Bilba had fantasized about multiple scenarios concerning how the evening might go.

Not one of them involved a giant, tattooed Dwarf sitting at her table laying into the feast she'd spent all day preparing.

For FRAM. Not for, what's his name.

Speaking of that, what WAS his name again? Darlin? Draylin? Stupid-Jerk-Who-Was-Messing-Up-Her-Courtship?

No matter, WHATEVER his name was he most certainly should NOT be sitting at her table eating her food while she sat on a stool nearby and tried desperately to figure out how to get rid of him before Fram arrived.

She felt cold at the mere thought of it. What would Fram think if he showed up right that very second and saw a strange Dwarf in her house? What would her neighbors think? It was bad enough to be unchaperoned with another HOBBIT, let alone a random Dwarf.

For Fram she'd planned to leave the doors and windows open, maybe even suggest eating outside, for propriety. If things continued, not that she'd thought that far ahead of course, she'd ask Priscilla to chaperone them.

When Draw—whatever-his-name-was showed up she was so stunned she didn't react, not even when he'd stepped inside and closed the door behind him, not even when it occurred to her she'd never gotten around to opening the windows because she'd wanted to trap the delicious smells inside and now anyone might have seen him come and her reputation would BE ENTIRELY RUINED AND NEITHER FRAM NOR HER NEIGHBORS WOULD EVER SPEAK TO HER AGAIN!

With a squeak of horror she leapt to her feet, intent on fleeing from the home at once. She'd go and get the Rangers, or the Bounders. She'd insist this confounded DWARF broke in and she stumbled in and immediately fled in horror. She most definitely had not done anything idiotic, like allowing a strange male into her home and she most DEFINITELY had not stayed inside, ALONE, with him where, as Lobelia would no doubt cackle, anything could have happened.

She made it two feet before another knock sounded on the door, rooting her to the spot.

Bilba clasped her hands in front of her face, cold racing through her body.

Fram, it had to be Fram. She'd waited too long and now he was here and how in the world was she going to explain this?

The knocking sounded again and the stupid, idiot Dwarf whose sole purpose in life was to ruin EVERYTHING, raised an eyebrow at her.

"That'll be the door."

She hated him. She never hated anyone before so she wasn't entirely sure what it felt like but was pretty sure that was what she felt toward him at the minute. She wanted him to burst into flames and burn into a small pile of ash she could sweep under the rug where Fram wouldn't see him.

She had to bite her tongue, the pain clearing her head a split second before she unleashed some truly vile, uncivil, yet truly impressive in scope and breath, comments on him.

Curse her blasted manners!

She swallowed past the giant rock that seemed to have lodged in her throat, and stomped down the hall, so angry her feet actually made slight noises as they struck the ground.

When she reached the door she reached for the handle with a shaking hand, still with no idea of what she wanted to say, and flung it open, remembering only at the last second to try and smile.

"Fram! I'm so--"

Her voice trailed off.

It wasn't Fram at the door.

It was ANOTHER. BLOODY. DWARF.

He was older than the first one, and at least didn't look like a deranged serial killer (who, again, she'd oh, so intelligently ALLOWED INTO HER HOME). With his white hair and grandfatherly face she'd half expect to find him surrounded by a group of small children, reading them a story.

Not showing up at her door to ruin any possible chance she might have at some semblance of a love life.

He bowed and then straightened again. "Ah, Balin, at your service."

Years of ingrained manners had Bilba immediately curtseying, her hands sweeping her skirt out to either side in flawless execution, in spite of her simmering rage.

"Bilba Baggins, at yours."

He nodded and then proceeded to let himself in just like the last one had. Had she somehow missed her home becoming a public meeting spot?

At least he didn't laugh at her like the last one.

A footstep sounded at the doorway to the kitchen and Balin exclaimed, "Dwalin!"

Bilba watched as the two proceeded to smack their heads together, the crack of bone meeting bone causing her body to wince in involuntary sympathy. Maybe that explained the problem, they had brain damage.

Well, at least she knew the scary looking one's name now.

Dwalin was dragging Balin back toward the food and Bilba let out a low moan of dismay. By the time Fram showed up everything would be gone, all that hard work, and it would all be eaten by a pair of brain damaged Dwarves.

She took a step or two toward the kitchen, hoping possibly she might be able to save some of the food, when two sharp raps sounded on the door behind her.

That better be Fram.

Maybe if she told him they were her relatives, eight times removed, on her mother's sister's third cousin's grandmother's side?

Right, because Fram would absolutely want to court a Hobbit with Dwarf blood, no matter how little. It would be odd and the last thing anyone could label Fram or his family as was odd.

Defeat pushed her shoulders down. She honestly didn't know what to say.

Her head down, she reached out and jerked the door open fast, like yanking a bandage off a wound.

Two more Dwarves stared cheerily at her from the doorway.

The first fleeting thought Bilba had was she never realized Dwarves could be so attractive.

The second, almost hysterical, thought was just how many Dwarves planned on showing up at her door?

The two men bowed and in a near simultaneous voice that spoke of years of shared history, announced,

"Fili!"

"And Kili!"

"At your service!"

They both held a ridiculous amount of weaponry in their arms that they had apparently removed before knocking. As they stepped forward, since no one apparently had to ask before entering her home anymore, Kili, or at least that's who she thought it was, made a half move like he was going to hand the weapons to her only to abort it when Fili shoved an elbow into his ribs.

Instead he flashed her what he probably thought was a winning smile and proceeded to dump them on her floor next to the door, causing her to flinch in sympathy for the floorboards.

After that he stepped past and began wiping his boots on her mother's glory box. On any other day she might have objected but, by that point, her mind had malfunctioned to the point it'd left her in an odd stupor so she merely watched as they vanished down the hall toward the others.

This was a dream. Of course it was. It had been a very long day after all. Clearly she'd simply fallen asleep while working. Any minute now Fram would knock on the door and wake her up. She'd open her eyes to the sight of a clean and decidely Dwarf free kitchen, a feast, and her future love waiting on the doorstep.

Yes, that's what it was, just a dream.

She closed the door and began to walk back toward the kitchen and dining room in an almost daze. It didn't even surprise her when there was a knock before she reached it.

After all, it was just a dream.

She spun around, went back, and threw open the door, fully prepared to face down a dragon, ogre, troll, or whatever else her subconscious mind had decided to hit her with.

It can hardly be held against her that, of all the things she did expect, a pile of Dwarves and a Wizard was not among them. Though, to be fair, she probably should have.

Fortunately she'd always been a nimble enough person and managed, just barely, to jump out of the way of the falling wall of Dwarves.

Unfortunately, in spite of her nimbleness, she'd never been one for grace which meant she still managed to lose her footing and hit the ground hard, pain barking up her elbows where they struck the floor.

Pain, as in the one thing you don't generally feel in a dream.

Meaning, as horrifying as the thought was, she was not dreaming.

Noise broke out as the group on the floor struggled to untangle themselves. As they did Gandalf stepped around them all and knelt to help her up.

Had she really managed to be so deluded that she'd convinced herself Gandalf had changed his mind that morning and decided to leave her alone? She should have known better. In fact, scratch that; Bilba should have jumped back on the cart and fled Hobbiton altogether. Long enough for, if she were very lucky, him to think she was dead.

"Gandalf," she hissed, as he helped her up. "What is this? Why are all these Dwarves in my house?"

"Well I invited them of course," he said, rising to his full height. "You don't very well expect they all just showed up on their own do you?"

And with that he turned and swept off down the hallway, the group trailing after them. Most of them stopped and nodded to her, introducing themselves as they went, but there was little chance of her ever remembering even half their names.

Well, except for Fi -- Fali and Bali? Feely and Keely? Fine, she wouldn't even remember their names.

Loud shouting and general bedlam could now be heard from her kitchen and dining room. Bilba sighed and walked over to a chair near the door, sinking down into it. She stretched her legs out in front of her and banged her head on the wall behind her.

Perhaps she'd been too hard on her mother. Perhaps Belladonna too, had merely been a victim of circumstance, of Gandalf showing up on her doorstep and giving her no choice but to participate.

It was enough to cause Bilba to feel sorry for her, though not nearly as sorry as she felt for herself.

A crash from the kitchen had her back on her feet, body tense. That BETTER not have been her mother's china.

She stomped down the hall, intent on possibly getting her sword out and running the lot of them out at swordpoint. Granted, the weapon wasn't exactly high quality, and it was only a sword to HER. Humans, and possibly Dwarves, would probably call it a glorified dagger but, regardless, it was sharp, and would get the point across, literally.

The thought was warming up to her as she rounded the corner and was nearly brained by one of her best dishes flying past her face.

In horror she followed its path, and watched as what's-his-name, the Dark Haired Pretty Dwarf, caught it and sent it flying into her kitchen. A moment later a second dish flew past and she turned to see Blond Pretty Dwarf sending more dishes flying down, catching them from someone in her dining room.

She was going to kill them. She was actually going to kill them and bury them in her yard. Then her garden would do exceedingly well for the summer and everyone would wonder just how she'd done it and she'd simply smile and say it was an old family secret and no one would ever be the wiser.

Another plate flew toward her and her hand shot out and caught it without thinking. Blond Pretty Dwarf looked impressed but, before she could say anything to him, she heard the sound of her cutlery being banged about in what better not be idiots playing sword fighting.

She ran toward the offending sound, slapping the plate against Dark Haired Pretty Dwarf's chest as she did, ignoring how broad and firm said chest was, in the process.

Bilba spun around the corner and skidded to a stop at the sight of the Dwarves pounding her knives and forks together, and on the table. Another dish flashed past her head and she realized the two blockheads in the hallway had started up again, apparently in time to the pounding of her best cutlery.

"Stop that!" she commanded, "you'll blunt them!"

"Oh," a random Dwarf said, sounding very concerned. "Hear that, lads? We'll blunt the knives."

Apparently this was some kind of trigger phrase as it promptly sent the lot of them into a suspiciously choreographed song and dance routine whose sole purpose seemed to be in causing her to become so angry she did something drastic.

Unluckily for them, she was long, LONG past that point.

In fact, she was getting her sword.

Spinning on one heel she went past a Dwarf in the process of throwing her best salad bowl through the air and stomped down the hall.

She made it to her room, dropped to her knees at the foot of her bed and threw open the hope chest. It took a few seconds to unearth but she finally hauled out the sword hidden at the bottom.

Really long dagger, whatever, it was sharp and pointy.

It was also old, in awful condition, and terrible quality but it'd been the best her mother could do and, for the moment at least, she was glad to have it.

The hilt felt comfortable in her hand, cool wrapped leather and metal, and the weight barely tugged at her arm as she turned to go back. She held it loose at her side, ready to go as soon as she got back –

A knock sounded on the door just as she began to walk past it and she whirled to face it. It'd be just her luck that NOW Fram would show up, just in time to see her with a sword in her hand.

Well, her mind supplied almost hysterically, why not? It wasn't as if a platoon of Dwarves tromping into her home had gone unnoticed. Her reputation was already shot, might as well make sure it was well and truly dead.

Bilba grabbed the door and yanked it open, her mouth open to say something witty and brilliant to let Fram know he was missing out by judging her.

The words died in her throat.

Dark Haired Pretty Dwarf and Blond Pretty Dwarf had nothing on the Dwarf currently standing in her doorway.

He towered over her, tall even for a Dwarf, with a strong jaw and piercing sapphire blue eyes. He was broad and rugged, with a short trim beard and hair that, while longer and wavier than Priscilla could hope for on her best day, did nothing to dissuade the air of masculinity he practically exuded from every pore.

In short he was breathtaking. The single most beautiful, and attractive, person she'd ever met, to the point that every word she knew, in all five languages, utterly escaped her mind.

And then he had to go open his mouth and utterly ruin it.

His eyes had lit on her sword the moment she'd opened the door, amusement dancing in them, and now he gave her a lazy grin.

"Don't you think you should give that to an adult before you hurt yourself?"

Something inside her snapped, which was a surprise as she didn't think there was anything left TO snap, and she reacted before she thought about it.

She slapped him.

The crack of her hand echoed through the entryway. She heard a strangled sound behind her and realized, belatedly, the rest of the Dwarves had come into the room to greet the newcomer.

He, in turn, was staring at her, his eyes wide.

Bilba jerked her hand down, palm stinging, and felt heat flood her face. Stepping forward she ducked under his elbow, which was thrust out to one side as his hand grasped his own sword hilt, and out the door. He made no attempt to touch her, though she couldn't tell if it was due to worry over the sword she still carried or continued shock over her smacking him upside the head as he so richly deserved.

Regardless, no one attempted to stop her as she marched down the road, tip of her sword digging in the dirt and face burning.

She took it back. He wasn't beautiful, the Pretty Dwarves were a thousand times better looking, even without the voice so deep a bass it'd nearly vibrated her bones as he'd spoke.

He was an ass, just like the rest of them and she sincerely hoped they all burst into flame and became moron sized piles of ash she could sweep out the front door.

Well...maybe not the Dark Haired Pretty One...or the Blond Haired Pretty one, they were the least obnoxious of the lot of them. And they were young too, that much was obvious, so there was still hope they could escape the lunacy of the rest of them.

She regretted hitting him with her left hand.

She should have used her right.

It was the one holding the hilt of the sword.