sleepyhead

Featuring Maglor ✨️

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CW - Mentions of miscarriage and blood.

Summary: Periods are not discussed in polite conversation in the Shire and when Oin doesn’t have any idea what she’s on about Bilba assumes that it’s the same in dwarven culture. She is wrong. There are no periods.

A/N - I know this is a lowkey overdone prompt but I just wanted to give it a go and put my own spin on it. On a real note, respect the uterus owners in your life, periods do in fact suck ass.

Bilba and the Company has been travelling for a few weeks at this point, past Bree and onto the open road. Despite the less than ideal start, forgetting her handkerchief and being called a ‘barmaid’ by their prestigious leader (for which she’d promptly thrown him out of her smial for before Gandalf soothed hurt feelings and persuaded her to let him back in), Bilba was beginning to feel more included among the Company.

Oin and Bombur seemed impressed by her knowledge of foraging for healing or cooking herbs respectively. Gloin had already spent many hours, possibly too many, telling Bilba stories of his wife and dear son Gimli once he realised she was willing to listen; not that she had a choice mind you. Bilba had been delighted to discover Ori’s love of reading and knitting as well as his oldest brother Dori’s love of tea and wine. Balin and Ori had spent quite a few slow afternoons passing the time with Bilba discussing hobbit culture and stories, occasionally sharing the odd tidbit about Dwarven legends. Of course Bofur, Nori, Fili and Kili had made concerted efforts to get to know Bilba from the start, teasing her, generally chatting her ear off and on the rare occasion trying to rope her into mischief.

It was only Dwalin and Thorin she hadn’t quite managed to crack yet. The latter she avoided as much as possible, trying to put as much space as was polite between herself and his royal grumpiness. The kindest thing he’d said to her so far on the road had been a wordless grunt when she’d passed him his bowl of stew one evening. Bilba could tell both he and Dwalin thought of her as some weak, defenseless liability and she did begrudgingly admit that they weren’t entirely wrong but hey, she’s been trying to learn how to defend herself with the two small daggers that Fili had lent her. Both of them eyed her with skepticism and largely ignored her, which was perfectly fine with Bilba and didn’t irritate or upset her at all, definitely not.

Bilba eased herself off Myrtle with a quiet groan, massaging her bum and lower back. The weeks of riding unforgiving on her poor rear but she had discovered to her secret delight that her muscles were firm beneath her thinning layer of respectable hobbit curves. She removed Myrtles saddle and her own packs, storing them as Fili had shown her and began brushing Myrtle’s coat with a brush she’d picked up in Bree. She’d just finished when an uncomfortable pang in her lower belly made her tense, and the realisation that she hadn’t had her monthly courses for a fair few weeks set in. With a quiet curse under her breath that would’ve winded her father, she rifled through her pack for her supplies but her hands came up empty.

Looking around for Oin, she spotted him organising his healing supplies and made her way over.

“Excuse me, Oin?” She asked quietly, making sure no one else was listening. It was rather improper to discuss these things in public.

“Aye lass, how can I help?” Oin paused in his task to look at her and find his ear trumpet.

“I wondered if you might have any supplies for-“ Bilba paused and looked around again, “- for my monthlies?”

“Fer your what?” Oin looked rather confused.

“Monthlies.” Bilba repeated in a low tone.

“Monthlies?” Oin asked loudly, his eyebrows furrowing.

Bilba hurriedly shushed him, looking a little scandalised. Slightly taken aback and more than a little befuddled, Oin lowers his voice and asks again.

“What are ‘monthlies’ lass?”

“You know, monthly cycles? ‘A woman’s time’?” Bilba looks at him, a little frustrated and confused by his confusion. Oin just looks at her and shakes his head. “Never heard of them.”

Bilba sighs, “Nevermind. Thanks anyway.” She turns away and goes back to her pack to rifle through her possessions for anything that could be used as rags. With a resigned sigh she tears up the underskirt of one of the dresses she had brought with her and worn in the earliest days of their venture before she realised trousers were a far more practical choice. Bilba notices a few members of the Company giving her a mixture of curious and amused looks from the corner of her eye but she ignores them, face aflame. She briefly wondered if cycles were very personal and private to Dwarven women or perhaps it was something simply not discussed in public.

Bilba does not sleep well, evidenced by her tossing and turning in discomfort through the night and the resultant birds nest that is her hair the following morning but also by her practically biting Nori’s head off first thing.

“Morning lass! Mahal, what happened to yer hair?” Bofur greets her jovially, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Did ye have a family of birds move in overnight?” He teases, tugging gentle on a curl. The dark, nigh on murderous look on her face does nothing to dissuade him as he calls Nori over. “Nori, come look at this! Almost as good as yer hair!”

Nori saunters over and immediately starts laughing, drawing the attention of the rest of the Company.

“Blimey, I think your comb will break trying to drag it through that.” Nori reaches out to touch the knotted mess only to have Bilba smack his hand away with a little more force than necessary. Nori and Bofur’s laughter stops, a little taken aback by the unusual behaviour from their normally friendly hobbit.

“Bilba?” Bofur asks, a little concerned. “Ye alright?” Bilba lifts her head, her eyes slightly bloodshot, glaring at them.

“Why don’t you bugger off.” Bilba snaps. “I’ve had an awful night and I’d appreciate some space. The lot of you are stifling so bother some other poor soul.” With that, Bilba stalks off towards the copse of trees to relieve herself. The rest of the camp stands in a stunned silence. “What was that about?” Bofur asks a similarly shocked Nori.

“No idea.” Nori replies, feeling a little hurt.

The camp begins packs up quietly, Bilba returns without speaking and packs up her bag a little more aggressively than usual. Fili leaves Bilba’s breakfast almost like a peace offering within arms reach. Bilba looks up at him and Fili freezes, looking remarkably like a rabbit seeing a fox.

“Thank you but I’m not hungry.” Bilba says stiffly. Most of the dwarves jaws collectively drop.

“Not hungry?” Kili pipes up. “Are you unwell?” Bilba glares at him and Kili promptly shrinks back behind his brother.

The rest of the morning is spent at a careful distance from Bilba and her new found temper. Even Thorin eyes her with a different wariness, like she might explode at any moment. Bilba herself is fighting an internal war with both her guilt for snapping at them and her irritation at the way the dwarf closest to her is breathing. It certainly doesn’t help that her uterus feels like it’s trying to claw her way out of her body and it feels like Myrtle is trying to deliberately walk over every single bump on the track. Her face is getting paler by the hour, her frame tense with a white knuckle grip on the reins and her other arm a band of iron protectively covering her stomach. Eventually Dori’s mother hen nature can’t take it anymore and he slows his pony to join her at the back.

“Bilba, is everything alright?” He asks gently. “You look very pale dear, are you sure you wouldn’t like something to eat?” Bilba’s stomach rolls at the mention of food so she doesn’t trust herself to open her mouth and just simply shakes her head. Dori frowns further, “Are you feeling unwell? Should I fetch Oin?” Again, Bilba shakes her head and gets out through gritted teeth. “I am well, thank you Dori.” Dori reaches out a hand but thinks better of it and just nods. “Well, let me know if you need anything.” And speeds up to ride alongside Balin.

When they stop briefly for lunch, Bilba doesn’t even look at the offered food, instead opting to sit at the edge of the group looking at the landscape. Regardless Bombur wraps one of the rolls, some cheese and jerky in some cloth and tucks it into Bilba’s bag. “Just in case.” He says with a kind smile. To which Bilba just bursts into tears, burying her face in her hands. Bombur immediately panicked, steps back with his hands up. Dori whirls round from where he’s been fussing over his brothers, takes one look at the crying hobbit and hisses “What did you do?” Bombur with wide eyes confesses “Nothing I think. Just packed some lunch into her pack for later.” Bilba lifts her head from her hands and wipes her eyes. “Sorry, didn’t mean to get weepy. That was very kind of you Bombur, thank you.” Slightly disturbed, Kili turns to Fili and quietly whispers “I think she’s been cursed.” Fili swats him gently but privately wonders the same thing.

That evening, Thorin calls camp down by a nearby stream. Citing the need to refill water supplies as well as give themselves and their clothes a good scrub down. Bilba hesitates getting off of Myrtle, the tell tale tightness in her pelvic floor telling her it would be a really *really* bad idea for her to move at all. But she knows she can’t stay up there forever, besides the cramping is getting worse and a nice dip in the river sounds lovely. She reasons she can also wash the blood out if her trousers do get stained. She steels her nerves and swings one leg over, immediately feeling the gush of blood. Now feeling quite embarrassed, Bilba hurriedly got off Myrtle, rushed through her care and practically sprinted down to the river to wash her clothing. Bilba found a quiet spot upstream where she could strip down and bathe without anyone seeing. She breathed a sigh of relief realising the staining to her trousers was fairly minimal but her small clothes were a complete loss. After washing her clothes and leaving them to dry on a nearby rock in the sun, Bilba did the awkward little ‘fuck me, it’s cold dance’ in the stream until her body acclimatised to the water and she could get on with washing her hair and bathing. Her peace was interrupted by rowdy shouting from her dwarves downstream who were probably wrestling in the water again.

Dinner is a more pleasant and relaxed affair than breakfast, full of laughter and the banter flowing freely. Noticing Bilba’s easy laughter and bright smiles, the Company do their best to keep the energy up and Bilba happy. It had seemed strange without their happy hobbit chattering away to fill the long, tiring hours of riding and the lightness of her presence had been sorely missed. Those on the night watch head to bed and Bilba elects to join them, still pale enough to cause some concern but nevertheless they all wish her goodnight and Dori gives her a knowing look.

Tonight doesn’t go any easier for Bilba either. The second day is always the worse and without pain relief to take off the edge, the cramps begin to worsen. Gloin who takes the 2nd slot begins to notice Bilba’s unconscious discomfort. His brow creases with worry watching her turn and toss in her bedroll, whimpering in her sleep. It’s soon evident he’s not the only one to notice as her distress begins to wake other members of the company.

“Whazzat?” A half-asleep Nori shoots up in bed and is quickly shooshed by Ori “It’s Bilba.” Oin is already grabbing his bag and making his way over while Bifur, seeing the sweat on her forehead pulls back her blanket. His noise of horror properly wakes up the camp at the sight of her underclothes and trousers soaked with fresh blood, seeping into her bedroll. Oin’s eyes go wide as he starts barking instructions. “Mahal’s balls! Start boiling some water. Someone find some clean cloths. Elevate her head!” Everyone scrambles to obey.

A very disorientated Bilba wakes a strangely watery eyed Thorin clutching her hand like he thinks she’s going to float away.

“Thorin?” She asks blearily. “What’s happening?” He opens his mouth to respond when a hand which she takes a moment to realise is Dori’s gently shushes her and strokes her hair from her face.

“It’s alright. Everything is going to be okay.”

Bilba blinks once, then twice. She tries to sit up, the movement causing her cramps to twinge in her back, her face contorting into a grimace. Immediately hands are on her shoulders, guiding her back to lie on the ground. The sound of scissors cutting through cloth registers, there’s a beat where Bilba realises the noise is someone cutting through her trousers.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Bilba scrambles to her feet, her trousers and small clothes now half hanging off her due to the large cut from the waist band to the middle of her thigh.

“What in Yavanna’s name do you think you’re doing?!”

Thorin put his hands out defensively, like he’s trying to placate a skittish pony, he speaks in a low soothing tone. “It’s all okay Bilba, let us help you.”

“Help me what?” Bilba practically shrieks, trying to hold her trousers together. She spots the patch of blood on her bed roll, groaning internally as she knows that’s going to be a bugger to wash out.

“There’s no shame in losing a babe Bilba, we are all here to support you.” Thorin slowly approaches her, cautiously reaching for her.

That makes Bilba pause, confusion written over her face.

“What?”

“Bilba, everything will be alright. I know the loss may take some time to sink in and it may not have fully hit you yet.”

Behind Thorin, Bofur is sobbing into his hat, Bifur rubbing his back consoling him, his own eyes looking teary. Kili is staring into the middle distance, looking lost in thought, pain clear in his expression; even Dwalin looks upset.

Bilba wants to crawl into a little hole and hide, she takes a deep breath.

“I’m not pregnant. This is just my monthly course.” A bright red blush to rival her prize winning tomatoes spreads from her cheeks up to her ears.

The entire camp goes silent, staring. “Your what now?”

This couldn’t get more embarrassing.

“My monthly.” At 13 blank facial expressions, she carries on.

“You know, a monthly cycle? A woman’s time?” No luck there either apparently.

“I don’t know, do dwarven women call it something different?”

“Call what different? I still don’t understand.” Thorin is looking at her like she’d just told him that she was going to skip to Erebor and invite Smaug to afternoon tea. Bilba just sighs.

“When women bleed for a few days once a month from her uterus if she doesn’t get pregnant? Do dwarven ladies not have this?” This was apparently the wrong thing to say as Oin asks rather horrified “You’ve got internal bleeding?” Dori proceeds to strong arm her back into lying on the ground to be inspected.

“What?! No, no, not like that! This is perfectly normal!” Bilba shouts, trying to prevent Oin from pulling off her trousers. She was wrong, it could get more embarrassing.

“Internal bleeding is normal for female hobbits?!” Thorin looks like he might be sick. “Oh Mahal.”

Bilba scrambles away, out of the ‘helpful’ hands of Oin.

“Enough! I am fine.” None of the dwarves are making eye contact with her, where are they- oh my gods her trousers are around her knees. Bilba looks skyward and wonders why Yavanna has forsaken her.

About half an hour later Bilba, now clean and in a fresh pair of trousers, is sat on a log around the fire, stitching the large cut back together in the aforementioned trousers from earlier. Her dwarven companions sit in various stages of shock, horror and disgust, having just had the twenty minute crash course in hobbit biology. The fire crackles in the otherwise quiet night, a sharp contrast to earlier. Ori breaks the silence.

“Every month? You…you do this every month?”

“Yep. For about 40 years give or take.” Bilba responds, not even looking up from her sewing.

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