Raven: An Unexpected Adventure

Thirty-One

Bilba

Bag End, Hobbiton

21 January 2959

When Bilba was a child the horrors that she'd seen during the Fell Winter haunted her. She'd been a young faunt at the time, and the sounds of the wolves howling outside of their door had kept her up many a night. Then, those dreams had faded and harsher realities had set in. In the wake of Bungo's lingering illness Bilba hadn't had the time to be afraid. Or, perhaps, it had just become a constant companion for her. She wasn't really sure which. It didn't matter anymore either.

She'd survived. Then, once she'd finally recovered from the adventures of a lifetime, the Company had come calling. The dreams from that adventure still hadn't faded. It had been years since they reclaimed Erebor, but the memories still haunted her. She'd been chased and around Middle Earth by various creatures who all tried to eat her. That had been undeniably terrifying. Then, it was the Battle of Five Armies that haunted her the most. Not even Smaug featured that often in her dreams and she'd stood face to snout with a dragon.

The battle, however, was another beast. She hadn't truly fought, not really. She'd survived. All the same, it seemed trivial by comparison to the many heroic feats she'd witnessed. She would wake sometimes, still smelling the blood, her ears ringing from the sounds of death. She would lie in the dark, feeling the gazes of the fallen on her. They'd stared accusingly at her on that day, from where their bodies fell in the midst of battle.

The battle for Bag End, as she privately thought of it as, was different. This time, she had stood beside Thorin on her own front doorstep. This time she wasn't lost in some crowd. This time her heart wasn't broken and her throat didn't burn from where he'd dangled her over the ramparts. This time she'd fought for her home with her family at her side. Indeed, she'd barely had to step out her own door. When he'd built this smial, had her father ever imagine there'd be fighting in the front yard? Blood spilled inside the very hallways? She doubted it.

The battle itself had been anticlimactic in many ways. Thanks to the warning they had known the number of dwarrow coming. From there it had seemed almost easy—Thorin was after all far from an inexperienced leader. He had stationed the dwarrow and they'd been ready and waiting for their attackers.

Thorin had, naturally, wanted Bilba to seek refuge in the smial with Raven. She had point-blank refused. When Nori had given her a small set of throwing knives, the point was, reluctantly, laid to rest.

She wouldn't say that she was an expert when it came to using the weapons, but she was far from incapable. The dwarrow had seen how good she was at winging the burning pinecones at their attackers. Then, while at Beorn's house, Nori had decided that knives would be the weapon for her. Joined by Dwalin, the two dwarrow had set about ensuring that she could defend herself.

After the Battle of Five Armies, the set of daggers that Thorin had gifted her from the armory had been lost. She'd used them and left them embedded in various corpses around the battle field. She regretted their loss, but it would have been impossible to collect them. Not only did she have no idea where they'd been but she'd also been avoiding detection. She'd assumed then that Thorin would have her put to death if she dared show herself.

Now, with the fighting over, she took a moment to glance over her weapons. She stood in the hallway, waiting for the dwarrowdams to move the barricade. The waiting gave her a moment to run her fingers over the beautiful weapons. She'd have to clean them—Dwalin had been nothing if not strict about the proper care for one's weapons. Dwalin. She smiled in memory. Back after the Battle of Five Armies he would have given her a stern talking to about discarding one's weapons. At one point she recalled making up that conversation—longing for her dwarrow. Bilba glanced over her shoulder and caught sight of Dori and Glóin moving bodies out of the smial. At the same time Ori and Bombur passed by carrying buckets—no doubt to assist with the clean up. A warm rush of love for all of them washed over her. She had been more careful this time—and she didn't just mean with her weapons. No, she'd also promised herself that she wouldn't take any moment with her family for granted. Making a mental note to take care of them later, she began carefully sheathing the knives. Inwardly, she promised herself she'd never be so careless with them again. They were, after all, the same set of daggers that Thorin had first given her. Apparently, he had painstakingly seen to their retrieval. In the chaos of coming to find her, however, only Nori had thought to bring them. Good old Nori, she smiled at the thought of the spy. He had always had her back, long before anyone else realized her secret.