Chapter 4: The Parting Glass

Chapter Theme:

Peter Hollins – The Parting Glass
watch?v=3hMdoGet2A8

Hi Everyone.

Here's the update. We are going to try and update more than once in a blue moon. Life's been rough this past year but we will try as things get a bit better.

P.S. in the text the 'he' or 'she' of Bilbo is dependent on who's perspective it is from. People who know Bilbo is female refer to her as she.

PS although the theme for this chapter is Peter Hollins' "the parting glass," I wrote the chapter to Gaelic Storm's discography on YouTube. It gives great background music for the read if you're interested.

Again, if you feel like sharing a coffee with us you can buy us a coffee at kofi's website. Just search for saintandnyrah

Not required but would be appreciated. Remember one cup of American coffee keeps Nyrah and I in tea for two weeks! 😊

***O***

The Prancing Pony was an inn in the village of Bree, the capital of the land of the same name. It was based inside the central hub of the town, nearby stables and various merchant stalls. The building was three storeys tall with many windows; its front faced the Road and it had two wings that ran back towards the elevated ground of the hill, such that in the rear the second floor was at ground level.

Between the wings was a courtyard that was accessible through an archway. Under the arch, a few steps to the left led to the main door. Above the arch was a lamp that illuminated the sign beneath, which showed a fat pony rearing on its hind legs.

***O***

There was a stranger watching her. Bilbo stood at the bar, sandwiched between men as well as the occasional hobbit, and she felt her spine inform her brain that her unknown audience required immediate attention. Since they'd arrived, Thorin had been one silence away from raving at her about her actions: she'd greeted the innkeeper and given her tab for the evening for the party, the dwarves had settled into rooms on her account and she was fetching the next round of drinks for their tables. None of these facts, her spine informed her, were as imperative as the pointed stare painting a target on her back.

Bilbo glanced around surreptitiously. Eventually she spotted the figure and when she did it was a wonder it had taken her so long. His focus was clearly apparent.

He wasn't eyeing the minstrels or the barkeep or the dozen other odds and ends gathered indoors, revelling the gloom of night into submission. Instead, in a packed tavern where standing-room-only applied to certain quarters, he sat in a corner booth, alone and uncontested. When the warm fire crackled and chased away the shadows and dribbles of rain threatening outside, he kept his hood up. Where song and laughter filled the space more than bodies, he was silent and watchful. And although she couldn't see his eyes, she could see his still, unwavering attention fixed on her.

The lively tune dancing between the bodies of the tavern seemed far away and she wondered if she was paranoid. Although his pipe was lit and his glass was full, it was the tail end of a long day for many. Maybe he was in lost in thought, or dozing in the taproom's warmth. Her surveillance had drifted from corner of her eye to a full-on stare and, for a moment, she was sure she'd seen his eyes in the flicker of firelight. He was absolutely staring. At her. A moment passed before, with the barest upward lilt of his mouth, he inclined his head.

Bilbo jerked her head around, her body following close behind to put her back to the unnerving observer. For the first time since she'd met them, Bilbo looked towards the company and the far more familiar glare she knew she'd find there. Sure enough, she caught an accusing steel-grey glower in her direction through the crowd. Thorin did not stare but rather tossed his gaze imperiously in her direction as if to ensure she was still aware of his displeasure. Then again, considering the two brats who'd literally carried her in an hour ago, it could equally be to ensure that she didn't disappear into the night.

The lively pulse of the evening's entertainment filtered back to her and, glancing back, the table was empty. The man was gone - nowhere in sight. She decided it was safe enough to put it out of her mind in the middle of a crowd of witnesses.

Stepping around the fiddler as he passed by, a trail of stamps and claps keeping his pace as the drums beat from the corner, she smiled again, raising her hand to gently rebuff an invitation to dance. The tavern's mood lifted as the sun disappeared, and although it wasn't the lively warmth of the Green Dragon, Bilbo found the welcoming spirit of the place soothing her unsettled nerves.

Taking the last few steps to the bar, she smiled at those there, shook her head at an invitation to sit and signed for another pitcher of the Pony's finest ale. As she laughed with Mr Butterbeer on his expounding of the drink that was his namesake, she took but passing note of the two men at the bar. One was lean as a scythe and the other was bold and grubby as a back alley. They shifted aside for her well enough but spoke close, and gleaming eyes watched the glittering coin she nonchalantly handed over for the evening's rooms and meals, as well as extra to cover the drink that might be called for after the party retired for the night.

The tray with its liquid gold was presented and she reached for it, eager to be seated again. Before she could lift it, hands grabbed at her own; small, soft and very like hers.

"Bilbo!"

She twisted and her mood lifted with the familiarity of Prim's hold. "Prim, thank heavens. I thought you had changed your mind. Did you bring the -?" Her voice dropped conspiratorially and she eyed the crowd around them, not wanting to be overheard. Not only by the dwarves, who might know the purpose of the stuff, but more importantly by anyone in Bree who would spread the rumour back to the Shire faster than fire on a dry thatch roof. Instead, she raised her eyebrows meaningfully.

"Of course I did Bilbo! You can always rely on me." Primula handed over the package quickly but she seemed reluctant to move more than a whisper away from her cousin. She bit anxiously at her lip. In the light of the hanging lanterns she mistook the glimmer in Prim's eyes for excitement as she pushed the package into Bilbo's hands. Bilbo found her own excitement in the heavy bundle Prim carried, wrapped in brown paper and twine and just large enough to find a place under the hobbit's arm.

"I can't tell you how much appreciate this Prim. I didn't know what I was going to do without this."

"It was nothing, but Bilbo… you don't have to do this! There must be someone we can talk to, something that can be done! This is dangerous, Bilbo!"

Prim grabbed her cousin's hand and pulled her in close. Prim's earnest eyes tried to convince her cousin. "Never mind these ruffians. We can go. Now, while they're in their cups, and no one would be the wiser."

Bilbo gave her cousin a soft grin and reached to pat her arm. "Prim, it's no use. Their leader's keeping an eye on me and he's a bit of an ass."

Prim's eyes widened and she swallowed a gasp, grabbing at Bilbo's arm and glancing around. "Are they here? Are they watching?"

Peering past Bilbo to the chamber itself, her eyes scanned feverishly until fixing on same the blonde and brunette pair who'd made off with her cousin that afternoon. The brunette was watching them, satisfaction clear in his gaze as the other, the blonde, spoke with the large, forbidding-looking fellow beside him. Prim drifted her eyes to the older dwarf and froze. The man looked like he belonged in a dark and gloomy castle on a dark and gloomy mountain, past a dark and gloomy forest… and you'd need to take a dark and gloomy pathway to get there.

He wasn't watching Prim; his focus was fixed on her cousin. Prim meeped.

Shoving at her cousin, urgency raised her tone and pitch to the point where, likely somewhere nearby, dogs responded in alarm. She bleated out "Oh Valar… mother Yavanna! Smile cousin, smile! They're looking this way."

The marked quiver in Prim's golden locks and her apparent constipation made Bilbo's brows pull down and glance back over her shoulder to take in the Durin menagerie. Seeing Kili's lascivious grin, she glanced at her cousin. Prim was lovely, but her nature and experience had never taught her caution in dealing with the rougher sex. She'd never learned to see trouble coming in the form of soft dandies of the Shire.

"Primula Brandybuck! Stop making eyes at him this instant!" Flirting with a dwarf was all well and good - Ori, or Bofur… or perhaps even Mr Bombur with his lovely girth - but not a one of the Durins, for all their sharp features and sturdy forms, seemed to have the decency and common sense Yavanna gave to a tomato.

"No Prim, don't you dare. I'll not let you say one word to those… those… scallywags! I've led you far enough into trouble for one day. No need to go riffling for more on your own."

Prim pulled up, her voice rising in indignation. "Trouble! I seem to remember trouble following you like a stray dog, Bilbonny Baggins, as it has since we were fauntlings! I'm not the one in it up to my neck being dragged off into the wilderness by a troop of dwarves!"
Realising the severity of the situation, her face crumpled and her voice dropped. Even her jaunty ringlets seemed to droop. This wasn't the time to argue, not now while her cousin needed her, while they both had to be strong. "Why, they look as wild as wolves and the grim one looked like he's ready to drag you off right now! I can't imagine when they could have snatched you up."

Bilbo snorted, glancing back again to find that more than one face was facing in their direction, and not only from the company. She leaned in, lowering her voice and hoping her cousin would pick up the hint and do the same. "Wild? No, they're behaving well enough. It was worse last night when they pillaged my pantry."

"P-p-pillaged your… oh Bilbo!" Prim wailed softly. "All of them?"

"Very much so. Nothing I could do to stop it either. At least they spared my mother's crockery."

Grasping at her cousin, visions of ravenous dwarvish invaders ripping at Bilbo's bodice, stealing her dearest cousin's virtue, and vile happenings over the kitchen table danced across Primula's imagination.

"Although only Thorin tried to give me a tongue lashing-"

Prim hand flew to cover her ears and she shivered dramatically. "No, no more Bilbo! It doesn't matter. I– what do you need? How can I help- in fact no… here, before it's too late!" Prim grabbed the end of the package and tore a corner, pulling out the first thin, dry black stick and snapping the end off.

Bilbo slapped at her hands but Prim still shoved it towards her mouth, pushing it at Bilbo's lips. "Take this now, before… before… Oh Bilbo, just chew! There might still be time. You can't have… have dwobbits!"

The slapping intensified as Bilbo's cheeks coloured cherry red in mortification under the interested eyes on them. "Are you insane? Get that away from me, I am not eating blackroot where everyone can see me! And I have no intention of any sort of… of doing that… that thing. Look, just give me the blackroot and go Prim. You obviously need to rest."

Prim didn't give in, pushing her cousin back towards the bar. "Forget who'll see. Can you imagine what your grandmother would do if she found out I had a chance to prevent your… incident… and didn't! She'd invite me for tea Bilbo! TEA!"

The earthy-sharp flavour touched her lips as she twisted her head away in time to see Thorin sitting up, spine straight, and Fili and Kili rising from the table and heading their way. Bilbo shoved harder at her arm. "Prim, enough! You must go! I said no, Prim!"

Kili's look had been far to intent and Bilbo had to get her cousin away before the thick crowd between them parted. "Prim, please just go home. Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"But-"

Bilbo pulled her cousin in, petting her hair soothingly and planting a light kiss on her brow. "I'll be fine. Just go now, please. And thank you Prim; I promise when I get back I'll invite you to tea and tell you all about my adventure."

Prim took one faltering step back, then another. "I understand Bilbo." Thirteen dwarves and a wizard… Bilbo was ever the practical one, but Prim had seen the imploring look in her cousin's eye. "I understand. You can count on me."

She took one last look before spinning and rushing to the door of the tavern. The stable master should still be there. She'd get help! She'd get back to Brandybuck and Hobbiton and rouse their kin. There was only one way out of town after all; they'd be able to catch up.

Bilbo watched her cousin go with a familiar urge to follow. As much as she'd meant what she said to Prim, a part of her was wondering if she shouldn't just go back. Go home now while she was still somewhere familiar. Abandon this crazy trip.
Lifting the flap of her satchel, she determinedly shoved the bundle of blackroot in. As she buckled it a voice spoke to her.

"Hello Mr Boggins. Where'd your friend go?"

Kili peered at the crowd while Fili threw his arm around the hobbit. "Pretty as a sunrise on a spring day, she was."

Bilbo gave the boys a long, unimpressed look. Then said, after a considered punch to Fili's inner arm which had him jump away, "well the sun has set and it's night time now, so you can turn right back around and help me with the pitcher." She headed back to the table, leaving the boys to struggle with their heavy cargo.

She didn't notice the two men from earlier give each other a nod and slip away from the bar without a word, heading to the small crowd of rough travellers that had claimed the corner table; neither did she notice the elaborate tricorn hair as a figure stepped out from the cover of taller bodies.
Nori thought about what he'd heard. They'd have troubles to contend with since the hobbit flashed coin as easy as he flashed his nape. Still… he paused, thinking over the conversation between the two hobbits, the burglar and his cousin.

'Bilbonny eh?'

Decision made, he headed for the stairs to the rooms above, bending first to nick the twig that had fallen from the cousin's hand. Oin had retired after their meal, and before he let on to their so called 'leader' what he'd heard, he'd best find out what, exactly, was blackroot. The rest… well he'd have to see how useful that might be first.

***O***

Around the table, the dwarves lingered, the remnants of the fine meal lying in carcass and dish before them, not yet cleared away. By far the largest pile sat before her seat and Bomber's. None of the others seemed to mind the gaze of their king, and song and smile brushed their beards.

Here and there were empty spots on the bench - those who'd already retired in preparation for the long day ahead. Now though, those who were so inclined lingered over their mugs and the last of the ale. Around them the revelry of the tavern seemed to settle down like a cat before the fire. Then a cheer rose and the fiddles stilled to make way for voice. Songs filled the warm air as cheers and heckling mixed with singer's notes and conversation shouted above the din.

Bilbo sat and was held in place by her thoughts. Regardless of what she'd told her cousin, now that she was full, warm and surrounded by faces that were familiar or familiar in custom, she looked back on the day. One single day. One day of spiny nags, moody kings and unfriendly dwarves.

Beside her, Fili ignored her silence in favour of tipping the last of the rich ale into her glass, unasked. He grinned at her before spinning back to Dwalin, arguing with the large dwarf about something or another. Still, the gesture made her reassess - not entirely unfriendly dwarves.

She watched.

In the Pony, where hobbit and man mixed and passed word and song and ale; where her father had sworn no one stayed alone longer than it took for their meal to come; where people swopped chairs and friends according to the current conversation, the dwarves sat alone. An island at odds with the swelling waves of day's end.

At the other end of the table Bofur let out a roaring laugh that quieted abruptly as those nearby looked to see the source of his joy. In a moment, perhaps two, the laughter petered out and the dwarves seemed to hunch inwards, fortifying their table and space. Humans and hobbits alike looked away and any overtures of camaraderie chilled in the night.

Even at the table, where they stood together as bastions against anyone who wasn't a dwarf, wasn't us, there was distance. The Ris, the Urs and the Durins all had clear lines of conversation that didn't seem to move and mix as well as they could. She watched, and saw that even a glance between the small family groups didn't cross where it wasn't necessary. On one side, Bombur tried for a drink from his empty glass and Bifur poured his own, mostly-full-till-then pint into his cousin's tankard. When he offered the same gesture to Dori, he was met by with an awkward head shake.

The dwarves still smiled amongst themselves but heavy glances passed between them, and over their shoulders. Soon enough they settled, seemingly comfortable again, but Bilbo watched at their tension rose and fell as the tide of the crowd ebbed and swelled, or the fiddler danced between the tables to the stamps and claps.

They were almost… conservative, displaying nothing of the cheerful naughtiness of the night before.

As the song faded, the fiddles fell still and the clapping and stamping slowed. A new song started, rising from the Tarvy brothers. Two voices flowed together, calming the crowd as many stopped to listen; the harmony drew more and more voices as those who knew the song joined in. The Parting Glass heralded the hour and many now shared in their final glass, their final hour.

"…of all the comrades that e'er I had…"

Gently standing, Bilbo picked up the empty pitcher, and no one stopped her as she made her way to the bar. The song lifted and all sang of memory and decisions made. The words seemed to fill her ears as never before, and suddenly she understood. She gave the pitcher over and while she waited she looked to the dwarves again.

Conservative. They weren't conservative - they were isolated. Someone almost brushed against their table and turned to say something. Even though she couldn't hear, she saw him pull back and step away. Frowning, Bilbo looked at the dwarves brush it off: used to being ignored, used to not even deserving an apology.

Everything in her thought of her home. Of comfortable chairs and warm meals. Of books and maps and afternoon tea. Of neighbours and the garden and long nights on the front bench with a pipe and the stars as company. Bilbo knew about being alone. She'd always found comfort in routine and regularity. It was strange to think that others might not find security in that, but tension. And now without knowing it, the dwarves walked the edge of her will. Her will to leave or her will to stay.

Fili's lips moved. He glanced at the singers, lips moving with the melody, uncertain of the words. Thorin reached to touch his arm but Fili shook his head, turning away from the music.

"…but since it falls unto my lot that I should rise and you should not…"

This was ridiculous. She'd been miserable the whole day. Uncomfortable as well. Been manhandled and had to argue just for the chance to buy the supplies she needed with her own coin! And this was just the beginning.

She'd read that contract start to finish: laceration, evisceration, incineration, funeral arrangements and not to forget the – what had Bofur said? ah yes - Furnace With Wings! The thought of it still made her light headed. Really, this silly mission was no place for a gentlehobbit of good repute. And didn't that just sound like Camillia Sackville-Baggins jumping out of Bilbo's throat and voicing her options like fact, thought Bilbo, shaking her head in self-disgust.

It was dangerous and uncomfortable and possibly fatal, but then weren't adventures supposed to be that way? She remembered her mother's stories. Adventures weren't supposed to be walking holidays. They were never supposed to be what you wanted or what you planned for. And Gandalf… making friends wasn't always meant to be, well… easy.

There are decisions, Bilbo reflected, that are made by the essence of who we are. Desire may pull and guilt may nudge, but some decisions were made long before we were born purely by the calibre of who we are.

"So fill to me the parting glass… and drink of health whate'er befall. But gently rise and softly call, 'goodnight and joy be to you all.'"

The final refrain held a tenuous note, softening as friends and strangers shared glass and glance. Bilbo looked from the familiar crowd to the strangeness of her dwarves, and made her decision.

The final line rang out and she joined the crowd for what might be the last time in a long time - if ever.

"Goodnight and joy ̴ be to… you all." Her throat worked and her warble was lost in the chorus of voices but all the same a sense of peace nestled deep inside her.

Decision made and at peace with herself, she curved to the bar. Eye to eye, a few inches from her face, was the creepy hooded man from the corner table.

***O***

Oin nodded to himself, the world blocked away by the walls of their small room and muted by his own ears. He'd been upset at first, once-upon-a-youth, to find his own body beginning to fail him so early in his life. Over time, with every clarity of sound that slipped away and every failed treatment he found a kind of solace in it.

He might need a bit of help from his ear trumpet, but not so much as others thought as they blathered away in front of him, seemingly ignored. More than that, he found that as his hearing dimmed his sight grew clearer; not the mundane thing of simple eyes but rather the reading of portents. Heating the stones and watching their glow, melted tin dripped into clear water, the hammering of a blade or trowel whispering in each strike. He saw more now than even during his gifted childhood years.

Full bellied, he'd left the table soon after the meal to read what came next in their journey. He sat on a small stool with his tools, taking his time and the last chance for solitude in who-knows-how-long. He measured out the filings into a small bowl that doubled as a crucible. Placing it in the fire, he let the metals melt and mix without his hand to guide them. When they were ready he reached out, muttered an entreaty to Mahal and then poured the lot into the pure, cold water he'd collected from a spring they'd passed earlier.

Salvation in darkness. Copper guiding iron. The rune for prosperity and fourteen. Golden temptation.

He sighed in relief. It wasn't that he mistrusted the wizard, just… rather, it was that he… well… he didn't quite trust the old codger. But now he sagged, tension he didn't know he'd been carrying fading as he cleaned his tools. Since Gandalf had said that their fourteenth had to be a hobbit – had to be this hobbit – he'd been nervous. But now he understood it was Mahal's way. He lifted the rough rune, grateful to their maker making the road clear.

"OIN! WHAT IS THIS?!"

Startled, he jerked and dropped the contents of his hand. Sometimes distraction robbed him of more of his hearing in a few short moments than even the deafness that grew ever greater with each passing year; soon he would indeed be as deaf as he pretended to be. He shook the stone dust from his thoughts and looked at the item that had been shoved in his face.

Holding the thing was the red-haired Ri. Oin had to stop himself for striking the inconsiderate bugger. This room was for Goin, Oin and Gandalf (not that anyone had seen the wizard since he made for the village). The Maiar had left a message at the tavern that they were to go on without him for now and not a word more.

Typical common stock, interrupting when their betters were clearly otherwise occupied. Not that Oin held with that kind thinking, but he did resent the thief coming in uninvited instead of waiting for his knock to be ignored by the healer. He snatched at the twig being waved in his face and looked at it. He sniffed it, then gave it a quick lick to confirm his deduction. Throwing the remnants into the fire, he faced Nori.

"Now don't you be takin' none of that! Don't believe the stories – blackroot won't put any hair on your chest." Oin turned back to his fire, muttering sotto voce "You'd think a Ri would have enough hair on their chest without chasing after folk remedies..."

To a race with at best irregular and temperamental birth cycles, blackroot was as good as a curse to this healer's ear trumpet and he didn't want it anywhere near their people. Waving the thief off with that brief injunction, he waited for the other to leave so he could find his bed. "Where ever you got it from just leave it there. It's useless to males in any case."

Nori's face was intense. "Why would the hobbit need a sackful then?"

Oin paused and looked at the other man with confusion. "He wouldn't… he- how much of a sackful?"

"About six, maybe six and half pounds from what I saw." Nori darted forward as Oin paled, reaching to support the older dwarf if he needed it. "What? What is it?"

"Contraceptive. Blackroot stops the moon flow. Only the females use it commonly." He eyed Nori, "The hobbit; this means that he's a she." His face paled. "We need to tell Thorin."

Nori nodded, a chill going through him. Thorin would never allow a female along. It didn't matter that she was from another race; some things were just ingrained and every male dwarf he'd met would slit their own throat before leading a female into a literal dragon's den. Nori turned to the door. "I'll get him. It's not too late to send Bilbo back. She was talking to her cousin earlier, so she must have kin hereabouts-"

There was a muffled crack and a sharp end of something poked at the bottom of his boot. Nori stumbled as he lifted his foot and noted the mangled copper shape on the floor, once a rune and now snapped in half. He took a brief moment to be affronted at the shoddy craftsmanship, then scooped it up and handed it to the healer before heading back to the door.

"He."

Nori halted at Oin's tone. Hollow, horrified but exceptionally firm. He faced the healer. "What-?"

"He. Not she. He was speaking to his cousin." Oin spoke softly, entranced by the broken rune in his hand. "The hobbit must be male."

Nori's eyes jumped to the fire, to the tools there. A reading then, his viper mind gleaned. He hesitated, but it was mostly for show. This was not a lie he would have trouble keeping; he liked the fussy little thing who saved Ori's book, and would be sad to see her- him go. The thief owed the hobbit a favour, and this could serve the Ris better than anything on this fool's errand away from the Blue Mountains. "Thorin's not going to like this."

"That doesn't matter." Oin declared decisively. He met the thief's eyes at last and the steel there made the message clear. Nori was abruptly reminded that this was the person brought on the journey to deal with the aftermath of the dangers they wold inevitably face. He imagined bleeding out and having the healer go to aid another because of a grudge. "It must be a hobbit. It must be this hobbit, and no other. Mahal has decreed it so. And if this particular hobbit must be male to make this journey, then Bilbo Baggins is a male. Do you understand me." It wasn't a question, but Nori nodded anyway.

Oin handed over the broken rune and Nori really looked at it, at the shattered sigil of prosperity, cast of woman's metal. He didn't have to be a seer to figure that one out. "Alright. We don't know a thing, you and me. I'll help you cover for it when I can."

Oin nodded absently, his mind already a hundred thoughts away, considering what this could change on their journey.

Nori moved to the window. He had one more stop to make. He'd seen the look on those scoundrels in the bar many a time. He had to warn Thorin that someone – or rather a group of someones – would be waiting for them when they left in the morning. Before he left he paused. He did owe the hobbit for Ori's book, after all. "Her- his legs. They seemed to be having some trouble after the pony. And a pack saddle can't be good for… things." Nori gestured vaguely in the region of his belt.

Oin when stock still, then dove for the door. He had to find his brother.

Gloin, coming up the stairs as Oin dashed out of their room, was surprised to see his usually staid brother in such disarray. He was more surprised when he was grabbed by the arm and dragged towards the back stairs.

"What is wrong with you?" He growled, flapping his brother loose and planting himself in the middle of the stairwell.

Oin didn't pause. "You've got your coin purse, haven't you? Of course you do. We need to buy the hobbit a saddle. At once. The stables should have some for hobbits, shouldn't it?"

Gloin became a statue, stuck to the floor and refusing to move. "Why the hell would I be spending me coin on the hobbit?"

Oin fussed and tugged, urging his recalcitrant brother to keep walking while there was still time. Through the nearby doors to the stableyard came the clatter and activity that signalled ostlers putting the horses to bed but one never knew when they would close up for the night. On matters of gold or his wife, though, Gloin was immobile. Oin sighed. He had no choice. He had to let Gloin know.

"I'm going to tell you something. And you are not to go tattling to cousin Thorin or Balin, you hear me? I've read the portents and now is not the time to tip the crucible." Gloin gave his brother a wry look until Oin reached over and grabbed his beard, shaking him. "I mean it you idjit. I will shave you bald and take back the family seat if you say one word. Swear to me."

The smirk faded and Gloin shifted uncomfortably. "What you're asking me to do… what's so important?"

"Swear it!"

"All right, I swear, I swear I'll not tell!" Gloin pulled back, freeing his braids from his brother's insistent yanking. "Now what?"

Dragging his hand across his face, Oin breathed deep, trying to find the words. "I found out something thanks to the thief."

"Nori Rison? Why are you spending any time with-"

He was waved into silence. "The hobbit. Bilbo Baggins is… not what we thought. But still vital to this mission, Gloin. Vital to getting our home back, vital to making a place for our family and restoring our people."

Gloin nodded, shifting closer as his brother's tone became more insistent. "Aye. The wizard said so, din't he? So he's important enough to need a new saddle because of this?" His own tone didn't hold the sarcasm he normally would have layered there, but there was a sprinkle of derision.

Oin reached his arm out and put it around his brother's shoulders. "Think of it like this. Treat the hobbit as you would have someone treat your wife. Would you wish your wife to ride a pack saddle? Would you wish it on her, knowing that someone could prevent it?"

He sputtered, pushing at his brother, offended by the question. That was not a question to be asked. No decent dwarf, let alone a husband would allow it. "Of course not! A female is a delicate creature and deserves to have her needs and comfort seen to accordingly. The least anyone would do was to give her a proper sad-dle…" He drifted off, his thoughts catching up his words. He blinked slowly at his brother, disbelief stamped on his craggy features. "No…"

Oin nodded. "Absolutely yes."

He swallowed hard. His honour, his principles and his upbringing fighting for place in between what his brother was implying, "But… what if…? We can't."

Oin placed his hand on his brother's shoulder, learning forward to touch their foreheads together, binding them to their secret. "It is Mahal's Will."

Gloin stared into eyes that were so like his own. "Thorin's going to kill us when he finds out." He shook himself loose from the horror and solaced himself that he was standing by his oath to his brother. At least Bilbo wasn't a dwarf; perhaps Mahal's will was looser for other races. "But he won't find out from us. Quickly, we need to get her a proper saddle."

"Him!"

They darted into the stable, startling the stable master, and got to business.

***O***

Bilbo had spun to find, kneeling and inches from her face, the man from earlier that evening. He was no longer across the room and most definitely no longer reclining in a shadowy corner with a crowd between them. He still wore the unnecessary hood, good only for hiding his face like a thief in the night. The long pipe was missing but up close (as he was now) she could make out his scraggly, unkempt cheeks and shady eyes.

Her heart jumped to her throat and she pulled back, unsure why he felt the need to approach as he had. He'd come up behind her without notice and ducked down low to put them both at the same level. She wondered if he was one of those forward sons of Men who favoured hobbits as bed partners for their size. Surely he hadn't taken her gaze earlier to be one of welcome? She was hardly the come-hither type, after all.

"Mistress Hobbit. I am called Strider-"

"That's a nice name for a strange vagabond. Please excuse me." Bilbo tried to shuffle away, not even bothering to be polite, without take her eyes off the man as she stepped back from him. He reached out, his arm blocking off her retreat as his hand hovered threateningly near.

"Vagabond I may be, but also more than this. Please, I am called Strider, of the Dúnedain rangers, charged with watching the borders of the Shire." The youthful face was earnest and his eyes gleamed with an intensity unusual for one so young. "You must know of me and mine, Mistress Hobbit."

"Oh. Yes." The words squeeked out like air from a wet bladder, slow and uneasy. "Those folk."

Bilbo knew of them. Of course, all hobbits did. Strange menfolk who lived in the wild and circled the borders of the Shire tirelessly, ever watching. Baggins mothers warned their fauntling of the shadowy figures who might snatch them away if they were naughty and who never, not ever came around at tea time even if they were near. Disreputable folk who could see you and would 'good morning' back if you were lucky but never stopped for conversation or introductions.

Except this one, apparently. This one, who had introduced himself quite readily and put her in the position of either being rude or of making the acquaintance of a dodgy rascal in the pub. Still, it was never good idea to get on the bad side of the big folk.

His words caught up to her. "Mistress?" Her voice rose before she purposefully lowered it. "You are mistaken. I'm Mr Underhill. Nice to meet you. Goodbye."

Again Bilbo tried to slip past but moved too slowly for the strange man. Well, rangers were known for speed and cunning. He shifted, blocking her escape again. Bilbo wondered for a moment what trick of fate had her catching the eye and company of every wretch who passed though the Shire's borders in the last month. And on that note, where were her wretches at this time when she needed them!

The man, Strider, leaned close enough that the warmth of his breath touched her cheek. "Somehow I doubt that Mr Underhill." The uncouth human had the nerve to smirk at her. Now that he was in the light, she could see he was handsome enough for a big person. He looked to be young for a Man but well past the edges of childhood. The way he carried himself spoke of far more experience than that, and definitely of more confidence than a youth could claim.

"'I have quick ears," he went on, lowering his voice, "and though I cannot disappear, I have hunted many wild and wary things and I can usually avoid being seen, if I wish." And wasn't that comforting, thought Bilbo sarcastically. "More than that is what I have seen so far, being this: a gentle hobbit woman, in men's clothes; carried off at least twice, and made to pay for the company of Dwarves who seem not too friendly. Are you kept in fear? Do you need aid?"

"More than I was expecting right now,"she muttered, trying this time to take small steps back from the man who admitted having been following and watching her all day. Hearing his story, though unnerving, made more sense. For all their wastrel, unsociable ways, the Rangers were known to do good in the defence of the Shire. They watched the boarders far, far away from Hobbiton. Which was exactly how the Bagginses, Sackvilles, Chubbs and Burrowes liked it.

No longer aiming to retreat but having no desire to linger, Bilbo shook her head. "Thank you for your concern but you are mistaken," she insisted. "They are my … friends." She bit her tongue when, slight though it was, at the pause, his brows still lifted at the pause. "My travels are not your concern when other, more important things can take your attention. But thank you."

Strider leaned in, "You need not fear me. Speak and I will help you."

Something was most definitely amiss to his eyes, that was clear. Bilbo leaned as far back as she could. For all she understood him, his insistence to help a stranger was still odd. "Oh, I think a little bit of fear is healthy now and then."

Stider tried again, more earnestly still. "If they are taking you, or holding your company against your will, then you need only speak. My kin are near and I would help you if I can."

His eyes lifted from hers and he quickly stepped back, standing fast. She would have startled if her galloping heart hadn't stopped dead as large, heavy hands circled fast around her waist and lifted her up as if she was a knee high fauntling.

She found herself lifted and swung, smoothly around by the waist to be put down again, facing away from the ranger and meeting Dwalin's stern gaze. Only now she stood with Thorin Oakenshield's strong hands lingering on her for a brief moment as he stood firm and definite between herself and Mr Strider.

Looking around herself, she saw the Company. Ori, Bofur and Bomber were standing, tense, at the table still. Fili and Kili were side by side, arms crossed over their chests. Bifur, then closer Dori, and finally Dwalin, ever watchful, ready to surge forward at a moment's notice. And standing now behind her, Thorin's eyes focused on the Man, unblinking, unyielding, sending a clear message of displeasure. Never in her life had she been so glad for the existence of a large and belligerent dwarf.

"Time for bed Mr Baggins." Dori moved forward to Bilbo's side and urged her to follow. There was something caught in the air as Thorin and Strider clashed silently. It didn't matter that Strider towered over him; dwarves were well known to be stronger and hardier than Men. That which was lacking in height was more than made up by Thorin's indomitable will and sheer presence, which billowed around him like a cloak.

Dori led her off, ignoring her protests. Only once Dori had passed, hobbit well in hand – and didn't she feel a certain sympathy for the strong-willed Nori with the ever-curious Ori at this – only then did Bifur turn to follow them. Those at the table moved to circle her and she took note that all of them carried some weapon loosened or at hand. That they had had such a close eye on her was comforting. It warmed her to know that they would come to her aid over something even so simple as this.

Thorin stepped back without a word. He knew that in a place of Men, friendly though they seemed, strangers would help each other and would turn on Dwavish outsiders. That was a hard-learned lesson, and a long-lived one. Still, looking up to see the Man accosting the burglar, his own hobbit, had him out of his seat regardless, with those who knew him and had fought with him following close behind. His message here was clear before he withdrew: the hobbit was traveling with his Company, and the Company would happily see to vagrants who thought the hobbit was prey to be accosted.

Dwalin did not move till Thorin passed him. As both elder dwarves passed them, Fili and Kili moved to follow. But not before Kili gave the ranger an ancient dwarven hand sign, one that needed absolutely no translation.

The taproom still seethed with music and conversation, though the moment had soured for those closest, making them subdued and encouraging many to seek their beds. There was a shift in the movement of the crowd, and then where once a hooded man had stood there was only empty space.

A shadow slipped out the door. This was nothing so small as simple bullying. Something greater was happening here, and Strider took off in search of the other female hobbit. He would find out what it was.

***O***

Primula dashed to the livery stables far from the Tavern and close to the western gate. Mr Hardich, who made his living traveling the Shire delivering goods, was a good friend of her father and the Baggins clan and when she'd asked he'd roused himself to help.

"Quickly, Mr Hardich! we must go quickly and bring back help."

"I understand miss, but what bout the gate? I get you is sayin' it's urgent, but tha' skinflint ain't gonna open wifout a sackful o' coin."

Primula froze, this being an obstacle that she hadn't considered, and she didn't know what to do. While she was trying to find a solution in the suddenly unhelpfully blank landscape of her mind, a shadow removed itself from the doorway. "Mistress Brandybuck."

"Creepy strange man!" Primula shrieked, her mouth betraying her manners. She stuttered, embarrassed by her reaction, before trying to pretend it hadn't happened by a simple, "Yes?"

The man was lean, dark and tall, with a shaggy head of dark hair, a pale stern face and a pair of keen grey eyes. He wore a well-travelled grey cloak that blended seamlessly (and somewhat nauseatingly) with the night. For all his size, towering over her and even above Mr Hardich, his movements were silent, quick and graceful.

"I am called Strider. I am a Ranger of your borders. You spoke earlier with a hobbit in the Prancing Pony?"

Prim deflated. "Thank Yavanna, a Ranger. Yes, my cousin. She's been kidnapped by dwarves and I need to get help before they carry her off! They… they've already done unspeakable things-" she choked, tears wetting her eyes, but she scrubbed at them, impatient and needing to save her cousin; she'd promised.

"She's a Baggins. The clan will come, you see, if I can only get to them to tell them."

Strider grimaced deepened as he considered the dwarves he'd seen. Seasoned warriors all, even the youngest, and clearly possessive by their intervention in the Pony. The hobbits would need more help, and fast.

He looked to Mr Hardich. "I will get the gate open. They'll not refuse me if they wish continued protection by the Rangers. You both must ride hard for the Baggins hold. I will send word to the Brandybucks and we will do what we can to catch them when they cross the river."

He looked at Primula, and asked without judgement "can you make the journey?" It was hours of a bumpy wagon ride, and she'd get there by sun down the next day at best.

Primula nodded, not taking offense at a sensible question, and accepted his help up into the wagon even as Mr Hardich took his place on the seat. He flicked the reigns and they were off, the Ranger sprinting ahead to wake the gate guard.

'Hold on Bilbo. Help will come, I swear it.'

***O***

Bullied up the stairs and shown into the Durins' room, Bilbo had only a moment to exhale as Dori wished her goodnight and took his leave. Wanting to copy them and make for her own bed, Bilbo was reaching for the door when it burst open and Stormcloud Oakenshield himself made his grand entrance.

"What in the name of Mahal's own Forge is wrong with you! Can you not go five minutes without drawing attention to your foolishness, Halfling?"

'Why stormcloud? Because he's large, dark, rumbles ominously and even when he's coming to save your life, he still manages to completely ruin your day,' Bilbo thought inanely as the dwarvish Monarch continued to stomp around the room and rant. She reigned in her wandering thoughts and snapped waspishly "not half of anything! And if anyone drew attention, dwarf, it was you and your inability to stop glaring vengeance and death at anything in a five-mile radius!"

Indignation made Thorin choke and the dwarf king invaded the hobbit's space. For his, part Bilbo didn't react accordingly: instead of breaking eye contact or apologising, he squared off and stepped forward rather than back.

"I wouldn't be glaring if you weren't making eyes at the tallest wastrel to be found and making a spectacle of yourself!"

"If I'd been making a spectacle of myself over a tall wastrel, I'd have been making eyes at you! Just because I was raised with the good manners not to shout at people to leave me alone, and then make everyone around me uncomfortable with my intrusive sulking doesn't mean it's my fault!" Bilbo replied tartly. If the rolling of her eyes could move a wagon, they'd be in Erebor within the hour.

"Fault!" Thorin hissed through clenched teeth. "This is all your fault! We would have been peacefully camped in the woods if it weren't for your delicate constitution."

"Oh, I'm sorry. If the availability of a bath, a full belly and a bed out of the rain makes you uncomfortable, then I offer my humblest apologies." The moment the words left her mouth, Bilbo wanted nothing more than to catch them back again. Thorin jerked back, his face going tight; like the dragon they were after, he inhaled in preparation to deliver a deadly roar.

"Ahem."

Normally, when someone clears their throat it is quite unremarkable – a gentle cough. When someone carefully enunciates the onomatopoeia for the action, it demands attention. As one, Bilbo and Thorin whirled towards the interruption. Neither was willing to concede, but both were startled into civility by the sudden recollection that they were being observed.

There, seated on the window next to one of the beds, was Nori. He was lounging as if he had been watching some sort of street theatre. He smirked, his eyes darting between the two, assessing. When he spoke, his voice was rum-spiked molasses. "I'm so sorry to interrupt your majesty and your burglership, but we have a problem. Or would you prefer I tell your audience instead?" He gestured behind them with a negligent hand-wave, acknowledging the gaggle of dwarves frozen just inside the doorway.

Bilbo spun around immediately, her cheeks instantly flaming with mortification at seeing the collection of Durins, nephews and cousins (minus Oin and Gloin, who were sharing a small room down the passage) standing at the door. Thorin simply tossed back his dark mane, lifted his chin and assumed a regal air of calm civility.

Balin, who took his role as Thorin's right hand seriously, gently reprimanded the lads for standing in the doorway like stumps and keeping their elders from their beds. The tension broke as Kili immediately accused Fili of setting a poor example, and small scuffle broke out. Balin threw a small, conspiratorial smile at Bilbo as he shuffled past, neatly snapping the thread of vitriol strung between his King and the fussy little hobbit. He moved to his bed near the fire and sat down, grateful to be off his feet and more grateful still for the semi-soft mattress beneath him. Such comforts would be a fond dream for the foreseeable future.

Fili and Kili, fighting now over who had worse manners, were a tangle of boots and elbows that rolled back towards the door. Dwalin had had enough of the fray – a sharp shove later the two were tumbling out into the hallway, the door snapping smartly closed in their wake. Instantly there was an indignant demand to be let back in to see the outcome of the argument between their uncle and Mr Baggins.

Nori left his catlike sprawl on the window ledge, slunk into the room like a marauding tomcat, and stretched himself out against the headboard of the nearest bed.

"That's mine." The bass rumble from the far side of the room didn't even make him blink. Instead, he eyed Dwalin and learned back deliberately, lounging now. He wriggled ostentatiously against the pillows, rubbing the scent of his leathers into the fabric, smirking at the guard throughout. "I'll make way for your precious feet and tender bottom as soon as I've delivered the news to our king."

His tone was conciliatory, even mildly flirtatious; he enjoyed knowing that the guard didn't want him anywhere near his sheets. Nori'd offered before, back in the Blue Mountains, more than happy to share a tumble to keep from the gaol. Or on the way to the gaol. Or in the gaol. Rejection hadn't come often to this Ri's life, and each snub from the hulking warrior had stung. Dwalin's tongue could leave wounds fully as nasty and slow to heal as a rusty dagger.

He angled back to Thorin, casual in his posture, but the thief's mood had shifted and it showed in the slight tension around his eyes. He glanced sideways at Bilbo, not sure if it was a good idea to have the hobbit present when he brought this matter up with his king.

For his part, Thorin hadn't moved. In truth he didn't seem to have noticed the increasing displeasure of his large friend and bodyguard at so much as being in the same room as the light-fingered Ri. Or perhaps he didn't want to remark on Dwalin's discomfort, stirred as it was by someone so lovely but none the less so very inappropriate.

Bilbo caught Nori's swift glance and took it for what it was: a ticket to leave. She tugged at her sleeves and sniffing disdainfully in lieu of swearing to end the conversation with Thorin bloody Oakenshield. "Well, I'll leave you to your discussion, then, for the evening. It's time and past time that I found my bed."

Before she had taken two steps to the door she was brought up fast as Thorin reached out, put his arm around her waist and swung her right back around into the middle of the room. "You are not going anywhere. You are going to stay right here and go to sleep." He pulled her close into himself, her toes almost leaving the ground. "And if you try and take so much as one step out of my sight and go looking for trouble, I'm going to lash you to the bloody bed!"

Bilbo tried to calm her galloping pulse and remind herself that she was a mature hobbit and far past the age where such… experimentation… as his words immediately brought to mind were appropriate any longer. She forced herself to think of every stodgy uncle, disapproving aunt and the superior, simpering smirks of various relatives. She scraped together every ounce of dignity and gravitas to which her status as the Scion of the Baggins clan entitled her.

"Such a crude demand is not worth the dignity of a response."

He pulled back and said with mock-relief "at last! Silence! So, you do know what it is."

Under the astonished eyes of the others in the room, they seemed to be gearing up to get into it again. Balin was almost gaping at Thorin, who – even with his hot, ready temper – was known for his sense of decorum and his constant, almost painful awareness of his speech and actions. This rabid stubbornness he seemed to have developed with getting the last word in with the hobbit was… unprecedented.

Thankfully Nori cut in at this point. As amusing as it was to see the high and mighty King Under the Mountain lose his cool over a disobedient burglar, he did not want to spend the night playing referee. "Bandits. Planning to jump us. Probably once we cross the river."

Thorin froze. Even the hobbit seemed stunned to silence for real this time. "How came you by this knowledge?"

Nori shrugged. "Instinct. I'm familiar with the type."

Dwalin interjected, scoffing. "I'll bet."

Ignoring him, Nori continued as if the interruption hadn't occurred. "Also, they were very intent on our little friend here paying for the drinks. And for the food, the stabling for thirteen ponies and for four rooms. I heard enough of their talk; frankly we make a good enough target. I can go and make sure, but at this point it'd be a formality. They're all but certain to catch us at the bridge tomorrow. They definitely had friends who headed after them for a sudden, early night."

Thorin snapped his head around and glared daggers at the halfling and raising an accusatory finger. "This is entirely, wholly and unquestionably your fault."

"Remove your finger from my face," came the measured reply. Bilbo's expression was cooling rapidly on the room's atmosphere.

Thorin mostly ignored him. He strode to the door, which Dwalin had been holding shut against the importunings of the young princes, and unceremoniously flung it open. "You!" he barked, pointing at Fili. "Go tell Bifur he's spending the night in the hobbit's room. Tell him to take his boar spear and to feel free to greet any night-time guests warmly." Fili hesitated, glancing uncertainly between his brother and his uncle until he noticed that Thorin was looking pointedly in his direction. Slinking towards the stairway, he went to deliver the message.

"And where, precisely, am I supposed to sleep?" Although she wasn't eager to hear the answer, Bilbo asked anyway. There was a reason she had reserved the tiny, hobbit-sized room. It was her last chance to truly rest for who knows how long, and she had ladies' business to attend to. She couldn't very well unbind her breasts and change her undergarments in front of a bunch of leering louts.

Thorin didn't even pause before answering. "Here. Right bloody here. Dwalin or Balin can take Bifur's bed. You aren't going anywhere, do you hear me?" Every word of his last sentence was punctuated by his finger making short stabs at Bilbo's eyes, each one closer than the last.

"I told you to get your finger from my face," Bilbo snarled.

Thorin ignored the cheeky halfling. Looking to Nori, he began running the pieces together in his mind, searching for a way past. The gates were sealed until dawn, so they couldn't sneak out of the village early. An ambush meant that the bandits would need to get ahead of them, unless they left at the same time, not following so much as keeping pace. They could follow as long as they liked and strike when the dwarves were least secure. Drek! They could double back, find another way across the river... but the hobbit had been adamant; this was the only crossing point for days. The bandits almost assuredly knew this land better then they, and would find them regardless. Thorin frowned. True, they were thirteen plus the grocer but he didn't want to risk running into tangles and skirmishes around every mile marker. Any fight, no matter how small, would cost them in time, injuries or worse.

A sharp pain jolted his finger and Thorin jerked his hand back, hissing in shock.

Bilbo had leaned forward and summarily bitten the offending digit. She didn't manage to break through skin; he was a dwarf after all, and had skin as tough as the hide of an old farm bull. Still, it was the best way to teach errant fauntlings the dangers of pointing at people.

Thorin was flabbergasted. He stared, disbelieving, at his finger and the small indentations there. Stunned, he looked up only to be met by a cool gaze. "Don't put fingers in people's faces."

For a heartbeat the room was silent. Not one person there could quite comprehend what had just happened. The actuality of it was clear: the hobbit had bitten Thorin's finger. What they struggled with was that the hobbit had bitten Thorin's finger. The polite, punctilious halfling had laid… his teeth on royalty.

Dwalin gave a bellowing laugh and Nori snorted, looking aside in a poor attempt to hide his snickering. Balin smiled wryly and shook his head. Kili winced and reached up reflexively to protect his ears.

"You bit me!" Thorin's outrage was apparent, and only grew as it seemed to cause his relatives even more amusement. "Don't put your fingers where they don't belong, then," the thrice-damned halfling snipped in reply.

Her brain caught up to her, and so did the salt and bitter splash of ale lingering on her tongue. Bilbo sat down hard on the bed behind her. She didn't know who's it was, but she was done with this whole debacle. She would be sleeping around the dwarves for some time; she might as well accept her fate and get used to it. She was going to sleep, ill-mannered kings and thieving footpads be damned.

Thorin watched the hobbit settle on his bed, clearly going to sleep regardless of the troubles that waited for them on the road barely a stone's throw away. He lay determinedly still, intent on ignoring the dwarves.

Seeing their king's stern composure return, the mirth died into silence. Thorin's thoughts swam but he couldn't think of a way to get ahead of the bandits without falling even further behind an already tight schedule.

"What now then?" Dwalin asked. "We fight?"

Balin shook his white head sadly. "No choice. Bilbo made it clear..."

Bilbo's head jerked up. It was the first time that one of the dwarves had used her name so casually. Hearing the eldest dwarf's despondent tone, a surge of guilt raced through her for putting them in this position. She should have given the over money later, more conservatively. Should have let the dwarves pay their own shot; should have gone to a different inn. Something, anything, to not have caused this problem. She tried, with far less strategy than the dwarves were discussing, to find them a way out or past or around.

"…this is the only way to cross the river safely. And with the ponies we can't swim it…"

"We're stuck." Kili surmised, looking from one grim face to the next.

An idea crept into her head as she turned Balin's words over in her mind. Twisted strands of the most foolish plan Bilbo had ever had in her life came together into a lifeline and before common sense could reassert itself, the Took side of her brain spoke up. Even as she opened her mouth her blood seemed to chill right into her core and a thousand childhood horror stories rose up like ghosts.

"Actually…" Bilbo bit her lip and admitted grudgingly: "there is another way."