OK, one more (just because I'm in a giggly mood), and then no more of this nonsence! :P
Billie felt her knees buckle, her head swim, her heart fluttering in her chest, her hands growing clammy, while she felt her pulse in the throat, and she swallowed with difficulty. The Dwarf standing in her door frame was astonishingly beautiful. He perhaps lacked the traits that any normal Hobbit would consider attractive: his nose was too long, there was facial hair, and his silky wavy ebony strands with silver streaks in them were just asking for a cut, and because of the boots Billie could not quite see, but she suspected that his feet - the main attraction in a man for any respectful Hobbit female - were small and hardly hairy. And yet Billie swooned.
He was looking down, as if to show his best angle, and then the thick, fluffy lashes - too long and feathery for a severe Dwarven warrior that Billie intuitively guessed he was - flew up, and he threw her a smouldering look. Billie shivered.
"Gandalf! I thought this place would be easy to find. I lost my way - twice. I would not have found it at all, if not for the mark on that door," the man rumbled, drawing the thick black brows together.
"What mark on the door?" Bilba squeaked, quickly recovering from her shock. "It was painted a week ago! There is no mark on that door!"
"There is a mark," said the Wizard. The Dwarf continued standing in the door frame and looking good. "I left it there myself."
"Bilba Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield." The tall and enticing Dwarf stepped in, invading Billie's personal space, and shaking off his cloak, revealing a fur collared coat over a dashing looking brigandine, more of a long waistcoat really, and Billie felt flustered by the view of his wide masculine shoulders and strong neck with pronounced tendons. She felt acutely uncomfortable in her cozy quilted house robe. She had made it herself and had received plenty of compliments from those who happened to see her in it, as well as her other garments she had happened to conjure, as she was very proficient with a needle and in patchwork, and yet she felt like running to her wardrobe and changing.
Billie shook off her unease and proudly lifted her chin. Firstly, she had not invited either of her new friends to her home. And secondly, she was not changing for any man. After all, she was her own independent woman. And another thought crept into her mind seemingly against her will. It was not like she could look any better anyway. She was no charming debutante on the Hobbiton Annual May Cotillion Revel.
"So, this is the Hobbit," rumbled the imposing Dwarf. Goosebumps ran Billie's back from his velvet baritone, as smooth and sweet as her Aunt Milly's double chocolate fudge. He looked her over, cocking one thick black brow. "Looks more like a debutant on a Spring ball than a burglar."
Billie immediately felt her temper rise. Who did he think he was?! she thought. She was feeling all sort of confusing feelings, the feeling of wounded pride, that made her feel irritated, and the feeling of admiration that she felt - of course - towards the noble and honourable character of the Dwarf that she intuitively felt was there, and not at all towards his looks. All these feelings made her feel all sorts of things, and some of the feelings were confusing, and some she couldn't quite understand.
But Bilba Baggins was no silly woman to be confused by long nosed, swashbuckling Dwarves. She was Bilba Baggins of Bagend. She decorously invited the Dwarf to the table and even treated him to a bowl of her best pheasant stock soup with thyme, basil, parsley, bay leaf, rosemary, and tarragon, parsnips, turnips, and carrots, served with slices of her best freshly baked sourdough bread.
Then all sorts of boring and alarming discussion happened, and Billie found herself offered a position of a burglar in the company of Thorin Oakenshield.
Bilba refused firmly, only lamenting that surely the company of thirteen, war hardened Dwarves, and a Wizard with unknown but clearly impressive powers were sure to find their sure demise in the most tragic way without her help and supervision.
After settling her guests down with another teapot and another of her best blueberry and raspberry pies, Billie sank in her favourite, pale green armchair, and sipped her favourite chamomile.
"Bilba Baggins, I expected more from a daughter of Belladonna Took." The Wizard sat in front of her and gave her a kind look over, his eyes twinkling with mirth and amusement.
"I am Baggins of Bagend, Gandalf the Grey, " Billie softly reminded him. "I can't just go running off into the blue!"
"Did you know that your great great grandfather?!.." the Wizard started, and Billie puffed air, and interrupted him.
"I cannot just go, Gandalf, as much as they need me, and as much as you ask me. I can't sign it. I have my duties and responsibilities here!"
"But what of your responsibilities towards them?" the Wizard pointed towards the living room, where - as little as Billie wanted to think of him - the grumpy King sat with his warriors.
Billie mournfully shook her head, and then the Wizard puffed out a ring of aromatic smoke, and gave her a cheeky look from his squinted eyes from under cocked brow.
"But what about the prophecy, Bilba Elizabeth Baggins? Are we going to pretend it isn't what you're thinking about right now?"
Bilba's cheeks flamed.
"It's just an old nursery rhyme! I'm not the lost Heir of Durin, the Bespoke Half, the Progeny of Aule!"
"What did you just say?" the King's low emotional voice rumbled from the door, and Billie gasped.
How had he managed to creep up and eavesdrop on her and the Wizard and overhear about the prophecy of her being the Saviour of Longbeards completely by accident, considering how squeaky Billie's floorboards were?!
Seriously, that's it. No more ;)