Bag End is already too small by the time Gandalf finishes talking.

Too many voices layered over one another, too much movement, plans stacking on plans until the air hums with it. Something beginning. Something loud and inevitable. I’m perched sideways on a chair clearly built for hobbits and definitely not dwarves, boots hooked around the rungs, half listening to Thorin argue logistics and half watching Bilbo pace himself into a nervous spiral.

Then the door opens again.

I don’t look at first.

Bofur’s laugh reaches me before anything else—bright, unmistakable. Bombur follows, heavier steps, the floor answering him with a soft protest. Familiar. Comfortable.

And then—

Something shifts.

Not sound. Not movement. Just… a feeling. Like the room has inhaled and forgotten to let it out again.

I turn.

And my heart just stops.

Oh.

She stands in the doorway like she belongs there. Like the space was waiting for her. Copper-dark hair pulled back in a way I know without knowing how, years having sharpened her edges without changing the shape of her at all. She’s broader in the shoulders than I remember. Stronger. Settled. But the way she stands—balanced, alert, already reading the room like stone and shadow are speaking to her—

It’s her.

Ríka.

I’m on my feet before my brain even catches up.

The chair tips. A stool clatters. I think I knock another one over with my heel but I don’t care because my chest feels too tight and my grin hurts my face and—

“That’s her,” I whisper fiercely, elbowing Fíli hard enough that he grunts. “That’s her. That’s Ríka. Mahal, it’s actually her.”

Fíli blinks. Looks at her. Looks back at me. “You’re sure?”

“Sure?” I scoff, already moving. “I’d know her anywhere. Dís used to let her sit with her when we were children. Remember? She braided her hair that one time and Mother nearly lost her mind.”

Bofur clears his throat, loud and proud. “We brought our Unna, Ríkdâsha,” he announces.

She steps fully into the room.

And that’s it. That’s the end of whatever composure I might’ve had.

Memories hit me all at once—running through Erebor’s halls, her laughter echoing off stone, the way she never backed down from a dare. The way she stood her ground even when we were stupid enough to challenge her. She was always there.

Until she wasn’t.

I weave through the Company without thinking, ducking past Balin and skidding to a stop a little too close, a little too fast.

“Hi,” I blurt, breathless and grinning like a complete idiot. “Hi—Mahal, you’re really here. You’re actually here.”

She looks at me.

Just looks.

And it feels like standing in the sun after years underground.

I laugh, soft and shaky. “I knew it. I told Fíli you’d come back. Well—okay, I didn’t tell him. I just… hoped very loudly. For a long time.”

Thorin pauses behind me. I can feel his attention like a weight between my shoulder blades. I don’t turn.

“I haven’t seen you in forever,” I continue, words spilling out faster than I can stop them. “You look— I mean— not that you didn’t before, you always did, but— how have you been? Are you well? You came all this way— did you eat? Bombur packed extra but he never tells anyone until after—”

I stop just long enough to breathe.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” I say, quieter now, honest enough it almost scares me. “Really glad.”

She doesn’t turn away. Doesn’t retreat. The warmth in her expression answers more than words ever could.

My grin comes back, unstoppable.

“Oh—and you missed so much,” I add immediately, already gesturing wildly. “Erebor, obviously, and then… well, everything after. You wouldn’t believe some of it. I’ll tell you later. Or now. I can tell you now if you want. I’ve got so much to tell you—”

I realize I’m still talking when Fíli clears his throat beside me.

I don’t stop.

Because she’s here.

And after all these years, I’m not letting a single moment of it slip past me.

Not now. Not again.