondered what Smaug wanted to discuss with him. Hopefully only the fight with Blanco which, all in all, was worth even a reprimand. Doing his best to keep a neutral expression, Thorin went out of his room and marched behind Smaug’s aide, a small canny man named Alfrid, considering the possible scenarios of the meeting in his head. The fact that the fire and his guard duty in Smaug’s study were never concluded, that he received no questions and no one expected him to explain anything was somewhat unsettling. He didn’t complain about it, of course; one should accept good fortune without questions if the fate is gracious enough to grant it. The problem was, Thorin wasn’t sure if it was a good fortune at all.