Chapter Text
Kíli positioned himself carefully to keep Dwalin between him and his Uncle as they walked through the inn; the Green Dragon, so the sign said. Odd name, and one that some of the Company had muttered held nothing but bad tidings for the quest, but the picture on the sign, of the titular drake holding an overflowing mug, its mouth open in either song or preparation to throw back its drink, was so merry-looking that he felt a bit hopeful. It didn’t seem possible that something so cheerful, and an inn so welcoming (once the occupants were deep enough in their cups not to be as wary of them as they had been at the beginning of the night) and a place so peaceful, could mean anything but good fortune for them all.
He snorted quietly at his superstition, but a thundering yell had him crouching a bit behind Dwalin to be sure Thorin couldn’t see him. Thorin wasn’t angry at him, of course, but it had taken over three months of grueling tests and challenges before he would even grudgingly allow Kíli to come along; Kíli had no intention of risking his place in the Quest to reclaim their home because he had the bad luck to catch his Uncle’s attention at the wrong time.
Although, if nothing else, Kíli was glad of the tests for the simple reason that seeing how hard he’d had to work had shut Gimli up. At barely forty-four, he was far too young to join the Company.
Kíli, at fifty-nine, was barely more qualified, but he’d proven himself. He was on shaky ground, but he was a member of the Company, just like Fíli. Thorin reached a new decibel, and Kíli offered an apologetic smile to the trembling barkeep. “YOU HAUL US ALL TO THIS LAND OF INDOLENT FARMERS, AND FOR WHAT?!?”
Impressively loud even for one of the Big Folk, Tharkûn roared back, “FOR SOMETHING YOU DESPERATELY NEED, AND WILL CERTAINLY FAIL WITHOUT!”
Shoving the doors open, Thorin did lower his voice a fraction, but Kíli could still see more than a few Halflings hiding, wide-eyed. “Then we will certainly fail, for you have failed to procure it!”
Tharkûn began to answer the accusation, but Dwalin cut him off, running ahead and divesting Kíli of his cover in the process. “Oi! Steal a single pony and I’ll have your hide!”
Moving to the side with Fíli, they had an excellent view of the supposed thief, or at least of his back: slightly built, as were all of these Halflings, but taller and thinner than most, coming to his shoulder, he would guess, rather than to the middle of his chest, which was the tallest he’d seen until now; longer hair than most, as well, tumbling down below his shoulders in brassy curls; amber-brown skin was visible under the ludicrously short trousers all the men-folk seemed to wear here. Kíli took all this in in an instant, sharpshooter’s eyes flicking from one detail to the next. Then the ‘thief’ turned around.
The sight of a young, coolly intelligent, but undoubtably female face (with a figure that was just visible through the open, too-large jacket to be just as undoubtably female) seemed to chase all coherent thought out of Kíli’s head, and he glanced slowly at Fíli to see the same shock on his sister’s face; Dwalin seemed just as shocked, as he’d stopped dead in the road as soon as she turned. The girl’s words were clear, a low, silvery voice carrying them easily through the open space, but it took a moment for Kíli to process them through his astonishment. “Stealing one of your ponies would seem to be somewhat counterintuitive, seeing as how I’m coming with you.”
At the same moment as Fíli, Kíli let out a shocked exhale; no one spoke to Dwalin like that, not even Thorin. Actually, considering most Halflings quailed at the mere sight of him, that made this girl remarkably brave. Or was she a woman? Her voice was mature enough, and what he could see of her figure was as adult as any of the women he’d seen in the inn, but to look at her face, he wasn’t sure she wasn’t closer to his age than to Ori’s; the lack of beard would’ve erased all doubt if Tharkûn hadn’t already informed them all that virtually no Halflings could grow beards. Dwalin looked just as shocked, but Tharkûn stepped forward before anyone else could, something lost and awed and old in his face. “Belladonna?”
The girl’s face tightened a fraction, but her voice was no less composed. “Belda. And before you tell me that I look exactly like my mother, bear in mind that that doesn’t tend to be meant as a compliment here in Hobbiton.”
Tharkûn shook his head slowly, leaning on his staff a bit more than usual. “I went to Bag-End yesterday morning—”
“To invite Mum on an adventure, I’m aware. I heard you from the study.” At the interruption, Kíli’s jaw dropped further; normally, only Thorin had the nerve to interrupt Tharkûn.
As Kíli expected, Tharkûn’s expression darkened into a scowl, but there still wasn’t half as much irritation in it as there usually was when it was directed toward Thorin. “If you heard me, then why did you not greet me as you should have? And why was that horrible woman in your home? I sincerely doubt even Bungo could have any patience for her.”
The girl’s expression darkened as well, but far more than Tharkûn’s, and now her voice did shake. “In order, I did not greet you because the last time I was foolish enough to let my guardians catch on that I wasn’t being entirely ‘proper’ and ‘Bagginsish’, I was confined to my room for a month. That ‘horrible woman’, to which I could add any number of descriptors, was in Bag-End because she has spent the last eleven years ensuring it is her home, not mine. And you’re right.” Inhaling deeply, eyes shining slightly as she craned her head up to meet Tharkûn’s gaze, her voice was even more unsteady when she continued. “Da would never have tolerated her, and Mum’s probably been rolling in her grave since they received custody of me.”
A shuddering breath escaped Tharkûn, and he rasped, “She— when?” Riveted by the scene as he was, Kíli couldn’t help but be a little fascinated by Tharkûn’s reaction; he’d never seen the wizard show anything but cool composure unless he was arguing with Thorin. But he also had to sympathize with the girl, Belda. He knew what it was to lose a parent.
She stared impassively at the wizard for a long moment, and spoke much more quietly than before. “You should have stayed a bit longer, last time. Then you might not have missed the funeral.”
His eyes fell closed, and an immense, pained sorrow seemed to radiate from him. “The Winter.”
Slowly, Belda nodded. “The Winter. They died less than a fortnight after you left. By spring, I and Bag-End were turned over to Longo and Camellia.”
Somewhat blearily, Tharkûn frowned. “Not to Gerontius? Or even to Mirabella?”
At the first name, the girl’s face had shuttered, and Kíli had a feeling why; at the second, she looked away and down, tilting her face away from Tharkûn and toward Fíli and Kíli. “I… wasn’t well. At first. Longo convicted Grandfather that I needed a steady, calming influence, not like in Tuckborough or Buckland. That ruled out all of Mum’s family, and since Longo and the rest would be taking Bag-End anyway, Grandfather thought it would be easiest for me to stay with them, where I was comfortable.”
Thinking over her earlier words, Kíli murmured, “That didn’t work out, then.” The girl’s eyes jumped to his as soon as he spoke, and he blinked at her, hardly daring to think she’d actually heard him from such a distance. Uvarovite-green eyes, stunningly vivid, flicked over him, then over Fíli, and he could only guess that she hadn’t noticed them until then.
Thorin stepped forward a moment later, glowering. “That doesn’t answer the question of why you seem to think you can simply join our Company.”
Belda raised an eyebrow at him. “Gandalf came to Bag-End yesterday for the express purpose of inviting Mum on an adventure. Seeing as how Mum was virtually the only Hobbit remotely qualified for anything of the sort, and given the complaints you so helpfully shouted loud enough for my cousins in Buckland to hear, you really need any Hobbit, not just my mother. And if you need any Hobbit, then that must mean that you need stealth, seeing as how that’s really all we’re better at than anyone else. And given that you’re in dire enough need that you followed Gandalf to… what did you call it? A ‘land of indolent farmers’? Well, I’m not sure how you can really turn down a willing volunteer.”
The sunny day seemed to dim as Tharkûn drew himself up, towering over Belda with more than his six feet, or so it seemed to Kíli. “You are not of age, Belladonna Baggins, and I will not desecrate your father’s memory by putting you in harm’s way.”
Impressively, she stood her ground, and just glared tiredly at the Wizard. “I may not be of age until autumn, but I haven’t been a child for eleven years, Gandalf. Da may not have had a taste for adventure himself, but he always supported Mum’s excursions, and ‘desecrating his memory’ would be leaving me here, with relatives he couldn’t stand, to be boxed in and confined until I am a shadow of myself, and every trace of my mother, of the woman he loved more than life, is erased beyond memory.” Tharkûn shrank slightly, the shadows fleeing as the sun brightened again, but she didn’t soften her glare a jot. “I will not stay in that smial a day longer, Gandalf. If you refuse to allow me to come with you, I’ll just follow you, and you’ll never even glimpse me until it’s too late for you to take me back here.”
Dwalin scoffed. “Do you think us blind, girl? We’ve been learning to hunt and track since before you were born; we’ll catch you in a day.”
Shaking his head, Tharkûn waved off Dwalin’s assertion. “No, unfortunately, she’s right. Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet; they can pass unseen by most, if they so choose, and unheard by all. Belladonna was more adept at the skill than most, and knowing her, she was only too glad to pass on her expertise. No,” he looked solemnly down at the victoriously smirking girl. “If Miss Baggins does follow us, even I will be unable to perceive her, barring anything unfortunate. We would have to keep a constant watch, and to return her to the Shire once she revealed herself, and we don’t have the time to spare.”
Now Thorin scoffed, and Kíli shared a concerned glance with Fíli; he wasn’t sure about the girl by any means, but if she was as skilled as Tharkûn thought she was, then they did need her, and if he was right that she shouldn’t come because she wasn’t quite of age, then neither should Kíli, since he wouldn’t be of age until nearly midsummer. “She would leave a life of careless ease so easily? No. No one would.” The bitter note in Thorin’s voice was obvious to Kíli, but he wasn’t sure that anyone else would hear it, comparatively unfamiliar with his uncle as they were.
Belda’s eyes darkened even further, then abruptly cleared, and she smiled at him, if it could be called that; the expression was as cold as ice, and as lethal as her namesake. “If you think that my life has been one of ‘careless ease’, then I suggest you ask Gandalf how he spent the Fell Winter, or you could ask any of the Hobbits currently eavesdropping on this conversation how my parents died and I was wounded, or, of course, you could ask Camellia how many times she’s barred me in my room or withheld my meals because I was behaving too Tookishly for her tastes.”
Tharkûn inhaled sharply at her mention of the second punishment, and she grinned wolfishly at him.
“In fact, I’m very nearly certain that when she hears about this, not only that I had an extended conversation with the Grey One, but that I asked Dwarves to take me with them, she’ll probably hold half my meals back for six months, at least. She’ll absolutely use it as proof that I’m incapable of making my own decisions and have me disinherited from what’s left of Bag-End. So, Gandalf, you have a decision to make. You can refuse to take me, and consign me to months or years of imprisonment in what should, by all rights, be my own home. You can refuse to take me, and leave me to scavenge what food I can while I follow you. Or, you can support my joining whatever this is and give me, at the very least, a way out of my cage.”
“‘Whatever this is’?” Ori sounded scandalized, which Kíli could understand, but he wasn’t sure he agreed; she obviously hadn’t been told anything of their purpose. “Don’t you know?”
Her eyes hardened as they fixed on something out of Kíli’s field of vision, almost certainly Ori. “No, I don’t, and to be perfectly blunt, I don’t care. I have seen enough trouble and violence to last a lifetime, far too much. And I would rather see another lifetime’s worth, I would rather live through another Fell Winter, I would rather face a bloody dragon, than stay here.”
Kíli huffed out a quiet laugh at the irony in her words at the same moment that Tharkûn did. “Thoroughly unHobbitish.”
In a display of more temper than she’d shown until then, Belda snapped, “Why do you think I want to leave?” As soon as the words were out, she stilled, closing her eyes for a brief moment, then fixed them thoughtfully on Thorin. “Are you going past Rivendell?”
Thorin scowled, but Balin answered her calmly. “Within a few leagues. We don’t intend to visit.”
Nodding, she looked at Thorin again. “A compromise, then. Even on ponies, it’ll take several weeks to get so close to Rivendell. You allow me to accompany you that far, and if I’ve proven to be nothing but a useless child, send me to Rivendell and I’ll find my way from there. No arguments, I won’t follow you, and you’ll never see me again. But if I prove capable, you accept me as a part of your Company.”
For a few moments, Thorin just stared at her, a challenge in his eyes; she held his gaze steadily, and simply waited. At the sound of an ear-piercing screech, both of them, along with Kíli himself, whipped around to try and locate the source. Quietly, Belda spoke, and Kíli turned to her to see that she was wide-eyed and looked more nervous than she had when speaking to Kings and Wizards. “And I think Camellia just realized I’m gone. Whatever you’re going to decide, I’d prefer you did it quickly; a quick getaway will be far easier on horseback. Well, pony-back, but either way, she’s not much of a runner.”
An outraged sputter pulled both his and her eyes to an older Hobbit man, far shorter and stouter than her, with lighter skin. “You will do no such thing, you— you ungrateful waste of a Baggins! Camellia’s been kinder to you than you deserve, you Took! You’ve been a disgrace to the family since the Fell Winter, and I won’t stand for such flagrantly unHobbitish behavior!”
With a geniality that even Kíli could tell was paper-thin, she smiled, sickly-sweet, at the purple-faced Hobbit. “All the more reason for me to leave, Uncle Bingo, so that you can wash your hands of me.”
At her words, the rest of the Hobbits hiding in the woodwork seemed to gain a measure of courage, and Fíli and Kíli had to move closer to the group to avoid being trapped in the crowd; the Hobbits kept out of arms’ reach of her, but the stream of insults and criticisms they loosed was frankly shocking. Now that he was closer, he could see that he’d been right: she was barely tall enough to come to his shoulder, and half a head or more taller than any of the other Hobbits. The result was an odd mix of delicate, petite girl, and willowy giantess, depending on whether he was comparing her to himself or to the Hobbits. But despite the fact that any Dwarf would consider her well within her rights to strike back at them, she ignored the Hobbits with a tired sort of resignation, and only gave Tharkûn a silent, pleading look.
Feeling as though he were being watched, Kíli turned to see that Thorin was staring at him, an unreadable look in his eyes. For several seconds, none of them moved, and the Hobbits’ abuses filled the air. Finally, Thorin growled out a sigh as only he could. “Fine! But only to Rivendell!”
The girl’s face lit up in a beaming grin that made her look even younger, if that were possible, even as the surrounding Hobbits redoubled their vitriol. Another outraged screech silenced them all for an instant, wiping away Belda’s smile, and Tharkûn cleared his throat. “If we don’t wish to be delayed further, I suggest we set out now.”
Most of Kíli’s attention was on Thorin as he rumbled out an agreement, but he didn’t miss the eager, slightly frantic way she nodded. He also didn’t miss the fact that while everyone else was mounting up, she stayed where she was, looking a bit lost. As subtly as he could, he elbowed Fíli and nodded to her; Fíli nodded once at him and stepped a bit closer to her. “Do you know how to ride?”
Rose-pink bloomed over her cheeks, even spreading over her nose and to her ears, (which Kíli had never seen before, and wasn’t sure why the sight called answering warmth to his own cheeks), but she kept her head high as she answered her, though her voice was more unsteady than before. “I’d thought to just keep up on foot for now.”
Another screech, this time close enough to be discernible as the words, ‘where is she’, and Kíli exchanged a panicked glance with Fíli while Belda paled. Nudging him, Fíli tilted her head toward Kíli’s pony, Myrtle, and Kíli nodded as he caught his sister’s meaning. He only hoped that Belda wouldn’t react too badly.
While Kíli mounted his pony, the crowd began to shift as Thorin, Gandalf, and the others at the front of the line edged their mounts forward, but all thought of subtlety flew out the window when a Hobbit boy even younger than Belda flung something toward her; Fíli’s hand snapped out almost too quickly for even Kíli to see, then opened with a wince to reveal a largish rock with sharp enough edges to have drawn blood. As Fíli spun, Kíli heard a rushed “Sorry about this, Miss” under the roar of the mob, and then Belda was sitting in front of him on Myrtle.
Mind momentarily blank due to the unexpectedly natural way she fit against him, he spurred his mount forward, able to go a bit faster than the rest had at first as the crowd had already cleared a path in front of them. Unfortunately, this also meant that he could either try (and fail, he could already tell) to ignore the way the pony’s gait made her rock against him, or he could steady her as best he could with an arm around her waist.
So, with a muttered apology, he went with the (slightly) better option. She stiffened further at the contact (which he could feel too well with the entire length of her against his chest, her curls slotting neatly under his chin and catching every now and then on his scruff), and, thanking Mahal that she couldn’t see the violent shade of red he could feel he’d turned, he just managed to keep his voice level. “We’ll be going a bit more quickly once we’re out of the town, and it might be hard for you to stay on, so—”
“No, fine, it— it’s fine.” Her voice was as unsteady as before, but really, after nearly being killed, he couldn’t hold it against her.
They rode a bit harder than was probably wise, but by midday, they’d reached another obstacle: a river. Bits and snatches of yet another argument between Gandalf and Thorin reached them, and Belda sighed. She’d relaxed against him, gradually, and settled into the rhythm of riding fairly well for someone who hadn’t even known how at first; yet another unfortunate effect of this was that now it was that much easier for Kíli to feel that she was practically skin and bones, compared to Dwarves and the Hobbits he’d seen. Keeping his head over hers, and feeling his chin bump into her scalp when he wasn’t careful, he asked quietly, “Can you hear what they’re arguing about?”
She was silent for a moment, most likely listening, then cleared her throat and answered just as quietly, and just as evenly as a few hours before. “Gandalf is taking us to the Brandywine Bridge as quickly as he can. The scowl-y one thinks we’re going the wrong way.” Momentarily speechless at her nickname for his King, Kíli tightened his grip on her unconsciously as she leaned forward. “Actually, he seems to want to ride over the Water to Budgeford, that way.”
She gave a tiny flick of her fingers north and settled gingerly against him again, some of her earlier stiffness returning. This time, one of her curls somehow found its way into his mouth, and he had to lean back to try and get it out without moving either of his hands; she stiffened further, and when he straightened enough to see, he realized that her hands were gripping the ends of her jacket, white-knuckled.
“I’m sorry, I should’ve tied it back—”
“No, it’s fine.” As soon as the words were out, he realized that he was echoing her, and felt another mortified blush creep up. Fíli, moving up to ride beside him while the road was wide enough, smirked at him, but stayed silent after Kíli glared at her. To be so familiar with any woman was presumptuous, but there really wasn’t any other option. It would be a long, awkward day, and there was nothing for it. Recognizing the look on Fíli’s face, Kíli hurried to speak before his older sister could embarrass him further. “Um, what did you call Uncle, again?”
“Un—” She stiffened again, and he could just see her grip tighten on her jacket as she took a slow breath before answering. “I’m sorry if I caused any offense, but I don’t know his name, so— but that’s my fault, isn’t it.”
The last sentence, emotionless and near-inaudible, sent chills down Kíli’s spine, and he glanced at Fíli as she hurried to speak. “His name’s Thorin Oakenshield, and I’m Fíli, at your service.”
Fíli gave a sort of half-bow from her pony, and Belda giggled softly. Quiet warmth spreading through his chest, Kíli tried to quash the goofy smile he could feel on his face. “And I’m Kíli.”
“Belda Baggins, at your service and your family’s. Although I suppose that goes without saying, if scow— if, um, Thorin is your uncle.”
Biting her lip against a smile, Fíli chuckled. “I suppose it does, a bit. And don’t worry about our being offended; we love Uncle dearly, but he does tend to be somewhat dour.”
Kíli chuckled. “He’s not always like this, of course, but he’s not exactly comfortable here.”
Scoffing, she started to say something, but a Hobbit on the side of the road interrupted her. “Belda?”
He was as tall as her, or nearly, but far better fed, and looked to be a bit older than the Hobbit who’d begun the onslaught that morning. Kíli pulled Myrtle to a halt as she answered, Fíli and most of the Company following suit. “Hello, Uncle Gorbadoc. You haven’t changed a bit.”
Staring up at her, eyes shining, he scoffed lightly. “I wish I could say the same, girlie. What’ve they been feeding you?”
Thorin and Tharkûn finally seemed to notice the holdup, and began to move closer; she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going back.” Expression shuttered, the Hobbit glanced uneasily between the Dwarves, but she shook her head again, raising her voice a fraction. “No, not because of them. Well,” she bobbed her head, nearly clipping Kíli’s chin, “yes, because of them in that they, with Gandalf’s endorsement, furnished my means of escape.”
She nodded to Gandalf as she named him, and he inclined his head to the Hobbit. Looking a tad more at ease, he looked up at her sadly. “You could stay with us.” The fondness in his face swept away any doubt Kíli might have had that the offer wasn’t genuine, but his tone seemed to indicate that he knew she wouldn’t accept it.
There must have been something in her expression that Kíli couldn’t see, as the Hobbit nodded mournfully a moment later. Her voice, when she spoke, was a bit thicker than it had been before, and shaking minutely. “Give my love to Aunt Mirabella, and to Prim. Tell Uncle Isengrim… Tell him he did what he thought was best, and that I never blamed him, or Grandfather.”
He shook his head. “Belda, if we’d known—”
“But you didn’t, and therefore, there was nothing you could’ve done.” She was silent for a moment, then quietly, almost too quietly to hear, finished, “Goodbye, Uncle.” Stepping back from the road, he said something of which Kíli only caught snatches of accented syllables. She simply inclined her head, and Tharkûn nodded sorrowfully, turning to face East again and prompting the rest of the Company to resume their journey.
More than a few of them stared at Belda a bit before they did, some (such as Dwalin) with disdain, some (such as Dori and Ori) sympathetically. He didn’t know what they were seeing, but Fíli was no help, as she just shrugged, wide-eyed, at Kíli. Clearing his throat, he tried, “Anyway, Uncle—”
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk just now.” At her voice, Kíli froze; it was even thicker and more shaky than before, and now he could feel her breath hitching softly. He had no idea what to do, and Fíli just shrugged again when he looked to her.
Swallowing nervously, he adjusted his grip on the reins. “All right.”
She didn’t say anything further, even once her breath evened out, but she leaned more heavily against him, and he kept a carefully-gentle hold on her for the rest of the day, not sure why he couldn’t quite banish the heat in his cheeks.