"And then..."

Bilba dropped her head, hands clutched around the cup of tea on the table before her.

Across from her, Priscilla gave her a sympathetic look and gently prodded. "And then?"

Bilba sighed, shame flooding her voice. "And then I slapped him."

From the other room came a loud snort of laughter that cut off immediately when Priscilla shot a glare so potent it undoubtedly cut straight through the wall.

"It isn't funny!" Bilba wailed. "I have an entire troupe of dwarves in my house! I hit one of them, really hard, right in front of his friends! At least I'm assuming they were his friends. He showed up at my house so he must have known them somehow."

Priscilla winced. "Maybe they didn't notice."

"They noticed." Bilba pushed the cup away and folded her arms on the table, dropping her head down in despair. "He'll probably have a mark." She shuddered. Yes, the idiot had deserved it but, still, she had never hit ANYONE in her LIFE, much less a total stranger on her doorstep!

"Want to know the worst part?" She mumbled.

Priscilla looked worried. "It gets worse?"

Bilba nodded, without lifting her head. She didn't bring up marching through the Shire, at night, with a sword. Priscilla already knew about that part.

"I invited Fram to dinner and he never showed up. He probably saw the commotion and ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction."

She finally lifted her head and saw a puzzled cross Priscilla's face. "Fram? Fram Harfoot?"

Bilba nodded. "What's that look for?"

Priscilla looked about to speak and then stopped at the look of abject misery on Bilba's face. "Nothing. I'm sure it'll all work out."

"You have an optimistic view of the world bordering on the delusional," Bilba muttered.

She sighed and pushed to her feet. Now that her adrenaline had faded the fatigue from the day returned with force, dragging at her body. It felt like she was being physically pressed down toward the floor.

"Why don't you spend the night here?" Priscilla offered. "I'm sure things will look better in the morning."

"Pretty sure it won't," Bilba said. "Especially if there are still dwarves in my house."

"Oh, I'm sure they're gone by now," Priscilla said, getting up as well. "They wouldn't impose so much as to spend the night!"

They had imposed enough to barge into her house and eat all her food. Bilba had no doubt they'd impose enough to stay the night. She could picture them stumbling around, half asleep the next morning.

A brief image of what Pretty Dark Haired Dwarf might look like in the morning flashed through her mind and her face warmed yet again. She quickly looked out the window to hide it.

Behind her, Priscilla chewed on her lip for a moment before saying, "if you want, Seth can go back with you, to make sure they're gone."

"No," Bilba said. "It's alright." She could just see Seth trying to forcibly get rid of the tattooed Dwarf, Dwalin, much less any of the rest of them. Even the Pretty Dwarves had been heavily armed and she didn't think they'd been carrying them for show.

Anyway, in spite of being rude and boorish, none of the strangers had acted in a way that made her feel nervous or afraid. Even the one she'd hit hadn't made any effort to come after her or threaten her.

Not to mention Gandalf was there and, regardless of what she thought of him, he had been a good friend to her mother. It came as something of a surprise but she realized she actually trusted him. He'd dragged her mother off on all manner of crazy adventures, but she'd always returned safe and sound.

An image of sitting in a chair, staring at her own blood stained, dirty feet flashed through her mind and Bibla flinched.

Gandalf hadn't been there when she'd lost everything, and Bilba couldn't help but think that, perhaps if he had been, things would have been far different.

No, the world was the only thing that had ever brought physical harm to her mother, or her family. Gandalf, and anyone he brought with him, posed no threat to anything but her reputation and, at the moment, she was far to tired to care about that as much as she probably should.

She collected her sword and bid Seth and Priscilla good-bye, thanking them again for allowing her to barge in on them so late. Priscilla hugged her at the door, reassuring her it really would be alright. Bilba managed a forced smile and then trudged outside.

Technically she should have at least allowed Seth to escort her to her door but, really, it was right up the hill. She doubted Orcs would leap out at her on her way. Besides, she'd imposed on them enough as it was.

Outside the night was pleasantly cool and a fat, full moon shone down from overhead. The light cast the landscape in a silver, almost otherworldly glow, and Bilba found her footsteps slowing. As a child she'd often spent her nights camping outside, running through the woods in chase of mystical creatures she was convinced lived in the glow of the moon.

Off on her own adventures like the ones her mother told her about. Belladonna had been labeled by the Shire for them but, in the end, it wasn't so bad a price to pay for so very much fun and excitment.

And then her mother convinced them all to go on an adventure of their own. Mother, Father, her little brother Bungo, and her. A grand, wild adventure off to see the Elves. Finally she'd be able to live all the tales, meet her mother's friends, enjoy all the sights, and see what lay beyond the borders of the Shire.

And so they'd set out.

And only Bilba had come back.

And she couldn't even remember why, her mind too traumatized to recall anything past the time they'd set out to the time she'd shown up on the Thain's doorstep, clothing soaked in blood, eyes vacant.

She hadn't spoken for two years.

During that time she'd traded in her trousers for a skirt; cut her messy hair short enough to fake it was behaving, hid her sword except for once a year on her mother's birthday when she practiced to honor her, and became proper. She was not odd, not unnatural, and most certainly not a Disturber of the Peace.

She was respectable, like Fram and his family, who had never once set foot outside the Shire and had never gone back to their home to find the once noisy halls silent, the rooms quietly waiting for the return of those who would never come.

Grief tightened her throat but she steadfastly pushed it aside. It had been a long time since she'd allowed herself to dwell on the past. Going to Bree had been a mistake, as short and safe a trip as it was, even if done for the right reasons. It had been immature and had awoken long buried memories she'd like very much to leave in the past. She was happy the way she was and had no desire to change.

A sound drew her attention and she looked to the side. To her everlasting surprise, and horror, she watched as none other than Fram Harfoot ducked from behind a tree and stepped onto the path leading down toward his house.

Before she could react, Fram saw her and his eyes widened. He jumped and bowed in her direction. "Bilba! How nice to see you! I didn't expect you to be out so late!"

I didn't expect YOU to be out so late, Bilba thought, but she wasn't one to talk so kept quiet. No doubt, knowing Fram, he'd been out helping someone in need of aid. It was so like him and she felt her heart swell at his selflessness.

She took a breath and shook off her melancholy, trying to focus on the present. Not the past where the ghost of everyone she'd ever loved beckoned and certainly not the future where a pack of irritating dwarves waited. Just the present, with Fram.

He didn't comment on her being alone or on the sword she was dragging along with her. It was always one of the things she loved about him. In spite of how perfectly proper he was he never commented on the impropriety of others.

"I'm sorry," Bilba said. "About dinner. I didn't know all those Dwarves were going to show up."

"Ah, yes," Fram stuttered. He looked startled for a moment, then his expression smoothed over. "I heard you'd had guests. I suppose these things happen from time to time."

Bilba wondered when the last time was that a large group of completely strange dwarves had randomly shown up on someone's doorstep, but let it slide. It was enough Fram was still willing to acknowledge her after she'd basically stood him up.

"Perhaps we can do it another time," she said, tentatively.

"Of course!" Fram said, cheerily. "I would never miss a chance to try your excellent cooking!"

Bilba blinked. "Really?" Against all odds had fate truly seen fit to give her another chance?

"Well, of course!" He said. "I wouldn't want to miss out on your cooking just because of a few uninvited guests!"

A thrill of hope blossomed in Bilba; maybe all wasn't so lost after all. "Okay," she said, a shy smile on her lips. "I'd like that."

Fram nodded. "It's settled then. Another time!" He gave her another nod and then walked on past, whistling on his way.

Bilba watched him go, her adoration for him increasing to truly epic levels. That, right there, was why Fram was the most perfect Hobbit to ever exist. Only he would be willing to overlook everything and give her a second chance.

Had she been less exhausted she might have given into fits of excitement but, as it was, she merely felt hopeful and it was with a lighter step that she turned back toward home.

It was only as she reached her door that her steps began to falter once more. She had no doubt they were all still there, she'd have heard if they all left, either literally or courtesy of nosey Hobbits running to tell her.

Maybe they'd all be asleep, it was pretty late.

PLEASE let them all be asleep.

She gripped the doorknob, the metal cool under her hand, and tried to open the door.

Her body balked, acid crawling up her throat and her stomach doing an impressive dance routine in her stomach. The thought of facing them, after what she'd done, was MORTIFYING.

Couldn't she just drop dead right now and avoid the whole mess?

"You know," a voice drawled, sounding amused, "if that door is bothering you I'd be happy to run it through."

Bilba jumped about a foot and slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from shrieking. Didn't ANYONE sleep at night anymore?

She jerked around and found herself face to face with Pretty Blond Dwarf. He held a pipe loosely in one hand, and appeared to have come from the direction of her roof.

This meant he'd probably seen her walk home and her interaction with Fram.

Honestly, death from humiliation was an acute possibility. Maybe she should be the one to burst into flames, if only to avoid bringing more shame on her family name.

"Are you alright?" He continued. "We were worried about you but Gandalf said to leave you alone."

He glanced back toward the roof and Bilba suddenly had a bizarre thought, had he actually been waiting for to come back?

"You were worried?" She said in surprise. "After I...um....after--"

"I didn't catch what he said," came the dry reply, "but, knowing him as I do, I imagine he probably had it coming. He's a good sort, really. He just has a bad habit of--"

"Opening his mouth?" Bilba cut in, and then immediately clapped her hand back over his own. Speak for yourself, Bilba.

He grinned. His eyes tracked to her sword and he held a hand out. "May I?"

She nodded and handed it over. "Sure, but I can save you the trouble and tell you it's not very good. My mother bought it off a group of humans and I think they got it off an Orc or something."

A very small Orc, with short stubby arms. That or an Orc so bad with weapons they'd given him a short one in the desperate hope he wouldn't accidentally stab his own kin with it. Did Orc even have kin?

Pretty Blond Dwarf, and she really wished she could remember his name, lifted the sword and examined it. The night cast parts of his face in shadow while bringing out other areas in sharp relief and Bilba found her fingers itching for her sketchpad and pencils for the first time in a long time. She'd stopped drawing after her family, her inspiration and joy in it gone.

Now, however, to her surprise she could feel the fire reigniting. She could picture herself sketching the strong lines of his face, the coarse strands of hair and the intricate braids, the inquisitive look as he examined the blade like it actually mattered and he wasn't just showing polite interest.

His eyes flicked to her and she realized she was staring. Quickly she jerked her head down but not before she caught the hint of a smile as he turned his attention back to the sword.

"It's serviceable," he said after a moment, handing it back. "It's not pretty but it'll get the job done. Are you any good with it?"

Bilba shrugged. "Probably better than any Hobbit but I don't know how well I'd do against someone with actual experience. My mother always insisted I know how to protect myself." Not that it had done any good in the end.

She shoved the thought aside, refusing to let it bring her down, and rolled her eyes at him. "Because we get so much danger in the Shire."

He laughed, his eyes moving to take in the landscape. "Yes, I can see. The hills are near to crawling with threats even now. We'd best be on our guard."

Now it was Bilba's turn to grin. Somewhere along the line the clenching in her stomach had eased and her intestines had stopped turning cartwheels.

Blond Pretty Dwarf gestured toward the door. "Well, shall we?"

He had been waiting for her, she was sure of it. She nearly hugged him.

Instead she nodded and stepped to the side. He reached out and opened the door and then nodded at her to precede him. Bilba took a deep breath, feeling less like she was entering an Orc's den now that she wasn't alone, and walked in.

He stepped in behind her and closed the door. Inside the house was dark and silent, though she could see the flickering from the main room suggesting a fire was going in the fireplace.

"Most of them are sleeping in there," He said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The rest Gandalf showed to guest rooms. Hopefully that's all right."

Bilba nodded, more shame flooding her. Uninvited or not they were her guests and she should have been there to play a proper hostess.

"I'm sorry," she said, her own voice dropping to a whisper as well. "You must think me horribly rude."

He chuckled. "Not at all. Gandalf confessed he'd decided to play a prank on you by not informing you we were coming. You can imagine how embarrassed we all were to realize we'd barged into your home without invitation."

"It's alright," Bilba said immediately. It wasn't but, then, she couldn't fault him now could she? It was all Gandalf's fault, as usual.

He gave a nod. "I do wonder, though, how it was you happened to have so much food laid out if you didn't know we'd be arriving."

Bilba stammered for a moment. There was NO way she was telling them about her foiled date!

"I like to cook," she said lamely, "I usually make large meals and then invite people over during the week."

Which didn't explain why she'd had it all set out at the same time on the table.

He either didn't catch on, or was kind enough to let it go. "I understand." He straightened, and then indicated the kitchen. "If you'd like, I'd be happy to explain why we're here."

"Oh, that would be wonderful," Bilba said, her voice rising for a second before she clamped it back down again.

She led the way to the kitchen, tensing at the expectation of what she'd find. To her shock, however, she found the kitchen, and dining room next to it, in flawless condition. Every dish, cup and spoon had been thoroughly washed and put back in its proper place.

Again, shame hit her. Even her mother, with all her eccentricities, would have been a more gracious and polite host.

"Would you like some tea?" She offered, desperately trying to recoup at least some of her manners.

He agreed and she hurried to make it, soon setting two saucers and two cups of steaming liquid on the table. She added whatever she could think of that he might like to add to the drink and then set one of the smaller candles in the center to add more light.

As he sat down she had another strong urge to draw him and felt a surge of happiness at the thought. She'd sincerely missed her drawing, she was glad it was coming back.

She sat down across from him and waited for him to get a drink and relax a moment before he started.

"Alright," he finally said. "So, here it is.

And, with that, he launched into an epic tale of dragons and lost kingdoms, royalty in exile, and a desperate journey to reclaim a lost homeland. So engrossing was the tale she hardly noticed when Dark Haired Pretty Dwarf arrived, though she did get up almost automatically to get him a cup of tea as well.

It was, after all, the proper thing to do.

Finally, a long time later, he leaned back in his seat and said, "and that's it."

Bilba studied the map he'd placed on the table, one hand idly tracing over it. "So," she said slowly, "what you're saying then is I slapped a King."

Fili, as she'd re-learned was his name, had been in the process of taking a drink and almost spit it out as he choked. "That entire tale and THAT'S what you get out of it?" Beside him Kili had dropped his head on the table and was laughing silently, his shoulders shaking.

Bilba chewed on her lip. "Well, wouldn't you?" Her voice dropped and she leaned forward in her seat, "is he going to have me executed? I probably left a mark! He'll have to explain it!"

Kili snorted and looked at her. "I think he'd rather chew his own arm off first. Not to mention you didn't hit him that hard. It'd be twice as embarrassing if you'd left a mark."

"Anyway," Fili said. "It's his own fault for letting his guard down like that. Imgaine if you'd been an Orc or Goblin."

Bilba barely heard him. Even if he didn't have her executed what if did something worse and lodged a complaint to the Thain? Her shoulders sagged. Assaulting royalty, forget odd or unnatural, she'd be sent straight to Disturber of the Peace and universally shunned by all gentle folk of the Shire.

She looked back toward Fili again. "Should I apologize? Maybe in front of everyone or something?"

"I think it would probably be better if you never mentioned it again." Fili said.

"Ever." Kili agreed.

"To anyone," Fili continued.

Bilba's eyes flicked back and forth between them as they spoke. Fili had already referred to Kili as his brother at one point during the story but, even if he hadn't, she'd have caught on just by the way they seemed so deeply in tune with one another.

The thought brought pain. Would she and her brother have been as close?

Fili's eyes narrowed. "Are you alright?"

"Of course," Bilba said, instantly, shaking off the memories and pulling herself back on topic. Yes, back on topic, where she'd physically assaulted a KING.

"Anyway, I fail to see what this has to do with me," she said. "I mean. I understand everything you said, but I still don't see what I have to do with it."