Everything was so quiet.

The Dwarves were staring at her; she could feel their eyes boring into her from various spots on the ground.

Thorin wasn't. He was attempting to clean the gore off the blade of his sword, griping under his breath about the travesty of defiling a good, Dwarven blade with something so foul as Troll blood.

Bilba bit her lip as a near hysterical giggle burbled up her throat.

The feeling faded. Behind it came melancholy, dragging at her with harsh and greedy fingers.

She was tired.

Her body felt heavy, her muscles sore and aching. Her head throbbed in time with the wounds on her hands and leg and she was coated head to toe in grime and blood.

But she couldn't lie down yet, there was still one more thing to do.

Her shoulders sagged and she turned to make her way back down.

Upon reaching the shoulder of the creature she looked to see Fili below her, his arms raised. Bilba managed a slight smile for him. She sat carefully and pushed off without hesitation.

His hands caught her around the waist and he spun her in a circle, setting her gently on her feet facing the Troll she'd just leapt from.

He let her go and put his hands on her shoulders. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, fixing her eyes on his chest. "I'm fine."

He started to say something else but she pulled away from him. His hands fell from her shoulders and hung limply at his sides.

A shadow fell over her and Bilba looked up to see Thorin standing on the Troll's shoulder, sword held loosely at his side.

He looked about like what she felt, but still managed to pull off an air of royalty. Bilba shook her head lightly, trust Thorin Oakenshield to look majestic covered in Troll blood.

She turned away again, walking through the camp. Around her the Dwarves busied themselves, looking away each time they accidentally caught her eye. Dwalin went to help Thorin down, without seeming like he was helping, while Fili moved to check on Kili standing nearby.

Oin was making his way about checking on injuries, while Gloin and Balin were helping Bombur get his clothes put back on. The rest were in various states of getting their armor on or retrieving they weapons.

She caught a glimpse of Gandalf and looked away quickly; she didn't care what he was doing.

Her feet carried her out of the camp, back through the trees and up the hill to their own camp.

She stepped back in quietly, her eyes tracking over the hastily cast aside bedrolls, the half turned over pot of stew, the guttering embers of the nearly dead campfire.

The others were behind her at the Troll camp, alive, hale, probably laughing and making up outrageous stories already about their own part in the tale.

It could so easily have gone the other way and ended with her walking back to the camp, leaving only silence and death behind.

Her stomach WRENCHED. Acid clawed up her throat and suddenly she was stumbling a few feet to the side. Her knees hit the ground hard enough to send bright sparks of pain up her legs, and then she was heaving, her entire body seeming intent on emptying her body of everything she'd eaten in the past month. Tears leaked from her eyes and she felt blood rushing to her face, raising a sweat even as the rest of her broke out with a cold feeling.

When it was over she sagged to one side, gasping for breath. The rancid smell of vomit made her stomach roil again and she pushed up, staggering a few feet before collapsing again to her hands and knees.

Her mouth tasted sour and she spat, trying to clear it.

Finally she struggled back to her feet, her stomach aching and adding to the pain the rest of her body was in.

She made her way quietly into the camp again and began rummaging through the supplies. She knew there was a shovel; she'd seen it used for the fire and for digging latrines.

Her hand closed around the rough, wooden handle and she pulled it out. She took a few seconds to cover the mess she'd made and turned to face the forest again.

She was so tired. She didn't want to do this. Why did it have to be her?

Because you're the only one that's left.

She pushed her hair out of her face as best she could and started off.

The forest looked different in the gathering daylight. The trees lost their menace, the shadows lost their depth.

The cave lost none of its darkness.

She stood before it, one hand clutching the shovel, its point planted firmly in the dirt.

Her shoulders slumped further, a heavy weight pressing them down. She took a step toward the entrance of the cave and then stopped.

She didn't want to go in there, please, please she didn't want to go.

Tears burned again at the back of her eyes, slipping out unbidden to streak through the dirt on her face. She scrubbed them off angrily and cast about for a quiet spot.

She found one a short way away, a good distance from both the cave and the hole the Trolls had come and gone through. It lay near the rock face, just under an outcropping jutting out from overhead. Flowers and thick grass covered it and a few butterflies flitted merrily in and among the blades. The trees came right up to it on one side, creating a small cove or pocket almost.

Bilba headed over, her footsteps leaden. Once there she sank to her knees in the lush grass for a moment, eyes fixed on the ground. The sun had risen enough that the first rays of light were just beginning to peek over the stone, lighting the small area.

It was peaceful.

Gripping the handle of the shovel with both hands, she dragged herself to her feet again. Then she lifted the point of the shovel and drove it as hard as she could into the dirt.

It sank in about an inch and hit rock with a loud clank, the movement jarring her arms. She stared at it for a moment and then tried again and again got the same reaction.

The ground was too hard, she couldn't dig.

A thick lump formed in her throat.

Life wouldn't even give her this one thing.

ONE. SMALL. THING.

The ground blurred and suddenly she was sobbing uncontrollably.

She wrapped both arms around the handle of the shovel and sagged, falling to her knees, the shovel the only thing partly keeping her upright.

Her entire body shook with the force of her sobs, great, choking sounds wrenched from the depths of her gut.

A hand slid around one of hers on the handle of the shovel.

Bilba looked up and, through the blur of her vision, saw Thorin kneeling beside her.

Gently, he began to peel her hands off the handle.

"No," Bilba said desperately. "No, I have to – I have to--"

"It's fine," Thorin said, his voice quiet. "I'll handle it."

Another set of hands slid under her arms and legs and she was suddenly swung up against Fili's chest, his arms pulling her in tightly.

Without a word he began to walk away, back toward the trees.

"No." Bilba pushed herself up, trying to almost crawl over his shoulder. She saw Thorin holding the shovel, speaking to Dwalin. A few feet away Gloin and Bombur were walking out of the cave.

Gloin held a small bundle in his arms. Bilba caught a brief glimpse of what looked like white sticks, scraps of cloth –

A long strand of copper colored hair.

Her vision whited out and her entire body sagged in Fili's arms. He snapped something in Khuzdul. Bilba's mind wasn't working well enough to decipher it but a second later Kili appeared directly behind him, blocking her view. His face was set, expression grim and Bilba wondered if he would ever go back to the person he'd been before the Trolls. Before he realized he, and everyone he loved, could die.

She shook her head and continued to struggle. "Let me go, Fili. Let me go!"

He ignored her and continued to walk. She'd underestimated the speed of Dwarves as they were back in the forest and a good distance away before she knew it.

Only when they reached a small, isolated glade, well away from sight and sound of the others, did he finally set her down.

By that time Bilba had gotten herself slightly back under control and immediately tried to walk past him.

Fili stepped in front of her. Bilba looked at him in confusion. He held his hands behind him, his back tall, head up and expression as blank as his brother's.

He looked like a Crown Prince, every bit his uncle's heir.

"Fili," Bilba said slowly. "Get out of my way. I need to go back."

She tried to move again and again he moved to stop her. He didn't touch her, just stood in her path. She tried to dodge and this time it was Kili who stepped up, blocking her from going.

"Why are you doing this?" Bilba asked. "Get out of my way!"

Her voice rose in pitch, nearly hysterical. Didn't they get it? She NEEDED to go back. It was up to HER as the only one left, it was HER responsibility.

She tried once more and, for the third time, found Fili in her way, Kili standing at her back.

Something inside her snapped. Bilba shrieked, an awful, wretched sound, and flew at Fili, beating at his chest with closed fists.

He made no attempt to defend himself and for some reason that just made her angrier. She beat against his chest as hard as she could, throwing her entire body behind the blows.

Eventually she started crying again, her blows slowly weakening as she exhausted herself.

Finally she wrapped her hands in the fur adorning the shoulders of the coat he wore and simply sagged. He followed her down and carefully pulled her completely onto his lap, wrapping both arms around her.

Kili sat down also and pulled her legs across his lap, his arms laying lightly over her calves and ankles.

Bilba turned into Fili, burying her face against his chest and wailed as though her very soul were mortally wounded. She cried as though her heart were coming out through her tears, as though her mother's ghost had entered her body and once again howled in grief for her lost son and husband.

The pain was worse than anything she'd ever felt. She could swear her very soul had fractured and it was only the physical touch of Fili and Kili that kept her shattered frame together.

She cried until she was utterly spent and then lay silent and unmoving in Fili's arms. Neither Fili nor Kili spoke.

They stayed like that a very long time.

Finally footsteps crunching on forest debris heralded the arrival of Thorin. Bilba watched him come and thought perhaps she could see what Balin had described seeing at the Battle of Azanulbizar.

"There is one I could follow. There is one I could call King."

He stopped in front of her and held his hand out.

Bilba studied it and then reached out her own and clasped it.

He pulled her to her feet, released her hand and began to walk back again.

Bilba trailed silently behind. Fili and Kili walked behind and just to either side, silent sentinels.

They arrived back at the clearing and Bilba saw that the Dwarves were there, standing in a quiet line against the stone wall. Bofur had removed his hat and Ori had pushed down the hood he so often wore.

Several of them were looking at her, the rest were gazing off to the left. Bilba followed their gaze and felt herself still.

About a dozen or so feet from where she'd tried to dig two cairns had been constructed. Bilba wrapped her arms around her torso and walked over slowly. She lowered herself gently between the two mounds and lightly reached her hands out. She hesitated, both hands a mere inch or so above the stone and then gently lowered them to rest on the rocks.

Her lip trembled and she gave a choked laugh. "Hi Mom. Hi Dad." She took a shuddering breath and let it out slowly. "Sorry I made you wait."

Thorin was approaching again. He knelt on one knee before her and held his hand out, fingers clasped in a fist.

"We found these."

Bilba held her hands out. If Thorin noticed how badly they were shaking he didn't comment. He placed his hand in hers and opened his fingers.

Cool metal hit her palms and she looked to see two slim rings, one of gold in a twisted and elaborate pattern. The second was comprised of a long strip of silver, twisted into a circle with the ends hooked back around to close it off. Bilba absently pressed the band in, unhooking the end, and then began to thread it into the gold ring. It took her a bit to remember the pattern but soon she held one ring, comprised of an intricate, alternating pattern of gold and silver.

She gave a tremulous grin to Thorin. "My Mom was always a bit of a romantic."

He nodded, then got up and quietly walked away.

A thought occurred to her then and she carefully reached into her pocket, pulling out the small Orc toy Fili had found for her earlier. In all the chaos she'd quite forgotten it was there. She held it lightly, the rings next to it. She'd not really looked that closely at the toy before. Now she did, her hands lightly tracing over the clothing and face. A small smile tugged at her lips as she remembered how happy Bungo had been to get the doll.

Her smile faded.

Clutching all that was left of her family in her hands; she lifted them to her face and found, somewhat to her surprise, she still had tears left.

She wept for all of them.

For sweet Atherton, his infectious laugh and bright smile.

His father, a rugged, quiet man who'd done his best to do right by his wife and son.

His mother, a ray of light even on a cloudy day, welcoming to all who came to her door.

Her own father, a pillar of strength, the one she'd always believed could do anything, until the day she'd found out no one was that strong.

Her mother, full of life and light, never understanding that a path could lead to anything but great adventure and fun.

Bungo. Dear, sweet Bungo, alive barely long enough to taste life, let alone experience any of it.

And, for the first time, she wept for herself.

She wept for all she'd lost.

She wept for being left behind.

The low murmur of voices came to her and she lifted her head to see most of the clearing had emptied. The only ones left where Fili and Kili...and Thorin.

He had his back to her, speaking in a low voice to his nephews. Their attention was utterly focused on him, taking in his every word as though it was of utmost importance.

They always looked at him like that, she realized, all of them did in fact.

For the first time she could understand why.

She placed her hands once more on the rocks, mentally picking up the shreds of her resolve as she did. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave you for a while now."

She got up and gently placed the rings and doll in her pocket.

She took a moment to center herself, straightening her back and lifting her head.

Then she stepped out and walked toward Thorin. Fili saw her first and said something to Thorin. He turned to face her. He opened his mouth to say something, but she never gave him a chance.

In one smooth motion, she knelt in front of him, gritting her teeth as sore muscles and the gash in her leg protested.

She reached out and grabbed one of his hands in both of hers. It was filthy, grime and streaks of blood caking it, but she didn't hesitate. She pressed her lips to the back of his fingers and then again to the back of his hand. After that she simply pressed her forehead to the back of his hand, her own hands tightening around his.

Then she stood up, slightly shakily but proud of herself for being able to get up at all, and left the clearing.

It didn't matter if he had any idea what she was doing, it only mattered that she knew.

As far as she was concerned Thorin had returned her home to her. Bag End had always been a dwelling, a place she lived. Her HOME had been her family, her mother, her father, her brother.

Thorin had returned them to her.

And, by Illuvatar, she would do the same for him.

Even if it meant braving the very flames of Smaug.