Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You knocked on the door. After a few moments, it opened to reveal a handsome but harried looking hobbit. “Yes?” he greeted you. You could hear the exasperation in his tone.

You smiled gently. “You must be Master Baggins.” You inclined your head toward him. “My name is Alia. I am here for tonight’s gathering; Gandalf invited me.”

The hobbit’s mouth tightened. “Of course he did. You and the entire dwarf population of the Blue Mountains,” he grumbled.

The corner of your mouth turned up in amusement and sympathy. “You’ve been Gandalfed,” you sympathized.

“I… what?” Poor guy, he really was frazzled.

“Gandalf has made something happen that involves you in an important way, which is at least a minor inconvenience, and he did so without your consent. You’ve been Gandalfed.” You shrugged slightly before leaning in towards Master Baggins and lowering your voice. “It’s happened to the best of us.”

His eyes grew larger. “Yes! Yes, that’s exactly… I had no idea… and then they just started turning up, and…” His hands flapped helplessly as he spoke.

You nodded. “I know.” You reached into your bag and pulled out a bottle of wine. “Please accept this as a token of my appreciation for your hospitality, and also in solidarity.” Your eyes twinkled as you extended your gift to him.

A pleased smile broke through his stressed expression as he accepted the wine. “Thank you. This is really most kind.” He looked at you approvingly. “You have excellent manners.”

You grinned. “My mother would be pleased to hear it.”

He suddenly looked horrified. “And where are my manners?!” he exclaimed. “I am so sorry. My name is Bilbo Baggins. Please come in, Alia.” He stepped back to allow you through the doorway.

You thanked him as you crossed the threshold. “Is Gandalf still here?” you inquired.

“Yes, yes, they all are,” he flapped his hands again, indicating a doorway to your left. “They’re through here. Please, right this way.” Bilbo escorted you into the room.

Your eyes widened slightly as you entered. The room was chock full of dwarves sitting around a dining table. 13 pairs of eyes watched you suspiciously. And there was your wizard friend, looking particularly pleased with himself. You nodded your greeting, but before you could speak, Gandalf stood. “Alia!” he exclaimed. “So glad you could make it!”

You embraced him. “Sorry I’m late. I had some trouble on the way.”

Gandalf pulled back and looked at you questioningly. You shook your head dismissively. “I’m fine.” You gripped his shoulders. “How are you? You feel skinny. Have you been forgetting to eat again?” you asked, concerned. “We talked about that.” Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the amused expressions the dwarves exchanged.

Gandalf managed to look embarrassed by and proud of your concern at the same time. “I assure you, all is well with me.” He turned toward the dwarves at the table. “Everyone,” he announced, “this is Alia.”

“Hello,” you nodded, taking them in. This looked like an interesting group. You began assigning some of them nicknames in your head. Grumpy McGrumpface was at the head of the table, then there was Hat (what was that hat about?), Grandpa, Warrior, Young ‘un, Stubble, Blondie, and Trumpet, to name a few.

“Why is she here?” demanded Grumpy brusquely. He had a magnificent voice. And gorgeous eyes. He was really quite handsome, or he would be if he weren’t so… well, grumpy.

“Alia is here,” Gandalf replied, “because she is the best bodyguard in all of Arda, and our burglar has no fighting skills of his own.” He looked apologetically at Bilbo as he said this.

Bilbo was a burglar? You never would’ve guessed.

“If this quest is to be successful,” Gandalf continued, “you will need Bilbo’s skills when you arrive at the mountain. That means he must safely make it to the mountain. Alia will see to that.”

Grumpy was skeptical. “You think a human woman will provide him protection that we cannot?”

This wasn’t the first time you’d heard the “a female must be helpless” objection. You waited to see how Gandalf would respond. It would give you a feel for the relationship between the wizard and McGrumpface.

“I think you will not often be in a position to offer Bilbo complete protection. By having Alia along, his safety will cease to be a concern of yours entirely,” Gandalf replied soothingly.

Heh. Gandalf was Gandalfing Grumpy as well as Bilbo.

“I do not like it,” Grumpy argued sullenly.

“Nonetheless, it is for the best,” decreed the wizard with a tone of finality.

Bilbo protested. “I haven’t agreed to come along on this… whatever it is, you know. I don’t – “

Gandalf not unkindly cut him off with a wave of his hand as Grumpy protested again. “I cannot, and will not, attempt to guarantee the safety of either of them.”

The wizard glared at the dwarf. “Have you not been listening? Alia needs no protection.”

Grumpy rolled his shoulders, scowling. After a moment, he nodded to Grandpa, who proceeded to dig around in his bag for something.

Gandalf smiled, satisfied, and spoke to you. “Alia, may I present the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.” He gestured to the dwarves in the room.

You stilled, looking at Grumpy. “Thorin Oakenshield?” you repeated. “The Thorin Oakenshield?”

Warrior’s gruff voice carried from farther down the table. “You know of him?” It sounded like a challenge.

“Who doesn’t know of the Hero of Moria?” you rejoined. Looking back at Thorin, you met his gaze respectfully and bowed your head. “It would be an honor to fight alongside you.”

Thorin’s sullen expression abated at your words, replaced by one you couldn’t quite identify. He nodded cautiously. “If Gandalf does not exaggerate, the honor will be mine.”

“Gandalf does not exaggerate,” you assured Thorin quietly, though your gaze was on Bilbo. If anyone in the room needed to know you could do what Gandalf claimed you could do, it was Bilbo.

Warrior spoke up again. “You speak boldly, for a human lass.” That was definitely a challenge.

You squared your shoulders and met his glare with a firm look of your own. “I am a female bodyguard in the world of men. I must be twice as skilled to garner half the reputation.”

“And what is your reputation?” asked Grandpa.

You did not keep the pride from your voice. “Men come from far and wide to train with me.” You turned your gaze back to Thorin. “I’ve earned the right to speak boldly.”

Thorin considered, then looked to Grandpa. “Hand her a contract,” he ordered.

Chapter Text

Grandpa handed you a scroll of parchment, which you accepted and opened. It was a contract making official your membership in the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.

Well, this could be sticky if not handled carefully. The last thing you needed was to incur Thorin Oakenshield’s unnecessary displeasure at the very start of your acquaintance. “Master Oakenshield,” you addressed him respectfully, “I am honored that you would offer me a place among your Company.”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“But as I understand it,” you continued, still polite but firm, “I have been called here, not to join your quest, but for another specific purpose. My loyalty, sir, would not be yours.” You looked over at Bilbo, who seemed to be hovering nervously around the edge of the gathering. “My commitment would be to you, Master Baggins.” You inclined your head at him. “Should you choose to undertake this journey, that is.”

“To… to me!?” Bilbo sounded at once completely put out and tremendously honored by the idea. “Well, I… that’s… quite an honor.”

“No,” you corrected him, lips quirking upward on one side. “That’s my job.”

“Out of the question,” Thorin barked, seizing his contract from your grasp and thrusting it back at Grandpa. “I will not have anyone accompanying us who has not contractually committed themselves to our success.”

Gandalf sighed, beginning to lose patience with Thorin’s mulishness. “I have signed no such contract, nor will I, and I doubt you have either the desire or ability to prevent my joining you.”

Thorin glowered at your wizard friend, and as he began his retort, you excused yourself from the table, walked to Bilbo’s side, and guided him into the adjoining room, away from the ruckus. “Here,” you said gently, gesturing to what looked like quite a cushy armchair, “have a seat.”

“Yes, thank you,” he replied, clearly still a bit overwhelmed.

You crouched down at his side. “Here’s how this works, Master Baggins. In exchange for payment, which Gandalf has already arranged for,” you reassured the poor Hobbit when you saw his eyebrows approach his hairline, “I will protect you from all manner of physical harm during your journey, up to and including giving my life to safeguard yours.”

Bilbo’s frazzled expression sobered, and his already large eyes grew larger.

You grinned at him. “I will, of course, do everything in my power to avoid that particular outcome.”

He nodded, his brown curls bouncing.

“I ask for only two things from you. The first is obedience.”

Bilbo shook his head. “I don’t understand. What do you mean, obedience?”

You chuckled. “Not in all things! In fact, I will only ever mandate instructions to you when I believe they are absolutely necessary for your well-being. When I do so, I need your unconditional, immediate obedience. It will save your life.”

He hummed, growing just a bit paler. “And the second thing?”

“You will learn basic self-defense, which I will teach you.”

“But why?” Bilbo was confused. “Aren’t you there to protect me? Why would I need to protect myself if you’re there? Isn’t that why you’re there in the first place?”

You nodded. “Yes, it is. And I can guarantee you that, should I find myself fighting two, three, or more enemies at once during the process of protecting you, I will lose sight of you, Master Baggins, even if only for a moment.” You laid a hand on top of his, surprised to find his hand warmer than yours. “I would not have you lose your health, or worse, your life, in that fleeting moment while I am striving to protect both.”

“Ah.” His voice was small and shaky. Confrontation was clearly well outside of his comfort zone. If this Hobbit is a burglar, I’m a lady’s maid.

“This arrangement,” you continued steadily, trying to help him find something to latch onto, even if it was only the sound of your voice, so that he didn’t faint, “would continue until the conclusion of the quest. Successful or not matters not to me; once it is over, so is our agreement.” You smiled gently this time. “And you can come back home to your armchair and never fight another living soul should you so choose.”

“Well, yes!” Bilbo nodded adamantly. “That is exactly what I would choose. I mean, if I even go in the first place, which I have not agreed to do!”

You nodded your understanding. “I know. If you decide to go, our arrangement begins that very moment and does not end until, as I stated, the end of the quest, whatever its outcome. Do you understand the terms I have explained to you?”

“Yes. Yes, I do, and thank you for taking the time to do so, Lady Alia.”

“I am no lady,” you joked as you stood. “Female, certainly, but a lady? Not in this lifetime. You can come out now.”

Bilbo, who had looked away toward the glow of the fire in the fireplace, did a double take back to you. “What? What are you talking about?”

You shook your head at him. “Not you.” You looked to the doorway of the room. “You. The dwarves hiding behind the door.”

Two heads, one blond, one brunet, peeked out from behind the doorframe. “Errr… hello!” said the brunet, the one you’d named Stubble in your head, cheerfully, as though he’d planned to get caught like this. At least Blondie had the decency to look slightly abashed. They stumbled and stuttered a few steps into the room, then bowed toward you in unison. “Fili,” said Blondie. “And Kili,” said Stubble. “At your service,” they finished together.

“Nice to meet you,” you nodded, trying not to snicker at the situation. “Did you learn what you were hoping to?”

A quick glance at each other, then the blond – Fili – said, “Yes, I believe so. Thank you very much. How, if I may ask – “ He paused and waited for your nod. “How did you know we were there?”

How could I not? “If stealth is your aim, step more lightly.”

They nodded.

“And breathe more softly.”

They nodded again.

“And for pity’s sake, don’t smack one another whilst in hiding.”

Now Stubble – Kili – blushed and looked down at his shoes. “Yes, ma’am.” You caught Fili’s eye and when he winked saucily at you, you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. These two had ‘troublemaker’ written all over them.

“Well, then,” you said, with one last reassuring look at Bilbo, “I’ll be right outside.” Your nose wrinkled in mild distaste. “There are too many people in here. I want some air.”
.
.
.
You heard the soft footsteps approaching. “Burglar, hm?” you asked, amused.

As the wizard sat beside you on your blanket, his eyes danced mischievously. “Ah, he will be,” he replied with calm assurance.

You gave him your best side-eye. “You’re certain of that? He’s a nervous little thing.”

Gandalf nodded once as he lit his pipe. “He will find himself.” He looked at you and blew a smoke ring into the air. “Assuming he lives long enough.”

“Is that supposed to be a challenge?” you smirked at your friend.

“If it were, would you accept it?”

You poked your finger into his shoulder. “Don’t try to Gandalf me, Gandalf. I’m onto you.”

He chuckled before drawing once more on his pipe.

You decided to come clean. “I have already pledged my service to Master Baggins, should he choose to apply his service to your ends.”

Gandalf grunted, satisfied, and looked up into the dazzling night sky. “Then he shall, indeed, live long enough.”

You followed his gaze. “That’s the plan.”

The wizard extended his pipe to you, and the two of you sat companionably under the stars, smoking silently together.
.
.
.

Chapter Text

The sun shone brightly, warming you nicely as the birds sang you a good morning. A gentle breeze carried the scent of wildflowers and you closed your eyes, inhaling deeply. Your horse, a steady, speedy mare named Pretty (you’d let the children in your village name her), whinnied softly.

“I know, girl, I know. I like how it smells here, too.” You stroked her neck companionably as the two of you bided your time in front of Master Baggins’ hobbit-hole.

Gandalf and the others had left about an hour ago, in the early morning. You’d been impressed by their stealth, and by their conscientiousness; they’d silently cleaned up every bit of the mess they’d created during their gathering in the Baggins home the night before and crept out, one by one, without waking their poor frazzled host. It had been an unexpected display of consideration and skill by such a rowdy group.

Gandalf had encouraged you to wait here for Master Baggins, assuring you that he would be along, packed and ready to join the others of the Company. This started a lively discussion amongst said Company, and you learned that dwarves were as fond of betting as they were of feasting.

You hadn’t placed a bet, and prior to the bet’s coming into existence, you hadn’t really cared too much one way or the other if Master Baggins joined the journey or not. After all, if he decided not to, you had plenty of work waiting for you back home. If he decided to go, then you’d have plenty of work on the road. Now, however, you rather hoped he would rise to the challenge and take the journey, if for no other reason than just to prove his naysayers wrong.

You couldn’t help it; you’d always rooted for the underdog.

There was a clatter from within Bag End, and you smiled to yourself. You would find out soon enough what Master Baggins’ decision was in the light of day, surrounded by his usual tidy orderliness.

You were humming the third verse of your favorite song when the front door burst open and Master Baggins rushed out so quickly he nearly tumbled down the stairs. When he got about halfway to the gate, he saw you waiting there. “Alia?” he asked, his eyes wide.

“Good morning, Master Baggins.”

“Good morning,” he replied automatically as he finished making his way to the gate before speaking his mind. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you go with the rest of them? With the dwarves?”

You looked down at him from your place on Pretty with a kind expression. “As I said last night, Master Baggins, should you decide to take on this journey, my loyalty lies with you. Where you go, I go. Where you don’t go…” You shrugged.

You watched as his face changed from surprise, to pleasure, to pride. “Well,” he said heartily, “I’ve decided to go!” He held up his traveling bundle as proof.

“Well, then, climb on up. We will catch them up in no time.” You extended a hand, which he took, and you swung him up onto the saddle in front of you. He was so small he’d be able to see nothing if he sat behind.

“Hang on, Master Baggins. Pretty runs like the wind!” And with a firm nudge to your trusted mount, you raced after the dwarves, Bilbo’s delighted laughter being swept away by Pretty’s speed.
.
.
.
The beauty of the morning did little to calm Thorin’s nerves. They were underway! Finally! After all the planning, recruiting, more planning due to the largely failed recruiting, and yet more planning, they were finally on their approach to Erebor! Well, it would be many months yet, but Thorin was willing to bet (and would have if Dwalin or Balin had approached him about it) that it would take less time to reach Erebor than it had to plan the journey to it.

He wasn’t sure whether he ought to feel more chagrined or relieved that their burglar – non-burglar, he corrected himself – had backed out. He wasn’t quite sure what they would do now when they needed stealth, cleverness, sticky fingers, and a soft touch. He had Nori, but, while Nori’s pickpocketing was second to none, his actual burgling skills left a bit to be desired. Then again, Thorin hadn’t been joking when he’d said that the hobbit had looked more like a grocer than a burglar. And said hobbit had actually grown faint when discussing Smaug! Thorin shook his head. No, surely it was better that he’d stayed behind.

It was rather a shame about the bodyguard, though. If she could do what both she and Gandalf claimed she could do, it would have been an advantage to have her along. Thorin’s volunteers were short on experienced fighters, though long on courage. And, he reminded himself, if one had to choose, loyalty, honor, and courage were what counted. Fighting skills could be taught.

But it would have been nice to have another experienced warrior among them, even if she was a female. He had been brought up properly, taught to cherish and protect females. The idea of one making it her profession to put herself in danger… well, it both baffled and chafed him.

However, Thorin understood that the humans did things differently, in too many ways to count, and truly, another experienced fighter would have been worth his or her weight in gold.

He was mentally reviewing the strengths and weaknesses of each of his dwarrow when he heard it.

Hoofbeats. Approaching rapidly from behind.

Thorin placed a hand on his sword as he glanced at Dwalin. The burly warrior had tensed and was reaching for his axe handles. Just as they were turning to confront their pursuer, they heard the small voice.

“Wait!”

Dwalin’s hairy brows lifted in surprise; Thorin met his friend’s startled gaze with a disbelieving one of his own.

It was the hobbit.

Thorin’s mixed chagrin and relief flip-flopped in his belly. There remained chagrin and relief, but now for entirely different reasons.

But the hobbit was riding with the bodyguard.

The bodyguard was going to journey with them. At this, Thorin felt only relief, though he was careful not to let it show. It was a damnable position Gandalf (who was glowing happily at the new arrivals) had put him in: reliant on a halfling and a woman.

Dain would never let him live this down, if he ever caught wind of it.

The bodyguard and her horse pulled even with Gandalf and she lowered the hobbit to the ground. He rushed over to Balin, waving a piece of parchment about his head. “I signed it.” Grinning, he handed it to the wise older dwarf.

After a close inspection, Balin declared, “Everything seems to be in order. Welcome, Master Baggins, to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.”

By Mahal, I cannot imagine what Gandalf is thinking, bringing this gentlehobbit along. Seeing him in the flesh once more brought all of Thorin’s doubts roaring to the surface. Nonetheless, a signed contract was a signed contract. “Give him a pony.”

“No, no, no, that won’t be necessary,” replied the hobbit with a frown. “I’ll just… I’ll just keep riding on Alia’s pony… er, horse.” He looked to her with a desperate hope.

To Thorin’s surprise, Alia shook her head. “Sorry, Master Baggins. It’s true that you weigh next to nothing, but you’ve joined the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. If Thorin Oakenshield says you get your own pony, then you, sir, get your own pony. Besides,” she paused as she petted her mare’s neck. “Pretty’s got a long journey ahead of her with just me and my belongings. It’s a good idea for you to have your own mount.”

Thorin nearly failed to restrain his scoff at the horse’s name.

Dwalin did fail, entirely. “Pretty?! What kind of name is that for a war horse?!”

Alia grinned at him, utterly unoffended. “It is a dreadful name for a war horse,” she agreed. “But I committed to letting the children in my village name her, and that is what they chose, so… Pretty she is.”

Something warm stirred in Thorin’s heart. She had let children name her horse and had stuck with the name they had given it; she had reassured the frightened hobbit last night, possibly to the point of influencing him to join them today; she had shown Thorin respect when she learned of his identity; and she took Dwalin’s insult in stride.

If Alia was as formidable in battle as she was kind outside of it, the Company had just gained greatly with her arrival.

Chapter Text

You spent the next days on the trail. The open plains near the Shire became lush forests during the early part of the second day, and the extra places to hide prompted some pranking by the two princes, which was usually aimed at Dwalin.

When Thorin called a halt to the second day’s progress, bedrolls were rapidly unfurled, their owners quickly claiming what they thought were the best spots before anyone else. You noticed that the dwarrow grouped themselves into the same clusters of twos and threes as they had the night before. There were a lot of them, but you’d already come to realize that family units tended to stick together: the Ur brothers and their cousin; the Ri brothers (who could not have been more different from each other if they’d tried); Oin and Gloin; and Dwalin, Balin, and Thorin, the last of whom was never too far from Fili and Kili. Gandalf came and went as he pleased, so sometimes he was there when camp set up and other times, he was off doing whatever wizards do when they’re not journeying cross-country.

That left you and Bilbo, which suited you fine. Hobbits were sociable creatures, and Master Baggins was no different. He was polite and charming, a lovely conversationalist (if a bit too easily flustered by the sometimes less-charming conversation of your other companions), and you found yourself liking him more by the day.

Honestly, you were liking them all more by the day, and you’d never had a problem with them to begin with.

Bilbo’s bedroll landed next to yours with a thud. When he moaned softly, you looked up from your squatting position as you were unrolling your bedding. His hands were on his lower back and his eyes were closed.

“The second day is worse than the first for everyone, at the start,” you reassured him.

He gave a rueful half-smile. “And the third?”

You couldn’t resist the opportunity to give him a hard time. “Let’s not talk about the third just yet.”

Bilbo groaned.

Poor guy. “Here,” you said, patting the ground beside your setup. “Claim your spot and I’ll tend to Myrtle for you while you stretch out a bit.”

Bilbo fell to his knees and began untying the knots of his pack with a great sigh.

“We’ll start your lessons when I get back,” you tossed over your shoulder as you led Pretty and Myrtle toward the nearby river.

You heard him sputter before he spoke, even at this distance. “What? What lessons?”

You didn’t reply, letting him figure it out for himself.

Tonight, you would begin what was sure to be the laborious process of teaching Bilbo Baggins to fight.
.
.
.
Nori huffed a brusque laugh. “What’re you gonna teach ‘im to do with a stick?!”

You opened your mouth to explain, more for Master Baggins’ sake than for Nori, as Nori sounded skeptical, but Bilbo looked truly puzzled.

Thorin beat you to it. “Would you have our burglar injure himself or someone else trying to wield steel?”

“’Twould be like givin’ a wee pebble a blade!” added Dwalin, making Bilbo flush in embarrassment.

“Or like giving Kili one.” There was a cry of “Oi!” before Kili shoved his brother indignantly.

You hid your grin. These guys were a little bit nuts, but you enjoyed it. “All right,” you said to Bilbo, bringing the conversation back to its proper focus. You’d initially tried to get Bilbo alone so as to make him more comfortable learning the unfamiliar movements, but Ori had seen you walking off and had asked to join you. That got Dori’s attention, who had been talking to Oin. The volume of Dori’s voice as he explained the situation to Oin had utterly ruined any chance of stealth you had, so you ended up staying in the main camp area where there was plenty of room.

It wasn’t ideal for learning with someone who was as private as your charge, but Bilbo wouldn’t likely be defending himself in private, either, so on the whole, it probably wouldn’t matter.

“The stick is mostly to train yourself to move with proper arm position at this point.” You had brought a short sword with you for him to use (Gandalf had briefed you quite well), but he wasn’t ready for it yet.

You held your own arms up in ready position as an example. Bilbo nodded solemnly and imitated your posture. “Feet shoulder width apart, knees bent, heels on the ground, but lightly, with your weight mostly in the balls of your feet.” You watched Bilbo imitate you, and out of the corner of your eye, noticed Ori imitating Bilbo on the edges of the group.

“Good. Now, due to your size, we’re going to focus on the defensive aspects of evasion and speed.” A soft grunt of approval came from one of the group you’d named the Triumvirate in your internal monologue, due to how often you saw them consulting together: Thorin, Dwalin, and Balin.

You walked Bilbo through the basics of controlling his center of gravity, moving smoothly, constantly maintaining balance, and 360 degree proprioception. You taught him a basic five-step evasion sequence and decided that was enough for him to focus on for a couple of days. Once he’d completed it on his own five times, you said, “All right, Master Baggins. That’ll do for today. You’ll need to practice, though, at least once during the day and again at camp each night.”

The hobbit nodded, taking your instructions to heart. “Yes, thank you. And… I’d think you could call me Bilbo. If you were of a mind to, that is.”

You inclined your head to him as you smiled. “Bilbo.”

He nodded and smiled back. You’d never had a hobbit friend before, but that might be on its way to changing.

“Bodyguard.” Thorin’s baritone cut through the moment. He had yet to call you by your name, choosing instead to identify you by your job. You didn’t really care one way or the other.

“Yes, Thorin?”

“I fear I shall grow rusty, sparring only against the members of my Company. Would you care to practice with me?” An unusual expression crossed his face. You’d seen him thoughtful, grumpy (his default), angry, and tired, but this… something about the way he looked now allowed you to see the family resemblance between him and his nephews.

Mischief.

That’s what it was. He thought he was going to trounce you in a sparring match.

You almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

You played along, feigning an expression of uncertainty which you quickly covered. “It would be an honor.”

You could practically feel the waves of superiority rolling off him. Good.

The two of you faced one another in the cleared area of camp where you had just finished training Bilbo. Thorin accepted a sword that Dwalin handed him; Bilbo was handing you yours from where you had left it with the rest of your things.

“Thank you.”

Bilbo leaned toward you while both of you still had a grip on your sword. “Be careful, won’t you?” His quiet voice held more than a little worry.

With the side of your face that was turned away from Thorin, you winked at the hobbit. “I certainly will.”

Understanding started to dawn in his face, but you turned from him before he had a chance to blow your cover.

You weren’t sure how he was managing it, but somehow, Thorin was swaggering, even though he was standing still. He took up ready stance.

You did the same, making yourself swallow nervously.

To his credit, Thorin’s confidence became tempered with kindness. “I will go easy on you.”

You smiled tentatively, making no such promise in return.

Dwalin called out the warning to prepare. Thorin settled into his stance. You didn’t move.

Dwalin shouted the command to begin the match. Still, you didn’t move. You looked relatively relaxed, but your senses were on high alert. While maintaining eye contact with Thorin, your peripheral vision was taking in everything else about him: his positioning, the shifting of his weight and balance, his decreasing distance as he cautiously approached you.

He began to step sideways, trying to initiate a ‘dancing duo’ setup, where you each circle the other. You stayed put, pivoting in place to keep facing him, making him orbit you. He suddenly thrusted at you, but you could tell, from the amount of weight he allowed to stay on his back leg, that he didn’t actually intend to strike.

You jumped as though startled but trying to hide it.

A collective grunt of approval at Thorin’s apparently successful feint arose from the others.

He moved a few more steps, varying the timing of them to keep you from picking up a pattern to his movements. When he stepped forward to strike the second time, he meant it.

You nimbly stepped forward and to the side, giving you a view of the back of Thorin’s right shoulder and upper back. While his head whipped around to find you, you squatted and spun on the ball of your foot, sweeping one leg out during the rotation to knock Thorin’s feet out from under him. He landed heavily on his back, slightly turned toward you, and made to roll onto that side to push back up to standing.

But while he was turning, you were standing, and when Thorin made to push up, he pushed the side of his neck into the point of your sword. No blood was drawn, but your point was made.

“Now, Bilbo,” you said, taking in the surprised expressions surrounding you. “What I did was played into Thorin’s expectations of me, using them against him. That’s a basic use of the element of surprise.” You removed your sword from Thorin’s neck and extended a hand to help him up. “Surprise, either by stealth or deceit, works very well when done properly, but the drawback is that – “

Thorin interrupted you. “It only works once.” His face conveyed both annoyance and a grudging respect.

“Indeed. So it must work, and work well, when you choose to use it.” You nodded respectfully at your opponent. “Thank you, Thorin, for helping me to show Bilbo that valuable lesson.”

Kindness didn’t cost you anything, after all.

He nodded gruffly, acknowledging your gesture. “Shall we dispense with the lessons and the subterfuge and proceed to hone our skills in battle?”

Now he was beginning to consider that perhaps you weren’t going to be a pushover. Now you would have a match.

“Let’s.”
.
.
.
The sparring had been delightful. Thorin was a more than worthy opponent and adapting your fighting techniques to counter him had been an interesting challenge on the fly. You’d each bested the other once when the bets started flying. By the time you’d each won a handful of bouts (Thorin twice more than you, but you had, by his own admission, bested him more often than any of his own Company), the collective dwarven opinion of you and your appropriateness on this quest had changed. You fought well, with skill, inventiveness, resilience, and most importantly, honor.

As you settled in your bed for the night, Bilbo was still chattering excitedly. “That was incredible! Truly, I’ve never seen anything like it before. You swished and he slashed, you thrusted and he parried, you… oh, it was as though somehow violence and art merged into this… performance spectacle! That’s it, you know. You were spectacular.” He shook his head as he pulled the covers up to his neck. “And to think, you’re going to teach me how to do it.”

Bilbo was a gentlehobbit who would never be a warrior on the level he’d seen demonstrated tonight. But far be it from you to disillusion him and tamp on his excitement. “Thank you very much, Bil – “ A huge yawn interrupted you.

His head popped up from his pillow. “What was that?”

“Hm?” You were ready to drift off. Thorin had given you one heck of a workout.

“What did you just call me? Bill?” He laid his head back down on his pillow and gazed at the stars. “Bill,” he said again. “Yes, I think I like that. Bill. Bill Baggins.”

You chuckled to yourself. “Good night, Bill.”

You were asleep before you heard his reply.
.
.
.

Chapter Text

Bofur was in love.

He’d known it the moment you started fussing over Gandalf’s health, standing in Bilbo’s dining room in front of a bunch of strangers.

Since then, the things Bofur had discovered about you had delighted him, every one. That your horse had been named by the children of your village and you’d kept the name told him everything about your kind heart. That you never let Dwalin or Thorin ruffle you with their attitudes told him that you didn’t take anything, including yourself, too seriously. That you were so willing to stand for a Hobbit you’d never met told him about your dedication and work ethic.

You had helped Bombur clean up after dinner that first night, showing that you valued yourself no more highly than you did any of them, and then you sang along with the campfire songs he himself taught the group that night. (Granted, he’d had to ask you stop singing, but everyone had seconded his suggestion so he didn’t think he’d been out of line. Anyway, it was your enthusiasm and willingness to try something new that spoke well of you. That you couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket was of no consequence. Not as long as you stopped joining in the campfire songs.)

Then, last night, when you’d sparred Thorin? Bofur knew, without a doubt, that he would never see anything more beautiful than you. Your grace, your strength, your speed… you left him gobsmacked.

He’d wanted, more than anything, to talk to you some more last night, but every time he got close, someone else beat him to it. So he’d admired you from afar, watching you and Bilbo chat right before you drifted off to sleep.

You were so lovely, so carefree, as you lay there, light from the fire caressing the planes of your face. Bofur had never been jealous of light before.

It would be a long journey. There would be plenty of opportunities to talk to you. Lots of time to get you to see him as a suitor.

Fingers snapping in his ear startled him out of his reverie. He swatted at his ear, already knowing who it was. “You’re staring.”

Bofur glared at his cousin and made a point of turning away from where you slumbered peacefully. “I am not.”

Bifur smirked, his eyes twinkling. “If you’re that taken with the gentlehobbit, you ought to just out with it.”

Bo hid his chuckle and swatted Bifur on the shoulder.

Bif plopped down beside him. “Alia is an interesting woman.”

Now, Bofur wasn’t in the habit of keeping secrets from his family, but neither was Bifur in the habit of keeping things to himself, so Bo tried to deflect the path of the conversation. “You know,” he said confidentially, “as skilled as she is with a blade, I wonder if she’s ever done any whittlin’.”

Bifur’s face fell. “Carving? You were thinking of carving?”

“She’s bound to have excellent fine motor control, don’t you think?”

“Well, I…” Bifur looked from Bo to your sleeping form and back again. “Carving?”

Bofur knew enough not to overplay his hand. “Oh, aye, Alia’s lovely enough, certainly, but we’ve got other things to focus on at the moment.”

Bifur just grunted. “Doesn’t mean we have to turn into Thorin along the way.”

Bo snorted. “Stop it.” He glanced over his shoulder to make sure nobody could overhear. “Nobody’s turning into Thorin. I’ve just said she’s lovely, haven’t I?”

With an eye roll, Bifur said, “Aye, and that she’s got excellent coordination.” He shook his head, axe glinting. “Hopeless. That’s what you are.”

“Charming. It’s pronounced ‘charming’.”

With another eye roll, Bifur stood and dusted off his trousers. ”It’s pronounced ‘goofy’.” He grinned as he made for his bed. ”Carving. Pfft.”

Bofur covered a satisfied smirk as he lay back onto his pillow, rolling to his side so that you would be the last thing he saw before he fell asleep.
.
.
.
Thorin lay still, looking up at the stars. He heard the various snores and whistles of his dwarrow and knew that all except Gloin, who was on watch, were asleep. Now that he was the only one awake, he could do what he couldn’t do openly.

Smile.

He needed his Company to know, to understand right down to their core, that this was not a camping trip they were on. This was a hazardous journey, a dangerous venture, likely to get some of them… most of them… possibly all of them killed before it was through. He didn’t need them to forget, even for a moment, that not only were their lives at stake, but so was the future of Erebor, and of dwarrowdom as a whole.

So Thorin couldn’t smile, because if he let up, even for a moment, then so might one of his dwarrow, and that could ultimately lead to their death.

But now, with all of them out like doused embers, Thorin could grin unabashedly at your ruse earlier. You’d gotten him. Suckered him right in, using his prejudices about you against him. It was well played, teaching both the group’s burglar and their king a lesson at the same time. Ironically, Thorin had forgotten an aspect of your femininity when he’d challenged you to spar.

He hadn’t touched a woman in a very long time. Being in his position, both royalty and deposed royalty with hopes of one day being restored, Thorin couldn’t afford to be careless with his affections and err on the side of unintentional lineage. As a result, his life had been a rather lonely one, keeping the entire concept of courting at arm’s length, despite the choices he knew he could have availed himself of.

But then you’d sparred with him and now Thorin lay here, under the stars, keenly aware that you were strongly, decidedly, bewitchingly female.

And clever. And kind. And patient. And stronger than you looked, by Mahal.

Thorin snuck a glance in your direction. You lay there quietly, Bilbo on one side and your sword on the other, ready, even while asleep, to defend your charge.

He knew what it was to constantly consider the welfare of others before your own, and he felt a strange kinship with you. He did it for honor, and you for money, but the manner in which you treated not only the Hobbit, but all of Thorin’s own, made it clear to him that at your core, the job was not about the money.

Thorin knew he still couldn’t let his guard down, still couldn’t smile, couldn’t relax by the light of day. And he still wasn’t convinced that Bilbo was the burglar they needed.

But he was oddly glad that you were there.

And if he fell asleep with a smile on his face, borne of thoughts of you, nobody would know in the morning.

Chapter Text

You woke before dawn as the first sounds of rustling whispered through the still morning air. You blinked a couple of times to focus your vision. Bilbo – Bill, you remembered with a smile – was still asleep. Your gaze swept the camp. Most of the rounded bundles of blankets were unmoving, but one or two were starting to stir. Bofur and Nori were the only ones on their feet; Nori was frowning as he tried to style his hair back into its signature starfish style after a night of sleeping on one side and smooshing it flat while Bofur was packing up his bedroll, whistling softly to himself. He was so quiet about it only a stray note here and there made it to your ears, but the cheer in it was as good as birdsong for lifting your spirits first thing in the morning.

With a stretch, you turned your own blanket down and pushed yourself up to sitting. You rubbed your hands over your face as you thought about what you wanted to accomplish today. Bill needed more training, but, as far as you knew, you weren’t due to come upon any towns or settlements, so it should just be another easy day of traveling. And maybe tonight you could talk Dwalin or Fili into a good spar. Thorin had been a delightful challenge the night before, but it was to your benefit, and therefore, to Bill’s benefit, for you to become more familiar with the fighting styles of many of your fellow travelers before you had to rely on them.

You rolled your shoulders and made to stand, catching Bofur’s eye in the process. He stopped his whistling just long enough to grin and wink at you before picking it right back up again. Your own grin answered his. He certainly seemed to be a cheerful sort. Cheerful people were good to have around, especially on a journey like this one.

Your belongings packed away quickly, and you started picking up a few of Bill’s things and setting them in orderly stacks near him. Not that he was messy; Bill was the kind of person who was always neat, even out in the open countryside. He was just inexperienced, which made him a little less organized.

“Mornin’, Alia,” said a hushed voice at your elbow.

You turned to see Bofur standing there, holding a handkerchief-wrapped bundle in his hand. “Good morning, Bofur. Did you sleep well?”

“Oh, aye,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I can sleep anywhere, I can. And you?”

You chuckled. “I was out like a snuffed candle.”

“I’m not surprised. That was some champion sparrin’ you did with Thorin yesterday.”

“It was my honor,” you replied quickly. “A chance to spar with Thorin Oakenshield doesn’t come along every day.”

“After what we all saw, lass, I’ve a feelin’ you’ll be gettin’ invited to do that many a time along our journey.”

You thrilled inside. It wasn’t often you met a warrior who could match you, let alone have a chance at besting you, but Thorin was one of the few who could. Fighting him regularly would be exquisite training, and what a qualification to be able to tout when you got back home: sparring partner of Thorin Oakenshield. You would have to turn business away once word got out.

“Well, here,” Bofur continued, passing to you the bundle he held. “Now I know,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender, “that you’re well provisioned. But I can guarantee that you’ve never had anything like Bombur’s dried steak pie.”

You opened the bundle to reveal a golden, flaky crust.

“It’s a dwarrow specialty, and Bombur does it better than anyone. It’s a hearty breakfast in a small package is what it is.”

How thoughtful. Bofur was right, you were well-provisioned, but you knew friendliness when you saw it and you weren’t about to rebuff anyone’s kindness. You were going to be on the road with this group for a long time; the better you all got along, the greater your success would be, both individually and collectively. “Thank you, Bofur. I can’t wait to try it.”

His brown eyes danced as he leaned in a little toward you. “It’s my pleasure, lass, but a word of advice: you’d best eat it before Dwalin wakes. He’ll wrestle you for one of those beauties.”

You chuckled at the idea of you and the burly tattooed brawler wrestling over pie. “Thanks for the warning… and the pie.”

The kind dwarf with the funny hat smiled, nodded, puffed out his chest, and walked away, whistling that same happy tune you heard when you first awakened.
.
.
.
When Thorin called a halt to the day’s journey and declared the clearing at the edge of the woods to be a suitable place to camp for the night, Bilbo was both pleased to dismount Myrtle and excited for his next lesson with Alia. He well knew he would never be a warrior, but the chance to learn, the opportunity to become, at least in his own imagination, dashing and swashbuckling was… well, it went hand in hand with having an adventure, didn’t it? And if by chance he got to watch another sparring bout like what Alia and Thorin had treated them all to last night, that would be more than all right with him. He’d never seen such fighting up close before and, to his surprise, the poetic beauty of it was enthralling.

Bilbo had been watching Alia more carefully today, hoping to imitate her and carry himself a bit more like she did. What he’d seen was that she never let her guard down, but still somehow managed to be relaxed. He saw that her gaze was always scanning their surroundings, her ears always attuned to the sounds of their environment, yet she never seemed stressed by it. She must be so accustomed to guarding others by now that it was second nature to her.

“How did you come to this vocation, Alia?” he asked accidentally, fully intending to keep his internal monologue to himself as he set up his sleeping spot for the night.

“As a guard-for-hire, you mean?” Her voice was slightly muffled behind the blanket she was unfolding and preparing to lay out on the ground.

“Yes. I’ve never heard of a woman doing it, yet you have excelled.”

She smirked at him. “Perhaps more women should give it a try.”

The resultant uproar from the dwarves was instant. They were still adjusting to seeing a woman in the role Alia filled with such grace and the idea of her, as they viewed it, disregard for her own welfare was a hard pill to swallow. The idea of her profession spreading to more women was egregious. Dwarrow protected their dams; there should never be a reason for one to have to protect herself, let alone anyone else (though Mahal have mercy on anyone a dam thought was threatening her child).

Thorin put a stop to the protests from his Company. “It is a hard way to earn a living, a trade in which many men falter. I would very much like to hear your answer to Master Baggins’ question, Bodyguard, if you are of a mind to answer it.”

Bilbo, who was closely watching his bodyguard, who was also becoming his friend, barely saw a flicker of something pass over her face as she hummed an acquiescence. “The short version is the same for me as for anyone. When you’re lucky enough to find what you’re good at, you stick with it.”

“But how would a woman ever find out that she was good at fighting?” Kili mused.

“Again, the same way as for anyone else: by doing it. Now, Bill, we’re going to review what you learned last night before we start in on a slightly more complex series of movements.” Alia’s voice was light and friendly, but there was no doubt that the subject of how she became a bodyguard was now closed.

Bilbo thrilled. Not only was it time for his lessons, the novelty of his nickname still gave him an adventurous tingle every time he heard it. He pulled out his stick and followed Alia to a spot just slightly away from the others.
.
.
.
Bofur had been very pleased with how his day had gone. Alia had accepted his gift. Bofur knew well enough that gifts didn’t carry quite the same significance among humans that they did among his kind, food gifts from a male to a female in particular, but it pleased him greatly all the same. He basked in the glow of it for the entire ride.

But then he, too, had noticed the brief shadow that had passed over Alia’s face in response to Thorin’s well-intentioned pressure to answer Bilbo’s question. A part of his heart twisted when she hinted that she’d learned she was good at fighting by having to do so, then shut down that line of questioning. He suspected that there was something in that discussion that she’d rather not talk about, and when people didn’t want to talk about honing a skill they had, it was usually for one of two reasons: either they were shy, which Alia wasn’t, or something about that memory was painful.

He hated the idea of Alia being in pain.

Like any dwarrow, he wasn’t crazy about the idea of her being a guard-for-hire, either, but he couldn’t deny that she was beauty personified when she fought. She definitely had a talent for it, and he’d no sooner ask her to change something that was so intricately hers than he would expect someone to ask him to give up whittling. Or storytelling. Or singing. Or his hat.

As he helped Bombur with dinner, he wracked his brains. What could he do to show her that he wanted to help? That he would comfort her in her pain if he could? In the end, all he could do was make a small gesture of assistance, since he didn’t actually know anything about her past. So he kept an eye on what she was teaching Bilbo. Bofur chuckled to himself. Bill, he thought. I must remember to call him Bill, he enjoys it so.

Once Bombur had things well in hand, Bofur wiped his hands off on a rag, grabbed his sword, and made his way over to where Alia and Bill were stepping through a simple defense-offense-defense footwork pattern, with Bill raising, swinging, and lowering his stick in turns. Fili and Kili were watching, and Fili had taken off most of his outerwear and tied his hair back.

Ah, so he was going to spar with the formidable bodyguard next, was he? Now that was something Bofur would like to see, too. Fili’s style was similar to Thorin’s but with more subtlety and less overt command of the situation.

Bofur waited until Alia and Bill came to the end of the progression before speaking. “It looks like things are coming along very nicely here, indeed!”

Bill beamed at him through the sweat covering his face.

Bofur directed his next words to Alia. “I’d be happy to step in here and walk Master Baggins through it a couple more times while you prepare for your match with the eager Prince over there, if you’d like.”

“Oh, that’s not – “ Alia cut herself off, looking at him, then at Bill, then at Fili, and back to him. “Actually, if you’re sure you don’t mind..?”

Bofur’s heart swelled with the opportunity to be of assistance to her. “Not at all,” he emphasized, practically shooing her away. “This way, everyone can be finished with their training before dinner and we can all sit and eat heartily afterward.”

She smiled at him. “That sounds like a great plan, Bofur. Thanks very much.” And she squeezed his shoulder lightly as she walked past him to gather the gear she would use to spar Fili.

Anytime, lass. Literally, anytime. His heart fluttered and his shoulder tingled where she’d touched it, but all he did was turn to Bilbo with a big grin. “All right then, Bill? Let’s go through it again.”
.
.
.

Chapter Text

Thorin noted, with a peculiar satisfaction, how, day by day, Alia and Bill were finding their places among his Company. A few days prior, he added Alia to the watch rotation, an additional duty she accepted with no hesitation. She also sparred with his dwarrow, helping them ever improve their technique, and pulled her own weight around camp, as well. She wasn’t one of the legendary Rangers, though when it came to the skills needed to be one, Thorin couldn’t see where Alia fell short.

Then again, he had to admit, he might not be entirely unbiased. Like most dwarrow, he had been raised with a soft spot for females of all races (even elves) and was inclined to courtesy and gentility in his interactions with them. Despite her prowess as a warrior, Alia was no exception to this treatment, and Thorin found himself looking more and more forward to earning one of her smiles. Not that it was difficult to do so. She had a robust sense of humor and a kind heart; she smiled at most of his people all day long. Still, he always felt quite pleased with himself when she bestowed one on him separately.

His eyes sought her out now. As expected, she was riding alongside the hobbit, with Kili, Fili, and Bofur around her and her charge, Gandalf quietly keeping an eye on the goings-on from the periphery. The five were chatting animatedly, with smiles and laughter abounding, and for just a moment, Thorin wished he weren’t leading this quest and could go back and join them and forget what was at stake and laugh like they did.

He shook his head to clear it, scowling all the while. He was in equal measures jealous of their lightheartedness and at the same time glad to see them indulging in it. He was slightly taken aback by how glad he was to see Alia having a good time, so, not really knowing how to react, Thorin scowled. It seemed to be the safest, most reliable thing to do.
.
.
.
You had a lot of respect for everyone in the group, but you had to admit to yourself that, if you had to spend interminable hours on horseback day after day, Gandalf, Bill, Bofur, and the princes were who you wanted to pass the time with. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d laughed so much, so consistently, over so many days.

For a quest with potentially, even probably, deadly consequences, this trip was a hoot.

Your first inkling of misgiving occurred when you saw the remnants of what might have been a farmhouse at the very spot where Thorin declared the group would make camp and sent the princes to mind the ponies. Abandoned, run down buildings were a dime a dozen; why did the lonely frame of this one set your teeth on edge?

It seemed Gandalf was having none of it, either. At least, that’s how it appeared from a distance. You began unpacking, watching the two from the corner of your eye. He and Thorin were definitely arguing about something and, much to your surprise, Thorin seemed to win the debate. You could practically feel the air abuzz with Gandalf’s frustration as he stalked away from the leader of your expedition.

“Everything all right?” Bill asked.

You weren’t telepathic, but your inner voice advised him to keep himself to himself when the Gray Wizard was in a mood.

“Gandalf, where are you going?” The edge of panic in Bill’s voice tended in the opposite direction of the calming touch your old friend would need… after some quality alone time.

“To seek the company of the only one around here who’s got any sense.”

Ooh, he is well and truly pissed.

Bill glanced at you, confused as Gandalf continued to march away from you both. “And who’s that?”

“Myself, Mr. Baggins!” He shouted before grumbling something to himself and storming out of sight.

Thorin made to carry on as though it were no big deal, which only heightened Bill’s distress. “Is he coming back?” The poor hobbit’s panic was now flirting with desperation.

You smiled reassuringly. “I’m sure he will. When he feels like it.” You shrugged in a deliberately careless fashion. “Wizards. What can you do?”

Bill huffed the small, thready puff of frustration that you’d already heard more times than you could account for. But he gave you a crooked smile and continued setting up his spot for the night.

You got the last of your bedroll supplies out of your saddlebag and placed them on the ground before making your way to the remains of the old building. As you got closer, you thought you smelled something. Was it smoke? You glanced over your shoulder. Bombur hadn’t started the dinner fire yet. You sniffed again, reaching out and touching a beam. A black powder coated your fingers.

Soot. You could still smell the soot, and strongly. Frowning, you crouched at the base of one of the timbers that framed the structure, examining it.

“What are you doing?” From the tone, it seemed Thorin was still feeling a bit bristly after his argument, too.

But you brushed it off, because the dwarf king’s ego was the last thing on your mind. “Thorin, I don’t think we should be here.”

“You, too?” he jeered. “I should have known. You and the wizard are old friends, of course you would take his side. I suppose you have good arguments for begging help of the elves?”

“You should ask for help from anyone you need help from,” you replied absentmindedly, examining the ground just outside the perimeter of the building. A fresh footprint caught your eye. Well, a partial print. You couldn’t tell who or what it belonged to, but whatever it was, it was far larger than you were. Notably, there were no human footprints leading away from the site. Either the occupants had left the building long before the fire began or else they had not survived it. Yet there were no remains in the ruins. And this building, this erstwhile farmhouse, you could tell for certain now, wasn’t old; unattended, it would have burned in the event of an accidental fire, but not to this degree of ruin.

This had not been accidental. Not the fire, and not the absence of the owners of the home.

Something foul was afoot in these woods.

You sighed as you stood, seeing Thorin now storming away from you in a huff but focusing your eyes on Bill. If whatever was out there was that much larger than you, it would make short work, no pun intended, of Bill. Grimly, you made your way back to his side.

It looked like you wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight.
.
.
.
Dinner was a mildly subdued affair. Thorin’s mood combined with the absence of the princes’ usual banter and Gandalf’s dramatic exit had brought everyone’s spirits down a little. Still, the group was (mostly) together, and there was warmth, food, and rest at the end of a long day of journeying.

Bill, true to his nature, was anxious. After staring into the woods, he tutted and turned back toward camp. “He’s been a long time.”

“Who?” Bofur was dishing up ladles of the evening’s stew.

“Gandalf.” Bill’s isn't-it-obvious tone made you smother a snort.

“He’s a wizard!” Bofur’s casual reply echoed your own thoughts. “He does as he chooses. Here, do us a favor. Take this to the lads.”

You wondered if Bofur had given Bill something to do to take his mind off of his worry. It wouldn’t surprise you in the least if he had. Of all the dwarves, you’d been particularly impressed with Bofur’s thoughtfulness and consideration of others, especially of the one in the group who truly didn’t quite belong yet and whose well-being was your responsibility.

When Bofur glanced your way, you smiled at him. He grinned back and returned his attention to the stew pot. “Stop it,” he told his brother. “You’ve had plenty.”

You stood as Bill approached. “Here, I’ll take those,” you said, holding out your hands to take the steaming bowls.

“Oh, no, really, I don’t mind. I’ll just pop out to where – “

“Bilbo.” Your use of his real name stopped him in his tracks. You softened your tone. “I’d rather not have you venturing through the dark, if you don’t mind. You stay here,” you said, keeping your thoughts of surrounded by fighters in a well-lit area to yourself. “I’ll take the boys their dinner.”

“Yes, well…” Bill got flustered, as he still did when the topic of you being his protection arose. He handed over the bowls.

“Thank you,” you said. “I’ll be right back.” You glanced at your half-eaten bowl and leaned in toward him a little. “Don’t let anyone eat my food, all right?” you said conspiratorially.

Bill huffed again and looked askance at the Company, as though they were already guilty of trying to eat your food.

The place where Fili and Kili were caring for the ponies wasn’t that far away, but as you navigated the dark path and the darker shadows cast over it by the trees, you were glad that Bill had stayed put. You approached the brothers quietly from behind, and you could tell before you were within 20 feet that something was wrong. They were standing so still they could’ve been mistaken for statues.

You slowed your pace and set down the bowls, your hand hovering over your sword’s hilt. “Fellas? What’s…”

You trailed off as you saw it. Two of the ponies were missing. “Where did they go?” Then your eyes fell on the overturned, uprooted tree. Your hand that had been hovering now rested lightly on your weapon.

The three of you crept slowly forward. You sniffed the air, catching a foul stench drifting your way now and again. That wasn’t the smell of an orc; you knew their scent all too well. But it was reminiscent of that same acrid, bile-like musk that made you wince involuntarily.

“There’s a light.” Fili’s whisper was quiet, but still much louder than the signs and gestures you would have preferred. The three of you crept quickly in that direction.

The light was the reflection of a fire, bouncing off the side of a cliff face. A low, rumbling laugh reached your ears, and the rough gurgle in it left no doubt as to its source.

You, Fili, and Kili looked at one another. “Trolls,” muttered Kili through clenched teeth, giving voice to the obvious before he and Fili dashed forward.

Great.

Chapter Text

As rescue plans went, it wasn’t your best, but it would work.

It would very probably work.

If only the dwarves hadn’t… well, hadn’t been dwarves during the first plan, you wouldn’t need to enact this one. Once the three of you had spotted the trolls, you had agreed on a course of action. Fili was to go back to camp and alert the rest of the Company; they would pack up and move down the road and set up camp at a remove from the immediate danger. Kili was to free the horses and herd them to the new campsite. You, in the meantime, would distract the trolls, drawing them away from Fee, Kee, and the rest of the group, eventually leading them back to their cave where they would find themselves without food and in need of shelter from the coming dawn.

Only you hadn’t quite taken into account the full dwarven temperament. The announcement of a threesome of trolls taking their horses from them had sent the Company into a prideful outrage rather than a sensible retreat. And Kili lost control of the horses when the Company ran headlong at them in full charge toward the trolls’ campfire.

You had seen them running headlong into the situation and had swooped down from your perch in a tree, scooped Bill (who was running reluctantly but companionably along with them) up out of the group, and beat a retreat to a safe vantage point. A vantage point where you could now clearly see most of your companions stuffed into bags and the rest trussed up on a rotisserie.

Now it was up to you and Bill to set them free. The dwarves and the horses, which had been easily recaptured.

“And you’re certain this will work?” Bill’s worry made his voice thin and reedy.

“Yes,” you said firmly. Probably.

Bill fixed you with a look that, just for a moment, made you wonder if Hobbits could read minds. Then, trusting your judgment, he nodded briskly. “Right, then.” He rolled his shoulders, took a deep breath, and shook the hair out of his face. “Let’s do it.”

You grinned at him. For such a diminutive fellow, Bill had a whopping amount of courage and an unwavering moral compass.

“Do what?” boomed a familiar voice from behind you.

Bilbo jumped and let out a small yelp. Your grin grew wider. There was only one person you knew who could successfully sneak up on you. You turned to face your old friend. “Feeling better?”

Gandalf snorted and shook his head. “The stubbornness of dwarves…”

You raised an eyebrow and tossed your head in the direction of the hapless group. “Tell me about it.”

The wizard rolled his eyes and sighed.

“You can do something about this, can’t you?” Bill asked. “I mean, Alia’s plan is… it will work, but surely you can do something that doesn’t involve… well, decoy work?” The hobbit blinked anxiously. “Something a little less risky, perhaps?”

You almost laughed at the twinkle in Gandalf’s eye. “It’s a little late to revert to risk aversion now, Bilbo Baggins. Hobbits do excellent decoy work.”

Bill began to sputter and you laid a calming hand on his shoulder. “He’s giving you a hard time, Bill.”

Bill looked to you, to Gandalf, and back again. Then he pursed his lips and said, “Well, I don’t see where the manners of wizards are so superior to those of dwarves.”

You couldn’t hold in your chuckle.

“Manners, my dear gentlehobbit, have an entirely different place in the wild,” Gandalf replied grandly, his good humor back in full, as he swept away and disappeared from your sight sooner than should have been possible.
.
.
.
Bofur’s face was still red, only it wasn’t from the heat of the fire over which he’d rotated until he grew dizzy. No, this heat spread across his cheeks was entirely different. He’d had a chance to impress you with his fighting prowess, an opportunity to dazzle you with his courage and spirit, and what had happened?

You’d seen him plucked like a chicken and tied to a spit in nothing but his longjohns. Durin’s hairy balls.

At least you were no more or less kind to him than to anyone else after Gandalf had turned the trolls to stone. If you thought less of him after such a misadventure, you were too kind to let on. You’d brought him water and asked after his welfare, but he was so embarrassed in that moment that he couldn’t meet your beautiful eyes.

Now, however, being fully dressed and on his own two feet again, he was starting to feel a little better. After all, everyone makes a mistake from time to time, don’t they? And he did charge in as bold and courageous as Thorin or Dwalin or any of the rest of them, so you knew he was brave and willing to fight when it was called for. And it wasn’t as though he were the only one who had been disadvantaged by the giant beasts. Everyone had been tied up over the fire or, worse, stuffed in a sack like a big hairy potato to be saved for later.

Why, it could even be said that the trolls had put him over the fire first because they thought he was one of the biggest threats to them! The mighty Dwalin had been tied up right next to him, for cryin’ out loud! (Bofur promptly hushed the part of his mind that whisperingly pointed out that Ori, too, had been on the roasting fire while Thorin had been in a sack, utterly undermining his theory.) He had very little, if anything, to be ashamed of, really.

And now that they were looking for the trolls’ cave, Bofur had a plan. Trolls were notorious hoarders and were as fond of sparkly, glittery things as anyone. He would scour their hideout until he found something beautiful, something grand, something fine enough to accentuate your beauty. Then he would hold on to it and keep it safe until the time was right to give it to you, until he could find a moment with just the two of you, a moment (admittedly in the not very near future) when you were starting to see him as more than just another member of the Company, more than just another of your travelling companions.

A moment when he could confess how he really felt about you and there was a chance it would make you happy rather than uncomfortable.

In the meantime, though, the search for baubles was on!
.
.
.
Thorin was irritated. Ori had spirit sure enough, but if he didn’t learn to evade capture better, this journey may be over before it truly got underway. It wasn’t the young lad’s fault, of course; Ori’s heart was willing and Thorin had never met a more courageous young dwarrow. He’d also never met a more hopeless fighter. He would have to speak to Dwalin sooner rather than later about transitioning Ori’s skills away from the blasted slingshot and toward a sword, or axe, or even a bloody bludgeon.

Had Ori not been captured by the trolls, Thorin was certain they could have defeated the smelly beasts. As it turned out, however – well, better not to dwell on it unless he was making plans on how to avoid a future recurrence.

Alia’s skills had impressed him yet again. Granted, it would have served him far better had she been pledged to the quest and intent on saving them from their ignominious captivity. But Thorin had to respect her dedication to her commitment. One moment Bilbo had been running near him, and the next, his burglar was nowhere to be found, along with his bodyguard. It was an impressive display of stealth.

He looked over to where you were walking between Gandalf and Bilbo, chatting amiably. He wondered if it would be possible to sway you to join the quest for the quest’s sake rather than for the burglar’s.

Thorin wondered if you could be swayed to join the quest for his sake. He wondered if he could find a way to chat amiably with you, joke with you, see your smile directed at him, hear your laugh in response to something he had said or done to bring you joy.

His eyes widened briefly in surprise as he realized the direction his thoughts had travelled before the usual scowl resettled itself on his face. A distraction. You were becoming a distraction to him. He needed to get himself under control. He couldn’t afford a distraction, not now, not during the most important, most treacherous undertaking of his life.

Thorin turned a bend in the trail and there it was, staring him in the face.

“Ye found it.” Dwalin’s voice came from over his shoulder.

Thorin turned and grinned at his friend. “It must be. Nothing else would smell like this. Let’s see what they had.”
.
.
.