Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bilba Baggins stood at the edge of the small gathering beneath the Party Tree, fiddling absently with the hem of her apron. She’d come out that morning with no greater ambition than to purchase a fresh loaf of sourdough bread and perhaps exchange pleasantries about the pleasant weather. Instead, she now found herself listening to a heated discussion among a half-dozen Hobbits, all of them frowning at one another in consternation.

“Could be a new pest,” guessed Old Gerda Goodbody, shaking her cane at the circle. “But I’ve never heard of rabbits leaving footprints like that, let alone nibbling a whole row of carrots in one go.”

Hamfast—commonly called Hamfest by the neighbors—spoke up next. “It’s no rabbit, I tell you,” he said, resting his hands atop his ample belly. He sounded both exasperated and perplexed. “Found some odd footprints in my back garden, small as a child’s but not quite…well, not quite what a hobbit-lad would leave. Mayhap a faunt, but I can’t imagine whose.”

Bilba felt a gentle shiver of curiosity prickle the back of her neck. Faunt or not, it was unlike any child’s mischief she’d heard of. She remembered the stories her mother told her—rumors of dwarves and men, even creatures more strange—but she’d seen no travelers in the Shire for months. She cast her gaze about, noticing the uneasy glances among her friends and neighbors.

Fosco Proudfoot, a younger hobbit, harrumphed. “It’s been going on all week—my cabbages one day, Old Matilda’s herbs the next. Just enough of the plants are left behind to show it isn’t an animal. They’ve been pulled out whole, not merely gnawed at.” He looked at Hamfast then, eyes narrowed. “Are you certain it’s not some rascally child from Bywater or Frogmorton?”

Hamfast shrugged heavily, squinting at the footprints he had traced in the air with his hand. “I’m only certain those prints are not a rabbit’s, nor that of any hobbit-lad or lass I know.”

All the while, Bilba stood with her arms folded, her mind alight with speculation. Children in the Shire could be mischievous, but never so sly that they’d leave half the community guessing. She felt a pang of sympathy if it truly was a faunt out there—where were its parents? And why would it need so many vegetables? She rubbed her chin, pondering the questions. The gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the Party Tree overhead as the group murmured on, but Bilba hardly heard them. Something told her this was no ordinary round of childish pranks, and she was determined to find out exactly who—or what—was roaming the Shire’s gardens at night.

“Has anyone checked to see if Peony’s faunts are all accounted for?” Lobelia asked with an irritated sniff, adjusting her very bright hat. “It wouldn’t be the first time those poor things have been going hungry.”

Bilba looked at the Hobbits. Sometimes she thought back to the time when she had overheard a group of men in Bree when she was buying linens for her dresses. She had compared the blue thread to the green thread for a particular ruffle sleeve she had been working on- the brighter colors were easier to see the stitching- and a group of men had gone by laughing and talking about how the Hobbits reminded them of clucking coop hens.  

Never had she felt more like clucking coop hens. 

"I saw them all yesterday," Basil Goodbarrel said with a nod. The Goodbarrels were known for their mushroom foraging, seated closer to the tree line. 

"Even the odd one?" Lobelia tipped her chin up. "I have seen her skulking about. You know which one I mean." 

"Even the odd one." Basil said back to her, hazel eyes stuck on Lobelia. He was watching the feather on her hat flutter. The feather was bigger than the hat itself, Bilba didn't blame him for being distracted. 

"Why doesn't someone just stay up?" Bilba asked. "Like a...night watch?"

Silence stretched between them, silence so low that she could hear the river trickling from over the hills. Or maybe that was Otto, pouring some brandy into a cup from a flask at his hip. 

"What if...it's some sort of beast?" Fosco said, eyes widening as he looked left, then right. "What if it isn't safe." 

"Fosco. If it was a beast, I think it would have claws." Lobelia sneered. "Claws, and I think it would want more than carrots. It is some ridiculous unruly child. I am sure of it."

Bilba tucked a stray curl behind her ear and glanced around at the circle of Hobbits. “Well,” she ventured carefully, “if the footprints really are that of a faunt—and if that faunt truly is alone—shouldn’t we help?” She thought of her own childhood, blissful and uneventful as it had been, and tried to imagine how frightening it would be for a little one to wander about on its own in the dead of night.

Lobelia rolled her eyes. “I’d sooner think it some waggish tween playing pranks. It’s that time of year for them to work out their willfulness, mark my words.”

“Even so,” Bilba pressed on, determined to keep her voice steady, “oughtn’t we find out for certain before the rest of the gardens vanish? This is harvest season, after all. The last thing we want is to lose good stock to mischief…or worse.”

She saw agreement flash in Hamfest’s eyes. He cleared his throat. “A night watch,” he repeated, as though tasting the words. “Who would do the watching?”

Otto took a sip from his cup, brandy sloshing in a most un-Hobbitlike manner. “A single hobbit alone out there,” he mused, “on the off chance it isn’t a child but…some vagrant? Or a beast from the Old Forest that took a wrong turn…?”

Fosco gave a visible shudder, clutching his arms about himself as though the mere mention of the Old Forest had chilled him.

“You are all so dramatic,” Lobelia declared. “What is likely a harmless miscreant has half the Shire in a fit!”

Bilba stifled a sharp retort, trying to stay polite. She couldn’t help but feel Lobelia missed the point entirely. Faunt or not, someone was clearly in trouble—no child would steal food so brazenly if there were a comfortable home somewhere. And if it wasn’t a child, well, that hardly made the situation simpler.

“I—I’ll do it,” Bilba said finally, voice small but resolute. She was hardly the adventurous sort, but she felt an odd sort of responsibility flickering inside her. If a child needed help, she couldn’t bear the idea of letting them wander about hungry. “I’ll stay up and keep watch. Just for tonight.”

Several hobbits blanched at once. Basil Goodbarrel’s bushy brows shot up. “Now, Bilba, that might be dangerous. There’s no saying what—”

“Nonsense,” Bilba replied, heart beating faster than she liked to admit. “If it turns out to be just a child—hobbit or otherwise—perhaps a gentle word and a warm meal will sort things out. And if it isn’t…” She swallowed, ignoring the little knot of worry in her stomach. “Well, then we’ll be certain of what we’re dealing with.”

Lobelia regarded her with measured disapproval. “Very well,” she said, adjusting her enormous feather with a sniff. “You do as you wish, Belladonna Baggins. But don’t come running to me if it is a beast!”

Bilba forced herself not to roll her eyes. Instead, she inclined her head. “Of course not, Lobelia.”

Lobelia muttered something under her breath about dratted meddling, but Basil, Fosco, and a few others offered Bilba a chorus of earnest good-lucks. The meeting dispersed soon after, each hobbit taking their usual route back to tea or supper. Bilba lingered a moment beneath the shade of the Party Tree, considering what she had signed herself up for.

A night watch. On her own. She swallowed, then glanced at the sun, still high enough in the sky that there was time to prepare. She would need warm clothes—spring nights could be chilly, even if the days were fair. A lantern, perhaps. And definitely that old whistle her mother had given her, just in case it was something dangerous.

With a small sigh, she turned her feet toward Bag End. One night, she told herself. One night under the stars. She could prove her suspicion true or false and help the Shire sleep easy again—she hoped. And if a little one was in need of help, well…she couldn’t very well turn her back on that.

So that night, she baked herself some treats. Sweet rolls and a sack full of different fruits that she would take with her. After searching through her pantry, she also decided to pack some jam, and some bread, just in case. And if she wanted something salty, well, she also had those walnuts that she had been saving that she could munch on. Then- as a little treat for herself- she packed a slice of honeycomb that she kept in a special jar. 

Then she packed her sewing. 

It seemed like far too much to take with her, but she figured she would be out there all night long and would not only need something to do, but something to eat. Hobbits ate every two hours- and she was not going to pretend like she would be able to sit there the entire night on an empty stomach. The least she could do was make it pleasurable for herself to go in the first place. 

She gathered her basket and treats as the sun began to stoop below the horizon, the golden fingers of sunlight losing their grips on the tops of the trees. 

She stepped out, her basket hanging from her arm and a lantern in another hand. She strolled, checking in with every family- mostly to make sure the faunts were inside. Sometimes they played until all they could see was the glow of fireflies in the summer night. But this time, every family had pulled their little sprouts inside, even Peony, who proved that she had all ten children tucked away in their beds. 

Even the odd one.

Bilba continued on her way, walking along the winding paths.

She had four places to check up on. The pumpkin patch, Lobelia's garden, the Shire Gardens, and the East Road, where she would be able to see most of the yard gardens. Throughout the night, she walked in one big circle between these places. Through the Pumpkins, around to Lobelia's, then all the way down to the center of the Shire Gardens, then to the East road, which she took back around to Lobelia's. 

Every few hours she stopped by Lobelia's, admittedly enjoying the view of the roses she kept there. She would pull out her snacks to eat, rest her feet, look around, then get back up and start again. 

It was peaceful in the night. The air was cool on her cheeks, and more than once, she admired the stars above her. One of the stars was blinking at her, and she wished that she knew what constellation it was from. 

But soon enough, the golden light reached again- this time from the East- and a yawn pulled from Bilba's chest as Basil Goodbarrel came out to relieve her. 

"What was it?" He asked her urgently, hands wringing together. 

"I didn't see anything." She said honestly. "Every faunt was in bed, too. I checked." 

"That solves it, then." Basil said. "It must be one of the Hobbit children. All of them were in bed, and this is the first night that nothing happened at all."

Bilba trudged up the path to Bag End, the early dawn light warming her tired limbs. The night watch had been uneventful—almost disappointingly so. She liked the stillness, liked seeing the stars twinkle in the sky, but it seemed the entire outing had been for naught. She had not so much as glimpsed a misplaced footstep or heard a rustle of bushes.

Still, the morning had that lovely rose-gold hue that promised a crisp, clear day. Bilba felt a pleasant relief drift through her. Perhaps Basil was right and the culprit had finally decided to stay home. She glanced at her own garden out of habit; the neat rows of sprouting greenery stood untouched. All was well.

At least…she thought so until she noticed the back door to Bag End was ajar. Just an inch or two, but enough to make her heart give a startled leap. She was certain she’d locked it before leaving last night.

Quietly, Bilba pushed the round green door wider, stepping into the warmth of her home. Soft morning light slanted across the polished floors. She listened, breath held, but heard nothing but her own pulse thrumming in her ears. Perhaps she was only exhausted—maybe she’d forgotten to latch the door properly.

But her next step took her into the kitchen, and her stomach sank at once. The larder door stood open, too, and the inside was in complete disarray. A small block of cheese lay tumbled on its side; a loaf of bread was half-eaten, crumbs scattered all along the shelf and floorboards. The smell of spilt pickle brine pinched her nose.

Alarmed, Bilba crouched down, fingers brushing across the mess. Whoever had done this had rummaged about with no regard for tidiness. She glanced around for footprints—footprints like the ones Hamfest had mentioned in the gardens. But the polished wood didn’t reveal much. One small, muddy scuff on the floor near a stool might have been a clue. Perhaps a child’s footprint…or something else?

Her heart gave a pitying pang. If a faunt had come all this way for food, how hungry must they be? No beast would do this and leave the rest of the house untouched.

___

There was another gathering later in the day. This was thankfully after Bilba had picked up the mess in her pantry, and napped through the morning. She hadn't told anyone of the nonsense in her home, but she did dream of it through the heat of the day. She wasn't able to sleep very well under the blankets so she had laid on top- and the dream she had...well, it unsettled her. 

She had dreamed of some beast, dark and horrible, ripping through her pantry. But when she'd gotten closer, it whipped around and bared its teeth. In her dream, she could do nothing but stand there and watch as it tore apart her pantry. When she moved closer, the dream-creature whimpered. 

"I'm sorry," Bilba whispered in her dream voice. "I'm sorry."

__

Bilba sat up with a soft gasp, throwing her legs over the side of the bed and hurrying to the pantry. It was as she left it after cleaning up. No beast. No scare. Not even a mouse. She sighed, pressing her palm to her chest as she turned to start some tea. 

The gathering that evening was nothing less of chaotic. 

Clucking coop hens

Some were arguing that it was clearly a Hobbit child causing trouble. Some others claimed otherwise- that they couldn't know what it was still. Bilba was questioned again and again. What did she see? What had happened? Was the night quiet, or serene because there was a clear difference. 

"I-I didn't see anything." Bilba repeated. "I didn't see a single thing. Not even a rabbit. Nothing." 

She didn't tell them about her pantry. Something about her dream...she couldn't say it. So she stayed silent.

“It’s more likely than not one of the Took children,” Old Gerda Goodbody was saying, leaning heavily on her cane. “They’ve always been prone to…roaming about.”

“Or a Brandybuck mischief-maker,” insisted Fosco Proudfoot, folding his arms across his chest. “I wouldn’t put it past them to slip into the Shire proper if there’s a harvest to be had.”

The group took these suggestions and ran with them, each hobbit chiming in with a rumor or a half-remembered incident: a suspicious figure on the East Road, a strange rustling near the hedgerows, a missing rake from someone’s tool shed. Bilba pressed her lips together, wishing she had some definitive answer to quell their anxieties.

“I checked and made sure the faunts were all in bed. It was quiet as a lamb all evening,” Bilba repeated, hating how her voice seemed to waver. She stared down at her folded hands. “It was…peaceful.”

Hamfest nodded slowly, chewing his lip in thought. “That’s just it, though—peaceful for one night. Are we to do another watch?”

Several hobbits exclaimed at once:

“We must—”

“But it’s a bother—”

“It’s harvest season—there’s no time for—”

“I say we let the Bounders handle it!”

Bilba stood there, heart pattering. She felt the weight of her secret pressing down on her. She’d found clear evidence that whoever—or whatever—it was had come to her home. But something in her dream, that soft whimper she’d heard as the creature tore through her pantry, wouldn’t let her speak up. Not yet.

“All right,” Lobelia interjected with an imperious sniff, patting the absurdly large feather in her hat back into place. “If Bilba saw nothing, then it stands to reason some impish child heard about her watch and stayed away. Good riddance, I say. Perhaps that child has learned their lesson.”

“Or they found a different place to thieve from,” Basil muttered darkly.

A knot twisted in Bilba’s stomach. She clasped her hands and forced a little cough. “Well, if we’re sure it’s just a child—”

“Then there’s no reason for more fuss,” Lobelia cut in smoothly. “Unless there is another incident—like the footprints, or the stolen vegetables—there’s no cause to keep wandering about all night.”

Bilba shook her head, wanting to argue but losing her nerve as she looked at the many worried faces around her. She hadn’t the heart to raise alarm without proof. A stolen loaf of bread and a half-eaten wedge of cheese felt like a trifling thing compared to the rumors swirling in the Shire. And if she admitted what happened, the others would surely press her, demand more watches, and maybe scare off whatever truly needed help—assuming her dream was anything to go by.

“All right,” she finally said, though the words felt hollow. “Yes, let’s hope whoever did it…won’t come back.”

The crowd murmured in uneasy agreement, none looking fully satisfied. One by one, they began drifting away to supper or back to their own chores. Bilba lingered a moment, arms wrapped around herself, lost in thought. She could still see the desperate rummaging in her mind’s eye—a hunger so fierce it had tossed aside jars and knocked over flour tins.

What child, hobbit or otherwise, would be that desperate?

She exhaled, turning to head toward Bag End. Tomorrow she would sweep the pantry again, perhaps set something aside…just in case. Some sandwiches, a few sweet things.

Chapter Text

When she swept the pantry again, she huffed, picking through every little item in there. She put it in a basket and set it out, raising the golden lantern out and scanning the back garden. There was nothing out there. Nothing but crickets and cicadas. 

She left the basket out there with several bits of different food in there. Vegetables, in case that's what the thing preferred, fruits, in case it hadn't tried it, bread, cheese, jam, boiled potatoes, mashed potatoes in another little bowl, a sweet roll- extra from what she'd baked before. Peach jam and strawberry leather, peanut butter and a very large jar of water infused with the blackberry bits from blackberry season. 

It should be enough. But just in case it wasn't, she also left some cured salami pieces out there. Just in case. And some olives. And some more cheese of a different kind. 

Finally she gave it a rest and went to bed, but she could not sleep. All night long she fussed and grew nervous and fidgety. 

As she drifted off, she was sure she could hear excited, hushed whispers just outside her window.

Bilba’s eyes snapped open, heart hammering in her chest at the sound of voices—actual voices—just outside her window. She strained to listen, trying to make sense of the hushed babble. There was a soft scuffling, followed by a hurried “Shh! They’ll hear!” in a voice that sounded more child than adult.

She pushed back her covers, carefully set her feet on the floor, and tiptoed across the room. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she reached the window. Slowly, she nudged the curtain aside and peered out into the moonlit back garden.

In the faint glow of the lantern she’d left, Bilba spotted two silhouettes crouched over the basket she’d put out earlier. Her eyes widened. Children. The taller of the pair couldn’t have been more than six or seven, and the other was barely out of toddler years. Both were so caked in dust and dirt that Bilba had to blink twice to be sure they weren’t just shadows. Their hair stuck out in wild tangles, and their small hands trembled with eagerness—whether from hunger or fear, Bilba couldn’t be certain.

The older child wolfed down a piece of bread, pausing only to shush the younger one, who was gulping down fistfuls of mashed potatoes straight from the bowl. They reached for the olives and jam next, stuffing the food into their mouths as though they expected it all to vanish at any moment. Their wide eyes darted around the garden, scanning for any sign of trouble.

Bilba’s breath caught in her throat. She had expected maybe one faunt, but two? And they were so little. She pressed her hand over her mouth to keep from gasping aloud. She wanted to fling open the door and usher them inside at once—some protective urge stirred in her—but she hesitated, knowing that any sudden move might send them bolting into the night.

Bilba thought for a while about what to do as she listened to them eat and gulp the food down. They were going to make themselves sick that way, she wanted to say, but she bit down hard on her lip to keep herself from saying anything. She had to get them inside somehow, and she did not want to waste this chance with mistakes. 

She tiptoed to the kitchen and put some tea on. 

“ Ibunêk runî !”

“ Try this, let me try that,”

They whispered back and forth, but Bilba was startled by the harsh guttural language that the little boy spoke. Shadows swallowed the home but she wouldn’t dare light a candle. She pulled the hot water off just as it got hot, not risking the whistling of the steam. She pulled two mugs and poured the hot water, then dropped in several chunks of the chocolate she’d been saving for the summer festival. 

Rufol was going to have to live without her chocolate chunk cookies. This was a far more important cause for the chocolate. She took the mugs to the door and hesitated. They were still out there, rummaging.

“Hello out there,” She whispered softly. All movement stopped. All sounds went still. “You’re not in trouble. Please don’t be frightened. I left that food out for you, poor dears. I…I have some hot chocolate.” 

Silence. 

“I’m going to open the door, and set the mugs out. Sip it slowly, dears, or your stomach will ache.” She whispered. 

Silence. 

With a deep breath, the opened the door just a bit, just enough to crouch and put the mugs out, then she shut it again. She knelt down on the other side, waiting, holding her breath. 

Silence. 

“It-It’s alright.” She reassured them again. “My name is Belladonna. You’re not in trouble.”

Bilba exhaled, her pulse still fluttering in her ears. She rested a hand on the door, willing the children not to run off, then hurried to her linen closet as quietly as she could manage. Her footsteps sounded far too loud in the hush of Bag End, but she pressed on, heart set on gathering anything that might provide a bit of warmth or comfort.

She grabbed an armful of spare blankets—soft wool throws and one old patchwork quilt, frayed around the edges but still cozy. Clutching them against her chest, she padded back to the kitchen door.

Clearing her throat softly, Bilba spoke through the thin wood, voice low so as not to startle them. “I’ve brought blankets,” she called. “I’ll leave them right here, at the back step. If you want to stay outside, you’re welcome to them—truly.”

She eased the door open again, just a hair, and slipped the blankets onto the threshold in a tidy bundle. Her gaze flicked up, hoping to catch a glimpse of the children, but they remained hidden in the shadows.

It was hard not to get emotional. The silence was unnerving, mainly because she could picture the poor things staring in fear. They were so small.

“I am going to keep this door unlocked tonight. If you would like to come in, there’s a warm fireplace and a proper bed. I promise, you won’t be in any trouble.”

She paused. “And you are welcome to the larder as well, sweet sprouts. Anything inside is free to you.”

Silence.

Bilba waited, palms damp, half expecting a squeak of fear or the scampering of feet. At last, she heard a small, uncertain shuffle near the basket. She cleared her throat again, more softly this time

“But if you’d rather sleep under the stars, then please at least take the blankets. I—I don’t want you to be cold.”

She pulled the door closed, not fully latching it. Then she crouched by the threshold, arms wrapped around herself for reassurance. Beyond the door, she thought she heard hushed breathing and the faint rustle of wool being dragged across the ground.

Bilba spent the entire night anxiously sitting by the door. She didn’t hear any more whispers- no more gulping down. Nothing but the soft clatter of the blackberry water jar she’d put out there, and the occasional rustle. Every part of her itched the open the door and pull them in, snuggle and coo at them. She stood, then crouched again. Stood, then crouched. Indecision plucked at her. 

Finally, in the late hours of the night, Bilba dragged herself to bed. Even laying there in bed she could not shake the errant thought that they were hurting, that she needed to go out there. 

Sleep took her without her permission. 

-

The boys did not come in. The only thing left at her back porch step though, was crumbs, empty jars, and twigs. No matter how hard she tried, she could not follow the little footsteps further than East Farthing woods. She walked back, anxious and dejected. The only thing she could do now, was leave out more food. 

Even still, that didn’t give them enough meals. Hobbit children needed to eat every two hours. One big meal per night wouldn’t be enough! She would have to pack another basket and have them take it back with them tonight. That way, they’d have some food throughout the day as well.

Bilba lingered on her doorstep. She closed her hands into fists at her sides, her heart aching with a dull, familiar pang. Long had she dreamed of receiving a life seed—an honor bestowed by Yavanna to hobbit-folk—so she too might become a mother. She had always imagined tending a little seedling-child just as she did her garden beds: with careful patience, gentleness, and love.

But that cherished dream had eluded her year after year, despite all her hopeful prayers. Now, instead of the quiet joy of a tender sprout pushing through warm soil, here she stood with empty arms and an anxious heart, watching two frightened children slip through her fingers like morning mist.

She pressed a hand to her chest, swallowing a lump in her throat. In her mind’s eye she could still see them—grimy cheeks and frantic eyes, devouring bread and cheese as though the very moment might be snatched from them. They’re someone’s children , she reminded herself. They should be safe somewhere with a loving family. But clearly, they weren’t. It was insult to injury, to imagine a family blessed with little ones and treating them like this. 

She stooped to collect the basket’s remnants and paused, touching a few stray crumbs stuck to the woven reeds. “My poor little sprouts,” she whispered, as if the boys might still be within earshot. “I wish you’d stayed. You’d have been safe here.”

Standing slowly, Bilba clutched the basket against her hip. Tonight, she decided, she would leave out another offering—this time twice as much food, and something they might carry back with them through the day. One good meal at night simply wasn’t enough. Her own stomach rumbled faintly, reminding her how hobbits needed to eat so often. Dwarf or hobbit, child or adult, no one should face hunger like that.

With that solemn vow echoing in her mind, she stepped back into Bag End. She would ready a fresh bundle of supplies, and if the children returned under cover of darkness, they would find more than just a meager basket—she’d leave as much warmth and nourishment as she could possibly spare. It might not fill the tender void in her heart where her own child should one day be, but at least she could offer a bit of motherly kindness to those who needed it most.

Bilba spent the better part of the afternoon in a thoughtful flurry, making lists in her head as she circled through Bag End’s cozy rooms. She gathered a sturdy basket from her pantry, one even deeper than the last, and began filling it with provisions. She laid out fresh bread rolls—still warm from the morning’s baking—then added slices of salted ham and a generous wedge of cheese. She debated jam for a moment, before deciding both strawberry and blackberry would be best. A small tin of honeycomb followed soon after, plus two boiled eggs, four apples, and a packet of dried peaches.

“That should tide them over,” she murmured, though the old worry still tugged at her heart. She packed an extra loaf just in case. Hobbits need frequent meals, her mind insisted. So did dwarves, and men, and especially children—whoever they might be.

After double-checking the basket, Bilba draped a soft cloth over the food to keep out any bugs. Now what else…? She thought of the previous night, of how quickly the boys had gobbled down her offerings. It comforted her to imagine them discovering this next bounty. Yet her stomach twisted at the possibility they might be sleeping out in the open again, with no more than thin blankets for cover.

A low rumble of thunder in the distance made her jump. She froze, listening. The air smelled of rain—cool and sharp, filling her with sudden urgency.

“They’ll be soaked! ” she blurted, pressing a hand to her mouth. Without another moment’s hesitation, she hurried to her small storage cupboard under the stairs, where she kept an old canvas tent. She’d once used it at a summer festival, and it hadn’t seen the light of day since.

Within minutes, Bilba was outside in the back garden, wrestling with a tangle of canvas and ropes. The sky had darkened to a steely gray, an unmistakable promise of evening showers. She found a spot by a tall hedge—well out of sight from any nosy neighbor. The last thing she wanted was a spectacle if the children returned.

Though she wasn’t the most adept camper, Bilba had at least watched others pitch tents in her youth. After some struggling, she managed to drive the pegs into the soft ground. She tied the ropes securely to the hedge’s thicker branches, leaving the tent’s opening sheltered against a tall, old oak that leaned over her fence.

“Just enough room,” she said, surveying her handiwork. “Not too cramped, and it won’t blow over… I hope.”

Next, she gathered spare blankets and a couple of pillows from the linen chest inside. She dragged them out to the tent, puffing a bit as she carried the load. With determined care, she shook out each blanket, placing them in a neat stack. They wouldn’t have a proper bed, but at least they’d be dry—and hopefully warm enough.

For a finishing touch, she set a small lantern nearby. If the rain grew heavy, the children might not be able to see in the dark.

Thunder grumbled again, a low, rolling sound that made the windows of Bag End tremble. Bilba wiped her damp forehead, surveying the tent, the baskets, and the shelter of the hedge. It wasn’t perfect—she knew the roof of Bag End would be far better. But if the children wanted to stay outside, at least they wouldn’t be drenched now.

Finally satisfied, she gathered the empty baskets to carry indoors, leaving the one laden with tonight’s meal just outside the tent flap. As she lingered on the threshold of her door, she glanced back at the small structure, feeling an odd mix of relief and apprehension. Come back , her heart silently urged the children. Come back, let me help.

Yet she also knew they might again take the food and vanish into the night. That possibility weighed heavily on her, but she forced a gentle breath through her nose. She was doing all she could—and if Yavanna willed it, these little ones would accept her shelter.

She stepped inside, leaving the door unlatched once more. Tonight, she resolved, she would keep watch—and hope the promise of a safe, dry place to sleep would be enough to coax them closer to her hearth, or at least beneath the canvas roof she’d staked so anxiously. She heaved one of her comfy chairs by the window where she could watch, and settled in with an anxious heart.

The rain poured and the more it poured, the more anxious she got. Her belly twisted and writhed and she chewed on her cheek until she felt a copper twang of blood in her mouth. Rain collected in small puddles and she found that her eyes dried out with the effort of her staring. A shadow moved out by the hyacinths and Bilba stood, her hands wringing together so harshly that her bones started to ache. 

Take the comfort, please. Please.

Bilba watched as one shadow came out from the bushes. One? she watched carefully as the shadow came closer. 

The older boy came into view with the candle light. At first she had thought it was just him, but she realized sooner that he was carrying a little bundled wrap. He was carrying the younger one.  The shadow- the boy- lingered by the lantern light, and she froze solid as she saw his eyes turn to the open door. Before she could stop herself, Bilba was rushing to the door to open it.

There was a clear difference between the cold, pouring rain and the warm, dry, golden light of the Hobbit home. 

“Come in, please.” She said softly, locking eyes with the dirty boy. She couldn’t see the other one in the bundle of blankets. “ Please . It-It is warm. Dry. You can sleep in here, I’ll give you food. Please, dear, let me help.”

Bilba stood there, half inside Bag End and half out in the storm, her heart thundering almost as loudly as the rain on the roof. She held the door wide, lamplight spilling across the soggy stones of her doorstep and illuminating the older boy’s hesitant form. He clutched the smaller child to his chest, a little bundle of ratty blankets and trembling limbs.

Even from a few paces away, she could see rainwater dripping from the boy’s tangled hair, trailing in rivulets down his pale cheeks. For a moment, he didn’t move—just stared at her with wide, wary eyes, as though he expected her to slam the door shut or shout for help.

“Please,” Bilba repeated, voice coming out shaky in her own ears. She forced herself to speak gently, though everything in her wanted to dart forward and gather them inside. “It’s warm in here. You’ll catch your deaths out in this downpour.” She clenched her fingers on the doorknob to keep them from shaking. They’re so little , she thought. So little and so wet…

The older boy’s gaze flickered from the lamplight to the roaring fire he could see within, then back to her face. He was unsure—maybe frightened. Bilba couldn’t blame him. But the sight of the bundle in his arms made her chest hurt with urgency. If that smaller child was as soaked as his brother, time was precious.

With utmost care, she eased a step backward into Bag End, making her stance as non-threatening as possible. Her voice came soft but firm. “You’re not in trouble. You’ve done nothing wrong,” she assured him. “I just want to help. I have food, fresh blankets…a fire to warm yourselves by.”

Thunder rumbled overhead, shaking the rafters and sending fresh sheets of rain cascading off the eaves. The older boy hugged his bundle closer, then, at last, took a tentative step across the threshold. Water dripped onto the tiled floor, but Bilba couldn’t have cared less if he drenched every rug in the place.

She exhaled a trembling sigh of relief as he finally crossed into the warm glow of the hobbit home. Then she carefully closed the door behind them, sealing out the storm. Her voice was only a whisper when she spoke next, but it carried all the heartfelt sincerity she possessed:

“You’re safe here. My name is Belladonna, but you can call me Bilba. Let’s get you two out of those wet clothes before you catch a cold, alright?”

This close, she could see the details of the boys face. He had long, brown hair and the little one in his arms had hair that was just slightly darker. It wasn’t a rich brown, not a dark, healthy and shiny color. It was dull and dangled. Their clothes were torn and disgusting, they were caked in a thick layer mud but even from where she stood she could see the angry redness of a rash or little thorn cuts on their arms. They were barefoot except for the little one, who wore one little sandal on his hurt foot. 

The blanket she recognized from yesterday, but it was now dirty and soaked. She could see the exhaustion in his eyes. The way his shoulders sagged and he eyed her anxiously. 

Bilba hesitated just a moment before turning to dig out some clothes. They were simple linens and would fit like a dress on the young boys, but it was the best she had for them. 

“He is sick,” The older boy whispered. “I-I don’t know what to do.” 

Bilba’s breath caught. She stared, her heart hammering in her chest. She couldn’t quite see the little one, but she could see his little arms wrapped around his brother’s neck, his face hidden away shyly. 

“May…May I see him..?” Bilba asked softly. “Perhaps I can help?”

For a tense moment, the older boy did not answer. His gaze darted from Bilba’s face to the small figure huddled against him. She saw how his grip tightened, as if expecting her to snatch the little one away. But then his shoulders sagged with a sort of resigned relief, and he angled himself so Bilba could glimpse the smaller child’s face.

He was barely more than a toddler, cheeks streaked with mud and a faint trace of tear tracks. Beneath the grime, he looked flushed, a feverish sheen to his skin. One sandal-clad foot stuck out limply, tiny toes mottled red from cold. Their feet were so small- and so delicate. Poor things. 

The little one’s eyes flickered open, then immediately shut again, as though even the warm light of the hearth was too bright.

Bilba’s heart clenched. Every motherly instinct in her body screamed at her to do something—fetch herbs, a warm cloth, broth, anything. Instead, she drew a shaky breath, trying to keep her voice calm. “Let’s get both of you out of these wet clothes and into something dry,” she said, setting the linens to the side. “And then I’ll make something warm to drink. We’ll see about that fever, all right?”

The older boy stared at the offered clothes, and Bilba’s heart twisted at how young he truly looked. Whatever weight he carried on those narrow shoulders was far too heavy for him. Slowly, he nodded, swallowing hard.

“I’ll… I’ll try,” he said in a near whisper. His words trembled, as though he wasn’t sure he should trust her even now—but desperation warred with his fear.

Bilba nodded back, feeling an odd prickle behind her eyes. “Yes. That’s right,” she encouraged gently. “Just…let me help.”

Clutching the linens, he turned to the small figure in his arms. Bilba shifted closer, waiting for a sign from him before she dared lay a hand on the sick little one. Outside, the rain hammered on the windows.

Bilba ushered the two boys toward the hearth, where soft flames danced in the grate and cast a gentle glow across the room. She draped fresh blankets around their shoulders, mindful of the sick little one nestled in his brother’s arms. The older boy eyed her warily, but when she gestured for him to settle on the rug by the fire, he sank down with a sigh that spoke of bone-deep exhaustion.

“Stay here, both of you,” Bilba murmured, her voice calm despite her racing heart. “I’ll be just a moment.”

She hurried toward the bathing room, lighting a small lamp on her way. As quickly as she could, she began filling the tub with warm water—steaming just enough to chase away the night’s chill without burning tender skin. They need a proper wash, she thought anxiously, picturing the mud-caked rags they wore. And if that little one is feverish, a soothing bath might help.

While the water rose, she grabbed soap and clean cloths, then dashed back to the kitchen. The coziness of Bag End’s well-stocked shelves comforted her, reminding her she had plenty to offer. Bilba took down a small pot, filling it with broth she’d made earlier in the week. She set it to heat, stirring in a bit of onion and potato to make it heartier for such thin bodies.

Next, she quickly assembled a plate of simple fare for the older boy: buttered bread, cheese, and apple slices. Nothing fancy—just enough to settle his hunger and show him he needn’t guard every bite. As an afterthought, she poured a mug of chamomile tea, hoping it might ease his nerves.

Balancing the warm pot of broth in one hand, Bilba hurried back to the sitting room. The sight of the two children huddled in their blankets nearly undid her—so small and shivering, with eyes too weary for ones so young. She breathed a quick prayer of thanks that she’d found them in time and offered a timid smile.

“Here,” she said softly, nudging the plate toward the older boy. “Eat as much as you like while that bath fills. And for your little brother—let me see if he can manage some warm broth.”

She knelt next to them, careful not to crowd their space, and ladled a small portion of broth into a cup. Her free hand hovered near the younger child’s forehead, feeling the heat radiating off his flushed cheeks.

“What are your names?” Bilba asked softly as the younger one drank the broth easily. Thankfully, despite the sickness, the little one was eager to eat something. Bilba was relieved to see that- and she continued to hold up the spoon as long as he would sip it and eat. The little boy’s big blue eyes stared at her curiously with every spoon-full he took. 

The older of the two bit the inside of his cheek and his eyes flickered nervously between Bilba and the little one. She could see the gears turning in his head, and the bath filled in the background. She’d have to go and check on it soon. 

“I…I can’t tell you that.” He whispered. Then his eyes shut tight as if he was waiting for a strike, or waiting for her to throw him out. Bilba only calmly ladled the soup again, then lifted it to the smaller boy’s cracked lips again. 

“Oh that’s alright,” She said easily. “But…perhaps you could make something up? Only because in my head, I am calling you bigger one and little one. I would only like to call you something different than that, that’s all.”

Bilba sat back on her haunches and set the spoon in the bowl, watching as they then munched on some of the snacks that she had brought them. It was a great thing to see them eating, and despite his fever, the small one was rather alert. Both were exhausted to the bone, she could see that clear as day, but she had at least got them in from this storm.

“I…can think of…maybe something…” He said softly, a dark bit of hair falling in front of his eyes. He pushed it back with a dirt-covered hand. Bilba didn’t press further. She only went in to check on the bath, then went back to lead the boys in. The older boy picked the little one up again and walked him in, both of them clearly getting more and more nervous. 

“Would you like me to stay in here or let you to be?” She asked them. 

“I can do it.” The older boy said, setting his brother down. 

“Here is a step.” Bilba said, pulling over a step so he could get in easier. “There is the soap, and there are clean towels and clean clothing here. I know it won’t fit you, but it is far better than what you had.” 

“Can we still keep our clothing…?” The older boy asked her. “It…It is all we have from home.”

Bilba offered a soft nod, swallowing the tangle of questions that rose in her throat, and the way her heart broke at that question. She could see the fear and longing in the older boy’s gaze—whatever memories those ragged clothes held, he wasn’t ready to part with them. She gently placed a folded towel and a too-big linen shirt on a small stool near the tub.

“Of course, petal,” she reassured gently. “I won’t throw them out, if that’s what worries you. I’ll wash and mend them, if that would be alright.” 

At her words, the tension in the boy’s shoulders seemed to ease, just a fraction. He lowered himself to help his younger brother onto the wooden step Bilba had pulled over.

Bilba lingered by the door, hands clasped over her apron. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” she said quietly. “If you need anything—extra towels, soap, anything at all—just call for me. I’ll be right outside the door, alright?” 

The older boy dipped his head in acknowledgment. For a moment, Bilba locked eyes with the small bundle of a child perched on the step, knees drawn up and eyes wide with uncertainty. She mustered her gentlest smile, then slipped away, closing the door just enough to grant them privacy—yet still keeping herself close at hand should they call.

Bilba lingered by the door for quite a while, listening to the soft whispering of the two boys from the tub. Her heart skipped a beat as she heard soft, exhausted giggling and splashing. She let out a breath and her shoulders dropped from their tense perch. She turned and went to the sitting room again to clean up the clothing and the blankets that were left there from outside. 

Thunder booked again, lightning cracking and illuminating the sky with one bright flash. She hated to think of those two outside, huddled together to try and keep warm. Tears pricked at her eyes, hot and imposing as her throat grew burning hot. She swallowed once, then twice, then needed a sip of the calming tea that she had made for the boys. It was better to use it to calm herself down. 

Who were they? Where did they come from? What parents had left them out there, and what was she going to do now that she had them?

“Yavanna,” She whispered softly, “I do not know what to do, I-I cannot believe this. What kind of person would leave those two boys out there?” 

She heard nothing back but the horrible storm that pounded down outside. 

Chapter Text

“Miss? Miss?” A soft voice called out. Bilba hurried, slipped on a glob of slippery mud, and went crashing to the floor. Her knee hit the wooden floor painfully, but she scrambled to her feet and hurried along again. 

“Yes!” She called back, hesitating outside the door. “Yes, What- What is it? Are you alright in there?”

“Do…Do you have a comb? Can you help…?” The anxious voice called back. Bilba hesitated again. 

“I do, petal, but I can do it when you both get out. Scrub your hair real good, okay? Don’t worry about the tangles, I can get that out after. Just make sure it is clean, and if you have any ouchies, make sure that it is cleaned as well. And behind your ears, too! And-” Bilba had to stop herself. She was rambling. “I will wait out here.” 

“Okay. Thank you.” The voice said back, softly. She wished she had a name to call him. Bilba nodded, then blinked and cleared her throat. 

“You’re welcome, Love.” She said back, then went to wait anxiously again for them to come out.

Bilba lingered in the corridor, one hand still pressed to her pounding heart, listening to the muffled splashes and occasional whispers behind the door. Every so often, she heard a quiet laugh—softer, yet still unmistakably playful—and it tugged at her heartstrings. Children , she reminded herself, despite everything . The realization both warmed and ached.

She glanced at the heap of things she’d gathered—fresh towels, a comb, a small jar of gentle salve for cuts and scrapes, and another with ointment for rashes. Next to them stood a steaming mug of chamomile tea and a small cup of warm broth. She wasn’t certain which boy would prefer which, but she wanted to be prepared.

The thunder outside gave another rolling snarl. Bilba shivered, imagining the rain pounding at the windows—a storm fierce enough that every hollow in the Shire would be slick with mud. What if I hadn’t found them? she thought with a sudden rush of dread. She squeezed her eyes shut against the image.

At last, the bathroom door creaked open the slightest bit. Steam curled into the hall, and as Bilba turned, she found herself staring at the older boy’s face—now cleaner, with soft damp hair framing his cheeks. Her breath caught. Until that moment, she’d assumed his hair was dark. But beneath layers of mud and grime, it was actually a pale, shining blonde, catching the lamplight with a warm glow.

Oh my stars , Bilba thought, her eyes widening at the transformation. She would have marveled aloud, but the boy’s guarded expression stopped her. He cast a wary glance at the stack of towels and spare clothes, then looked back at Bilba.

“H-he’s still in the tub,” he said haltingly, voice subdued. “He… he’s tired. Fell asleep, I think.”

Bilba’s concern jumped straight to the younger boy. “Bless him,” she murmured softly, stepping forward. “It’s warm and soothing in there, but let’s get him out before he catches a chill.” She offered the older boy one of the thick towels. “Wrap yourself first. I’ll help you with him.”

He hesitated only a moment before taking the towel. His hair—truly golden, she noted again with a quiet rush of surprise—dripped onto the floor as he cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he managed, a little less stiff now.

Stepping into the room, Bilba saw the small figure slumped over the tub’s rim, cheeks ruddy with fever and exhaustion. She couldn’t hold back a soft gasp as she knelt at the tub’s edge. “Poor lad,” she whispered, brushing damp strands of hair from the little one’s face. The bathwater was still warm, but his breathing came in shallow waves.

Gently, she looked up at the older boy. “Shall we lift him out together?”

He nodded, looking torn between wanting to do everything himself and needing Bilba’s help. Carefully, the pair slipped their arms beneath the younger child—Bilba cradling his shoulders, the older boy supporting his legs—and they eased him from the tub. The little one whimpered, blinking blearily, but made no real protest.

“You’re so brave,” Bilba soothed, wrapping him in a big towel and patting him dry as tenderly as she could. Her heart squeezed at how small and thin he truly was. The older boy, towel draped over his own skinny frame, hovered near, his newly clean hair cascading over one eye like a pale curtain.

“All right,” Bilba murmured, shifting to stand. “Let’s get you both dressed and into the sitting room. There’s a warm fire waiting, and a bit of broth too.” She tucked an extra towel around the sleeping child and noted how the older boy’s gaze flicked toward the door, uncertainty flickering once again.

Bilba managed a reassuring smile. “You’re safe here,” she said softly. “I promise.”

Still looking cautious, he dipped his head in a small nod, and actually let Bilba adjust the little boy so she was holding him. She stepped from the bathroom, guiding them toward the softer lamplight ahead.

The evening passed without any more excitement than that. Bilba had attempted to gently pick her comb through the boys’ hair, then realized it was going to take her hours to complete. While the other one snoozed, laying on the warm rug, she wouldn’t subject them to any more moments forced awake. Not when they finally were fed, clean, and warm. 

Bilba simply combed through what she could- the limp strands that still hung free from the matting, and she set it all aside for the night. She couldn’t believe that the storm still raged on out there, rain pounding and pounding and pounding without pause. 

“You’re done?” The older boy spoke through an open-mouthed yawn. He blinked and for a moment she wasn’t sure if his eyes were going to open again. The boy peeled his eyelids back open and stared at her over his shoulder. 

“No, dear.” Bilba said softly, reaching out to tuck his hair back with her fingertips. “But I think it can wait until tomorrow.”

The boy’s shoulders seemed to fall slightly and he nodded with another wide yawn. Bilba stood, picking up the little boy and taking him to her comfortable armchair. It was comfortable mostly because it was wide, and cushioned. Both boys could fit comfortably in the seat together. She pulled the wooden lever and the footrest came out, reclining the armchair. Bilba got the two boys in the chair, laying together comfortably. She then pulled down her mother’s quilt to lay over them both. 

“How’s that?” She asked him. She received a sleepy murmur that she couldn’t distinguish into real words, and in the blink of an eye, both boys were dead asleep in her armchair.

Bilba stood back and watched as both boys drifted into sleep, their bodies curling instinctively toward each other under her mother’s old quilt. The storm raged outside—thunder rolling and rain battering the windows—but here in Bag End’s sitting room, quiet warmth enclosed them all.

For a long moment, she simply stood there, heart swelling with a protective tenderness she couldn’t put into words. She’d never imagined that this old armchair—where she usually read her garden almanacs—would cradle two little strangers seeking refuge from a dreadful night. They look like they belong , she thought, her throat tightening with emotion.

Gently, she tucked the quilt a bit higher over the younger boy’s shoulders, then brushed a stray lock of hair from the older’s forehead. So many tangles remained, so much left untended—but at least they were clean, fed, and safe. Seeing them curled up together, eyes closed in soft breathing, it hit her how very small they were. Children should never have to face life alone.

Thunder boomed again, but the boys didn’t stir, exhaustion holding them fast. Bilba set a small lantern nearby, turned low to cast only the gentlest glow, so they wouldn’t wake in darkness. Then she carefully gathered the comb, the towels, and the leftover bits of muddy clothes to be cleaned, and got what she could outside without getting drenched.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” she whispered, uncertain whether they could hear her at all. Perhaps part of her simply needed to say the words, to promise she’d still be here. With one last soft glance, she tiptoed away, resolving to rest within earshot in case they woke frightened.

Slipping into her bedroom, Bilba eased onto the edge of her mattress. She sat there for a long moment, and then laid down. A flash of lightning lit up her room, and she was up again, grabbing her own blanket and pillow and hurrying back to the living room. Only once she was settled on the couch where she could keep an eye on the poor little one and his fever did she finally settle. 

The thunder rolled on like distant drums, but inside Bag End, there was only the sound of soft snoring and the crackling fire.

Bilba had planned to spend the morning and noon-time picking through the boys' hair and dematting it for the evening. As she woke and fussed around, she realized that the boys were not awake, not even a little. Not a twitch, not a stir, not even a catch of their breath as she walked by. No matter how much noise she made- and she made very little noise- they did not wake. 

She cleaned the kitchen, she baked breakfast, she tidied the study, she lingered and wrung her hands. But the boys did not wake. All of the exhaustion within them had lessened and turned into true exhaustion. They crashed, like a deep breath finally filled their lungs and all of their fears ebbed away. 

She wouldn't dare wake them, instead she paced and paced even still. Leaving also was not an option, she refused to let them wake up alone in the home. 

Morning turned to afternoon. Now she has started to worry some. They'd slept so long, and they needed to eat. Sighing softly, Bilba started on some stew. It was a little more hearty with bits of beef and vegetables, something that would sit heavier. She turned back nervously and set the bowls nearby, then she gently started brushing back the damaged strands of hair, and she ran the backs of her hands down their cheeks. 

"Hey," She said softly. 

"Ama," The older boy groaned quietly. "I am skipping lessons today..."

Bilba’s heart clenched at the sound of the older boy’s rough, drowsy whisper. He stirred just enough to mumble, but his eyes remained stubbornly closed. His forehead felt alarmingly hot beneath her palm—too hot, and clammy. When she touched the younger boy’s cheek, she found him burning up as well.

“Oh, my dears,” she murmured, worry gnawing at her. She pressed the back of her hand lightly to each forehead in turn, wincing at their high temperatures. Her stew sat untouched nearby, the aroma of beef and carrots drifting through the room, but neither boy stirred enough to notice.

They needed rest, yes, but this was not the peaceful, natural sleep Bilba had imagined. It was a feverish haze, the kind that could deepen into a sickness if not tended swiftly. The older one mumbled again, something about skipping lessons. Bilba doubted he even knew where he was; a faint line of worry creased his brow.

Her first instinct was to panic—but she took a deep breath, recalling all she knew of nursing small ailments among hobbit-folk. Of course, these children weren’t hobbits, yet surely some remedies might still help.

“All right,” she said softly, more to herself than to them. “First things first.”

She moved to the kitchen and fetched a basin, filling it with cool water from the well pump. Rummaging in a drawer, she found a soft cloth. With quick, purposeful steps, she set the basin beside the armchair where the boys were nestled. Carefully, she wrung out the cloth and dabbed it against their sweaty foreheads and cheeks.

The older boy scrunched his face, breathing heavily through parted lips, his golden hair damp with sweat. “Hush,” Bilba soothed, pressing the compress gently against his temple. “It’s all right. You’re safe.”

He relaxed marginally at her voice, though he remained caught in that feverish doze. Meanwhile, the younger boy shifted in his sleep, letting out a tiny whimper before settling again. Bilba tried him with a few sips of water, trickling it from a spoon between his slack lips. Some of it dribbled onto his chin, but he swallowed enough that she felt relief warm her heart.

“I’ll be right back,” she promised in a whisper, though neither could truly hear her. Yet it felt important to say it aloud. Hurrying to the kitchen, she took some dried willow bark and put it in the stew, then set it aside to cool a touch so it wouldn’t burn their mouths. She prayed it would be enough to help break the fevers. 

Her mind whirled with questions: Were they always this frail? Had something happened to leave them ill? Could it be simply the toll of weeks—months?—spent cold and hungry? She clenched her hands around the edge of the counter. Steady now, Bilba, she admonished herself. You can’t do much if you work yourself into a state of fret.

Returning to the armchair, she placed the stew on a small side table, within easy reach if one of them stirred. She dipped the cloth again, wiping away new beads of sweat on the younger boy’s brow. He breathed in a shaky sigh, eyes fluttering but refusing to open.

“Let’s see if we can get a bit of stew into you, hmm?” Bilba murmured gently to the older one. His lashes quivered, then stilled. “Just a spoonful or two…?”

He gave no answer, only slumped deeper into the cushions, cheek pressed against his little brother’s hair. Bilba bit her lip. She knew enough not to force them to eat when they were so deeply asleep. If they weren’t roused by mid-afternoon, though, she’d have to coax them to swallow something—fluid, at least—to keep their strength up.

So she did what she could: sponging their brows, checking their temperatures, and occasionally offering sips of water. Between these tasks, she paced restlessly, glancing at the windows. The sky outside was no longer stormy but remained overcast, as if the weather itself couldn’t decide whether to offer warmth or rain.

Finally, Bilba settled onto a nearby stool, cloth in hand, and watched the boys breathe in tandem—two chests rising and falling. They’re children , she reminded herself, and all children can heal quickly with enough care.

It took hours before she changed her routine in any way. She had dabbed them with the cloth, she had made them sip broth, and water, she had kept them warm and tucked up together. Their fevers only seemed to rise. Sighing anxiously, finally Bilba got more rags and cool water. 

One by one, she rested the rags on the boys' wrists, their ankles, and across their foreheads. She ignored their shivering and replaced the rags every time they got warm, keeping them cold, keeping them on those points, she tried desperately to cool them down. 

Bilba didn't eat, she didn't rest, she only looked after them and ash she did, she had more than enough time to study them. The older one with his blonde hair, the little one with his sweet little nose. They were adorable really, and clearly brothers. They had the same eyes. 

Finally, suddenly, the little one moved. Relief flooded her, but only for a moment. The little sprout sat up enough to throw up all over himself. All over her mother's quilt. He threw up everything he had, then sniffled softly with wide, fever-drunk eyes. 

"Poor dear," She whispered, reaching out to wipe his lip for him with the rag. Surprisingly, he had a bit of color to him now. 

" Zanub adâl ." He said to her. 

"Excuse me?" She said back, unsure what in the world he had said. The boy pouted shyly and tucked his face against his brother's shoulder.

It was tempting to try and get the little boy to say something else- something she could hopefully understand- but right now, Bilba was quick to take the soiled quilt, wrapping it up and setting it by the door to scrub. That was a problem for later. 

A new quilt was put on the boys, and Bilba watched anxiously as the little one nestled against his brother’s shoulder, his fevered cheeks flushed crimson. His tiny fingers clung weakly to her sleeve, as if seeking comfort even in his half-conscious state. She continued pressing the cool cloth to his skin, refreshing it again and again, murmuring soft reassurances as she wiped the damp strands of hair from his forehead.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, something changed.

At first, it was so subtle that she nearly missed it—the small, fevered body against her arm didn’t feel quite as burning hot as before. The furrow in his brow eased, and his trembling breaths evened out. Slowly, the tension in his tiny frame melted away, giving way to a sigh so deep it almost seemed to shake through him.

Bilba pressed her palm to his forehead again, then to his wrist, barely daring to hope. Cooler. Still warm, but no longer scorching. She gasped softly, relief flooding her as she realized—his fever had broken.

“Oh, my dear heart,” she whispered, pressing a hand over her own chest as the weight of worry lifted, just a little. The little one stirred, his eyelashes fluttering against flushed cheeks, his tiny mouth smacking faintly as if tasting the air. His small body shifted, rolling toward the warmth of his brother, and his lips parted in a sleepy, contented sigh.

Bilba didn’t realize she had tears in her eyes until she blinked, her vision blurring slightly. She exhaled shakily and gave a watery chuckle, brushing her fingertips gently over his cooling forehead. “There you are, love,” she murmured. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer—at least not in words—but the way his little face relaxed, the way his tiny fingers uncurled from her sleeve to rest against the quilt, told her enough. The worst of it- for him, at least- had passed.

The older boy didn't have quite a deep fight with the fever. It burned hot, then eased that very night. Then, right in the middle of the night when Bilba was wrecked with bone-deep exhaustion, both boys woke up. It was quite ridiculous, and Bilba yawned, realizing how worn out she was at the same time that both boys now were sniffing out food like stray animals still. 

"I'll get you something," Bilba yawned, "Just wait right there dears." 

The blonde-haired boy craned his neck in order to see the darkness outside of the home. 

"It isn't day yet?" He asked quietly. 

Bilba held back a soft laugh. 

"Sweet sprout, you have slept through the entire day already." She told him, amused as she got out some dinner for them both. She couldn't risk going further than just the broth and the soup for now, especially with the little one's sick stomach. She watched as the little child whispered something in his brother's ear. "He spoke to me hours ago, but I couldn't understand him." 

"He says he got sick, and is feeling better." The boy said, and suddenly he looked very shy, looking down at his hands as they wrung in the blankets. 

"What is it?" She asked. 

"I...I think I made us sick. I picked some mushrooms..." He murmured, and from her spot in the kitchen, Bilba could see the devastated, shiny tears welling up in the little boy's eyes.

Bilba stilled, soup ladle in hand, as the older boy’s confession hung between them. The little one curled against his brother’s side, peeking up at her with wide, worried eyes, clearly expecting a scolding. The older one wouldn’t even look at her, his fingers twisting in the blankets, shame pooling in the form of unshed tears.

Bilba’s heart softened at once. Oh, my dear, you’ve been carrying this all on your own, haven’t you?

Setting the ladle aside, she crossed the room, kneeling gently beside the chair where they huddled. The warm glow of the lantern cast their faces in soft light, their exhaustion and lingering fragility still so painfully evident.

“You thought they were safe to eat, didn’t you?” she asked gently.

The boy nodded, his golden hair slipping over his eyes. “I—I tried to pick the ones I knew were good,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “But I must have picked the wrong ones. I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want to make him sick.” He sniffled hard, but one tear escaped, rolling down his cheek.

Bilba reached up, brushing it away with the pad of her thumb before he could. “Shh, now,” she soothed. “It was a mistake, love. And you were trying to care for your brother. That’s what matters.”

The little one sniffed, rubbing his sleepy face against his brother’s arm as if seeking comfort. The older boy blinked at her, his expression full of disbelief—like he had been bracing himself for anger instead of kindness.

Bilba let out a small, warm sigh and tucked a strand of damp hair behind his ear. “Foraging is tricky business. Even the best of us get it wrong sometimes.” She tapped his nose gently, just enough to make his expression shift from miserable to slightly bewildered. “And I have no doubt you did your best.”

His breath hitched. “But he was so sick,” he whispered, barely able to say the words. “I—I thought—”

Bilba shook her head before he could spiral. “And now he’s better, isn’t he?” She cupped the younger boy’s face, brushing back a wayward curl. “You both are. You’re here, safe and warm, and I won’t let anything else happen to you.”

The boy’s lower lip trembled, but this time, when she wiped away another tear, he let her. He exhaled a shaky breath, some of the tension finally leaving his small shoulders.

Bilba squeezed his hand, offering him the comfort she knew he so desperately needed.

“Oh, my dear sprout, this wasn’t your fault,” she reassured gently, brushing his golden hair back from his forehead.

His lip wobbled slightly, but he shook his head. “I—I picked the mushrooms,” he whispered, barely able to say it. “He got sick because of me . I’m supposed to look after him.”

Bilba reached for his hand, gently prying his fingers from the blanket where he’d been twisting the fabric tight. His small palm was clammy in hers, but he didn’t pull away. She squeezed his hand firmly, reassuringly. “No, love. That isn’t what made you sick,” she told him. “You were cold, and tired, and hungry. You were caught in the storm, weren’t you?”

The boy blinked, then gave the smallest nod.

Bilba smiled at him, warm and sure. “That’s what made you sick. Not the mushrooms. Bad mushrooms can make your belly hurt, but they don’t cause fevers like that.” She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead again, more for comfort than concern. “You don’t need to feel an ounce of guilt over this. Not one bit.”

The boy swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, and Bilba could see the way his mind was working—how long he had carried the burden of making a  mistake, how afraid he had been that he’d hurt his little brother.

Slowly, his shoulders loosened. His fingers, still tangled in Bilba’s grasp, flexed just a little. “It… it wasn’t my fault?” he whispered, hesitant, like he was afraid to believe her.

Bilba shook her head, her expression full of certainty. “Not at all,” she assured him. “You were doing what you had to do to keep your brother fed. That’s not something to be ashamed of. That’s something to be proud of.”

His breath hitched, and a tear slipped free despite his best efforts to hold it back. Bilba brushed it away with her thumb before he could, offering a small, playful smile. “Honestly, you’ve done so well, little sprout,” she said, ruffling his tangled hair. “If anything, I should be learning from you. But next time, we’ll pick mushrooms together, all right?”

For the first time since waking, the boy let out a tiny, tired laugh. It wasn’t much—barely more than a breath—but it was something.

“Okay,” he murmured, wiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his borrowed nightshirt.

Bilba patted his knee fondly before rising to fetch the soup. “That’s settled, then,” she said lightly. “Now, enough fretting, and more eating.”

The boys ate, and she wasn't shocked to learn that they both passed right back out as soon as they were done eating. They were exhausted from their fevers, and even more exhausted from the troubles they'd been through. With two very wide yawns, the boys snuggled up and they slept- now with soft snoring. 

Bilba just tucked them in and she finally dragged herself onto the couch. It was too small for her body, an ache in her back, but she would gladly sleep out here every single night if it meant that the boys felt safe. She pulled the blankets over her shoulders and let sleep take her despite her anxiety about the boys. 

- 

"Psst. Psst." Someone poked her cheek. Bilba woke up blearily to the sight of the young boy- the little one with the dark hair- wriggling side to side, his legs clamped together. She knew that dance. He made a face of embarrassed desperation. 

"I'm up! I'm up!" She said anxiously, grabbing the boy simply out of reflex and took him quickly to the bathroom. 

"Ahh!" The little boy whined and she managed to get him on the potty in time. 

Bilba sighed in relief, smiling at him. "Close one!" 

" Zanâkh felak bânum !" He said back, the consonants harsh and guttural. She had no idea what he was saying.

"Well I got you here!" She laughed, yawning and grabbing a brush to pull through her hair. The little one hopped off and raised his arms and Bilba reached down to pick him up instantly. "There you are. Look at you, you look so much healthier."

"Kili." He said happily, pointing at his own chest. "Kili! Fili!" He pointed out to the living room. "Kili uz Fili!"

Chapter Text

Bilba blinked at him, momentarily thrown by the sudden declaration. Then her heart swelled with understanding- their names . 

She smiled warmly, bouncing him slightly in her arms. “Kili, hmm?” she repeated, watching his face light up at hearing his name from her lips. “And Fili is your brother?”  

The little one— Kili —nodded enthusiastically, his dark eyes gleaming. “Kili uz Fili,” he said again, this time with a firm, decisive nod, as if making sure she truly understood.  

Bilba’s chest ached at the pride in his voice. He wanted her to know their names, wanted to be known.  

“Kili and Fili,” she said again, committing them to memory with all the weight of her heart. She squeezed him gently, brushing her fingers over his newly cleaned hair. “Those are wonderful names. My name is Bilba."

Kili beamed at her, the shy uncertainty of the past few days now replaced with something brighter— trust . He curled up in her arms as if he belonged there, tucking his face against her shoulder.  

Bilba sighed, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head before carrying him back toward the sitting room. Fili was still fast asleep, sprawled ungracefully in the armchair, one arm flung over his eyes, snoring softly.

Bilba walked through to the kitchen with Kili in her arms, holding him on her hip as she got out some snacks for him. He ate everything she gave him with happiness and excitement, munching on all of the food. He was younger- so it was clearly easier for him to adjust to everything. She didn't mind it, but she did make sure she was being careful with him. She didn't want to come on too strong with him. 

"I have some honey candies," She whispered to him. Kili's eyes widened comically. "Would you like some?" 

Kili giggled with his little hands clamped over his mouth. He nodded, full of excitement and awe. 

Bilba got the candies out for him and looked up as Fili continued snoring. It was early enough in the morning that Bilba was just going to rest with the fact that she was awake for the day, and little Kili was going to spend the morning with her. 

She worried anxiously. What was she going to say about them to the rest of the Shire? Where did they come from, and why did Bilba have them? 

"We're going to need to figure out a story, Kili." Bilba said softly, sitting him down so that she could start to work out the knots of his tangled hair. "Or else things are going to get dicey."

Kili tilted his head slightly but didn’t respond, his attention focused on the candy. Bilba sighed. She wasn’t even sure how much he understood of what she was saying, though he seemed to catch the tone well enough.

“People are going to ask questions,” she continued softly, as much to herself as to him. “Where did you come from? Why are you here? And why me? They’ll want to know, and I can’t just say two small boys wandered into my garden and I decided to keep them.”

Kili looked up at her then, brows furrowing at her tone. “ Uzdu Khuzd ai-menu ?”he mumbled around his candy.

Bilba blinked. “I… don’t know what that means, love.”

Kili sighed dramatically, as if this was a great tragedy, and pointed to himself again. “Kili,” he said firmly, then gestured to the other room. “Fili.”

“Yes, I know, dear,” Bilba said, smiling gently. “Kili and Fili. And I’m Bilba.” She tapped her own chest for emphasis.

Kili beamed. “Bilba!” he chirped, clearly pleased with himself.

Bilba chuckled, rubbing his back as she continued carefully working through his hair. “You’re adjusting far better than your brother, you know,” she murmured. “I imagine he’s going to be much harder to win over.”

Kili tilted his head, considering. Then he held up two fingers and made a walking motion with them across his knee. “ Zigil… azbad… Fili .”

Bilba frowned slightly, watching him try to explain something with those little walking fingers. She could guess he was trying to tell her something about Fili, and…walking? But she didn’t have the faintest clue what.

“Hmm. I think we need a way to understand each other better,” she mused, smoothing down Kili’s now partially untangled hair. “Perhaps pictures… or pointing… I’ll figure it out.”

Kili only stared back at her. Figures. She hummed softly as she picked at his hair. Several times, he whined and wriggled. Every time he protested, she would grab another candy and pop it into his mouth. That seemed to tide him over until she got to the biggest mat at the back of his head. She tried really hard to be gentle, but no matter how much picking and fussing and detangling she did- it was a lost cause. The hair was stuck together in one big lump. 

“We may have to cut it, Kili.” She sighed casually, putting her hands on her hips and smiling at the boy. “What a mess!” 

Kili looked at her, shocked . Then, Yavanna’s beads fell and scattered as his little face crumpled, and then he tipped his head back and screamed, sobbing so hard his entire body trembled. Kili’s wail was so sudden and so devastated that Bilba felt her heart seize in sheer panic. He sobbed and sobbed so hard and so loud that Fili snapped awake. 

“Oh!! Oh, oh, oh!” Bilba gasped, reaching to scoop him into her arms as he clung to her, his tiny fists gripping her tunic like a lifeline. “It’s alright, dear! I—I don’t know what happened! Shh, love, shh, I- it’s just a little haircut, I-“ 

Before she could even begin to soothe him, there was a sharp gasp from behind her.

“NO!”

Fili practically threw himself from the armchair, scrambling to his feet with a frantic desperation Bilba had never seen before. His face was pale as death, his wide blue eyes wild with terror.

“No, no, no!” he cried, stumbling forward and falling to his knees before her, hands shaking as he reached for his little brother. “Please, no! He has done nothing bad! Please, don’t punish him—please, I can take it instead!”

Bilba felt the blood drain from her face. “Fili—what?”

Fili clutched Kili’s arm, his own shaking so badly he could barely hold on. “Please,” he begged, voice cracking. “ Please , don’t cut his hair! He’s just little—he didn’t do anything wrong, he—” His throat bobbed, and his breath hitched so sharply that his words caught in his chest.

Bilba froze, the weight of his panic slamming into her like a blow to the stomach. “Fili,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “what are you talking about?”

Kili only sobbed harder, his small body shaking violently as he buried his face in her shoulder.

Fili’s hands curled into tight fists in Kili’s nightshirt, his whole body shuddering. “Cut my hair instead,” he choked, near tears himself. “Please, I’ll take it—don’t punish him— please Miss Bilba!”  His voice broke.

Bilba’s stomach lurched. Punish ?

A sickening realization gripped her, and suddenly she was holding Kili tighter, as if she could shield him from whatever nightmare had taken root in their minds.

“Oh, sweetlings,” she whispered, her heart breaking as Fili ducked his head, his breath ragged and uneven. He was shaking just as much as Kili, barely holding himself together.

Bilba reached out, her fingers trembling, and cupped Fili’s tear-streaked cheek. He flinched—but didn’t pull away.

“Love,” she said, her voice thick with horror and grief, “I—I wasn’t punishing him. I promise I wouldn’t ever do that.”

Fili’s breath caught. He looked at her, raw and stricken.

“I didn’t know,” she continued, near pleading, desperate to make him understand. “I—I don’t quite understand what’s wrong. Can you explain to me, please? Why cutting hair is wrong? Neither of you are in a bit of trouble, sweet sprout.”

Fili took a deep, calming breath, one that stuck in his chest and stuttered for a moment before he let it out with a jittery sigh. He reached for Kili to try and further tug him from Bilba, as if he needed the reassurance that she wasn’t going to cut his hair, and the distance gained was more like relief for him. Bilba let him, gently shifting Kili from her arms, to Fili’s. Kili continued to sob and wail, now clinging to his brother, who he was certain would not allow his hair to be cut. 

“If-If you’ve cut our hair, it means we did somethin’ real bad.” Fili whispered to her with big blue, teary eyes. “Hair is like…it means a person is good. And Kili is real good. He shouldn’t have his hair cut not ever, not even one time.” 

Bilba’s heart broke. She had no idea what culture they came from, but what he was explaining sounded simple enough to understand. Cutting their hair meant they were bad kids. Of course she hadn’t meant it that way, but looking at all of those tears and the terrified faces, the way Fili panicked instantly- it was enough to make her cry as well. 

“Sweetheart,” Bilba spoke through her welling tears, “I would never dream of punishing you in that way. Or any way, really. L-Look.”

She eased Kili back and turned him so Fili could see the matting on the back of his head. 

“I’ve been trying to get that loose,” She explained. “All I meant was that we might have to cut it to keep his hair nice and healthy. See?”

Fili’s expression crumpled further as he saw Kili’s hair. It was like the pickaxe in the fault line for him- seeing how terrible Kili’s hair was. Bilba could read the poor boy’s mind- he felt like he had failed. Instantly, Bilba was pulling them both into her arms, unable to stop herself from pressing kisses to their heads. 

“I’m sorry,” Bilba whispered softly. “I’m sorry you went through this, sprouts. I am so, so sorry.” 

It was all she could do. She did not know what else she could say to make it better.

Fili sniffled hard, his breath still shaky as he clung to Kili and looked up at Bilba with wide, pleading eyes. His voice was thick, trembling, but full of desperate hope.

“Is there really no way to detangle it?” he whispered.

Bilba hesitated, her heart aching at the sheer need in his voice. She glanced down at Kili’s hair, still a matted mess at the back of his head. She had spent so long trying to pick through it, but the truth was…

“It would take a very long time,” she admitted softly. “And Kili would have to sit very, very still.”

The words had barely left her lips before Fili was nodding vigorously, his tears still streaking down his cheeks as he hurriedly wiped them away with the sleeve of his nightshirt. “He can do that,” he said quickly, his voice still trembling but urgent. “He can sit still, I—I’ll tell him, I’ll help—”

He turned to Kili, his hands still shaking as he gently cupped his little brother’s tear-streaked cheeks. He took a deep, unsteady breath, then spoke to him in quiet, reassuring Khuzdul, his voice thick with emotion.

“Kili, baruk uzdai . Bilba felak bânum aznâkh — She says she can fix it. But you have to be very, very still. Can you do that?”

Kili hiccupped, his small body still curled against Bilba’s chest, but he lifted his red-rimmed eyes to Fili and gave a wobbly nod.

Fili turned back to Bilba, his expression full of nervous, fragile hope. “I can read to him,” he said quickly, words spilling out as if trying to convince her before she could change her mind. “I can help—I can keep him still. We don’t have to cut it.”

Bilba’s throat felt thick with emotion as she gazed at the two of them, so young, so afraid, yet so fiercely determined to hold onto each other.

She inhaled deeply, then gave a small, warm smile. “Alright, sweetlings,” she murmured, brushing Fili’s hair back from his damp cheeks. “We won’t cut it. We’ll take our time, and we’ll do it together.”

Fili let out a shaky breath, relief washing over his features as he wiped his face again, nodding so hard his golden hair bounced. “Thank you,” he whispered, voice cracking.

Bilba squeezed his hand, then pressed a gentle kiss to Kili’s damp curls. “Now then,” she said, trying to bring warmth back into the moment, “we’re going to need a lot of patience, and I’ll have to fetch some oil for this mess. But Fili, love, if you want to read to Kili while I work, I think that would be just the thing.”

Fili sat up straighter, nodding eagerly, still sniffling but clearly determined. “I will! I can—I can tell him stories, or—or sing—”

Bilba chuckled softly, smoothing down his tangled hair. “That sounds perfect, my dear.”

And so, with Fili still hiccupping away the last of his tears and Kili nestled in Bilba’s lap, they prepared for what would surely be hours of slow, careful detangling.

—

It did take hours. It took the rest of the entire day, she had a comb, a little metal pick, so much oil, conditioner, and water. She resigned herself to this job, and this time she made sure she took beaks and got some snacks throughout the day. The boys needed them too, and soon both boys were in grand spirits about it all. At first, Fili was uneasy about all of the black hair that was shed and lost on the floor while she continued to demat the hair. She had to reassure him several times, sitting on the rug in the sitting room, that that was normal. 

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK 

Bilba froze, her eyes wide. Both boys twisted to look at her curious, both of them unsure about whether or not they should go to the door. Over the last few days, Bilba had been wrestling with what she would do about the boys. If she would tell others, and if she did, what she would tell them at all. 

“We can hide?” Fili said, as if reading her mind. 

“Um. Yes. Do that.” Bilba said, standing up and wiping her oil-slicked palms on her apron. Her home looked an absolute mess. Mud tracked everywhere, the dirtied clothes waiting to be washed and mended, hair product bottles and used dishes. She was sure she looked a mess as well. 

Wincing, she opened the door. On the other side was Lobelia, and this time she had two large feathers in her bright orange hat. Her dress was a matching, blinding orange, like she was a fruit plucked right from the tree. 

“Hello Lobelia!” She said, leaning against the doorframe to prevent her from seeing inside. “What- um- What might I do for you?” 

“What might you do for me?” Lobelia sneered, her eyes dragging up and down Bilba’s tattered form. “You missed Otto’s birthday celebration at the party tree. It was yesterday. I came to see what horrible sickness must have held you up. But you look well enough to me.”

Bilba’s heart pounded, but she forced a bright, if slightly nervous, smile. “Oh! Otto’s birthday—yes, of course. How—ah—thoughtful of you to check on me.”

Lobelia sniffed, tilting her chin up as her eyes flicked pointedly over Bilba’s wrinkled apron, the stray strands of black hair clinging to her skirts, and the general state of her very untidy home. “Horrible sickness indeed,” she drawled. “Perhaps it’s an affliction of slovenliness.”

Bilba resisted the urge to wipe her sweaty palms on her apron again. Stars above, please let the boys stay put.

“Well, I was feeling a bit under the weather,” she said, aiming for an apologetic tone. “So sorry to have missed the gathering.”

Lobelia raised a skeptical eyebrow, but before she could press further, something crashed to the floor. 

Bilba flinched. Lobelia’s eyes gleamed.

Bilba’s mind raced. Fili? No, he wouldn’t—Kili? Oh, love, please tell me that wasn’t you—

Before she could even think of a way to cover, a small voice rang out from within the house.

“Bilba?”

Bilba froze.

Lobelia’s entire face transformed. From smug curiosity to sharp, vulture-like triumph.

“Well, well, well,” Lobelia purred, practically vibrating with satisfaction. “And who is that, I wonder?”

Bilba’s stomach dropped.

She turned, desperate, but it was too late—Fili stood at the end of the hall, eyes wide, one arm stretched as if he had been about to pull Kili back.

Kili, bless his small, trusting heart, peeked right past him, eyes bright with curiosity.

Bilba swallowed a curse.

Bilba slowly turned around at the same time that Lobelia rudely pushed past her and gasped, the two of them standing in the doorway. It was as if four frightened deer were frozen, staring at each other. Bilba staring back and forth between the boys, the boys staring at Lobelia, and Lobelia slack-jawed and gawking at the children. Bilba knew that the boys didn’t look fantastic. 

They both wore linens that fit like dresses on them only because Bilba didn’t have clothing yet to fit them. Both boys- Fili especially- had knotted, mangled hair. She hadn’t even gotten the chance to try and untangle the golden mats, so Fili looked arguably worse. Not only did the clothing not fit, both boys were thin, bones jutting out of their pale skin. They still had cuts and bruises, they were hardly presentable. Bilba rocked back and forth anxiously, from heel to toe, eyes flickering back and forth. 

“Lobelia you can’t say anything.” Bilba finally broke the horrible silence. 

“What. Are they.” Lobelia said. She wore a tone of disgust, and her lip curled back, her judgemental eyes narrowing. Even her hands curled up and tucked to her chest as if she was looking at a pair of rats in the gutters of Bree. 

As if things couldn’t get any worse, Bilba watched in silent horror as Fili puffed out his chest, tipped his chin up, and with all of the pride he could muster, he spoke. 

“We are dwarves, you big dumb orange!!” He snapped back at her and Lobelia’s gasp hit like knives. Bilba groaned, pinching her brow and wondering how things had gone so south. She’d rather pluck out every toe hair than be here.

For a moment, there was absolute, horrified silence.

Lobelia’s face twisted in sheer offense, her mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. Her hands clutched dramatically at the pearls around her neck, her already blinding orange dress seeming to bristle with indignation.

Bilba, still standing in the doorway, let out a long, slow sigh and resisted—oh, how she resisted—the urge to sit down right there on the floor and weep.

Fili, undeterred, stood as tall as his little frame allowed, his chin lifted in defiance despite the tattered state of his too-large linen shirt. His eyes burned with righteous anger, clearly ready to fight this strange, gawking Hobbit woman. Kili, meanwhile, sucked in a sharp breath and immediately hid behind his brother, peeking out from behind Fili’s shoulder with wide, startled eyes.

Lobelia finally found her voice, and oh, Yavanna’s mercy, Bilba immediately wished she hadn’t.

“ Dwarves ?!” she screeched, recoiling as if Fili had declared himself a Balrog. “You—you—” She gestured wildly at them with one gloved hand. “You brought dwarves into Bag End ?!”

Bilba rubbed her brow, taking a steadying breath. “Lobelia—”

Lobelia ignored her, gasping for air as if she were witnessing a crime unfold before her very eyes. “And unruly ones at that!” she shrieked, pointing an accusatory finger at Fili, whose glare only sharpened. “Listen to how it talks! The auda-“

The moment the word it left Lobelia’s mouth, something inside Bilba snapped. Her posture stiffened, her hands clenched, and her blood ran hot—a slow, simmering anger rising from the deepest part of her chest.

She had been raised polite. She had been taught patience. But Yavanna help her, she had never felt such an immediate and visceral need to put someone in their place.

“How dare you!” she snapped, her voice suddenly sharp, like a blade hidden beneath velvet.

Lobelia flinched, clearly unused to being spoken to like that—but Bilba didn’t stop.

“They are not an it , Lobelia Sackville-Baggins,” she continued, stepping forward, placing herself firmly between the boys and the gawking woman. “These are children. They are tired, they are recovering, and they have seen more hardship than you could even imagine. And I will not stand here and let you speak of them as if they are lesser.”

Lobelia recoiled as if struck, her mouth opening and closing in sheer offense. “Belladonna Baggins,” she gasped, her voice trembling with the force of her outrage, “I—I never—”

“No, you didn’t,” Bilba snapped, her hands still tight at her sides. “You didn’t stop to think before you spat those words like they meant nothing. But let me make this very clear to you, Lobelia.”

She took another step forward, forcing Lobelia back onto her heels, her voice ringing with unwavering steel.

“These boys—these dwarves, as you so rudely put it—are absolutely darlings. And besides that, they are mine now, do you understand?. And I do not care a single wink what you, or the Shire, or anyone else has to say about it!” 

Fili, standing behind her, sucked in a sharp breath, his little body going still. Kili, still peeking from behind his brother, blinked up at her in quiet awe.

Lobelia, meanwhile, spluttered. “Y—you can’t just keep them!” she stammered, looking wildly around the room as if seeking backup. “They aren’t—aren’t strays, Bilba, you cannot—”

“I can and I will,” Bilba cut her off, her voice quiet but firm, full of something undeniable. “I am keeping them, Lobelia. And if you, or anyone in the Shire, has a problem with that, then they can march themselves right out my front garden. I am still the head of this family, and I am still the owner of Bag End, and I’ll let you dictate my matters when I am cold and dead in the ground.” 

Lobelia gaped at her, her lips pursed so tightly they nearly disappeared. She clearly wanted to argue—Bilba could see it—but, for once, she was at a loss for words. Bilba took a slow breath, straightened her apron, and nodded curtly toward the door.

“Now,” she said, tone brisk. “I believe you were just leaving. Have a lovely evening.” 

Lobelia gawked at her for a moment longer—then let out a sharp huff, turned on her heel, and stormed out the door, nearly tripping over the step in her fury. The moment the door slammed shut behind her, silence rang through Bag End.

Chapter Text

As if nothing had happened at all, the boys sat obediently back down in front of Bilba to allow her to continue picking through Kili’s mats and his knots. She was able to get one whole half of his head finished, and she braided it neatly down the side of his head, and focused on the other side. Eventually she needed to stop for the evening to get some food into all of them, so she simply promised they would start again tomorrow. Her fingers ached, her skin was slick from the oil, her back twinged from staying hunched over and she had yet to even begin on Fili’s hair. 

    Next was dinner, which was a feat all of its own. She should have made something easy, but she was so used to cooking for herself, she didn’t realize she needed to triple the servings until she was roasting three fish and peeling an entire pot full of potatoes. Would rice and roasted chicken have been easier? Yes- but she didn’t think of it until she had already waded halfway through the complicated recipe. 

    With a deep sigh, she got the boys set up at the table, plates and napkins in front of them, food on the table, and tea in their cups. She finished dinner an entire hour later than she usually would. Everything about her routine had been changed, and she had spent the last two full days tucked away inside. Thank goodness it had rained so she didn’t have to worry about her garden and flowers dying, but it might have been a good idea to go out and harvest. There were surely some rotting tomatoes on the plant. 

    “Alright-” Bilba said, but she turned and froze as she watched Kili take a handful of potatoes, rear back, and fling them at Fili with a delighted giggle. Instead of scolding his brother, Fili only grinned, grabbed some roasted asparagus and pretended they were spears as he flicked them back at Kili.

“Oh goodness- Oh-!” Bilba gasped. Lobelia would have had a fit, and she had to admit, her own skin was crawling. No Hobbit would dare THROW food. “Stop, oh please stop that,” 

    Fili looked at her and his smile faded some. “We were only being polite…?” 

    Polite? 

    “Um. Well, I don’t think…why don’t you explain that one to me?” Bilba said with an unsettled laugh, wringing her hands together. It took great effort not to fuss and clean and scold.

Fili and Kili both looked at Bilba, clearly confused by her reaction. Kili’s small hands still hovered over the plate, another handful of potatoes just about to be launched, while Fili hesitated mid-motion with his asparagus spear.

Fili frowned slightly, glancing at Kili before nodding. “At feasts, when there is enough food, we share.”

Bilba blinked. “You share… by throwing food at each other?”

Fili nodded again, his little brow furrowing in clear concern that she didn’t understand something so obvious. “If there is plenty to go around, it is a sign of generosity! A good table means good fortune. If we don’t share, Mahal will think we are hoarding it and bein’ greedy.” 

Kili, who had been completely silent up until this point, nodded so hard his newly braided hair flopped forward. He then carefully picked up a chunk of fish and very gently placed it on Bilba’s plate, looking up at her with big, expectant eyes.

Bilba stared.

“Oh,” she said faintly. “Oh, I see.”

They weren’t misbehaving, and they weren’t playing. They were following a tradition.

A…very, very messy tradition.

Bilba let out a slow, measured breath, smoothing her hands over her apron. You are their guardian now. You must understand their ways as much as they understand yours.

“Alright,” she said after a moment, clearing her throat. “That is… well, that is very interesting, my dears. I appreciate you sharing with me.” She smiled, taking the piece of fish Kili had oh-so-carefully gifted her and taking a small bite.

Both boys beamed.

“But,” she added, giving them both a knowing look, “perhaps next time we hand the food to one another instead of flinging it across the table, hmm? Or- or I suppose, if we must throw it, we only throw things like the dinner rolls? So they don’t make a mess?” 

Fili tilted his head, considering this. “That would not be wrong,” he admitted after a pause. “It would just be… different.”

Bilba clasped her hands together. “Precisely! A Shire-style sharing, if you will.”

Kili nodded vigorously, then, to Bilba’s absolute relief, grabbed another piece of fish and neatly set it on Fili’s plate instead of hurling it at him.

Thank heavens.

Fili pursed his lips, but after a moment, he also reached for a bit of food and—grudgingly—placed it on Kili’s plate.

“Well done,” Bilba praised, smiling as she finally took her seat at the table. “Now, let’s eat before the food gets cold.”

Bilba thought she had squashed it all, until throughout dinner she realized that the boys were sharing so much, that they basically shared their entire plates. She might as well have switched their plates entirely. Kili ended up with many bite-sized shared pieces, and so did Fili, and both boys were chatting happily in a language she didn’t understand. 

Bilba even shared some of her food, but she had to admit that she wanted to eat most of her plate. She didn’t have to worry though, because for as many things as she shared, little bits were shared with her as well. Kili only smiled shyly when he accidentally dropped a glop of potatoes on the table. Bilba simply smiled warmly, cleaned it up, and continued eating. 

“What is that language he’s speaking?” She asked curiously, looking at Kili as he curiously played with the delicate teaspoon meant for stirring sugar into his tea. 

“Khuzdul.” Fili said with a mouth full of food. Bilba winced, but decided she could not scold them for every single thing the first time they sat down together for dinner. “That’s my first language too, but I took lessons and I know Westron too. Kili only took a little bit before…before…” 

Before what , she wondered. 

“I see,” Bilba said, not making him finish his thought. “Will you translate for me, when he speaks?” 

Fili nodded, kicking his legs and staring absently out the window. Bilba would have asked more, but Fili seemed far away now. Something was haunting him, and Bilba wasn’t sure she wanted to know what it was.

Bilba watched Fili closely, noting the way his fingers curled tightly around his spoon, his small shoulders tensed. He stared out the window, eyes distant, his plate still half-full. Whatever memory he had brushed against had stolen the warmth from his expression, leaving something tight and guarded in its place.

She didn’t press.

Instead, she reached across the table and gently squeezed his hand. “Thank you, petal,” she murmured, voice soft and warm. “I’d like to understand him better.”

Fili blinked, as if shaking himself free from whatever thoughts had trapped him. He looked at her, eyes searching, then nodded. “I’ll teach you,” he said, voice quieter than before. “Kili will like that.”

Kili, oblivious to the shift in mood, was still happily playing with his teaspoon, humming a tune under his breath. When Bilba reached for her cup, he brightened, carefully scooting a small bite of fish onto her plate with a delighted giggle.

Bilba chuckled. “You’re very generous, dear sprout.”

Fili had to translate generous- that was a tough word-  but when Kili understood what she said, he positively beamed, his little chest puffing with pride.

Bilba let the conversation drift, letting Fili settle back into comfort at his own pace. She wouldn’t push. She had time—time to understand, time to learn what lay beneath the shadows in Fili’s gaze.

For now, she let the moment be easy. Safe. Everything was warm and cozy in Bag End, nestled in the quiet Shire, and she hoped the boys could have some of that. As she watched them, she thought about Lobelia, and had to work to keep her expression pleasant and not worry the boys. 

Bilba, quite frankly, did not care one bit if these boys had parents looking for them. Their parents clearly had not been good ones, based on the frightened and starved state of these poor sprouts. No- she would not be chasing them out of Bag End, nor would she be doing any work to find these dwarven parents. Yavanna had guided them here when Mahal’s children clearly had mistreated them, and Bilba would eat Lobelia’s hat before she allowed those boys to be dragged back to whatever they had come from. 

“Fili,” Bilba sat after a moment with a smile. “Did you like lessons, my dear? Most children are taught at home here, and I would love to help you continue some of your lessons if you enjoyed schooling.”

Fili looked back at her, his food going back into his mouth as he blinked. He thought about it for a moment, Bilba could see that he was thinking about his next response. She wondered what memories he was wading through. What sort of feelings came up when he remembered his lessons. She couldn't help but remember the moment that he had been about to wake, and told his Ama that he wasn't going to go. 

"Can I...skip?" He asked, his cheeks warming a deep pink as if he was shy that he had even asked in the first place. Bilba gave him a soft smile and she chuckled a little, sipping at her tea and looking around at the messy home. 

"Well, Darling, you would just be learning with me." She explained to him. "I would be your teacher. You wouldn't need to go anywhere, and I promise not to let it be dull." 

Fili kicked his feet and seemed to brighten. "Okay!" 

"Yes?" Bilba smiled. "You would like that?" 

Fili grinned and nodded. 

-

Once they cleaned up dinner and got settled again, the boys were out like a light. She wasn't sure if they were just exhausted again, or if they were simply Dwarrow boys who fell asleep at the drop of a hat. She tucked them in- and prepared for the following day, finally taking a moment to clean up the room around her. She scrubbed at the muddy globs of footprints that had dried on her wood floor, cleaned the dishes, prepared some of her vegetables for canning, and grabbed the boys' clothing to soak. Tomorrow she was going to have to figure out some clothing for them to wear.

But before she did that, she was going to have to get their hair untangled. 

So, with most of her chores pushed back, the following day, she tugged through the last snarl in Kili's dark hair. The boys were so excited about it, they both went tumbling around like they were rolling boulders. Bilba laughed and clapped- but she also needed to get Fili's hair untangled. 

It took another day and a half, and then finally his golden hair took the pull of her comb smoothly. 

"Did you do it?" Fili asked with an excited gasp, raising a hand to touch his own hair. "Is it untangled, Miss Bilba?" 

"Yep!" Bilba said excitedly. "I got it!"

Fili leapt to his feet and giggled, cheering and throwing his fists into the hair. Kili giggled and got up too, wanting to copy his older brother. Bilba sat back with a relieved sigh and a smile. Finally, both the boys had presentable hair. Sure, it was slathered in oil, but it was combed .

Fili was suddenly scrambling to his old tattered shirt where Bilba had set it aside to mend it as best she could. He was grinning ear to ear as he fussed with something, and she heard the sound of fabric tearing.

“My ama hid these in our little pocket!” He told her with a giddy smile and turned, showing her two small beads—one gold, one silver. They were beautiful, finely crafted, and even in the soft candlelight of her home, they gleamed like something precious.

Fili held them up with an excited grin, his eyes alight with pride. “These are our family beads!” he declared, his voice full of reverence. “Gold for me, silver for Kili. They’re real important. We always keep them safe.”

Bilba smiled, but deep inside, something twisted. Family beads.

The same family that had left these boys cold and starving in the woods. The same family that had clearly never taught them that they deserved gentleness.

Her fingers itched to take the beads and hide them away, to keep these boys from any reminder of whoever had hurt them. But when she looked down at Fili—his face so bright, so hopeful—her resolve wavered.

Bilba swallowed her wariness and forced her smile to stay warm. “They’re beautiful, my love,” she said gently.

Fili nodded eagerly. “We couldn’t wear them before,” he explained. “Our hair was too tangled, and we couldn’t braid them in. But now… now we can.”

Kili gasped dramatically, tugging on Fili’s sleeve, then burst into a happy string of rapid Khuzdul, his little hands gesturing wildly as he spoke.

Fili’s giddy expression wavered, and he winced, suddenly looking sheepish. He glanced at Bilba, then back at Kili, muttering something to his brother in return.

Bilba raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly did he just say?”

Fili squirmed, looking at the beads in his hands as if they were suddenly the most interesting things in the world. “Um,” he started, shifting in place. “Kili… just noticed something.”

Bilba tilted her head, waiting.

Fili cleared his throat, still looking very shy. “He… um. He noticed that you don’t have any beads.”

Bilba blinked, surprised by that. “Oh, no- hobbits don’t have that sort of thing, dear.” 

Fili shook his head, suddenly looking a little sad. “Dwarves wear beads that show their family, their craft, or their clan. You should have one.” His little brows furrowed, as if that truly didn’t make sense to him. “Because you’re so kind.”

Bilba’s throat tightened. “Oh, love, I—”

Before she could say anything, Fili squared his shoulders and fixed her with a very solemn look, his free hand going to rest on her arm. “When I get better at crafting, Miss Bilba, I’m going to make you one,” he declared, determination shining in his young face. “A real one. A family bead. And- and I’ll braid it in your hair.” 

Bilba’s breath caught, and she had to fight back the lump suddenly in her throat. 

Fili had no idea what he was offering her. No idea how much those words meant coming from him. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice steady. “That,” she whispered, kneeling down so she was eye-level with him, “is the best gift anyone has ever offered me.”

Fili beamed.

Kili, not to be outdone, immediately clambered into her lap and babbled something in Khuzdul, grinning as he reached up and patted her cheek like a mother comforting a child.

Fili snorted. “He says you’ll look pretty with one.”

Bilba let out a watery chuckle, pressing a kiss to the crown of Kili’s head before looking at Fili once more. “I would be honored to wear a family bead from you, Fili.”

The little boy grinned, so full of light, so full of joy, that Bilba’s heart ached.

“Alright then,” she said, clearing her throat as she wiped her hands and reached for her comb. “Let’s get these beads back where they belong.”

She braided the beads carefully in, trying to make sure that the braids were lovely and neat. She braided both the beads into their hair, and Fili insisted that they had to be right up front. That made sense to her, and when they were braided, she smiled at them. Now they looked like Dwarves, even though they had one little braid, she could see now that they were meant to be stocky and tough. 

"We need to get you two some clothes." Bilba said to them. 

Which meant that she was going to have to take them out in those linen dresses they were wearing, or she was going to have to leave them at home. She truly didn't have anything for them in the home, or she could ask around to the nearby families. She was sure that word had gotten out about the boys. 

Nothing stayed a secret for very long. 

"Yay!!!" Fili cheered, apparently feeling much more like himself. "Clothes!!" 

"Yay!!!" Kili echoed, copying his brother, his big eyes always watching Fili. "Colo-th-o-s!!" 

"Close enough." Bilba laughed softly. 

Chapter Text

It turned out that getting them out of the house was harder than she thought it would be. Kili was a wild child all of the sudden, and as soon as the linens were changed for him to wear something clean and not covered in hair oil, he was tearing through the home, completely naked. Bilba chased after him, but Kili thought it was a fun game and it was a while before she was able to catch him in a fit of giggles. 

Fili was trying to come up with every excuse as to why they didn't have to go, and how they could stay. 

But Bilba was insistent. They had to go and get proper clothing, and the boys were not to stay behind on their own. To make it easier, she went and got her wagon for them to sit in. Her own belly was twisting with nausea though, she would have to go out into the Shire now, carting the boys along with her. What would they say? Would anyone come up and upset the boys?

In her anxiety, Bilba made sure that half the wagon was full of snacks, just in case.

Bilba chewed on the inside of her cheek as she adjusted the wagon’s handle in her grip. The boys were finally settled inside, though Kili still wiggled excitedly, kicking his legs over the edge while Fili sat with his arms crossed, clearly anxious about their impending outing.

The walk to the market wasn’t long, but it felt much farther with the weight of worry pressing down on her shoulders.

What was she supposed to say? What story would keep people from fussing? From looking at her boys with suspicion, or worse, disgust?

The truth? Absolutely not. That would lead to too many questions. Too many concerns about why two dwarven children had been left to wander the woods, half-starved and covered in bruises. And if the Thain caught wind of it before she had a proper plan…

Bilba sighed, running a hand through her curls as she tugged the wagon along. She would have to keep it simple. Keep it vague.

Maybe… maybe she could say their mother had been a dear friend of hers, and she had passed suddenly, leaving them in Bilba’s care. And…That was sad enough to deter some of the harsher gossip, and it would give people a reason to sympathize rather than criticize.

Yes. That would work.

It had to work.

She swallowed hard as they approached the marketplace, her stomach twisting with nerves. And, of course, it didn’t take long for the stares to begin.

Hobbits were not a discreet folk. By the time she had pulled the wagon halfway down the main path, the whispers had already started.

Bilba could feel the weight of every set of eyes on her as she pulled the wagon through the marketplace. The whispers followed her like a gust of wind through dry leaves, growing louder with every step.

“Those are the dwarflings, aren’t they?”

“Where in the world did she find them?”

“I heard they just showed up in her home—wandered in like stray dogs !”

Bilba’s stomach twisted. She had known this would happen, had prepared for it as best as she could. But now, standing in the heart of the market with the boys sitting in her little cart, she realized she hadn’t thought through everything.

The boys weren’t just dwarves. They were thin. Too thin.

And not feeding children was one of the most despicable crimes a hobbit could commit. A neglected child in the Shire was rarely of. Even if a family struggled, even if times were lean, there were always neighbors, always someone willing to share a meal. The idea that two little ones had been left hungry, let alone half-starved, was something no decent hobbit would accept.

Bilba needed a reason why this had happened, and she needed one fast.

Before she could settle on one, a familiar voice cut through the murmur of the crowd.

“Bilba Baggins!”

Bilba stiffened, and sent a silent plea to Yavanna. She turned slowly to see Marcho Took, one of the Thain’s many nephews- and a cousin- standing with his arms crossed and his sharp eyes fixed on her and the wagon.

“I was wondering when you’d show those two about,” he said, nodding toward Fili and Kili. “Care to explain how you came into possession of two dwarven younglings?”

Bilba barely had time to draw a breath before Fili sat up straight, puffing out his little chest and snapping, “We are not possessions!”

Marcho blinked, clearly surprised. “Oh ho! They speak Westron, do they?”

Bilba’s heart pounded. This is it. Stick to the story.

She let out a slow, measured sigh, forcing grief into her voice. “Their mother was a dear, dear friend of mine,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her chest as if steadying herself. “She passed suddenly, and I—I couldn’t bear to leave her boys alone in the world.”

Marcho frowned, rubbing his chin. “And their father?”

Bilba shook her head solemnly. “Gone before I ever met her.” That part, at least, wasn’t a lie. She had no idea who their father was.

Marcho hummed, eyeing Fili and Kili with a long, measuring gaze. Then, his expression darkened.

“They look half-starved,” he said flatly.

Bilba worked her jaw. It was rude to point out, but Tooks could be that way. From the corner of her eye, she saw Fili stiffen, his small fingers gripping the edge of the wagon. Kili, oblivious, had started chewing on another piece of dried fruit, his little legs kicking happily.

Bilba could not let this turn against them. “Oh, the illness took so much out of them,” she sighed, shaking her head, as if the memory of it pained her. “They’ve only just recovered, you see. It was a dreadful fever—”

“A fever?” Marcho’s brow furrowed.

“Yes, quite a bad one,” she said quickly, willing herself to look sad, to make him believe it. “By the time I found them, they were already weak from it. I’ve been doing my best to build them back up, but you know how slow recovery can be for little ones.”

Marcho studied her for a long, long moment. Bilba held her breath, and held his eye contact, willing Marcho to drop it. Causing a scene over two sickly orphans wasn’t going to look good on him, after all. 

Finally, he exhaled through his nose and nodded. “Aye, I suppose that would do it,” he muttered, though he still looked suspicious.

Bilba forced herself to smile, though she wanted nothing more than to run home and tuck the boys away from prying eyes. “It’s been hard work, but they’re strong little things. With a bit of proper food and care, they’ll be right as rain soon.”

Marcho grunted, shifting his stance. “Well,” he said, glancing at the boys one last time. “That’s a mighty kind thing of you, Bilba.”

“I only did what anyone would,” she said smoothly.

Marcho gave a final sniff, adjusting his waistcoat. “Just don’t let them run wild,” he said, before turning and walking off. “Dwarves are a rowdy bunch.” 

Bilba turned back to the fabric stall as he left, and forced herself to seem perfectly fine for now. There were too many eyes on them. She took a steadying breath, then smiled down at at the boys as if nothing had happened. “Now, let’s see about getting you two something proper to wear!”

The market was a bustling place, and soon the air around them started to calm. There was a fish stand where the Stoors sold many different kinds of things. Fish, water plants, marsh-flowers, tubers, and different odd reptile type foods. Then there were the Fallohides who sold mushrooms and forest berries, truffles and pine nuts, tree sap and syrups. Hobbits who sold fabrics and pipeweed, moonshine and ale, mead and flower pots, seeds and full grown fruits and vegetables. 

The bustle of the Hobbits was largely jovial, many Hobbits using this as a time to catch up and trade with each other, calling out and waving in the warm golden light of the warm sun. It was even busier considering the rainstorm not only had watered everyone's gardens, but also mushrooms and fungi popped up in the damp humidity of a storm. 

Bilba bought a few different kind of fabrics, then moved on to a stand, the Brandybucks. They had an orchard at the southern edge of the Shire, and they sold the most lovely apples she'd ever had. Any time she could buy some, she absolutely would. 

As she walked, she saw a line of little boys, their curly hair, running out from behind the stand, giggling and shoving each other. The Brandybucks were blessed with several little boys, and one sickly girl- Buttercup. As Bilba approached, she could see Little Buttercup sitting in her own little chair in the shade, with a little cup of water. Her cheeks were flushed, and she couldn't be any older than Fili. 

"Hello, Buttercup!" Bilba called out warmly. "How are you today!" 

Buttercup smiled shyly, "I'm good! I'm taking a rest." 

She wasn't any older than Fili, and she was all round cheeks with sweet blonde ringlets bouncing by her shoulders. She wore a beautiful and frilly pink dress, but what Bilba found most interesting, was the cicada shell- the shed of the loud summer bug- stuck to her shoulder. 

"What is that ?" She asked. 

"Violet gave it to me." Buttercup smiled wider, kicking her feet happily.

Bilba felt a tug on her sleeve and she looked down as Fili pointed off across the winding paths, through the stand with lines of watermelon. She straightened up and looked out there. 

"It's the orange." Fili whispered softly. 

Bilba looked out and saw Lobelia glaring at them from across the way. Furious.

Bilba’s stomach clenched. Of course Lobelia was watching them. She had known the moment she stepped into the marketplace that it was inevitable—Lobelia was always looking for something to sink her claws into.  

Still, she forced herself to smile, keeping her posture relaxed as if she hadn’t just been spotted by the one person in the Shire who would turn her boys into a scandal if she had the chance, especially after Bilba had turned her out of Bag End so firmly.

“Well, let her glare,” Bilba murmured under her breath, gently squeezing Fili’s shoulder in reassurance. “We’ve done nothing wrong.”  

Fili didn’t look convinced, but he did straighten slightly, his little hands clenching in the fabric of her sleeve.  Bilba turned back to Buttercup, whose gaze had followed Fili’s pointing finger. “Oh,” the little girl said softly, blinking. “She looks mad.”

Bilba chuckled, though it was a touch too forced. “She always does, dear,” she said, patting Buttercup’s head gently. “Nothing to worry about.”  

Buttercup giggled, kicking her feet, but Fili still watched Lobelia. His whole body was tense, like he was preparing for something bad.  

Bilba took a breath, shifting the basket on her hip. Ignore her . That was the best thing to do. If she reacted, she gave Lobelia something to react to in return.   She turned back to the stand, glancing over the bushels of apples and pears, pushing away the unease curling in her belly.  

“Let’s pick some apples, loves,” she said, loud enough for Fili and Kili to focus on her instead of the orange menace across the way. “Buttercup, dear, which ones are best?”  

Buttercup beamed at being asked. “The red ones are sweetest,” she said happily. “But the green ones make good pies!”  

Kili gasped dramatically, turning to Fili with big, eager eyes. “ Pies !” he repeated in Westron, clearly delighted at the idea.  

Bilba chuckled, ruffling his hair. “Yes, pies. I’ll have to teach you both how to make one.”  

Fili nodded absently, but his eyes flickered back across the marketplace. He was still watching Lobelia.  

Bilba sighed. She turned her head just enough to see Lobelia was talking to someone now.  

No—she was talking to Marcho Took . 

That wasn’t good.  That wasn’t good at all.

Marcho was a gossip, just as bad as Lobelia in his own way. If Lobelia had his ear, then whatever story she was telling would spread like fire on dry grass.  

Bilba smiled at Buttercup, feigning calm, but her mind was already racing.   She had planned for this. She had told Marcho the fever story. That should be enough, shouldn’t it?  

Then why did she feel like the ground was shifting beneath her feet?

She reached down and gently took Fili’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.  “Let’s get our apples, love,” she said softly. “And then we’ll be on our way.”  

Fili nodded, but his little fingers clung tightly to hers.  

Bilba swallowed her unease, forcing herself to focus on the present as she quickly picked out the apples- some red, some green. She could not let Lobelia ruin this moment. She turned back to Buttercup with a warm smile and then gestured to the boys.

“Buttercup, darling, I’d like you to meet my boys,” she said gently, giving Fili’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “This is Fili and Kili.”

Fili blinked, clearly caught off guard by the introduction, while Kili, ever the bolder of the two, tilted his head and grinned.

Buttercup's round cheeks dimpled as she giggled. “You have pretty hair,” she told Fili, swinging her feet under her chair. "Like straw when the sun hits it!”

Fili blinked, clearly caught off guard, and his hand went to his braid, rubbing over the bead absently.

Kili, meanwhile, puffed out his little chest and pointed at his newly braided bead. “Look!” he declared proudly, before launching into a long, excited string of Khuzdul, his little hands gesturing wildly as he spoke.

Buttercup's pale eyebrows scrunched together as she listened. Then she looked at Bilba, her expression confused but intrigued. “What’s he saying?”

Bilba chuckled, ruffling Kili’s curls. “I believe he’s telling you about his hair beads.”

Buttercup’s delighted gasp could have rivaled Kili’s. “Ooooh! I like them! They’re shiny too!” She reached up and ran a small hand through her own wispy, cornsilk-colored curls. “I’ve never seen shinies in hair like that before.”

Kili beamed, clearly pleased by the praise, and said something else in Khuzdul that Bilba was absolutely certain meant something along the lines of we are very fancy indeed.

Buttercup tilted her head, then grinned at Fili. “Your hair’s like honey, and his is like chocolate!”

Fili, who had up until this point looked exceedingly awkward, and was now blushing. Compliments on hair were not often given. "Thank you," He replied quietly. 

Bilba softened, crouching beside the wagon. “You’re all about the same age,” she told them warmly. “And Buttercup is a very sweet girl. You’ll see her around the market often.”

Buttercup beamed, her bright eyes full of curiosity. “Maybe we can play sometime!”

Fili nodded hesitantly, while Kili, completely undeterred by anything, waved a tiny hand at Buttercup. “ Izgi felak !”

Buttercup blinked, then giggled again. “He talks funny.”

Fili snorted, and Bilba breathed out a quiet sigh of relief.

“Perhaps one day, you can teach her some of your words,” Bilba suggested, watching as Fili’s shoulders relaxed just a fraction.

Buttercup gasped again, clapping her hands with bright eyes. The poor thing was sickly enough that she didn't often have playmates, unless Violet was around. “I want to learn!'

Bilba smiled. She adored the Brandybucks, and she traded some dried herbs and soup sets for the apples, and said goodbye to Buttercup, who settled in her chair in the shade, waving happily. She was a delicate child, and Bilba hoped there was a day that she could see the little girl out and playing instead of hiding away in the shade. 

"She was nice, huh?" Bilba said to the boys. She wanted them to have friends too- they couldn't stay cooped up at home all of the time. They would ease into it, and she would make sure that it was the right sort of friends. 

"Yeah," Fili breathed. She traded for some more potatoes, some seeds, some wrapped meat and fish, and got a sewing pattern from the Proudfoots. Then she was heading back home, pulling the wagon behind her. 

Another time, they would be able to stay out longer. She wanted them to be able to play and dance in the rain, and see the fireflies in the shire. 

"Fili?" She asked him. "Where were you two staying?" 

"Oh- we were in a cave up river." He said. "Under the stone. It...reminded us of home." 

Bilba nodded, saying very little. She supposed that was why no one could find the poor thing. No Hobbit except for the Stoors would go that close to the water, let alone across slippery rocks. He was smart for that, if he wanted to stay hidden from the Hobbits.

Bilba nodded slowly, pulling the wagon along the winding path that led back to Bag End. A cave. Under the stone. She could only imagine how cold and damp it must have been, how lonely it must have felt for two little boys to curl up together in the dark, huddling against the chill.

She tightened her grip on the wagon’s handle, a deep ache settling in her chest.

“Are you comfortable enough at Bag End?” she asked gently, glancing down at Fili. “I know it isn’t under stone, but… it is dug into the ground. Maybe that helps?”

Fili looked up at her, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, his little shoulders relaxed, and he gave her a small nod.

“It’s warm,” he admitted, rubbing at the beads in his braid. “And it smells nice.”

Bilba chuckled softly. “It does smell nice, doesn’t it?” she mused. “Like baking bread and flowers after the rain.”

Kili, who had been contentedly munching on a piece of dried apple, wiggled happily and chirped something in Khuzdul.

Fili let out a huff of amusement. “He says it smells like honey.”

Bilba smiled warmly. “Well, I suppose that’s a fine thing for a home to smell like, isn’t it?”

Fili nodded, thoughtful. “We like it,” he said after a moment. “Bag End is… safe.”

Bilba’s heart clenched. Safe. The way he said it—quiet, almost hesitant, as if it was a rare and precious thing—made her chest feel tight.

She slowed her steps, crouching down beside the wagon, her hands resting on its edge as she met Fili’s gaze. “You are safe,” she told him firmly. “You and Kili. You’re safe at Bag End— with me — and you always will be.”

Fili looked at her for a long moment, his blue eyes searching.

Then, slowly, he nodded.

Chapter Text

Bilba sewed while the boys played. It was the most peaceful moment she could have ever thought of, rivaled only by the times that she would stand out in the fields during clear nights and study the stars. She taught the boys how to play marbles, and they sat quiet and focused, rolling their marbles with soft clicks of one marble hitting another. 

Bilba rocked forward and back in her arm chair, threading the needle in and out of the fabric. She started with little Kili- and the best part was that little boy's clothing was smaller, and she was sure she'd be done with the clothing quickly. She had picked a lovely green fabric with some leafy details, and she'd even splurged and gotten some cute acorn buttons to sew down the middle. Of course, she got Fili the same fabric. 

They were going to match if she had anything to say about it. 

Bath time went just as peacefully, and she got the two tucked in on the armchair again, knowing she was going to have to turn her office and spare room into a room for them, soon. She just didn't have enough bedding quite yet- but she did have a guest room she could put them in. 

The issue was that the guest room, and the spare room, were at two different ends of the home. Which meant Fili and Kili would be on far opposite ends. It absolutely would not do.

She tucked into bed at a reasonable hour, for once, feeling well enough about the day. At least tonight she would get a good night's sleep with a full belly. 

When the sun came into the windows, she heard soft clattering and giggling. A smiled pulled across her lips before she even opened her eyes, and when she stepped out finally in her sleeping clothes, she found the boys playing marbles again . 

"You like that game, huh?" Bilba chuckled and yawning, moving to make some tea. Today would be a narmal day if she could help it. They needed to harvest the vegetables, too.

Fili nodded eagerly, carefully lining up his shot, while Kili, completely invested in the game, clapped his little hands together and babbled something excitedly in Khuzdul. The marbles clicked together softly, rolling across the floor in neat little patterns.

Bilba chuckled as she pulled down her tea tin, shaking some loose leaves into the strainer. “I’m glad you two like it,” she mused, pouring the steaming water into her cup. “I used to play marbles all the time when I was little. Though I daresay you boys might be better at it than I ever was.”

Fili beamed at the praise, while Kili, not to be outdone, dramatically puffed up his little chest.

“He says he is the best at it,” Fili translated with a snort.

Bilba laughed, stirring her tea as she leaned against the counter. “I bet you are, love.”

It was a simple thing—watching them play, hearing their little giggles echo softly through Bag End—but it made her heart ache in a way she couldn’t quite describe. This was what childhood should be. This was how little ones should wake up—full of energy and delight, safe and warm with nothing to fear.

It was how these two would always wake up, as long as she had a say so. 

“You two will help me in the garden today, won’t you?” she asked, sipping her tea.

Fili perked up. “Yes!”

Kili, already grinning, pumped his tiny fists in the air. “Yes!”

Bilba laughed, shaking her head. “Well, I hope you like getting your hands dirty, then. It is very important for sprouts to know their way around a garden!”

Fili huffed. “We lived in a cave,” he reminded her, the corners of his lips twitching in amusement.

Bilba sighed dramatically, placing a hand over her heart. “Oh, forgive me, Master Fili. I forgot I was dealing with professional dirt experts!” 

Fili giggled, while Kili, perhaps not entirely understanding, laughed along just the same.

Bilba smiled and interrupted their intense game of marbles to get some breakfast into them before they went out. She had pants ready for both of them, but not the shirts yet. She was going to just cut the oversized shirts, but the boys were already tugging at the door without shirts on at all. Shrugging, Bilba smiled and let them out without a fuss. She’d just get the shirts done tomorrow. Aside from being too thin, there was nothing wrong with letting them go without it, especially when they were just going to get dirty anyway. 

Bilba took her basket, “Boys!! You need a basket!” 

The two raced back, each of them scrambling to grab a basket. Kili was breathing heavily and giggling hysterically and Bilba walked out to her vegetable garden. She’d not harvested in days, and it showed. 

“Okay watch me,” Bilba said, and the boys leaned in close. She twisted off a plump, ripe tomato of the climbing stalk, and placed it in the basket. “See? Only pick the red ones, okay? Not the green ones. If it’s half and half, you can pick those ones too. Then you do the cucumbers, and the beans. I’ll show you those when you’re ready, okay?” 

“Okay!!” Fili grinned. 

“Okay!” Kili echoed, but instead of picking tomatoes, Kili plopped down in the dirt and dug at the weeds playfully. Bilba thought to reexplain to Kiki but…he was weeding. And that was a fine job, too.

Bilba watched Kili for a moment, his little fingers eagerly tearing at the weeds and tossing them over his shoulder, giggling all the while. She huffed a soft chuckle and shook her head. Well, that was one way to be helpful.

“Good work, Kili,” she praised. “Just make sure you’re only pulling the weeds, not my poor vegetables.”

Kili beamed at her, his hands already coated in dirt up to his wrists. He babbled something in Khuzdul before proudly tossing another handful of weeds into his basket.

Fili, meanwhile, had taken his job very seriously. His little brows were furrowed as he carefully inspected each tomato, twisting off only the red or half-red ones, just as she had shown him. He worked with concentration, his tiny fingers careful as he placed each tomato gently in his basket.

Bilba smiled warmly, her heart swelling with affection. “You’re doing wonderfully, Fili,” she told him, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head as she passed.

Fili’s face turned bright red, but he ducked his head with a little, pleased smile.

They worked together under the warm morning sun, the scent of fresh earth and ripening vegetables filling the air. Bilba plucked cucumbers and beans from their vines while keeping an eye on the boys, who had fully settled into their tasks. Kili had moved on to attacking the weeds with even more enthusiasm, while Fili continued methodically filling his basket with tomatoes, his lips pursed in quiet focus.

The peaceful rhythm of the morning soothed Bilba’s nerves, easing the tension that had curled in her belly since the market. The Shire could whisper and gossip all it liked, but right here, in this moment, it was just her and her boys, working the earth with their hands, laughing in the golden sunlight.

It was everything she had ever wanted— and it felt as good as she had dreamed it would. 

When their baskets were full, Bilba wiped the sweat from her brow and straightened, stretching her back with a soft groan. “That’s a fine morning’s work,” she said, grinning as she surveyed their bounty. “I think that deserves a reward, don’t you?”

Kili perked up immediately, scrambling to his feet, his face and chest now streaked with dirt. “Yes!!”

Fili grinned but was a little more composed in his excitement. “What kind of reward?”

Bilba laughed. “How about some honey biscuits and fresh cream?”

“Yes yes yes!!” Kili cheered. Again, Bilba wasn’t sure he knew what he was even cheering about, but everything she said seemed to gain a big, bright grin from the little boy. 

“Grab your baskets and-“ Bilba started, but as she turned she saw a dark mop of curly hair and dark little eyes hiding in Bilba’s hedges. She almost missed it, the little thing was hiding so well. Bilba knew this girl, and she smiled warmly, holding a hand out to stop the boys from going in quite yet. 

Fili and Kili both stopped and looked curiously at the Hobbit girl who was peering out at them, like she was a hiding animal in the bush. 

Upon realizing that she had been spotted, the hobbit child shifted, and one pale arm jutted out from the green hedge. She opened her palm, and a frog the size of a grape hopped out of her hand. 

“Wow!!” Fili gasped. 

Bilba watched the girl dig in her pockets and pull out one more frog. Then another. Then another.

Sweet Violet . Bilba chuckled as the boys stared in shock at the frogs as the child pulled out more and more. 

Violet had always been a quiet, peculiar child—often found digging through the damp earth after a rainstorm or watching insects with the kind of patience most faunts didn’t possess. The other children (and rude grown ups) sometimes whispered about her, calling her odd, but Bilba had always thought she was wonderful.

And now, here she was, half-hidden in the greenery, her dark curls wild and full of leaves, her small hands carefully cradling tiny, hopping treasures.

Fili’s jaw dropped. “How many frogs do you have ?”

Violet tilted her head slightly, considering his question. Then, instead of answering, she held out her hands, palms up—one with a frog resting peacefully in her grasp, the other empty, offering.

Fili hesitated, eyes flicking up to Bilba for guidance.

Bilba, smiling softly, gave him an encouraging nod. “Go on, love.”

Fili carefully reached out, letting Violet place the frog into his hands. He cradled it like it was the most precious thing in the world, his expression full of reverence.

Kili, watching all of this unfold, vibrated with barely contained energy before eagerly holding out both hands. “Me! Me!!”

Violet blinked at him. Then, slowly, she placed another frog into his waiting hands. Kili squealed with delight, a huge grin on his face.  Violet’s lips twitched, just the faintest hint of a smile.

Fili, still holding his frog carefully, glanced at Violet again. “Do you like frogs?”

Violet nodded, once.

Fili smiled, shy but genuine. “I think they’re neat too.”

Violet studied him for a moment, then ever so carefully reached into her pocket once more. From it, she pulled a single smooth pebble, the kind polished by river currents.

She placed it in Fili’s free hand. Fili blinked down at the stone. His fingers curled around it, and he smiled shyly at Violet. 

“I like rocks,” he told her quietly. “Thanks.” 

Bilba bit her lip, watching the soft weight of that moment settle in Fili’s chest. Violet didn’t say anything else—just gave a small, satisfied nod, like her work here was done. Then, without a word, she turned and disappeared back into the hedges, just as quietly as she had arrived.

The boys watched her go, still cradling their frogs. Fili swallowed, staring down at the smooth stone in his palm.

Bilba smiled knowingly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Come along, loves. Let’s get those frogs back to the garden where they belong!”

Kili immediately started hopping in excitement, giggling as he tried to mimic the frog he had set down in the dirt. Fili, slower, tucked the stone into his pocket, his cheeks pink as he carefully followed.

Bilba walked them in and got all of the vegetables in the sink to wash them. She began to explain everything she was doing to them, but every time she started to speak, Fili got this dreamy smile on his face, pulling the rock from his pocket to admire it. Bilba lauded softly and kissed his head as she went by, getting some towels to set out the drying vegetables. They sat in neat rows, and Kili handed her one with a happy noise every now and then. His fingers were too small to handle some of the plump tomatoes, but he did like picking up one bean pod at a time with his little thumb and forefinger pinching at it. 

Once all of the vegetables were set aside, she took the baskets back out to back step and sighed as she sat back down to keep sewing clothing for the boys. The needle in and out again, as the two Dwarves found something to do. 

An hour later, it was time for food again. “Are you hungry?” She asked. It had been two hours and SHE was certainly hungry. 

“No,” Fili said simply, looking up with a smile. Bilba startled, looking down at him. No? But it was time again! “We just ate!” He continued.

Bilba’s entire worldview shifted. “Well, yes, but that was a couple hours ago, and now it’s time for second breakfast.”

Fili looked utterly lost. “What’s second breakfast?”

Never had the hobbit heard such a horrible question. Bilba gasped. “ What’s second breakfast ?”

Kili, ever the mimic, gasped right along with her, though he clearly had no idea why.

Bilba’s hands flailed as she tried to process what she had just heard. “What do you mean, what’s second breakfast? It’s- it’s the meal after breakfast!” 

Fili frowned, utterly perplexed. “You eat another meal after breakfast?”

Bilba stared at him, wide-eyed. “Of course we do! Everyone does! First breakfast is hardly enough to get you through to elevensies!” 

Fili shrugged, as if this wasn’t the most heinous thing she had ever heard in her life. “No, we eat breakfast, then we work, then we eat again at the end of the day. Me and Kili are still little enough that we get a snack in the middle of the day, though.” 

Bilba staggered back as if she had been struck. “That’s only two meals!” she shrieked, feeling like she could just faint from such a terrible idea. “And- and you are so little ! Everyone knows faunts need as much as they can eat!” 

Fili, now growing concerned that he was somehow wrong, looked to Kili for reassurance. Kili, of course, was completely useless, happily chewing on a green bean while staring between them with wide, curious eyes.

“But-But I’m not hungry!” Fili said, but he did get up slowly to sit at the table. Kili hurried over to the table too, blinking curiously. Kili was too little to complain. He would happily eat more snacks if he was given them. 

“Well. Your parents must be-“ Bilba began, but she stopped herself, having to physically bite down on her tongue. She didn’t want to talk poorly about their parents, especially not to the boys. She grabbed them plates and set some muffins and fruits, some cheeses and meats down. 

She passed it over to them. “Well in this home, you’ll never go hungry.” 

“But…” Fili said weakly, but he did start to eat again. 

Bilba was furious. No wonder those boys were so thin! They needed more food, and eating two times a day was hardly anywhere near good enough.

Bilba busied herself with setting down more food, but inside, she was seething. Two meals a day .

That was criminal. That was unthinkable . That was—

She sucked in a slow, steadying breath, and mentally had to count to ten to try and calm down. She would not speak ill of their parents, no matter how furious she was. No matter how much she wanted to demand answers. She wouldn’t let Fili or Kili feel like she was questioning their family, or that they had to defend them.

But oh, stars above, she wanted to.

Instead, she set a small pat of butter down next to Fili’s muffin. “Put a little of that on top, love. It’s better warm.”

Fili looked at the butter, then at her, and hesitated. “You…you really eat this much all the time?”

Bilba chuckled, sitting down across from them. “Fili, love, this is just a snack.”

Fili looked stunned. Kili, meanwhile, was already stuffing a bit of cheese in his mouth, kicking his legs as he chewed happily.

Bilba’s heart clenched. They must have been starving without even realizing it.

“You don’t have to eat everything if you’re full,” she said, softer now. “But I do want you to try.”

Fili’s little shoulders slumped, but he nodded, picking up his muffin and nibbling at the edge.

Bilba smiled warmly. “That’s a good lad.”

Fili tried to hide his pleased expression, but she caught the way his ears turned pink. Kili, sensing the moment was safe again, giggled and chattered something in Khuzdul.

Fili rolled his eyes fondly. “He says he loves muffins.”

Bilba laughed, so endeared by this sweet little sprout. “Well, lucky for you both, I make plenty of them.”

The boys ate without any more fuss, and she felt better about it once half of Fili’s muffin was nibbled away. Then they hopped down and resumed their playing in the house. After several rounds of complaining and begging, Bilba allowed them both to go out and play even though it was the heat of the day. They had to stay within the yard though, as their clothing still wasn’t ready and she didn’t want them running around ragtag. 

She peered out of the home around midday, and her eyes widened as she watched Kili swing back a stick and WHAP Fili with it. Fili collapsed and she saw Kili continue to WHAPWHAPWHAP Fili with that stick. She gasped, horrified, and rushed out there. 

“Kili!!” She called out. 

Fili and Kili both popped up, staring at her. 

“What!! In Yavanna’s green hills!” She gasped. He was beating his brother after everything Fili had done for him?! She couldn’t believe it!! 

“It’s just a game!” Fili called out, standing up right away. Kili looked back and forth at them with wide eyes.

Bilba gaped, her heart still hammering from the sheer horror of watching Kili beat Fili with a stick.

“A game ?!” she repeated, utterly bewildered.

“Yes!” Fili insisted, brushing himself off like getting whapped repeatedly was perfectly normal behavior.

Bilba looked to Kili, who clutched his stick with both hands, staring back at her with huge, round eyes. He looked guilty, but also slightly confused, like he didn’t quite understand what the fuss was about. Bilba pressed a hand to her chest, trying to breathe. “You—you were hitting him!”

Fili grinned. “Yes! We’re practicing!”

Bilba stared. “Practicing what, exactly?”

Fili puffed up his chest. “Fighting, of course! Dwarves have to train young.”

Bilba let out a strangled noise. “You’re babies !”

Fili huffed, clearly offended. “We’re not babies.”

Kili, who had been watching all of this unfold in confusion, babbled something in Khuzdul and pointed proudly at his stick.

Bilba snapped her gaze to Fili. “What did he say?”

Fili bit his lip, looking slightly sheepish now. “Um… he said he won. But I let him win, it’s important he builds confidence. That’s what our teacher said.” 

Bilba groaned, rubbing her face. Hobbits did not do this! Hobbits did not go around walloping their siblings with sticks for fun! She crouched down, looking firmly at both of them. “Alright, listen to me, you two.”

Fili and Kili both straightened, eyes wide.

“In this home, we do not hit each other. Not for training, not for fun, and certainly not with sticks.”

Fili frowned, brows knitting together. “But—”

“No buts!” Bilba interrupted, crossing her arms. “If you must play-fight, you will tell me first, and you will not use sticks to beat each other into the dirt!”

Kili let out a dramatic sigh and dropped his stick.

Fili still looked uncertain. “…Not even wooden swords?”

Bilba blinked at him. “Wooden what ?”

Fili’s eyes sparkled. “Wooden swords! Like in training! Dwarves use them all the time to practice before we get real ones.”

Bilba felt ill. “You are not getting swords,” she said flatly.

Kili whined and babbled something again, stomping his little foot.

Fili sighed, translating, “He says we need them to be warriors.”

Bilba looked up at the blue, peaceful sky, pleading silently to Yavanna for strength.

Chapter Text

They argued back and forth for many minutes, Bilba’s knees began to ache from the crouching at the end of it. Kili inquired curiously in Khuzdul, more and more unsure as the argument went on. Fili did everything he could, he insisted that they needed to know this, that there was honor to it, that they were Dwarves, not Hobbits, and his Ama and Ada had wanted this for them. To respond to that, Bilba insisted that they were in the Shire, and they would not be doing anything of the sort here. She didn’t care about what sort of culture they had come from, not here. Not about this.

She wasn’t trying to be intolerant, but it was unsafe, surely, for the boys to constantly be beating each other. And what if they decided to play that horrible game with Buttercup, or little Violet? 

“What about- what about targets? Like dummies?” Fili said, arguing so hard that his cheeks were turning red. Bilba gave him a long, suffering look. That gap in argument allowed Fili to get one foot in the door and he pounced on it excitedly, “We won’t hit each other, but maybe only trees, or barrels, or hay-stuffed things! And-and we’ll make up a new game about it!” 

Bilba pinched her brow and looked down, thinking about it. She had no real reason to say no, other than to stop them from practicing. Which…might be too intolerant of her. 

“If one person gets hurt…” She warned. 

“They won’t!! We’ll be careful!” Fili insisted, eyes wide with brightness and hope. 

“Yeah yeah yeah!” Kili insisted too, but he had no idea what he was insisting too. He mimicked his brother and gave Bilba big, sad blue eyes.

Bilba took a slow, deep breath, rubbing at the ache building behind her temples. What am I doing?

Fili looked at her like this was the single most important debate of his entire life, and Kili—who still clearly had no idea what they were talking about—was bouncing on his heels, parroting his brother’s every word.

She could put her foot down completely. She could tell them no, that there would be no stick-fighting, no training, and that was that. But Fili had put up a strong argument—one that clearly mattered to him. He was trying to hold onto something, and she wasn’t heartless enough to ignore it.

Bilba narrowed her eyes, raising a firm finger. “And you will not—under any circumstances—hit a Hobbit child.”

Fili stiffened, eyes going wide. “We wouldn’t!”

“You better not,” Bilba said sternly. “Hobbit children are not like Dwarrow children. You two may be tiny, but I assure you, you are built like stone compared to them. If you so much as tap Buttercup or Violet the way you were whacking each other with sticks, you will be in so much trouble your ears will ring from the scolding.”

Fili nodded rapidly, as if trying to physically prove his sincerity. “We won’t! We promise!”

Bilba stared down at them, then gave a great sigh. 

“You may whack the oak tree on the top of the hill.” She said slowly and calmly, and both boys hung on her every word. “You know the rules, and know that I am only trying to keep you safe. I am not trying to change you or stifle you. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes.” Fili nodded. “Yes, we understand.”

Bilba stared at Fili for a long time, then stared at Kili. “I want you to tell Kili, in his language, and make sure he understands every word.” 

Fili nodded enthusiastically and explained everything to Kili, his hands moving slightly too. She waited quietly, then Kili grinned and nodded, slamming his own little fist against his little chest. She supposed that was a yes, if anything. 

Nodding, she let them go back out and play, and the boys scrambled up to the tree that grew above Bag End. Sighing, she shook her head and smiled softly. She could hear them up there, WHAPWHAPWHAP . 

She wondered how many other differences in Dwarf culture she was going to come across. Throwing food, two meals a day, and now teaching the little ones to fight? What a strange culture indeed. 

Fili and Kili were supposed to be practicing their dummy-hitting, but soon enough, their game had turned into climbing the great oak tree that loomed above Bag End.  

It had been too tempting—its sturdy branches stretched wide, casting shade over the hill, and the breeze that rustled through the summer leaves made it the perfect place for two energetic little boys to scramble up as high as they could.  

Kili went first, laughing as he swung up onto a low branch, his bare feet gripping expertly as he reached for another. Fili followed, more methodical in his approach, making sure Kili didn’t get too far ahead—though his little brother was fast, darting up like a squirrel, giggling wildly.  

They hung upside down. They balanced on the thickest branches. Kili leaned down, making a ferocious face with his teeth bared, pretending to be a troll, while Fili poked him with a stick, declaring himself the mighty hero who had to slay the beast.  

They were both in the middle of a particularly dramatic battle—Fili swiping at Kili with his imaginary sword, Kili pretending to fall off the branch with an exaggerated wail—when a small, polite voice piped up from below.  

“’Scuse me for bein’ a bother,” the little voice said hesitantly, “but might I be able to climb up there with you?”  

Both boys froze.  

Slowly, they peered down through the branches.  

Standing at the base of the tree was a little Hobbit fauntling—round-faced and chubby, with big brown eyes that widened as they looked down at him. His curls were a mess from running up the hill, and he clutched a little cloth bag in his hands, gripping it tightly, like a shield against his own shyness.

Kili, still hanging upside down, squinted. “Fili,” he whispered in Khuzdul, “There’s a Hobbit down there.”  

“I see that,” Fili whispered back.  

The little boy hesitated under their staring, shifting his weight awkwardly before holding up his small bag.  

“M’ mum sent me with some honey candies,” he said, his voice very quiet. “If… if you’d like to share.”  

Fili and Kili exchanged a look.  

The little boy clutched his pack a bit tighter at first—hesitating—before finally opening the drawstring and holding it out. Inside were neatly wrapped golden candies, glistening in the sunlight, the faint scent of honey and lemon wafting from them.  

Kili’s whole face lit up.  Fili inspected the Hobbit child closely. “…What’s your name?”  

The boy swallowed, looking a little nervous. “Samwise Gamgee.”  

Fili tilted his head. “Why’d you come up here?”  

Sam fidgeted, his little fingers twisting the edge of his bag. “…Da said you lived here now,” he murmured. “Said you’re stayin’ with Miss Bilba.”  

Fili and Kili glanced at each other.  

“My Da said,” Sam went on, his voice growing a little stronger, “that Miss Bilba’s got a good heart. And that if you’re stayin’ with her, you must be good, too.”

Fili narrowed his eyes at the little Hobbit, thinking about all of the adult Hobbits they had met. He hadn't liked a single one of them! The Summer wind blew through all of their hair, the sun shining down on them, though Kili was as happy as could be, having already accepted Sam into his his life. 

"Well...You don't have anything to do with that orange lady, do you?" Fili asked. 

"Huh? I don't know who you're talking about, but...I'm nice I promise!" Sam said. "Do you wanna try the candies...?"

"Yes yes yes!!" Kili said happily. Fili cracked a smile, admittedly excited to try the sweet treats, even though his belly seemed still so full from breakfast, and second breakfast. Of course, a honey lemon candy could fit somewhere in there, too. 

"Okay, Sam!" Fili smiled, unable to stay serious for long. "You can play with us! You seem like the good sort, too!" 

Sam's face absolutely exploded in true happiness, beaming, excited and joyous. It was like the sun came shining out of Sam's chest, and he shifted from foot to foot, giggling. 

"Thanks," Sam giggled, "How'd you climb all the way up there anyway!"

Fili stared down at him. “We climbed!” 

“I—I dunno if I can do that…” Sam admitted, his voice small. His hands twisted into his shirt, gripping the fabric anxiously as he eyed the great tree towering above them.

Fili blinked at him. “Why not?”

Sam hesitated, kicking at the dirt. “I… I never done much climbin’ before.”

Kili, still perched on a branch, gasped in absolute horror, babbling something quickly in Khuzdul. He gestured wildly at Sam, then at the tree, then back at Sam. Fili sighed, rubbing his temples.

“He’s saying, what do you mean you’ve never climbed a tree?!” Fili translated, exasperated.

Sam flushed, looking embarrassed. “Well, we don’t do much of it, I s’pose,” he mumbled, eyes downcast.

Kili gawked at him like this was the worst thing he had ever heard.

Fili frowned, considering this new piece of information. “Well, how do Hobbit lads play, then?”

Sam shuffled awkwardly. “We roll down hills sometimes,” he offered.

Kili, still hanging upside down from the branch, perked up at that, his face lighting with interest. He babbled something eagerly, pointing down toward the rolling green slopes of the hill.

Fili smirked. “He says that sounds amazing.”

Sam blinked in surprise. “It—it is fun,” he admitted, glancing between them.

Fili looked up at the tree, then back at Sam, who was trying so hard to look like he wasn’t nervous. The little Hobbit lad was doing his best to be brave, but Fili could see the way his fingers clenched and unclenched in his shirt, the way he swallowed thickly every time he looked up at the very tall branches.

Fili made a decision. “Well,” he said, hopping down from the lowest branch and dusting off his hands, “we can play on the ground, then.”

Sam blinked at him in shock. “We can?”

“Sure,” Fili said easily, shrugging. “Not everyone has to climb trees, you know.”

Kili whipped around, giving Fili an offended look, babbling something in a deeply disapproving tone.

Fili sighed. “Kili, we can’t make him do it if he doesn’t want to.”

Kili scowled, arms crossed.

Fili smirked, tilting his head. “But we can see if he can roll down hills faster than we can.”

Kili perked up instantly.

Sam beamed, looking so relieved he might collapse on the spot. “Oh! I—I can do that!”

Fili grinned. “Then come on, Sam! You show us how it’s done.”

And just like that, Fili and Kili’s tree-climbing lesson turned into a rolling lesson—one that Sam eagerly took charge of.

Day pulled into evening, the hours passing as they boys got more and more dirty. Green grass stains covered their clothes, dirt smudged their cheeks and all three boys were alight with excitement. They were gasping and breathing with delight, excited and giggling. Even as the night came upon them and the lanterns were lit to illuminate the paths, the boys were still playing. 

“Boys!!” Bilba’s voice rang out and Fili and Kili said their happy goodbyes. Sam waved a chubby hand, then went running for home. All along the Shire, the Hobbit children were sprinting through the paths, giggling and returning home for supper. This time, the boys were hungry, wolfing down all of their food and speaking to an amused Bilba about their day. Kili was, of course, speaking in Khuzdul, rapid with a mess of harsh consonants. 

Amused, she sent them to bathe and she happily pulled a comb through their hair, pleased that she tangles came right free this time. Kili kicked his feet happily when she put his hair in two thick braids, then did the same for Fili. 

“Alright boys,” She said warmly, “I’ve spent all day getting the guest room and the spare room ready, but the guest room is down the East Hall, and the spare room is down the West Hall.” 

As she said it, the boys looked left, then right, down the respective halls as she mentioned them. 

“So…we’d be in different rooms?” Fili asked slowly.

“Mhm!” Bilba said. “You’ll each have your own room!”

It was a luxury for that to be the case with Hobbits. Most Hobbits had five or six children on average, with more often pushing toward ten. Having every fauntling in their OWN ROOM was very exciting to her. However, Fili turned and looked at her with the nastiest, nose-scrunched expression she had ever seen. He looked like he had just gotten done spreading manure in the gardens. 

Unable to help herself, Bilba started to laugh at the ridiculousness of his expression.

Kili, meanwhile, stared in horror between the two halls, looking genuinely distressed as he grabbed onto Fili’s sleeve like he was about to be ripped away forever. He babbled something rapid and urgent in Khuzdul, tugging at his brother, looking on the verge of an absolute crisis.

Bilba burst into laughter.

She hadn’t meant to—it just came rushing out at the sheer ridiculousness of Fili’s reaction. The audacity of her even suggesting they be in separate rooms! As if she had just committed the greatest crime in all of Middle-earth!

Fili scowled at her, crossing his arms tightly.

“This isn’t funny,” he huffed, his little face serious as could be.

Kili nodded aggressively in agreement, gripping his sleeve tighter, like Fili was about to be dragged away against his will.

Bilba gasped for breath, still chuckling as she wiped a tear from her eye. “Oh, my dear, it is a little funny.”

“It is not!” Fili declared firmly.

Bilba, still grinning, shook her head, sitting down in her chair. “Fili, love, it’s normal for children to have their own rooms.”

“Well we don’t do that!” Fili said immediately, his little nose still scrunched in disgust. “Kili needs me!”

Kili nodded furiously, babbling something rapid in Khuzdul as he clutched at Fili’s arm, his little feet kicking in nervous energy.

Fili nodded in agreement. “He says that if we get separate rooms, we might as well be on separate mountains and he won’t survive the night.”

Bilba had to bite her lip to keep from laughing again.

“Well,” she said gently, leaning forward, “I don’t want either of you to be upset. So how about this?”

Both boys stared at her, intensely invested.

“You can share a room,” she said warmly, “for now. But if you ever decide you want your own space, you can have it. No fuss.”

Fili nodded immediately. “We won’t.”

Kili bounced excitedly, practically swinging off Fili’s arm.

Bilba chuckled, shaking her head. “Alright, alright. You two can share the spare room.”

Fili gave a sharp nod, looking deeply satisfied—as if he had won some great battle. Kili cheered, throwing his arms up before running full speed toward the room as if Bilba might change her mind at any second.

Bedtime went as well as she’d hoped. She got the boys tucked in- she let them keep her mother’s quilt. On either side of the bed was a nightstand with a candle and some matches in case they needed it, and she’d put out some water for them, and some muffins as a snack in case they woke up hungry. She had made sure everything was just so, every speck of dust scrubbed from the room. She’d even given them her old childhood toys, a few dolls, a stuffed bear, and a baby blanket in case Kili preferred it. 

“We can decorate it more soon,” Bilba told them. “And we can do whatever you’d like to it.” 

The boys seemed pleased though, excited about the idea of sleeping in their own rooms. Even though they were Dwarves, and even though there were two of them, they looked so little in that big cushy bed. With matching forehead kisses from Bilba, the boys settled down to rest. 

Bilba found herself lingering outside the door just in case they needed anything at all. When she heard nothing but silence, she finally returned to her room. 

Sighing, she smiled to herself. It had been an exhausting few days, but a very rewarding few days as well. Her chest swelled with warmth and pride, excitement for the coming days. She couldn’t wait to see how the boys grew, and she was so pleased to see them playing and jumping and running around with little Sam. Bilba changed into her nightgown and settled down with a happy sigh. 

Late in the night, she jolted awake to the sound of screaming.

Chapter Text

Bilba shot up in bed, her heart slamming against her ribs. The scream was high-pitched, raw with terror, echoing through the halls of Bag End. She threw off her blankets, stumbling out of bed as fast as her legs could carry her.

She didn’t even bother with slippers—she ran, her bare feet slapping against the wooden floors as she reached the boys’ room.

She burst through the door, breathless, her eyes wild as she took in the sight before her.

Kili was thrashing, his little body kicking violently against the sheets, his arms flailing as if he was trying to fight something off. His face was scrunched up in fear, his mouth open as he wailed, trapped in whatever nightmare had seized him.

Fili was already up, gripping his brother’s shoulders, shaking him desperately. “Kili! Kili !” His voice cracked, his own face twisted in panic. “Wake up! Wake up!”

Bilba rushed to them, her heart pounding and breaking at the same time. “Oh, my love, my dear one,” she murmured, her voice thick with worry as she cupped Kili’s damp little face, brushing his tangled hair from his sweaty forehead. “It’s alright, my sweet, wake up, wake up now.”

Kili gasped, his body jerking as he snapped awake, his dark blue eyes wide and glassy with terror. His chest heaved, little hands clutching at the blanket, his whole body shaking as he sniffled, utterly disoriented.

“Shhh, shhh,” she soothed, immediately gathering him into her arms, cradling him close. He was so small, so fragile in that moment, his little fingers digging into her nightgown as he buried his face against her shoulder, hiccuping with ragged little sobs.

“I tried to wake him up, but he doesn’t wake up,” Fili said, his little voice panicked as tears streamed down his face, too. Bilba was holding Kili and hushing him softly, her throat growing swollen and hot with the effort of holding back her own tears. She felt terrible for the poor boys, and it hit her again how no matter what she did, she wouldn’t be able to erase whatever had happened to them before they got to her home. She wouldn’t be able to erase the fear, the hurt, the memories, and apparently the nightmares. 

“It’s alright,” Bilba said softly to both Fili and Kili. Kili started to talk, sobbing around his words, words that Bilba couldn’t understand. 

“He says- He says he dreamt of a King,” Fili murmured. “Screaming at him, dragging him by the arm and throwing him down the- the-” Fili wasn’t able to continue.  

“Whatever it was, it was only a dream.” Bilba reassured them both, sat on the bed with a sobbing child in her arms. The cries shook his little body and his fists clenched with white knuckles in her clothing. Bilba held her other arm out for Fili, encouraging him to come close too. Fli went to her, clinging to her other side. 

Bilba started to sing softly. 

The sun is fast fallin'

Beneath trees of stone,

The light in the tower,

No longer my home,

Passed eyes of pale fire,

Black sand for my bed,

I trade all I've known for the unknown ahead.

Call to me, call to me, lands far away!

For I must now wander, this wandering day,

Away I must wander, this wandering day.

Fili pressed his face tightly against Bilba’s side, his little fingers digging into the fabric of her nightgown as silent tears rolled down his cheeks. Kili’s sobs had softened into quiet, hiccuping whimpers, but his little fists still clung desperately to her, like he was afraid she might disappear if he let go.

Bilba rocked them both gently, her voice soft, steady, wrapping around them like the warmest embrace.

Of drink I have little,

And food I have less,

My strength tells me no,

But the path demands yes…

She could feel their trembling ease, little by little, their breathing slowing, syncing with the gentle rhythm of the lullaby. Kili still hiccupped occasionally, but he had relaxed against her, his tiny body exhausted from fear and sorrow. Fili’s grip had loosened slightly, though his forehead still rested against her arm, his golden hair damp with tears.

My legs are so short and the way is so long,

I've no rest nor comfort, no comfort but song.

Bilba swallowed past the tightness in her throat. The words struck her harder than they should have. What had these boys lost? What hadn’t they lost?

At last comes their answer through cold and through frost,

That not all who wonder or wander are lost.

No matter the sorrow, no matter the cost,

That not all who wonder or wander are lost

Fili shifted against her, sniffling softly, but he was calm now. Kili had stopped hiccuping, though his tiny hands were still curled into her nightgown.

Bilba hummed the last few notes, letting the lullaby fade into the soft crackling of the candle on the nightstand. Silence stretched in the room, but it was no longer tense. The fear, the panic—it had passed, leaving only the warmth of a quiet night.

Kili mumbled something in Khuzdul, his voice thick with sleep. Fili, still half-buried against her, translated drowsily, “He says… he doesn’t want to have bad dreams again.”

Bilba stroked a gentle hand through Kili’s curls. “You won’t, my dear one,” she whispered. “Not tonight.”

Fili shifted, rubbing at his sleepy eyes. “Can we stay with you?” he asked, voice small.

Bilba smiled, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Of course, love. Come on.”

She helped them up, guiding them back to her room, where she pulled back the blankets and settled them both in beside her. Kili curled up against her immediately, tucking his head under her chin, his little fingers twisting in the fabric of her sleeve. Fili settled on her other side, pressing close but still trying to maintain some dignity—though his fingers still curled around the edge of her blanket like a lifeline.

Kili’s little hand wriggled around her neck, as if he was looking for something else to hold onto. She looked down at Kili gave a frustrated sigh and settled again, grabbing her sleeve as if he was simply settling for something lesser. 

“He’s looking for a braid to hold onto.” Fili murmured. “Ama had braids.” 

Bilba’s heart squeezed in a nasty mix of jealousy and sorrow. She closed her eyes and kissed Kili’s sweaty head. She said nothing. Couldn’t say anything at all. 

Soon the boys’ breaths evened out and they were asleep. Bilba tucked them in close and part of her wondered if something awful had happened. Did their parents meet some terrible fate? Was their mother watching down on them now, and glad that they were somewhere safe? 

A seed of warmth bloomed in her chest. 

If that was the case, Bilba hoped that she had done right by these boys so far. She hoped that the dwarf woman was at peace knowing the boys were safe with her. Safe, warm, loved, and fed.

The morning light was golden and soft, filtering through the kitchen window as Bilba kneaded bread dough, listening to the occasional giggle from outside. Kili was back to himself, chattering in Khuzdul, his tiny voice bright as he stomped through the grass, chasing frogs with all the wild enthusiasm of a carefree child.

But Fili…

Fili was quiet. He sat on the back steps, arms wrapped around his knees, his golden hair catching the sunlight, his expression far away.

Bilba watched him carefully, kneading the dough slower and slower until she finally dusted the flour from her hands and wiped them on her apron. She took a deep breath, then stepped outside, lowering herself onto the steps beside him.

For a while, she just sat there, letting the warm breeze ruffle through their hair, watching as Kili whooped with triumph, a frog clutched gently in his little hands.

Then, after a moment, she shifted, slipping her arm around Fili’s small shoulders and pulling him close. He leaned into her immediately, his little body warm and tense.

“Fili, love,” she murmured gently, “can I ask you something?”

Fili gave the smallest nod, not looking up.

Bilba hesitated. She hated pressing him—hated to make him relive anything painful—but…

“Where are your parents, dear?” she asked softly.

Fili went very still. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, softly, he sniffled.

Bilba’s heart squeezed, and she was immediately fussing, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbing gently at his little face. “Oh, my dear, my sweet one, it’s alright,” she soothed, pressing a kiss to his temple. “It’s alright.”

Fili hiccupped, his little hands clenching against his knees as fresh tears spilled over. “A—a bad dwarf,” he whispered, voice shaking, “a bad, *bad* dwarf killed my Ama.”

Bilba sucked in a breath, her arms tightening instinctively around him.

“My Ada died before that,” Fili whispered, sniffling harder. “Fighting Orcs. It—it was just me and Kili, and I—I thought—” His little shoulders shook, his voice thick with grief. “I thought maybe we’d be safe in the Blue Mountains. That’s where Ada was from.”

Bilba could barely breathe past the lump in her throat.

“But now—” Fili hiccupped, his small hands fisting in his own shirt, “—I don’t—I don’t want to go to the Dwarves. I don’t—I don’t want to go anywhere. I don’t want them to take Kili, I don’t want to leave, I— I— !”

He was distraught now, panic slipping into his voice, and Bilba couldn’t take it. She scooped him right up, moving him into her lap like he was still a tiny fauntling, holding him tight against her chest.

“Oh, Fili,” she whispered, rocking him gently, her own eyes stinging with unshed tears. “Oh, my heart, my dear one, I am *so* sorry.”

Fili sobbed, clutching onto her, burying his face against her shoulder. Bilba closed her eyes, her chin resting atop his golden head, her fingers smoothing over his back.

So they had no one, Bilba realized. They had no parents, though she didn’t know about their other family. Her thought the night before had been correct, that there were two Dwarves watching them with softness, she hoped. She looked up to the sky and wondered what the afterlife looked like for the Dwarrow. Was it lovely, like Yavanna’s garden would be when she got there eventually? Or was is Dwarvish and stony- was it full of stone-gems and mountains? She kissed Fili’s head and continued to rock him in her lap. 

Kili looked up curiously and came running over with a frog trapped in his chubby little hands. With all the gentleness of a child, Kili reached out and placed the frog into Fili’s lap. The frog croaked, disgruntled at being disturbed, its sticky toe-pads clinging to Fili’s knee. Fili sniffled and looked down at it, then at Kili who was grinning. 

“Ta-daa!” Kili chirped. 

“Thanks.” Fili murmured, sniffling and wiping his nose with his wrist. He let the frog jump off him, and Kili gave a shout, now chasing after it again and starting all over. Fili watched him with a slight smile. “He looks like Ama.”

Bilba looked down at Fili. She imagined a dark-haired Dwarf with blue eyes, a mother with braids and beads. 

“And you?” She asked softly, playing with his golden hair. 

“I look like Ada.” Fili responded softly. Bilba continued to play with his hair. In her mind, she now saw a beautiful couple. They had to be- if they made such beautiful boys. She prayed softly. To Yavanna. To Mahal. To the parents of Fili and Kili. She hoped they found peace, and rest. She hoped that wherever their souls had been delivered, that they were with each other and safe.

Bilba held Fili a little tighter, resting her cheek against the top of his head as she stared at the sky. The clouds drifted lazily, soft and slow, as if they had all the time in the world. Fili was still sniffling, though his breathing had evened, his little hands no longer clutching at her in desperation. She rubbed soothing circles on his back, feeling the way his small frame relaxed against her, the way the tension eased out of his tiny shoulders.

Fili sighed, deep and shuddering, and pulled away just slightly. He swiped at his nose with his sleeve, his blue eyes still red-rimmed and wet, but there was a flicker of something softer in them now. He watched Kili tumble through the grass, his giggles echoing through the yard as he once again tried (and failed) to catch the frog that had long since decided it wanted no part in this game.

For a long while, neither of them moved. Then Kili came sprinting back, his little hands empty now, but his smile as bright as ever.

Fili barely had time to react before Kili plopped himself into his lap, letting out a happy sigh like he’d been running a great distance instead of just across the yard.

Fili let out a small oof, then laughed, wrapping an arm around his little brother. “Did you get it?”

Kili shook his head rapidly, his curls bouncing. He chattered something in Khuzdul, his hands moving animatedly as he spoke.

Fili huffed in amusement. “He says the frog cheated.”

Bilba bit back a smile. “Oh? And how does a frog cheat, exactly?”

Kili puffed up proudly and spoke again, more insistent this time.

Fili translated between chuckles. “He says it was very unfair because he almost had it, but then it jumped away.”

Bilba couldn’t help it—she laughed, a light, warm sound that made Kili’s grin widen.

“That’s what frogs do, little love,” she teased, tapping his nose. “I don’t think that counts as cheating.”

Kili pouted for only a second before dissolving into giggles, squirming in Fili’s lap as he wiggled closer to Bilba.

She welcomed him with open arms, wrapping them both up against her, letting them settle against her chest. For a while, they just existed there, wrapped in the golden glow of the afternoon, the weight of sorrow momentarily lifted.

Bilba let the laughter settle, holding the boys close as the warmth of the sun wrapped around them like a second embrace. Kili had gone blissfully quiet, his cheek pressed against Fili’s shoulder, his little fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of Fili’s sleeve. Fili, in turn, had rested his chin lightly atop Kili’s head, his blue eyes still a little red, a little tired, but softer now. More at peace.

Bilba sighed, content for a moment just to hold them. Just to be.

Then, gently, she turned them toward her, shifting so she could see both their little faces clearly.

“Sweet sprouts,” she murmured, brushing her fingers over Fili’s golden hair, then smoothing a stray curl from Kili’s face. “I need to ask you something.”

Kili blinked sleepily at her, while Fili tilted his head, brows furrowing just slightly.

Bilba swallowed, her heart swelling, her words careful and warm. “I know things have been… hard. And I know I can never take away all the bad things that have happened to you.” She hesitated, looking at Fili first, then Kili, making sure they were listening, making sure they felt her words. “But I want you to know… I adore you both.”

Fili’s little lips parted slightly, his expression unreadable, while Kili blinked up at her, eyes wide.

Bilba smiled softly, her hand settling over Fili’s small one. “And if you would like to stay here, at Bag End… If you want to make this your home, our home, then I would love nothing more than to care for you.”

Kili’s mouth fell open, and he immediately wriggled out of Fili’s grasp, climbing Bilba like a tree as he scrambled into her lap. “Bilba!!” he chirped, pressing his face into her chest, little arms wrapping tightly around her middle.

Bilba startled slightly, then laughed, her heart bursting as she pulled him in, hugging him close.

“Oh, my sweet love,” she murmured, kissing his curls. “Is that a yes?”

Kili gave a rapid nod, then turned to shout something in Khuzdul at Fili, his tiny hands waving in emphasis.

Bilba looked up to see Fili staring at her, his blue eyes shining. Fili was always so careful with his emotions, always trying so hard to be brave and strong. But now—now his little lip wobbled, his brows pulling together, and then—

With a sharp breath, he lunged forward, throwing his arms around both Bilba and Kili, burying his face against her.

“Yes,” he choked. “Yes, yes, yes, please—please, yes.”

Bilba’s heart swelled as she held both boys, feeling tears in her own eyes. This time, she did not hold them back. She wanted Fili to know that it was alright to cry. It was alright to let all of that emotion go. So, she cried. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks and she kissed the temples of both boys several times. Little arms wrapped around her and held her back, and she squeezed them so hard that she heard Kili cough and laugh with a wheeze. 

Bilba loosened her grip, “You must also know- in no way am I trying to replace your Ama nor your Ada.” She said softly, touching the cheeks of both the little Dwarves. “They will always be with you both. I believe- I believe they might have led you to me, hm?” 

She liked to think so. That their parents would have wanted them to be somewhere safe, warm, and happy. Perhaps they brought the storm that night- the last and final push that urged the boys to take shelter inside her home. Perhaps they were the ones to lead the boys to the vegetable patches, showing them and guiding them to the food to keep them alive. 

“Y-Yeah.” Fili whispered. Bilba gave each boy another kiss, then smiled down at them. “I think the bread is ready. Are you two hungry?” 

“No,” Fili said with a sniffle and finally, blessedly, a soft giggle. “Miss Bilba, we just ate.”

“That was two hours ago, love.” Bilba said to him warmly, moving them off her lap so she could stand and lead them inside. “Surely you’re hungry again!” 

Fili only smiled and ran inside with Kili at his heels. Bilba lingered just a moment before looking up at the lovely blue sky, her eyes landing on a cloud. She took a deep breath in and let it out. 

“I’ll take care of them.” She whispered softly. “I promise.”

- 

The following day, all seemed well enough in the morning. Bilba hummed as she cooked, cleaned, and sewed. She had a renewed sense of purpose now with the boys around. They giggled, played, and she heard the same THUMPTHUMPTHUMP on top of the hill where they were whacking the tree. 

When someone knocked on the door, Bilba opened it with a smile. Nothing could dampen her mood now- nothing at all. 

Lobelia was on the other side of the door, staring at her with a calm stare. Her expression was smooth and pompous, her nose in the air as always. In her arms was a basket. 

“I brought you this, and I came to tell you that I have sent out word and fliers in Bree about two missing Dwarf boys.” Lobelia said  in one big breath, thrusting the basket into Bilba’s stunned arms. She then glared upwards, where the boys were sticking their tongues out at her and making ugly faces. Lobelia gasped in shock and horror as the blonde one turned around and yanked his pants down, showing his naked behind to her. 

“Those…those… those ….BOYS!” Lobelia shrieked.

Chapter Text

Lobelia’s shriek rang through the air, and Bilba’s moment of stunned silence was quickly shattered by her own sharp scolding.

“Fili, pull your pants up this instant!” she snapped, not even looking up as she shoved the basket back into Lobelia’s arms so forcefully that it nearly toppled out of her grip. 

Fili yanked his trousers back up with an exaggerated huff, muttering something under his breath that Bilba chose not to hear, and Kili cackled so hard he nearly fell backward into the grass. Bilba pinched the bridge of her nose, inhaled sharply through her teeth, and then—then—she turned back to Lobelia, who looked utterly scandalized.

“You did what ?” Bilba asked, her voice dangerously calm.

Lobelia straightened, regaining her usual haughty composure. “I sent out word,” she repeated, lifting her nose even higher. “In Bree. Where there are Dwarves, Miss Baggins . I should think they would want to know about these strays.”

Bilba’s entire body bristled. “They are not strays ,” she hissed, stepping forward. “They are orphans, Lobelia. Orphans! Their parents are gone, and they had nowhere to go. No one to care for them. But they do now.” Her voice shook slightly, but it wasn’t with uncertainty—it was with fury.

Lobelia scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “You mean to tell me you’ve taken in Dwarves?” She said the word like it was something filthy, something wretched. “Honestly, Bilba, you could take in any number of poor, proper little Hobbit fauntlings if you so desperately wanted—”

“ Enough !” Bilba snapped, her voice ringing through the air like a crack of thunder.

Lobelia froze, mouth slightly agape. Bilba never raised her voice, but now, something inside her had snapped. Years— years —of patience, of polite smiles, of holding her tongue for the sake of keeping peace, of trying to be kind, to be understanding, to mend the bridge between them—and for what?

Bilba stepped forward, voice shaking not with fear, but with unleashed fury.

“This—this is exactly why I broke off our courtship,” she spat, watching with dark satisfaction as Lobelia’s face went crimson. “Because this—this nasty, bitter, hateful streak in you—this self-righteous cruelty —is what I could not tolerate. What I would not shackle myself to for the rest of my life.” She let out a breathless, bitter laugh. “I have tried, Lobelia. For years, I have tried to mend what was broken between us. I have missed you- but now, I see what a waste of time it was! You are still as cold and hateful as the day I turned you away.”

Lobelia’s throat bobbed. Her fingers clenched around the basket. “You don’t know what you’re saying—”

“Oh, I do,” Bilba cut her off, her voice dangerously low. “And I’ll say it again if you didn’t hear me the first time—I do not regret breaking it off. Not one bit. Not when you are so ready and giddy to turn away orphans and ruin a family you know I have desperately wanted.” 

She exhaled sharply, eyes blazing. “I would rather die a spinster in this house than tie myself to someone with so much venom in their heart. You used to be my dearest friend, Lobelia. I loved you. But your greed for this house and your bitterness towards everything has made you completely unlikable.”

Lobelia’s face screwed up with furious indignation, her nose turned up and her lips pressed tight as always. The difference was that her face was bright red and her hands were gripping the basket so tight that it creaked. Lobelia had nothing to say. Nothing to argue with. Bilba had knocked every word out of her. 

Lobelia only shoved the basked back at Bilba, turned, gripped her skirts and stomped down the steps of Bag End. When she got to the fence gate, she wrenched it open and slammed it shut so hard that the rest of the fence wobbled. Bilba watched as she marched down the path. 

A feather floated off her big hat and floated to the ground. The feather was left forgotten on the cobblestone path. 

Sighing, with the basket in her hands, Bilba looked up at the boys. 

“Come on in.” She said firmly. “That was completely unacceptable.” 

“But-!” Fili argued. 

“But nothing. I don’t care if you don’t like her. Showing your butt to someone is not the proper response!” She said, on a rampage now. 

“But you yelled!” Fili whined, shuffling inside. Kili followed, still giggling hysterically from his brother’s actions.

Bilba set the basket down with a thump on the table, crossing her arms and giving Fili a look that made him squirm. Kili, still riding the high of his brother’s antics, clapped his little hands together and giggled. Fili, sensing that this wasn’t a fun scolding, nudged him in the ribs.

Kili quieted down—though he was still grinning.

“I did yell,” Bilba admitted, her voice firm but calm as she sat herself down on the edge of a chair. “But yelling is not the same as…” She sighed, pressing her fingers to her brow. “Fili, love, you mooned her.”

Fili’s lips wobbled—he was trying not to smile. “I did.”

Bilba let out a slow breath through her nose. “Yes. And you will not do that again.”

“But she—”

“I don’t care what she did,” Bilba cut in sharply. “I don’t care if she’s the most insufferable Hobbit in the Shire, you do not respond like that.” She softened slightly, reaching forward and taking his hands in hers. “Listen to me, Fili. I know how you feel about her. I know she was rude. But you must be better than that.” She squeezed his fingers gently. “Do you understand?”

Fili looked down, shame creeping into his features. “Yes,” he muttered.

Bilba turned to Kili. “And you! Don’t think you’re off the hook either, young man.”

Kili blinked at her, utterly innocent—except for the fact that he had clearly been cheering Fili on like it was the grandest event he’d ever seen.

Bilba sighed. She doubted he even understood why she was upset, but it was the principle of the thing. “No more cheering your brother on for bad behavior, alright?”

Kili wrinkled his nose and leaned into Fili, speaking in hushed Khuzdul. Fili sighed. “He says ‘But it was very funny.’”

Bilba pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fili, tell him that does not matter.”

Fili turned and murmured something back to Kili in his own language. Kili huffed dramatically, pouting.

“Good,” Bilba said. “Now.” She turned to the basket, pulling back the cloth covering it. Her breath caught.

Inside were clothes. A pair of small tunics, properly sewn for little Dwarrow bodies—sturdy, well-made, practical. Beside them were a handful of fresh-baked oat biscuits, neatly wrapped, and even a small bundle of dried fruit.

Bilba swallowed, something complicated twisting in her chest.

“She brought this?” Fili asked, confused, reaching out to touch the tunic.

“She did.” Bilba’s voice was quiet.

Fili scowled. “But— But she was awful.”

“She was,” Bilba agreed softly, smoothing a hand over the fabric.

“She hates us,” Fili went on, the frustration returning to his voice. “Why would she bring—”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Bilba murmured, lifting a biscuit and studying it.

Fili frowned. “She sure acts like it.”

Bilba set the biscuit down with a sigh, feeling a fair bit of guilt creep in after how she had just . “Lobelia is… a complicated person.”

Fili frowned back at her. Kili had put it all behind him, humming happily as he ate his biscuits. The clothing was lovely, in Bilba’s opinion. It was stitched well and embroidered, the fabric was expensive and she’d even included little bows and hats for them. It was a little gaudy- but that was Lobelia’s style. 

It occurred to her that  it couldn’t have possibly taken Lobelia one day to make this. She would have had to have started several days ago. Maybe even when she had seen the boys the first time. Why didn’t she tell Bilba?

Sighing, Bilba sat. 

“Can we go back out and play?” Fili asked. He didn’t want to think about this odd woman any longer. 

“No.” Bilba murmured. “Stay in today, boys. Here, let’s see how this fits you.” 

“It’s ugly looking.” Fili’s nose scrunched. It was a lime green color. Not a nice forest green, but a loud green. A bright green! Fili hated it. If it was Bilba who made it though, Fili would have loved it.

Bilba sighed, running her fingers over the bright green fabric in her lap. It was… a choice, that was certain. Lobelia had always favored bold colors and extravagant embellishments, even when they were young. Bilba had once admired it—how confidently Lobelia wore whatever she pleased, never one to blend into a crowd.

She glanced down at the boys, studying the tunics again. The stitches were neat, the embroidery precise. Lobelia might be a thorn, but she was a meticulous one. She had taken care in making these. And that meant something, didn’t it?

Fili, of course, looked absolutely appalled.

“Oh, Fili, love,” Bilba murmured, holding up the tunic. “You’ll be a walking apple.”

Kili gasped in delight, clapping his hands together. “Apple?” he chirped, eyes wide.

Fili, however, groaned dramatically. “Bilba! I’ll look like a— a lumpy frog!”

Bilba bit back a laugh, smoothing the fabric between her fingers. “Now, now. Let’s not insult the frogs. Violet would be very cross with you.”

Fili sighed in defeat but allowed her to help him into the tunic. It was… roomy. Lobelia had likely overestimated his width—though, in fairness, she had seen them when they were much thinner.

Kili, meanwhile, had already wriggled into his own tunic, thrilled. Fili squinted, tugging at his sleeves.

Bilba smiled a little. No matter how ugly it was, it was clothing. It was something to build their wardrobes at least. They needed it, truly. She laughed softly as she looked at the boys, they looked darling. 

“Well.” Bilba said simply. “You’ll only have to wear it once or twice so she sees it on. She’s such a good seamstress. Maybe I can give her some of our fabric and ask her to make you more clothing out of it?” 

“But you just yelled at her.” Fili said. 

Bilba’s heart ached. She had, hadn’t she. 

“Mm.” She hummed absently. She felt completely jumbled up about all of it. The boys left for play in the house, getting out the marbles to play happily on the rug. Bilba sighed softly, staring at the expensive fabric that the boys wore. She didn’t even see that at the market. 

Lobelia must have walked to Bree to buy it.

Bree wasn’t far, no, but it was still Bree . Hobbits didn’t go there unless they had to, and Lobelia most certainly wasn’t the type to rub shoulders with Big Folk willingly. She had made her opinions very clear about anyone outside the Shire, and yet… she had gone. She had walked there, bartered, chosen fabric—expensive fabric, at that—and sat down to sew with her own hands.

All of that, after calling the boys it. After sneering at them. After sending out word in Bree without speaking to Bilba first.

Bilba pressed her lips together, fingers tightening around the hem of Fili’s old tunic. She didn’t know what to do with all of this.

She wanted to be furious. She should be furious. And a good part of her was. She had spent years trying to mend bridges with Lobelia, swallowing her pride, smoothing things over, trying to turn old bitterness into something better. But it had never been enough. Lobelia always had something sharp to say, always found a way to twist things, to make Bilba feel small.

Bilba sighed again, dropping the tunic onto the table and rubbing her face with both hands. Did she need to apologize? Did she want to?

She felt guilty, yes, but also—wasn’t she right? Hadn’t she been holding those words in for years? Hadn’t Lobelia deserved them?

Bilba had no answer.

She glanced at the boys, still playing marbles on the rug, blissfully unaware of the war waging in her heart. She envied them for that. For now, she would leave it be. Let the dust settle. She had two little ones to look after, and that was more important than anything else.

Chapter Text

“Miss Bilba?” Fili asked once dinner was said and done and every dish was put away. Bilba scrubbed the dried flour bits off her countertop and looked down at the young boy. 

“Yes?” Bilba asked softly, leaning down to wipe a smidge of dirt from his pale cheek. The boys still looked so thin, but they were gaining color and life in their eyes with every passing day. It was a lovely sight to see- watching them come back to life. 

“Can we go swimming tomorrow?” Fili asked curiously. 

“No, Love.” Bilba said. “The Summer Festival is this weekend and I’ve hardly prepared a single thing. I might be able to miss one birthday party, but if we miss the Summer Festival, we’ll be completely shunned!” Bilba said with a soft sigh, stressed as could be. She’d traded a lot of her things for the boys clothing and supplies when she should have been buying up as much flour, sugar, and butter as she could find. Now there would be nothing left! 

It was yet another stressor on her mind right now. 

Fili only scrunched his nose. He was learning better not to whine or argue, but he had yet to figure out how to control his face.

Bilba chuckled softly, brushing her hand over Fili’s golden hair. “Oh, don’t give me that face. The Summer Festival is a very important time, you know. It’s all about celebrating the turning of the seasons, the hard work put into the harvest, and spending time with the people we care about.”

Fili still looked skeptical. “But you said we were going to be shunned if we missed it. That doesn’t sound like a very nice festival.”

Bilba sighed, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn spot on the counter. “Hobbits take tradition very seriously, Fili. And they notice everything—who’s there, who’s not, what they’re wearing, how much food they bring.” She glanced toward the pantry, pressing her lips together. “And speaking of food, I need to do some shopping tomorrow. I should have been preparing for weeks, but I was too busy fussing over you two.”

Fili looked down, fidgeting with the hem of his tunic. “Sorry.”

Bilba immediately softened, kneeling down and taking his hands in hers. “No, love. You don’t have to be sorry for that. Taking care of you and Kili is the most important thing in the world to me. I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

Fili peeked up at her, the hint of a smile on his lips. “Not even the food-throwing?”

Bilba groaned, laughing despite herself. “Alright, maybe I could do without the food-throwing.”

Fili giggled and looked up at her. 

"Can we help with it...?" Fili asked curiously. 

"The Festival?" 

"Mhm!"

"Well love." Bilba crouched and grinned. "I'd be heartbroken if you didn't help!" 

Fili grinned right back at her. 

Going back to the market was a feat in and of itself. Fili and Kili now could not reside in the wagon, so the boys were zipping all over the place looking at the stands, talking to the Hobbits, and rolling in the dirt. Bilba had to spend half her attention making a fair trade, and the other half was trying to spot the two boys around the wagons, baskets, haybales, and miscellaneous wandering animals. Finally, she sent the boys on specific errands- to go and trade for a brick of chocolate, to see if there was any cheesecloth left to trade for, to check if there was any more sticks of cinnamon to buy. 

The boys loved being sent for these tasks, the summer sun shining down on them. Or-rather- Fili loved completing the errands. Kili, Bilba was sure, didn't actually know what he was meant to do, but he was happy enough to giggle and run behind Fili, and babble up at the stand-owner as if he was going to barter for something important. 

Bilba was counting her items in her wagon softly as she heard someone approach. 

"Belladonna Baggins, now what have you gotten yourself into?" Hamfest said warmly as he stopped just by her wagon. Sam wasn't with him, but Bilba was sure he was out doing something particularly adorable. 

"Oh, don't even remind me! I've hardly even gotten prepared for the festival, I have days of baking ahead of me-" Bilba stressed, and Hamfest laughed. 

"I meant the boys ," He said to her. 

"Oh!" Bilba looked behind her as she watched Kili fling himself down a steep slope of a small hill. "Yes- the boys. Aren't they just darling?" 

"They certainly are something. Samwise was babbling on and on and on the other night- he only finished half his supper, he was talking about them so much." Hamfest smiled at her.

Bilba felt a rush of warmth fill her chest at that, her expression softening. “Oh, was he now?” She laughed, shaking her head fondly. “I suppose that means he had a good time with them, then.”

“Oh, absolutely. He’s a shy one, my Sam, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him quite so taken with anyone so quickly besides little Frodo,” Hamfest said, crossing his arms as he watched Fili diligently chatting with a stand-owner while Kili twirled in circles beside him. “He said Fili’s very smart, and Kili is the funniest faunt he’s ever met.”

Bilba chuckled, not at all surprised. “Kili does have a way of making his own fun, even when he’s supposed to be doing something else.”

“Suppose that’s the way of younger brothers,” Hamfest mused, then turned a knowing look on her. “And speaking of the way of things… Belladonna, are you sure you know what you’re doing? Taking in two Dwarrow lads is no small thing.”

Bilba pressed her lips together, looking at the boys as they ran toward her, both triumphantly holding up their successful trades—Fili with his cinnamon sticks and chocolate, and Kili with absolutely nothing except a very proud expression.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, not really,” she admitted softly, watching them with a small, affectionate smile. “But I know I want to do this. They’ve been through something awful, and they deserve to be somewhere warm, safe, and happy. If I can give that to them, then… well, that’s all that matters.”

Hamfest studied her for a long moment before nodding, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Well then, Miss Bilba, you let me know if you need anything, you hear? My Samwise has taken a shining to them, and that means they’ve got a friend in the Gamgees.”

Bilba beamed at him, feeling a lump rise in her throat. “Thank you, Hamfest. That means more than I can say.”

"Of course." Hamfest said warmly. "Do you need anything more for the festival? How's the apple tarts coming?" 

Bilba smiled, slightly stressed at the mention of her famous honeyed apple tarts with spiced cream. She made it every festival, and often she never got a taste of it because it was gobbled up so quickly. She thought she had everything, she got the apples from the Brandybucks, she had all her spices still, she still needed to get cider from the Brandybucks- and- 

"Oh moss and sticks," She whispered softly. "I've forgotten all about the cream."

She whipped around just in time to see the Proudfoots walking off with the last tin barrel of cream for their pudding bowls. Oh no .

Fili and Kili followed her gaze, but had no idea of the significance of what was bothering her. Hamfest knew, though, and he winced as they carried the cream away. 

"The closest would be Bree..." Hamfest guessed. "Or you can try to get some tomorrow..."

Tomorrow. With one day to spare- she'd only barely have enough time for it to set. Bilba sighed shakily and nodded. Bree it was. She turned her eyes up to the sky and shifted anxiously. If she went right now, she might be able to get back before dark. If not....well, they'd be walking in the dark. Let alone the stress of taking the boys to Bree after what Lobelia had done.

Bilba chewed her lip, weighing her options. She could try her luck tomorrow, but that left little room for error. If she went to Bree now, she might just make it back before nightfall—but the idea of taking the boys there, especially after Lobelia’s meddling, made her stomach twist with unease.

Hamfast must have seen the hesitation on her face. “You know,” he said slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was plannin’ a trip to Bree tomorrow mornin’ myself. If it’s just the cream you need, I’d be happy to bring it back for you.”

Bilba nearly sagged with relief but hesitated. It would save her the trouble, and Hamfast was as trustworthy as they came. But sending someone else meant giving up control, and if something went wrong—if the cream soured, or if there wasn’t any left—it would leave her with nothing to work with.

Fili and Kili, meanwhile, had been watching the exchange with interest, their bright eyes flicking between Bilba and Hamfast. Fili, ever perceptive, furrowed his brows. “Is Bree far?” he asked.

“Not too far,” Hamfast answered with a small shrug. “But it’s a long walk for little legs. And it’s got Big Folk there.”

“Big Folk?” Fili echoed, his nose scrunching.

“Like…taller than Bilba,” Hamfast said with a small chuckle. “Taller than any Hobbit.”

Fili’s eyes went wide. He turned to Kili, who was still blissfully munching on a stolen biscuit from Bilba’s basket. “Big Folk,” he whispered conspiratorially in Khuzdul, making it sound like the most incredible thing in the world.

Bilba sighed and made her decision. “No, I can’t risk it. If I send you and something goes wrong, I won’t have time to fix it, Hamfast,” she said, offering him a grateful smile nonetheless. “I’ll go myself.”

Her stomach twisted at the thought of those blasted flyers, plastered on notice boards, tacked onto posts, maybe even sitting in the hands of gossiping Big Folk. If anyone connected the two lost dwarven boys in those notices to the little ones clinging to her skirts—well, she didn’t want to think about it.

But there was no one else to fetch the cream. It had to be her.

She turned to Fili and Kili, who were still talking animatedly about Big Folk, utterly unaware of the knot of anxiety twisting in her chest. Bilba took a deep breath and crouched down to their level, resting a firm hand on Fili’s shoulder.

“Now listen to me, both of you,” she said, her voice more serious than usual. The light in Fili’s eyes dimmed slightly, sensing the shift in her mood. “We’re going to Bree, and I need you to do exactly as I say, do you understand?”

Fili nodded immediately, standing a little straighter, a little more alert. He could tell this wasn’t just a casual outing. Kili, on the other hand, was still bouncing with excitement, oblivious to the tension.

“You must stay close,” Bilba continued, gripping Fili’s shoulder gently but firmly. “No running off, no playing in the streets, and no talking to strangers unless I say it’s alright. Bree is not the Shire. There are all sorts of folk there, and some of them are not as friendly as Hobbits. Do you understand me?”

Fili nodded again, his expression serious. “Yes, Miss Bilba.”

Fili stared at her and nodded quietly. He looked to Kili who was wriggling and bouncing and giggling. All the little boy knew was that he was going to go somewhere and there would be big folk. He was more than excited about it all, cheering and giggling with joy. 

Bilba stood up, takin the hands of Kili and Fili and leading them back to the wagon. They helped her push it back home, and helped her unload it, all three of them walking up and down the steps with their groceries. Kili carried one apple at a time instead of the whole bag, and was lining them up in a neat row inside on the table. 

Fili helped Bilba pack everything away, he had a little stool in the kitchen that he used to step up and down. Bilba thanked him softly, then brushed her hands on her apron and grabbed her shawl, her basket, and her things to get ready for their walk to Bree. 

"Will there...be Dwarves there?" Fili asked softly. Bilba turned her eyes down to the boy, her stomach twisting even further with nausea. There were often Dwarves in Bree from the Blue mountains. They traded there, and took the East Road with their goat-drawn carriages. 

"Yes." She said softly. After all was said and done, she wasn't able to lie to her boys. 

"Can...we speak to them ?" Fili asked suddenly. She realized he’d been bothered. Quiet, and thinking again. His eyes held more of the emotion that she had seen before in the back yard. Hesitant sorrow. 

Bilba stared at him for a long moment, chewing on the inside of her cheek. 

"If you'd like," Bilba nodded slightly. Her chest tightened with anxiety. "But...it cannot just be any stranger, alright? You must stick by me, and...and.." 

Bilba’s breath hitched. She knew he was trying to be strong, trying not to let his emotions get the best of him, but she could see the fear pooling in his blue eyes. The weight of whatever had happened to them—whatever they had been running from—pressed against his small shoulders like a mountain.

Kili, unaware of the conversation’s heavy nature, was still bouncing, giggling to himself as he played with the apples. But Fili… Fili was watching her, his lip wobbling, his free hand tightening into a fist as he swallowed hard against his emotions.

Bilba knelt, bringing herself to his level, her hands coming up to cradle his face, her thumbs gently brushing away the few tears that had slipped down his cheeks. “Fili, love,” she said softly, willing every bit of steadiness she had into her voice. “Do you want to go back? There’s no shame in it, sprout.”

Fili shook his head so fast that his braids flopped over his cheeks. His voice cracked as he whispered, “I think bad things would happen if we went back to the mountain.”

Bilba’s heart clenched.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm for him, for Kili. For the little hands clutching at her as if she were the only solid thing in their world. She could not fall apart now, even if every bit of her wanted to demand answers she knew Fili didn’t have.

Instead, she swallowed thickly and spoke with quiet honesty. “I won’t lie to you, love. With those flyers Lobelia sent out, there’s a small chance that someone might recognize you.” Fili tensed under her hands, his breath hitching, but she kept going, her voice gentle but firm. “If that happens, I need to know… do you have anyone—any family—who would be looking for you? Who would want you safe?”

Fili hiccupped softly, rubbing his wet nose on his sleeve before he nodded. “I… I have my Unama, and..and my uncles,” he murmured. “They’re good. Ama always said they were safe.” He sniffled again, and Bilba could see the worry clouding his face as he hesitated. “But they were fighting against the Pale Orc. I don’t—I don’t know if they’re alive.”

Bilba’s stomach churned. Fighting against the Pale Orc? That sounded ominous.

“And your—your Unama?” she asked, the foreign word rolling uneasily off her tongue. “Is that your…grandmother?” 

“She’s still alive in the mountain,” Fili said with a little nod. His voice was barely above a whisper now. He wiped furiously at his eyes as if trying to will himself to stop crying. “But—but she’s the one who sent us away. She said we had to be safe.”

Bilba bit her cheek. She felt terrible for everything she'd ever thought about the family of these boys. There had once been a time, not long ago, that she felt she needed to curse their family for putting them in this position in the first place. She had thought that the boys had been hurt by their family, little did she realize that they'd been trying to help. Grief tore at her. 

She imagined trying to do that now- where she had only known them for a handful of days- sending them away on their own to keep them safe. She imagined how much that would rip her open. The pain a mother would feel...Bilba kissed both boys and sighed. 

"I'm so sorry." Bilba whispered to them. Kili reached out and patted Bilba's cheek again, babbling softly. Bilba smiled teary at Kili and tucked back his dark curls. "I am so sorry you have been through so much grief. Your family would be so proud that you have made it this far. And you can be done being strong, Fili, I can be strong for you love. It's alright. Share that weight, I can help you now."

Fili nodded and Bilba brushed his tears from his flushed cheeks. 

"Come on." Bilba said gently. "Lets get ready to go to Bree. You each can pick out one thing when we get there, okay? Aaanything you want. Then we'll come home and have a lovely dinner."

Fili tried to gather himself with a soft sniffle, smiling slightly with a nod. The grief was still there, pressing down on him, a weight on his chest. But it felt...a little lighter, now. Just a bit.

Chapter Text

The journey to Bree was quiet at first. Fili walked close to Bilba, his hand firmly in hers, while Kili skipped and hummed to himself, swinging his arms and occasionally reaching for pebbles or interesting sticks along the path. Bilba’s heart was tight with anxiety, her sharp eyes scanning the road ahead, watching for signs of any flyers posted along the way. She prayed that no one in Bree had paid them much mind, that they were just scraps of parchment fluttering unnoticed in the wind.

The town was bustling when they arrived. Bree was always lively, with its mix of Hobbits, Big Folk, and traders from all around. Bilba could already spot a few Dwarves in the marketplace, speaking among themselves in hushed, guttural tones. Fili’s grip on her hand tightened, his blue eyes darting to each one, searching their faces as if expecting to recognize someone.

“Stay close, lads,” Bilba murmured, keeping them close as she navigated through the crowd toward the dairy vendor. She focused on her task, purchasing the cream she needed, and nearly breathed a sigh of relief when it was packed safely in her basket. 

Then, she let the boys each pick out something from the market, just as she promised she would. Fili and Kili both ran over to the stands with the weapons, and Bilba grew pale. She took a breath to protest, but she watched as their eyes shone and they talked excitedly about the slingshots. Bilba had seen Hobbit children with slingshots, and she wasn’t terrible with one herself…

She supposed if they had to have something, she would like it to be that. She bought them each their own, and bought a pouch for stones for them as well. Fili and Kili were beyond excited about their new purchases, Kili was speaking rapid Khuzdul to Fili, who was showing him how to use it.

Just as Bilba turned, she caught sight of a flyer nailed to a wooden post near the bakery.

Her stomach dropped.

She didn’t even have to get close to know what it said. 

Missing: Two Dwarven Children

Older boy: Golden blonde with blue eyes. Missing bottom tooth. Braided hair with one bead. 

Younger boy: Dark black-brown hair with blue eyes. Only speaks Dwarf Language. Braided hair with one bead. 

For all inquiries, please see Lobelia Sackville-Baggins in the Shire, or Belladonna Baggins of Bag End. 

No sketches, thank Yavanna, but it was clear enough. Her pulse pounded in her ears.

Before she could act, Fili spotted it, too.

Bilba didn’t have time to warn him before he slipped his hand from hers and walked toward the post. His movements were casual, too casual for a child, and she suddenly realized how much practice he must have had sneaking around unseen. With a small tug, he pulled the flyer down, crumpling it quickly in his hands.

Bilba’s heart thundered as she scanned the street. No one seemed to be paying attention.

Kili, however, was paying attention.

His curious eyes flicked between Fili’s hands and the crumpled flyer. He reached out, demanding it with his tiny fingers. Fili hesitated, then sighed and handed it over, mumbling, “It’s just paper, Kili. Don’t—”

Before Fili could even finish his sentence, Kili stuffed the flyer into his mouth.

Bilba’s eyes widened in horror. “Kili!!”

The little Dwarf boy beamed at her, his cheeks puffed full of parchment.

Fili let out a strangled sound. “Kili, no!!” He reached out to grab the flyer, but Kili twisted away, chewing furiously.

Bilba panicked, reaching for his hands. “Spit it out! Spit it out!”

Kili’s eyes twinkled with mischief, but his chewing slowed. His brows furrowed as he smacked his lips. Fili groaned. “It’s not food, Kili! What are you doing?!”

Kili swallowed with a loud gulp, paused, and then belched loudly.

Bilba stared at him, completely dumbfounded. After a moment, she snapped out of it and looked left, then right. Blinking, she grabbed onto Kili's arm and pulled him along. The faster they got home, the better. And with that flyer apparently safely stored in Kili's belly, she supposed she didn't have to worry about it anymore. 

Kili giggled happily as he followed, keeping pace with her. 

"I can't believe you did that," Bilba said to Kili. The sun was starting to go down around them and her pace quickened. She didn't want to get caught at night. 

"Oops!" Kili giggled. 

Bilba looked down at him and Kili gave her the brightest smile in return. He was happily bouncing beside her, then he twisted to look back at Fili who was just as stunned as Bilba. 

"That can't be good for you!" Bilba insisted. 

"Oops! Oops! Hop hop hop!" Kili stopped in his tracks and now insisted on only frog-hopping.

Bilba tried. She really tried to keep a straight face, to maintain even a shred of her usual Hobbit sensibility. But as Kili continued to hop like an overexcited frog, his wild curls bouncing with every leap, and Fili, despite his initial protests, gave in and started hopping alongside him with exaggerated ribbits of his own, she completely lost it.

A laugh burst from her, warm and free, as ridiculous delight bubbled in her chest. She hadn’t meant to start laughing, but it was all so absurd.

“Ribbit!” Fili croaked, hopping in a circle around Kili.

“Hop! Hop!” Kili cheered, his giggles turning breathless.

Bilba wiped a tear from her eye, shaking her head with a chuckle. “Alright, you two little frogs, if we don’t get home soon, we’ll be needing lanterns to see the road!”

She thought she’d finally wrangled them into walking again when, suddenly, she spotted a small figure standing in the road ahead. She nearly yelped in surprise.

Violet stood there, her brown wild curls framing her round face, her wide, dark eyes locked on the boys as though she had just stumbled upon something truly marvelous.

“Violet?” Bilba gasped, her laughter fading into immediate concern. “What are you doing out here all alone, love? Where is—?”

Violet didn’t look at her. She didn’t react to her at all. Her entire focus was on Fili and Kili, her expression unreadable.

Bilba’s stomach twisted with worry. The child never spoke—not to her, not to anyone that she’d ever seen. But now, Violet took a tiny step forward, her big eyes fixed on Kili.

And then, in a quiet, hesitant voice, she whispered, “…Hop?”

Bilba’s breath caught in her throat. For a moment, there was only the sound of the summer crickets and the distant rush of the river.

Then Kili, as eager as ever, beamed with a big nod. “Hop!!”

Violet’s face lit up with something like pure, wide-eyed joy, and she immediately got down and began to frog hop with them.

The three children continued to hop home, and Bilba followed slowly behind them. She wouldn't dare tell them to stop, and now it was certain that they wouldn't get back before night. The sun's long reach began to fade, and the fireflies started to blink along the path. Bilba could take half a step for every frog-hop. 

Once they grew tired of the hopping, the kids started rolling, which was quite a bit slower. 

"Let's try a...chicken run!" Bilba suggested. Her stomach churned with worry over Violet. Where was Peony, her mother? How long had she been out? How often was it that she came out this far? 

Thankfully, the children took her suggestion and started to caw like chickens, sprinting down the winding road toward the Shire. Darkness surrounded them, and Bilba had to squint to see the children. They were simply shadows now. 

"Stay close!" She called out to them. "Fili, Kili, Violet! Do not run far!"

Her heart clenched with worry. The road to Bree had taken longer than she’d hoped, and she hadn’t accounted for playful delays. Now the stars were twinkling above, and she was walking home in the deep dusk with three little ones—one of whom wasn’t even hers.

Fili was the first to listen, slowing to a jog before turning back to her, still grinning but watching. He was always watching. She could see the shift in his posture—he was taking her worry seriously.

Kili, naturally, was still flapping his arms and running in little circles, completely unbothered by anything. Violet, though, stopped when Fili did. She was looking at Bilba now, her dark eyes thoughtful in the dim light.

“Violet, love,” Bilba murmured as she caught up, kneeling slightly so she wasn’t towering over her. “Where is your mama?”

Violet blinked. She tilted her head, considering the question, but said nothing.

Bilba’s stomach twisted as she knelt down in front of Violet. “Where is your mama, love?” she asked softly.

Violet only blinked at her, big dark eyes reflecting the glow of the fireflies. 

Bilba felt her throat tighten. Peony Evergarden was… well. She was not a cruel Hobbit, not in the way that some could be, but she was distant—preoccupied, always. She had so many children, and yet Violet never seemed to be counted among them.

It was something no one spoke about outright, but everyone knew.

Bilba glanced at Fili, who was watching the exchange carefully, his little brows furrowed. Kili was still flapping his arms and cawing softly under his breath, completely unaware of the tension in the air.

Bilba wasn't sure if that was an I don't know or if that was a shrug that meant she didn't want to say. Reaching out, Bilba tucked her dark hair back. Violet was sweet, younger slightly than Fili, and Bilba half expected her to have frogs in her pockets. As much as she wanted to, Bilba knew she couldn't let her habit of taking in little ones extend to Violet. She had to walk her back home, instead of simply keeping her. 

Even if the entire Shire thought Peony shouldn't have had any children to begin with. 

"Let's get you home, love." Bilba said softly. 

Violet only stared at a space just past Bilba's shoulder. 

Bilba stood, picking up her pace as she walked into the Shire, then down the path to the yellow door down the hill. She knocked, looking down at Violet who still had a dead-eyed stare about her. Fili and Kili were waiting patiently behind her, Kili gave a wide yawn. 

One of the older Hobbit children came to the door, one of Violet's older brothers. 

"Hello, Tolly." Bilba said. All of the children had lovely dark curls and pale skin, such big round eyes too. 

"Violet!" Tolly said, smiling with something of relief in his eyes. "There you are!"

Bilba forced a smile as she gently nudged Violet forward. “She found us on the road,” she explained, keeping her voice light. “I figured I’d walk her home.”

Tolly nodded, but there was something nervous in the way his eyes darted behind him, as if expecting someone else to appear at the door. Violet stood still as a statue, not moving toward the house, not making a sound.

“Where’s your mum?” Bilba asked carefully.

Tolly hesitated, then shrugged. “Busy.”

Bilba’s jaw tightened. Busy. That word had covered a multitude of sins over the years, hadn’t it?

Bilba exhaled slowly through her nose and crouched down in front of Violet. “Alright, love,” she murmured, brushing a stray curl back. “You go on in and get some rest, alright? And if you ever need anything—anything at all—you come straight to me, do you understand?”

Violet didn’t answer, but after a moment, she leaned in and pressed her forehead against Bilba’s shoulder.

Bilba closed her eyes, feeling something awful twist inside her chest.

Tolly cleared his throat. “Come on, Vi,” he said, his voice softer than before. “Let’s get you inside.”

Violet stepped back, glancing once at Fili and Kili. Then she turned and slipped into the house without a word.

Tolly hesitated at the door. He looked like he wanted to say something—like there was something weighing heavy on his mind—but in the end, he just gave Bilba a quick nod before shutting the door behind him.

Bilba let out a slow breath.

“She can come play with us anytime,” Fili offered after a moment, looking up at her with wide, serious eyes.

Kili nodded emphatically. “Play!”

Bilba smiled, but it was a weak thing. She turned toward home, nudging them along. “Yes, loves,” she murmured. “Anytime.”

When they got inside, the boys had hardly enough energy to stay awake. Bilba asked them to keep their slingshots by the door, and set rules. They wouldn't use them in the house, and they weren't allowed to shoot anyone. Taregts only. The boys readily agreed, then Bilba got them settled in their beds. 

She needed to stay up and prepare for all of the cooking and baking that she was going to do tomorrow. The Summer Festival was going to take all of her energy, and she would soon need the help from the boys. Truthfully, she was fussing over Violet and the Evergardens as well. Those children were often left to their own devices, and Violet was getting worse than the short end of the stick. 

It was no coincidence that the Hobbits thought Violet had been the one eating the vegetables before Bilba discovered it was Fili and Kili. Peony often didn't bother to make sure they were fed as often as she should. But every attempt to intervene had failed over the years. 

She baked and kneaded bread dough late into the night, and when she went to bed, she could feel the flour on her hands still, and the kitchen was spotless. Tossing and turning, Bilba fell into a fussy, fitful sleep with anxiety sitting deep in her chest. 

-

Bilba sat in her chair, sewing. She couldn't get the needle to go into the fabric, and no matter how hard she inspected or tried, the fabric refused to be pierced.

"What in Yavanna's gardens..." She muttered, leaning forward, The needle bent and wobbled like it was suddenly made of jelly.

"Miss Baggins." A calm voice spoke. Bilba looked up and into the blue eyes of a Dwarf woman. She was standing strong and decorated, braids, long, opulent robes, a straight nose, and an intense stare. She had ear cuffs and beads, rings, bracelets, necklaces and silver buttons and pins. She was beautiful.

"Good heavens." Bilba breathed.

"Thank you." The Dwarrowdam said.

-

"Miss Bilba!" Fili shook her awake. "Miss Bilba!! The orange is at the door!"

Chapter Text

Bilba groaned, burying her face deeper into her pillow. “No, she’s not.”

“Yes, she is,” Fili insisted.

It wasn’t even first breakfast yet—what in Yavanna’s name could possibly warrant being awake at this hour? Bilba peeked one eye open and squinted at him in the dim light. After a beat, the knocking rapped again, and the hobbit let out a long, suffering sigh before forcing herself upright, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Alright. Alright, I’m up,” she grumbled, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

She barely had time to tighten the belt on her robe before there was another sharp rap rap rap at the front door, precise and unrelenting.

“Oh, for the love of—” Bilba muttered under her breath as she made her way through Bag End. “She’d best be on fire, Fili.”

Fili just gave her a wry, knowing look before scurrying back to the boys’ room, no doubt to listen in.

Taking a deep breath, Bilba plastered on the best morning patience she could muster and pulled open the door.

And there stood Lobelia, prim and severe as ever, her face unreadable.

“I heard,” Lobelia said without so much as a good morning , “that you brought Violet Evergarden home last night.”

Bilba blinked at her bluntness. “Yes, I did.”

Lobelia’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And?”

Bilba frowned. “And…?”

“And what condition was she in?” Lobelia demanded, voice clipped. “Was she filthy? Had she eaten? Did that woman even notice she was missing?”

Bilba hesitated. “She was… as you’d expect,” she admitted. “Dirty. Thin. She wasn’t scared, just… quiet.”

Lobelia let out a sharp huff, her lips pursing. “And Peony?”

Bilba shook her head. “She didn’t even come to the door. One of her older boys answered. He seemed relieved to see her, but… no. Peony didn’t say a word.”

Lobelia’s expression darkened. “Of course she didn’t,” she muttered furiously. “That woman is utterly useless! She doesn’t deserve—” She stopped herself, nostrils flaring. “Right. That’s it. I’m going over there myself.”

Bilba arched a brow. “To do what, exactly?”

“To take that poor child, give her a proper scrubbing, and actually comb her hair,” Lobelia declared, her tone bordering on scandalized. “Honestly, if Peony can’t be bothered to care for her, then someone ought to.”

Bilba wasn’t sure whether to be horrified or impressed.

“She spoke, you know,” she said after a pause.

Lobelia stared at her. “She what?”

“She said ‘hop.’”

Lobelia actually froze, her usual unshakable composure slipping for the first time.

“She’s never spoken before,” Lobelia murmured, more to herself than to Bilba. “Not once.”

Bilba nodded. “Well, she did last night. Fili and Kili were hopping like frogs, and she joined in.”

Lobelia was silent for a long moment. Then, with a sniff, she straightened her posture. “Well. All the more reason to make sure she doesn’t look like a wild creature the next time she’s seen wandering about. I have half a mind to-“ 

She paused, and eyed Bilba. With an oddly forced casualness, she muttered, “Oh, but I forget. I’m an unpleasant person. You wouldn’t want to talk.”

Bilba sighed, and looked down at the tug on her dressing robe. Kili stood there, rubbing his little sleepy eyes, barely awake. With a soft grunt, she picked him up and settled him on her hip, his head resting against her shoulder as he clung to her sleeve. She pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head before looking at Lobelia again.

“I lost my temper the other day,” Bilba finally said quietly. “I still think it was not kind to put up those posters without speaking to me first, mind you, but everything else wasn’t deserved.”

Lobelia blinked, as if not quite expecting that.

Bilba hesitated, then added, “And the clothes… they were darling. We wore them to town yesterday, and the boys looked lovely in them.” She gave a small, tired smile. “You’ve always been the better seamstress.”

Lobelia’s gaze flickered, briefly, to Kili, taking in the sight of him sleepily curled up against Bilba. Her sharp expression softened, just a fraction.

“Were the posters still up in Bree?” 

Bilba shifted her weight. “We only say one, and…well. Kili ate it, so.”

Lobelia's eyes flickered to the boy in Bilba's arms. She huffed softly and said nothing about the flyers, nothing about how the boy ate parchment and ink, nor about Bilba's apology. But that's how it had always been. Bilba assumed now they would both pretend like it didn't happen. Someday, she hoped that Lobelia let her in and actually spoke about how she was feeling. Bilba used to know what she felt, they used to talk about their emotions often. 

But that was a long time ago. 

"Are you bringing your honey apple tarts tomorrow?" Lobelia asked. 

"Yes," Bilba nodded, reminded of the mountain of work she had ahead of her today. "Are you bringing your flower arrangements?" 

"Of course I am." Lobelia sniffed. "No one else can do it like I can. It's like not a single Hobbit here has seen a decent flower arrangement in their lives. I look forward to your tarts." With that, she turned to walked down the steps with stiffness in her shoulders. Bilba wondered if she was actually going to go to Peony's and tell her off. She watched for a moment- and sure enough, Lobelia turned left down the path instead of right. 

Bilba winced. She would have made a point- if Bilba couldn't take in these boys, then Lobelia shouldn't be able to take in Violet. But Bilba wasn't going to make a fuss. She was worried about the poor girl. 

Turning, her eyes landed on her sewing. 

The memory of her dream came back to her and she gave pause a moment. Thank you . The soft voice echoed in her mind again and Bilba felt something odd in her belly about it. What an odd dream. 

"Is she gone?" Fili asked, peeking around a corner.

Bilba sighed and shut the door behind her, shifting Kili’s weight in her arms as he nuzzled sleepily into her shoulder. She glanced at Fili, who was peeking around the corner, his eyes alight with curiosity and mischief.

“Yes, love, she’s gone,” Bilba murmured, though her mind lingered on the path Lobelia had taken. Peony was about to get an earful, that was certain. And while Bilba knew it was a fight she should probably stay out of, a part of her wanted to know how it all unfolded. Would Peony even care? Would she brush off Lobelia’s fury as easily as she brushed off the needs of her own child?

She sighed again, pushing the thought away. She had enough to worry about today without getting tangled in that mess. There was baking to do, enough for a whole festival, and she didn’t even have her dough prepared yet.

Fili stepped out properly now, padding barefoot across the floor to stand beside her. His brows furrowed slightly as he studied her, as if sensing the thoughts running wild in her head.

“She’s really scary,” he said simply.

Bilba let out a quiet laugh, shifting Kili just enough to kiss his dark curls. “She is,” she admitted. “But she’s not cruel, Fili. Not in the way that matters.”

Fili frowned, looking unconvinced, but he didn’t argue. Instead, his eyes flickered to the sewing basket she had abandoned the night before.

“Are you making more clothes?” he asked, head tilting.

Bilba hesitated, remembering her dream. The weight of it still clung to her, an odd feeling that she couldn’t quite shake. She glanced toward the unfinished stitching, her fingers itching to pick it up again.

“Maybe,” she said absently. “But first, we have a festival to prepare for.”

After a beat, her eyes flickered from the sewing to smile at the boy. Bilba grinned, ruffling Fili’s golden hair.  “Now, come help me with breakfast. First meal of the day, and we’re already behind!”

Bag End was a mess of floured counters, bubbling pots, and the tangy smell of berries simmering down into a thick jam. The oven had been working as hard as Bilba herself, glowing hot since morning. 

Fili, ever the helpful one, stood on his stool, reaching the counter with his tongue between his teeth as he crimped the edges of a pie. Kili, on the other hand, was less useful in the kitchen. He spent his helping time bouncing around and shouting out songs in a language Bilba couldn’t understand. 

They broke for a quick lunch, a quick meal eaten before diving back in. The kitchen bustled once more, all hands busy as Bilba set to work on her apple tarts, she kneaded dough and sprinkled cinnamon, the scent of spiced apples filling the air.

The entire counter and table was crowded with all of her goodies, pie after pie, tart after tart. Then, she was hurrying to finish the boys' clothing for tomorrow, her needle not turning to jelly this time as she wove it in and out of the fabric. She had two nice vests ready for the boys, a soft blue color instead of pickle-green. 

She never got the chance to rest, even as she got the boys in the bath, making sure their hair was well taken care of and they were settled into bed. Her late night chores began, she needed to ready herself now, after a moment of realizing she smelled of sweat and anxiety. She'd taken care of the boys these last trying days, and realized she'd barely taken care of herself!

She scrubbed at her body, washed, conditioned, and defined her curls. She set out her clothing, heating the iron to smooth out the wrinkles. The wagon was set by the door and she took a deep breath in and let it out heavily, brushing her hands on her apron. 

Finally , she could rest. 

She shuffled to bed and laid herself down, groaning at her aching bones. The festival will go well tomorrow, no matter what. She was determined to re-introduce the boys to the Shire, and she was determined that everything would go perfect.

Chapter Text

The morning of the festival arrived bright and golden, sunlight streaming through the round windows of Bag End, casting warm pools of light over the wooden floors. The scent of apples and cinnamon still clung to the air from the previous day’s baking, mingling with the fresh morning breeze that drifted in through the open door.

Bilba stretched, bones creaking as she pulled herself from bed, still sore from all the preparations. But there was no time to linger—there were two excitable dwarflings to dress and an entire festival awaiting them.

She had barely made it to the kitchen before Fili and Kili came barreling toward her, half-dressed and already bubbling with energy. Kili bounced on his heels, his freshly-washed curls springing with each movement, while Fili proudly held up his new blue vest, eyes shining with delight.

“Does it fit? Does it fit?” Fili asked, shoving the garment against himself before she could even inspect it.

“Let’s find out, shall we?” Bilba chuckled, taking the vest from him and helping him slip it on. It was a perfect fit, the soft blue fabric crisp against his pale skin. Kili tugged insistently at her sleeve, bouncing with impatience until she turned to dress him as well. His vest, identical in color and cut, made him look rather proud of himself.

“You two look absolutely darling,” Bilba said warmly, smoothing Fili’s collar and tucking a stray curl behind Kili’s ear. “Are we ready, then?”

“YES!” Kili cheered, already making for the door. Fili rolled his eyes but followed, adjusting the hem of his vest as he went.

Bilba took one last look around—ensuring that the wagon was loaded, the tarts secured, and her own attire was in place—before following them out into the fresh morning air.

The road to the festival grounds was lively, with hobbits bustling about in their finest clothes, baskets of goods in hand. The boys gawked at the decorations—bright banners strung between trees, tables laden with treats, and musicians tuning their instruments. The scent of roasted nuts and honey cakes filled the air, making even Bilba’s stomach rumble.

As they arrived at the festival, a few hobbits cast curious glances at Fili and Kili, though none with the judgment she had feared. Instead, there were smiles—some hesitant, some warm.

Bilba exhaled slowly, a cautious hope blooming in her chest.

“Alright, loves,” she said, setting down the wagon handle. “Let’s have a wonderful festival.”

Kili twisted this way and that way, trying to take in all the sighs, sounds, and smells. Fili was grinning, his eyes stuck on Buttercup who was holding hands with her older brother, their light hair shining in the bright sunlight. Buttercup’s brother crouched down and handed her a small handle, and then Fili gasped as a pink parasol bloomed out. Bilba smiled warmly- Buttercup was so sickly she was practically allergic to the sun, but she hardly looked out of place with her pink dress, her gloves, her parasol. 

Buttercup’s little cheeks were already flushed from the walk there, and she turned to give Fili a breathless smile, twisting side to side shyly. 

“Go play,” Bilba told the boys. “No play-fighting, okay?”

“Okay!” Both boys chirped. She would have called out to Fili to look after his brother, but she knew Fili would do that anyway, and the boys ran toward the group of Hobbits. Bilba took her wagon to a decorated table and began to set up. She looked around, scanning the crowd. 

She didn’t see the Evergardens. Peony and her ten children- Violet included- were nowhere to be found. 

“Happy Festival Day, Bilba!!” Otho bellowed as he came near with his keg of ale, housing it up with a grunt next to the other kegs. They were going to go through many for the festival- kegs and also bags of pipe weed. 

“Happy Festival,” Bilba said, “Are my toe-hairs gone, or are we missing the Evergardens?” 

“Oh, we’re missing them! Have you got bird-brain?” Otho said, looking at her with wide eyes. “Lobelia nearly ripped them all to pieces! That crazy woman went in there and screeched so loud, I think everyone in Bree heard her!” 

Bilba’s eyes widened. “Well…where is Lobelia?” 

“Not coming.” Otho said in a soft, gossiping whisper. “She’s making a point. You know how she gets.” 

“Sure, but not coming to the Summer Festival…that’s…” Bilba shook her head slowly. It was just expected that they were all to come. Lobelia was never one to stray from what was expected.

Bilba frowned, glancing toward the road as if she might see Lobelia storming down it in a fit of indignation, but of course, there was no sign of her. For all of Lobelia’s dramatics, she had never not come to the Summer Festival. She had never missed an opportunity to put herself at the center of attention, to boast about her flower arrangements, or to quietly revel in whatever scandal or gossip was making the rounds.

“Do you know what she actually said to Peony?” Bilba asked, lowering her voice slightly as she finished setting out the trays of tarts.

Otho let out a long whistle, shaking his head. “No one knows exactly what happened—except that it was loud, and it was long. She was in there for over an hour! And when she finally left, she looked like she’d swallowed a lemon whole.” He snorted. “And the Evergardens? Not a single one of them have been seen since.”

Bilba felt her stomach twist, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. On one hand, she wanted to cheer. Peony had needed someone to call her out for years, and no hobbit had ever dared. It was about time someone gave her a verbal thrashing over how she treated her own daughter.

And yet… Lobelia? Of all people? The same Lobelia who claimed to loathe children, who had called Fili and Kili it with all the warmth of a wet rag? The same Lobelia who had once declared that fauntlings were nothing more than “loud, sticky nuisances with too much energy and no sense”?

Bilba chewed her lip. She supposed Lobelia had done it because it was expected that someone do it, and no one else ever would. Perhaps it had been her way of making a point—of asserting that even she would not tolerate Peony’s neglect any longer.

But still. To miss the festival entirely? Lobelia never strayed from social expectations, no matter how bitter she was. It unsettled Bilba in a way she couldn’t quite name.

She busied herself with arranging the tarts just so, but she couldn’t quite shake the nagging feeling in the back of her mind. With a small huff, she reached for two of the finest honeyed apple tarts, and placed them carefully onto a small cloth-lined basket. If Lobelia truly didn’t show, well… Bilba would bring them to her herself. Not because she wanted to, of course, but because—because it was only right. Because even if Lobelia had been an utter menace this past week, she had also been out looking for Violet, and she had made the boys their clothing, and she had…

Bilba sighed, smoothing a curl behind her ear. Because I still care, whether I like it or not.

She tucked the basket beneath her stall, hidden from the wandering eyes of hungry festival-goers, then dusted off her hands. That’s settled, then. She would check in on Lobelia before the night was over. Whether Lobelia wanted her to or not.

The rest of the Festival was lovely. Despite her worry about Lobelia, Bilba was happy to see everyone else. She had to repeat to many people who Fili and Kili were, a curious crowd starting to form as she explained how she’d found them, sick, dirty, and starving. She supposed now was a better time than ever to get the word out officially that she was going to house them and take care of them. 

“But they’re dwarves!” 

“Where are their parents!”

“Poor things!”

“Is that them over there?” 

Bilba turned and smiled as she saw Fili shyly handing Buttercup a flower, and then her eyes drifted to see Kili, who was shoving dandelions into his mouth and picking at his toes. Well. At least dandelions were edible. 

“And you should have seen it,” Bilba laughed cheerily. “When I washed Fili’s hair and it was a lovely golden color! I had thought that his hair was brown, from how dark it looked! Look at it now!” She gestured to her clean, well-fed boy. Though of course, nothing compared to the beauty of the Brandybucks blonde curls. Buttercup had such lovely cornsilk hair. 

Next started the games, the kids had games and so did the adults. Who could drink the longest, the most, the fastest. Who could dance the longest, who could sing the loudest, who could make the crowd laugh the hardest. The fauntlings had races, and hill-rolling competitions of which Kili won first place. 

He was so giggly that he nearly threw up, and Fili had to steady the poor boy with a cheer. Bilba clapped her hands together, cheering for her little Dwarf sprout as he was handed a necklace-trophy medal. Kili stared at the gold-painted wooden medal with wide eyes and he giggled and wriggled, happier than Bilba had ever seen him.

The sight of Kili’s pure, unfiltered joy filled Bilba’s heart with warmth. He bounced on his feet, holding the wooden medal tightly in his little hands as if it were a treasure of the highest value. Fili stood proudly beside him, his hands on his hips, his grin beaming with satisfaction for his little brother’s victory.

Bilba chuckled and crouched to Kili’s level. “A champion hill-roller, are we? I knew you were a fast little thing, but this is quite the accomplishment, my love.”

Kili beamed, babbling excitedly in Khuzdul, holding up his prize for her to see as if she hadn’t already been watching. Fili, with an air of older-brother wisdom, translated with an exaggerated nod. “He says it’s the best prize ever and he’s going to keep it forever.”

Bilba gasped dramatically. “Forever? Well, I should think so! You earned it, after all”

As Bilba helped Kili adjust the wooden medal around his neck, Fili leaned in close, tugging at her sleeve. He cupped a hand around his mouth and whispered, his little brows furrowed in deep confusion.

“Miss Bilba,” he murmured, eyeing the medal suspiciously. “This isn’t real gold.”

Bilba blinked and turned her head slightly to look at him. His tiny fingers rubbed the surface of the wooden medal, his expression one of quiet, serious disappointment.

“I can tell,” he added, his voice low, as if sharing a grave secret.

Bilba bit her lip, suppressing a chuckle. “No, love, it’s just painted to look like gold,” she explained gently.

Fili frowned, looking at Kili, who was still giggling and clutching his prize like it was the most precious thing in the world. Fili’s nose scrunched in thought before he whispered again, “Should I…tell him?”

Bilba smiled and ruffled Fili’s golden hair. “Absolutely not.”

Fili stared at her for a long moment, then glanced at Kili again, watching his little brother admire his prize with endless delight. With a resigned sigh, Fili nodded, his shoulders relaxing.

“Alright,” he whispered back. “But just so you know, Dwarves wouldn’t ever do that.”

Bilba laughed softly. “Of that, I have no doubt.”

As the evening came to a close and the festival began to wind down. Bilba started to load up her empty pie tins and smiled softly when she realized how many people had actually eaten her apple tarts. It was a good thing she had saved some for Lobelia, or else she wouldn't have gotten any at all. 

"Careful," Bilba said softly as she reached to help Kili into the wagon. Kili watched his feet and sat down, careful not to crush the extra tarts. 

"Are we going home?" Fili yawned. 

Home . Bilba smiled warmly. 

"We're going to visit Lobelia a moment, then we're going home." Bilba said, walking along the road and pulling the cart behind her. 

"Who?" 

"The Orange." Bilba chuckled softly. 

"Oh." Fili yawned, walking along with her, smiling to himself. "I like the Summer Festival."

“You’ll love the Fair, then,” Bilba reassured Fili with a warm smile. “It’s like this, but even bigger and for an entire week!” 

Fili looked dazzled by the idea as Bilba pulled the wagon up to the magenta round door. Freshly painted, apparently- it had been a tangerine orange the last time Bilba was here. She hesitated and gathered her courage before knocking primly. 

Lobelia opened the door with her usual sharpness, but there was something different about her tonight. Her hair was still pinned up, though a few strands had loosened, and she wore a fine, but simple, house dress instead of her usual bright festival attire.

Her wary eyes swept over Bilba first, then down to the wagon behind her. Fili sat inside, kicking his feet idly over the edge, his golden hair mussed from a long day of playing. Kili was curled up in the back, his little hands still clutching his gold-painted medal even in sleep. His face was smudged with dirt, and his curls were tangled from all his running about, but he looked peaceful. Lobelia’s gaze lingered on them for a moment before flicking back to Bilba, suspicion evident in the arch of her brows.

Bilba hesitated for only a beat. Wordlessly, she held out the small, cloth-wrapped bundle.

Lobelia’s eyes narrowed slightly as she took it, her fingers brushing against Bilba’s as she untied the knot with practiced ease. The moment she saw what was inside, her lips parted in surprise. For once, the hobbit did not immediately have a retort. She stared down at the tarts, then at Bilba, as if trying to puzzle out why. But she knew why.

“You never save these,” she finally muttered, almost accusingly.

Bilba’s shoulders shrugged a little. “No, I don’t.”

"Why?" Lobelia said. 

"Because you didn't come. And...I wanted to make sure you were alright. You were looking forward to them, so..." Bilba said. Lobelia stared down at the tarts and set them aside calmly. Bilba watched as she seemed to consider something. Lobelia looked over her shoulder, her dark curls bouncing, then she looked at Bilba with that same pompous look on her face. 

"Well. Thank you. I am well. Goodbye now." Lobelia said, shutting the door abruptly. 

Bilba blinked, her jaw dropped. Furious indignation rose up within her. The audacity . 

Bilba knocked furiously on the door. "Lobelia, honestly!" She called out. "Do you have to be this way!?" 

"Miss Bilba," Fili whispered to her, trying to get closer. "Miss Bilba! Violet was in there. I saw her in the back."

Bilba barely had a moment to process Fili’s words before a sudden thud rattled the door.

Then another.

The unmistakable sound of small hands furiously tugging at the handle echoed through the night, followed by the sharp click of the latch being rattled.

“No, no— Violet—stop that!” Lobelia’s voice hissed from inside, hushed but clearly flustered. “We do not—Violet, I swear on my—“

Before Bilba could react, a piercing, furious screech tore through the air—high-pitched and determined, the kind of tantrum that only a very small, very stubborn child could muster.

Bilba barely had time to stifle a laugh before the door was wrenched open so fast that Lobelia nearly stumbled back with it.

And there, standing in the doorway with not a single sign of her previous fury, was Violet Evergarden. 

She was spotless. Her dark curls were brushed to a soft shine, no longer tangled and wild. She wore a freshly laundered, simple but well-made dress—clearly one of Lobelia’s extras, a little big on her small frame but clean and neatly tied at the back. Her feet were clean and the hair on them properly brushed, her toes wiggling against the wooden floor, and she blinked up at them with calm, round eyes, as if she hadn’t just unleashed the wail of the century mere moments ago.

Lobelia, on the other hand, looked a little flustered.

Her carefully done hair was slightly askew, her cheeks were flushed from what Bilba could only assume had been a battle of wills, and she was gripping the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

“Oh,” Bilba breathed, struggling not to laugh outright.

Lobelia inhaled sharply through her nose and straightened her dress as if that would somehow restore the dignity she had just lost.

“Well,” she huffed, barely masking her frazzled exhaustion. “Since someone decided she must see who was at the door, I suppose the element of discretion is entirely lost.”

Bilba let her eyes sweep over Violet again, taking in the full picture. The little girl didn’t look uncomfortable or scared. If anything, she looked oddly content.

Bilba softened. “I see you’ve had quite the evening.”

Lobelia narrowed her eyes. “Don’t.”

Bilba only smiled.

Violet, completely oblivious to the tension between the two women, blinked slowly and lifted her little hand in a familiar, expectant gesture.

“Hop?” she said simply.

Fili giggled and waved to his friend, and Lobelia let out a long sigh.

“I like your dress, Violet!” Fili said sweetly, almost bashful.

Violet stared back at him, her blank expression never changing. She simply stared, that was, until Fili's face twisted into the most ridiculous expression that Bilba had ever seen. His face was all screwed, his tongue out and his eyes crossed. Violet snorted with a giggle, then covered her mouth with her hands. Fili giggled too, clearly pleased about making her laugh. Bilba's smile widened and her expression turned to a knowing, smug expression. 

"Do not." Lobelia hissed. 

"I just think it's interesting-" Bilba began. 

"I don't care." Lobelia interrupted. 

"-that you saw a child in need and took her in-"

" Be quiet ." 

"-and it's very familiar to my situation , that you scolded me for-"

"Oh enough!" Lobelia snapped. "You've make your blasted point! You've done your good deed for the day, you've brought me tarts, now go and be on your way and stop bothering me about it! You might have thought to press the wrinkles out of your clothing! Good day, now!"

Bilba barely held back her laughter as Lobelia all but shoved the conversation aside, her face burning red with flustered indignation. It was a rare, rare thing to get Lobelia Bracegirdle to admit something—even in her own roundabout way—but this? This was as close to a confession as Bilba would ever get.

With that, the door slammed so hard that the wreath rattled against the wood.

Bilba let out a full-bodied laugh, shaking her head as she turned back to Fili, who had been watching the entire exchange with wide, entertained eyes. Kili, however, had long since fallen asleep, curled up comfortably in the wagon amidst blankets and leftover festival goodies.

“Well,” Bilba sighed dramatically, careful now to keep her voice low. “Someone’s embarrassed.”

“I kinda like the Orange,” Fili whispered with a grin. “She’s so funny when she’s mad.”

Bilba smiled, shaking her head fondly as she reached down to gently brush Kili’s curls back from his sleeping face. Grabbing the wagon handle, she started to pull it quietly along.

“Alright, love,” she said softly. “Let’s go home.”

As they made their way back toward Bag End under the soft glow of lantern light, Bilba couldn’t help but cast one last glance over her shoulder.

Through the window, just for a moment, she saw Violet standing near the doorway, staring out into the night with that same unreadable expression.

Then, Lobelia gently nudged her inside, shutting the curtains with an air of finality.

Fili was watching, and after a moment, carefully climbed out of the wagon and moved to hold Bilba’s free hand, walking along side her as they went up towards Bag End. 

“Can I ask a question?” He finally asked softly, and Bilba glanced down to see his brooding expression. “How come Violet is at the orange’s house?”

Bilba considered that for a moment, wondering how much of this was appropriate to tell Fili. She didn't want to lie to him, but she didn't want to tell him everything either. He was just a child, and he had no business worrying about everyone like that- he had enough on his shoulders. 

"Violet's mom...didn't take care of her like she should have. I think Lobelia went over to try and help her." Bilba said simply, not giving more than that. Fili looked up at her with a frown, his eyebrows knitting together. He was a smart boy, she knew, and he was confused. 

"Oh." Fili said softly. "Did she hurt Violet?"

"She ignored Violet." Bilba corrected. She wouldn't have Fili with the thought in her mind that Violet was being hit- that wasn't the case. But neglect was abuse. "But she seemed happy in there, don't you think?"

Fili didn't respond. He moved forward to help Bilba try and get the wagon up the steps of Bag End, and he even moved to open the green door for her. Thanking him, Bilba walked in with the wagon and lifted a sleepy Kili out of it, carrying him to bed. She laid him down, then unbuttoned his vest and got it off him so that he could be comfortable. 

"There." She murmured. "Fili, are you ready for bed?"

Bilba watched as Fili lay stiff in his bed, staring at the ceiling with a deep, troubled frown. His hands twisted in the blanket, knotting and unknotting the fabric between his small fingers. It wasn’t like him to be so quiet, not when there was usually so much curiosity in him, so much eagerness to chatter about the day.

She sat on the edge of his bed, smoothing a hand over his golden hair. “What’s on your mind, love?” she asked gently.

Fili hesitated, chewing on his lip. For a long moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer. But then, in a small, serious voice, he said, “I don’t understand.”

Bilba tilted her head, brushing his hair back. “What don’t you understand?”

Fili’s fingers twisted tighter in the blanket. He looked down, his brow deeply furrowed.

“Violet has big brothers and sisters,” he murmured. “I saw them.”

He took a deep breath, then turned his troubled blue eyes up to her. “Why didn’t they take care of her?” he asked, voice small and confused. “If I was big, I would have taken care of Kili really good.”

Bilba’s breath caught. She reached for his hands, gently prying them from the blanket and holding them in her own.

Fili studied her for a long moment, searching her face as if trying to find some kind of answer. His brows pinched, and then, finally, in a voice thick with something he couldn’t quite name, he said, “It makes my heart feel like a heavy stone.”

Bilba squeezed his hands. “Oh, love.”

“I didn’t think Hobbits did that,” Fili admitted, his voice just barely above a whisper. 

Bilba’s heart ached. He had known cruelty, known loss, but some part of him had believed that it was something far away—something that happened to him, to Kili, but not to others in the safety of the Shire. And now that belief had cracked.

She cupped his cheek, smoothing her thumb across his warm skin. “Most don’t,” she murmured. “But sometimes… sometimes people fail to be what they should be. And that isn’t fair. Not to Violet. Not to anyone.”

Fili swallowed, looking away, his small hands tightening in hers. “I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I,” Bilba whispered.

Fili frowned, his jaw setting, a glimmer of something fierce and determined in his troubled gaze.

“I’m going to help take care of her,” he declared, like a vow.

Bilba couldn't stop Fili from that declaration. If he wanted to do it, she knew that he would. When it came to mooning people, throwing food, or belching- she could turn him in a better direction. When it came to protecting those who were smaller than him, weaker than him? He was going to go barreling in there like...well. Like a Dwarf . She could hardly be surprised. 

"And I am going to take care of all of you." Bilba whispered softly. "Get some rest, little Fee."

Fili smiled sleepily, finding some peace within himself. Bilba found that he was asleep within moments- they both did that- they fell asleep like rocks thrown into ponds. Sighing, Bilba got up from another exhausting day. 

She moved to her own bed, smiling a little. She was satisfied with her day, at least. Even these frequent talks with the boys seemed to become routine. She was walking in a bush of thorns, they all were. But one by one, she helped to pick out those thorns and flick them away. The boys' wounds were healing, and that's all she could have asked for.

Chapter Text

Bilba first noticed it in the mornings.

The sun still shone warmly in the afternoons, but the air had begun to shift—cooler in the mornings, crisp on the edges, whispering that autumn was coming. The golden haze of late summer had softened, and in the evenings, mist curled along the dips of the hills like silver thread. The smell of earth was different, richer, deeper. Soon, the harvest would be at its peak, and the preparations for winter would begin in earnest.

And, of course, the Fair was only a few weeks away, as was the peak harvest time.  Every year, Hobbits from every farthing gathered at the Great Smials for the fair—bigger than any festival, grander than a birthday party, filled with feasts, music, dancing, and markets bustling with trade- and, of course, all the competitions. It was tradition, and tradition was everything in the Shire.

Thankfully, her tomatoes were looking stunning this year, and Bilba was quite certain she’d win the blue ribbon again. 

“Bilba, Bilba!” Fili’s voice rang out from the garden. “Come look!”

Bilba found both boys crouched in the grass. Fili was beaming, pointing excitedly, while Kili mimicked him, bouncing on his toes.

“Look!” Fili insisted again, his blue eyes bright.

Bilba followed his gaze and found a single brown leaf lying among the green, curled at the edges and crisp.

“It means the trees are gonna turn colors soon!” Fili said, full of wonder. “Buttercup said so! And she said that means apples will be the best soon! And we can have cider! And there’s gonna be leaf piles to jump in! And—”

“Frogs!!” Kili added, though that had nothing to do with the topic at hand.

Bilba chuckled, ruffling Fili’s golden curls. It was getting longer, growing fast. “You’re right about the apples, love. And the leaves. And the cider—though I suppose that means I’ll have to start preparing.”

She turned, eyeing the garden. The tomato vines sagged under their final fruit, the last of the cucumbers and beans clung to the trellis, and the pumpkin vines had begun their slow crawl across the yard. The smell of sun-warmed earth filled the air.

“Well, boys,” she said, planting her hands on her hips. “You might think it’s all about cider and jumping in leaves, but for me, autumn means work.”

Fili brightened immediately. “I can help!”

“Me too! Me too!” Kili chirped, though his version of helping often involved more chaos than assistance.

It was canning season. That meant that every Hobbit in the Shire was in panic mode, counting jars, gathering baskets, clearing off counters to lay out every vegetable they had. Many families helped and worked together, though Bilba often had to do it alone, or she carted all of her things over to Drogo’s to combine their crops and can together. This year, she wanted to go all out. She had pots and pants simmering down sauces and pickling cucumbers ready, all of her dried herbs and flowers pulled down to start grinding and storing in jars. 

Fili and Kili were helping her in all of the ways that they could. For Fili, that meant he was given a dull knife and asked to cut up some of the vegetables. Surprisingly he was good at this, carefully sliding the knife through the tomatoes and cucumbers, oranges and peaches. 

Kili was more helpful in…smiling. Giggling. And encouraging them. 

“Can we go and see Violet later?” Fili asked. “And Buttercup? Can I bring them a jar?” 

Bilba smiled softly down at him. Over the past few weeks he had wanted to find some sort of gift to take to the two girls every single day. Whether it was a flower, a cook rock (for Violet), a cicada shell (for Buttercup), or snacks and drinks for both girls. Violet still remained at Lobelia’s, and the Sackville Baggins’ influence was obvious on Violet. She wore bright colors, even when she was outside playing. Her hair was perfectly curled in ringlets, and her skin- which previously had frequent inflamed rashes across her cheeks- was now clear and smooth. 

Lobelia was in no way kinder. She often opened the door and glared at them, but accepted any gift or called for Violet to come and accept it instead. 

“Of course, love.” Bilba said. “And you boys need to help them with their pumpkins this year. Violet especially.” 

“Pumpkins?” Fili said, confused. 

“Pump! Pump-kin!” Kili echoed. His vocabulary was growing. He knew most all of his vegetables now.

Fili’s brows scrunched together in deep thought, his little hands stilling where they had been cutting up tomatoes.

“Because……they’re too heavy for them?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Exactly,” Bilba said, smiling as she pressed down the lid on a jar. “Pumpkins grow quite big, and neither Buttercup nor Violet will be able to haul theirs to the Fair on their own. But you two,” she tapped the tip of Fili’s nose playfully, “are strong as can be.”

Fili immediately sat up straighter, puffing out his chest. “Well, yeah,” he said, trying to sound casual, though the pink rising in his cheeks gave him away. “I mean…we are strong. Durins are all really strong!! Right, Kili?”

Kili, who had abandoned his job entirely in favor of stacking cucumber slices into a wobbly tower, perked up at his name. “Strong!!” he cheered, immediately flexing his little arms. The cucumber tower tumbled over, but Kili didn’t seem to mind.

“Yes, very strong,” Bilba agreed, hiding her amusement as she wiped her hands on her apron. “And besides, you don’t want Buttercup or Violet struggling to carry them when you could make it easier for them, do you?”

Fili’s expression turned serious, as if she’d just suggested something completely unacceptable. “No,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “That’d be terrible. They… they shouldn’t have to carry heavy pumpkins when we can do it for them.”

Bilba pressed her lips together, fighting a smile. “Exactly.”

Fili nodded, looking satisfied, but after a moment, he glanced down at his hands, fiddling with a slice of tomato. “Maybe—maybe they’ll say thank you,” he muttered, trying very hard to sound like he wasn’t thinking about it too much.

Bilba bit back a chuckle. “Oh, I think they will.”

Kili clapped his hands together, absolutely delighted with the plan, even though Bilba was fairly certain he only understood about half of it. “Pump! Pump-kin!” he cheered, bouncing happily in place.

Bilba returned to her canning, pleased. The boys were growing stronger every day, and she had no doubt they would take great pride in showing off for the girls. And if Fili happened to turn pink when Buttercup smiled at him, or if he got extra serious about carrying the biggest pumpkin just to impress Violet… well. That would just be a little something for Bilba to tuck away and smile about.

Bilba continued chopping vegetables, taking the glass jar and filling it. She hummed softly until she heard a soft whoosh and a shattering sound. Bilba gasped as she turned and saw a jar, completely shattered. Next to it was a small pebble. 

She whipped around- “Kili!” 

Kili stared back at her with wide eyes. In his hand was his slingshot, next to him was a small pile of pebbles. Bilba put her hands on her hips, staring the little boy down. There was glass pieces everywhere, and Fili was watching with wide eyes. 

“I’ll clean it up,” Fili said quickly. 

“No.” Bilba held up a finger. “No you will not.” 

“I can- I shouldn’t have left out the pebbles.” Fili tried again. 

“No.” Bilba said. “He knows better.”

“He’s just a baby.” Fili whispered. 

“A baby who knows better.” Bilba said, staring Kili down again. Kili stared back at her, and there was a long, horrible stretch of silence. Slowly, Kili put the slingshot down. Bilba gave him a stern look. 

“Oops…” Kili whispered. 

“I am going to clean up the glass. Then you are going to clean my counter.” Bilba said to Kili. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Kili sighed, but he did not understand what she was asking of him. He only knew of the stern tone, and he knew he shouldn’t have done that.

Fili knew better than to believe that.

He sucked in a breath and braced himself as the silence stretched on too long. Too long.

Kili’s little shoulders hunched. Slowly, his hands lowered, his fingers uncurled from the slingshot, and he set it down. His tiny voice was barely a whisper.

“Oops.”

Fili turned back to Bilba sharply, waiting for the explosion. His hands were shaking. His stomach churned with something awful and twisted. His heart was still hammering in his chest.

Kili just stood there, tiny and nervous, but unharmed. He wasn’t crying. He wasn’t shaking. He wasn’t curling into himself the way Fili knew he should.

Bilba turned to grab a broom, moving past Fili like nothing terrible had just happened.

He looked at Kili again, who was already watching Bilba, wide-eyed, like he didn’t understand either.

Fili swallowed hard and finally managed to whisper, his voice shaking.

“That’s it?”

Bilba turned back to him, holding the broom, blinking.

“What?”

“That’s… that’s it?” Fili’s voice cracked slightly. “He—he broke something. I left the pebbles out.” 

Bilba frowned slightly, confused. “Yes, and now we clean it up.”

Fili just stared at her, not understanding. His fingers clenched into fists at his sides, his body tight, his stomach sick.

Bilba’s expression softened slightly. She crouched down, eye-level with him.

“Fili,” she said gently, and reached to brush his hair back. He flinched.

“Please don’t get mad at Kee,” Fili said, his voice wobbly and tense as he tried to be very brave. “I promise I won’t leave my pebbles out ever again, it was my fault.”

“I don’t care whose fault it was,” Bilba said simply. Softly. “It’s done. That’s it. I’ve done all I plan to do about it. Fee, darling, I’m not going to hurt you or him. I’m not going to scream.” 

Fili stared back at her and she could tell by the way his shoulders were pulled near to his ears that he didn’t believe her. Bilba sighed softly. She couldn’t fix this instantly. It wasn’t something she could just smooth over with a kiss. This was trauma- and it took time. 

“Look at me, Fee.” She said softly, and waited until those sad blue eyes looked at her. “Have I ever hurt you?” 

“No.” Fili said quietly. 

“No.” Bilba agreed. “And I’m not going to start today, little mouse.” 

That caught Fili’s attention. “Little mouse…?” 

“Mhm!” Bilba grinned. “You’re both my little mice. I have to shoo you out to have fun, you’re always scuttling about, and you’re cute and little-“ Bilba’s fingertips danced on Fili’s sides. Fili wriggled and giggled finally, smiling and laughing. He couldn’t help it! Bilba smiled and hugged him tightly. 

“You’re my sweet little mouse.” Bilba said quietly. “And Hobbits don’t hurt mice. Now. You sit and keep cutting those cucumbers for me, and I’m going to clean up the glass. Then Kili is going to wipe down my counter, and you two need to go outside and get some sunshine.”

Fili hesitated for a moment, staring at her like he was still trying to understand. Like he was testing the idea, seeing if it would hold up under scrutiny. His little fingers twisted into the hem of his vest, his shoulders still too high, too tense.

Bilba just smiled at him, waiting. She let the moment stretch, let him process it in his own time. She wasn’t going to push him.

Finally, Fili’s little hands relaxed, his shoulders slowly lowering. He sniffled once, blinking fast, then nodded.

“Okay,” he said softly.

Bilba kissed his forehead and gave him a reassuring squeeze before standing. “Good lad.”

She turned, grabbing the broom once more and setting to work sweeping up the broken glass, making sure to get every last little sliver before any small feet could find it. Kili, who had been unusually quiet, watched her with wide eyes, his hands still clutched in front of him.

When Bilba finished, she dusted off her hands and looked at Kili.

“Your turn, little sprout.” She gestured to the cloth she’d set on the counter. “Come wipe it down for me, nice and clean.”

Kili blinked. He looked at Fili, then back at Bilba. Then, slowly, he scurried over, grabbed the rag, and started wiping. His little hands weren’t particularly coordinated, but he was putting his whole body into it, scrubbing with all the force his small arms could muster.

Bilba bit back a smile. “That’s…very enthusiastic, love. Well done.” 

Kili looked up at her and grinned, clearly taking that as encouragement. He wiped even harder.

Bilba sighed, shaking her head fondly before turning to Fili, who had dutifully picked up his little knife again and returned to slicing cucumbers. His hands were steadier now, his shoulders looser. His lip wasn’t wobbly anymore.

Bilba leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to his golden curls before ruffling his hair.

“Sweet little mouse,” she murmured.

Fili let out a small, happy hum, his lips twitching up slightly as he focused on his task.

Once they were done, Bilba began to sweet the rest of the kitchen with a soft smile on her lips. She hummed as she did it, then she turned to the boys. "Alright little mice! Out you go! Shoo shoo!"

She swept at their feet and Fili and Kili giggled and laughed, both of them tripping over each other to get outside. Bilba smiled as they shouted and laughed, hurrying along the rolling green hills. She left the window open and breathed in the scent of the summer-autumn air. Finally, she was able to finish her canning in peace. 

When the boys came back in, Fili asked again and again if he could go out to take one to Buttercup, and finally, Bilba agreed. 

She got both boys ready to go, and she gave Fili the jar with a ribbon bow tied to the lid and the rim. Fili grinned when he saw it, it looked like a proper present! 

He walked happily with her, they then approached the soft pink door of the Brandybucks. Of course it would be soft and pink, at the request of Buttercup, the only girl in a boy- filled family aside from her mom. They knocked, and Merric came to the door. He was an older Hobbit, and he was taking care of all of these children. The older boys, and the youngest, sickly girl. 

"Hello, Merric!" Bilba said happily. "Is Buttercup in? Fili has a gift for her." Merric smiled softly, he had the light blonde hair that his daughter had. He had soft blue eyes and he was handsome- or he had been- and now age pulled at his features. 

"She's here. She's under the weather though. She's in bed fevering, you're welcome to go in and see her." Merric said, smiling tiredly.

Bilba’s brow furrowed in concern. Buttercup always seemed delicate, but seeing her bedridden with a fever made her chest ache. She glanced down at Fili, who clutched the jar tightly, his eager excitement dimmed into quiet determination.

“Can we see her?” Fili asked, voice soft but firm.

Merric nodded. “She’s awake, just a little tired. Go on in.”

The Brandybuck home was warm, the air thick with the scent of chamomile and honey, a fire burning low in the hearth. The sound of distant laughter from Buttercup’s brothers echoed through the house, a stark contrast to the quiet hush of the little bedroom where she lay.

Nestled beneath a pile of soft quilts, Buttercup’s golden curls stuck to her damp cheeks, her complexion flushed pink with fever. But when she saw them, her blue eyes brightened.

“Fili?” she murmured, blinking sleepily.

Fili stepped forward, his grip tightening on the jar before carefully placing it on the nightstand beside her. “I brought you something,” he said, almost shyly.

Buttercup turned her head toward it, her fingers creeping out from beneath the covers to brush against the ribbon. “Oh… is it jam?” she asked, voice still thick with sleep.

Fili nodded eagerly. “Peach! Bilba made it, and I helped. It’s really good, I promise.”

Buttercup gave a small, pleased hum, her fingertips tracing the glass. “I like peaches.”

“You can have as much as you want,” Fili assured her, then added quickly, “when you feel better.”

Buttercup smiled, a little lopsided but undeniably sweet. “That’s very nice. Thank you.”

Bilba watched as Fili hesitated by Buttercup’s bedside, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his hands twitching like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. Buttercup, still curled up under her quilts, blinked at him sleepily, her fingers absently toying with the ribbon on the jar.

Fili cleared his throat. “We saw Violet yesterday,” he said suddenly.

Buttercup’s tired eyes perked with interest. “You did?”

“Yeah! She was playing outside with us. We caught a great big toad.” Fili spread his arms wide to emphasize just how massive the toad was. “Biggest one I ever saw!” 

Buttercup’s lips twitched with a small giggle. “Really?”

“Really! Kili tried to name it ‘Oops’ because that’s his favorite word right now.” Fili rolled his eyes, but there was an undeniable fondness in his voice. “But Violet just held it real quiet-like, all gentle, and then she let it go. Didn’t say a word the whole time.”

Buttercup giggled again, a little stronger this time. “That sounds like her.”

Fili grinned, encouraged by her laughter. “Yeah! But then Kili got mad that she didn’t name it, so he went running after it, yelling ‘Oops, come back!’ and he tripped right into a puddle.”

Buttercup giggled harder, her little shoulders shaking under the covers. Fili puffed up a bit at her reaction, clearly pleased with himself. “He was all covered in mud, too. Bilba had to dunk him in the tub when we got home.”

Buttercup’s laugh turned breathless, and she sighed happily. “I wish I could’ve seen that.”

“Well, when you’re feeling better, we can all go catch another toad,” Fili offered, rocking back on his heels. “Maybe an even bigger one.”

Buttercup hummed, sleepy but pleased. “Okay,” she murmured, her fingers still idly stroking the ribbon on the jar.

Fili seemed to hover. Bilba had seen this behavior from him, the hovering. He did this with Kili all the time, shifting from foot to foot with his eyes scanning and glancing around anxiously. She came up and touched Fili's hair gently. 

"How are you feeling, sweet girl?" Bilba asked softly. The poor thing was all sorts of bundled up in bed, the blankets heavy on her little body, her cheeks flushed and reddened. Kili was clutching her skirt. 

"Bad." Buttercup whispered. "My belly hurts, and-and-..." She sniffled. Bilba saw her lip start to tremble. "I-I hate being sick...and I'm al-always sick...." 

"I'm sorry, sweet girl." Bilba said softly. 

"Is-Is she going to be okay...?" Fili said. "Is she going to lose herself....?" 

"What?" Bilba looked over at him. "No, love." She was confused by that comment. Lose herself? "She seems like herself doesn't she? Why did you say that...?" 

Fili grew quiet a moment, and Bilba felt Kili's fist tighten in her skirt. 

"Ama said that...that...sickness sometimes changes people." Fili murmured.

Bilba blinked at him, her stomach twisting. She wasn’t sure what he meant—what sort of sickness could change a person? She’d never heard Hobbits speak like that before.

“Well,” she said slowly, choosing her words carefully, “some sicknesses do take time to heal, and they can make someone feel different for a little while, but Buttercup is just under the weather. She’ll be right as rain soon, I promise.”

Fili didn’t look convinced. His brows knit together, his fingers twitching.

“But how do you know?” he asked, his voice quieter this time, hesitant, almost afraid.

Bilba’s heart clenched. What had this boy been told? What had he seen to make him worry so much over a simple fever?

She crouched in front of him, her tone soft. “Because she’s got people taking care of her, love. Her father, her brothers, me, you. She’s warm, she’s safe, and she’s getting rest, which is the best thing for her.”

Fili chewed on his lip, still looking uncertain, but Buttercup sniffled and gave him a wobbly smile.

“It’s alright, Fee,” she murmured, “I get sick lots, but I get better too.” 

Fili studied her for a long moment, then finally, finally, some of the tension in his shoulders loosened. He gave her a small, tentative smile in return.

Kili, who had been unusually quiet, let go of Bilba’s skirt and reached out, patting Buttercup’s hand with a solemn nod. “Okay,” he said simply, as if that settled the matter.

Buttercup giggled, and Fili let out a soft breath, his grip on his tunic finally relaxing.

Bilba let them talk a moment longer before taking Fili's hand and encouraging him out of the room to let the girl rest. The Brandybuck home was big to house all of the children. Buttercup had nine older brothers, and all of them looked after her. Her father was hovering outside of the door. 

"How was she?" He asked. "I don't want to call the healers yet." He said. Usually there was nothing they could do but wait for her to get better, but he was anxious about the idea that she would be needing help and he didn't give that to her. 

"She seemed good." Bilba said. "Awake and talking with us. Do you need anything, Merric?" She asked softly. It must be hard to have a constantly sick child. 

"No no," Merric murmured. "I...I just worry. Do...Do you have any peppermint tea..?"  

Fili and Kili were quiet. 

"Of course I do. I can bring some to you." Bilba said softly. "Is it for her belly?" 

Merric nodded. "She hasn't been eating."

Fili walked beside Bilba, his little hand tucked in hers, his steps slow and thoughtful. His brow was furrowed as if he was trying to puzzle something out.

“She has nine brothers,” he murmured, almost in disbelief.

Bilba glanced down at him. “She does,” she said gently. “And they all love her very much.”

Fili shook his head slightly, his expression filled with something close to awe. “That’s… that’s a lot of pebbles,” he said. “That’s two whole hands!”

Bilba bit back a smile. “It is. Hobbit families are usually quite big, love. It’s not so strange here.”

Fili frowned, glancing back at the Brandybuck home as if trying to imagine it. “If I had nine brothers, I bet Ama would have gone all crazy,” he muttered. “She already said Kili was a handful…”

Bilba chuckled softly, watching as Kili tripped over his own feet and landed in the grass with a happy little oomph. “I think she might have been right about that.”

Fili huffed a laugh, but then his smile faded a little. “If Buttercup has so many big brothers… why can’t they make her better?”

Bilba sighed, kneeling so she was level with him. “Because some things can’t be helped, even with all the love in the world,” she said gently. “Her family does everything they can, just like you did everything you could for Kili.”

Fili stared at her, his blue eyes filled with quiet understanding. His mouth pressed into a thin line. Then, after a long pause, he whispered, “I don’t like it.”

Bilba’s heart ached. “Neither do I, love.” She kissed his forehead and brushed a curl from his face. “But that’s why we do what we can—like bringing her tea.”

Fili nodded slowly, still troubled but not arguing. Before Bilba could say anything else, Kili, who had been entirely silent, suddenly gasped and pointed excitedly at a beetle skittering across the path. Fili blinked, then let out a deep breath and chased after it, Kili giggling as he followed.

Bilba watched them go, smiling sadly. She knew Fili would be thinking about this for a long time. But for now, at least, he was running and laughing with his little brother. And that was enough.

Chapter Text

Bilba gathered all of the things to take the tea back. She gathered the glass jar and filled it with peppermint tea leaves for Merric and Buttercup. Along with that, she gathered some honey and snacks for the poor girl. She went to deliver the tea and as she returned home, she happened to catch Kili running inside with something in his hands. 

"Yavanna help me." Bilba sighed. She returned to her home and stepped in, gasping in horror from what she saw. 

There in Kili's hands was a dead rabbit. Bilba resisted the urge to freak out, and stared at the boy with wide, shocked eyes. Kili grinned up at her. 

"Ta daaa!" Kili said. Even Fili was nearby, smiling at her. 

"He caught a rabbit with his slingshot!!" Fili said excitedly. "It was the most coolest thing I've ever seen!!" 

Bilba supposed that it was impressive. She couldn't do anything like that. A slingshot was such a difficult weapon to use, and yet Kili had done it. Still, it was disgusting and terrible to see. A dead rabbit- the poor thing- in Kili's arms.

Fili was practically vibrating where he stood, his eyes wide with disbelief and sheer pride as he stared at his little brother. He looked from Kili to the dead rabbit, then back to Kili again, his mouth opening and closing like he was struggling to find the right words.

“Kili!” Fili gasped, his voice breathless with awe. “Do you know what you just did?!”

Kili tilted his head, beaming. “Got bunny!” he chirped happily, lifting it higher as if Bilba had somehow missed the grand reveal.

Fili let out a delighted, incredulous laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “You made your first kill!” he declared. “And with a slingshot!” He turned to Bilba with wild excitement in his eyes. “Bilba, do you know how hard that is?! I can’t even do that! That’s—that’s—” He turned back to Kili, practically bouncing on his feet. “Master Dwalin would be so proud of you!!”

Bilba, still staring in a mix of horror and begrudging admiration, blinked. “Who in Yavanna’s green hills is Master Dwalin?” she asked faintly.

But Fili was too caught up in his excitement to even hear her. He grabbed Kili’s arms and shook him gently, grinning from ear to ear. “Not even Nâdâram Thorin had his first kill this young!”

Kili’s eyes sparkled at the praise, even if he only understood about half of what Fili was saying. He was too pleased with himself to care, beaming up at his brother with a huge, toothy grin.

This was the first time she had heard names like that. Aside from just Ama and Ada . Even then, both boys were very careful about not talking about their home. Their family. Part of her wondered if Kili even remembered anymore, every time Fili brought some things up- the rare moments that he did- Kili would give him a long, puzzled look. Like they had had different upbringings, and Kili wasn't aware of anything Fili had been through. 

Something in the back of her mind whispered that it was trauma, too. Kili still had night terrors. But he didn't seem to know why, or what they were about anymore. They usually involved a dragon. 

Master Dwalin. Nâdâram Thorin. 

Clearly this was cultural, too. Bilba tried to think past the fact that they carried in a poor dead bunny rabbit, and decided that if they had done it- then they had done it. She would at least make a lovely rabbit stew out of it. 

"Put it on the table," Bilba said with a sigh and a smile. Now that she thought about it- killing a rabbit with a slingshot was impressive. She thought back to how Kili had shattered the jar. Or about all of the times he had reared his hand back and threw something with impressive accuracy. 

"Actually..." Bilba said, forgetting about the rabbit for a moment. She moved and took both boys to the back garden. She set up three items- a watering can, a cup, then an apple. Fili caught on right away and pulled Kili back with an excited smile. "Alright, Kee!" Bilba turned. "Why don't you try and hit these?"

For a moment there was nothing but stunned silence. Then, Bilba laughed and clapped her hands together excitedly. She couldn't believe it! Kili was the best she had ever seen, his eye must be sharp, his coordination even sharper! Which was strange considering he didn't seem to have any awareness of his body at any other time. 

Bilba rushed to Kili, lifting him in her arms and kissing his cheeks with a delighted laugh, a bright grin on her lips. 

"Kili!! You're amazing!" Bilba cheered. Fili was jumping up and pumping his fists in the air, cheering and whooping with excitement. Kili, overwhelmed with the love and brightness that overcame him, laughed and cheered with them. 

"Yay!! Yay!!" Kili cheered too, throwing his little arms around Bilba's neck. Bilba took him inside and plopped him down on a chair by the table. Her mind was spinning. 

"I can set up targets for you, Kee," Bilba said instantly, knowing that if she asked the Proudfoots for their oranges, that she could dry them into hard pucks in her oven. She did that during the winter's feast, she would string up dried orange slices. Those, if hung from trees, would make amazing targets for Kili to practice on! She wanted to foster this talent. 

She gently moved the rabbit to the counter where she would eventually prepare it for their dinner, but she was far more interested in the idea of setting up a little practice place for Kili. If he even needed it- he was amazing! 

As she was drawing out this plan in her notebook, explaining with animated movements and excitement in her voice, she heard a scrape and a clatter. They all turned to see Kili's pebble being shoved in from underneath the door. 

Little fingertips poked through, then disappeared. 

Scrape, scrape, clatter.

Another pebble was shoved under the door, through the little gap. 

Bilba smiled. Violet .

Bilba exchanged a glance with Fili, who lit up immediately. Without a moment’s hesitation, he rushed to the door and flung it open, grinning widely.

Sure enough, there was Violet, crouched down on the doorstep, her tiny fingers still reaching for another pebble in her pocket. When the door opened, she froze, wide-eyed as if she’d been caught in something she hadn’t quite thought through.

“Violet!!” Fili exclaimed happily, stepping back to let her in. “Did you see? Did you see what Kili did?!”

Violet blinked at him, then at Kili, who was still perched on his chair, kicking his feet excitedly. She didn’t respond—just reached into her pocket, pulled out another pebble, and held it out to the younger boy. 

Kili gasped as if she had just handed him the finest treasure in Middle-earth. He eagerly took the pebble, turning it over in his little hands before, without hesitation, popping it into his mouth and biting down with a loud, crunching snap.

Bilba stiffened in shock. 

Fili, grinning, took the one still resting in Violet’s palm and did the same.

Bilba jerked forward, hands raised as if she might physically stop them from chewing. “What—what are you doing?!”

Kili, unfazed, happily crunched away. Fili tilted his head thoughtfully as he chewed. “It’s a little salty,” he remarked, nodding in approval. “Yum! Thanks Violet, that was nice.” 

Violet, as unreadable as ever, reached into her pocket and wordlessly pulled out another pebble to hand him.

Bilba was beside herself. Their little teeth. Their little bellies. She was terrified for them, and she yanked both boys to the table where she sat them, then she forced them to open their mouths and poked around in there, looking at their teeth. Kili giggled and tried to catch her fingers with his tongue, thinking it was a funny game. 

"Miss Bilba," Fili said curiously after his mouth was inspected. "Didn't you know that Dwarves snack on stone?" 

"No, Fili!" Bilba said, exasperated. "Who would know that!" 

Behind her, Bilba heard a soft choking sound. 

She whirled around and saw Violet, who seemed confused and red-faced. Bilba rushed to her and with one swipe of her finger shoved down Violet's throat, she managed to dig out a pebble that the poor Hobbit had tried to swallow. 

Bilba sat down on the ground with an exhausted sigh. 

"What in Yavanna's green gardens..." Bilba groaned. "Violet, we do not eat rocks! Apparently...only the boys do." 

Violet stared back at her with blank, unseeing eyes. Then she huffed softly as if she was irritated.

Bilba lifted her head slowly, staring at the little girl. “Violet,” she said, voice dangerously even, “did you just get mad at me… because you choked on a rock?”

Violet didn’t answer. She just blinked at her, then pressed her lips into a very thin line.

“Oh for Yavanna’s sake,” Bilba groaned, rubbing her face. “You cannot eat rocks! You are not a Dwarf!”

Violet looked at Fili and Kili, still crunching away happily. Slowly, her little hand curled around another pebble in her pocket, as if seriously considering trying again.

Bilba lunged forward and snatched the pebble from her fingers. “No.”

Violet’s lips wobbled slightly, but she said nothing. Instead, she hunched her little shoulders, looking thoroughly put out.

Fili, determined to solve Violet’s newfound obsession with eating rocks, tapped his chin thoughtfully. His eyes scanned the kitchen, flicking over jars and baskets until they landed on something promising- dried apple slices.

Grabbing a slice, Fili held it out to Violet. “Try this,” he said seriously. “It’s crunchy, but not a rock.”

Violet, still looking vaguely displeased about being denied her pebble, took it and inspected it closely. She turned it over, pressed her little fingers into it, then gave it a cautious sniff.

Then, finally, she took a bite. A satisfying crrrk filled the room.

Violet froze. Fili leaned forward eagerly as the child chewed slowly and thoughtfully.

Then, in the smallest movement possible, she nodded.

Fili lit up. “See?! It’s good crunchy!” he declared, grabbing another and handing it to her. “You can have as many as you want, just no more rocks!”

Violet, still completely silent, accepted the second slice.

Chapter Text

Bilba resigned herself to having to figure out now how to make a suitable substitute for rocks . Violet wasn't entirely satisfied, so Bilba spent the next week experimenting with different kinds of rock candy, or crystalized sugars. Finally by the end of it, she was able to make a rock candy that she could paint with dulled cake-paint (dried herbs ground down and oil mixed in to create a food-safe paint). Fili explained that Dwarves could all eat rocks, and sometimes ate their version of rock candy. Which was simply just rocks. 

Bilba decided to be done with this nonsense, and packed both boys up to go to Bree with her. Autumn was in full swing now, a chill in the air as the leaves turned from green, to slightly orange, to a bright wash of oranges, yellows, and reds. On top of juggling her odd friendship with Lobelia, getting the boys settled in the Shire, preparing to can more food and also plan for the Harvest Festival, she was going to finally put out the fire of Dwarrow culture. 

She had a pouch full of coin which she traded for a handful of books. They were thick leather books with harsh writing inside, and odd symbols on the outside. She'd seen the vendor here and there, a dwarf with an odd sort of hat. He sold many dwarf items, and toys especially. 

Toys that the boys were obsessed with, and of course she got them each one. Fili got a wooden grasshopper that would actually hop if the dial was wound up. Kili got a stone carved eagle. He held it close to his chest, as if it was the most precious thing out there. 

"Sweet boys ya got!" The Dwarf vendor said. 

"Thank you." Bilba said stiffly. She did not want to be here any longer than she had to be. Both boys sat nicely in the wagon, and she was grateful for them being quiet. She loaded the wagon with the books, setting them between the boys.

The Dwarf vendor leaned forward on his counter, adjusting his hat as he looked between Bilba and the boys with a knowing grin. “Y’know, it’s always nice to see a proper mixed family like this,” he said cheerfully. “Not as common as it ought to be, if you ask me.”

Bilba blinked. “I—what?”

The Dwarf chuckled, mistaking her confusion for modesty. “Oh, no need to be shy about it! Nothin’ wrong with a Hobbit-Dwarf match! The Great Smith’s got a hobbit wife, after all.”

Bilba’s mouth opened, then shut again. Husband? Oh.

She turned, glancing at Fili and Kili, who were blissfully unaware of the conversation as they admired their new toys. She supposed, to an outsider, the assumption made perfect sense. Two very Dwarvish-looking boys, a Hobbit mother—what else could someone conclude?

“Well,” she started hesitantly, trying to find a way to correct him without inviting more questions.

The vendor, however, was already barreling on, his grin wide. “Aye, you can always tell when a lad’s got a bit o’ proper Dwarven upbringing. Look at ‘em—well-behaved, strong. And good beads too!”

She nearly corrected him outright, but something in her hesitated. This was… easier. Simpler. If she explained, if she said she’d taken them in, it would only lead to more questions. So instead, she cleared her throat and forced a polite smile. “Thank you.”

The vendor clapped his hands together. “Good on you for bringin’ ‘em out here, too. Helps them hear the mountain song when they stay close to it all!” 

She cast a glance at Fili, who was gently winding up his wooden grasshopper, watching it hop with quiet delight. Kili, meanwhile, was hugging his stone eagle like it was a beloved pet.

The vendor followed her gaze, nodding approvingly. “Fine choices, those. Grasshopper’s a clever one, just like the older lad. And the eagle—now that’s a proud little thing! Stubborn, strong. Suits the young’un well.”

Kili beamed at the compliment, not understanding a word but clearly delighted by the Dwarf’s tone.

Bilba swallowed. She needed to leave before this conversation spiraled into something more complicated. “Yes, well, thank you for the books and the toys,” she said quickly. 

“Of course, of course! If you’re ever in need of more, I’m here most months,” the vendor said, tipping his hat. “And if your husband ever needs—”

“There is no husband,” Bilba blurted.

Silence.

The vendor blinked at her. “Oh.” Then his face lit up with understanding, and he gave her a deep, respectful nod. “Ah. My apologies. I didn’t mean to bring up somethin’ painful.”

"You didn't. I-I mean- yes." Bilba stammered. She realized she had led him on into a lie, and wasn't stopping his assumption. If she was supposed to be a grieving widow with two young boys, then...that's what she could be? 

Am I a bad person ? She thought to herself. She looked to the boys who were clean, fed, healthy, and happy. And here she was, buying books to educate herself about their culture to make sure that they didn't lose that side of themselves. Was she actively trying to get them to their old  home? No...but they were happy here. And she adored them. 

She shoved away the lingering guilt about keeping them, and gave a sad smile to the dwarf at the stand. He was kind enough, and she did feel bad for lying to him. But. Well. The grass was going to grow no matter how many times it was cut. 

"Well, have a lovely day!" Bilba said, grabbing the wagon handle and pulling the boys away. Fili turned to smile and wave at the vendor. 

"Miss Bilba, he was nice!" Fili said happily. "I like him!" 

"He was kind, wasn't he," Bilba agreed. She had gotten her books and that was what she came here for. Now she could go home. She tugged the wagon along the cobblestone road until the stones dissipated and turned into the long, winding dirt path that would lead her back to the Shire. She didn't realize she was speed-walking until she blinked and they were nearing the Shire in record time. Kili was giggling as the wagon bumped and jostled them around, the wheels bouncing and catching on every pebble and divot in the road.

Fili huffed a small laugh, brushing his hands over his vest as if straightening himself after being jostled about. “You walk fast,” he said again, this time with more amusement.

“I was eager to be home,” Bilba admitted, glancing at him before tugging the wagon over a small bump in the road. “You know I don’t much like Bree.”

Kili, still giggling, held up his eagle. “Look! Look! Bird fly !”

Bilba laughed, shaking her head. “Well, I hope he didn’t get too dizzy from all the bouncing about.” She reached out and gave Kili’s curls a gentle ruffle, her heart still settling from the interaction at the market. She turned her gaze toward Fili, who was staring at the books in the wagon with wide, eager eyes.

“You’re going to read all these?” he asked.

“That’s the plan,” Bilba said. “Might take me a bit, though.”

Fili nodded, his little hands running over the cover of the thickest book. He seemed pleased. Satisfied. Bilba hoped he understood what this meant—that she cared. That she wanted to understand.

He trailed his fingers along the embossed runes, lips moving silently as he read a few words to himself, then smiled. “I can help if there’s Khuzdul.” 

Bilba’s heart warmed. “I’d like that, love.”

They continued on, the winding path leading them closer to home, the scent of damp earth and autumn apples filling the air. The breeze had picked up slightly, rustling the curls at the nape of Bilba’s neck and tugging at the boys’ hair.

Kili, still full of energy despite their long trip, started kicking his feet and swinging his eagle around, making little swooping noises as if it were soaring through the sky.

“Did you see?” Fili suddenly turned toward him, his eyes gleaming. “Did you see how big that Dwarf’s mustache was?”

Kili gasped dramatically. “Big! Big!!” He flailed his arms wide.

Bilba laughed, though a tight knot still sat in her stomach. She glanced over her shoulder once more, half-expecting to see someone trailing after them.

The road was empty. Still, she picked up her pace just slightly.

“I’ll bet toy-making is his craft,” Fili noted as he examined his grasshopper.

"I've heard Buttercup is feeling better." Bilba said abruptly. She couldn't hear another word about that dwarf. Guilt curled in her belly again. Fili looked up with wide eyes, an excited grin on his lips. Bilba turned the corner into East Farthing Woods. As she went, she plucked mushrooms here and there and tossed them into the wagon at Kili's feet. 

"Really!" Fili said excitedly. "Can we see her tomorrow! Or Violet!" 

"We need to prepare for the festival, and it's just about time to carve pumpkins." Bilba said. She chewed on her lower lip. She looked back to the boys and her eyes fell onto their iron beads, matching and braided near the front. Did that give them away? She thought they looked more or less like Hobbits, but apparently they could be noticed from miles away. 

"Oh yeah!!" Fili cheered. Bilba pulled the wagon to Bag End and she gathered the books. She would be up late reading them, making notes, writing on the pages. She was going to do her best to get caught up. Apparently her story was now that she had a Dwarf husband who died. If that was the case, shouldn't she know that he ate rocks sometimes?

Did her fake husband use a slingshot? Did he throw food? She would know these things! 

"It doesn't matter, I'll probably never see him again." Bilba muttered to herself. But then, what if she did? 

"Alright little mice! Bath time!" She clapped her hands together, feeling her skin buzzing. She would have to read these books now, soak in all of the information she could.

Fili groaned, though it was only half-hearted. “Can’t we wait ‘til after supper?”

“No, love,” Bilba said firmly, unloading the books onto the kitchen table with a heavy thud. “You two are covered in dirt and leaves. And mushrooms,” she added, plucking one from Kili’s hair. “Honestly, it’s a wonder you aren’t both growing roots by now.”

Kili giggled as he kicked his little legs, still perched in the wagon, swinging his stone eagle around in great swooping arcs. “Bird no bath,” he declared. “Bird is clean.”

“Good for bird,” Bilba huffed. “You, however, are not.”

She gave Fili a gentle nudge toward the washroom, then turned her attention back to the books, drumming her fingers on the thick leather covers. The weight of them was almost accusing. She could already feel the long night ahead of her, pages upon pages of strange runes and foreign customs—things she should know if she were truly a grieving Dwarven widow.

Bilba sighed.

She had no business feeling guilty about something she hadn’t even meant to lie about, and yet, she still felt like an absolute thief. A thief of knowledge. A thief of culture. A thief of two little boys who didn’t belong to her—

Enough.

The scolding was firm as Bilba tried to stop her guilt.  She shook the thought from her head and busied herself gathering towels and fresh clothes for the boys, pushing away the gnawing anxiety creeping up her spine. She was doing her best. She was giving them a home.

Bilba had to keep this secret. It wasn’t just a lie for convenience—it was a shield, a safety net, a way to make sure no one came sniffing around and trying to take the boys back.

She had seen the way Fili flinched when he thought he’d be punished, the way his shoulders crept up to his ears when she so much as raised her voice. She had seen how skinny they were, the way he curled around Kili protectively in his sleep, as if afraid someone might try to rip them apart.

And Kili— sweet, laughing, oblivious little Kili —had nightmares so terrible he woke up screaming. Screaming . He would sob in a language she didn’t understand, reaching for something—or someone—that was long gone. And Fili would be right there, shushing him, whispering to him, protecting him, like he always did.

I’m scared bad things will happen if we go back . Bilba could never forget Fili saying that, nor could she forget that apparently his own grandmother thought they’d be safer out in the wild alone. 

It wasn’t wrong of Lobelia to take Violet to protect her— and Bilba had to remember that she was protecting the boys the exact same way.

She got the boys settled in after their baths, making sure their bellies were full, they both had water by their nightstands, and the snack basket was full in their rooms. They hadn't wanted for food in a long time, it was always available to them at every moment of the day and night. She kissed their heads and sang to them softly, then moved out to the sitting room. 

Finally, she cracked open the book. She skimmed the contents of the book. 

Mahal- Origins

Strength

Crafting

Gold and Jewels

Khuzdul and Iglishmêk

Dwarven Women (Dwarrowdams/Dams)

Hair Braiding

Courtship

The Halls of Waiting

"It's going to be a long night." Bilba murmured to herself. She closed the book entirely and got up to get herself some tea and teacakes, then returned to the book and opened it back up with a soft sigh. She smiled a little. 

She was doing a good thing, she knew. And she would spend all night reading. Those boys wouldn't know what hit them, she was going to braid their hair with such detail that they weren't going to recognize themselves in the mirror! She was going to know everything about crafting, Khuzdul and the Halls of Waiting- whatever that was.

The fire crackled softly, casting warm, flickering light across the pages of the book. Bilba’s eyes drifted over the words, absorbing the details of Mahal’s Forge and the origins of Dwarrow strength—fascinating, truly, though her mind was beginning to blur with exhaustion. She sipped her tea, halfheartedly nibbled on a teacake, and turned another page.

Her head drooped slightly.

She blinked hard, trying to focus on the passage before her:

Hair braiding is sacred among the Dwarrow, an intricate language in itself. To braid another’s hair is an act of deep trust, of intimacy—of kinship.

Bilba smiled sleepily. Kinship. She traced her fingers over the words. Yes… that sounded right.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

Chapter Text

The presence in the room shifted, a quiet thing, something felt rather than seen. 

It wasn’t Bilba. 

It wasn’t the boys. 

But something from beyond. 

The curtains fluttered slightly, the fire in the fireplace flickered. Far away, there was a soft clang of a hammer on an anvil. No- not an anvil. Mahal only needed to use his knee. The noise came down over and over again, forging new Dwarves and passing those on from the Halls of Waiting. 

“Ghishavel, you’re early!” A soft, fond voice greeted. 

“Thorin’s brooding was making my head hurt.” came the dry reply.

The first voice chuckled, knowing and deep. “How are your brothers? Besides the brooding.” 

“Still alive,” A Dwarrowdam murmured. She wore her beads. Her court clothing. Dark black-brown hair waving down her shoulders. She was proud. A straight nose. Blue eyes. “Still fighting. Frerin is not eating enough.” 

Silence stretched between them, but it was comfortable, familiar. A breath of something that existed beyond words. They stood in Belladonna Baggins’ sitting room, watching her sleep soundly on her armchair. The fire in the fireplace flickered again as the Dwarrowdam moved to look at the page. 

Her boots made no noise as she walked. 

“Tell me about the boys.” She whispered as she stared at the Dwarf before her. Her sons. Her life, her love. 

The request was a habit now, unnecessary yet always spoken aloud, a reassurance in the asking.

“They’re thriving,” he answered, warmth threading through his voice. The Dwarf’s hair was yellow. His eyes were kind. He wore the same face that his son wore. And he looked to Dis with adoration. “And growing rounder by the moment, with all these meals.” 

Dis turned slightly, just enough to prompt her husband without speaking.

“Kili has been… experimenting,” Vili chuckled, shaking his head. “Disaster, mostly, but an enthusiastic disaster.”

Dis exhaled, a sound that wasn’t quite exasperation.

“He found one of Violet’s frogs,” Vili continued, humor curling at the edges of his words, “and decided it needed a bed. So naturally, he tucked it right into Fili’s pillow.”

She was silent for a long moment before she finally asked, “And Fili?”

Vili let out a full, rich laugh, the kind that still carried warmth. “Screamed so loud I thought Mahal himself would come knocking.”

Dis huffed, shaking her head slightly, though there was something dangerously close to amusement in her sharp blue eyes.

“And what did the Hobbit do?”

“Oh, she handled it.” Fondness softened his voice. “Scooped up that poor frog like it was a misplaced sock, scolded Kili with that look that could freeze molten steel, then apologized to the frog for the inconvenience. The frog , Dis. Said she was sorry for the disturbance.”

Dis folded her arms, expression unreadable. “Of course, she did.”

“And the boys listened.” There was wonder in his voice, something almost reverent. “Kili didn’t even argue, just pouted and promised not to do it again—though I don’t believe it for a second. And Fili—” He hesitated, his voice turning quieter, touched with something deeper. “Fili didn’t know what to think. He’s been thinking about it all day, I think. He’s like Thorin that way.”

Dis said nothing for a long time, simply watching Bilba as she shifted slightly in her sleep, fingers still curled around the book as though she might wake at any moment to keep reading.

Vili smiled, following her gaze. “She’s been studying, you know,” he added, voice full of quiet admiration. “She bought up  everything she can get her hands on in Bree. She sat there muttering to herself about braiding patterns and Khuzdul phrases and the proper way to polish silverwork for a couple hours now.” He chuckled softly. “She’s determined. Wants to do right by them.”

Dis watched the sleeping Hobbit for a long moment before finally nodding. “Well, of course. She loves them,” she said, her voice steady. 

Vili’s expression turned gentle, something aching at the edges of his smile as his gaze flickered back to the Hobbit. They sat there for a moment before Dis stood. 

“I will be keeping watch over Kili while he sleeps,” She informed her husband briskly. “You will not allow anyone to come disturb me. He will not have those terrible dreams tonight with me nearby.”

"Alright." Vili agreed, smiling warmly up at his wife. She was blunt. She always had been. And he adored that about her. Her stern stare, her curt words. The way her emotions were locked behind a wall thicker than the mountain itself. And yet, when she looked back at him, her expression softened slightly. 

She turned on her heel and stepped into the hallway to where the boys were sleeping. 

Clang. Clang. Clang.  

Vili enjoyed Mahal's hammering in the distance, and he let his eyes linger on the Hobbit for one more moment before standing guard at the door. Many spirits came and went to see the boys, the princes of Erebor. Not tonight, they wouldn't. 

-

Bilba gasped as the sun came up. She blinked sleepily and looked down at the book with an exhale. Great green hills. She'd fallen asleep reading. Her back ached and tweaked, and she groaned softly, getting up and shuffling through the halls. 

She breathed in deep and caught the scent of something earthy and smoky. It was gone before she could pinpoint it. 

"Hm." She hummed softly. "I'll have to clean out the chimney..." 

Yawning, she peeked in on the boys. Both were fast asleep. She didn't notice the indent on the bed by Kili, and she continued on to her own bed. A morning nap was going to be just what she needed after ruining her back on that chair.

By the time Bilba woke again, the house was awake without her. She could hear the boys—Fili’s voice lilting in some grand retelling of an adventure they had never actually had, and Kili giggling at all the best parts. The smell of food drifted through the house, though she hadn’t started anything herself, and she quickly realized what had happened.

“Oops!” Kili chirped, which had Bilba’s eyes opening a little faster. Bilba rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she stepped into the kitchen, bracing herself for whatever chaos awaited her.

Fili and Kili stood proudly in the center of the kitchen, their little faces glowing with excitement. The kitchen itself was a battlefield of flour, honey drips, and scattered utensils, but—by Yavanna’s grace—they had tried.

“Good morning! We made you second breakfast!” Fili declared, puffing out his chest. His hands were sticky with what looked like honey, and there was a determined set to his shoulders as he gestured to the table, where two plates of food sat waiting for her.

Kili, grinning wildly, bounced in place and held up his hands—both absolutely covered in jam. “Look!! We did it!!”

Bilba’s eyes swept over the table, taking in the evidence of their work. There were little pieces of toast, spread entirely too thick with butter and jam, and something that resembled scrambled eggs but was… odd-looking. Then there was a small dish of sliced apples with honey drizzled over them, the edges uneven and wobbly from Fili’s careful, if unpracticed, knife work.

She exhaled, pressing a hand to her chest, her eyes immediately brimming with tears. “Oh, my dears…”

They had listened to her. The things she had taught them, the little recipes she had shown them over the last few weeks, they had remembered. They had taken care to cook a meal for her the way she had always done for them.

And in that moment, it didn’t matter that the eggs had what looked like sugar instead of salt on them, or that the butter was more on the bread than spread across it. It mattered that they had tried .

“You made me breakfast!” she echoed softly, smiling down at them. “All by yourselves.”

Fili’s grin stretched even wider, his ears pink with pride. “You always do it for us, so—so we wanted to do it for you!”

Bilba swallowed the lump in her throat, and sniffled. Oh, she loved these boys so fiercely.

“Well,” she said, moving to the table and sitting down, “I can’t think of a better way to start my morning! This looks like a fine spread.” 

Kili wriggled onto the bench beside her, watching closely as she picked up a piece of toast and took a bite. It was a mess of flavors—far too much butter, and the jam was everywhere—but it was perfect.

She hummed in approval, chewing thoughtfully before nodding. “Delicious! I do believe this is the best breakfast I’ve ever had! You two best eat with me, hm?” 

Fili practically glowed, and Kili cheered, jostling his sticky hands in the air.

They sat down as a family, and Bilba even reached to share her food with Fili and Kili. They passed globs of toast with jelly back and forth, and cleaning everything up surely took longer than it took to make it in the first place. She scraped as much of the flour from the counter as she could, then scrubbed it. Kili helped- he was a great scrubber- and Fili helped her clean the dishes and straighten the pantry. 

Then, she hugged them both and kissed their little cheeks, and promptly shooed them outside to play. Out they went, playing in the sunshine of a cool Autumn day. She could hear them squealing and giggling, and she made a mental note to start drying those orange peels. She needed to go to the Proudfoot's today. She peeled out some parchment, making a list of everything she needed to get done. 

She also wanted to make the boys something very special, something to treat them for what they had done for her. To show them how special they were to her. So she got to work. 

One wagon-pulling walk later, she had her oranges all cut up and drying on the counter, and she was searching through the second book that she had bought. This one was more detailed. Recipes, embroidery patterns, symbols and well-known families. She skimmed it for the recipes. 

She'd need boar. Had she ever eaten boar in her life? Where would someone even get boar?

"Orange!!!!" Fili shouted as he rushed in. Bilba gasped as though her heart was going to beat out of her chest. 

"Well yes! I'm going to dry these out for Kili, they'll make good targets-" Bilba started. 

Knock knock knock!

Oh. Wrong orange. 

Bilba turned around and hurried to the door, pulling it open. Lobelia was on the other side, and she was wearing a soft yellow dress. Bilba had never seen her in such a pretty color. Bilba blinked. 

"Good afternoon." Lobelia said. She was very cordial. "Have you seen Violet."

Bilba stood frozen for a moment, staring at Lobelia as if she had suddenly sprouted a second head. “I- Good afternoon?” The words came out more as a question than a greeting.

Lobelia exhaled sharply through her nose, shifting her weight as if already losing patience with Bilba’s slow reaction. “Have you seen Violet?”

That snapped Bilba out of her daze. “What?”

“Violet,” Lobelia repeated, her voice tight, but not as sharp as usual. “My Violet. She’s wandered off again.”

Bilba blinked, still trying to catch up with the situation. “Oh. Ah…no.” 

Lobelia crossed her arms, her jaw tightening. “Wonderful.”

Bilba stepped out onto the stoop, glancing around as if the girl might simply materialize before them. Violet had wandered off again. It wasn’t unusual, but it was still concerning. Lobelia kept a tight grip on her now, even if she pretended she wasn’t hovering. For her to show up at Bilba’s door, asking about her whereabouts, meant the girl had been missing long enough to rattle her.

“Did she say anything before she left?” Bilba asked, though she already knew the answer.

Lobelia gave her a flat look. “She never says anything at all.” 

That was true enough.

Bilba bit the inside of her cheek, mind already running through the possibilities. Violet seemed to always be in and out of Bag End lately. It wasn’t impossible that she had slipped by unnoticed, especially if the boys had been out playing.

Her gaze drifted toward the fields where Fili and Kili were still running along the fence, their laughter ringing across the crisp autumn air. If anyone had seen her, it would be them.

“Fili!” Bilba called, stepping forward. Fili immediately perked up, his little feet kicking up dust as he hurried toward her. His curls bounced wildly as he stopped short, breathless but grinning, always eager to be of help.

“Yes?” he asked, his blue eyes bright.

Bilba reached out and smoothed a bit of his hair down, though it was hopelessly windswept. “Have you seen Violet today?”

"Nope!" Fili responded, eyeing Lobelia with narrowed eyes. He had sounded the orange alarms and then had gone back to playing with Kili. Now he was summoned again and he didn't like to be near the orange. She still frightened him a little with that severe stare. 

But there was something familiar about her bluntness. Fili pushed the thought aside. 

"But I did see the Brandybucks going through East Farthing." Fili said. "Buttercup was in a wagon! She looked so..." Fili sighed with a smile. Buttercup had been in a soft blue dress, she was holding her pretty parasol. Fili had watched them go until he couldn't see the parasol anymore when the road curved into the woods. 

"Ah. That solves it." Lobelia said calmly. 

"It does?" Bilba asked, blinking. 

"Violet adores Buttercup." Lobelia said. "If she isn't here with your boys, she's trying to chase after Buttercup's pretty yellow curls."

Bilba didn't know that. She didn't realize that Violet was after Buttercup, too. She smiled, finding that the sweetest thing in all the hills of the Shire. Bilba smiled warmly and looked out toward the wood. 

"So she'll be back with the Brandybucks?" Bilba said. "Fili, go play." 

Fili ran off. Lobelia watched them go. 

"I think so." Lobelia said, looking at Bilba. Letting her eyes drag up and down, judgmental as could be. 

"Do you know how I can get my hands on boar meat?" Bilba asked suddenly.

Lobelia blinked at her, momentarily thrown off. It wasn’t often that Bilba could catch her off guard, but apparently, the mention of boar meat was enough to do it. She straightened, folding her arms as her keen gaze swept over Bilba with renewed scrutiny.

“Boar meat?” she repeated, as if she hadn’t quite heard correctly.

Bilba nodded, wiping her flour-dusted hands on her apron. “Yes.”

Lobelia stared for a moment longer, then sniffed. “And what , pray tell, do you need boar meat for?”

Bilba hesitated, shifting slightly under Lobelia’s sharp gaze. She hadn’t actually thought this far ahead. Why did she need it? Well, she knew why, but saying I’m trying to prepare a proper Dwarvish meal for the boys because I bought a book from a strange Dwarf vendor who thought I was a grieving Dwarven widow didn’t exactly roll off the tongue.

“I—” Bilba started, then stopped, thinking. “I—”

Lobelia raised a thin eyebrow, unimpressed.

Bilba exhaled. “I just need it.”

Lobelia made a noise of disapproval, shifting her weight. “You’re terrible at lying, Belladonna.”

“I am not lying!” Bilba huffed, lifting her chin. “I just—well, it’s not something I normally need, but I’d like to have it, and I don’t know where to get it.”

Lobelia gave a slow, considering nod, tapping her fingers against her elbow. “Well, if you’re looking for it fresh, you’d have to go to Bree.”

Bilba grimaced.

“Or,” Lobelia continued, eyeing her with suspicion, “you could ask the Proudfoots. Old Basil gets it from Big Folk hunters, though he mostly keeps it for himself.”

Bilba perked up at that, filing the information away for later. The Proudfoots were much closer than Bree, and she’d rather not make another trek if she could help it.

“Now,” Lobelia continued, tilting her head in that calculating way of hers, “tell me the truth of why you need it so bad.”

Bilba hesitated again before sighing. She should have known Lobelia wouldn’t just let this go.

“It’s for the boys,” she admitted, brushing her hands over her apron again, a nervous habit. “I—well, I’m trying to learn more about… about their food. It’s a traditional dwarven recipe, apparently.” 

Lobelia blinked, momentarily caught off guard for the second time that day. “ Their food?”

Bilba nodded, folding her arms now as if to brace herself for whatever comment was about to come. “Yes. Their food. I’m—” She shifted, suddenly feeling rather silly under Lobelia’s gaze. “I’m trying to make sure they don’t lose that part of themselves. They’re going to grow up here, in the Shire, and I don’t want them to forget everything about their people.”

She expected Lobelia to scoff. To make some remark about how absurd that was. How unnatural. How unbecoming!

Instead, Lobelia was quiet for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she exhaled through her nose, adjusting the cuffs of her sleeves.

“Well,” she said, voice almost neutral, “that’s certainly unexpected.”

Bilba frowned. “Why?”

Lobelia’s gaze flickered toward the hills, where Fili and Kili’s laughter rang through the crisp autumn air. “Because I wouldn’t have expected you to think about it that much.”

Bilba stiffened, offense creeping into her chest. “I do think about things, you know.”

“Yes, yes,” Lobelia waved a hand, brushing that away. “Still. It’s not a bad idea. I suppose they should know where they came from, if you’re so insistent on keeping them.”

Bilba stared at her a moment and then chewed on the inside of her cheek. She couldn't take this distance. At least, after everything, couldn't they at least be friends? Couldn't they have tea together like they used to? She wanted to know how things were going with Violet, she wanted to know if Peony had tried to come back for her daughter. If any of the other children were asking about her. 

"Lobelia..." Bilba began. 

"Don't." Lobelia warned her. "Don't you dare." 

Bilba pressed her lips together. "I just want to be friends." She said softly. "Isn't this nice? When we can just talk-"

"No." Lobelia sniffed. "It isn't nice." 

She turned, lifted her dress and began to walk down the steps. She paused when she got to the bottom, then turned back to look up at Bilba, her eyes narrowing as she looked at her. Bilba stared back at her. 

"I've heard that Dwarves feel the most comfortable surrounded by stone. Some say that they can feel the stone, and can sing to it." Lobelia said. "Song is important to the Dwarves. I would start there. Maybe they can sing at the Fall Festival. I....would enjoy....seeing that." 

Lobelia turned and then headed down the path without another word.

Bilba stood there, frozen on the threshold of Bag End, watching Lobelia’s retreating figure as she disappeared down the winding path. The last rays of golden afternoon light cast long shadows over the hills, and the words lingered in the crisp autumn air, heavy with something Bilba couldn’t quite name.

Song is important to the Dwarves.

She exhaled, slow and deep, and carefully closed the green door. She had expected many things from Lobelia, but that had not been one of them.

The distance between them felt unbearable sometimes—like there was an invisible line neither of them could quite step over. And yet, every now and then, Lobelia would reach across it in her own sharp, ungraceful way, offering something small but significant. A nudge, a suggestion. An acknowledgment that she saw what Bilba was doing, what she was trying to do, and—perhaps, in her own stubborn way—approved.

Bilba’s fingers brushed over her apron, the fabric cool beneath her fingertips. Dwarves and song. She had noticed it before, the way Fili and Kili hummed under their breath when they were playing, the little melodies Fili would murmur when he brushed Kili’s hair, or the way Kili’s babbling sometimes had a rhythm to it, a pattern like a half-remembered tune.

They didn’t sing in earnest. But maybe… maybe they wanted to. Maybe they just needed permission?

She sighed and turned back inside, her mind already buzzing with thoughts. She didn’t know much about Dwarven song—what kinds of melodies they sang, what words they used. But she had books now. And if there was one thing Bilba Baggins knew how to do, it was to study.

Chapter Text

By the end of the day, and had notes upon notes upon notes. She had tabs and comments and lines marked and she realized there was so much to the boys that she hadn't noticed that came from their home. The beads- those indicated their family. 

She hadn't realized before that they could be recognized from just that. They must not come from a well-known family though, because that dwarf at the stall today didn't seem to recognize her. Which was relieving. She also learned that parents were extremely protective of their little ones, to the point where they are hardly ever seen. 

It added more heartbreak to all of this. On top of that, Dwarrowdams rarely had more than one child, let alone two. A Dwarrow pregnancy was difficult, the babies were like heavy stones. She worried about their mother, and how truly broken she must have been to lose her boys. 

She went to get boar from the Proudfoots and came back before the boys even noticed she was gone. She studied the recipe, realizing there wasn't a single vegetable involved. She laughed a little- apparently she was lucky that the boys would even eat vegetables. She got the meat seasoned and cooking, and she did add vegetables only because she couldn't help herself. 

The boys came in from outside, bright-eyed and flushed in their cheeks. 

"I saw Violet! She was with Buttercup!" Fili said excitedly. Bilba smiled, relieved as she got up to pull the boar out. Kili's eyes widened comically wide. Fili gasped when he saw it, too. "Bilba!" Fili said excitedly. "Who's birthday is it!!"

Birthday?

"Hm?" Bilba said, confused.

Fili’s bright blue eyes were round with wonder as he stared at the roasted boar. He looked from the steaming, glistening meat to Bilba, then back again, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“Who’s birthday is it?” Fili repeated, his voice full of awe.

Bilba blinked, utterly baffled. “Birthday?” she echoed, glancing between the boys. Kili, who had been bouncing excitedly on his toes, nodded vigorously, his curls bobbing.

“Yeah!” Fili said, stepping closer to the table, his hands gripping the edge as he stared at the feast with something close to reverence. “Boar is for celebrating!”

Bilba felt an odd little tug in her chest. She looked down at the golden-brown meat, then back at the boys, her brow furrowing. She had spent the afternoon poring over Dwarven customs, making notes, marking pages, and yet somehow, this had escaped her notice. Boar wasn’t just a meal to them—it meant something. It was special.

She smiled warmly. “Well,” she said, brushing her hands on her apron, “I suppose we’re celebrating you two!” 

Fili’s mouth dropped open. Kili gasped and then turned to his brother, as if to confirm what he’d just heard.

“Us?” Fili whispered.

Bilba set a hand on his soft hair and ruffled it affectionately. “Of course! You boys worked so hard this morning, and you made breakfast for me. It was wonderful, and it meant so much that you wanted to take care of me the way I take care of you. That deserves celebrating, I think.” 

Fili flushed pink, ducking his head as his hands fidgeted with the hem of his tunic. Kili, however, threw his arms in the air with a triumphant shout.

“Hurray!”

Bilba laughed, heart swelling as she pulled plates down. “Now, go wash your hands. And no wiping them on your tunics,” she warned as they bolted toward the washbasin, giggling all the way.

As she turned back to carve the meat, she couldn’t help but think of what she’d read earlier. How Dwarven children were rarely seen, how closely they were guarded, how precious they were to their families. The idea made her chest ache.

They had lost so much. And yet, here they were, faces glowing with delight over something as simple as dinner made in their honor.

Yes , she thought, you deserve celebrating.

She was impressed with herself as she took the first bite. The meat was juicy and glistening- it reminded her of pig, though she supposed they weren't far apart in types of animals. It was cooked deliciously and it just melted on her tongue. The boys, for the first time ever, were both quiet as they dug in and ate excitedly. 

When Fili's plate was empty, he wiped his mouth with the napkin. 

"Did you learn this in those books?" Fili asked curiously. He turned to look at the books. 

"Mhm!" Bilba said. 

"What...else is in there?" Fili asked curiously. 

"Well I learned about your braids and your foods. And I learned about Mahal." Bilba said softly. "Lobelia told me that Dwarves sing songs. And you can hear the hum of the stone. I learned that Kili found his weapon, right? That's what happened with the slingshot- that's his weapon. " 

Fili got this bright, sweet grin. He had eyes that were sad, but were full of love and remembrance of the life that was now behind him. 

"I did have a question," Bilba said, getting up to grab the book. She turned to a page where well-known family names were listed. "Do you know what family your bead comes from...?" She set the book down in front of Fili, thinking he'd be able to pick out his family from the list.

Notable Dwarven Houses of Middle-earth House of Durin (Longbeards)

The most renowned Dwarven lineage, rulers of Khazad-dûm (fallen) and Erebor. Durin the Deathless, Thror, Thrain II, Thorin Oakenshield, Frerin the Golden

House of Fundin

A noble family of Durin’s Folk. Fundin, Balin, Dwalin.

House of Borin  

A branch of Durin’s line. Borin, Gróin, Óin, Glóin, Gimli.

House of Thrainor (Deepdelvers)  

An ancient family known for mining the deepest tunnels beneath the mountains. Thrainor the Greybeard, Drogun Stonefist, Varrik Ironvein.

House of Drakmir (Emberborn)  

A clan of master smiths and fire-masters, famed for forging weapons of legend. Drakmir Forgehand, Rurik Flamebeard, Haldrik the Red.

Broadbeams & Firebeards  

Dwarves of Nogrod and Belegost. Telchar (legendary smith).

Eastern Clans (Blacklocks, Stonefoots, Stiffbeards, Ironfists)

Dwarves of the distant east, little recorded in history.  

Azrak the Wanderer, Kordain Blackaxe, Zundrik the Silent.

Fili stared down at the page with wide, frozen eyes. He barely looked at the page before he shook his head.

"No, I don't know any of them..." Fili said slowly. Kili looked with bright eyes, but he couldn't read it anyway.

Bilba studied Fili carefully, watching the way his small hands clenched the book, his knuckles turning white. His voice was slow, uncertain, but there was something else there—something flickering behind his bright blue eyes.

She didn’t press him. Instead, she leaned down, smoothing his golden hair as she glanced over the book again.

“Are you sure, love?” she asked gently. “It’s alright if you do. We’re just learning.”

Fili swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. He shook his head again, more firmly this time, and Kili, who had been peering at the book with wide, eager eyes, looked up at him, confused.

“You don’t know any of them?” Bilba repeated, softer now.

Fili hesitated. His shoulders hunched, his gaze darted away. “No,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “I don’t.”

Bilba frowned slightly, her fingers tapping against the book’s worn leather cover. “But love, you’ve said ‘Dwalin’ before,” she pointed out gently. “And ‘Thorin.’ They’re right here in the book—are they family to you?”

For a moment, Fili looked utterly stricken. His mouth opened slightly, but no sound came. After a beat, he shook his head.

“No,” he said quickly. “I mean—those are just really common names. Lots of Dwarves are called that.” 

Bilba considered this, glancing back down at the book. Well…that made sense, didn’t it? There were plenty of Hobbits named Fosco or Bungo or Gerontius. She supposed it was the same for Dwarves.

“Oh,” she said, the tension in her chest loosening. “I suppose that makes sense.”

Fili nodded hurriedly, eager to move on, his fingers twitching against the table. “Yeah, real normal. Super normal.”

Beside him, Kili had lost interest entirely, his small fingers tracing the letters of the book as he tried to sound them out. “Zun…Zun…Zundik!” he tried, squinting at the page. 

Bilba laughed, ruffling his hair. “Zundrik,” she corrected gently. She adored his strange little accent, but it was starting to lessen more and more. “Well done, sprout. You’ve been paying attention in our lessons, I see!” 

Kili grinned, pleased with himself, and leaned against her side, already shifting away from the conversation. But Fili remained tense, hands still curled around the edge of the book.

Bilba brushed her fingers over his. “If you ever do recognize a name,” she said softly, “or if you ever want to talk about anything… I’m here, love. I’m always here.”

Fili glanced up at her then, studying her face, his lips pressed tight together. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words never came.

Instead, after a long pause, he nodded

Bilba wished that he would tell her what was on his mind, but she also knew that Fili was a little harder to crack when it came to things like this. He just felt everything so deeply, he thought everything so deeply, too. She knew that there were things that bothered him, sometimes he just got that look in his eye and got so quiet. Now was one of those times. 

He sat quietly, the excitement over the boar had faded, and she realized that he was truly bothered by what he had read. Maybe it was hard for him to not see his family there, to not have their names written in crisp ink, proof that they had been here, that they had mattered. She understood that. She would be devastated if she couldn’t find records of her own family, if she had nothing but fading memories to tell her where she belonged.

"This is just a silly book," Bilba reassured him. "And it came from far out. I'm sure there's more about your family in some of the other books, we'll keep looking, alright?" 

Fili nodded quietly and got down from the table. "I'm going to...lay down. My belly hurts..." 

"Okay, sprout..." Bilba said softly, feeling awful for bringing it all up. 

Bilba watched Fili disappear down the hallway, her heart tugging as she saw the quiet slump of his shoulders. He was a child who felt everything so deeply, who thought so carefully before he spoke, who carried the weight of his world in the small, strong line of his back. He wasn’t pouting—this wasn’t the sulk of a boy who hadn’t gotten his way. This was something heavier, something pressing down on him like the weight of a stone on his chest.

She got up and started some hot chocolate and cream, hoping that something sweet would help Fili and his deep emotions. The poor thing.

She wished he would tell her. She wished she knew how to coax the words from him, to gently unwind whatever tangle had formed in his thoughts. But Fili wasn’t like Kili, who wore every emotion on his face, who threw himself into her arms when he needed comfort, who shouted his triumphs and his grief in equal measure. 

Bilba sighed softly, turning back to the table, running a hand absently over the book’s worn cover. 

She wouldn’t press him. Not tonight. But she would do what she could.

Kili was twirling in the middle of the kitchen, his little arms thrown wide, giggling as he spun himself into dizziness. He wobbled, tipping over like a felled tree, and landed on the floor with a dramatic cheer, sprawled out as though this had been his grand plan all along.

Bilba laughed, shaking her head. “You’re going to make yourself sick, little frog.”

Kili only giggled, kicking his feet. He then seemed to register the smell in the air as the chocolate melted, his head popping up with big hopeful eyes. “I want hot chok!!”

“Okay, love.” Bilba said warmly. She stirred the chocolate chunks into the hot milk and cream, setting one on the wooden table for Kili, then turning to walk down the curved hallway to Fili. She leaned around the dome-shaped doorway and smiled at the young boy who was curled up in bed. Quiet tears ran down his cheeks and she did her best not to make a big deal of it. 

“Hey,” She said softly. “I brought you some hot chocolate.”

Fili sat up with a soft sniffle. Bilba reached out and touched his cheek gently, brushing his tears away. She couldn’t imagine what was going on inside his head, the poor dear. She didn’t ask. She only handed him the hot chocolate and hoped that could be enough to soothe him. Fili took the mug and sipped it with a breath that was catching in his chest. He looked up at her with big, sad eyes. 

“I’m sorry, love.” Bilba whispered softly. “I won’t ask anymore. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“I-I don’t want to talk about it.” Fili murmured. Bilba ran her fingers through his curls. These boys had more wavy hair- it wasn’t ringlets. The curliest parts were by his forehead and around his temples. The rest of his hair were in neat, nice waves. 

“Okay.” Bilba soothed. “We don’t have to. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Fili sniffled. “It’s just hard.” 

Bilba was quiet. She wanted to ask so badly. She wanted to ask him what was hard- was he heartbroken that he wasn’t going to be able to find his family in a book? Was he low-born? That would explain some things, she knew that some societies like that didn’t value families of no value…though that sort of thing was foreign to Hobbit society. 

She didn’t speak, she only continuously ran her fingers through his hair and waited. Gave him space. Finally, Fili took a deep breath and spoke. 

“Books like that…only talk about the heirs…and…I don’t think I’ll ever be able to see my Ama’s name in a book…” Fili said quietly. 

“What is her name?” Bilba asked. She didn’t think that Fili would tell her, but he did. He spoke in a very quiet voice. 

“Dis.” Fili whispered. “Her name was Dis.” 

Instantly, Bilba was up. She walked back to the kitchen and snatched that book up, grabbed a quill and some ink and returned to Fili. She sat down with him and let him watch her as she wrote right in the book. 

Family of Fili and Kili of the Shire. The most beloved Dwarf line.

Dis. Mother, a fierce Dwarrowdam who loved her children

Fili’s breath hitched the moment Bilba pressed the quill to the page, his wide blue eyes fixed on the careful curves of her writing. His little fingers tightened around the warm mug of hot chocolate, his knuckles paling with the pressure. His lips parted, but no words came. Just a small, strangled sound in the back of his throat, barely more than a breath.

There was no sound but little sniffles as Fili stared at the words.

After a moment, he let out a sharp breath, his shoulders trembling. “A-Ada was from a deep mining family,” he whispered, his voice barely there. “He used to say the stone told him things, that he could hear its song.” He sniffled, his fingers flexing against the mug as he stared at the words, like he couldn’t quite believe they were real. “He always smiled… even when things were hard. He teased Ama all the time, and she’d just glare at him like she wanted to hit him over the head with her hammer, but—but I know she loved it.” A soft, broken laugh escaped him, quickly swallowed by another sniffle. “I loved it too.”

He wiped his face with his sleeve, but the poor boy couldn’t stop the tears now that he wasn’t holding them back.  “They should be together,” Fili whispered. “In the book. Please… please write my Ada’s name next to hers. His name is Vili. Me and Kee match him.”

Bilba swallowed the lump in her throat, nodding softly. “Of course, love.”

She dipped the quill back into the ink, pressing it to the page with a reverence that felt sacred. Fili watched every stroke, his breath shallow, his small frame trembling with something far too big for him to carry alone.

Vili. Beloved husband of Dis. Father who cherished his children with all he was.

Bilba set the quill aside, reaching out to gently cup his cheek. “Now they’re here,” she murmured. “And they always will be.”

Fili's shoulders shook and he carefully set the mug down, then raised his hand to clamp over his mouth. He tried so hard to hold it in, and tears streamed down his cheeks. Finally, the dam cracked and he started to sob. The crying sobs shot through his whole body. Bilba set the book aside and gathered Fili in her arms, holding him tightly. Clutching him with everything she had, as if she could hide him away from every bit of grief that he had been through.

~

Through the Halls of Waiting, Dis was standing in that room with her husband, both of them watching their son sob and cry.

"She put my name first, that's nice." Dis murmured, reaching out to brush her fingertips along the newly-dried ink. "She clearly has no idea who we are."

"Maybe that's for the best." Vili replied quietly. "They can leave all of that behind them. They can just grow up here. They can be happy. Safe. Worry only about the Harvest Festival and if their vests match."

"Mahal would never allow that. Someday, they will go back." Dis said, her voice just as quiet. "Someday, the mountain will call them home."

~

"I miss them," Fili sobbed.

"They will always be with you." Bilba whispered to him as she held him and rocked side to side, feeling tears well in her own eyes. "Always."

It took time for Fili to be able to cry himself out some and calm down. He kept tracing the names in the book, his fingers light but reverent, as if touching them made them feel more real. Bilba sat quietly beside him, letting him take his time. He sniffled again, then wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his nightshirt.

“I’m glad you wrote them together,” he said, his voice still thick with tears. “I think they would like that.” 

Bilba nodded, pressing a soft kiss to his curls. “Of course, love. That’s where they belong.”

Fili hesitated for a moment before looking up at her, something uncertain in his eyes. “Do you think they know?”

Bilba blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Know what, darling?”

“That… that we miss them,” Fili murmured. “That we think about them all the time. That..that we live here now.” 

Bilba’s heart clenched. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to give him the answer he needed. So instead, she squeezed him gently, the boy still in her lap. “I think,” she said softly, “if love is strong enough, it never really leaves. Maybe… maybe they’re closer than you think, hm? I am sure they are so proud of you both.” 

Fili swallowed hard and nodded. He didn’t say anything else, but he curled into her side, letting out a slow, shuddering breath. She held him close, rubbing his back in slow, comforting circles.

Behind them, Kili padded into the room, rubbing his sleepy eyes. “Fee?” he mumbled, his energy burnt off. “Why you sad?”

Fili sniffed, sitting up a little straighter. “I’m okay, Kee.”

Kili tilted his head, clearly not understanding, but he didn’t ask anything else. Instead, he clambered onto the bed beside them, wiggling his way between them with all the subtlety of a boulder rolling downhill. “Are we still having chocolate?” he asked sleepily, already curling into Bilba’s side.

Bilba huffed a soft laugh, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Yes, love. I’ll get you some.”

She stood, smoothing her skirts before picking up Fili’s now half-empty mug and turning toward the kitchen. As she left the room, she glanced back, her heart aching at the sight of the two boys curled together on the bed, clinging to each other in the quiet comfort only siblings could understand.

As she moved down the hallway, she caught the faintest scent of something earthy and warm, like stone after rain or the deep scent of a hearth fire. It was gone before she could place it, leaving only a lingering warmth in its wake.

Chapter Text

A few weeks passed and again, they grew into a better routine. In the mornings, the boys learned how to cook, clean, preserve, and make some harvest decorations with the colorful falling leaves. Bilba taught them how to maintain their hair in different styles, she taught them how to sew on a button, how to cook different breakfast foods and how to organize the pantry. She taught them how to sweep and prepare the yard and garden for the winter. 

They hung up Kili's dried orange-targets, and he was getting better and better by the day. He rarely missed a shot, it was the most impressive thing she'd ever seen. Bilba chopped wood, and started to build up their winter supplies for the colder months. She refused to freeze, so they had rearranged one of the office rooms to be a wood storage, and they had the whole room half full already. 

In the afternoons and into the evenings, they would practice or do something Dwarven. She learned Dwarf songs, they played stone-tiles (a game that none of them really knew how to play). She braided their hair, and she got stone carving tools. They were all terrible at that, the stone was so unforgiving, so she started with wood carving and soap carving. The boys needed to find their craft , so every night they tried something new.

She also got them their very own coin pouches. Currency, gold, and jewels were ingrained into Dwarf Culture, which shocked her, but she wasn't one to hold them back. She didn't have gold, nor jewels, but the boys settled with brightly colored river stones and other things they might find precious. 

But today they couldn't have Dwarf Practice time. Today was the Harvest Festival. Every Hobbit was preparing, and Fili and Kili were up early, excited to wear their new burnt-orange vests and linen shirts. They looked darling . 

Bilba stepped out with them, the two of them loaded into the wagon. First step was the Gamgees, who were giving out the pumpkins for every family in the Shire. Sam waved excitedly when he saw his friends in the wagon. 

"Sam Sam Sam!!" Kili cheered. "Hi Sam!!" 

Fili and Kili practically tumbled out of the wagon before it had even come to a proper stop, their excitement bubbling over as they dashed toward Sam. The young Gamgee grinned, waving eagerly as he stood beside a rather massive pumpkin that he had clearly been struggling to drag.

“I picked you out the best pumpkin!” Sam announced proudly, patting the enormous gourd.

Fili and Kili gawked at it, their eyes wide with wonder.

“It’s huge!” Fili breathed, stepping closer like he was approaching something sacred.

Kili clapped his hands together, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “It’s bigger than me!!”

Bilba chuckled, stepping down from the wagon with a knowing smile. “That’s a grand pumpkin, Sam,” she praised, ruffling his curls. “But perhaps something a bit smaller for my boys?”

Sam nodded quickly and gestured toward a row of pumpkins behind him. “Oh! I picked out some smaller ones, too! These ones are just right for carrying!”

Fili and Kili practically vibrated with excitement as they scanned the pumpkins, their faces scrunched in deep concentration. Finally, Fili selected a round, golden-orange one with a perfect stem, while Kili grabbed one that was a bit lopsided, but very large compared to him.

“I can carry this one!” Kili declared, straining as he lifted it into his arms. He teetered for a moment before managing to steady himself, beaming with pride.

Fili tested the weight of his own pumpkin, then, not to be outdone, hoisted it up high above his head with a triumphant grin. “Look, Bilba! I am strong!”

Bilba clapped her hands together, delighted. “Oh, my strong little lads! I knew you could do it!”

Sam was watching in awe. “I dunno if I could lift mine that easy,” he admitted, scratching his head.

Fili puffed out his chest. “We’re Dwarves. We’re built for this.”

Kili nodded enthusiastically, but then his enthusiasm got the better of him—he stumbled, the pumpkin slipping from his grip. With a dramatic thud, it hit the ground and rolled a few feet away.

Kili blinked after it, then turned to Bilba with a sheepish grin. “Oops.”

Bilba pressed her lips together to keep from laughing, reaching out to pat his head. “It’s alright, love. Pumpkins are meant to roll.”

Fili, ever the big brother, ran to retrieve it, hefting it up and plopping it back into Kili’s arms. “You gotta hold it tighter!”

Kili nodded seriously and hugged the pumpkin like it was a beloved toy, determined not to drop it again.

Bilba smiled at them warmly, the cold wind blowing on their faces. She then turned to the rows of pumpkins and called the boys back over. 

"Okay, now we need to get some for Violet and Buttercup, huh?" She said to Fili with a knowing look. Fili grinned up at her and hurried to pick out two more pumpkins that were perfect for the two girls. Sam came over to help him find the best ones, pointing out the ones that would have the best seeds on the inside. Fili picked out a perfect one- it looked like a drawing of a pumpkin, perfectly round and beautiful. 

That one was for Buttercup. 

Then he turned and pointed to a misshapen one, covered in warts. It looked like a growth was coming out of the top of it, and the stem was warped and twisted. Bilba knew instantly that was for Violet, and she laughed, delighted as Fili carried it to the wagon. 

Bilba had already communicated with Lobelia and Merric about the fact that Fili would be bringing by the pumpkins for the girls, and Merric was excited, while Lobelia had said nothing. She gave only a single nod. 

"Do you think they'll like them?" Fili asked anxiously. 

"I think. They will adore them." Bilba encouraged, taking the wagon handle. "Thank you Hamfest! Thank you Sam!" 

They said their goodbyes and Bilba strained to pull the wagon with four pumpkins loaded up. Fili hurried up to take the handle for her. Of course he wanted to help Bilba with the wagon, but he also hoped to show how strong he was. As they approached the Brandybucks, he stopped with a soft gasp. 

Buttercup was outside, holding her father's hand. She wore the most beautiful harvest dress, it was a soft orange and brown color, her hair perfect and bouncy, she had pretty closed on and a lovely shawl. She always looked like a doll. 

"Wow.." Fili breathed.

Bilba watched as Fili froze, gripping the wagon handle so tight his knuckles turned white. His eyes were locked on Buttercup, and his face was going redder by the second. She pressed her lips together to hide her smile. Oh, this was precious.

Kili, of course, noticed immediately.

“Fee is red!” he announced far too loudly, practically bouncing in place with delight.

Fili flinched, turning to hiss at him, “Shhh! Kili !” He tried to act normal, standing straighter, smoothing his vest, failing miserably.

Too late. Buttercup had seen them. She turned, her curls bouncing, and smiled. “Happy Harvest, Fili!”.

Fili made a strange little noise in the back of his throat. Then, after a long pause, he blurted, “Hi! I—uh—brought you a pumpkin!” He practically threw himself at the wagon, scrambling to grab the best, roundest pumpkin he had picked for her.

Buttercup gasped in delight. “Ohhh! It’s perfect!”

Fili looked like he had just won some grand prize. His ears burned bright red, and he nodded, suddenly looking very serious. “I—I made sure it was the best one.”

Bilba bit her cheek to keep from laughing. He was so smitten.

Merric chuckled, ruffling Fili’s hair. “That’s mighty kind of you, lad. Buttercup’s been talking about her pumpkin all week.”

Fili puffed up like a proud little rooster.

Buttercup's eyes drifted to the wagon, and she saw the pumpkin that was warped, covered in warts, the twisted stem. It even had a dark brown spot where it had laid on the ground too long, like one big brown birthmark. Buttercup's smile widened further.

"Is that one for-for Violet! Oh she will love it!! She came over to play." Buttercup said, her cheeks flushing as she spoke to Violet. Fili nodded sheepishly. "She's gonna love love LOVE that!!"

Bilba looked to Merric as they stepped aside and let the kids talk.

"He's just smitten, isn't he," Merric chuckled. Buttercup was adorable, sweet and little, delicate and sickly. Her father was just as handsome, but the years had aged him some. He still had those kind blue eyes and his sweet smile, though. Bilba just wished that his wife was as attentive as he was.

Buttercup shouldn't have been sickly.

"He adores her." Bilba whispered softly, smiling as Fili stared at Buttercup as she spoke. He looked at her like he was staring at pure sunshine. The kicker was- he stared at Violet the exact same way.

"It's so sweet to see." Merric said. He turned to face Bilba. "I saw something the other day."

Oh, Hobbit gossip .

"What?" Bilba said, interested. She was a Hobbit. She wasn't immune to the pull of rumors and gossip.

"Buttercup and Violt were sitting out in the shade." Merric began, "And Violet leaned over and whispered in her ear. Several times."

What ?

Bilba gasped, clutching her hands to her chest. “She did?”

Merric nodded, amusement glinting in his eyes. “Clear as day. But when I asked Bells about it, she just blinked at me all innocent-like and said she had no idea what I was talking about.”

Bilba let out a delighted laugh, shaking her head. “That little rascal! She’s covering for her.”

Merric chuckled. “That’s what I figure. I think Violet talks to her more than we realize, but only when she wants to.”

Bilba turned her gaze toward the children, watching as Buttercup prattled on about something, twirling the end of her shawl between her fingers. Fili was hanging onto every word, nodding like whatever she was saying was the most important thing in the world. Kili was distracted, as usual, plucking at the hem of his own vest, but he giggled whenever Buttercup did.

Bilba let them giggle and fuss for a moment longer, then he called out to Fili, "Fili, love! We need to get Violet her pumpkin! We'll see them later for the festival, okay!"

Fili gave Buttercup a deep bow- he looked just like a little gentleman, bowing low and grinning at her when he came back up. He then ran back over to Bilba, his cheeks flushed and pink. He grabbed the wagon handle with her and tugged it toward Lobelia and Violet's home.

She knocked on the door and smiled when it opened. But her smile faded when she saw Otho. Otho seemed furious. He was glaring, jaw set, red-faced. Behind him, Lobelia was crouching by Violet who was covering her ears with her hands.

"Good Morning, Otho." Bilba said carefully. "What...happened?"

"Nothing." Otho said simply. "What do you need."

"Well we bought a pumpkin for Violet." Bilba said, "I thought that was the plan?"

"It is. But we are taking her back to Peony tonight." Otho responded.

"No we are not!" Lobelia snapped from behind him. " No , we are not!!"

Bilba felt her grip on the wagon handle tighten until her knuckles ached. Otho’s words twisted her stomach, hot and sour, and she fought the urge to shove past him, to shield Violet from the sharpness of his voice.

“She’s a child, Otho,” she said, her voice steady but low with warning. “Not some old piece of furniture to toss away when it’s inconvenient.”

Otho let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Oh, don’t start. She’s not ours. She doesn’t belong here, and you know it.” His lip curled as his gaze flicked down to Violet, who had pressed herself into Lobelia’s side like she wanted to disappear into the folds of her dress. “She’s a strange little thing, and I won’t have her lurking around my house any longer.”

Bilba felt heat crawl up her spine, a slow, simmering boil of fury, but it was nothing compared to the absolute stillness that overtook Lobelia. The air in the entryway went taut, a string pulled so tight it could snap.

Otho scoffed and turned his sneer back to Lobelia. “You’re making a fool of yourself, clinging to her like some old stray. She’s not your child, and no matter how many dresses you put her in or how many times you brush her hair, she never will be.”

For a long moment, Lobelia didn’t move. She simply stared at him, her expression unreadable, her hands clasped so tightly that the delicate bones of her fingers stood out against her skin.

Then, slowly, she exhaled through her nose.

“Get. Out.”

Her voice was soft. Cold. A razor hidden in velvet.

Otho’s jaw clenched. “Oh, don’t be dramat—”

“Out.”

Something about the way she said it made even Bilba shiver. Otho glared, his nostrils flaring. But for all his bluster, he took a step back. Then another. “Fine,” he spat. “Keep your little pet. See if I care.”

He grabbed his jacket with unnecessary force, stepping out into the crisp autumn air.

Bilba startled slightly, but Lobelia simply stood there for a long moment, breathing slow and measured. The fury hadn’t left her eyes, but it was buried deep beneath layers of something heavier.

Lobelia stood frozen for a moment, her shoulders tight, her hands trembling slightly before she clenched them into fists. Then, with a slow, measured breath, she forced herself to straighten. Her expression smoothed into something eerily composed, but Bilba could see the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers twitched as though resisting the urge to strike something—or someone.

With deliberate calm, she turned toward Fili and Kili, her sharp gaze softening just slightly as she looked at the boys, who were standing stiffly beside the wagon. Fili was gripping the handle so tightly his knuckles had gone white, his little chest rising and falling in quick, angry breaths. Kili had ducked half behind Bilba’s skirts, his wide eyes darting between Lobelia and the path where Otho had disappeared.

Lobelia inhaled deeply, smoothing her skirts with unnecessary precision, then, in a voice so carefully polite it might as well have been carved from stone, she asked, “And this is Violet’s pumpkin?”

Fili swallowed hard, his brows knitting together. His little hands curled into fists at his sides, his whole body rigid. “Yes,” he said, his voice tight. “I picked it special for her.”

His blue eyes burned with something fierce, something raw, and Bilba knew—he was livid . Livid in that deep, bone-deep way only children could be when faced with something wrong.

“I— I know it looks a little different, but I knew she’d like it, and—it looks just like her frogs! But—but it’s good! It’s good and strong and different and—” He broke off, his fists trembling, and Bilba’s heart squeezed.

Lobelia studied him for a long moment. Then, something shifted—just the smallest bit of tightness leaving her shoulders, the faintest flicker of something unreadable in her sharp gaze.

Without another word, she reached out and took the pumpkin from the wagon, cradling it in her arms like something precious.

“Yes,” she said, her voice quieter now. “It is a good pumpkin, isn’t it?”

Then, she turned and looked down at Violet, who had been silent through the whole exchange, her small hand curled into the fabric of Lobelia’s dress. She hadn’t reacted when Otho had sneered at her, hadn’t flinched at his words. But now, she was staring up at Fili with wide, unblinking eyes.

Lobelia inhaled deeply, smoothing the tremor in her voice before speaking again, this time, much gentler. “Come along, my darling. Let’s put this pumpkin in the kitchen. Your friend was very kind to bring it.”

Violet hesitated for only a moment. Then, slowly, she let go of Lobelia’s dress and reached for the pumpkin, her tiny fingers brushing over the rough, warty surface like she was memorizing it.

Bilba was forever impressed by how Lobelia could compartmentalize anything. In the blink of an eye, Lobelia seemed normal. Tonight, Bilba was sure she would seem completely like herself, if not just a little stiff. She studied her dear friend, wishing she could go to her. Wishing they could talk about what just happened.

But they weren't close anymore. Not like that.

Bilba was quiet, Kili was clinging to her like Violet was clinging to Lobelia. Bilba reached down and picked Kili up, holding him in her arms. Kili rested his head on her shoulder. Had that interaction triggered the poor dwarf boy? If anything, they all felt very uncomfortable.

Violet rubbed the pumpkin, apparently enthralled by the way it was rough and bumpy, she touched the gnarled stem, her eyes wide and staring. Bilba wondered what was going on in her head, too. She was sure they all wondered. But as always, Violet was silent.

"I didn't realize he was...so against this." Bilba finally breached the subject.

"Let's not discuss such things in front of the children, Belladonna." Lobelia said plainly and Bilba would have felt a sense of shame if she didn't know that Lobelia was truly trying to protect Violet from whatever just happened. Lobelia fussed and fussed. Adjusted Violet's dress, her hair, her bow. Violet just let her- but Bilba would predict that Violet was just tolerating her.

"Right." Bilba said softly, Kili clung to her, and his hand raised to grip Bilba's curls in his little fist. "Well...if you need anything, Belia..."

"I'll be certain to come to you." Lobelia rolled her eyes.

As they turned to leave, Fili hesitated. His little hands curled into fists at his sides, his weight shifting between his feet as he cast another glance at the door. Then, with a sudden burst of determination, he turned back to Lobelia.

“Are you still coming to the festival?” he asked, his voice firmer than it had been a moment ago. There was an odd sort of urgency in it, as if the idea of her and Violet not being there unsettled him deeply.

Lobelia, who had been fussing over Violet’s dress, paused. Her sharp eyes flicked toward Fili, taking him in like she was assessing a gem for flaws.

“We’ll be there,” she said, her voice even, controlled. But there was something else beneath it, something Bilba recognized.

A promise.

Fili studied her for a long moment, then gave a small, satisfied nod.

“Good,” he said simply, and without another word, he turned back toward Bilba, taking up his place at her side.

Bilba let out a slow breath, adjusting Kili in her arms. Lobelia was still watching them, her grip tight around Violet’s small hand.

“Well,” Bilba murmured, offering the other woman a look that was both knowing and careful. “We’ll see you tonight, then.”

Lobelia didn’t nod. She didn’t move at all, really. But after a beat, her gaze flickered down to Violet, who was still cradling the gnarled, wart-covered pumpkin in her tiny hands like it was the most precious thing she’d ever been given.

“…Yes,” Lobelia said at last. “You will.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and led Violet back inside, shutting the door behind them.

Bilba exhaled. Fili stayed silent.

Then, after a long moment, he simply reached out and took hold of the wagon handle again, his little shoulders squared with purpose.

Bilba took both boys home, and now it was her job to try and fix the day. She knew Fili was going to think about that for the rest of the day, perhaps for the rest of the week. Kili was clingy, he wouldn't leave Bilba's side, and he was more quiet than normal. But they had a festival to prepare for.

She brought the pumpkins in and as soon as she told them that they were going to carve faces into it, the boys perked up with excitement. Fili stabbed his pumpkin through, they scooped out the ugly guts, but Bilba sorted through it and picked out the seeds.

She wondered if Lobelia and Violet were doing this right now. She wondered how long those sorts of fights were going on. How long Otho had been fighting against having Violet there. She had been there for weeks now, had he been throwing fits this entire time? Had something happened today that finally yanked the weed out of the garden?

Bilba arraged the seeds on a baking tray and salted them, popping them into the oven. Kili giggled as he carved some silly face, and Fili's tongue was clamped between his lips as he focused. At least he no longer had that heavy look in his eye. Bilba oversaw them, making sure that they were safe with the carving knives. But they were both handling the knives like they had been handling knives for years. Even Kili had a certain natural coordination with the serrated blade.

"There's a competition, right?" Fili asked. "I'm going to add a beard to mine."

A beard . What a lovely, creative though! Bilba tried to push aside her anxiety about the Sackville-Baggins home.

"That's a great idea!" Bilba said excitedly, clapping her hands together. Fili deserved a win.

Bilba watched as Fili carefully carved, his small hands surprisingly steady for his age. He worked with such focus, such determination, and she couldn’t help but marvel at him. A beard. Of course, he would think of that.

Beside him, Kili was less precise but just as enthusiastic. He had carved a wildly uneven grin into his pumpkin, the eyes lopsided and mismatched, one round, one jagged. It looked ridiculous. It looked wonderful. He giggled to himself as he worked, tiny fingers pulling out the last stubborn clumps of pumpkin guts.

Bilba let the warmth of the moment settle over her, focusing on the laughter, on the scent of roasting pumpkin seeds filling the home, rather than the tight knot of worry in her chest. She couldn’t stop thinking about Otho’s sneer, the way he spoke about Violet as though she were nothing but a burden.

It made her furious.

She’d never liked Otho—who did?—but this was different. This was uglier. He had been angry. Angry that Violet was still there, angry that Lobelia had fought him on it. Had he always been like this? Had she simply never noticed? Or had Lobelia always been fighting this battle in silence?

Bilba swallowed hard and looked back at the boys.

Focus on them, she reminded herself. Tonight is meant to be joyful.

Fili was now carving deep lines into his pumpkin’s chin, carefully shaping what would become the beard. He studied it with great intensity, his brows furrowed.

“What if I use some straw for texture?” he muttered to himself, mostly thinking aloud.

Bilba grinned. “That’s brilliant, love. It’ll look just like a real one.”

Fili beamed at her praise, clearly proud of himself. He grabbed a handful of straw from the basket near the hearth, carefully sticking the strands into the carved grooves.

Kili, seeing Fili’s success, gasped dramatically and pointed at his own pumpkin. “Me too, me too!!”

Bilba chuckled, shaking her head as she reached for some dried corn silk. “Here, Kee, let’s give yours a proper wild mane.”

Kili cheered, his brief shyness from earlier now completely forgotten in his excitement. He took the corn silk and stuffed it into the top of his pumpkin, then cackled like a tiny villain.

“Oh no,” Bilba teased. “What have we created?”

“A monster!!” Kili declared, holding his pumpkin aloft.

Fili leaned back, tilting his head as he studied Kili’s pumpkin. The jagged, crooked grin, the wildly uneven eyes, the mess of straw sticking out the top like it had been struck by lightning—it was, without a doubt, the ugliest thing Fili had ever seen. A slow grin spread across his face before he burst into laughter, doubling over with his hands on his knees.

“Kee—that looks like an ugly orc!” he howled.

Kili gasped in delight, not offense, hugging his pumpkin close as if Fili had just given him the highest praise imaginable.

“Oh yeah!” Kili giggled, absolutely thrilled. “Ugly, ugly orc!” He waggled the pumpkin at Fili, cackling as he did. “Mean Azog orc, grrrr!” 

Bilba bit the inside of her cheek to keep from outright laughing. Kili was practically bouncing in his seat with joy, waggling his orc pumpkin around like it was going to jump up and chase Fili across the room.

“And yours?” Bilba asked Fili, smiling warmly.

Fili straightened up, attempting to look very dignified. “Mine is a dwarven warrior. He has a very noble beard.”

Bilba chuckled, running a hand through Fili’s golden curls. “Of course he does, love.”

Chapter Text

Once it was all said and done, they loaded the wagon with their pumpkins. They had laughed and giggled their way through the whole process, Bilba was pleased to see them in a better mood about things. What they didn't know, was that their pumpkins were going to be lit from the inside with candles. She was excited for that reveal tonight. 

She took them to the party tree. 

Every Hobbit family was there, rows of pumpkins on a table. Since Bilba participated wholly in the Summer festival, she was off the hook for the harvest Festival. The table was completely full of pies, cooked turkeys, dips, finger snacks, and different drinks. 

She walked the boys over to the table where they put their pumpkins up to be judged, and Bilba wrote their names on a little tag and put it by their creations. Nearby was Violet's ugly pumpkin, and she had done nothing but poke two pin-sized holes in for the eyes and she painted on a mouth. Buttercup had carved a flower into her pumpkin, one of the only ones who had not carved a face, but an object instead. 

Then the boys got two tokens that they could use to vote for their favorite. 

"I'm going to vote for Buttercup, and you vote for Violet, okay?" Fili told Kili who was holding his token excitedly. 

"Now Fili," Bilba said gently. "Kili can vote for whoever he'd like."

Fili nodded, that made sense. But that meant that he was going to have to choose between Buttercup and Violet. He bit his lip and stared at both pumpkins. This was going to rip him apart.

Fili’s brows furrowed in deep concentration as he clutched his token, staring intently at the two pumpkins before him. On one hand, Buttercup’s was so pretty, delicate and perfect, just like her. The flower design was carved with careful hands, and it looked just like something from a storybook. But then there was Violet’s—so strange and lumpy, with its tiny pinprick eyes and the mouth she had painted rather than carved. It was weird. It was so Violet. And he liked that about it.

He let out a dramatic groan, swaying side to side as he debated. “This is impossible,” he mumbled, dragging a hand down his face. “What if I choose the wrong one?”

“There is no wrong one , love,” Bilba chuckled, watching him with amusement.

But Fili clearly didn’t believe her— and Bilba suspected he would have sat there for another hour trying to decide, it it wasn’t for his little brother.

Kili had no trouble choosing, unbothered and cheerful, and marched up and happily plunked his token in the voting jar for Violet’s pumpkin.

Fili let out a dramatic gasp of relief, clutching his chest like he had barely escaped disaster. “Oh, good !” he breathed, sagging slightly. He turned to Kili and clapped both hands on his little brother’s shoulders, shaking him slightly in excitement. “You voted for Violet, so I can vote for Buttercup! We did it!”

Kili, pleased with himself but not entirely understanding why, beamed and nodded enthusiastically. “We did it!” he echoed, bouncing on his heels.

Bilba, watching the whole exchange with amusement, chuckled and ruffled Fili’s hair. “All that stress for nothing, love. Now go on, put your token in before you change your mind again.”

Fili didn’t need to be told twice. He stepped forward and, with a flourish, dropped his token into Buttercup’s jar. Then he let out a relieved sigh, as if the weight of the world had just been lifted from his tiny shoulders.

“There,” he said proudly, dusting his hands off like he had just completed some great task. “Now everything is fair.”

Bilba smiled, shaking her head. “It certainly is, love.”

With their votes cast, Fili grabbed Kili’s hand, ready to race off toward the dessert table. But just before they dashed away, he turned back to Bilba with wide, hopeful eyes. “Do you think they’ll win?”

"Who, Violet and Buttercup?" She asked, letting her eyes drift across all of the other pumpkins. Some were scary, some were cute. There was a sweet pumpkin with one little tooth carved into it, and another with scary, sharp teeth and bushy eyebrows. But what Bilba noticed was that there wasn't a single pumpkin with an extra element like Fili and Kili's with the straw. 

Bilba took her token for her vote, and put it in Fili's when the boy was distracted. 

"Mhm!" Fili said, his eyes scanning for Violet and Lobelia. He had been thinking about them, and worrying about them all day. He chewed on his lip. 

"Who knows!" Bilba said. "We'll just have to wait and see!"

She turned to see Lobelia and Violet over by the cider. Bilba stopped the boys from going over there, and she just watched a moment. Lobelia grabbed a cup of cider and bent to hand it to Violet. She said something softly and brushed one of Violet's curls back. Bilba had never seen such softness in Lobelia's eyes. She spoke to the child, then smiled gently, and tried the cider herself, then she handed the cup to Violet. Violet took the cup and sipped at it, and Lobelia chuckled when Violet made a face. 

She didn't like it.

Lobelia laughed and pulled her into a hug, setting the cup of cider aside. Bilba was shocked to see Violet hugging Lobelia instantly, resting her cheek on Lobelia's shoulder. The older Hobbit stood and got Violet some water instead.

Bilba barely had time to watch Fili and Kili greet Violet before she caught sight of movement from the corner of her eye. She turned and instantly broke into a bright smile, lifting a hand to wave.

“Drogo! Prim!”

The couple wove their way through the crowd, hand in hand, and in Drogo’s other arm was a tiny, curly-headed lad. Little Frodo was nestled against his father’s chest, his round face flushed pink from the autumn air. His blue eyes, so much like his mother’s, were heavy with sleep, and he sucked idly on two of his fingers as he blinked around at the glowing lanterns.

Prim was the first to reach Bilba, pulling her into a warm hug. “Bilba, darling, you look absolutely radiant!”

Bilba laughed, hugging her tightly. “And you, my dear, look as lovely as ever.”

She barely had time to pull away before Drogo stepped up, his expression warm but slightly sheepish. “Bella, I feel awful that we haven’t come by to meet the boys yet.” He shifted Frodo slightly, rubbing the little one’s back. “We’ve been meaning to visit for weeks, but this lad’s been keeping us home. He’s been such a sickly little thing—Prim’s hardly had a full night’s sleep.”

Bilba’s eyes softened as she looked at Frodo, who was now sleepily burrowing further into his father’s coat. “Oh, love,” she murmured, reaching out to gently brush a stray curl from his forehead. “No need to apologize. You’ve had your hands full, I see.”

Prim sighed, her smile tinged with exhaustion as she tucked a hand under Frodo’s foot where it peeked from beneath Drogo’s coat. “He’s just had one cold after another. He’s strong, but Yavanna help me, I swear he’s determined to catch every sniffle that blows through the Shire.”

Bilba hummed in sympathy. “Poor little lad.”

At the sound of her voice, Frodo blinked up at her, his blue eyes round and curious. He removed his fingers from his mouth just long enough to reach for Bilba’s curls, gripping them in a surprisingly firm little fist.

“Oh-ho, so you’re a fan of these, are you?” Bilba teased, leaning in slightly to let him have his fun.

Drogo chuckled, bouncing Frodo gently. “He does have good taste.”

Bilba grinned before looking back to Drogo. “Truly, don’t fret over not visiting. But since you’re here now, you must come and meet the boys.” She turned to gesture toward Fili and Kili, who were still chatting with Violet.

Drogo followed her gaze, a warm smile touching his lips. “Aye, we’d love to.”

Prim nodded, squeezing Bilba’s hand. “Tell us everything about them.”

Bilba laughed, leading them toward the children. “Oh, you’re in for a treat.”

She led them over. "They are the sweetest, most thoughtful boys I've ever met. She stopped at the pumpkin table. "These are their pumpkins, I love how Fili did the beard. I've been learning about Dwarf customs- I don't want them to be apart from their culture you know- and the beards are so special to them. Isn't it so sweet, how they did the pumpkins!"

"Oh how darling ." Prim gushed with a grin. She touched a little bit of the straw beard. "And you just...found them? They were the ones tearing through the gardens, right?"

Drogo watched curiously too, standing behind Prim as she asked the questions.

And Bilba couldn't lie to them. Not to Drogo. Not to Prim. She sighed, remembering how thin they were at the time. She turned and looked at the boys, both of which were now with lovely round cheeks. They were so far away from what they had been at the time.

"I did." Bilba said quietly. "I found them at my back step...they were...Oh Prim. They were...so, so hurt. Starved. Dirty. Terrified." Bilba said, tears coming to her eyes. "I-I was so scared for them, Kili was so sick that there was a part of me that didn't think he was going to make it through the night. But in case it comes up, I did tell a Dwarf in Bree that they were mine in birth...that I was with a Dwarf, and had them."

"Ohh!" Prim said, shocked.

"I know. He assumed and I couldn't...I didn't correct him." Bilba sighed. "And I've learned that Dwarves protect the little ones so much...I guess I'm worried that someone might take them away if they knew..."

Drogo’s expression darkened the moment Bilba’s voice wavered. He had always been protective of her—more brother than cousin, the one who had always been at her side, ready to take up arms (or at least, a very stern talking-to) on her behalf. And now, hearing the fear in her voice, the weight she had been carrying alone, his hands curled into fists at his sides.

“No one,” he said firmly, his voice quiet but brimming with conviction, “is going to take those boys from you.”

Bilba looked up at him, eyes glistening, lips parted slightly as if she wanted to argue—but she didn’t. Drogo wasn’t finished.

“I don’t care if the whole mountain marches through the Shire gates,” he went on, his blue eyes flashing, “those lads are yours , Bella. You found them, you saved them, you love them! And no one is going to come here and think they can just take them from you.”

Prim’s eyes were wide, her hand pressed lightly over her heart, but she didn’t interrupt. She simply reached for Bilba’s hand, squeezing it tight.

Bilba let out a shuddering breath. “I—I just don’t know if that’s how it works with Dwarves,” she admitted. “Their families…they don’t let go. Not easily.”

Drogo shook his head, his jaw set. “Then they’ll have to get through me first.”

Bilba let out a small, tearful laugh at that, dashing at her eyes. “Oh, love, as much as I appreciate the sentiment, I don’t think you’d have much luck wrestling a Dwarf.”

Drogo lifted his chin, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know I can be very intimidating when I want to be!”

Prim snorted softly, patting his arm. “Of course you can, dear.”

Bilba smiled, warmth flooding through her at their unwavering support. She hadn’t even realized how much she needed to hear it—not just from Lobelia, not just from herself, but from someone else. Someone who knew her, who knew what these boys meant to her.

Someone who would fight for them, just as she would.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “Well,” she said, smoothing her skirt, “no use borrowing trouble. We’ve got a festival to enjoy, haven’t we?”

Drogo nodded firmly. “Aye. And you won’t spend another moment worrying about it tonight. We’re here, we’re family, and that’s that.”

Bilba’s heart swelled. Family. Yes, that was exactly what they were.

Bilba called the boys over with a small smile and a wave. She beckoned them closer and Fili and Kili both came to see her with wide eyes. Fili was glancing at Drogo and Prim with curiosity and wonder. He hadn't yet met them, but he saw the little boy in their arms and knew that it was important that he paid attention to him. Little ones were important even to Dwarrow children. 

"Hi!" Fili said softly. Frodo hid his face. Fili smiled a little, leaving him be. Violet was just as shy, and Fili didn't mind the shyness. 

"Fili, Kili, this is Prim and Drogo. They're very good family to us." Bilba told them with a warm smile. Prim and Drogo both greeted the boys with such kindness, both of them saying hello and embracing them. Bilba was so grateful for them. 

"Hello boys!" Drogo said. "Are you enjoying the festival?" 

"Yes!" Fili said brightly. "Did you see our pumpkins! They're those ones, with the straw!" 

"I saw!" Prim said warmly. "We're going to vote for you both!!" 

Kili giggled and beamed, excited about that. Bilba was touched. She cherished them both, and she did feel sorry that they hadn't met the boys yet, but now they had.

Bilba watched as Fili and Kili soaked in the warmth of Prim and Drogo’s greeting, their little faces alight with excitement. It was always a marvel to her, how quickly they bloomed under kindness. How eager Fili was to connect, how bright Kili shone when someone met his boundless enthusiasm with the same energy. She had worried, for so long, about introducing them to too many people at once—worried it would overwhelm them, or worse, make them feel untethered again. But seeing them here, basking in the attention of family, made her heart ache with something soft and sweet.

“Oh, my dears, your pumpkins were so creative!” Prim gushed, her hands clasped together as she grinned at them. “The beards, my goodness! I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

Fili practically glowed under the praise. He rocked back on his heels, trying to suppress a proud smile but utterly failing. “Beards are really important to Dwarves,” he explained, puffing his little chest out. “So I thought my pumpkin needed one too.”

Drogo chuckled, crouching down so he was more level with the boys. “Well, I think you’ve started a new tradition. I’ll be surprised if next year we don’t see half the pumpkins with beards.”

Kili gasped as if this was the best idea he had ever heard.

“Maybe!” Bilba laughed, ruffling his curls before glancing at Frodo, who was still nestled in Prim’s arms, peeking out shyly from behind her sleeve.

“Who’s that?” Kili whispered loudly, eyes wide as he stared at the little boy.

“This is Frodo,” Drogo said, shifting so Fili and Kili could get a better look. “He’s our son.”

Fili’s expression softened immediately. He straightened a little, nodding as if this was very important news. “Oh,” he said seriously. “I’ll look out for him, then.”

Bilba’s breath hitched. Fili said it so simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. As if, the moment he learned Frodo was family, it became his responsibility to make sure the little one was safe.

“Can we show Frodo our pumpkins up close?” Fili asked, glancing between Prim and Drogo hopefully.

“Of course,” Drogo said warmly, standing up. “Lead the way.”

Kili grabbed Fili’s hand, already tugging him toward the pumpkin display, chattering excitedly about the carvings. Bilba trailed behind, exchanging a knowing look with Prim and Drogo.

Lobelia soon made her way over to them. Bilba knew that she had always liked Prim and Drogo. She had always gravitated toward them, but that was back when they had been courting. That was a very, very long time ago. Still, Lobeia seemed comfortable with them around. 

"Good Evening. Happy Harvest." Lobelia said. Violet followed behind her with her hands clutched in Lobelia's skirts. Lobelia was wearing a soft orange dress, not like the fruit orange but more pleasant like a sunrise. Bilba was in awe of her clothes, even if they were sometimes a little gaudy. 

"Happy Harvest, Lobelia!" Prim said happily, one eye on Frodo as she spoke. "How are you! I heard you took little miss Evergarden in!" 

"I have," Lobelia said proudly. She looked down at the little girl, and Violet pressed her face into the frills of Lobelia's dress. "I have taken her in, and in with me is where she will stay." 

"Well, that is just such a lovely thing." Prim said softly. "Peony isn't fit to have her, we all know that much."

Hobbit gossip, Bilba thought to herself. Again, she wasn't immune. 

"Can we talk about Otho?" Bilba asked in a gentle voice. Lobelia gave her a severe look and said nothing. Then, finally, she took a breath and spoke. 

"Yes." Lobelia said, her back ramrod straight. "We can. Though there is nothing really to talk about, I will answer any of your questions."

Bilba exchanged a glance with Prim and Drogo before turning her attention back to Lobelia. There was something impossibly measured about the way she stood, her posture perfect, her expression composed. And yet, Bilba had known her too long not to see the tension in her shoulders, the slight stiffness in her jaw. Lobelia Sackville-Baggins was keeping herself together through sheer force of will.

Bilba hesitated for only a moment before asking, “Did he… did he try something, Lobelia?”

Lobelia’s expression didn’t change, but her fingers twitched slightly where they rested against Violet’s back. The little girl still clung to her, silent as always, but Bilba could feel the way her grip on Lobelia’s skirts tightened, as if she, too, was bracing for something.

“He tried to send her back,” Lobelia said crisply. Her voice was steady, but Bilba could hear the cold fury beneath it. “Tried, being the key word.”

Prim made a soft, disapproving sound, shaking her head. “That poor girl.”

Drogo crossed his arms, frowning. “And Peony would’ve taken her?”

“Of course she would have,” Lobelia said, her tone almost biting. “Not out of love, but because she’d be too ashamed to admit she was unfit. And she would have let her slip right back through the cracks.”

Bilba exhaled slowly, watching Lobelia’s face carefully. She had never seen her like this before. Cold, yes. Stern, always. But this—this was something different. There was something protective, something unyielding about the way she spoke of Violet now.

She wasn’t just taking her in. She was keeping her.

“Are you alright?” Bilba asked, voice gentle.

Lobelia’s eyes snapped to hers, sharp as ever. “I am perfectly fine, Belladonna.”

That was a lie. But it was the kind of lie that told Bilba not to push.

Instead, she nodded, shifting the conversation back to something a little safer. “And Violet? How is she adjusting?”

Lobelia glanced down, smoothing a hand over the girl’s curls. “She’s thriving,” she said simply, and to Bilba’s surprise, she reached for one of Violet’s small hands, pulling it gently from where it was curled into her dress. “Show them, dear.”

Violet hesitated. For a moment, Bilba thought she might retreat again, but then she lifted her head slightly, looking at the group with those wide, unreadable eyes.

And then, in the smallest, softest voice, she whispered, “Happy Harvest.”

Prim gasped. Drogo’s eyebrows shot up. Bilba felt her breath catch.

Lobelia only smiled, proud and fierce. “She’s thriving,” she repeated.

Bilba swallowed past the lump in her throat, bending down slightly to look Violet in the eyes. “Happy Harvest, sweet girl,” she murmured, voice thick with emotion.

Violet stared at her for a moment longer, then, slowly, her tiny fingers curled around Lobelia’s.

Bilba had never seen anything so small feel so monumental.

Prim, ever the emotional one, dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her dress. “Well, that’s settled, then,” she sniffled. “You’re her family now.”

Lobelia tilted her chin up slightly. “Yes,” she said. “I am.”

"Well that's-" Bilba began. 

"And I don't care a single bit what Otho has to say about it. He can pluck out every single one of his toe hairs before I ever give her up. I refuse." Lobelia snarled. "Not when I can see how much more  comfortable Violet is. Did you know she has issues with textures? Peony treated her like every other Hobbit out there, but she is different. She needs something different." Lobelia said, playing with Violet's curls.

"What do you mean?" Drogo asked curiously. His eyes lingered on Violet a moment before looking up at Lobelia again. Fili and Kili giggled in the background, the two of them running off to find something to eat. 

"I mean, she wouldn't carve the pumpkin because she hated how it felt. She hated her sheets at home. She couldn't sleep. She hated the feeling of the mud, the gritty dirt, she hates anything goopy and gross. She hates suede and velvet. She hates the sound of metal scraping against ceramic. And all of her clothes at home were wool. Wool . Scratchy wool." Lobelia said, her voice sharp and unforgiving. She bent and showed them Violet's underdress fabric. She had sewed in silk. Soft, smooth silk. 

"Half of her issues were because her skin felt itchy." Lobelia growled. "And she can't eat anything that makes her feel gross." 

No goopies. 

"Happy Harvest." Violet whispered again.

Lobelia let out a sharp breath, her fingers still smoothing over Violet’s curls, before looking down at the little girl pressed against her side. For all her usual sharpness, her voice softened just a touch.

“Yes, darling. Happy Harvest.” she murmured, and though her tone was as firm as ever, there was warmth there, something solid and certain.

Violet, still gripping her skirt, turned her face up toward her, eyes wide and watching. She didn’t speak again, just blinked, as if committing the moment to memory.

Bilba felt her throat tighten. She had never seen Lobelia be this way before, never seen her acknowledge someone so gently, so deliberately. She had known Lobelia her whole life, but the woman standing before her now—this was someone new. Or perhaps someone old, someone buried beneath years of sharp words and harsher walls.

Drogo exhaled softly, shaking his head. “I never thought I’d say this, Lobelia, but… you’re a better mother than most.”

Lobelia huffed, straightening up. “That’s not a particularly high bar,” she muttered.

Prim chuckled, wiping at her eyes again. “No, but it’s true,” she said. “And it means something.”

Lobelia looked down at Violet again, studying her with that ever-perceptive gaze. There was something unreadable in her face, something that might have been vulnerability, might have been hesitation. Then, with the smallest of nods, she turned back to Bilba.

“I don’t need anyone to tell me what I already know,” she said primly, though she didn’t move away when Violet leaned against her leg.

Bilba smiled. “No, but it’s nice to hear sometimes.”

Lobelia clicked her tongue, unimpressed. “If we’re done fussing, there’s a festival to enjoy.”

“Oh, we’re fussing over Violet,” Prim corrected. “You’re just along for the ride.”

Lobelia rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, she glanced toward the food tables, watching as Fili and Kili struggled to carry more than their little arms could hold, their grins as bright as the festival lanterns.

“Violet!” Fili called eagerly. “They’ve got those cookies you like!”

Violet looked over sharply at Fili as he spoke and finally her hand unclenched from Lobelia’s skirt and she walked over to him. With every step, her dark curls bounced and her hands wrung in the front of her belly. She followed Fili to the tables and Fili grabbed her some cookies. Violet took them without speaking and her eyes darted around anxiously.

Her severe gaze landed on Buttercup. The little girl was sitting in a chair by one of the campfires. The nighttime chill was too much for her, but she was giggling with the adults and she had a blanket draped over her lap. Every other family around was looking after her as well, the Proudfoots, the Goodbodys, the Goodbarrels. All were hovering around the sweet girl. Violet clutched her cookie and walked over to her.

“Hi Violet!” Buttercup chirped. “How are you!”

Violet thrust out the cookie for her.

“Thanks! Hi Fili!” Buttercup said pleasantly, taking the cookie from Violet and nibbling on it some.

“They. Are adorable.” Bilba said, then she gasped, realizing she’d been given gossip to pass on. Her eyes swiveled to Lobelia. “Belia, you know what Merric told me today? Violet speaks to Buttercup. Whispers in her ear. He saw it with his very eyes.”

Lobelia’s gaze narrowed on Bilba. She scrunched her nose as if she’d smelled something truly horrid. Then, her eyes scanned Violet from afar. “Of course she does. The little frog. She’s sneakier than what people give her credit for.”

Bilba grinned at the expression on Lobelia’s face. “You’re not even surprised,” she accused playfully.

Lobelia sniffed, folding her arms. “Why should I be? She’s always watching, always listening. It was only a matter of time before she started choosing when to speak.” Her sharp eyes followed Violet, watching as the little girl lingered beside Buttercup’s chair, shuffling her feet slightly as Buttercup giggled at something one of the older Hobbits said. “She’s stubborn. She’ll talk when she wants to. And only to who she wants.”

Bilba hummed, turning back toward the firelight, the music, the warm glow of lanterns strung high above them. The festival was in full swing now, and she let herself enjoy the moment—enjoy the sight of Violet, still quiet, but comfortable as she slipped into the chair beside Buttercup; of Fili, who was pretending not to hover but very much hovering; of Kili, who was chasing Samwise around the tables, both of them shrieking with laughter.

“I distinctly remember you being terrified of frogs.” Bilba mused, glancing back at Lobelia with a knowing smile.

Lobelia’s eyes softened—just the tiniest bit—as she watched Violet. “They are growing on me,” she said simply.

Bilba’s chest ached at the quiet fierceness in her voice. Yes, she is , she thought, but she didn’t say it aloud. Instead, she nudged Lobelia’s arm lightly, her grin widening.

“Well, I suppose it’s only a matter of time before she starts croaking at you too.”

Lobelia groaned, turning to glare at her, but there was no real heat behind it. Bilba just laughed, and for the first time in a long time, Lobelia let out a huff of amusement and shook her head.

Prim and Drogo both seemed to be on the same page with the fact that they shouldn’t draw attention to Lobelia’s sudden softness. She was hardly ever like this, and even then, soft wouldn’t be the right word to use. But that slight laugh and the way her eyes relaxed- it made it obvious that as much as Lobelia was good for Violet, Violet was also good for Lobelia.

Bilba did her best not to mention anything to do with the way Lobelia was acting, choosing simply to enjoy her company. The night was cool and crisp and the scent of campfires and apple pie filled the air. She got herself a serving of three different pies, and then got some for the boys and Violet, sitting them down at a picnic table to eat.

“Mmm!” Fili and Kili both hummed. Bilba was distracted cutting up some sausage for Kili when out of the corner of her eye, she saw Violet lean over, raise her little hand, and whisper something in Fili’s ear.

Bilba was elated. More than elated.

“Bilba?” Fili asked, swiveling suddenly. “Did Buttercup make the pies?”

“The Brandybucks are famous for their apple pies.” Bilba confirmed with a nod and a smile. Violet was staring at her with too much intensity from a child. Her eyes were the biggest, roundest eyes she’d ever seen. “It wouldn’t surprise me if Buttercup was helping now. They own the orchard out toward the river.”

“Wow….” Fili breathed.

Then, Bilba heard something she had not expected to hear. Something that came completely out of thin air and caught her heart in a vice. It was said so casually, so simply, that Bilba wasn’t sure if she’d heard it at all.

“Mama?” Kili looked up curiously. “Is…game? Roll down game? I win that?”

Bilba stared at Kili with widened eyes. Fili wore the same expression.

“What?” Bilba breathed. “What did you say?”

“Roll down game? With Sam? I wanna win!” Kili repeated happily.

Bilba’s breath caught in her throat. Her mind barely registered Kili’s words, the meaning of them drowning beneath the single, unexpected name he had just given her.

Mama .

It wasn’t shouted, wasn’t forced—it had come so easily, so naturally, as if he had always called her that.

She could feel Fili go still beside her. He wasn’t looking at Kili anymore. His wide blue eyes were fixed on her, waiting—watching.

But Kili, sweet Kili, was utterly oblivious to the shift in the air. He grinned up at her, wiggling in his seat as he bounced with excitement.

Bilba swallowed hard, willing her voice to be steady, to keep her heart from showing too much on her face. She reached out, brushing her fingers over Kili’s curls, smoothing them gently.

“Oh, you mean the hill race?” she said, smiling as warmly as she could. “Of course, love. I’m sure they’ll be rolling again tonight.”

“Yay!” Kili cheered, kicking his little feet against the bench. “I wanna win! I win this time!”

Fili let out a soft huff beside her, something almost like a laugh, but his expression was strange—distant. He wasn’t giggling along with Kili. He wasn’t smiling.

Bilba’s heart squeezed painfully. She wanted to reach for Fili, to pull him close the way she had with Kili, but she hesitated.

Because Fili wasn’t looking at his brother anymore. He was staring at her.

Bilba forced herself to breathe, to act as if nothing had happened, to pretend that her heart hadn’t just been turned inside out by a single word.

She gave Kili another gentle ruffle of his curls, then turned to Fili. “Do you want to race too, sweet sprout?”

Fili blinked, his fingers curling around the edge of the table. “…Maybe.” His voice was quiet. He turned back to his pie, taking a bite as if nothing had happened.

Once again, Bilba found herself wondering what was going on inside Fili’s head. What was he thinking about? What was he struggling with? Was it the fact that Kili had said it at all, was he wondering if Bilba told him to call her that? Bilba was so incredibly relieved that this conversation had come after the fact that she wrote Dis and Vili’s names down in the book. It was obvious that she would never want them erased or changed from their lives. Never!

The idea of trying to make them forget about Dis and Vili was like ripping out their braids and throwing away their beads. And hopefully Fili knew that Bilba would never do anything so terrible to them. Bilba lingered for a moment longer before she turned and walked to the cider, pouring some and sipping it to soothe her nerves.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Lobelia spoke from behind her.

Bilba jumped with a gasp, turning around. Lobelia stared with an unreadable expression.

“Violet spoke again. Just now, to Fili, I think.” Bilba stammered.

“I noticed.”

Silence.

“Kili called me Mama .” Bilba said quietly. She looked back at the boys. Kili was wriggling out of the table to run and play, and Fili was sitting patiently, waiting for Violet to finish her pie. Violet was picking at her food. She refused to eat the filling, and only ate the crust after long moments of trying to scrape off any moisture.

Lobelia’s expression didn’t change, but there was something sharper in her gaze now, something calculating. She turned her head slightly, following Bilba’s line of sight to where the children sat. Fili still hadn’t touched the rest of his pie, his fingers curled around the edge of the plate, his mind clearly elsewhere.

“You expected that to happen?” Lobelia asked, her voice even, unreadable.

“No,” Bilba admitted, swallowing. “Not this soon.”

Lobelia hummed, her eyes narrowing as she watched Fili. “And what about the older one?”

Bilba bit her lip. “I don’t know. He hasn’t said anything. I don’t know what he’s thinking.”

Lobelia exhaled slowly through her nose. “I do. He’s thinking about his mother,” she said simply.

Bilba’s breath hitched. Lobelia wasn’t wrong. Of course she wasn’t.

Kili, for all his wild energy and joyful nature, was still so very small. He had always been the one to curl into her arms, the one to demand affection freely, without hesitation. Memories of his parents may already feel very distant, if they had been gone for some time.

Fili was different. Fili was older, Fili had carried the weight of responsibility far too young. Fili remembered. And now, he was the one who had to reconcile what this meant.

Bilba clenched her fingers around her cup. “I don’t want him to feel like he has to call me anything,” she whispered. “I don’t want either of them to feel like they have to—”

“They don’t,” Lobelia interrupted bluntly. “The little one already decided. And the older one will think himself into the ground before he lets himself decide anything at all.”

Bilba wrung her hands together as she looked at Fili. She had never dealt with anything like this before. Never! Hobbits were so easy, they were sweet and soft and they said what was on their minds with ease. There wasn’t a Hobbit here who would think this deeply about something, and she realized it was such a stark difference between them, that she had no idea what to do about it.

Even Lobelia couldn’t stew as long as Fili could.

For the first time, she found herself wondering what Dis and Vili would do with him when he got like this. Was it better to leave him be to think it through? Was it better to go to him now, when she knew he was bothered? Did he want to be approached? Was he struggling?

“You’re going to worry yourself into a rotten apple.” Lobelia said. “Just let him be. If he wants to talk to you about it, he will. He just needs time.”

Bilba looked at her friend- her dear friend. That’s what they were, despite years of bad feelings between them. Lobelia was precious to her, even if they hadn’t ended up together.

“You really think so?” Bilba said softly.

Lobelia stared back at her.

“I know so.” Lobelia said. “And you will stress him more with your fussing. Go have some mead. It’s delicious this year, lavender infused.”

Bilba blinked and stared at Lobelia. She was calm. Pink-cheeked. Severe still, and stiff, sturdy and sharp. But she was softer , and Bilba realized she had certainly had some mead.