Disclaimer: I wish I owned The Hobbit, but I don't. All recognizable trademarks in this story belong to Tolkien and Jackson etc. respectively.

AN: Thanks for reading, and if you like it please leave me a review and let me know what you think :)

Notes: Bilbo is Bilba in this story, she and Thorin are involved, and nobody died at the Battle of Five Armies. I'm not entirely sure what else is going to come into play yet, so I guess we'll just wait and see!

preface

Bilba

April 2942

Bilba Belladonna Baggins crested the rise, and wanted to cry with relief at the sight of her familiar hill. It had been exactly a year to the day since she had run out of that same cozy hobbit hole. She probably had run right over this very spot, not even noticing it or bothering to look back because she was too caught up in catching the Company before they left and she lost all hope of escape. She had missed the Shire at first, had almost longed for Bag End and her comfy chair by the fire with its security. Bilba knew it was because she'd felt so alone amidst the Company at first, lost in their cultural references and confounded by their use of Khuzdul in her presence. Hell, if her father Bungo had seen what she'd done, had heard what she said to fit in, earn a few laughs, and ultimately to get their respect then he would be rolling in his grave. All of his life Bungo Baggins had done everything in his power to ensure that Bilba would come out as a proper little Baggins heir. When she was younger he had always tried to use female company to improve on her manners, hoping that the hobbit lasses' hobbies would rub off. It never did. When Bungo succumbed to a flu, shortly after Belladonna Took was murdered fighting off the wargs during the Fell Winter, Bilba was no less wild. If she could change things, then Bilba wished her father could have seen her the way she was before the Company showed up on her doorstep. It wasn't because she liked the Bilba before the Company, or because she regretted going with them, not even now. She might be coming back alone and in her condition, but she wished that Bungo could have seen her just once as a respectable hobbit, wished that he could have honestly told her at least once that he was proud of her.

Back before the Company, Bilba had become the right proper hobbit lass; the daughter that Bungo had always dreamed of. She might not have had love or much family in her life, but she'd been respected. Or, respected until she opened her door to find Thorin Oakenshield on her front step. Then, respectability had all gone to hell.

There simply was no other way to put it. Bilba sighed and tried to turn her mind away from the dwarf king, but it was a hopeless endeavour. They hadn't gotten along very well, he had scoffed at her attempt to join them and she had become determined to prove him wrong at every turn. She had started with Fíli, Kíli, and Ori, befriending the younger dwarrow and from there she'd let her Tookish determination take control. Sure, she might have messed up a few times, the trolls hadn't been her best moments, nor had falling off the side of the Mountain after Rivendell, but Thorin hadn't been able to rid himself of her as he'd first planned. Instead, she'd gotten under his skin; what she had tried time and time again to ignore, however, was the way that he'd gotten under hers as well. As though to remind her of exactly how under her skin Thorin Oakenshield had gotten, Bilba felt a fluttering in her lower abdomen.

"I know, we're almost home." Bilba found herself whispering, as she stroked the bump before pulling her cloak closer around her and looking back to the hill. She might have once thought about coming back to the Shire, but after she'd gotten to know the dwarrow she realized that it had never really been that strong of a dream. She hadn't fit in before and she certainly wouldn't now, but Bag End was the only home she had left. She was a Baggins, after all, she wasn't about to beg room and board off of someone else. She had her family's money and home, and she'd raise her child here. Straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin, Bilba looked back at the hill. She had faced down trolls, goblins, wargs, spiders, and even a living dragon not to mention the many other far more fearsome situations she'd been in. Bilba could ride back to her smial without shame. She had to.

Hobbiton was just as busy as she remembered, filled with brightly-dressed hobbits bustling about, up and down the hill just like normal. Up and down the hill; it was like there was a party, not that Bilba really felt up for partying. Still, it was almost like they were having a party for her, after all, they were coming in and out of her hobbit hole and they had presents. Then, Bilba's travel-weariness fell away and she realized that they were coming in and out of Bag End, and it wasn't presents that they were carrying; it was her furniture.

The curse that issued from her lips was a dwarvish one, Kíli had taught it to her, and for a moment she felt a pang of longing for her dwarrow, but then she kicked her poor pony in the flanks and headed towards her house. The hobbits in her way jumped to the side, horrified and scandalized, but as she'd juste reminded herself, the returning Bilba Baggins had faced a lot worse than gossiping hobbits; or at least that was what she told herself as she arrived at her beautiful round green door.

Later on, she'd admit that drawing Sting when she was questioned about her identity hadn't been the wisest choice, but exhausted, hungry, pregnant and hurt she hadn't exactly been thinking clearly. Plus, it had cleared the hobbits out quickly, and perhaps most of her furniture and belongings were gone, but she could lock her door and hide away from all of it and, it was hardly like she hadn't slept on the ground before.

No, it wasn't until the next morning when she tried to go to the market and buy food that she realized the colossal mistake she'd made. She might have changed, but the hobbits of the Shire hadn't. They still dealt in the pettiness of gossip, and Bilba had made herself the centre of exactly that. No one would sell to her, especially not once Lobelia Sackville-Baggins spotted her pregnant belly bump, and after that things got even worse.

Six Months Later

September 22, 2942

At a grand total of eleven months, Bilba was long past the point of a full-term hobbit pregnancy. What Bilba had to remember though, was that her daughter wasn't just a hobbit. Unfortunately though, none of the books that Elrond had in Imladris had information on dwarrow pregnancies. Apparently, like Khuzdul, their reproduction was a closely guarded secret. At times, waddling around the yard of her little smial Bilba wanted to kill them all for it. She was larger than she ever imagined was possible with no idea of when she could expect to be put out of her discomfort. What she didn't like to think about was also how this baby was going to be born. Every passing day, Bilba's child grew bigger, and alone at the smial, she felt as her fear continued growing. If she needed help, if anything went wrong, if her child grew any bigger; the what-ifs went on and on and worst of all there was no one that she could turn to, no one to ask. Gandalf had promised her that he would check in, but not once had he shown up, and Bilba would be lying if she hadn't been waiting and hoping that he would come, but perhaps since she was now a double exile perhaps he didn't care about her either. Bilba sighed and tried not to cry. She'd never thought she was dependent on others, but being completely isolated was fraying her nerves. Not being able to speak to anyone didn't help with it. Nor, Bilba supposed, did stealing her food. Sure she had started a garden, but it wasn't enough so several times a week she found herself donning her magic ring and going around the countryside. She knew better than to go to the town closest to her, but she also had a pony and so she'd ride farther afield and if a few hobbits found pies sitting on windowsills gone well, with so many fauntlings afield little nobody Bilba once-a-Baggins was not going to be their main suspect.

It had been nearly six months since Bilba had fled Bag End. She would have liked to say her move was of her own choice; it wasn't. Without anyone to sell her food or anything else, and with most of her possessions, she had left Hobbiton. Bag End might have been her home, but a home was worth nothing if you couldn't survive. When she left it might have been in the middle of the night, but Bilba reasoned it was because she didn't want to put up with the crowds of gossipers. She'd gone to the Bucklands, far from inquisitive Took relatives, and on the edge of the Old Forest where few hobbits would venture. Once there, she'd moved in to an abandoned smial, it was falling apart, but she'd cleaned it up as best as she could, given the empty windows shutters, and replaced the rotten door. Then, she'd moved her cart full of possessions inside and begun her garden using the few seeds and small plants that she'd brought with her from Bag End. They were all she needed, she told herself, and it was true. She had food to eat and a place to sleep; it might not be anything like Bag End's grandeur and, if her dwarrow ever did manage to track her to this little place, well, she knew they'd never all fit inside.

Her dwarrow. She missed them painfully, and it would be a lie to say she hadn't thought of going back to Erebor and simply facing her fate there. To be shunned as Bilba had been in Hobbiton was a fate akin to death according to hobbit standards. She had no money, a horrible place to live in, almost not enough food, and she was alone. It was miserable and she hated it, but then she thought about her daughter; her unborn daughter. To return to Erebor as an exile though, that would be a death sentence and Bilba was too much of a coward to actually do it. She'd packed a bag on more than one occasion before, but then she'd unpacked it. Shunned or not, she could still be a good mother she hoped and, after all, she'd always wanted to have fauntlings. Of course she'd pictured marrying a hobbit and raising their children in Bag End. Then, after she'd joined Thorin Oakenshield, it had turned into a dream that included Thorin and even that damn mountain. Bilba wanted to say that if she could do it all over that she wouldn't be so foolish, but the cold truth of the mater was she wouldn't change anything; she'd love him all over again.

It was in the evening, after supper on her thirty-fourth birthday, and she was sitting by her small hearth, book in hand when she felt the first pang of pain. She set the book aside, knowing that it was past the point of reading. Sure, she'd managed to get her hands on a few healing books, but she was terrified. Doing her best to stay calm, Bilba stood and went to the kitchen, intending to make another cup of tea and to have warm water at hand. She wished she could call for help, a midwife or someone else, but that was obviously not an option anymore.

Instead, Bilba found herself pacing the kitchen, the pains gradually coming more frequently and she prayed to all the gods above that this would be an easy birth. She worried, though, increasingly that it would not be, and as the hours wore one she feared more and more that come the dawn she and the babe would be dead of complications.