Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Of all the places Bilbo Baggins of the Shire expected to find herself in this life, fighting for her life on a battlefield halfway across the world- next to the Lonely Mountain of Erebor, she might add- had not been anywhere on that list. Not even remotely, and she’d seen her fair share of the world now, by Yavanna’s grace.

And yet, here she was.

The rather fascinating thing about war, she’d learned some time earlier that day, was that there really wasn’t any way to describe the way her own mind seemed to continue having its own tangent of thought despite efforts to empty it; never mind that she was throwing herself blade first at beings at least thrice her own size and fouler tempered than any Hobbit she’d had the misfortune to meet.

It wasn’t as though she hadn’t heard accounts of battle from the dwarves she’d come to know as family over the months. Through offhand comments from Dwalin- usually as he was attempting to demonstrate the best ways not to die in some form of ‘training’, their trials with wargs, goblins and anything else that seemed out for their blood, Bilbo had heard about berserker rage that stole thought and left wakes of destruction behind. Bifur particularly seemed intent on making his thoughts known on the matter using Bofur’s voice and knowledge of the common tongue, the toymaker’s features twisted in some combination of remembrance and fear as he no doubt recalled the battle that had left him with an axe lodged in his skull. Bilbo knew that the rather grim tale came from a place of affection; Bofur and Bifur had taken a shine to her from the start, given her rather sharp tongue and inability to put up with most of Thorin’s personality.

(That, and the fact she and Bombur got on very well as two folk of different races who knew and respected the fine art of food and all that it encompassed.)

Point being, she’d definitely heard better phrased methods of deterring one from doing monumentally stupid things, but to be honest Bilbo didn’t really need much of a better motivator than the idea of not losing her life because of a war she wasn’t terribly inclined to be involved with anyway.

Or at least that had been what she’d told herself before being dragged into her current predicament.

All she could think about at the moment was the way a sword could cut through flesh and bone- much like a fillet knife through a trout, actually- and the morbidly detailed visage that the statement brought forth in her mind was, surprisingly enough, to keep her sane. In fact, the overall deeply unpleasant sound that accompanied the business of battle- dwarf, orc, warg, elfish cries- bled into a haze of background noise the hobbit could tune out some time ago, mentally noting how alike some of the higher pitched shrieks reminded her vividly of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins.

Perhaps it was grim, but it was enough to keep her from losing herself as she fought to find her dwarves. The last she’d seen of Thorin and his heirs, the trio had been carving a path up Raven Hill- terribly imaginative, dwarves, naming things after too-specifically obvious landmarks. The Lonely Mountain, the Raven Hill…

She would really need to have a word with them once she succeeded in catching up to them. Preferably once she’d managed to drag all of their stubborn arses back into the mountain, where Bilbo could keep an eye on them in a safe, contained space without having to worry about things like gold-sickness or whispers of ghosts of past moons coming back to haunt them.

Or, more recently, without a certain fire drake taking up residence in the massive treasury that had once been one of the lesser throne rooms- but thankfully, he’d been dealt with by Bard.

Maybe Bilbo could send him a Hobbit care package as thanks?

She ducked under the mace that might have taken her head off if Dwalin hadn’t been training her reflexes since the Misty Mountains, lashing out with her little Sting and making sure to hit as heavily as possible. If there had been one thing that had stuck from so many dwarves giving her “advice”, should she be caught in a fight, it was that one needed to make the first strike count so that her opponent wouldn’t be getting up again soon.

Or at all.

That was the ideal, and thus far it had worked in her favor, even without the majority of the armor she’d managed to take away from the encampment of Men. Better than the bright silver-white metal Thorin had thrust at her with softly spoken words she could barely recall, eyes briefly freed from the darkness that lurked there.

Yes, she was well aware of the risks she was taking, not wearing armor that could very well be the difference of life and death, but considering she was a Hobbit, and thus more easily missed in the swarm of the armies swelling over the rocky terrain beneath their feet, it was a risk she was willing to take.

Even if being female was enough to paint a target on her back.

(Yes, it had happened a number of times since she’d gotten caught up in the heat of battle, and no, she had not enjoyed it in the least. However, she did have the advantage of being smaller than anyone else, and thus managed to somehow keep out the worst of it.)

Not for the first time, she mused as she found herself in a moment of stillness, panting, it was just her luck that Thorin and his bloody stubborn nephews just had to go traipsing up the steepest hill in miles. Sure, she’d been building up her stamina with all of the literal ups and downs they’d been doing- extended walking holiday, her great-aunt Pansy, that was the greatest lie she’d told herself since she sprinted out of Bag End like her skirts were on fire- but she was still a lass of more than fifty name days and she was beginning to tire of all the nonsense her dwarves were putting her through. She’d have more grey than copper in her hair by the end of all this if she managed to survive to see the night.

Over the din, she could hear Beorn’s howl of challenge, hear the sound of his heavy paws beating the earth like a drum as he tore through orc and warg as if they were made of naught but paper. Elven horns blew behind him, drifting on the wind.

Damn it all, she would have to write Thranduil a letter of thanks at the very least too. Heavens knew Thorin wouldn’t do it unless he had a blade to his neck. Perhaps not even then.

Blasted Durin stubbornness and pride.

And blast her Tookish sense of loyalty for getting her into this mess, while she was at it.

Somehow, Bilbo made it to the base of Raven Hill, her heart in her throat as she looked up, up, up, barely able to see the peak of it, covered in carcasses and snow as it were.

She’d made it this far without the pretty little ring she’d found in the goblin caves, shiny and golden and whispering promises in her mind if she found herself looking at it for too long. Despite being all too useful in their journey to Erebor, there was something evil about it. Something dark that tried to ensnare her thoughts and make her do terrible things. She’d written it off to gold-sickness, ever the pragmatic one when it came to arguing her point with herself.

Perhaps if she managed to find Gandalf she could ask him why a little golden ring was whispering sweet nothings or promises of power in her mind.

Wizards.

Bilbo hadn’t seen him for several days. Not since-

Well.

The incident that had caused her to be running about on a battlefield, she supposed.

Her hand found the pocket she’d tucked the little band away in, knowing she would likely need it in order to make it up the cliff without being caught.

Yavanna, let me be in time. She silently prayed as she slipped it over her finger.

Immediately, the world shifted on its axis, the colors fading to something that reminded her of cold mists and colder winters. The metal was warm on her hand despite the temperature, almost too much so. Still, the hobbit hadn’t made it this far for nothing- she began climbing, and she refused to allow herself pause until she had her idiot dwarves back where they belonged.  

“The eagles are coming, Thorin.”

The dark-haired dwarf didn’t answer, his glassy blue eyes reflecting the sky above them. Beneath him, the almost black pool of blood stained the ice, sinking into her skirts as Bilbo gripped onto his hand tightly. His handsome features- for they were, even if it was not to a hobbit’s particular taste- were pinched, a trickle of blood lining his lip and trailing down his neck.

It was over.

She knew it was over; it was the only reason she’d found to drop Sting next to her with a quiet metallic clink that seemed to echo forever around them.

Was that it?

Her chest ached. Perhaps from the cold, perhaps the grief that threatened to take her as she sought out the others she’d managed to save.

Had she, though?

Kili was limp, more like a sleeping pup from where Bilbo had managed to prop him up. Usually so lively, she couldn’t help the soft sound of pain as she silently begged him to move. Next to him, Fili lay still. Bilbo hadn’t been able to find the strength to pull him upright from where he had fallen thanks to Bolg. His golden hair was stained red; hardly a color befitting of the Line of Durin.

At least they were together.

“Thorin.” She whispered, coughing wetly as the pressure in her chest tightened. “Thorin, you must live. I will never forgive you if we made it so far only for you to leave your nephews in charge of Erebor.”

Oh, but she was rather tired, too. It wasn’t a short jaunt up Raven Hill, after all, and she’d spent the majority of the day fighting for not only her life but that of the dwarves she called her own.

“I suppose you’d have to leave the crown to your sister. But she would find a way to bring you back from your Maker so that she could beat some sense into that… bloody thick skull of yours. Your nephews, too.” Bilbo mused, tilting to one side and allowing herself to lie on the ice next to Thorin. “Imagine how furious Dwalin would be… finding us sitting up here like this.”

A soft chuckle escaped her at the thought, terribly fond despite the situation.

“Nori is going to be terribly crossed to find us up here.” She murmured, watching the shadows of the eagles begin to fall over them, the sun lighting their shadows like trees. “You know he cares more than he lets on.”

The redheaded thief would be furious to discover that all the effort he’d put in to ensure the company arrived to Erebor- more specifically Thorin and his heirs- had gone to waste thanks to sheer Durin pride and Azog’s bloody persistence to wipe out the family for good. Never mind that Bilbo had somehow managed to endear herself to him sometime between Rivendell and Laketown; once that had happened it was almost like having an older brother fussing over her. Granted, it was less in the obvious way as Dori did with Ori, but the hobbit had not resented him for it. Considering she’d been an only child, it was… refreshing.

“I’m glad I’m here with you.” She hummed, oddly content under the gentle warmth of the sun, even as the ice beneath her chilled to the bone. “It would be a terrible thing to die alone.”

It wasn’t the way Bilbo had imagined she would meet her end, but as the wind from beating wings washed over her face, she supposed she didn’t mind quite as much as she thought.  

Chapter Text

The sun warmed her skin as she lay in the grass atop Bag End.

It didn’t happen nearly as often as it should, considering she was a hobbit of the earth, a creature of greenery and warmth herself. Especially not with all of her duties as the head of the Baggins family keeping her more than busy these days. Lucky for her that her grandmother enjoyed watching the chaos that came with her rather Tookish-natured granddaughter taking the helm.

Bilbo could hear the bustling of her neighbors from her perch, the laughter that warbled from the Gamgees extensive garden as the children played amongst the flowerbeds. Bell and Hamfast had quite the children, all of them wondrously sweet to the spinster Baggins who lived across the way- not that they cared a whit.

She knew that she didn’t have long to laze about as she desired; she had company dropping by in the afternoon, and the baking certainly wouldn’t be done on its own, no matter how much she wished that she would one day wake with the ability to perform magic.

If she ever had the chance to speak to Gandalf the Grey, perhaps she would inquire into the possibilities of a Hobbit learning magic. Oh, she could only imagine the look on Lobelia’s face should that ever occur!

Laughter in her throat, Bilbo relaxed into the grass, the scent of the lavender she’d planted surrounding her with nostalgic comfort. Something her mother had always adored about the flower was the ability for it to be used in so many ways. Gifts were packaged with sprigs of soft violet, pulled from stalks to brew tea, dried in every corner of Bag End.

She closed her eyes, the scent of the flower following her into her daydreams.

Bilbo registered consciousness- or what could be considered the close approximation of such- slowly.

Even though she could distantly sense her eyes were closed, there was a heavy disconnection between her mind from her body, a vaguely distinct sensation that everything had been smudged around the edges of herself.

What happened?

No matter how much she desired it, she couldn’t fight her way to the surface enough to pry her eyes open, exhaustion pulling at her limbs and leaving the hobbit feeling as though there were something terribly wrong.

A low voice murmured nearby, a gentle pressure against her palm. It took Bilbo a few moments to place the words, as quietly spoken as they were.

“They’ve finally said Fee’s going to live.” They said lowly, soothing in the quiet. “Oin says it’s only because of you that he made it in the first place. I know it may be for naught, but… please. Wake up, Bilbo.”

Kili. Her sweet, bright Kili.

He’d come out of his shell over the duration of their quest, though it had taken some time to realize it. The loud persona that he showed the world was quite at odds with the quiet, gentle young dwarf behind it.

Unbidden, images flashed behind closed eyes; of Kili, half concealed behind his brother as Thorin spat words as sharply as arrows in the cold winter light. How fearful he had been as a calloused hand gripped her flesh and hauled her over the wall-

Bilbo desired nothing more than to speak, ease the furrow that she could hear so strongly in his voice. It hurt to see any of the younglings in the group in a place of pain; even more so since they’d made it to the Lonely Mountain. Unfortunately, it seemed as though she could do nothing more than weakly flex her fingers around his hand. Intertwined as they were, it didn’t take much for her silent thoughts to convey to the young prince.

He gasped.

“Bilbo?”

As much as she wanted to do more, the feeble twitch of her hand in his had been enough to completely drain her of whatever little energy she had. It was almost insulting- she’d been able to fight colds off with more enthusiasm.

“Oh, thank Mahal.” Kili breathed. His voice was closer than before as he clasped her hand tightly in warmth and callouses. Another moment more and there was a brief pressure against her forehead, lips vanishing as quickly as they had been there. “I’m going to fetch Oin, Bilbo. I promise I’ll return in a moment.”

He untangled their hands from one another gently, a shuffling of fabric announcing his departure. Brief as it had been, the lack of touch was enough to make Bilbo feel as though she was balancing on the edge of a cliff without anything to ground her. The exhaustion swept in, sapping at the edge of her mind like the lapping of a creek at the bank.

Relaxing into it and the warmth that surrounded her, she allowed herself to be swallowed by it once more.

Contrary to most of the company during the early days, Bilbo got on quite well with Nori nearly from the start. His shrewd eyes and wandering hands reminded the hobbit of her Tookish relations, and in a roundabout way she supposed he reminded her of her mother. Belladonna had been a wild soul, but endlessly loyal to those she chose as her own. Seeing Nori interacting with his brothers and Fili and Kili made her realize that he was not nearly so fearsome as he pretended to be.

(He was, if provoked, but that was hardly the point.)

He smelt faintly of sage, as if he had been burning it to cleanse something. Dori and Ori did as well, to an extent, but it never brought as much comfort as Nori whenever Bilbo found herself sidling into his side during the cooler evenings, sandwiched between the thief and Bofur.

Bofur smelt of damp stone after a heavy rain. Bilbo didn’t think that he noticed it; then again, she seemed to be the only one to notice the scents at all. Still, it was as comforting to her as anything else; it was like home whenever the miner bumped shoulders with her, dragging the hobbit into conversation about the Shire and the things she missed. 

(To be fair, outside of the Gamgees and the nostalgic memories of her parents, there really wasn't much that she missed- though she wouldn't reveal that to her travelling companions for some time.)

Oin smelt of peppermint. It was something that had taken Bilbo a while to place, considering that the dwarf worked with almost any herb and plant that existed to create his compresses and creams. Never mind that the hobbit didn't really have much reason to spend extended amounts of time with the older dwarf; until the incident with the trolls, Bilbo had been blessedly excluded from the healer's tender mercies.

Obviously, however, that had changed. 

Stupid bad luck that just had to follow Thorin-bloody-Oakenshield like a second shadow. 

He was lucky that his nephews were charming. Else Bilbo likely would have had a mind to push him into a canyon and leave him there. Were it not for Kili's exaggerated dramatics over how much he would miss his uncle and Fili's dry comments of leaving the pair of them in charge of Erebor, she very likely would have. 

(She wouldn't. It was simply a pleasant thought to accompany her mind on the days the heir to the Line of Durin was being particularly difficult.)

(Which, unfortunately, was often.)

The next time Bilbo came to, the hobbit found herself able to pry her eyes open, feeling like she’d completed a much greater feat with all of the crust that stuck her lids together. However, there was one thing she noticed immediately, and that was the distinct lack of blue sky above her as she last recalled. Instead, dark stone greeted her- inciting a primal fear of the unknown that had her bolting upright.

Belatedly, her mind realized just how much a terrible idea it was as pain bloomed across her front. She might have cried out, assuming she had the breath for it, confused and terrified in the moment.

“Now now, there’s no need for that, lass.” Soft hands appeared, guiding her back down to the woollen blanket that had been draped over her shoulders.

Bofur.

The sheer relief at seeing a familiar face was more than enough to allow her to relax, enough that the miner could wrangle her into a more comfortable position.

“Easy, Bilbo.” He soothed, eyes crinkling around the edges as he smiled warmly. “I don’t think ye want Oin back in here so soon after spending so long patching ye up.”

Patching me up? What happened?

The question must have been on her features, her brow furrowing as she took in the room. It wasn’t large by any means, but it was homely enough. There were the essentials- a small table, currently covered in parchment, the bed she was lying on, and a handful of woven baskets she couldn’t fathom the purpose of.

“If you’re wondering what happened, I can give ye a rough idea.” Bofur said, leaning back in his seat. His tone was deceptively cheerful, but Bilbo could see the dark shadows under his eyes, his braids not quite as kept together as she knew he preferred to keep them- and that was saying something, considering that Bofur wasn’t usually one to care much about his appearance, being a miner. “Ye challenged an orc thrice yer damn size, somehow won the fight, and then proceeded to land yourself at your Lady’s halls before Oin got his hands on you. But- ye also saved Thorin and the lads. I don’t think there’s any fancy gift or title Durin’s folk could give ye for that; though they might try.”

Deep breathing was important at the moment, Bilbo noted as she slowed her breathing, wincing at the pain in her chest. As Bofur spoke, impressions of the battle returned. Savage cries of orc and dwarf and elves, the fear of seeing her dwarves in danger.

With it, however, came the memory of Bolg. The orc looming over her, features twisting in a snarl as he turned on the creature who dared take away his prey.

Ah, yes.

That was right.

She’d decided to challenge the spawn of none other than Azog the Defiler with naught but her Tookish loyalty, brash determination and her little elven letter opener.

Try as she might, Bilbo couldn’t recall what came next, but judging her current situation, she was fairly willing to say that it hadn’t been good. But she was also breathing, this side of her Lady’s halls, and that was always a delightful thing to discover. She would have hated to meet her mother so soon; Belladonna loved her only daughter, but she certainly hadn’t raised Bilbo to give up on anything without a fight.

“Ah.” Bilbo said instead, suddenly finding the pattern in the blanket under her pale, scraped hands fascinating. “I rather hope not. I did what anyone might have.”

She didn’t have the courage to look over at the dwarf as she spoke, words trailing into silence.

“Might have, Bilbo.” Bofur took her hand in his, thumb smoothing over the back of her knuckles. “But I think you and I both know by now not anyone could have done what you did.”

She hummed, wincing again as her chest tightened. Part of the hobbit wanted to look, to see what exactly she’d managed to get herself into, but there was a far greater majority that warned her that she very much wouldn’t like what she would find under the layer of bandages.

Bofur’s sharp eyes didn’t miss it. “I’ll summon Oin.”

It went to show how ill she felt that she didn’t even bother arguing with the dwarf, nodding and trying to keep her hands away from her chest. Instinct told her she needed to press against it, to somehow push away the discomfort of whatever injury lay beneath, but the larger, logical part of her mind knew that it wouldn’t do any good.

“Rest, Bilbo.” Bofur said from the door, terribly fond as he met her gaze. “You’ll need it once you’re back with the rest of the company.”

Though the words were ominous, Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh. No doubt her dwarves had been getting up to who knew what since she’d been confined to the bed.

Still, she wondered just what all she’d missed.

As Bilbo expected of Oin, the old healer had not been pleased to find out that not only had the hobbit woken, but as luck would have it she had also managed to pull several of the stitchings that he’d put into her skin to boot. 

Delightful. 

Bilbo had always wanted to have Oin's ire directed at her this early in the morning. 

Still, he’d come in with a broad grin for Bilbo, reaching forward to bring her into a gentle forehead tap, affection clear in the gesture.

(Gentle by his standards, anyways. Hobbits might have been a hardy folk, but they weren’t built for the same sorts of beatings and general abuse dwarves tended to enjoy in their rough housing.)

As swiftly as it had come, however, the smile was replaced with a look Bilbo had come to know quite well- though she had been lucky enough to avoid having it levelled at her the way it was now up to this point. It was a dark promise of a thoroughly awful lecture the likes of which she had only witnessed from a safe distance every time one of the other members of the company had done something particularly stupid. 

(Usually Thorin. Sometimes Dwalin. Occasionally the younger dwarves. But mostly Thorin.)

The old healer looked more tired than Bilbo had seen him to date, dark bruises beneath his eyes and smattered across his nose and jaw. Several small scratches were still healing, looking as though he’d been caught by something small.

It did not mean that his ire was lessened, as he made quick work of pulling apart the bandages around her chest and making a displeased sound in the back of his throat.

(Bilbo had long since resigned herself that Oin had seen everything in this world. Her modesty had long since followed her Baggins dignity some time ago- about the same point that she had decided she wouldn’t be putting up with Thorin’s shit, actually.)

“And just what did ye think ye were doing, going against that spawn of the pit ye’self?” he growled, hand gripping her shoulder with a force that made her squeak as he examined the wound. “I’ll have te stitch you back together now with all that moving about ye’ve done.”

“I didn’t mean to.” She protested, resigning herself to her fate as the healer poked and prodded her into a place he seemed content with before pulling out his tools.

“I know ye didn’t, lass.” He huffed, holding out a strip of leather. “Bite on this. I can’t risk giving ye more poppy’s milk so soon after waking.”

(It hurt. Sweet Lady Yavanna did it hurt. But Bilbo managed to make it through without more than a handful of broken whimpers, and Oin seemed impressed by the fact; apparently a few of his other patients had not been so cooperative.)

(Cough-Thorin-cough.)

(Cough-Kili-cough.)

(Cough-Fili-cough.)

Once the whole business of literally being put back together was done, Oin brought Bilbo up to speed on some of the things that had been going on in Erebor since the battle. Obviously, there were the dead to be buried, or laid to stone for dwarves, or burned in the case of the orcs and wargs. Food and shelter was still in the midst of being established- the former with the none other than Thranduil himself; a shocking piece of news to everyone, evidently. Thorin's cousin Dain was currently in charge of most of the affairs to do with the mountain, though with Thorin awake and champing at the bit to get up and about, it was clearly only a matter of time before some new scandal were to happen. 

Bilbo was not an idiot. She knew exactly what would happen if Thorin and Thranduil were to set foot in the same room as one another. And even if it would be incredibly entertaining to watch, the hobbit had very little desire to watch the pair dance around one another in some sort of false bravado. 

Politics. 

Hobbits were excellent diplomats when given the chance, but Bilbo wasn't certain even she would be able to quell the tempers in either side of that argument. 

The rest of the company were in varying states of injury, recovery and occupation within the mountain. Outside of the trio of Durin's blood, Ori and Dwalin were still laid up quite spectacularly, though all of them were expected to make a full recovery before the end of the winter season if they just listened to Oin's strict orders not to do anything that would waste what precious few scraps of intelligence they had left in their thick skulls.

Nori had been tasked- unofficially, of course, to be the eyes and ears to the King Under the Mountain. Bombur to the kitchens, Bofur and Bifur to the mines to begin assessing which could be opened once the first caravans began to arrive from the Blue Mountains and trade could be established. Dori had been asked to liaise between Bard and the company; Balin was chief to Dain and Thorin at the moment, and had apparently found great pleasure in dividing tasks amongst the company to make his life easier. Gloin was already buried in the treasury, beginning to get a more... unbiased count on what treasure was available to be used as currency, which pieces may have been tainted by Smaug, and which were simply best suited to be melted down and reused elsewhere. 

Apparently, a number of those who had been at the battle had been curious about the hobbit lass who had been sighted on the field- Beorn in particular, had demanded that he be alerted to the status of the hobbit before turning back to his own lands to lick his wounds. 

Gandalf hadn't been seen much since the battle; hardly a surprise. He tended to have his own agendas, and whether or not he shared those plans was another thing entirely.

Either way, one thing was clear. The people in Erebor's halls had heard of the Hobbit Burglar Thorin Oakenshield had accepted into his company, and they were curious to know of her fate. 

It was enough to have Bilbo's head spinning. 

Blasted dwarves. 

She should have packed everything up and retired to the south with her cousins. Life might have been easier, that way. 

(It would have been more boring, too, but that wasn't the point.)

Chapter Text

"No."

"Can't we just consider it? It would really be a good thing for-"

"No." 

"But-"

"No."

"Please?" Kili wheedled, eyes wide and doe-like in his attempts to sway the hobbit to his cause.

"No. The last time I agreed to anything, it led to no less than three different complaints to your uncle and Dain, and I am not going to be the one to smooth over the ruffled feathers that come of it." Bilbo said firmly, rubbing the bridge of her nose tiredly and leaning back in her seat. "Especially not if it involves Thranduil or Bard. Bard's too polite to say it, and Thranduil just might be tempted to do something that will very likely result in the Line of Durin owing a blood debt of some variety for the next twenty generations. So no."

Not for the first time, Bilbo wished that she wasn't still required to rest so much during the day. It meant that she wasn't able to go somewhere- literally anywhere- other than the chambers that were both her healing rooms and the political prison that had been made of it. 

See if she said a damn thing to Balin again about Hobbits and their proclivities to diplomacy. 

After hearing a squabble arising between Dain and Bard down the hall while she was attempting to rest, Bilbo had hauled herself to her feet, Oin's orders for rest be damned- because how was she supposed to get any rest if there were not the correct conditions to do so?- the irritable hobbit had given the pair what-for before realizing exactly who it was that she'd just told off and flushing a bright scarlet. 

Bard- already well acquainted with the tiny lass and her opinionated matters thanks to their large company briefly taking up residence in his home- had thankfully said nothing. However, it did look as though the man was attempting to hide his twitching lip behind his hand as he diplomatically cleared his throat, averting his eyes from Dain and Bilbo both. 

(Dain had yet to be formally introduced to Bilbo, but within his first few days within Erebor, he had had more than enough time to hear the tales circulating throughout a number of dwarves. Elves and Men too, which was odd in itself. What had been so special about one tiny Halfling that half of the mountain seemed to be talking about her?)

Well. 

After the scathing dressing down- the likes of which he hadn't been on the receiving end of since he'd been but a pebble under his amad's scrutinizing stares- he could admit he could... potentially see some of the spark that had led to the whispers of "Durin's Shield" in regards to the wee thing. His dearest cousin had laughed uproariously the second he had dared bring it up in his presence too, Balin present and also looking highly amused at the unofficial title. 

"Should we not be dissuading them to it?" he demanded, accent thick as he gestured beyond the doors to the chamber. "They're calling her Durin's Shield."

At hearing the title, Thorin's laughter only doubled. Dain blinked, disbelieving. Thorin had only ever been a stoic older cousin to him in the years he'd known him. With the gold sickness in their line, the trio of Durin's Line had been forced to grow up too quickly. Frerin, perishing too young. Dis, forced to grow up once her husband had been felled in an orc raid. And Thorin, the eldest, forced to take the heavy burden of leadership for their people far too soon. So to find him doubled over in peals of laughter, over a Halfling from half a world away, felt like something of a very strange dream. 

"She's going to hate it." Thorin finally managed, looking to Balin with an expression of what could only be smug glee. "How quickly could we make it official?" 

"Before she finds out about it?" Balin raised a brow, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down the future King Under the Mountain. "If she hasn't already figured it out, I think we have enough time to draft the papers. I'm certain Ori would be all too willing to provide his assistance." 

"You mean to make it official?" 

"Dearest cousin, there are some things about that Hobbit that none beyond the company who agreed to this mad quest will ever truly understand." Thorin grinned, eyes creasing in amusement. "While there is no doubt in my mind that Bilbo deserves all the titles we may shower upon her and more... the true gift of it will be the undoubtedly explosive reaction the title will create."

(And oh, there indeed was a reaction. Everyone within three levels of Thorin's chambers heard the reaction. Laketown heard the reaction. Mirkwood heard the reaction. Some were wondering if Beorn would be appearing within hours of the reaction. Such was the wrath of Bilbo Baggins.)

Which had somehow, in some roundabout way leading to the hobbit taking up the temporary mantle of ambassadorial status until the next caravan of dwarves would be arriving from the Blue Mountains. Dain's folk had sent word of a caravan with supplies that would be arriving as soon as the snows would allow- leaving the current residents of Erebor in debt to Thranduil. 

Great. 

It was a blessing, even if it didn't seem as one to the dwarves. Apparently, it had something to do with the little fact that while wandering around Thranduil's halls, she had managed to endear herself to Thranduil's offspring. Legolas, following the battle, had pleaded with his father on the behalf of the dwarves and Men who would be sheltering in Erebor for the winter months. Bilbo had never actually gotten to hear the conversation, but she imagined it had something to do with reminding his father that holding onto grudges with the people who were their neighbors certainly wasn't the legacy that they wanted to have going into the new Age of peace. 

So, she was correct in assuming the Line of Durin would be in debt to the elves of Mirkwood for the foreseeable future. At least until the spring, when she could get a look at the land around Erebor and see if there was any salvaging the damage Smaug had done so many years prior. 

Huh.

Bilbo hadn't thought about staying for so long, but she supposed it made sense. She wasn't going to just leave without helping her company get their mountain up and running in whatever ways she could. Perhaps she could write a letter to the Gamgees and ask about sending seeds with the dwarves from the Blue Mountains whenever they passed by the Shire? 

Hmm. 

However, none of that helped her right now. A pouty Kili, who looked as though Bilbo had just taken his bow and snapped it over her knee in front of him, was not something she had been prepared to deal with today. Balin had brought by some documents to look over; considering it was in regards to the negotiations with Bard that Dori, Bilbo and Balin had been in for several days with very little progress... well. Her patience was, admittedly, a little stretched thin. 

It wasn't that whatever Kili had been proposing was a bad idea, either. It just wasn't anything that would benefit the mountain or its people at the moment. Not with resources still so scarce, and especially not when she knew that the young dwarf would no doubt find a way to get into some kind of mischief along the way. And if Kili got involved, it was a sure thing that Fili would get wrapped all up in it, and if Fili was involved, Ori would follow, and wherever Ori went-

Basically, bad things would happen.

And bad things did not spell anything good for Bilbo.

"So, how'd it go?"

"About as well as you said it would." Kili huffed, sulking into the chambers and throwing a look in Nori's direction. "She wouldn't even listen after I said the word 'party'."

Fili snorted from his bed, leg elevated as he and Ori studied what appeared to be one of many old tomes that had been found in the library. One thing that the dwarves had managed to save during Smaug's attacks had been an extensive part of the library- sealing the massive doors, and their fates, behind it. The remains had already been laid to stone, as their traditions demanded; they joined the dwarves who had fallen in the battle for the mountain in the tombs that had been uncovered. 

"To the surprise of absolutely no one." Bofur chuckled. The miner was currently carving something out of a piece of wood he'd found... likely lying around somewhere. It was too early to tell what it was going to turn into, but Kili and everyone else present could guess that it was likely a gift for one of Bard's children. He, Bifur and Bombur had taken a shine to the trio of Bardlings. 

No one was positive as to where the term had been coined, but it was a fair bet that it had been Bilbo. She and Bard had taken to having tea in her rooms later in the day under the guise of 'strengthening relations', but Balin and most of the other advisors knew it was more a thinly veiled excuse to get together and commiserate over the utter audacity of the nobles Dain had brought with him to Erebor.

(Funnily enough, Dain happened to spend the evenings with Bilbo right before dinner, also under the guise of strengthening relations with the hobbit and getting to know the Halfling outside of the rather prestigious role she played in the mountain.)

(Even if she didn't want it.)

(Especially if she didn't want it.)

"But Hobbits love parties." the dark haired prince pouted. "It's all she would talk about when we first left the Shire- I thought she would like the idea. She isn't a dwarf, so she won't appreciate any of the fancy gifts or titles that we could give her for helping us take back Erebor."

(For all of his posturing, Kili was far more astute than anyone gave him credit for, and much like his mother, he was a watchful dwarf. He would make an excellent advisor to his brother whenever the day would dawn he and Fili would take up the mantle their uncle would pass down to the next generation.)

"That may be true, Kili, but there had to be more to it than that." Fili drawled knowingly. 

"She... might have mentioned that it would lead to diplomatic disaster." the younger muttered reluctantly. "But it would be in her honor, not for Thranduil's or Bard's or ours!" 

"But does she know that?" Nori snorted, pulling one of his throwing daggers from a hidden pocket and inspecting the edge. "As far as she knows, you're asking for something that would take valuable resources away from those living in the mountain and, as you so eloquently put it- cause a diplomatic incident with two different allies. Besides, you're forgetting that Hobbits aren't just happy folk who enjoy good food and company. They've had their own fair of hardships in their past."

The mood sobered quickly at the reminder. 

Somewhere along the way, Bilbo had bloomed under the open skies and endless mountain tracks their feet brought them. Certainly, being so close, relatively speaking, to the Blue Mountains meant that dwarves did pass by or through the Shire; while Hobbits were naturally gracious hosts, there were still the greater number who viewed most folk who wandered into the Shire with wary contempt. 

(Still, it was refreshing to find another race who simply... didn't terribly like outsiders intruding on their doorsteps. A delightful controversy, if you will.)

It had been one of the most puzzling things about the hobbit during their travelling until they'd reached Beorn's halls and the truth had come out about the more turbulent past of her people. Some of it had been known to the more senior of the company- Balin, mostly, given how long dwarven lifespans were compared to hobbits. Most of it had fallen to little more than rumor, but the minimum of it had been that hobbits had been born into the world somewhere near the lands Beorn's halls rested upon. The exact location was no longer known, but hobbits had been forced out at one point or another, turned to wandering beggars until they had drifted into the peaceful lands that would be come to be known as the Shire. 

"But still-"

"Relax, Kili. Thorin will handle it once Oin allows him out of bed." Fili nodded sagely, Ori quirking a brow in a distinctly Dori mannerism that had everyone in the room shuddering. 

"It's true. If there's anyone brave enough to tackle our hobbit, it's Thorin." Bofur chuckled, already looking forward to the confrontation that would come of it. "Still, it'll be a sight, watching Dain's folk try to puzzle out the conundrum that is our hobbit against the hardheaded fool that is our fearless leader." 

(More entertaining still to see the lack of formality and back-bending to serve his every whim, as most of the other dwarves who had come to their aid seemed intent on doing. By now, trial had forged the company of Thorin Oakenshield into a family. One that had a distinct lack of respect for titles, given the whole "laying their lives down for a quest that may or may not have reasonable odds of survival".)

The laughter rippled around the room, nods and mutters exchanged. What a strange group they must have seemed- thirteen dwarves, a hobbit lass and the occasional wizard who spent more time ordering them what to do before vanishing into the wind and reappearing as he pleased. Even now, Gandalf seemed to have made himself scarce again; though they all knew he would turn up again at one time or another. It was the only thing vaguely consistent about the man. 

"You're right." Kili finally nodded, making himself comfortable at the foot of his brother's bed. "Thorin will be the one to deal with Bilbo."

"Better him than us." Nori snorted, fond amusement in his eyes as he toyed with his dagger. "He's the only one who hasn't learned that our hobbit is just as stubborn as he is, if not more. Even if they've managed to find common ground with one another." 

"Why is this my life." Bilbo sighed mournfully, staring into her cup of tea as though it held the answers to her life's greatest mysteries. "I was a respectable hobbit before all of this. Considered odd, perhaps, for never marrying, but respectable. Now I'm spending my days wrangling dwarves who seem content to act more like misbehaving faunts than the adults they claim to be."

Opposite her, Bard sighed, equally sympathetic to her plight but unable to come up with an answer that would satisfy her question. 

The day had not been going to plan. Dain and Thorin both had asked the hobbit to sit in on diplomatic talks with the trio of realms that were immediately involved in Erebor's business- the Woodland Realm, to which Legolas had been spared in place of his father (thank Yavanna for small blessings), Bard for the Men, and a handful of nobles amid Dain's ranks and, of course, the lord himself.

It had started amicably enough- thankfully, Thorin seemed content to ignore Legolas for the most part, and would engage Bard in conversation that sounded cordial enough that she didn't need to concern herself with preventing bloodshed on that front. Balin also seemed to sense it, positioning himself between Bilbo and Dain's members of court in order to keep the peace further. The hobbit herself found herself seated directly next to Legolas; something they both were satisfied for, as Bilbo held no ill will toward the prince, and he in turn seemed quite charmed by her. 

Of course, nothing could last when one put that many different personalities in one room, and it hadn't been long before one of Dain's folk had said something snidely toward Legolas, which had sparked something with Thorin, Bard, Bilbo and Balin the only ones in the room who simply sighed and laid their faces in their hands in defeat. 

(It was too much to hope that they would simply... get along, wasn't it?)

No, the thing that currently pulled at her thoughts was that there was something going on with her dwarves, and she couldn't for the life of her figure it out. As in, they were all acting more secretive than Nori- a feat in and of itself, except that even the most outgoing of their group seemed to be in on it. Dwalin had outright cleared his throat, visibly flustered, when the hobbit had managed to corner him before managing to find an excuse to wriggle out of. It was driving her absolutely mad. 

"I would say that I know what you're going through, but outside of dealing with my offspring, I'm afraid I have no answers." Bard shrugged. "Are you certain you don't need something stronger than tea?" 

"Oin says I'm still not allowed things like alcohol." the hobbit made a face. "I, personally, see no reason why not. Besides, with how bloody shifty everyone's been acting, I could do with a bottle of my cousin's moonshine. We get folk from as far as Bree who come to trade for it." 

"Really?" 

She smirked at him through copper curls, features all mischief as her eyes squinted. "We hobbits know our liquors, Bard. There have been many of you tall folk who think we're not cut out for certain things; somehow, drinking was made a part of that. There's a certain measure of pride we take with each person who gets drunk under a table. Aside from dwarves, I suspect there aren't many who can claim to drink a hobbit out of their own home." 

"I can believe it, having met you." Bard finally said after several long moments. 

She squinted at him suspiciously, smile vanishing. "I can't tell if you're insulting me or not." 

"Take it as a compliment." he said, staring at his own mug and wondering just how much he would need to imbibe before he would need assistance returning to his rooms for the night. 

"Not much choice otherwise, is there?" she quipped, sticking her tongue out at the man's raised brow. "Still, I don't know where I went wrong! I know nothing of dwarven politics- even amongst hobbits I don't know near as much as my cousins- they're barristers by trade, they would do much more good here than I ever might."

"Considering no one's died yet since you've attended the meetings, I would say you're doing well enough." the man offered. "Though I don't know how much longer the peace is going to last between Dain and Legolas with all of the arguing his men have been doing with Thorin." 

"They're lucky I haven't hit them upside the head and hope it would return some of the sense they're so clearly lacking."

That was enough to draw a warm chuckle out of him. He liked Bilbo for her brutal honesty; it was hard not to find it endearing when it was coming from such a tiny thing. Even knowing what she was capable of with a blade in her hand, Bard couldn't help but instinctively feel as though she was more like one of his children- odd, considering he knew that she had something like thirty winters more to her name than he did. 

(On second thought, maybe he'd had enough of whatever alcohol was in his mug.)

"Have you given any thought to what you'll do once the snows melt?" he asked instead, deciding that he deserved nice things and downing the rest of his drink in one go. Lucky for him it was getting later- it would save him the embarrassment of potentially running into one of his men on his way back to his rooms. 

"I don't know what you mean." the hobbit sniffed primly, staring determinedly into her cup again. 

"Yes, you do." Bard rolled his eyes. "Have you decided whether you're going to stay?"

"No." there was the crux of the matter. Idly, Bilbo rubbed at the still healing flesh on her chest, wincing at the raised skin left behind by the blow that had nearly killed her. She still didn't remember much from the battle, and had heard some of it from Thorin himself; who, apparently, even on his own deathbed, had a stellar memory. 

(The dwarf couldn't find his way out of a barn in the dark, but he could remember a one-sided conversation while at Mahal's doorstep. Would there be a day she wasn't irritated at the King Under the Mountain?)

"But?"

"Nothing, yet." Bilbo turned a sharp eye toward the man. "As much as I'd like to stay... there's still many things that I can't help but shake off. But I certainly won't be welcomed back to the Shire with open arms. I'd be surprised if Lobelia hasn't moved into Bag End, as much as it pains me to say. Of course, there are copies of my parents wills and my own with my cousins, but it's hard to say how much of it will hold if and when she decides to challenge."

"Would you be happier to go back to the Shire?" 

"Mm. Hard to say." Bilbo sipped her tea. "I do miss parts of it- the Gamgees, and those of my family I can bear to be in the same room with for longer than twenty minutes. It's the place I've called home for fifty winters. It's hard to think of giving it all up to stay in a mountain that might not even be suitable for a hobbit. We are creatures of comfort and green things, after all. I will certainly try to assist in getting the ground suitably prepared for growth, but there's no telling the amount of damage Smaug wrought."

There was a brittle determination simmering around her as she spoke the words, brows furrowed deeply as she thought over her answer. Bard had a feeling that it was more to her benefit than his- he, personally, couldn't see the hobbit choosing to permanently leave Erebor after bonding so closely with the company that had been thought sent on a fools errand. Himself included. 

(Then again, he'd never thought himself capable of slaying an actual, fire breathing dragon, and yet here he was.)

"As much as I miss Laketown, it wasn't truly my home." Bard admitted. "We came from different places, aye, but I think there is always a chance for new beginnings. Even if they are not in the places we anticipated."

"Are you trying to convince me to stay?" Bilbo blinked, curious as her gaze rose to meet his.

"Someone has to keep the dwarves in line." He shrugged. "Thus far, you're one of the only ones I've seen cow even the most hardened of warriors amidst the Dwarven ranks."

"Likely thanks to Nori and Dwalin." Bilbo groused. "I don't need any of this nonsense of titles- Durin's Shield was bad enough. You won't be attempting anything like that if I stay, would you, Dragonslayer?"

"Point made." He winced. Titles weren't exactly something that Bard had anticipated inheriting, regardless of whatever deeds he'd done or would be remembered for. True, he came from noble blood, but that meant nothing now, while he was bartering for his people's own survival. "Have I convinced you yet?"

"Of what? Staying until my hair is graying and falling out thanks to all of the shite these dwarves put me through?" Bilbo deadpanned. "Only a little. I'll have to speak to Thorin about arranging for Hobbits to come to Erebor if we are to get the fields up and growing things next season."

"A toast to that." Bard hailed, tipping his mug back to finish the dregs of his ale. "I wish you luck in breaking the news to the other dwarves in the mountain. They've only just gotten used to you."

(They hadn't.)

Still, there was warmth in her chest as Bilbo sipped her tea. A sense of belonging, though it would be quite some time before she'd made Erebor feel like home.

(She had all the time in the world, though, didn't she?)

Now she just had to break the news to the company. 

(The ensuing party lasted two days and resulted in Dain vowing never to touch moonshine again.)