Chapter Text
Bilbo feels nothing but resignation in his heart. It’s been three weeks since his announcement, an event that, under normal circumstances, was meant to be a joyous occasion in Hobbiton. For Bilbo Baggins, it had only led to pain and suffering.
A hobbit’s announcement was always supposed to be a wonderful occasion celebrating the revelation of one’s secondary gender. Everyone is invited to partake in the ceremony and the following festivities, which more often than not leads to many hobbits finding partners and mates for themselves. And then that leads to more parties.
In Bilbo’s case, however, he had been announced an omega. It has been a great many generations since the Shire had borne an omega, what with the steady female population. Omegas were just not needed among the hobbits like they were among the other races, and hadn’t been for generations. It is simply unheard of.
Naturally, everyone is in uproar over it.
Before, Bilbo had always prided himself on being a model gentlehobbit. As a Baggins—of Bag End, especially—it was only expected of him to be an upstanding hobbit of the community. After his mother had passed away, he had put aside all Tookish notions of adventures and traveling and presented himself in a manner that would’ve made his father proud, had he been alive to see it. As such, when he was announced an omega he had felt as if everything he knew had been shaken to the ground.
While no one is really sure of the particulars, it is common knowledge that omegas were supposed to be subservient to their alphas; that they were nothing without their alpha. Unbound as he is, Bilbo knows his independence will not last much longer and he locks himself away in Bag End to spend it alone.
At some point a letter from the Thain arrives, a thick parchment envelope left on his doorstep that he had happened to find on the rare occasion he bothers to step outside. It contains several pages that appear torn from a book and one letter concerning his mating. His mating! Bilbo has to read the letter twice before it sinks in that a mate has been chosen for him, and they are set to meet in one week’s time.
Setting the letter aside, he reaches for the pages the note says are about proper habits for an omega, since there is no one living to instruct him. From what he understands after skimming tem, these so-called proper behaviors are appallingly barbaric and Bilbo dreads ever having to live by them. No eye contact, proper addresses, everything belonging to his alpha…it is absolutely stifling!
The Took blood in him boils at the thought of living like some beaten dog simply because of the random draw of biology. However, there isn’t much he can do. There is little to no standard for a hobbit omega, so they have no choice but to look to tradition. And hobbits do so love their tradition. With no close family and his mother and father dead, Bilbo has no one to argue against his treatment; he is stuck.
As the meeting with his chosen alpha approaches, Bilbo grows more resigned to his fate. It weighs heavily upon the hobbit’s shoulders, leaving him a pale imitation of the gentlehobbit he was once known as. In his melancholy, he often takes to smoking his pipe on the bench out in the front of his garden as he enjoys the last few days of his freedom.
He blows out a ring of smoke, idly wondering if his new alpha will let him keep up the habit, when he notices a tall man in gray robes standing at his gate. “Good morning,” he greets, remembering his manners because he is still a Baggins of Bag End.
“What do you mean?” the man replies. “Do you mean to wish me a good morning, or do you mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not? Or, perhaps you mean to say that you feel good on this particular morning. Or, are you simply stating that it is a morning to be good on?”
Bilbo frowns, more than a little confused. “All of them at once, I suppose.” He isn’t entirely sure what to make of the odd man, or the disapproving look he regards him with after his answer. “My good manners dictate that I wish you a good morning, and the weather is particularly nice today so it does seem to be a good morning whether you wanted it to be or not. I wouldn’t go so far as to say my morning has been good, but neither has it been bad, and one should always strive to be good, morning or not.” The man chuckles, his eyes dancing in a mischievous manner that leaves Bilbo all the more uncomfortable. “Can I help you?” he asks.
“That remains to be seen. I’m looking for someone to share in an adventure.”
Gone is the confusion and Bilbo now regards the man thoughtfully. An adventure sounds like just the thing to distract him from the current ordeal he has found himself in. But then he remembers his situation and finds himself shaking his head. An adventure in itself is dangerous, but as an unbound omega? It is far too much of a risk that no sane hobbit would ever undertake. “I don’t imagine you’ll find anyone around here interested in adventures.”
Bilbo stands, putting out his pipe. “Good morning,” he bids the strange man once again, turning to head back into his smial. He makes it to his door before the man speaks up again.
“To think that I should have lived to be good-morninged by Belladonna Took’s son, as if I were selling buttons at the door! You’ve changed, Bilbo Baggins, and not entirely for the better.”
He sighs, feeling the weight of his newfound status once-again on his shoulders. “Yes, well, being announced the first omega in the shire in generations tends to have some effect on one’s outlook,” he retorts.
The man appears surprised. “It’s a shame I wasn’t invited, although I am not really surprised. Your mother was capable of rather extraordinary things; giving birth to the first omega in many years is not something I would have put past her.”
Bilbo’s expression tightens for a moment as he resists the urge to run inside and escape this horrid conversation with the man. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“Well, you know my name, although you don’t remember I belong to it,” the man huffs. “I’m Gandalf! And Gandalf means…me.”
Bilbo spins to face the man, having a name to put to the face suddenly reminding him of memories long past; parties with the old Took and bright fireworks exploding in the sky. “Gandalf! I had no idea—I had almost forgotten you,” Bilbo exclaims.
Gandalf’s eyes narrow as he regards the hobbit, and then he nods. Bilbo’s unease starts to return under the wizard’s determined expression. “Well, that’s decided. It will be very good for you, and most amusing for me. I shall inform the others.”
“Inform who?” Bilbo splutters. “What? No. No. No!” The wizard only appears all the more determined, and so Bilbo retreats into Bag End to stop the conversation before anything worse can come of it. He only hopes the wizard will take it as his firm rejection of anything the man is planning.
But as the hobbit encloses himself within his comfy smial, Gandalf steps through the gate and marches up the steps. With the end of his staff, he carefully etches a rune into the bright green door. He spares one last glance back at Bag End before turning and heading off on his errands for the day.
Notes:
Edit 2021/11/16: You guys have no idea how much I wanted to condense the first, like, 7 chapters into 2 because they're so small. The only thing stopping me was the thought of losing all the comments there, so here they remain.
Chapter 2: An Unexpected Party
Notes:
In case there is any confusion, a hobbit’s announcement is the equivalent of a presentation. I just wanted to clarify this because I use the terms interchangeably in this chapter and I wanted y’all to know they mean the same thing.
Chapter Text
Hobbit marriage traditions have always seemed a bit odd to outsiders. Most would expect a lively party much like the rest of their celebrations, however this is far from the truth. Marriage is a very specific ordeal, with strict rules to be met exactly.
It starts with one proving they can take care of the other. The beta—or omega, in Bilbo’s case—demonstrates they can care for their alpha by showing they can take care of a house and cook a satisfying meal. Typically, when officially observing the meal, the omega isn’t allowed to eat at all.
Bilbo has just sat down to eat supper when he hears a heavy set of thumps on his door. He freezes; he isn’t expecting any guests this evening, or ever, really. Ever since his announcement his neighbors have avoided him like the plague. He stands and makes his way to the front door, opening it cautiously. He is surprised to find a dwarf standing on his front porch.
“Dwalin, at your service,” the dwarf greets, bowing his head slightly.
Bilbo jumps ever so slightly as the dwarf’s voice startles him into action. He quickly ties his robe shut, barely remembering his manners enough to introduce himself. “Bilbo Baggins, at yours,” he replies, only slightly fearful and very flustered. The dwarf looks down at him, nose flaring faintly, and Bilbo clenches his fist in his robe to keep from reacting. Mentally, he tells himself to calm down; strong emotions will only make his scent heavier in the wake of his presentation.
The dwarf bows again, at the waist this time. “My apologies. I was told we were to be expected,” he says in a tone softer than when he had first introduced himself.
Bilbo stares at the dwarf in confusion. There is no one he should be expecting, as there had been no one to visit…except Gandalf. Bilbo sighs heavily and motions for the dwarf to enter. “Come in and we can get this sorted out,” Bilbo says, sounding very put out.
The dwarf enters, shedding his traveling cloak that Bilbo takes and hangs on the rack next to the door. “You must be hungry; the kitchen is this way.” He leads his guest into the kitchen, gesturing for him to sit where he had been only moments before. Dwalin eagerly digs into the meal, obviously famished. Bilbo smiles indulgently as he quickly looks around his kitchen for more food. He can already tell one plate isn’t going to be enough to satisfy his guest.
As he is busying himself in the kitchen and pantry, another knock is heard at the door. Bilbo sets down the food in his hands, prepared to go and answer it, when a large hand comes to rest on his shoulder. He glances up in surprise at his guest. “Allow me, Master Baggins.”
Bilbo pauses for a second, his manners as a host warring with his worry over feeding his guest—plural, apparently—before he finally gives in with a sigh. “Thank you. I’ll get a proper meal started for you in the meantime.”
Dwalin nods and heads back down the hallway to answer the door. Bilbo scoops up his ingredients to begin preparing the vegetables and meats for a hearty soup when he hears a loud thud and laughter echoing through the house. Dwalin soon returns to the kitchen with another dwarf trailing behind him. This one is shorter than Dwalin, with much more white hair. “Balin, at your service, Master Baggins,” the dwarf introduces himself. “My brother says there’s been a mix up this evening?”
Bilbo nods and waves his hand towards some food he had set out for them to snack on. “Please, make yourself at home. I’m sure we’ll get it all sorted out soon enough.” Bilbo turns back to his food, only to be interrupted once again by a knock at his door.
Waving away his guests’ attempts to answer the door, he leaves the kitchen and opens the door to the overwhelming presence of two young alphas. His senses tunnel and he thinks he hears the two introduce themselves, and something about a bog? He shakes his head to clear it and wordlessly opens the door wider to let them in, distractedly taking their cloaks and weapons and setting them aside while the two go join their companions in the kitchen.
Bilbo takes the moment of peace to steel himself. Hobbits have always had a more subtle presence, even their alphas, and the presence of two dwarf teens—because they can hardly be adults, walking around with that sort of bravado—has thoroughly shocked him. He can already tell these two are going to be trouble.
While Bilbo is psyching himself up to head back into the kitchen there is yet another knock on his door. He is almost starting to get concerned; it is getting quite full in his dining room already—which he can distantly hear them rearranging—and he isn’t sure how many Gandalf has sent to his smial, but there are only so many dwarves he can fit!
He goes to open the door, anxiety rolling off him in waves, and soon finds eight dwarves in a pile in his front hallway, having toppled through the door. Their entry shocks the poor hobbit and he quickly glances around, wondering what to do, when he spots Gandalf peeking his head into the doorway from the side. Shock quickly melts into exasperation. “Gandalf,” Bilbo sighs, “what’s going on?”
The dwarves begin to pick themselves up from their pile, nodding to Bilbo as they pass by heading for the dining room. Eventually Gandalf manages to step into the smial, looking down at the small hobbit with an amused smile. “My dear Bilbo, all will be explained in due time,” he replies, to Bilbo’s frustration. “Now, perhaps dinner first.” And then he walks off to join the mass of dwarves swarming his pantry and kitchen.
The last thing he remembers is attempting to instill some measure of order in the chaos the dwarves created during dinner, though he is hardly successful against the loud and boisterous group, before answering the door once more and promptly passing out. When he awakens he finds himself sitting in a chair in his sitting room with a blanket draped over his legs and a warm mug of tea on the table beside him. He takes a moment to enjoy a sip before the sound of voices shouting from the dining room permeates the brief silence.
“What do you think you’re playing at, Tharkhûn,” a deep voice roars, “bringing us into the home of an unbound omega? We came in search of a burglar, not a pretty housewife.”
A whimper escapes his throat at the sound of shouting; he worries they’re arguing over him, but he most certainly does not want to confront whomever the angry voice belongs to. Some of the dwarves must sense his distress because the two young ones quickly appear at his side. “Mister Boggins, how are you feeling?” the dark-haired one asks, kneeling beside his chair to pet gently at his hair. His brother sits down on his opposite side to rub soothingly at his back to try and calm him down.
Bilbo makes to reply, but then more shouting from the dining room can be heard and he cringes instead, to the alphas’ distress. “There, there,” the blond says gently, “everything’s gonna be fine.”
“What do you mean we have initiated the bonding process?!” All three of them flinch at the angry emotions pouring out from the room. Bilbo whimpers again and curls into the dwarf in front of him. Strong arms wrap around him to hold him in place. “Surely a meal is not all it takes to begin a bond.”
Bilbo frowns at the tunic in front of him and sits up a little straighter to peer over the dwarf’s shoulder. The voice must have been mistaken; he hasn’t made any courting dinner. It was just…dinner.
“Among other things, but the rest of your Company took care of that. But it was you, Thorin Oakenshield, who completed the final step when you barged into the house and forced him to his knees!” Bilbo hears Gandalf retort. He isn’t sure if he is thankful for the wizard defending him, or upset with him for bringing all these dwarves in the first place.
The angry alpha, now identified as Thorin Oakenshield, growls his displeasure and Bilbo fearfully hides in the dwarf’s tunic once again. Another young dwarf appears at their side to help comfort the distressed omega.
“Thorin Oakenshield” Gandalf snaps. “You will cease this temper tantrum of yours at once and accept the consequences of your actions. You have a duty now to that omega.”
“The bond is incomplete; it can still be broken,” Thorin argues.
The air grows heavy around the wizard, shadows darkening unnaturally as his presence seems to grow larger despite the low ceilings. “You would inflict the pain of a broken connection on this poor hobbit?” Gandalf questions darkly.
Thorin flinches, knowing full well he would never wish the horrible pain of a broken bond on anyone, especially the small hobbit omega. For a moment there is utter silence in the hobbit hole; no one dares move and time appears to stand still. “Fine, wizard, but we will be discussing this again,” Thorin growls, boots stomping heavily as he leaves the kitchen to find the omega. A trail of dwarves follows behind, curious about what is to happen.
The dwarf who had been hugging him moves off to the side, forcing Bilbo from his hiding place to confront the angered alpha head-on. Bilbo swallows heavily and manages to direct his gaze just a little higher than the alpha’s eyes, too intimidated to properly meet them for more than a second.
“Greetings, Bilbo Baggins,” Thorin says, his voice softer than when he had spoken to Gandalf. “I am Thorin Oakenshield, head alpha of this pack, at your service.”
Chapter 3: An Unexpected Lesson
Notes:
In this chapter I use marriage and bonding interchangeably as well. Think of them as basically the same, marriage just being the more public announcement and bonding a private thing between partners.
Chapter Text
After the meal is given—and successful, most importantly—there is only one other step to initiating a bond between the two: submission. Hobbits are not a particularly proud race, unlike the men, dwarves, and elves, but they can be stubborn and pigheaded when the situation calls for it. They are not ones to easily give in, and so to be able to have your omega fall to their knees in acceptance of your authority is the final step before completely bonding. It is not meant to be humiliating or for one to show power over the other, but to demonstrate the trust between the two as the provider and the protector.
When Thorin Oakenshield walked into Bag End exuding power and confidence and saturating the household with his authority, Bilbo was instantly overwhelmed from the feeling of it all and fell to his knees in partial shock. As he knelt there, he could feel something in the back of his mind snap into place, like a picture frame just waiting for a canvas to fill it. And then he blacked out.
Now Thorin Oakenshield stands in front of Bilbo once again, his aura only slightly tempered from what it had been before. “Okay, will someone please tell me what is going on,” Bilbo demands, more than a little confused at this point and slowly growing annoyed because of it. He glances around at the dwarves in his sitting room, though they are all reluctant to meet his gaze and fidgeting. Even Thorin tries to evade his gaze after a few moments.
“Fíli, Kíli,” Thorin commands, the two dwarves closest to Bilbo snapping to attention when their names are called, “find Master Baggins’s room; he’ll be retiring soon.”
“I will?” Bilbo asks himself, clearly bemused as he watches the two wander off deeper into his hobbit hole. Why they don’t ask him, since he obviously knows where his own room is, is beyond him.
“Dwalin, take a team and make sure the house is secure,” he continues, ignoring Bilbo’s comment. “The rest of you, make sure you clean up the mess you’ve made.”
Soon one of is nephews make their return. “Uncle, we’ve found it,” the blond one—he isn’t sure whether it was Fíli or Kíli, they both seem to respond to either name—reports.
Thorin nods and, without even asking permission first, carefully reaches down and scoops Bilbo up into his arms, following his nephew down the hallway. Bilbo freezes as the gesture finally registers in his poor, over-worked mind. “Excuse me!” Bilbo cries, sorely tempted to pound his fists on the dwarf’s chest if he thought it would do any good. As it is, the alpha carries on as if he’d said nothing. Bilbo frowns and petulantly crosses his arms; he is perfectly capable of walking on his own, thank you very much.
Thorin gently deposits him on his prepared bed. When Bilbo makes to get back up and demand some proper answers, the alpha stops him with a strong look and a tender hand on his chest. “Sleep, master hobbit; it has been a strenuous evening for you, I understand. You shall have your answers tomorrow morning.” The dwarf stands and makes his way back out the door. “Good night, Master Baggins.”
Bilbo grumbles, but before he knows it he’s drifting off into the most peaceful sleep he’d had since his announcement.
Meanwhile, as the dwarves finish their assigned duties, they all congregate back in the sitting room with Gandalf. Once they are all gathered in front of the fire Thorin addresses the wizard. “Will you answer our questions now, Tharkhûn?”
Gandalf scowls at the arrogance of the dwarf in front of him. “You would do well to remember your manners, Thorin Oakenshield, and just whom it is you are speaking to.”
Thorin meets the wizard’s gaze coldly. “I will address you as I see fit because it is you who brought us into this mess!” Thorin struggles to keep his voice in check, knowing the hobbit sleeps only a handful of rooms away. “We are not pawns for you to play with for your amusement. You have just bound us to an omega who stands to lose the most, should anything go wrong on our journey. I would have thought you treated your friends better than that.”
The wizard seems to age a century as he sighs heavily, bowing his head. “Bilbo Baggins is an extraordinary case,” he begins. “He’s the first omega the Shire has seen in hundreds of years.” Shock reflects on nearly all thirteen faces before him, but mercifully they stay silent. “You see, the Shire has no real need for omegas since their female betas produce offspring just as easily.”
In dwarf society, it is much harder for their female betas to birth children, and next to impossible for female alphas. Children are scarce outside of relationships with an omega, hence the reason they are so highly regarded.
“There’s hardly any precedence for dealing with an omega; only severely outdated traditions remain, and I had hoped to save Bilbo from their horrors by using him as a burglar on your quest.”
“What traditions?” Fíli asks.
“They are going to choose a mate for the poor boy,” Gandalf replies solemnly. “Someone most likely picked as an optimal breeding partner.” The dwarves are appropriately horrified. It is appalling to think of an omega being forced into a bond, especially for the sole purpose of siring children.
“What?!” Kíli exclaims, looking incredulously between his brother and the wizard. “That’s barbaric!”
“It’s an outrage!” Dwalin thunders, jumping to his feet to glare at the wizard.
“I know that, Master Dwalin, but there’s no way I can interfere with Shire politics,” Gandalf tries to console them.
“And yet you meddle with the dwarves?” Thorin remarks acerbically.
Gandalf at least looks guilty from the remark. “Ah yes, well, to be fair, I did not think Bilbo would initiate the marriage ritual, intentional or not, and I certainly had no idea he would fall to your presence. But what’s done is done, so how do you plan to deal with it, Master Oakenshield?” Gandalf asked, looking intently at the dwarf king.
Thorin scowls at the wizard. “We will honor the bonding initiation and ensure the hobbit comes to no harm on our journey, to the best of our abilities. But that is all I can promise you.” There are various nods and words of agreement from the rest of the Company.
“His heat will not return for another five months,” Gandalf informs the pack. “Since nothing can be finalized until then, I suppose you may use the time to sort things out.”
“Indeed we shall,” Thorin shares a pointed glance with Balin, but makes no other comment.
It seems enough to satisfy the wizard, after a moment spent eyeing their head alpha, and he soon takes his leave of the Company for bed. The rest of the dwarves slowly filter out, finding places to sleep in guest bedrooms and various chairs and couches throughout the hobbit hole.
Chapter Text
Thorin watches his Company as they move about in the light of dawn, gathering and packing their things. They will have to leave soon if they want to make a decent headway by nightfall. Speaking of packing, he really needs to talk with Bilbo soon. Considering how unprepared he was to receive them all the night before, Thorin has no doubt he is not prepared at all for a journey across the land. Not to mention he is going to have questions, and after what the wizard explained the night before it is best they clear any misunderstandings here and now.
He picks himself up from where he had been sitting watching his nephews spar with Dwalin and makes his way back inside the hobbit hole to wake their omega. He finds the master bedroom again easily enough, knocking twice sharply on the wood. After a moment waiting with no answer, he slowly opens the door to peer inside.
The hobbit has managed to ensconce himself within a mound of blankets, completely shutting out the rest of the world. Thorin scowls, resolutely telling himself that it is definitely not adorable. The hobbit is too used to living comfortably, with his daily meals and laid-back lifestyle. Life on the road was not going to be easy on him, no matter how they tried, and Thorin has no need for such weakness.
Dwarven omega are rare, and as it is he is hardly in a position to attract one, throne-less and without a kingdom. But being without a mate would have been preferable to Bilbo Baggins. Dwalin and Balin might have only had good things to say about their “burglar,” but he is not convinced. Until the omega proves himself, he will not think otherwise.
He approaches the bed, approximately where he thinks the hobbit’s shoulders would be and gives the blankets a rough shake. There is some fumbling from within before a disheveled head pops up from the blankets. Bilbo squints up at the dwarf, still asleep, before asking what could have been a question but sounds more like a grunt to Thorin.
“Hobbit, it is time for breakfast,” Thorin informs him. The statement appears to interest the hobbit as he makes a pleased sound, though still doesn’t move to leave his blankets. “I will await you outside. We have much to discuss.” Then he turns and exits the room.
Bilbo blinks and watches the dwarf depart, his mind terribly slow at waking up in the morning, especially after leaving such comforting warmth. He yawns and stretches after sitting up properly, looking forward to what the dwarves had made for breakfast.
And then he remembers.
Gandalf had come spouting ideas of adventures and then dwarves—thirteen!—had shown up and raided his pantry for food and then…he’d been married. To the great, annoying, angry dwarf that was Thorin Oakenshield. Bilbo flumps backward on his bed, landing with a slight bounce as he stares at the ceiling. He is married!
He can’t decide which is worse: having a mate thrust upon him by the Thain, or accidentally bonding himself to a dwarf, and a grumpy one at that. He blames Gandalf.
He gets out of bed and dresses for the day resolved to finally get some answers, though perhaps after breakfast. He leaves his room expecting to find the alpha waiting for him, only to find the hall empty. Scowling, Bilbo stalks down the halls and approaches the first dwarf he sees. “You!” he exclaims, drawing the attention of the taller young dwarf that had comforted him last night.
The dwarf regards him with an amused expression. “I’m Kíli, Mister Boggins.”
Bilbo frowns at the mispronunciation of his last name but files it away as something to fix later. Right now he has more important things to discuss, as soon as he finds the right dwarf. “Where is Thorin Oakenshield?” he asks—because a Baggins is too polite to demand.
Kíli points in response, and Bilbo spins around to see Thorin talking with the dwarf he is sure is Dwalin on the opposite side of the room. He leaves Kíli and makes his way over to them. “Thorin, we need to talk,” he says with as much authority as he can in the face of an alpha and dwarf much stronger than him. His posture crumbles slightly when the alpha turns his piercing gaze from his companion to Bilbo.
“And so we shall,” Thorin replies. “But perhaps you would like to eat while we do so? Bombur should have breakfast ready by now.” Bilbo frowns at the idea of a stranger invading his kitchen, but he allows Thorin to rest a guiding hand on his back and lead him to the dining room.
Thorin takes a seat at the head of the table, urging Bilbo to sit on his left. Soon the other dwarves appear, settling down at the table for breakfast as well. Bilbo eyes some of them, trying to come up with names for their faces but unable to do so for a majority of them.
The dwarf Bombur soon appears with food, his brothers helping carry some of it to the table. Everyone has a plate and is soon grabbing food. Bilbo makes sure to pile his plate with plenty, well aware of how much and how quickly they can eat.
Bilbo waits until he and Thorin have eaten a decent amount before bringing up his question. “So, we’re married now,” Bilbo begins, internally kicking himself for leading with that. Thorin merely looks at him. “How exactly did that happen? As far as I know, you didn’t eat anything last night. Me falling to my knees,” he blushes, “shouldn’t have meant a thing.”
Thorin finishes his mouthful before speaking, and Bilbo is surprised to find everyone at the table paying close attention to their conversation. “You are partially correct, Master Baggins; I did not partake of your meal last night.” Bilbo frowns, but Thorin continues. “However, since we are a pack, the fact everyone else did was enough. When I forced you to your knees, I finished your marriage ritual and started the bond between us all.”
Bilbo begins to pick apart his bread roll in annoyance. “So we are married,” he gripes.
“Yes, we are all married, whether we like it or not,” Thorin confirms. There are mixed reactions around the table; most of the dwarves seem happy, but there are a few grumbles. Bilbo, though, hears none of it as he freezes.
“A-all?” Bilbo stutters, wide-eyed. “What—what do you mean by all?”
“I mean all of us, Master Baggins,” Thorin clarifies. “We are a pack.”
“Dwarves have slightly different dynamics than you are accustomed to, my dear boy,” Gandalf speaks up from behind the hobbit, pocketing his pipe as he takes a seat on the stool in the corner. “You see, there aren’t enough omega for each to have only one alpha, so they belong to a pack instead.” He smiles gently at the hobbit as the information sinks in.
Bilbo gapes at the dwarves around the table, all of whom are watching him with varying expressions. Some of the younger ones appear hopeful, others nervous and apprehensive; even Thorin is eyeing him carefully. They all appear to be waiting for him to say something. “Well,” he begins, swallowing heavily, “I never imagined I was going to have a husband, let alone thirteen, and dwarves for that matter. I’m not entirely sure how this works.”
Gandalf chuckles from his spot in the corner. “It’s remarkable how much of their history hobbits have forgotten,” he remarks. “Have you never wondered why you’re called halflings? Hobbits have the remarkable ability to mate with any of the races and are able to match their lifespan with their mate’s. It is quite amazing, really.”
Thorin dismisses the wizard’s musings with a wave of his hand. “That is hardly relevant right now. What is more important is your role in this quest. What do you know of Erebor, Master Baggins?” he asks, looking expectantly at Bilbo.
Bilbo has to think for a moment as he desperately recalls his books. “It’s far off in the East, also called the Lonely Mountain. The city of Dale lies close to it, as do the forests of Greenwood and the lake-town of Esgaroth,” Bilbo recites. “That’s it, though.”
“Nearly two hundred years ago,” Balin begins, “the dragon Smaug attacked the kingdom of Erebor and laid waste to the city of Dale. Hundreds died, and we were forced to vacate the mountain. We searched for a new home for several years, many of us finding a place within the Blue Mountains while others worked in the kingdoms of men. But now, there have been signs,” he finishes, quite dramatically in Bilbo’s opinion.
“Signs? Of what?” he asks when it appears Balin isn’t going to say any more.
“Signs that it is time to take back Erebor from the dragon!” Thorin finishes, inciting an enthusiastic round of stomping and exclamations from the rest of the pack.
Bilbo is confused. “But, wait, how do you know the dragon is dead?”
“The dragon Smaug has not been seen for 60 years. It is a chance we’ll have to take; besides, that’s why we’ve come for a burglar,” Thorin replies, a smirk on his face as he regards Bilbo.
“Hmm, yes, you’ll need an expert, I imagine,” Bilbo says, entirely missing the point of his look.
“And are you?” a red-haired dwarf down the table asks.
Bilbo looks confused. “Am I what?”
“He said he’s an expert!” another dwarf holding an ear-trumpet exclaims, causing many of the dwarves to laugh. Bilbo splutters.
“M-me? No, no, no, no, no. I’m not a burglar; I’ve never stolen a thing in my life,” Bilbo is adamant in establishing. “I cannot possibly burgle a mountain out from under a dragon.”
“I’m afraid I have to agree with Master Baggins,” Balin says, giving their leader a look.
“Well of course you won’t be expected to steal the mountain out from under him,” one of the boys speaks, the brother of Kíli whose name he is sure is something similar.
“We would never endanger you like that!” Kíli is quick to reassure.
“You’d only be doing reconnaissance on the dragon,” his brother continues.
“Best leave the fighting to us,” Kíli finishes with a grin.
“Oh dear,” Bilbo mutters, paling at the thought of facing a dragon.
Dwalin seems to notice his reaction and is quick to chime in reassuringly. “The lads are right; we’d never allow any harm to come by you. As your alphas it is our duty to keep ya safe, to the best of our abilities. You’re too precious to us to risk like that, not even for all the gold in Erebor.”
Bilbo feels his face flame red at the dwarf’s words and he quickly looks down, having no idea how to respond to that. Thorin regards the hobbit carefully before turning to his advisor. “Give him the contract.” Balin pulls the form out of one of the pockets in his robe, along with a pen, and slides them both across the table to Bilbo.
He takes the paper, unfolding it carefully as he skims the words written. He hesitates to read it all, glancing at Thorin out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly he recalls the papers the Thain had sent on the proper behavior of an omega, recalling in particular how they stressed obedience. He picks up the pen and quickly signs his name at the bottom, folding it back up and sliding it across to Balin. He has duties to the pack now as their omega—inadvertent as their marriage had been—and he will be sure to complete them to the best of his abilities.
Bilbo happily picks up the contract, pocketing it with a pleasant smile on his face. “Welcome to the Company, Master Baggins.”
Notes:
LadyLaran asked about the lifespan issue between dwarves and hobbits in the last chapter, and I know Gandalf explains a little bit of it in this chapter. To clarify, it’s like a side-effect of bonding with hobbits. Just go with it. Magic can’t be explained.
Chapter 5: An Unexpected Conversation
Notes:
From here on out is where it really starts to diverge from Another Man’s Treasure. There’ll be a little bit of similarities with some plot points, but other than that things are pretty much changed from now on. I’ve switched a few characterizations, and I plan on expanding things just a bit.
Chapter Text
Breakfast finishes soon after Bilbo signs the contract and Thorin decides they will leave within the hour, even though it is later than he’d originally planned. Now Bilbo stands in his room, staring around as he tries to decide what he wants to bring with him. It is one thing to pack for a walking holiday to Bree or around the Shire, however he has no idea what he is going to need on a cross-country adventure. He looks between his near-empty pack and the mass of objects on his bed forlornly. There is no way he’ll fit even half of that inside.
Behind him the door of his room cracks open and the head of one of the younger dwarves pokes in. “Oh, hello…” he trails off, unsure of the boy’s name.
“Ori,” the lad supplies, properly stepping into the room now confident he is welcome. He smiles nervously. “Um, did you need any help? I know hobbits aren’t really…used to traveling like this…so I thought I’d offer…”
Relief washes through Bilbo and he smiles reassuringly at Ori. “Oh yes, please.” He gestures to the bed. “As you can see, I have no idea what I’m doing.”
Ori walks over and begins rifling through the items on Bilbo’s bed, separating them into two distinct ‘pack’ and ‘do not pack’ piles. The ‘do not pack’ pile is significantly larger. Ori talks as he sorts. “It’s alright; everyone understands, I think. Most dwarves don’t like to leave their mountains either. Luckily, Dori and Nori taught me to travel light years ago.”
“Do you often travel with your brothers?” Bilbo asks, curious about the young dwarf he is now married to, among others—including his brothers, but Bilbo decides not to think too deeply about that—and also partly because he is curious about dwarf culture.
“Sometimes, usually with Dori if they’re both going to be traveling. Neither like me being left alone, though I don’t see why,” Ori scowls. Bilbo smiles indulgently and starts folding the clothes Ori has set aside to pack. “Dori’s a merchant. Nori does…things,” he adds, shooting Bilbo a nervous look. He raises a questioning eyebrow. “Just ask him about it.”
Bilbo shrugs. “What about you, then?” he asks as Ori starts packing his bag. Bilbo sits handing him various items and objects.
“Oh” Ori turns red at this, clutching the clothes in his grip nervously. “I’m a scribe. It’s my job to document everything that happens on the journey, and hopefully I can submit it to earn my mastery.” He looks so hopeful at the idea, but then seems to remember Bilbo’s presence and ducks his head.
Bilbo thinks it is brilliant Ori writes; after all, he has written some stories of his own. However, he can tell that, in dwarven society, being a scribe is not highly thought of. He immediately feels bad for the young dwarf and places a comforting hand on his shoulder, causing the lad to jump. He smiles reassuringly when he glances up, wide-eyed. “Being the pack’s scribe must be an honor. I’m sure your work will turn out wonderfully.”
Ori flushes bright red and stands suddenly. “U-um, th-thank you. I should p-probably get back and f-finish um…things,” he mutters, avoiding Bilbo’s gaze, and then hastily retreats out of the room.
Surprised, Bilbo just watches him go, hand still hanging awkwardly in the air. He isn’t entirely sure what just happened, if it was his fault at all, but then he shrugs. He still has to finish packing before Thorin decides to leave him behind.
It takes a bit of maneuvering and squishing, but he manages to get everything in Ori’s ‘pack’ pile into the bag. He gives one last sweep of his room, mentally saying his goodbyes to the home he’s lived in since he could remember. Who knows when he will be returning. He debates whether or not to put everything he hadn’t packed away, but then decides he most likely won’t have the time. He picks up his pack, pleased to find it isn’t too heavy for him to carry, and turns to leave his room. But as he does a handful of papers on his desk catch his eye.
The letter from the Thain.
He hesitates at his desk, the papers lying innocuously where he’d left them. After waging a momentary battle in his head, he snatches the couple of papers from within and shoves them roughly in his pocket, hurrying out of his room and shutting the door with a final ‘click.’
They end up leaving just before lunch, which neither Bilbo nor Thorin are pleased about, but for entirely different reasons. As it is, Bilbo has to settle for a pathetic lunch on pony-back while Kíli and Fíli reassure him Thorin isn’t upset with him, he is just always like that.
Bilbo quickly realizes he’s allergic to the ponies’ hair and starts sneezing up a storm, to the boys’ amusement, and to make matters worse he’s forgotten his handkerchief. Even with Ori’s help packing. Luckily Bofur is willing to part with the lining of a pocket to substitute, as well as provide pleasant conversation since Bilbo is ignoring the two young alphas.
They talk and trade stories, and Bilbo finds Bofur to be very enjoyable company while traveling. The dwarf is always smiling and has interesting stories to tell. Bilbo just knows he’s going to get along splendidly with the alpha—which is definitely good, since they are married and all.
Eventually Bilbo feels kind enough to talk to Fíli and Kíli again, after they had begged for forgiveness, and the three dwarves entertain him the rest of the day with stories of their exploits when they were younger, all of them seeming to try and outdo one another. Bilbo can’t remember the last time he’d been so entertained.
When they make camp later that evening Bilbo is sad to see his dwarven companions leave as they go about their chores. Thorin has yet to talk to Bilbo since they left Bag End that morning, so he has no idea what the head alpha wants him to be doing and thus does nothing. He feels just a little out of place, the papers from the Thain burning in his coat as a stern voice in his head berates him for not doing something of use.
He meanders around the camp, trying to stay out of everyone’s way while simultaneously trying to appear to be busy so Thorin won’t have a reason to yell at him. He doesn’t want to give the appearance of a neglectful omega, although to be fair, if they want him to do something they should tell him!
Things start to settle down some time later as the dwarves finish their tasks and wait for dinner. Bilbo glances around the fire, eyes flicking between the groups as he decides who to approach. A part of him wants to stick with Fíli and Kíli, or perhaps Bofur, since he’d grown close to the three during the day and feels comfortable with them. But another part remembers Bofur’s suggestion to get to know some of the other alphas when he has the chance. He will have to talk to them at some point; they are married, after all.
He finally decides to approach two dwarves he knows to be brothers, but cannot remember the names of. They don’t seem to notice him standing behind them until he clears his throat nervously. The one with the immense red beard turns to look at him, prompting his brother to do the same. “G-good evening,” Bilbo begins, “may I sit with you…?” he trails off.
The brothers share a glance before the red-headed dwarf nods. “Of course, Master Baggins.”
Bilbo smiles gratefully and sits down with a respectable amount of space between them. He fusses with the edge of his shirt, having noticed a small stain, while the two remain quiet, and when it appears neither dwarf has any intention of speaking he struggles to start the conversation himself. “So…ah, I apologize, but I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,” he finally manages, drawing the attention of the nearest brother. “Er, well, you know my name, apparently, but I don’t know yours…or, well, I think I don’t? I may have heard it at some point, but it must’ve slipped my mind, haha…” he rambles, but soon tapers off at the blank stares he receives. He swallows thickly.
“I am Glóin, son of Gróin, and this is my brother, Óin,” the dwarf curtly informs him.
Bilbo leans forward to peer over at the other dwarf to try and gain his attention. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, I’m sure,” he says, attempting a small smile. Óin makes no move to indicate he’s heard the hobbit, and his smile falls. He glances back at Glóin.
“He’s a bit hard of hearing,” Glóin tells him.
“Ah,” Bilbo replies. There is silence once again and Bilbo can’t help but feel distinctly uncomfortable sitting with the two alphas. At one point Óin says something to Glóin in the harsh language of the dwarves, not that Bilbo understands a word. They appear to have a short conversation he politely tunes out.
“Is there anything we can do for you, Master Baggins?” Glóin suddenly speaks up, startling Bilbo out of his thoughts.
“Uh, w-well, no, nothing in particular.” Both brothers are looking at him now, and something about Glóin’s words and Óin’s look give him the idea that his presence is unwanted.
“Hmph,” is all Glóin says to that, with a critical side-eye towards the omega, before turning back to converse with his brother in their native language.
Bilbo is no fool, and he knows a dismissal when he sees one, nor is he one to linger where he is obviously not wanted, so he makes his quiet goodbyes—not that he thinks either dwarf hears him, let alone listens, but it is only polite—and leaves the two alone. He then makes his way over to Bofur where he sits with his own relatives around the cooking pot.
The cheery dwarf raises a curious eyebrow when the hobbit slumps into the seat beside him. “Everything alright?” he asks. Bifur and Bombur pay neither of them any attention, engrossed in their own tasks.
“No,” he replies shortly, but at the dwarf’s enquiring look he elaborates. “I don’t think they like me.”
Bofur spares a quick glance over to where Glóin and Óin sit talking before he turns back to Bilbo with a grimace. “Yes, well, I wouldn’t take it personally,” he reassures the omega as gently as he can, but Bilbo still scowls. “It’s nothing you did!” he’s quick to continue, but then falters. “Err, well, actually it is, but we were told you did so unknowingly, so it’s not really your fault.”
Bilbo is confused. “What on earth are you talking about?” he frowns.
Bifur, who apparently had been paying attention to their conversation, growls something in Khuzdul that Bilbo assumes is a response to his question. “That’s true,” Bofur nods in agreement, turning back to Bilbo. “You see, not everyone is so happy about the whole bonding thing that happened last night,” he explains, and then grimaces again when he notices the downcast expression on Bilbo’s face. “I said that wrong. It’s not that they’re not happy. I mean, we’ve all wanted an omega for the pack; it’s an honor to have you, really an’ truly.” At this Bilbo’s expression lightens slightly, and Bofur smiles back before continuing. “It’s just, some of the more…traditional among us are displeased with the way we went about…acquiring you.”
“’Acquiring?’” Bilbo deadpans, only one step away from annoyed.
Bifur chuckles and barks some more Khuzdul, earning a scowl from Bofur. “Hush you,” he tells him. “There’s a sort of process for the bonding of an omega to an alpha pack that we kind of…ignored, really, and they’re not particularly pleased with that.”
Bilbo nods as it all starts making sense in his head. He can understand how some of the dwarves feel now that it’s been explained to him, and he is certainly glad to learn it isn’t something to do with him—well, him in the sense that it is who he is—that made them upset. “Does it bother you?” he asks, almost certain of the alpha’s answer, but he wants to confirm just to be sure.
Bofur smiles reassuringly. “Nah, and I can tell you most of the others don’t either.” Bilbo smiles, relieved. “It’s really only the higher standing fold that care about such proprieties,” Bofur leans in to whisper conspiringly, and Bilbo chuckles. “I’m sure you’ll be able to win ‘em over easily enough,” he tells the omega.
Bilbo sighs. “I sure hope so.”
For the rest of the evening Bilbo sticks with Bofur and his relatives, until they all start to prepare for bed. The dwarves situate themselves in their familial clusters, and while Bilbo is comfortable sitting with some to chat, he isn’t quite up to sleeping near any of them. He places his bedroll as near to the fire as he dares and curls up under his blanket to preserve warmth. Nearly all the dwarves are situated by then, save for Thorin, who has taken first watch, and Balin, who is speaking with their leader.
“It’s not proper, Thorin,” he hears the older dwarf tell the head alpha. Bilbo freezes in his place, Bofur’s words from earlier coming back to him. “It’s obvious that he has no idea how he’s supposed to act. He’s had absolutely no training,” the dwarf hisses.
From what Bilbo can tell in the minimal light, Thorin does not seem pleased to learn this. “There’s not much hope for him,” Balin continues.
“There is time,” Thorin reminds him.
Balin shakes his head and sighs. “But not enough.” Thorin seems to accept his and waves his hand to dismiss the dwarf.
Bilbo’s heart plummets. They are obviously displeased, that much he can tell. He is suddenly struck with a paralyzing fear. What if they no longer want him? Maybe Fíli and Kíli and Bofur like him, but they will never be able to convince Thorin by themselves. Oh Yavanna, what if they send him back?
Bilbo has to close his eyes and remind himself to calm down before he has a panic attack. He misses the slight from Thorin shoots in his direction, but the dwarf is looking away when he opens his eyes.
He desperately hopes they won’t send him back. He can’t return to the Shire. They want to marry him off in the Shire, and he doesn’t think he’ll survive that.
Or, even worse, Thorin will break the tentative bond that has formed between them. He is definitely sure he won’t survive that, and almost certain it will be painful. It doesn’t happen in the Shire, but he’s heard stories of men driven to insanity. He can’t let that happen, no matter what.
His thoughts turn unbidden to the papers within his coat pocket. He pulls them out, barely able to discern any of the words in the dying light of the fire. Perhaps it wasn’t a mistake that he brought these along. If his actions displease his alphas, then he can change that. He has with him the proper behaviors of a proper omega, and if there is one thing a Baggins is good at, it’s being proper.
He rolls as close to the fire as he dares, flattening the papers as much as possible so he can read the words in the meager light. He studies the letters closer than he ever had before to commit them to memory. He will change, or it will be the last thing he ever did.
Chapter 6: An Unexpected Change
Chapter Text
Bilbo wakes the next morning before the sun has fully risen, with a vast majority of the camp still asleep. Nori is up, having taken the last watch, as is Bombur as he begins preparing breakfast for everyone. Bilbo rises and quickly packs up his belongings, ready to go as soon as Thorin says so. Then he cautiously approaches Bombur. “Is there anything I can help you with, sir?” he asks, making sure to keep his head down and his gaze on the ground. Making eye contact is not allowed, the papers stressed that several times.
The dwarf eyes him warily before agreeing. “Here then, keep an eye on this,” he orders, relinquishing his spot at the pot to the hobbit. He hands the ladle over to Bilbo, who accepts it with a polite nod. Bombur wanders away to finish packing his own things, keeping an eye on Bilbo the whole time, but the omega appears fully engrossed in his task of finishing breakfast.
While he isn’t too happy with how things had gone with the hobbit, he can at least appreciate the lad’s effort to help out around the camp. Providing food is traditionally the job of the omega, though Bombur had taken the job at Thorin’s request. Perhaps he could leave it to Bilbo once the hobbit grew used to things.
He soon returns to his work, both of them finishing breakfast by the time the rest of the camp woke up for the day. Bilbo helps dish out the food, ensuring everyone has a bowl before he eats any himself. Bombur is surprised when he goes to eat by his packed bag, on his own, instead of staying with him and his brother. It strikes him as odd, given what he saw the night before, but since his brother says nothing about it, neither does he.
When they set out half an hour later, Bilbo makes a point to ride beside Gandalf at the back of the group. Neither speaks much, Gandalf content to smoke his pipe while Bilbo keeps his gaze focused on either his saddle or the ground in front of him, the words from the Thain’s papers scrolling through his head, repeating like a mantra. He had been sure to act exactly as they advised, not making eye contact and addressing Bombur according to his status as an alpha, and keeping to himself when he was not needed.
He doesn’t notice the odd looks Fíli and Kíli send him when they see him riding with Gandalf. Or Bofur’s shared look with Bombur and Bifur. But the dwarves make no comment, so they travel like that for the rest of the day.
Later that evening after Thorin calls for them to stop, Bilbo makes sure to be useful around camp, volunteering to gather firewood and then helping Bombur with the meal again. He makes little talk throughout it all, despite Bofur’s attempts to chat, but he listens attentively. After all, omegas are meant to be seen, not heard.
He finishes dinner in the same manner as breakfast, taking his meal last and finding a seat on his own. Thankfully none of the dwarves try to approach him after Bofur’s failed attempt to draw him out. The dwarf had tried to ask him if anything was wrong, concern out of place on the normally jovial dwarf’s face, and Bilbo had done his best to reassure him that he was okay. It seemed to appease the alpha, if at least somewhat, for they leave the hobbit alone for the rest of the evening.
The next couple of days pass in the same manner as Bilbo establishes a routine. He’s under the impression things are going quite well compared to that first day. It is a little lonely, he admits to himself one evening after eating dinner unaccompanied once again, but neither Balin nor anyone else has yet to complain about him again, so he assumes he’s doing something right this time.
Bilbo doesn’t notice the growing concern among a few of the dwarves. Fíli, Kíli, and Bofur discuss it while riding one day, with Nori and Dori listening as they ride nearby.
“He may say he’s fine, but I don’t believe it,” Bofur says, evidently concerned. He spares a glance back at Bilbo, but the omega doesn’t notice with his gaze fixed on his saddle.
“Why won’t he talk to us anymore?” Kíli asks with a frown.
“I miss our little hobbit,” his brother chimes in.
“Perhaps it’s because he misses his home,” Dori interjects. The dwarves turn to look at him. “Gandalf did say hobbits were not known to travel. It’s likely he doesn’t want to be here,” he adds dismissively.
This seems to upset the two princes, and Bofur is quick to disagree. “You heard what else he told us; they were going to marry him off. I think he would rather be here,” he argues, with a hard look at Dori. The dwarf sniffs primly.
“He probably just needs to adjust,” Nori says in a placating manner. “Life on the road isn’t easy no matter how used to it you are.” His words seem to appease the two young alphas somewhat, though they still shoot their omega concerned glances every once in a while.
On one particular evening they stop and make camp along the edge of a cliff. It’s after dinner when they hear the first screeches. Bilbo jerks up, momentarily forgetting himself as he turns to the closest dwarves still up—Fíli and Kíli. “What was that?” he asks, his voice frantic.
The two princes share a look. “Orcs,” Kíli responds, his tone serious despite the glint in his eye.
“Orcs?” Bilbo parrots, stepping closer to the fire—and the two alphas—for protection. Off to the side, Thorin jerks himself from his light slumber.
“Aye, throat-cutters,” Fíli confirms. “There’ll be dozens of them out there. The lowlands are crawling with them.”
“They strike in the wee small hours, when everyone’s asleep. Quick and quiet; no screams, just lots of blood,” Kíli continues ominously. A small whimper escapes Bilbo as he shoots a panicked look out over the cliff. Behind him, the two princes share another look before chuckling. Bilbo spins around to face the boys, still alarmed but now slightly confused.
Their uncle comes stomping past the fire, extreme displeasure wafting from the alpha and clogging their senses. “You think that’s funny? You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?” he growls.
Both brothers look thoroughly chastened. “We only meant to cheer him up,” Fíli grumbles.
Thorin snorts and stomps off towards the edge of the cliff. “You know nothing of the world.”
Bilbo regrets reacting as badly as he had when they only wanted to amuse him, though he has no idea why they felt the need to do so. He feels fine, as he’s told them all before. But still, there wasn’t any reason to berate the boys so harshly. Bilbo frowns in the direction Thorin had wandered, however he is quickly distracted when Balin approaches the trio.
“Don’t mind him, laddie,” he wearily begins. “Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs.” He tells Bilbo and the young princes of the Battle of Azanulbizar and how Thorin lost both his grandfather and father in battle, and how he had come to earn his title Oakenshield. By the time he finishes, Bilbo and the boys aren’t the only ones admiring their leader as the rest of the camp had awoken to hear Balin’s tale.
“But the pale orc? What happened to him?” Bilbo asks, watching Thorin with a marveled look as the alpha approaches the fire.
“He slunk back into the hole whence he came,” Thorin sneers. “That filth died of his wounds long ago.”
Bilbo turns to Balin after Thorin walks off again. “Why are you telling me this?” he quietly asks.
Balin appears to size him up before he responds. “Well, if we are all to be wed, then you should know our history,” he grudgingly replies. And with that he departs as well, presumably off to his own bedroll to retire for the evening.
Bilbo gapes after the older dwarf, thoroughly surprised and more than a little confused. He had been under the impression Balin was against his addition to the pack. Perhaps his improved behavior had endeared the older alpha to him. He can only hope the others come around as well.
Chapter 7: An Unexpected Encounter
Chapter Text
Another few days of travel put them in the Trollshaws. It had been raining heavily the past few days, steadily wearing upon everyone’s nerves with the constant deluge. Luckily enough for Bilbo, the downpour has kept the dwarves distracted enough so they no longer bother him about his odd behavior, which suits him perfectly fine. Gandalf even deigns to tell them about the other wizards in his order while they ride, to Bilbo’s entertainment—he’s been lonely with no one to talk to, after all.
After the rain stops, Thorin pushes them a little further that day until they reach an abandoned farm, where they halt for the evening. Bilbo sets about his nightly routine, finding some vegetables in an overgrown garden nearby. While he is doing so, he can’t help but overhear Gandalf and Thorin arguing in the remnants of the house. He grows concerned when the wizard storms away from the dwarf camp.
He scrambles after his friend, momentarily forgetting his place. “Gandalf, where are you going?”
“To seek the company of the only one around here who’s got any sense,” the wizard huffs as he stomps away.
“Who’s that?”
“Myself, Master Baggins,” he snaps. Bilbo halts, stunned by the outburst. “I’ve had enough dwarves for one day.”
He watches his friend’s back vanish into the hills for several moments before he recalls what he’d been doing prior. He returns to where Bombur has started the fire and begins cutting and peeling the vegetables, though not without shooting worried glances in the direction Gandalf disappeared.
“I wouldn’t worry about him,” Bofur says, coming up from behind Bilbo and surprising the hobbit with a clap on his shoulder. He jumps, a potato slipping from his grasp, and nearly spins to berate the dwarf before he remembers that a good omega does not raise their voice at their alpha, since they are always right. He lowers his gaze instead, missing the flash of disappointment that crosses the dwarf’s expression.
“Of course,” he mutters in reply, picking up the fallen vegetable.
Bofur and Bombur share a look over the hobbit’s head. Dinner is ready not much later, and the brothers watch as Bilbo sets about handing out bowls to everyone. As Bofur spoons out portions, he has the brilliant idea to send Bilbo the boys’ way. From what he saw earlier, perhaps their omega isn’t all gone and the boys are their best bet to drawing out the rest of their happy burglar.
With that idea in mind, he beckons the hobbit over, wincing slightly at the way he shuffles over and bows. “Here, do us a favor,” he says, handing the omega two bowls, “take this to the lads.” He watches the hobbit walk off, but is quick to catch his brother’s sneaking hand and slap it away from the pot. “Stop it, you’ve had plenty.”
Bilbo heads into the trees where he knows the princes are watching the ponies, bowls in hand. It barely takes him a minute of searching to find the two staring off into the forest. He draws their attention with a soft clearing of his throat, lowering his gaze when they turn his way. “Here’s your dinner.”
He holds their bowls out, but when they don’t immediately take them he looks up with a frown. Taking in their uncertain expressions, he mentally battles with himself before hedging out a cautious, “What’s the matter?” It is the omega’s duty to take care of their alpha, and if the boys have an issue he would do his best to resolve it.
Fíli grimaces as Kíli replies, “We’re supposed to be looking after the ponies.”
“Only we’ve encountered a…slight problem,” Fíli continues.
“We had 16.”
“Now there’s 14.”
Anxiety emanates from the two boys, igniting Bilbo’s instincts to comfort them like a strike of lightning. He moves without thinking and gathers the princes in a hug, subconsciously attempting to soothe them with his own scent. The boys share a surprised glance behind his back. “Well, that’s not good. Not good at all.” He releases them. “Shouldn’t we tell Master Thorin?”
Fíli is quick to shoot the idea down. “Uhh, no. Let’s not worry him.” The two alphas then share another look, this one more mischievous. What they have in mind might be just enough to snap their little omega out of his funk. They quickly crowd him to explain their proposal. Bilbo is powerless to resist their insistent appeals and can hardly complain about their hasty reassurances to follow right behind. Before he knows it, he’s too deep into their scheme.
Listening to the boys was a bad idea. A very bad idea.
He should have known better than to go along with their idea when they suggested he steal the ponies. Despite what Gandalf had said before, he is not a burglar. A proper burglar would not have gotten caught and then sneezed on while trying to steal a knife off a belt. A proper burglar would not have gotten caught and held for ransom while trying to cut the ponies loose. He half thought Thorin would refuse to comply with the trolls’ demands to drop their weapons after they’d caught him, the head alpha appeared so angry. Even after they had been freed from their bags, and the others untied from the spit, Bilbo knew the dwarf still blamed him for their situation.
Kíli sees the way his uncle watches their hobbit and winces, knowing full well the omega is being blamed for something that was largely their own fault. Though, to be fair, they hadn’t expected Thorin to dally so long in rousing the Company. They were supposed to be the distraction while Bilbo freed the ponies, thus proving his worth and maybe gaining him a few points in Thorin’s favor.
But despite his misgivings about his skills as a burglar, Bilbo is rather proud of himself for his idea to stall for time. After being freed by Gandalf, he can’t help but look hopefully towards Thorin, wondering if his actions have had any influence on the head alpha’s perceptions of him. He watches the dwarf’s approach—but avoids his gaze—and is then disappointed when he walks right past to his nephews. Bilbo’s shoulders slump as he shuffles uneasily.
The two princes notice their uncle’s stormy expression as he approaches and fidget nervously but make no move to escape what is sure to be a sound thrashing. After all, they put the pack’s omega in danger, and that wasn’t something their uncle would just let go. They both lower their gazes when he stops before them.
Thorin says nothing for several moments as he regards his young heirs. He can’t determine whether he’s more angry or disappointed with the two. They are young, yes, but one would think there would be more common sense between the two of them. As it is, they’re going to inherit a kingdom after him—should their quest succeed—and they cannot be making mistakes like this.
He lets out a heavy sigh that seems to weigh further on the young dwarves’ shoulders. “What were you thinking?” he growls, his brows furrowing with his frustration. “Sending our omega to retrieve the ponies. Alone. Weaponless. We could have lost him!” Thorin snaps, losing what little control he’d managed to muster.
Kíli flinches from the accusation, while Fíli scrambles to explain their actions. “He wasn’t alone; Kíli was watching the entire time. He would never have let it go too far.” Kíli nods, his gaze imploring their uncle to believe them.
It doesn’t appease Thorin at all. “And yet he still managed to be caught! Twice!” Thorin roars. By now many of the Company are sneaking glances in their direction as they go about gathering their things. “It is our duty as his pack to watch over him—to keep him safe from harm, not egg him into it,” he growls, glaring at the two.
After the two appear thoroughly chastened, the head alpha rounds on the hobbit standing not too far away. “And you!” he thunders, startling the omega enough to make him jump. He seems torn between trying to—indirectly—meet the dwarf’s gaze and staring at the ground. It has Thorin softening slightly, seeing the hobbit so chagrined. “You would do well to stay out of their scheming. They cause enough trouble on their own; I don’t need you getting tangled up with them.” With one last scowl to his heirs, the alpha storms off to finish gathering their supplies. Gandalf mentioned the possibility of a troll hoard, and he wants to find it as quickly so they can move out of the area as soon as possible.
Bilbo makes sure to keep his head down submissively as his alpha reprimands him. He is right, after all; he should have known better than to go along with what Kíli and Fíli suggest. But the chance to prove himself to Thorin and the others that didn’t like him had been too good an opportunity to pass up. If he hadn’t mucked up the entire plan by getting caught, perhaps he may have succeeded. As it is, he is sure the whole endeavor has done nothing in his favor.
He sneaks a glimpse at the two boys still standing nearby, noting their downtrodden expressions and the sour tinge to their scents, and immediately the urge to reassure them returns with a fervor. He takes a step in their direction, arms rising to encircle the two, when their expressions change to nervous panic and Kíli shoots a worried glance in their uncle’s direction. He then mutters something Bilbo can’t quite make out before retreating, to the hobbit’s confusion. He pauses, arms dropping, and looks to the remaining dwarf. Fíli avoids his eyes, and with a quick nod and mutter, “Our apologies,” he beats a hasty retreat after his brother.
Bilbo is left on his own with an oddly tight feeling in his chest. He wonders if the princes are displeased with him for getting them in trouble with Thorin. It upsets him to know he’s lost the princes favor; he had grown attached to the two over the span of their journey, and it distresses him to imagine them avoiding him for its remainder.
He’s pulled out of his spiraling thoughts by one of the dwarves calling for him to hurry along. It seems they had gathered all their things and were moving to look for the troll cave. He hastens to follow, lest he is left behind. He wouldn’t put it past a few of them to try.
It doesn’t take them long to find the troll hoard, and while the dwarves are happy to venture inside and explore, Bilbo refuses to take a single step within 20 feet of the entrance. Even at that distance he can still smell the rankness; the only reason he isn’t any further away is because Dwalin won’t be able to keep an eye on him if he does.
As it is, he is glad when Thorin finally returns and declares they move on. He is less glad when Gandalf approaches and hands him a small blade perfectly sized for him to use as a sword. “I can’t take this,” he tells the wizard, though he reluctantly does the very opposite when Gandalf insistently pushes it to him.
“The blade is of elvish make, which means it will glow blue when orcs or goblins are nearby,” Gandalf says.
Bilbo shakes his head. “I’ve never used a sword in my life.”
The wizard looks sadly at his little friend. “And I hope you never have to. But if you do, remember this: true courage is about knowing not when to take a life, but when to spare one.”
Bilbo looks at the wizard, ready to argue further, when Thorin calls for the Company to gather. Gandalf and the rest of the dwarves still in the cave start heading off, though Bilbo hesitates to follow. He gazes at the sword in his hand, pulling it out just slightly to get a glimpse of the blade.
“If you would like, I can teach you how to use it,” Dwalin speaks up from beside the hobbit, startling Bilbo out of his reverie. While the dwarf looks amused, he doesn’t appear to be taking back his offer any time soon.
“Uhh…I—well,” Bilbo stutters, quickly averting his gaze as he gathers his thoughts. “Yes, thank you, if it’s no trouble.”
The alpha watches him for another moment, eyes narrowed slightly, before he nods. “Very well then. Next we get the chance, we’ll get you started.” Then he claps Bilbo on the shoulder hard enough to unsteady him. “Come on then, or Thorin’ll leave us behind.”
“Ah, right, yes,” Bilbo mutters as he follows behind the large dwarf.
Chapter 8: An Unexpected Chase
Chapter Text
The arrival of Radagast surprises them all, but it especially worries Bilbo. There is only so much in the world that can make one of the most powerful Maiar worry like that, and none of it is good. The dwarves linger in the clearing as Gandalf speaks to the brown wizard, and Bilbo subtly tries to inch closer to Dwalin, hoping the alpha won’t notice. He is trying to prove he is worthy of being their omega, and cowering at the first sign of trouble will not help his case.
Dwalin most certainly notices what the hobbit is trying to do—the poor thing is tainting the air around them with his fear—but he won’t say a thing about it. He is neither blind nor stupid, and he’s noticed the funk Bilbo had sunk into, though he doesn’t have any idea why. Either way, regardless of what Thorin thinks, he is going to treat Bilbo as if he were already completely theirs, and if the omega seeks protection from him then he will damn well protect him. He turns to the hobbit—ignoring his pretty blush at being caught—and grabs his new sword to help him attach it to his belt. Now he can stand close to Bilbo and keep watch over him, and the hobbit won’t have to hide for protection.
Bilbo stammers out his thanks for Dwalin’s help, and in return Dwalin offers a small, roguish smile—a little unusual for him, but Bilbo is a special case—though he is slightly disappointed when the hobbit won’t meet his eyes. The dwarf stands from where he’s stooped to reach Bilbo’s waist and surveys the area around them out of habit. He catches sight of rustling leaves and instinctively draws his war hammer while pushing Bilbo behind him just seconds before a warg bursts through the brush. His hammer crashes down on the warg’s skull, caving in the skull for instant death. Across the clearing, another warg jumps from the leaves and tackles Dori, only to be shot by Kíli and finished off by Bifur and Bofur.
“Warg scouts!” Thorin growls, his new blade drawn as he glances about. “Which means an orc pack is not far behind.” The Company is immediately on full alert with their weapons drawn, while Bilbo makes no attempt to disguise his hiding next to Dwalin.
Gandalf returns storming up to Thorin, clearly incensed. “Who did you tell about your quest, beyond your kin?”
“No one,” Thorin snaps back.
“Who did you tell?!” Gandalf repeats, evidently not believing the alpha.
“No one, I swear! What in Durin’s name is going on?”
“You are being hunted,” Gandalf explains.
“We have to get out of here,” Dwalin interjects, drawing attention. “We need to find somewhere easily defendable.” He inclines his head slightly towards Bilbo, which the hobbit doesn’t seem to notice—he’s far too busy fearfully watching their surroundings, since they all seem more inclined to talk—but the other alphas do. Thorin quickly nods in agreement.
“But the ponies!” Ori gestures to where they’d been left grazing. “They’ve all bolted!”
Thorin swears in Khuzdul. “What about the troll cave?” Nori suggests.
“No, we can’t take the chance they trap us inside,” Dwalin argues.
“I’ll draw them off.”
Everyone turns a surprised look to the brown wizard. Gandalf appears especially disbelieving. “These are Gundabad wargs; they will outrun you.”
Radagast grins deviously as he replies, “These are Rhosgobel rabbits; I’d like to see them try.”
Bilbo only has a vague understanding of what’s going on, but he knows for sure they are running for their lives and, if he wants to survive, his best bet is to stick with Dwalin. Regardless of his intentions, the alpha never lets Bilbo stray more than a few steps away, keeping a strong hold on the hobbit’s upper arm.
Radagast and his rabbits are proving themselves an excellent distraction, leading the orc pack away from the Company as they follow Gandalf through the valley. It is all going well, in Bilbo’s opinion, until they stop under a rock outcropping. Kíli is forced to shoot a warg rider, and with its dying throes it draws the attention of the rest of the pack, forcing them to run for their lives once more. Then, in no time at all, it seems, the pack is circling the Company.
At some point Gandalf vanished, leaving the dwarves to fend for themselves. Kíli kept some of the orcs at a distance with his bow, picking them off one-by-one with Ori and his slingshot helping, to no avail.
Bilbo presses closer to Dwalin, gripping the strap of leather on his back so tightly his knuckles are white. Fili stands guard at his back, keeping both him and his brother in sight. “We’re surrounded!” he shouts to Thorin.
“Where’s Gandalf?” Kíli asks, having just noticed the wizard’s absence.
“He’s abandoned us,” Dwalin growls, angrily shifting his war hammer in his grip.
“Hold your ground!” Thorin shouts.
Dwalin nudges Bilbo off his back, ignoring the pang that strikes at the hobbit’s displeased expression. “Draw your sword,” he instructs, “and keep between Fíli and I. We’ll protect you as best we can, but you cannot get in our way.” Bilbo looks momentarily frightened before he steels himself and draws his blade, to Dwalin’s inner pride.
“Just remember, if worst comes to worst, the pointy end goes in the orc,” Fíli adds, pleased to see Bilbo’s quick grin in response before they’re all sobering once more.
As the dwarves prepare for a confrontation, Gandalf pops out from behind a large rock, shouting, “This way, you fools!” Thorin is quick to start directing everyone into the hidden crack Gandalf has found, standing just at the top to usher everyone inside.
Dwalin sheathes his hammer and picks Bilbo up, slinging him over his shoulder while he runs—ignoring the squawk of protest the hobbit emits. Fili follows close behind, after picking up the hobbit’s dropped blade, and provides cover as the large alpha sprints to safety. After they drop inside Bofur is immediately by Bilbo’s side, checking for nonexistent injuries. The rest of the pack stands nearby watching closely, but Bilbo can tell they all want to do the same. It almost has him feeling smothered, though he knows they’re only doing it with the best intentions. But honestly, there was hardly a fight and he is perfectly fine!
Kíli and Thorin are the last in their hideout. Not long after, they hear the sound of a horn, followed by a dead orc tumbling into their midst with an arrow sticking out of its back. Thorin plucks it out and grimaces. “Elves.”
Meanwhile, Dwalin had been exploring the back of the cave and found an opening. “I cannot see where the pathway leads. Do we follow it or no?” he calls back to Thorin.
“Follow it, of course!” Bofur replies before their head alpha can, already pushing forward. After Gandalf’s agreement, the rest of the dwarves soon follow, with Bilbo and Thorin bringing up the rear.
The follow the narrow path for quite some time, single file, and Bilbo is beginning to lose hope they’ll find an exit. He can just feel Thorin behind him growing more and more annoyed the longer it goes on. Finally, though, it opens to a small trickling waterfall, which opens to an even bigger valley. “The valley of Imladris,” Gandalf explains. “In the Common Tongue, it is known by another name.”
“Rivendell,” Bilbo exhales, completely awestruck. He’s heard tale of it from his mother, back when he was a fauntling, but never had he imagined he’d see it himself, especially not after his presentation.
Thorin is, of course, wholly displeased with the way Gandalf has tricked them into stopping by when he had clearly expressed his disapproval earlier. None of the other dwarves seem happy to be in the valley either, to Bilbo’s dismay. Still, they head to the Last Homely House East of the Sea and are greeted pleasantly enough.
After Lord Elrond’s return with his soldiers, they are invited to stay and enjoy dinner. Though Thorin is reluctant, he grudgingly agrees with a bit more snark than Bilbo thinks necessary, though he doesn’t comment—it isn’t his place, after all.
Dinner with Lord Elrond goes about as well as it had at Bilbo’s smial, to the hobbit’s utter horror. Clearly it is too much to expect any sort of restraint from the dwarves, or manners for that matter. Throughout dinner they’re tossing food and complaining about the selection—Bilbo wants to hide his face in embarrassment. At least Balin, whom he is sat next to, seems rather sedate, preferring to watch rather than participate.
Up at the high table where Thorin sits with Gandalf and Elrond, he hears them discussing the blades they found in the troll horde, and he looks curiously down at his own. He can’t see anything remotely identifying on it, but when Balin glances at him out of the corner of his eye he stuffs it back down and returns to his—quite delicious, in his opinion—salad.
After dinner, one of Elrond’s elves escorts them to the rooms they will stay in and Bilbo is happy to see the large, plush bed inside his. He is especially pleased with his balcony’s view of the hidden valley, and it is there where another of Elrond’s elves finds him. She announces her presence with a delicate cough, though it still startles Bilbo into spinning around suddenly. “Hello,” he greets her, entreating his breathing to calm back down.
The corners of her lips twitch, as if she were restraining a smile, before she composes herself and returns his greeting, as well as introduces herself. “I am Arwen, Master Baggins. My father asked me to see if there was anything you needed,” she explains.
It takes a moment for Bilbo to place the name before he blurts, “You’re Lord Elrond’s daughter,” much to her amusement.
“Yes, I am,” she chuckles.
He flushes high on his cheeks. “Oh, yes, well—thank you for the offer, but I’m fine,” he tells her, looking away.
“Are you sure?” she inquires. “It would be no problem. Perhaps a bath, or maybe a change of clothes? Or I could show you the library, or the gardens, if it would please you.”
Bilbo’s eyes widen. He is so tempted to agree with her…but Thorin will most likely not be pleased. “No, thank you,” he says. “I should return to my alphas to see if they are settling in.” He heads back into the room, though Arwen stays in the doorway watching him.
“Surely your alphas would want you taken care of?” Arwen says. “Besides, I think my father was going to be speaking with your leader this evening. He will be busy, and you will have plenty of time to get cleaned up before his return.”
At this Bilbo pauses, seriously reconsidering her offer. Thorin won’t notice if he’s going to be busy. And no one pays any attention to him except when he’s cooking dinner, which they’ve already eaten. He turns to Arwen and meets her hopeful gaze. “Very well then,” he consents. “A bath and a change of clothes sounds very nice.”
She smiles brightly. “Wonderful. The baths are just down the hall,” she says, moving to show him the way. “I’ll have a change of clothes ready for you by the time you’re done.”
Bilbo pauses in the entryway to the baths. “Thank you,” he tells her, smiling gratefully. Then it fades as he fidgets nervously. “If—if it’s not too much trouble…could you not tell the others where I am? If they ask,” Bilbo requests. “I just—I don’t.”
She gives him a confused look but nods anyways. “If you would like,” she replies. “Though I do not understand your hesitance. You are their omega; should it not please them to see you taken care of?”
He shakes his head but doesn’t bother to correct her. Perhaps it’s different among elves, he guesses. Arwen takes her leave in the silence, and Bilbo heads into the baths to thoroughly scrub the dirt that has accumulated from his body. Despite how guilty he feels about it, he is exceedingly pleased to soak in a tub full of warm water after weeks of travel.
When he finishes there is indeed a pile of new clothes lying just inside the doorway. He dresses himself in the clothing, sighing happily at the airy quality of elven clothes. Hopefully, though, they’ll return his old clothes since these are much too light to make good travel wear. Not to mention Thorin would undoubtedly be displeased.
Then, as if summoned by his thoughts, Bilbo runs headlong into the dwarf he was just thinking about. Immediately they reach out for one another, Thorin to stop Bilbo from falling and Bilbo to steady himself. When he realizes just who he is grabbing onto he hastily lets go, lowering his gaze politely. “Forgive me, my lord. I did not see you there.”
Thorin’s frown goes unnoticed by the hobbit as the dwarf looks him over. “Where have you been?” he gruffly asks. He’s just returned from speaking with Lord Elrond about his father’s map, only to be accosted by most of his pack, who’ve informed him that Bilbo could not be found. He is only glad he hasn’t had to search very long to find him.
“Ah, well…” Bilbo stutters, “the elves—she offered…” Bilbo trails off, feeling his face heat in embarrassment and shame.
Thorin snorts derisively. “To pamper you?” At this Bilbo flinches, but the alpha does not care. “I would not get used to it, Master Baggins. We will be leaving soon enough.” Bilbo nods wordlessly, too afraid of further reprimands to speak. “Go and join the others; they are in the last room at the end of the hall. Try not to get lost with any more elves.” Bilbo nods quickly and scurries off under Thorin’s watchful gaze.
Chapter 9: An Unexpected Instruction
Chapter Text
Bilbo wakes late the next morning. He sits up from the mound of blankets he had piled in the back corner and blearily rubs his eyes. The room is empty, save for Bifur, who appears to be carving something. When he notices the hobbit waking, he offers a brief nod before returning to his work. Bilbo stands and stretches before straightening out his rumpled clothes. He looks around the room and pauses.
What is he supposed to do now? He doesn’t know where the others have gone, and Bifur won’t be able to tell him. Should he go and look? He discards the thought as quickly as it occurs. Thorin hadn’t liked it the last time he wandered off, and he doesn’t want to anger the head alpha any further. But if he stays, what is he to do? He eyes the room, noting the messy pile of blankets and clothes, packs, and weapons scattered about the space. Cleaning would take a while. And breakfast! There is nothing to prepare for breakfast.
He is about to despair—he’s failing his duties as their omega!—when the door to the room opens to reveal the Ri brothers, one of which is carrying a tray full of food that Bilbo hones in on immediately. He forces himself to stay where he is, instead watching as they enter. “Here, Bilbo,” Ori says, setting the tray down on one of the tables in the room. “We brought you some breakfast since you missed it earlier.”
“Figured you could do with a lie-in,” Nori adds.
Under the dwarves’ gazes Bilbo approaches and joins them at the table. There is quite a bit of food on the tray, more than they’d had to eat any day on the road. He hadn’t realized until now just how much he’d had to change his diet while on the road. “Thank you,” he tells the dwarves, smiling in their direction. He eagerly digs into the scrambled eggs, but then pauses before the fork reaches his mouth. “You’re welcome to have some, if you like,” he offers.
Dori waves him off. “Nonsense. We’ve already eaten. This is all for you.”
Nori grins. “Yeah, we’ve been told hobbits eat a lot of food, so enjoy it while it lasts.”
Hearing this, Bilbo has no more reservations and begins eating with gusto. At some point Dori pours him a cup of tea, which he gratefully accepts and takes sips of, sighing happily. “Oh, this is wonderful,” he mutters. It’s been too long since he last enjoyed a good cup of tea. Rivendell really was going to spoil him.
Dori gives a pleasant smile in return to Bilbo’s words. “Thank you. It’s an elven blend I found in the pantry,” he grumbles. “When we reclaim Erebor, I’ll show you dwarven blends that you’ll like much better.”
Bilbo pauses, surprised, and then nods. “I’d like that. Thank you.”
“Yes yes, that’s all nice and dandy, but finish your food,” Nori jovially interrupts. “Dwalin is waiting for you. Somewhere, I think. He wants to get started with your training.”
“A courtyard,” Ori supplies. “I can show you.”
“Thank you,” Bilbo tells the young dwarf. “And thank you again for the meal,” he tells all three.
“No problem,” Nori grins, “but you apologize entirely too much.”
They all stand as Bilbo begins clearing things up, placing them back on the tray. Before he can grab it, Dori reaches out and snatches it away. “Don’t be ridiculous. He was merely raised to be polite,” he chides, eyeing his brother.
Nori’s grin turns mischievous, but before they can properly start arguing Ori is ushering Bilbo out into the hall, the hobbit’s blade already in hand. “Here, let’s get you to Dwalin,” the young dwarf says. They walk in companionable silence to where Dwalin waits.
Ori leads him to a courtyard not far from the Company’s shared room, and Bilbo is confident he can find it again in the maze that is the Last Homely House. When they arrive they spot Dwalin running through a few of his own drills with his war hammer. They wait along the edge of the courtyard for him to finish, neither wanting to interrupt him—and Bilbo finds that he particularly enjoys the view. Soon enough, though, Dwalin catches sight of them and sets aside his hammer. “It’s about time you got here,” he says as he walks over to the two. “I almost thought you’d sleep all day.”
Bilbo flushes and looks to the ground, feeling chastised. “I’m sorry, Master Dwalin.”
The older dwarf shares a look with the younger. “Eh, I’m only teasin’. We still got plenty of time to get you started before lunch.” He claps Bilbo on the shoulder with a grin. “Now pick up that letter opener of yours.”
Ori figures this is the time for him to depart and says his goodbyes. “Good luck, Mister Bilbo,” he tells the hobbit, who inclines his head in response. “Don’t go too hard on him, Dwalin.”
The warrior snorts. “I make no guarantees.”
Seeing the slightly alarmed look on their omega, Ori can’t help but tell him, “You’ll be fine,” before he leaves them to it.
Bilbo swallows thickly as he follows Dwalin to the center of the courtyard, his small sword drawn. He’s just glad to see Dwalin has put away his hammer in favor of a sword. When he catches the dwarf watching his nervous approach, he gives him what he hopes is a reassuring smile. Judging by the pleased look on the alpha’s face, it must’ve worked.
Before they even start with any movements, Dwalin shows Bilbo how to properly hold the sword, as well as correct his—quite abysmal, in the dwarf’s opinion—stance. Only after he feels Bilbo has a good grip on things do they move on to the most basic of steps. They work mostly on Bilbo’s defense for the next hour or so until Ori returns to let them know lunch is ready.
Bilbo thinks Ori’s timing couldn’t have been better. While his sword may be small, his arms aren’t used to so much lifting and by the end of their practice he was struggling. As it is, he’s sweating in places that are hardly appropriate for lunch with the pack.
Realizing this, he tries to retreat to one of the other rooms to freshen up some, but Dwalin notices and puts a larger, guiding hand at his back to keep him in place. When he tries complaining about his state of dress, Dwalin merely brushes him off. “They know what we were doing,” he tells him. “Besides, we’re continuing after lunch so there’s really no point.” Hearing this Bilbo lets out a tiny whimper at the idea of holding and lifting and swinging his blade for another couple of hours. Both dwarves catch the sound and grin, one devious and the other exasperated.
When they return to the room Bilbo is pleased to learn not all of the dwarves will be joining them. Óin and Glóin are dining elsewhere, and Balin and Thorin are busy with…things, which Bilbo doesn’t mind one bit if it keeps away all the dwarves who don’t particularly like him. Lunch is somewhat easier to enjoy, although he does have to endure some good-natured ribbing on his appearance from Fíli and Kíli.
Lunch passes quicker than Bilbo expects, and afterwards Dwalin and Bilbo return to their courtyard, with the addition of Fíli and Kíli. They head off to the side to work on their own training, while Dwalin and Bilbo resume where they’d left off. Dwalin is pleased to find the omega hasn’t forgotten his grip or stance, and so only needs some minor adjustments. Bilbo preens at the small bit of praise, until Dwalin starts him on another set of drills.
At one point later in the afternoon, Balin and Thorin wander in the courtyard to watch, both curious to see how the hobbit is holding up under Dwalin’s tutelage. To both of their surprise, he seems to be doing quite well—for a beginner. “He’ll need more training, but he’s progressing nicely for someone who isn’t used to this manner of exercise, I think,” Balin notes to their king. It prompts a wry grin from Thorin.
“I thought you said there was not much hope,” he remarks dryly.
“I may have been wrong,” Balin concedes with a demure bow of his head.
Thorin snorts. “He still has a way to go.” He then takes his leave, though Balin remains behind.
The older dwarf watches as his brother instructs their omega. Thorin is right; he has many more years of training before he’ll be considered anything close to a warrior by their standards. But he is also learning quickly for a beginner. Balin knew they had been training before lunch, and he’s surprised to see Bilbo still standing. Hours of training are tough on anyone, and yet the hobbit has hardly stopped to rest, never mind complain. Dwalin knocks him down, he stands right back up. Dwalin remarks on his stance, he fixes it without a word.
Balin has to admit he had his misgivings about taking Bilbo as their omega, with his lack of training being one of the few complaints. However, seeing the hobbit working his hardest to learn to use a weapon has Balin stopping to reconsider a few things. Bilbo is as much a victim of circumstance as they are, and, if Balin is honest, he really doesn’t want to hurt the little hobbit by breaking off their potential bond. Dwalin is helping him train with his weapon; perhaps he can help Bilbo with everything else.
With that decided, Balin promises himself to speak with his brother about training Bilbo only in the mornings. He and the omega have much to discuss if Bilbo is going to be joining their pack.
Dwalin agrees easily enough with Balin’s plan, so the next afternoon Bilbo joins Balin in the gardens where he’s chosen to wait. The hobbit approaches the older dwarf nervously, which stings a little, though he knows he hasn’t been the most accommodating before. He gestures for Bilbo to take a seat when the omega stops in front of him. “If you’re amenable, I was hoping we could talk,” he says, smiling in an attempt to ease the omega.
“Of course, Master Balin,” Bilbo politely agrees.
It isn’t quite what Balin is looking for, but it’ll do. “Firstly, I would like to apologize for my prior behavior. You may have noticed our marriage was not…expected, and I admit I wasn’t too keen on the idea. However, I have come to realize it is perhaps not as bad as I thought. You seem to be charming the pack, and I find myself one of them,” he grins.
Bilbo glances at the dwarf and flushes from the alpha’s words. Balin finds it quite endearing. “There’s nothing to apologize for,” Bilbo tries telling the alpha, but he won’t hear it.
“Regardless, you have it.” Bilbo goes quiet—he knows better than to argue with his alpha—but it seems to appease Balin, who continues. “But that’s not why I asked you to join me this afternoon. Though Gandalf explained a little when we were in your home, I confess I do not know much of alpha-omega relationships between hobbits, and I’m sure they are not like their own. Therefore, I would be happy to teach you.”
Bilbo is surprised. Of all the things he thought Balin wanted to talk about, teaching him hadn’t been one. “Teach?” he asks, just to be sure he understands right.
The dwarf nods. “Yes. There are things taught to our omega as they’re growing up; behavior, duties, and responsibilities within the pack, things like that,” he explains. “You’ve probably been taught your own traditions, but since you’re joining a dwarf pack I thought it would be best you learned this as well, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes! I wou—yes,” Bilbo blurts, his mind working faster than he can comprehend. He is inordinately pleased by what Balin is offering. Now he will be able to provide everything his alphas need, be the perfect omega so they won’t get rid of him and he won’t have to return to the Shire. Bilbo grins widely, only barely managing to contain the urge to hug the alpha as he doesn’t think the action would be appreciated.
“Wonderful,” Balin smiles pleasantly. “Now, perhaps you could tell me of alpha-omega relationships between hobbits so I have an understanding of what you know. Gandalf mentioned very little.”
Bilbo is conflicted, unsure of what he can say since he hardly knows any more than Balin. The dwarf waits patiently as he makes up his mind. “I…am not sure what to say. There hasn’t been an omega in the Shire for years, so…all I know”—he draws the papers from the Thain he’s kept in his pockets this whole time and presents them to Balin. “They gave me this, to help, before I was to be—” he breaks off nervously.
He watches as Balin reads through them, his brows furrowing the further he reads. Bilbo doesn’t take that as a good sign; obviously whatever he’s reading displeases him. When he finishes, he looks over at Bilbo incredulously. “This—this is,” he appears to be at a loss for words and Bilbo braces himself, though for what he has no idea. “Is this real?”
Bilbo shrugs hopelessly. “It’s tradition, I’ve been told.”
Balin appears even more horrified. He turns to Bilbo and grabs his hands. Bilbo is so stunned by the action he forgets his rules and meets Balin’s imploring gaze with his own, wide-eyed. “Bilbo, you don’t have to—this is wrong,” he tells him. “You’re neither a slave nor a servant, and you don’t need to act like this for our sake. Was this why you went quiet several days into our journey?”
Bilbo can barely nod. “You said—that one night—I had no training,” he splutters. “I thought that—”
Balin immediately looks apologetic. “Yes, I did say that, didn’t I?” he asks, though it seems more rhetorical than an actual question. Bilbo says nothing in response. “My most sincere apologies, Master Baggins. I never meant to give you the impression you needed to change yourself to serve us. That isn’t what omegas mean to us dwarves.”
He’s stunned by Balin’s heartfelt words and nervously looks everywhere but the dwarf next to him. It seems almost too good to be true, what he’s telling him. For months it had been drilled into his head that omegas are subservient to their alpha, and yet here he is saying that isn’t true at all. He’s almost too hesitant to ask, “And what do omegas mean to dwarves?”
Balin takes several moments to ponder the question in order to properly answer the omega. He knows that it is important in repairing the rift that has grown between Bilbo and the rest of the pack as a result of his adherence to the hobbits’ tradition, and he wants to be sure that Bilbo knows he will be treasured among them. “Omegas are honored in our society, and we will never consider them—or anyone else, really—as subservient to another. Within a pack…they are the most precious treasure we could possess yet simultaneously the sturdy foundation upon which we build our lives,” he says.
“Children are rare outside of couplings without an omega, so your kind are regarded very highly and it is a great honor to be able to lay claim to one,” Balin explains, but then hastily continues as he tells Bilbo, “And I don’t mean claim as in ownership, not at all.” Bilbo gives him a reassuring smile, nodding to show he understands, which Balin returns before continuing. “As my brother and companions have said before, we would lay down our lives for you. That is how important to us you are.
“Yet, you are not just a means for reproducing. You are our comfort, our caretaker, our lover, our most trusted friend, our pride—our home, essentially. While it is traditionally taught that an omega’s responsibility is to maintain the household, that is hardly the extent of their abilities. We train our omegas to fight just as well as our betas and alphas, and teach them just the same.
“So you see, Bilbo,” he turns to look imploringly at his companion, wanting to be absolutely positive his words are understood, “you do not have to change who you are to be our omega. I mean no disrespect to your hobbit traditions, but…they are unnecessary.”
At this Bilbo can’t contain his snort, wholly amused and completely relieved by Balin’s words. “I assure you, Master Balin, I take no offence,” he tells the dwarf grinning right beside him. “And thank you.” Balin looks puzzled at hearing this, so he elaborates, “For explaining this to me, for giving me a chance. I don’t think this marriage would have turned out very well had we continued as we had before.”
“Oh, definitely,” Balin is quick to agree. “It is my pleasure, Master Baggins.” He then stands, Bilbo automatically doing the same as he glances curiously at Balin. “Well, I believe it’s getting rather late. Almost time for dinner. We’ve discussed plenty for this evening, I think.”
Bilbo blinks. “You mean there’s more that you wanted to speak to me about?” he asks incredulously.
Balin nods, amusement plainly written along the lines of his face. “Oh yes, much more. While I imagine you are not unfamiliar with maintaining a household, there are still other things you will be required to know. After all, you are the omega of the King’s alpha pack; once we reclaim the mountain you will be Consort, and with that will come all manner of duties and expectations. Not to mention, you will have to learn Khuzdul,” he explains as they make their way back to the Company’s shared room. As they walk, he chances a glance at his companion and has to chuckle at the overwhelmed expression on the hobbit’s face. “Don’t worry, Bilbo. I’ll be here to help you, and I imagine many of the others will be perfectly willing as well.”
Bilbo heaves a sigh. “To be honest, part of me is looking forward to the learning opportunity—I was something of a scholar before all of this—but another part of me is bemoaning the sheer amount of knowledge that’s about to be thrown at me,” he wryly chuckles.
They stop before the closed doors of their room, Balin clapping a reassuring hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “You’ll do fine; I have faith in you,” and with that he opens the doors. Bilbo, after pausing a moment to remember he no longer has to follow those stupid papers of his anymore, enters soon after with a small smile on his face.
Many greetings come his way as Bofur and Nori gesture him over to a seat between them. He gladly takes it, allowing himself to glance around at the dwarves gathered around him. They all seem genuinely pleased to have him among them, and he can’t help but feel extremely grateful Balin had told him he can be himself, if this is what he had been missing the entire time.
Balin makes his way over to a smaller table where his brother sits watching the whole room, particularly the small gathering where there omega sits eating with the others. “So?” he grunts once Balin has taken a seat.
He sighs heavily as he thinks back on their earlier conversation. “They taught him to be subservient,” he says.
“What?!” Dwalin roars, drawing the attention of almost all the dwarves in the room. Balin scowls at his younger brother as he waves them off, though he notices Bilbo’s gaze lingering in their direction a bit longer than the others. He smiles reassuringly at the hobbit before nudging his brother none too gently in the side with his elbow. It hardly fazes the dwarf. “No wonder he was acting funny,” he snorts, returning to his meal.
“Yes, well, I’ve explained things,” Balin says, digging into his own.
“Good,” Dwalin huffs. “The others’ll be happy now. It’s been driving them ‘round the bend, wondering what’s wrong with him.”
Balin allows a small smile as he hums in agreement. “Now the only problem is Thorin.”
“When isn’t it?” Dwalin grumbles, and Balin finds he cannot disagree. “I thought your lessons were supposed to help with that.”
“They should, but it’s all moot if he doesn’t even notice. He hardly ever looks at our hobbit anymore,” Balin gripes, glancing over to do just that himself.
“We just need to give him time,” Dwalin reassures him, though Balin is still skeptical. He foregoes replying in favor of finishing his meal whilst planning his future discussions with Bilbo. It will be best to take advantage of their time in Rivendell while he can. Their path will only get more dangerous from here.
They stay almost a week and a half in Rivendell, waiting for the right phase of moon so Lord Elrond can read the runes written on Thrain’s map. Every day Bilbo spends his mornings training with Dwalin, who is thrilled—as much as he can be—with the amount of progress he’s making with his blade. He has certainly come far from the weak hobbit he had been. In the afternoons, he joins Balin and sometimes Ori for lessons on his duties as Consort and what will be expected from him once they reclaim their kingdom.
Bilbo does notice that, throughout their talks, they are careful to avoid speaking about finishing their bonding, but he doesn’t want to bring it up on the off-chance they are avoiding it for a reason. As it is, he’s still too nervous to talk about it to Thorin, despite Balin saying he needn’t be afraid of the head alpha.
Thorin hardly spends his time with the rest of the pack during the days, wandering off to do his own thing. They most often see him in the evenings after dinner, just before they retire, and he is almost always speaking with Balin or Dwalin about private matters. Bilbo has no chances to get close to him. It is a little disappointing, considering he is the head alpha.
Ever since Balin said he could be himself, Bilbo has started trying to get to know his dwarves again. It is slow going sometimes when he defaults back to his subservient behavior, but they are all very patient with him and he finds it very endearing. There are times when Bilbo just wants to give them all hugs and have them hold him, but he refrains from any overly affectionate actions, unsure of how it would be received. At this point in their relationship, he would expect such things to be common, however none of the dwarves have yet to show him any more affection than the occasional pat on his back. It is just another thing that he’ll have to bring up with Thorin, if he could ever find the elusive dwarf.
It comes as a surprised to Bilbo when, after dinner on their eleventh day in Rivendell, Thorin asks him to accompany Balin and himself when Lord Elrond reads his father’s map. He agrees, reassured by Balin’s presence since Thorin is as stoic as ever, though he is unsure as to why exactly his presence is necessary. But if his alpha wants him there, he won’t argue.
They learn that evening that they will have to arrive at Erebor before Durin’s Day—which he learns is the start of the dwarves’ New Year. Balin assures him they have plenty of time, but Thorin still orders them to be packed and ready to depart by dawn the next day. Bilbo is saddened to be leaving Rivendell, having had an excellent time during their stay, but they do need to get back on their journey.
Packing isn’t difficult this time around, especially considering he hardly unpacked, so he spends most of his time helping the other dwarves. He also says his goodbyes to Gandalf, since the wizard plans to stay behind. He says something about a White Council, and distracting them; Gandalf glosses over quite a bit of his explanation, most likely intentionally. But he does reassure them that they will meet again once they cross the Misty Mountains.
Bilbo falls asleep that night—their last in Rivendell—pleased with how things have gone. Much has changed during their stay, and all of it for the better. The rest of the journey to Erebor doesn’t seem as daunting as it had before, now that he knows there are 13 dwarves—or 12, at the very least—willing to support him.
Chapter 10: An Unexpected Challenge
Chapter Text
Thorin wakes everyone long before sunrise the next morning. Bilbo is hardly pleased by that fact, but there is nothing he could do unless he wants to be left behind. As it is, having packed everything the night before they are able to set out quickly on their path through the Misty Mountains, after a small breakfast Bilbo insists on.
By the time the sun rises, they are well out of Rivendell and entering the mountains proper. Bilbo pauses to take in the view, admiring the way the sun shines on the Valley of Imladris. He’d never thought he’d get the chance to visit the elven city, especially once he was promised to some alpha, and while they have been reluctant visitors he is still glad for the chance to see it.
He only pauses for a moment, but it’s long enough for Thorin to take notice and call back to him. “Master Baggins, I suggest you keep up,” he tells him before turning away to follow Bain’s lead. Bilbo grimaces at the tone and wordlessly turns to follow. Bofur briefly claps him on the back, throwing a quick grin his way as he steps up beside the hobbit, earning a grateful one in return.
It takes them three days before they reach the Misty Mountains proper, and in the meantime Bilbo has quickly fallen back into his routine from before, save for minor adjustments. He still helps Bombur prepare their meals, but now there is more companionship involved instead of his quiet assistance. The long walking also gives him plenty of time to talk with Balin, when he isn’t being monopolized by the princes or Ori and his brothers. It is almost as if his misjudgment from before never happened, and he’s grateful.
When they reach the actual mountains, Bilbo is surprised to find the trail quite easy to navigate. Balin apparently seems to know where he’s going as he leads them along the rocky paths. It’s much better than Bilbo had imagined the trail would be, the path wide enough for three dwarves to walk side by side—unless they stand next to Bombur—at the smallest of places. Even so, Bilbo does his best to not wander too close to the edge, an idea many of his alphas share as they not-so-subtly maintain at least one dwarf between him and the gaping abyss.
It isn’t until their third night that things take a turn for the worst in the mountains. Rain starts to pour down from the skies, soaking into everything and everyone until they’re chilled to the bone. It also has the—unfortunate—added effect of turning the path dangerously slippery.
Still, they trudge on, though in single file now that Bilbo spares a thought for it. He tries hard not to notice how their pathway had gone from plenty wide to barely large enough for Bombur, instead paying close attention to the back of the dwarf in front of him. Despite their circumstances, Bilbo feels quite safe with Bofur in front and Dwalin behind him. He’s quite sure Dwalin is developing a soft spot for him.
His confidence is not misplaced. At one point the stone beneath his feet gives way and he drops, only Dwalin’s quick snag of the back of his cloak stopping him from plummeting to his death. He is thoroughly shaken after that experience, even when they get him back on solid ground, and he keeps one hand firmly clenched in the back of Bofur’s coat after that. The alpha doesn’t seem to mind, anyhow.
Bilbo had thought things couldn’t get any worse unless he actually fell down the mountain, but he is quickly proven wrong. Dwalin’s cry of, “Watch out!” has him looking up just in time to catch the large boulder flying over their heads and crashing into the mountainside above them.
There’s panic among the group as they struggle to maintain their position despite the chaos around them. Boulders are crashing around them as the two giants fight, unaware of the Company in their midst. Then the ground beneath them starts to shake as a crack appears. Above them, sections of the mountain start to separate as another stone giant defines itself, with them standing on its legs. The seam splits the pack right in half and there is a desperate cry from Fíli as his brother is torn away.
Bilbo clings desperately to Bofur as the giant they’re on moves. He’s hardly aware of the other half of the pack moving to safer ground before they too are carried off. All he can think about is surviving—with a small part of his mind lamenting the fact he’ll be dying so young—as the giant they're on engages one of the others. It throws a punch and they path they’re on tilts precariously, but they manage to cling to the side. Then another joins in, throwing a rock at the head of their giant and knocking it off.
For a moment Bilbo is relieved, hoping that maybe they’ll be out of immediate danger. Then he sees the side of the mountain rapidly approaching as the giant falls, its body collapsing without its head. He braces for impact against Bofur, vaguely aware of a warm weight settling against his own back, before they’re knocked against the mountain.
He feels nothing, and then, as if from a distance, he hears Thorin calling out for his nephew as his senses slowly return. A small groan slips from him as his injuries make themselves known, but for the most part they seem to be only bruises and minor cuts. Rocks shuffle and fall around him as the dwarves pick themselves up. He brushes some gravel off his shoulder, rolling a little to avoid the small avalanche caused by another’s shifting, and then suddenly…he’s falling.
His weight shifts him backwards, first his legs and then his torso slipping over the edge. He scrambles, hands grabbing furiously at any rock he can find, only for them to give way until he’s caught the lip of the edge. His heart thunders in his ears as he fights to maintain his grip, too focused to even cry for help.
Thankfully, one of his alphas is paying attention. “Where’s Bilbo?” Bofur asks, glancing everywhere among the rubble for their little companion. “Where’s the hobbit?”
“There!” Ori cries out, diving to the ground to catch Bilbo’s arm as they all turn their attentions to him.
He loses his grip despite Ori’s help, dropping further before he can find another handhold just out of reach of the dwarves’ reaching hands. Undiluted fear radiates from the omega, causing further panic among the alphas as they’re unable to do anything. Thorin feels their panic, knowing their omega is in danger, but it only brings a calm to his mind. He finds a handhold and swings down to Bilbo’s level, grabbing the hobbit and hoisting him up to Bofur and Nori’s outstretched hands.
He allows himself to relax minutely now that their omega is safe, and it almost becomes his own undoing. He loses his grip, dropping briefly before Dwalin catches his hand and hauls him up. “I thought we’d lost our burglar,” Dwalin remarks, glancing over at the hobbit enduring attentions from several of the Company.
Thorin growls, suddenly irked for reason he can’t explain in their current chaos. “He’s been lost ever since he left home. He has no place among us.” He isn’t entirely sure what makes him say that, but they have more pressing things to worry about. He turns away from the group, barking orders to keep moving.
Bilbo is frozen in place by the alpha’s words, his heart plummeting down into the depths of the Misty Mountains. All of his work, all of his effort, and Thorin doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter what the other alphas in the pack think, how much they like him. If Thorin doesn’t want him, then he won’t be able to stay. All of the fears he’d discarded after Balin’s initial talk come rushing back, anxiety and dread clouding his senses. One of the dwarves nudges him forward, but he’s too out of it to note who, instead blindly following behind.
Fíli and Kíli, who were scouting ahead on Thorin’s orders, find a cave soon enough and the Company gratefully takes refuge. Dwalin goes to search the back while everyone else settles in, unrolling bedrolls in their familial groups. All but Bilbo. He finds a secluded spot off to the side, ignoring the glances many of the dwarves send his way. None of them approach; they can’t, as much as they want to. Now that Thorin has denounced their omega, they have to respect his decision as alpha of the pack.
Bilbo feigns sleep as the Company settles. He can’t stay with them any longer, now that he is unwelcome. With any luck, he can sneak out and make decent headway back to Rivendell before morning, and maybe Thorin won’t bother to look for him to forcibly break their forming bond, instead letting it fade over time. It would save him at least a little bit of pain, for now.
He doesn’t account for Bofur being on watch when he attempts his escape. A soft call of his name has him halting guiltily in his tracks. “Where do you think you’re going?” he whispers. There’s no hiding the hurt in his voice.
“Back to Rivendell,” he replies. “I can’t stay here, Bofur, not anymore.”
“No, no, you can’t go. You’re part of the Company; you’re one of us.” He approaches Bilbo imploringly, and Bilbo finds it hard to resist. He doesn’t want to leave, not really. He’s starting to care for these dwarves, his alphas, his husbands.
“Is that so? Because I just heard Thorin say otherwise,” Bilbo retorts snappishly, using the sting of the alpha’s word to fuel his resolve. He ignores the hurt that flashes across the dwarf’s face, but it’s a close thing. This would be better for them. “I can’t stay, Bofur,” he repeats.
The dwarf is conflicted, wavering between his selfish desire to keep the omega he’s grown fond of and his selfless desire to have the hobbit happy. His sigh is one of defeat. “Okay then.” Bilbo is surprised to hear the dwarf give in so quickly. “I won’t stop you…But we’ll miss you. The lads especially. And me.”
At this, Bilbo almost crumbles. “Oh, Bofur,” he says, reaching out to rest a hand on his cheek. He tells himself he won’t cry. “I’ll miss you all dearly as well, and I wish you the best of luck.”
The alpha huffs out a laugh despite the situation. “I suppose we’ll need it now that we’re down a burglar.” He grips the hand holding his face, gently pulling it away. “Goodbye, Mas—” he breaks off, glancing down. “What’s that?” Both of their eyes are drawn to Bilbo’s sword, the faint glow of blue emanating from the blade where he peeks out from the sheath. Bofur’s eyes widen. “Wake up!” he shouts.
Many dwarves immediately jolt awake, but they aren’t quick enough to do anything. A giant crack appears in the floor of the cave, their only warning before the bottom splits beneath them. Everyone falls, tumbling down the rocks before they land in some wooden basket in a pile. Bilbo groans, though he is lucky to survive relatively unharmed—he’s quite sure his bruises are going to have bruises, at this point—thanks to Bofur underneath him. He sends a mental apology to the dwarf.
They have no time to gain their bearings before they’re swarmed by goblins. The dwarves closest attempt to put up a fight, but they’re hopelessly outnumbered and, without their weapons, at a serious disadvantage. Bofur and Bifur manage to sandwich Bilbo between them for protection as they’re grabbed and herded down the wooden walkways.
The Company is escorted to a large platform where the fattest goblin ever—in Bilbo’s opinion—sits atop a throne of bones and wood, and it is singing. Horribly. Bilbo hardly pays attention to the words, but he knows they aren’t good. Nothing about this situation is good; dealing with the stone giants might be more preferable than this. The goblin jumps from his throne when he sees the Company approach, crushing several goblins beneath his feet. “Who would be so bold as to come armed into my kingdom? Spies? Thieves? Assassins?!” he screeches.
“Dwarves, Your Malevolence,” one of the goblins replies, bowing his head in deference. There is a brief struggle amongst the pack as their weapons are piled on the platform before them. “We found them on the front porch.”
“What are you doing in these parts? Speak!” the Great Goblin demands, but none of them respond. Bilbo is too frightened to make even a sound. “Well then, if they will not talk, we’ll make them squawk! Bring out the mangler! Bring out the bone breaker!” There is some shuffling among the goblins and dwarves, and Bilbo finds himself pushed forward closer to the front than he would prefer, though Thorin’s steadfast form keeps him from toppling over. Still, he is immediately singled out by the Great Goblin. “Start with the omega.”
Bilbo is grabbed by the goblin that had spoken and brought forward. The dwarves immediately surge towards him, fighting against their captors, and even Thorin reaches out a hand to snatch their omega back. He misses, and Bilbo is placed directly in front of the goblin king. His horror is reflected back to him by nearly all of his alphas, and even Thorin’s stoic mask has dropped to reveal his inner panic. “Wait,” the head alpha demands, forcibly taking a step forward.
“Well, well, well, look who it is. Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror; King Under the Mountain,” the Great Goblin says, sketching out an exaggerated bow to Thorin. “Oh, but I’m forgetting, you don’t have a mountain. And you’re not a king. Which makes you nobody, really.”
He goes on about a pale orc, but all Bilbo can focus on is Thorin, who’s watching him with startling intensity. He can tell the alpha is distressed, to say the least, so he does his best to project a calm he doesn’t feel at all. Thorin still has a Company to lead and a mountain to reclaim, even if Bilbo won’t be there to continue with them. He wishes he could reassure them that he isn’t blaming any of them for what’s happening—though if anyone is to blame, it would be Gandalf for getting him into this whole mess.
He tries not to show any panic when he spots the torture constructions being carried towards them. The goblin king is singing a new song that Bilbo is having a particularly hard time tuning out. The goblins are getting especially antsy with anticipation for Bilbo’s torture, taking shots at the bound dwarves and poking through the pile of things they picked off of them. One goblin in particular is nosing through their weapons when he gasps and throws the blade Thorin had found in the troll hoard away in Bilbo’s direction. Goblins howl and scatter at the sight of it, and even the Great Goblin scurries backwards, trampling several more goblins in his bid to get away. “I know that sword! It is the Goblin-Cleaver, the Biter, the blade that sliced a thousand necks,” he cries.
Bilbo notices that, in the goblins’ panic, he’s been left quite unattended. As inconspicuously as he can manage, he begins shuffling closer to the blade. No one takes notice.
The goblin king screams for their heads and the masses attack the Company, forcing them to scramble to defend themselves from the onslaught. Then there is a massive explosion of bright light from behind them, everything going muted as a shockwave rips through the cavern, tossing goblins in the air and destroying the torture machines. There is a pause amongst everyone as the light begins to fade, and then Gandalf steps forward with his staff and blade raised. “Take up arms. Fight. Fight!” he shouts.
The dwarves move quickly as some begin fighting the goblins while others race for their weapons. Bilbo stops all pretenses of being sneaky and races for Orcrist. Before he can grab it, though, Thorin reaches out and snatches the blade up, swiftly dispatching a goblin that had been lunging for them before turning to the hobbit. “Come along, Master Baggins,” he says before slicing through the ropes binding Bilbo’s hands. A different hand quickly hauls him up and pushes him towards the rest of the Company.
Once everyone is gathered, Gandalf quickly leads them down the platforms, killing any goblins he encounters. Someone—Bilbo forgets exactly who in all the action—hands him the small blade he’d acquired from the hoard, and he uses it to the best of his ability to defend himself from the few goblins that make it through Dori and Ori, his new self-appointed guards.
They’re on one of the more rickety platforms when a group of goblins jumps down from above into their little trio. Dori and Ori are both immediately distracted with their own opponents while the last two gang up on Bilbo, no doubt recognizing him as the weakest and therefore easiest target. He defends the attack of the first goblin, only to barely dodge a blow from the second with a minor scratch on his arm. The pain has him pause for just a moment, but it is a moment too long. They both swarm him, knocking him off balance with their weight. His sword drops in his surprise, and then they’re all falling.
It’s just as disorienting as the first time he fell in the mountains, only this time there’s nothing for him to grab except the goblins. He hears a cry that might be Ori, and despite his fall his first instinct is still to reassure the dwarf that everything will be fine.
Atop the platforms, the alpha pack momentarily freezes at the scream of agony from one of their youngest. Ori is scrambling towards the edge despite his brother’s hold on him, tears already streaming down his face. It takes moments for them to realize their omega is no longer in their midst. Many a shocked gasp are released and several move towards the edge as if they plan on jumping themselves to retrieve him. Kíli finds himself weak in the legs and has to prop himself on his brother’s shoulder, though Fíli is hardly in better condition. Even Thorin’s face has gone deathly pale and Dwalin smashes his war hammer into the side of the cavern with a bellow of rage. Gandalf allows the momentary pause, feeling his own sorrow and guilt, before he urges them to keep moving. They are still being hunted by goblins.
Once again, Bilbo finds himself bemoaning the state of his poor battered and bruised body. And not only that, he’s completely soaked. He splutters and coughs the liquid out of his airways, rolling over to vomit all over the ground. Then he takes a moment to thank any and all of the Valar for the body of water he fell into, and whatever helped him reach dry land.
He hears shifting on the rocks and looks up, expecting a goblin and finding the big, round eyes of a creature he’s never seen before. He yelps and scrambles backwards into the shallows of the water. “What is it, Precious? What is it?” the creature asks, cocking its head to the side as it gazes at Bilbo. The thing seems to be some emaciated goblin-thing, yet so far it hasn’t shown any aggression towards him.
Bilbo carefully regards it. “My name is Bilbo Baggins,” he says, surreptitiously glancing around the area for his blade.
“Bagginses?” it asks. “What is a Bagginses, Precious?”
“I’m a hobbit, from the Shire,” he explains, though why he bothers he doesn’t know. If anything, it will give him time to look for a way out. So far, he hasn’t found the goblins he fell with, which he supposes is a good thing. Better to face one enemy than three.
The creature looks intrigued. “Oh! We like goblinses, batses, and fishes, but we hasn’t tried hobbitses before. Is it soft? Is it juicy?”
Bilbo pales at the mention of eating him and freezes. The thing immediately goes on attack with a harsh cry that manages to snap Bilbo out of his stupor in time to dodge to the side. He isn’t able to entirely avoid the creature and they fall sideways, half in the water. The creature’s hands grab for his shoulders and he flails, barely remembering Dwalin’s instructions on hand-to-hand fighting. He lashes out and catches the thing in the side of its face, momentarily dazing it and he takes the opportunity to roll them over.
He grips the thing’s hands as best he can to keep them away from his face, though it’s a close thing. As thin as it appears, it apparently has some strength in it as they struggle. The thing thrashes and one of its knees comes up to knock Bilbo in the side, forcing the air from his lungs in a whoosh and dropping his defenses. It lunges upwards, nails scratching at Bilbo’s face and knocking him aside. It is on him within a moment and once again Bilbo is struggling to keep it away from him.
In a desperate attempt, Bilbo grabs a handful of rocks and sand and throws it in the thing’s face, shoving it off his stomach when it rears back with a scream. He scrambles out from underneath it and backpedals, putting a few paces between him and the creature. As he does so, he feels his hand close around something he knows isn’t a rock. Keeping half of his attention on the thing still trying to scrub its eyes out in the water, he looks at what he’s picked up and finds a ring.
It is rather plain, just a simple gold band, but something about it draws him in. He’s admiring it when he hears a screech from the creature and immediately stands, backing away a few more paces. Their positions are now reversed, with the thing sitting beside the water and him facing it. The creature is hardly paying him attention anymore, its gaze focused on the ring in his hand. “Give it back!” it hisses.
Bilbo looks between it and the thing, an idea suddenly coming to mind. “Why should I?” he asks.
“It’s our Precious, it is!” the thing shouts. “Give it back” It scrambles a few steps forward and Bilbo matches it, taking just as many steps back. The creature’s eyes narrow and it bares its few teeth as it realizes it’s caught in a stalemate.
Bilbo pretends to think on it. “Hmm, no, I don’t think so. At least, not without something in return.” The creature is immediately wary, but it doesn’t appear to be declining so Bilbo continues. “Show me the way out of here and I’ll give it back.”
It gives no immediate answer, thinking on its reply. “How do we knows we can trust the Bagginses?” the creature asks.
“You don’t,” Bilbo replies with false pleasantness. “But you should know that you won’t get it back until I get out and find my pack, so you really don’t have a choice.” He only hopes it’ll believe him. If it attempts to attack him and take the ring by force, he has no guarantee he’ll be able to fend it off again. He’d only gotten lucky the last time.
It growls. “Very well. Come along, hobbitses.” It moves forward and Bilbo sidesteps, warily eyeing it as it passes. It returns his suspicious glances with a glare, but so far makes no move to take the ring. He has to trust the thing is going to do as he asks instead of leading him further to his doom.
They leave the lake as Bilbo follows the creature, making sure to keep several feet between themselves. He desperately wishes he had his blade on him, but he’s sure he dropped it before he fell. He would feel very bad if it ended up at the bottom of the lake; it is a very nice blade, after all.
He can’t tell how long they walk, but he can recognize that they are rising in elevation. There is a tension in the air between the two of them, the creature glancing back every so often as if to make sure his ring is still there and to glare at him. Bilbo does his best to maintain an air of confident superiority whenever it does, just so it doesn’t get any ideas.
Eventually the creature slows its pace, coming to a stop just as the path they’re on opens to another crossway perpendicular to theirs. “Now, what’s all this?” Bilbo demands as imperiously as he can.
The creature scowls. “Bagginses wanted the way out, and there its is,” it replies.
Bilbo peers suspiciously at the creature as he steps forward and around it. It gives him a dark look but makes no move to grab its ring. He steps into the pathway, immediately feeling the sun reaching him from the open entryway on the left. He grins without thinking and takes a half-step forward. The thing’s hand shoots out to grab his arm. “My Precious. Give it to me!” it demands.
Bilbo absently reaches into the pocket he’d put it in. “Yes, yes, here you go,” he says. As he does, a commotion can be heard from further down the tunnel behind Bilbo. He flinches and the creature automatically scrambles back into the dark pathway, its ring completely forgotten. Bilbo has no time to hide himself before whatever is making the noise comes into view.
Fili barely manages to stop himself before he crashes into Bilbo, though the momentum from his brother behind him keeps him moving forward. Without thinking he grabs onto the hobbit’s arm, dragging him forward with them as they make their escape into the light.
All of the dwarves rush by, the wizard following close behind. Not too far behind them, Gollum can hear the stamping footsteps of goblins. He scowls and retreats further into the pathway so he’s completely out of their sight. When they linger there in the entrance, he growls in frustration and retreats back into his lair.
“Bagginses,” he growls darkly, his face furious as he recalls the hobbit. “Thief! Thief!” he screams, throwing rocks and bones around in his anger. Then as soon as the anger appears, it dissipates and he crumples onto the ground, whimpering pathetically. “My precious!” he moans.
Chapter 11: An Unexpected Enemy
Chapter Text
Towards the bottom of the hill the dwarves begin to slow from their run, safe now in the sunlight. They are all breathing heavily from their escape, muttering amongst themselves, until Fíli lets out a loud exclamation of delight. “Bilbo!” he cries, hugging the hobbit tightly. Kíli immediately joins in, just shy of crushing the omega between them. There are other exclamations of surprise and happiness among the dwarves as they realize just who the princes have picked up in the tunnels.
Immediately Bofur is shoving his way in between the two boys, grabbing the hobbit for himself. “You’re alive, oh thank Mahal you’re alive,” he mutters into Bilbo’s curly hair.
He can’t help but smile, positive his dwarves had been worried about him. “Yes Bofur, I’m fine,” he replies reassuringly. He gently nudges the dwarf off of him and turns to the others, immediately zeroing in on Ori. The poor alpha appears devastated, tears still occasionally slipping down his face as he sniffles. Bilbo rushes over and gathers him in his arms, making gentle shushing noises as he tries to calm him down. “Oh dear, it’s alright, Ori, I’m fine,” he tells him, soothingly rubbing his back. Dori stands close by, watching them both with a tender expression on his face.
“I’m so sorry, Mister Bilbo,” Ori sniffles into his wet coat, which can’t possibly feel comfortable.
“Are you okay, lad?” Óin asks, approaching the two.
Bilbo nods. “I’m fine, if not a little bruised and scratched. Nothing too bad.”
“We thought you were a goner for sure after you fell off the platform,” Kíli gushes. “How did you survive?”
“After I fell I landed in water,” Bilbo explains. “I’m pretty sure it was this creature that dragged me out.”
“Creature?” Gandalf asks, frowning.
Bilbo nods. “It looked horrible. I think it meant to eat me, but I was able to bargain with it for freedom. Oh!” he gasps, digging in his pocket and pulling out the golden ring. “I was supposed to give this back.”
Gandalf’s eyes widen with recognition. “Well, I think it would be best not to go back into the tunnels,” he says quickly. “You’ll just have to hold on to it for now.”
Bilbo frowns, but then agrees easily enough. It is a rather nice ring, after all. “I suppose.” He pockets the ring again so he won’t lose it. “It was quite fortunate you ran into me when you did, anyways, otherwise I have no idea how I would’ve found you.”
“How is that, when just last night you were planning on leaving us?” Thorin harshly asks, finally stepping forward. He is glad the hobbit is unharmed and with them once again, but he’s also very confused. Losing them in the tunnels would’ve given him the perfect opportunity to sneak away.
Bilbo sighs and steps forward to meet the alpha head on, his back straight and head raised proudly. “Look, I know you don’t like me, and you doubt my worth in this Company. But I signed a contract to help you reclaim your home and so I will. Not to mention, I’ve grown quite fond of these dwarves, and since they’re all invested in taking back this mountain of yours it’s only right that I come along as well. Someone has to help watch over you all and steal from a dragon, and I refuse for it to be any hobbit other than me!” He gazes defiantly at Thorin. “I’m staying, so you’re just going to have to get used to it.”
Thorin is stunned. Very few people ever dared to speak so boldly to him, and from what he’d seen of the hobbit he didn’t seem the type. Yet here he is, meeting his gaze evenly as if daring Thorin to say otherwise. It is admirable, to say the least. Perhaps the omega isn’t such a little thing after all. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words become stuck in his throat as howling echoes from the top of the mountain. Wargs sprint through the trees towards them, and Thorin scowls and mutters instead, “Out of the frying pan…”
“And into the fire,” Gandalf finishes for him. “Run! Run!” he shouts, taking off further down the mountain. The dwarf pack is close behind.
Nori grabs a hold of their hobbit’s arm as he runs by, determined not to lose him this time. They run with the others until Bilbo stops suddenly, yanking him back just as a warg leaps over their heads. He hefts his axe as it turns towards them, preparing for its charge. The warg lunges…and then falls, a blade lodged through its snout. Nori recognizes it as the spare he keeps on his belt and turns to Bilbo in surprise.
The hobbit looks shocked by what he’s done, and is currently struggling to remove it from the warg’s skull. Nori yanks the blade out for him and returns it to Bilbo, who gratefully nods with a quiet, “Thanks.”
Nori blinks. “Dori has that little elven blade of yours, if you want it back.”
“Nori! Bilbo! Come on, climb!” Gandalf shouts down at them from his own perch.
The two hustle over to the closest tree, which happens to contain the dwarf’s brothers. He crouches down to give the hobbit a boost to the lowest branch before jumping and snagging one himself. Bilbo wordlessly hands back his sword once they’re settled higher into the tree, recovering his own from Dori a few branches up.
“They’re coming!” Thorin warns as the rest of the warg pack reaches them. They jump and snap at the branches, breaking the ones they can reach, but luckily for them none can jump high enough to threaten the dwarves.
Further up on the hill, a massive white orc appears riding an equally massive white warg. “It cannot be,” Thorin mutters incredulously, and Bilbo wonders if this is the same orc from Balin’s story.
The orc growls out some commands in its twisted language that seems to renew the efforts of the wargs. They scramble at the trees, heaving their weight on them until—to Bilbo’s horror—they begin to tilt. Nori pushes at his back, encouraging him to move, and once they’re close enough they leap into the next tree with some of their other companions. The wargs continue this tactic and their trees fall like dominoes until the entire Company is perched on the last tree on the edge of the cliff.
The wargs stop their attack then, prowling along the base instead. It has Bilbo dreading what is going to happen next. Above them, Gandalf has not remained idle. He grabs pinecones and, with his staff, lights them on fire to toss at the wargs. Most of the Company joins in and soon flames are spreading into a protective barrier around the tree, even catching on the coats of a few wargs. Azog roars in anger where he stands, while in the tree the dwarves cheer.
A jolt shakes them and they all fall silent. The roots of the tree have begun to give way, tilting them precariously over the cliff until it is perpendicular and many of the dwarves are hanging on for dear life. Ori loses his grip, only to cling to his brother’s leg as they dangle above the forest below. Dori soon finds it difficult to hold himself up and calls out to Gandalf, who luckily manages to catch them with his staff before they’re lost.
Thorin is barely aware of any of this, his eyes trained on Azog as the orc approaches their position. There’s a glint in his eye that Bilbo doesn’t particularly like, and he watches as Thorin stands on their tree, sword drawn and shield up to charge at Azog.
Even Bilbo can see it’s a futile attempt. Azog taunts Thorin atop his warg, situated as they are on a rock outcropping. The warg leaps from its perch once Thorin is close enough, its front paw smashing Thorin to the ground. The alpha gets back up again quickly enough, only to be caught by the orc’s mace when it swings around, smashing into his face and knocking him to the ground once more.
“Nooooo!” Bilbo shouts as he manages to stand on the tree. Dwalin attempts to do the same, only to fall again as the branch he grabs breaks, leaving him dangling precariously.
They watch as the warg grabs Thorin in its jaws—Bilbo’s grip on his blade tightens painfully with his anger—before flinging him away like a toy. One of Azog’s riders, at his command, approaches their fallen leader and Bilbo knows he has to do something or their alpha will not survive.
He charges the orc, swinging wildly and slashing it across the chest. In its surprise the orc is barely able to defend itself, falling under Bilbo’s relentless attacks. Azog growls when his warrior falls, but he refuses to back down. He takes a defensive stance in front of an unconscious Thorin. With any luck, he’ll be able to hold off long enough for one of the other dwarves to right themselves and come to his aid.
Azog growls another command and more orc riders come to surround Bilbo. He nervously eyes them all. There’s a noise off to the side that briefly draws the attention of the closest orc before it’s killed by Dwalin as he, Fíli, and Kíli all charge into the fray.
With renewed hope, Bilbo slashes at the nearest warg, cutting it across the face and forcing it to buck its rider. The orc barely has a chance to recover before Bilbo is plunging his blade into its neck.
For all their effort, three dwarves and one hobbit aren’t enough to do much damage to mounted riders and soon they’re surrounded once more. Bilbo starts to worry again when they hear a high-pitched screech. Out of the cover of night comes several giant eagles that attack the orc pack. Many wargs and their riders are picked up by sharp talons to be thrown off the mountain. Others are thrown into the fire or have a tree knocked on them.
Bilbo watches their rescuers, completely awed, until one flies around and approaches him, talons open. “No. Wait, no, no, noooo,” Bilbo splutters, to no avail. He is—surprisingly gently—scooped up by the bird, only to be tossed into the air right after. He yelps—and desperately hopes no one heard it—before landing on the back of another eagle.
Once he gets used to flying and feels confident he isn’t going to fall off, he glances around to see where the rest of the Company is. All of them are riding other eagles in groups of two or three, with Gandalf on his own. It takes him a moment longer to spot Thorin since he isn’t riding the back of any eagle. Instead, he lays unmoving in another’s clutch. It worries him, the lack of movement, and he wonders just how bad his injuries are. Hopefully it’ll be nothing Óin or Gandalf can’t handle; they’re a long ways away from any other healers.
He settles into the eagle’s feathers since they don’t appear to be stopping any time soon. As they fly, the sun begins to rise on the horizon.
It’s near mid-morning when the eagles finally begin to descend, aiming for a large rock formation standing tall over a forest. One by one the eagles drop off their passengers, and the eagle carrying Thorin gently deposits the wounded alpha on the ground. As soon as Gandalf is back on land he rushes over to their fallen comrade to look him over, the rest of the Company gathering to watch with nervous anticipation.
The wizard places a hand on Thorin’s face and mutters something, most likely a healing spell. Soon enough, Thorin’s eyes flutter open as he gasps for air. There are many exclamations and sighs of relief from the Company.
“The Halfling?” Thorin gasps. Dwalin and Kíli move to help him up when he unsuccessfully attempts to do so himself.
“It’s alright,” Gandalf answers. “Bilbo is here. He’s quite safe.”
Bilbo stands back, unsure of what exactly the alpha wants from him. Thorin’s gaze quickly catches his and he shrugs off the help to approach the hobbit. “You!” he growls. “What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed. It is neither your job nor your responsibility to charge into battle like that. You’re our omega! What do you think would happen to us if you died?”
Bilbo is stunned, and a little intimidated, when Thorin starts yelling at him, but it quickly resolves into anger. “So what, I was just supposed to watch you die?” he retorts. “You don’t think it would’ve been just as hard for me? No, I saw my chance and I saved your life and I am not going to regret it. If that bothers you, then you should’ve found yourself a different omega who’d sit at home doing chores while waiting for you to return.”
Thorin’s expression is thunderous when he steps forward and Bilbo finds some of his bravado faltering. “Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild and that you had no place among us?” He steps forward and then his arms are wrapping around Bilbo, pulling him into his sturdy chest. “I have never been so wrong in all my life.”
Bilbo stands there for a moment, surprised by the turn of events, before he wraps his own arms around Thorin. He hides the giddy grin he knows is on his face in the dwarf’s thick coat.
“I am sorry I doubted you,” Thorin says, pulling back to get a good look at the hobbit. Bilbo is surprised, and definitely pleased, to see a small smile on the head alpha’s face. “Master Baggins, I would not change you for the world.”
Bilbo’s grin widens. “I would appreciate that. I’ve had too many people telling me lately how I should act, and it’s all become quite tiresome.” There is some shuffling behind his back and Bilbo turns to the rest of his pack, still grinning. They immediately crowd and he’s forced to step away from Thorin as he’s hugged and checked over for injuries by several worried dwarves. Under any other circumstances he would’ve found it all quite smothering, but right now he realizes he doesn’t particularly mind.
Then he catches sight of something behind them and pauses, staring. Many dwarves notice and turn to look, only to become awestruck themselves. “Is that what I think it is?” Bilbo asks.
“Erebor,” Gandalf confirms. “The Lonely Mountain. The last of the great dwarf kingdoms of Middle Earth.”
Thorin nods. “Our home.”
Chapter 12: The Journey to Beorn's Hall
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
They watch the sun rise behind the Lonely Mountain before it’s suggested by Gandalf to start their descent of the Carrock—as this particular rock formation is apparently called. It is a slow-going task. The steps are much larger than any of them are used to. Bilbo wonders just how large the creature that made them was. Several injured among their Company—namely Thorin—also slow things down considerably. Luckily, he has Dwalin to help him down, while Bilbo sticks with Nori and Ori, who seem reluctant to let him go too far.
By the time they make it down, the sun has risen well into the sky and bears heavily down upon them. Bilbo is exhausted and feels horrible by the time they get to rest at the bottom. He notices across the camp Thorin sitting heavily down on a fallen log. “Perhaps we should rest here for the day?” Gandalf suggests as he watches them all begin to settle. There are many grumbles of agreement.
Fíli and Kíli are the first to perk back up and go about hunting any nearby game, while a couple of the others start gathering firewood for the evening and night. Many of the rest take the opportunity to check the weapons and gear that survived the trip through the goblin tunnels. Óin in particular takes the time to perform his own check-up of Thorin’s injuries, manhandling the head alpha into discarding his outer layers and tunic to examine his ribs.
When the doctor notices Bilbo watching, he beckons the hobbit over to join them. He nervously makes his way over, unsure of what they could want. “Here, lad,” Óin says once he’s near, handing him a jar of thick salve. “Start putting this over the bruising; it’ll keep the swelling down. I’ve got to check his other injuries and it’ll go quicker with the two of us.”
He leaves Bilbo to cover Thorin’s bruises while he inspects the minor cuts Gandalf hadn’t healed. They work quietly, save for Thorin’s grumbles when Óin pokes something too hard. Occasionally Óin will pause to explain to Bilbo what he’s doing, stating that if he’s going to be their omega he might as well get used to properly patching them up. That comment earns another affronted grumble from Thorin, which makes Bilbo chuckle.
But he is glad to be learning this much, at the very least. It makes him feel more useful to the Company, more suited for the dwarf pack, to be able to contribute in these small ways. He isn’t much of a fighter, no matter how much Dwalin trains him, but he is good at other things. Cooking, in particular—and he can’t wait to start feeding them the proper meals he can cook—and keeping a house, as traditional as that is. And now he can patch them up.
Óin finished his inspection of Thorin’s injuries while he’s musing, and he enlists Bilbo to help him wrap up the dwarf king’s chest before he leaves to take care of his own things. Bilbo hesitates before leaving, a part of him wishing to stay and talk with the alpha, get to know him better, but he isn’t sure that would be welcome even if they are on better speaking terms now.
Thorin makes the decision for him when he reaches out to gently grasp his arm, with a quiet command to stay. He looks to the alpha, noting a similar hesitance in his countenance that brings a small smile to his face as he sits back down next to him. When Thorin returns it with a small one of his own he is inordinately pleased.
“Forgive me for not asking sooner, Master Baggins,” Thorin begins, “but you are not injured?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing in concern as he gives the hobbit a cursory glance for injuries.
“No, no, I’m fine,” Bilbo is hasty to reassure him. “Just a few bruises, but nothing to really worry about.”
Thorin nods. “Ah, that’s good then,” he says, and then there is a bit of silence when neither of them know what to say next. There isn’t an easy comradery between them like there is with the others, and with their relationship as new as it is, neither wants to mess it up with the wrong words.
Fortunately, they are saved with the loud return of Fíli and Kíli, who have brought with them four rabbits they caught in the forest. Bilbo takes the opportunity to make his escape—lest they get any more awkward—and goes over to the newly made fire to assist Bombur with preparing them for dinner. Still, he’s pleased when Thorin slowly makes his way over to the fire as well, sitting silently off to the side.
“We also found a river nearby,” Kíli reports. “Perhaps tomorrow we can make use of it?” he suggests, and all nearby heads turn to look at their leader.
“No, Master Kíli, I think it would be best if we continue on,” Gandalf interjects before the alpha can reply, having approached while no one was paying attention. Both Fíli and Kíli seem put out by his words.
Bilbo looks to Thorin imploringly. “I think we should take the extra day of rest while we’re here,” he says. “This place isn’t bad, and besides, you said your friend is a couple of days away. We’re tired and dirty, and this will be a good thing.”
Thorin’s gaze flicks between Bilbo and Gandalf as he mulls it over. The taller of the two is shooting the dwarf a disapproving look, as if daring him to disagree. But Bilbo is giving him this look that promises extreme displeasure if he doesn’t agree, and Thorin finds himself more concerned about earning Bilbo’s annoyance than Gandalf’s. “We can stay,” he decides, “but just a little while. After lunch we’ll depart.” The beaming smile on Bilbo’s face is completely worth the disappointed huff from Gandalf as he stalks off, muttering under his breath.
Dinner preparations finish up not much later and Bilbo happily serves Thorin his portion, sitting down next to the alpha without prompting. There is pleasant conversation around the campfire now that the worst is behind them—or at least most of it. There is still a dragon in their mountain.
When they retire for the evening, many are bundled together closer than usual due to the fact there are fewer bedrolls and blankets since they’d fallen into the goblin tunnels. Bilbo himself had lost his blanket, which he believes is the lesser of two evils compared to losing his bedroll. He can sleep cold; he can’t sleep uncomfortable. It comes as a complete surprise when, as he begins to settle, Thorin beckons him over to rest beside him.
His nervousness from before returns as he makes his way over to the alpha. “You may share my coat, if you’d like, Master Baggins,” Thorin politely offers, despite his gruff tone. “I noticed yours was lost.”
“Um—yes, thank you, yes,” Bilbo blurts. “I will.” He settles his roll close beside the dwarf king’s and lays down, resting stock still as Thorin rearranges his large black cloak over the two of them. It’s quite cozy, warmed by the fur and surrounded by the alpha’s scent. Despite his anxiety over sleeping so close to another, he finds himself drifting off quickly.
After making use of the river and eating lunch, they pack their camp and set off following Gandalf to his friend’s place. Bilbo starts out walking near Thorin, only to be stolen by Fíli and Kíli when they wrap an arm around his shoulders and waist each, forcing him to keep pace with them instead. He’s initially startled by their closeness, but they are pleasant enough company and he finds he doesn’t mind it so much.
A couple hours later, when the arms are still there, he likes it a bit less. “Must you be touching me this whole time?” he gripes as he walks squished between them. He receives two matching grins for his inquiry.
“Yes, yes we must,” Fíli replies.
“Gotta make sure you don’t wander off,” Kíli continues.
Bilbo frowns. “You were never so concerned before,” he grumbles, resigning himself to his fate. Evidently, they will not be budging.
“Sure we were,” Kíli says.
“We just weren’t exactly allowed to show it,” his brother finishes. “After all, Thorin hadn’t really accepted you.”
“But now he has, so prepare to be smothered.” Kíli’s grin has Bilbo worrying just a bit, but he rather hopes the princes are exaggerating. If worst comes to worst, he can hide out by Thorin to keep them off of him.
He’s freed from the princes’ clutches when they stop later that evening. Apparently they’re only a few hours’ walk from Gandalf’s friend’s house, but since it’s getting late Thorin decides they’ll rest where they are. Bilbo spends another evening next to Thorin, who had asked him to his side as soon as Fíli and Kíli were off looking for food again.
When they set off the next day Bilbo manages to escape from the princes’ side, walking next to Bofur and Bifur as they walk. He ignores the kicked puppy looks the two shoot his way as they walk, and then scowls at Bofur when he sends them a cheeky grin in return, swatting him on the arm.
True to Gandalf’s word, by lunch time they arrive at the land of his friend. They stop at the row of hedges that mark the entrance as Gandalf speaks to them. “Now, Beorn is not particularly fond of dwarves, so it’s best we approach in groups of two.” He pauses. “Bombur, you’ll go last by yourself. Bilbo and I will go first, with the next group following behind after a couple of minutes. By then he should be more amenable to providing assistance.”
There are grumbles of discontent from some of the dwarves but none of them would go against Gandalf in this matter. Bilbo walks with the wizard through the hedges into Beorn’s territory. It takes several minutes to make their way through the hedge, though luckily it isn’t a maze, before it opens into a clearing where they find a very large man chopping wood. He pauses as they approach, watching them suspiciously.
“Who are you and what do you want?” he gruffly asks.
Bilbo shoots Gandalf a concerned glance—wasn’t this man supposed to be his friend?—but he wizard ignores him as he introduces himself. “I am Gandalf.”
“Never heard of him,” Beorn growls. “And who’s this little fellow?” he asks, bending down to peer at the hobbit. Bilbo tries not to seem intimidated as the man moves closer, but it’s a close thing. He wishes the man would stop looking at him like that.
“This is Mister Baggins, a hobbit of the Shire,” Gandalf replies. “I am a wizard, though if you have not heard of me, perhaps you have heard of my good cousin Radagast, who lives near the southern borders of Mirkwood.”
Beorn glances back at Gandalf, scrutinizing him for a change. “Yes, I know of him. Well, now I know who you are, or who you say you are. What do you want?” he asks.
“To tell you the truth, we are rather in need of help. We ran into some goblins over the Misty Mountains and lost much of our supplies,” Gandalf explains. Bilbo is happy to let him do all of the talking.
“Goblins?” he asks, now sounding rather intrigued and less suspicious, which Bilbo thinks is a good thing. “What did you go near them for?”
“We did not mean to. They surprised us at night on the path we were crossing,” Gandalf begins, but then breaks off. “It is a long tale.”
Beorn snorts and then begins walking to the large building nearby. “Then you had better come inside and tell it, if it won’t take all day.” They follow him into the large building, large even for Beorn. It is a very wide hall, with a sunken fire pit in the center and a hole in the roof for the smoke to escape. Throughout are several wooden benches, to one of which Beorn leads them and gestures for them to take a seat. Bilbo feels like a child when he has to hop up, his legs dangling below him. Beorn sits opposite them and gestures for Gandalf to continue.
“I was coming over the mountains with a friend or two…” he begins, when Beorn interrupts.
“Or two?” he repeats. “I only see one, and a little one at that.”
“Well, to tell you the truth, I did not wish to bother you with so many of us at once,” Gandalf hastens to explain. “I will call them at once.” Beorn gestures for him to continue, so Gandalf gives a loud whistle. It is not long before Dori and Thorin enter the house.
“One or three you meant, I see!” Beorn says. “But these aren’t hobbits, they’re dwarves.”
“Thorin Oakenshield, at your service,” Thorin says, bowing low. Dori is quick to introduce himself afterwards.
“I don’t need your service, thank you,” Beorn replies, “but I expect you need mine. I don’t particularly care for dwarves, but if you are Thorin and your companion is respectable, and you are the enemies of goblins as you say and not up to any mischief—what are you up to, by the way?” he asks, a curious glance at Gandalf.
“They are on their way to visit the land of their fathers, east of Mirkwood,” Gandalf quickly says, “and it is entirely by accident that we are in your lands at all. We should have ended up south of your country by the path we took, but there were stone giants hurling rocks and then goblins in the cave I and several of our companions—”
“Do you call two several?” Beorn interrupts again. Bilbo can’t tell if he’s amused or annoyed by Gandalf’s hedging of their exact numbers. Still, he is glad that now Thorin and Dori—who have moved to stand behind him—are with them as well.
Gandalf grimaces. “Well, no. As a matter of fact, there are more than two.”
“And where are they? Killed, eaten, gone home?” Beorn sarcastically asks. “Go ahead, call them if you must.” Gandalf does as he asks, and both Nori and Ori appear almost immediately afterwards. They move to introduce themselves, bowing, but Beorn waves them off before they can speak. “If I want your service, I’ll ask for it. Sit down and let’s get on with this tale.”
Gandalf continues to speak, describing how they fell into the caves—though how he knew what happened, considering he wasn’t there, Bilbo has no idea—and while he is doing so both Balin and Dwain appear. Beorn chuckles at the sight of them bending low enough for Balin’s beard to grace the floor, but then he’s gesturing away their introductions and they come to take up their own positions behind Bilbo with the others.
“So I slipped inside and saw them before the Goblin King with a crowd of 30 or 40 armed guards,” Gandalf continues weaving his tale, “and I thought to myself, ‘what can a dozen do against so many?’”
“A dozen!” Beorn asks incredulously. “That’s the first time I’ve heard eight called a dozen. Or are there still more to your Company than you’ve mentioned?”
“Ah yes, well there should be a couple more now,” Gandalf says, just as Fíli and Kíli stumble through the entryway, beaming smiles on their faces. They are quick to shuffle over to the rest, standing as near their uncle and Bilbo as they can get. Gandalf starts speaking again, of how they lost their hobbit in the fray and thought they were only 14 now.
“Fourteen!” Bilbo is sure by now Beorn is more amused than anything, if the wry grin growing on his face is anything to go by. “That’s the first time I’ve heard one from 10 leave 14. You mean nine, or else you haven’t told me the names of all your party.”
Gandalf at least has the grace to look chagrined, but Bilbo isn’t sure it’s real or just an act for their potential host. “Well, Glóin and Óin haven’t arrived yet.” And, sure enough, they appear not a moment later, though how Gandalf knew they would be next Bilbo cannot guess. “Then there are Bifur and Bofur as well.” The two dwarves cautiously enter, though when they spot the others they are quick to join. Not a moment later Bombur appears, slightly winded from rushing after his brother and cousin. “And Bombur,” Gandalf finishes.
Beorn eyes Gandalf, mostly amused but just a little bit suspicious. “And are there any others we’re waiting on to appear, or is 14 plus another all of you?”
“That was the last of us,” Gandalf confirms. He finishes his tale, ending up to the point where they met up with the skinchanger. Then they sit silently in the hall—well, the dwarves stand—and they watch Beorn mull over what he’s been told, hoping he will consent to help them.
Finally, he grins. “Very well then. You’re an amusing group, I’ll give you that,” he says. “You may stay in my hall to rest and gather your supplies, and then I will provide you transport to Mirkwood.”
“Thank you, Master Beorn,” Gandalf replies, a relieved smile on his face. Bilbo hears an exhale of relief from behind him, though whether that was Thorin or Balin who’d made the noise, he isn’t sure.
The large man waves off Gandalf’s thanks and the murmurs of appreciation from some of the dwarves, standing and heading back out, no doubt to finish his task. “Feel free to roam as you please. Although I ask that you not bother the animals too much. They don’t particularly care for strangers,” he says as he departs.
The Company remains gathered for a bit before some venture off to explore in groups of two and three. They still have most of the afternoon to do as they please before supper. Bilbo finds himself following Dori and Ori as they wander outside, though he splits from them once he notices the animals. It is interesting how small they are; he almost expected them to be in proportion to Beorn given everything else around him, but they aren’t. They are ponies and goats and sheep, and a handful of dogs as well, all roaming free. Bilbo is even sure he spots some exceptionally large bees, and he makes sure to stay away from them.
He finds a nice shady spot in the back to relax under and sits, watching the animals move about. Beorn said they were suspicious of strangers and he doesn’t want to give any of them a reason to think him a threat. Though after he’s been sitting there for a while, some of the dogs start to cautiously approach him. He makes no move as they sniff around him, until one starts nudging at his hand to be petted. He doesn’t have much experience with animals, but he is pretty sure they like being scratched behind the ears so he does that.
The dog he’s scratching soon settles beside him so he can more comfortably continue to pet it. Some of the others move away, and another goes to sit in the nearby shade. The repetition is relaxing—and the fluffy fur feels quite nice—and Bilbo soon finds himself dozing in the summer afternoon sun. If he closes his eyes and thinks hard enough, he can almost imagine himself back at Bag End with a furry companion. It is quite a nice thought, and he indulges himself in the fantasy for a few moments before he starts to realize something is off with the image.
He ponders the thought for a moment until the gentle breeze carries with it the sounds of the rumbling voices of his dwarves, and that’s when he realizes what’s missing: his dwarves. The notion has him pausing a moment. He shouldn’t be surprised; he’s been talking about it with Balin for the past couple of days, but Thorin’s recent acceptance has made it all the more real.
His thoughts turn to where there future may lie, after Erebor is reclaimed. Before that, even. He knows he only has a few more months until his next heat, and then he’ll be completely theirs. The thought has him pausing and flushing as he recalls what Thorin had said in the river about their mating. He knows Thorin will be his first, despite all of their talk, and he squirms at the idea of being intimate with the dwarf. What they have between them now is still so new, and the idea of getting to know one another like that—even though he’s already seen a fair deal—makes him nervously blush all the more.
The dog he’d been petting whines when he stopped his ministrations for too long, and thankfully it distracts him from his current train of thought. He resumes his stroking with a quiet apology and resolves to pack away his thoughts for the time being. They still have several months to go. It’s plenty of time to get to know one another better.
“So here is where you’ve wandered off to,” a voice from behind him speaks, startling him enough to jump. Bilbo turns to find the very dwarf alpha he’d been thinking of approaching him. He can practically feel the heat radiating from his face and hopes it isn’t too obvious. Thorin seems not to notice or care as he sits beside the hobbit. “Some of the others are exploring the gardens. I thought you would have gone with them.”
He clears his throat. “Yes, well, the gardens will be there tomorrow. I think I just wanted some peace and quiet for the afternoon.”
“Shall I leave, then?” Thorin pauses to look at him. “I wouldn’t want to bother you, Master Baggins.”
“No!” Bilbo says quickly, and rather loudly at that. He internally winces before continuing. “No, you’re not a bother. I wouldn’t mind the company.” He gives what hopes is a reassuring smile, just to be safe, though he isn’t sure how successful it is given his flustered state. Still, Thorin makes no move to leave.
The dwarf doesn’t speak again and they fall into a companionable silence. Bilbo watches the dwarf from the corner of his eye as he starts to relax, and it appears as if the king is shedding loads off his shoulders as he does. He finds himself openly staring after Thorin’s eyes close and he fully relaxes against the tree. It must have been a long time since the dwarf had last allowed himself to do so, and he feels honored the alpha would do so in his presence. He turns away so he won’t be caught staring, but the small smile on his face stays for a long time after.
They barely speak the rest of the afternoon until dinner is called that evening. They venture back together, the dog right on their heels, and find most of the rest of the Company, plus Gandalf and Beorn, gathered at a large table that has been set inside the hall. Bilbo ignores the grins from Fíli and Kíli as he sits between Thorin and Glóin, instead focusing his attention on the spread set before him. They haven’t had so much food since Rivendell, and he’s going to take advantage of it while he can.
When dinner is finished—and the table cleared by the animals, Bilbo is stunned to see—the Company gathers beside the large fire pit while their host retreats outside with strict instructions for them to not follow. Those that still have their pipes and leaves smoke, and Bilbo wishes he could as well, but his pipe had been in his bag and that was now lost in the goblin tunnels. Others amuse themselves that evening with conversation, and Bilbo is drawn into a conversation with Fíli and Kíli about something they’d done while in the Blue Mountains.
During a break in their story, he is surprised when Bifur approaches him and politely bows, holding something in his hands out for Bilbo to take. He does so with a pleasantly confused smile on his face. “What’s this?”
Bifur replies something in Khuzdul, which Bofur explains for him. “It’s his acceptance gift,” he says. “Didn’t Balin tell you about all of this?” he asks when Bilbo doesn’t appear to understand.
He shakes his head. “No. He was mostly explaining my role among the pack. We mostly glossed over the courting and things because we’re technically already past that.”
“That is true,” Bofur agrees. “But this is technically the appropriate time to be giving the gifts. Before we form the initial bond, the omega—you—is supposed to show that you can take care of and provide for all of us, which you did in your cozy little home. Now we, the alphas, give you gifts to show that we will appreciate and cherish you for life.”
“Oh,” is all Bilbo can manage to say, trying to keep down his blush. “Well, in that case,” he turns back to Bifur and smiles warmly, “thank you very much for this. It’s absolutely lovely.” The dwarf has carved a mini wooden figurine in Bilbo’s likeness, standing proud with his tiny elven blade drawn.
“Just wait until we reclaim Erebor,” Dori says. “I’m sure the others will waste no time in crafting your gifts.”
“Yes, it’s truly a shame,” Fíli chimes in. “Our uncle is one of the best blacksmiths in the mountain. I myself am a jeweler by trade.”
“And the feasts we’ll be able to give you,” Bombur sighs wistfully. Bilbo refrains from groaning just thinking about the amazing food.
“Once the rest of the dwarves start returning, I’ll be able to introduce you to my lovely wife and son,” Glóin enthusiastically tells him, paying no mind to how Bilbo freezes at the words. “Have I told you about my son?” he asks, oblivious to everyone else’s groans.
“S-son?” Bilbo chokes out. “N-no, I don’t think so.”
Bofur looks at their hobbit with concern. “Is everything okay, Master Baggins?”
“You have a wife and son?” he asks incredulously.
“Oh, aye,” Glóin replies. “My Gimri is the most beautiful dwarf in Ered Luin. One of the happiest moments of my life was when she accepted my suit. The birth of my dear Gimli was another. Oh, I have never been more proud.”
“But how?” Bilbo finds himself still stuck on the idea that one of his husbands has another wife, and child to boot.
“It’s not entirely uncommon, Master Baggins,” Balin begins to explain, seeing the tension growing and wanting to dissuade it as quickly as possible, “for alphas to take beta wives outside the pack, given there are so few omega. Even with packs. Like I’ve said before, children not birthed of an omega are fairly rare, but not impossible.”
“Oh,” is all Bilbo can manage.
“Does it bother you?” Glóin asks, concern clear on his face.
Bilbo has to think it over. It is certainly an odd concept to think about, but really, it isn’t too different from the idea of the pack. Here he has multiple husbands. It would be unreasonable not to expect them to have other wives as well. Especially considering they had met and wed long before he came around. He supposes it’s more of the shock of finding out that bothers him more than anything.
He leaves his thoughts to find most of the pack staring at him, a mixture of emotions on their faces. He smiles reassuringly. “No, I don’t think so. I was just surprised, is all,” he tells them. “I would love to meet your wife and son, Glóin,” he tells the red-haired dwarf.
“And my wife as well,” Bombur adds. “I have no children though.”
“Not yet,” Kíli snickers, setting off the laughter of several others in their Company. Even Thorin manages to crack a smile. Bilbo blushes furiously, which sets off another round of chuckles.
Nori moves to swing a friendly arm around the omega’s shoulders. “Don’t worry; it’ll be fun,” he says with a cheeky wink. It doesn’t help Bilbo’s blush.
He pushes the arm off with a scowl that is hardly effective given the heat radiating from his face. “I wasn’t worried,” he grouses.
“Of course not,” Nori easily replies as he retreats to his seat. Bilbo shakes his head in exasperation, his scowl slipping right off his face. He can hardly stay annoyed with them for long.
As conversations return to normal, Bilbo finds himself with Glóin listening to stories of his wife and son since he’s the only one in the Company who has yet to hear them. And he has a great many stories. He is glad when Thorin rescues him later to retire for bed, willingly following the alpha to what has become his regular spot these past few days since their escape.
The next morning, when asked, Bilbo mentions his plans to look through Beorn’s garden for a while. Ori volunteers to go with him, so once breakfast is finished they head out. Beorn has quite a large and diverse garden, and many of the plants he recognizes from wandering through the Shire. He tells Ori about them as they walk, the young alpha listening intently.
As they walk, Bilbo notices some of the white daisies and lilacs and an idea starts to form in his head. He picks a handful of both, as well as some chrysanthemums and carnations and a couple of other flowers he’s noticed. Ori watches, only slightly confused, and follows the hobbit as he wanders back and forth through the gardens, apparently looking for certain things. They finally stop once Bilbo’s gathered a decent handful and sit themselves in the middle of a patch of grass.
“What are these for?” Ori curiously asks.
Bilbo plucks some long strings of grass before grabbing an aster and daisy. He weaves them together in a simple three-strand braid. “A flower crown,” he replies. “Bifur’s gift last night got me thinking, and this is a traditional hobbit courting custom among betas. Once the declaration of intent has been accepted, we weave flower crowns for our intended as a kind of re-declaration for everyone to see.”
Ori seems to light up as Bilbo explains, quickly pulling out his notebook and scribbling his words down before he forgets. “And so you’re making them for us?” he excitedly asks.
Bilbo pauses, his mind freezing at the sheer amount of flowers thirteen flower crowns would require. He grimaces and picks up a new flower—a chrysanthemum—and braids it into what he already has. “Er, well, I can, but I was originally just going to make this for you. And maybe one for Bifur, too.”
“Me?” Ori squeaks, his eyes widening as he too freezes, staring at Bilbo.
Bilbo flushes ever so slightly. “Well, you’re the only one here,” Bilbo remarks. “Besides, I don’t think many of the others will appreciate a flower crown.” Which he can understand. Flowers aren’t really a dwarf thing, and that fact doesn’t bother him. He’d just thought it would be something fun to do. He picks up two more flowers to add to the growing circlet.
“I think they would,” Ori claims. “I would be honored to accept your flower crown.” Bilbo gives him a small smile and continues working on his project. “Can I ask, are the crowns typically made for both parties in the relationship?” Ori ventures to ask after several moments.
“Not always, but for the most part, yes,” Bilbo replies. He pauses and looks up, gauging the size of Ori’s head before returning to his work. Perhaps another sweet pea and lilac and it will be done.
“So you can wear one too?” Ori continues.
“I can.”
Ori gains an excited gleam in his eye. “Can I make one too, then?” The young alpha is almost bouncing in his seat, he seems so enthusiastic about it.
“Sure, why not,” Bilbo agrees. “Though we’ll need more flowers.”
“Okay!” he says, jumping up and looking at the flowers around them. “Are there certain ones I should use, or does whatever work?”
“Uhh, well yes, we do typically chose specific ones for their particular meanings,” Bilbo explains, but then he pauses. “Though I don’t think it really matters for us if you don’t know them anyways. Just pick whatever you want, but make sure to keep the stems long.”
Ori soon wanders off to picks his flowers and Bilbo takes the time to finish up his flower crown for the young alpha. It has turned out quite nicely, in his opinion. So intent is he on finishing his crown that he doesn’t notice the two other young dwarves sneaking up behind him until they pounce. He’s bowled over onto his side, the crown flying away—thankfully unharmed—as he is smothered under two heavy weights.
“What the—get off me, you two lumps!” he growls, attempting to push them off, to no avail. Twin grins beam down at hi, but thankfully they roll to the side to relieve him of their weight.
“So here you are, Mister Boggins!” Kíli exclaims.
“What are you doing?” Fíli asks, noticing the flower crown and picking it up. “What’s this?”
“We’re making flower crowns,” Ori explains, returning with a handful of flowers in his arms and plopping back down right where he’d been sitting before. “It’s a hobbit courting tradition to make them for each other. Bilbo’s going to show me how.”
Bilbo sits up, taking his crown back from Fíli and placing it on Ori’s head. “Here you go,” he says, a pleased grin on his face. Ori has a wondrous expression on his own as he reaches up to gently touch at the crown on his head. Fíli and Kíli both look jealous and turn to Bilbo.
“I want a flower crown from Bilbo!”
“Make us one too!” they both exclaim.
“Yes, alright, calm down,” he tells the duo. “But if you want crowns, I’m going to need more flowers.” Both boys immediately jump up and wander off to the flower patches. Bilbo sighs in amusement, glancing after them, before turning to Ori patiently waiting for his instruction.
“It’s really just a simple braid of flowers and a bit of grass,” Bilbo begins to explain. “I don’t think it should be too hard for you; it’s much like braiding your hair.” He picks up some of the leftover flowers he has in his pile and begins fashioning another crown as an example. Ori watches his movements for several moments before copying with his own. Fíli and Kíli return sometime later with their arms full of random flowers and Bilbo explains once again how to make a flower crown, and they pick it up soon enough watching him work on his.
“I want that one,” Fíli claims, referring to the one he’s in the process of making.
Kíli looks affronted. He turns to Bilbo, his eyes pleading. “You have to make mine next!”
Bilbo rolls his eyes. “I already said I would, so calm down.” Kíli huffs while his brother wears a smug grin as they both return to their work. How he’ll be expected to wear three crowns, Bilbo can’t fathom, but if it makes them happy he’ll try.
His nimble fingers work quicker than theirs, though he hasn’t made a flower crown in several years—for his mother, not for any suitor. By the time Fíli finishes his, the first of the three, Bilbo is starting on Kíli’s crown. “For you, Bilbo,” Fíli says with a flourish as he rests it atop his curly hair. There is a proud grin on the crown prince’s face, and with the ring of flowers on his head it makes him all the more handsome.
Bilbo smiles, flushing a little as he fixes the crown atop his head. He’d never really expected to wear one himself, especially with dwarves as his mates, but it makes him feel pleasantly warm inside to receive it. “Thank you.” He ducks his head to look at his work so he won’t have to meet the intense look in the dwarf’s eyes. There’s an amused huff from Fíli he ignores as he quickly braids Kíli’s crown.
Ori finishes his crown soon after and presents it to Bilbo with a light dusting of red across his cheeks and a soft, “Here.” Bilbo bends his head down so Ori can place it. It doesn’t quite fit with Fíli’s already there so it sits a little crooked, but he doesn’t mind.
By the time lunch is called, all three of the alphas have their own flower crowns proudly on display, courtesy of Bilbo, while Bilbo himself is balancing three haphazard crowns of his own on his head. They receive several stares from members of the Company. Thorin’s is the most confused of all when he spots his nephews, which prompts Ori to explain the hobbit tradition. Bilbo is quite surprised by the clamor it causes, several other dwarves asking to be taught so they can partake of the tradition as well. He’s almost worried for the state Beorn’s garden will be in once they’re done ransacking it, and he can only hope the skinchanger will find it amusing. It is decided the lesson will be after lunch.
“And here I was,” Thorin begins with a wry grin, “hoping I could steal you away again for the afternoon.”
Bilbo looks to the dwarf king. “Well—” he begins, but is cut off by Dwalin.
“No,” he proclaims, to both Thorin and Bilbo’s surprise. They turn to look at him, one gaze curious and the other incredulous.
“No?” Thorin repeats.
“No,” Dwalin reaffirms. “You’ve had him to yourself every evening since we escaped those blasted tunnels, and you were with him nearly all the day before. It’s our turn.”
“Yeah!” Fíli and Kíli both shout.
“You two were both with him this morning; you have no room to talk,” Dori scowls, and they both sit down quietly in their seats.
“If you want to spend time with our hobbit, you’ll have to come make flower crowns with us,” Nori informs Thorin, whose face twists in a sour expression.
“No, thank you,” he says. Then he heaves a heavy, put-upon sigh. “Very well then, I will leave you to him.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to join us?” Bilbo asks, looking at the alpha. He hadn’t expected Thorin to join them, but he had kind of hoped he would. Earlier he had been planning what flowers he would use to make the king’s crown, when he got the chance.
Thorin meets the hobbit’s gaze with a soft look. “I’ll be fine by myself, Master Baggins. Do not worry.”
Disappointment flashes across Bilbo’s eyes, but it’s gone before the dwarf can properly register it. “Very well then,” he says. “Just don’t go straining your injuries.”
The dwarf king chuckles. “I won’t.”
With one last final nod, Bilbo scoops up the remainder of his meal and then hops down from his bench, leading the large group of dwarves back to the garden.
Thorin wanders back to where he’d found Bilbo the day before. It is mostly silent—the perfect place to relax—save for the occasional voice carried on the wind from the gardens. He can hear just a tiny bit of chatter, interspersed with sporadic laughter. He firmly tells himself that he isn’t interested in wearing a flower crown, or making one for that matter—it is unbefitting a king! But a part of him is curious to see what’s going on and, truth be told, he does want to spend more time with their hobbit.
He just isn’t going to do it while there are flowers involved.
His conviction holds for all of half an hour before he finds himself standing. He glares at a nearby sheep, who meets his gaze with a deadpan stare of its own, and resolves to ignore the voices.
More laughter carries on the wind—was that Bilbo?—and his feet are moving around the hall to the side with the gardens. He manages to stop himself just out of view of the area, standing there for several minutes just listening.
It is satisfying to hear the pack enjoying themselves. This journey so far has been harder than he’d expected on the pack, and he is grateful for the respite. He is glad none of them were seriously injured. As the head alpha, he feels responsible for making sure they’re satisfied. They are his closest brothers-in-arms, from the ones who have been with him since Erebor to the ones who joined the pack just before they left on this quest, and he will do his best to make sure they come out of this endeavor successful.
And then there is Bilbo. He deeply regrets how he treated the omega at the beginning, and he knows he will be trying to make up for it for a long time, gladly. But he knows he can’t keep the hobbit from the rest of the Company, as much as he wants him all to himself. They have the same right as he does to Bilbo’s time, and he will not begrudge them that.
He absolutely refuses to regret scoffing at the idea of flower crowns.
It’s too late for him to join them now. He has no desire to listen to the ribbing he would receive for giving in after scoffing at the idea. Though perhaps a crown made by Bilbo will be worth the teasing, he muses. He shakes his head to dispel the notion. No, his curiosity has been sated for now and he will return at once to the tree and relax. He is still injured.
“Well well, thought I saw your ugly mug creepin’ around here,” Dwalin growls just as he’s spun around to head back to his spot.
Thorin freezes. “I was just checking in,” is his quick response. He gathers himself and makes to move away, only to be stopped by a hand catching the back of his collar.
Dwalin snorts in amusement. “Right,” he agrees sarcastically. “Just get your ass over here like I know you want to.” He drags the back of Thorin’s collar hard enough to bring him into view of everyone else, who immediately catch sight of him. He mentally vows to kill Dwalin as soon as the opportunity presents itself as he is spun around to face the pack, his face set in a scowl.
“Come to join us, o mighty king?” Bofur asks. There is a flower crown of violets and daisies balanced carefully over his hat, as well as others placed decoratively on the ear flaps.
“I just came to check on—” Thorin begins with a scowl, though he’s cut off by Nori.
“—the hobbit?” he interjects with fake incredulity. He has his own little circlet caught over the center peak of his hair. “You were never this concerned with him before. I wonder what changed, hmmm?”
Thorin frowns. “You know very well—”
“Oh, aye,” Glóin cuts him off, the red carnations nearly blending in with his hair, “we know very well how amazing Master Baggins is. Known for a while now, actually.”
“At least he’s finally noticing,” Balin remarks. He has a very neat crown perched atop his head, and is playing with several flowers in his hands as he speaks.
“It’s about time,” Fíli grumbles under his breath. He’s acquired another crown since lunch ended earlier.
Thorin growls with annoyance, clenching his jaw so he won’t snap back a retort. They are correct, after all, no matter how much their teasing hurts. This is exactly why he wished to remain unseen.
“Oh, come on now,” Bilbo finally intervenes. As amusing as it is to watch, he knows Thorin is trying to make amends for his behavior before, and it would have been cruel of him to let them continue. He gives the head alpha a small smile when he glances over in his direction. “You’re welcome to join us…if you consent to wearing a crown.” He holds up the crown of blue forget-me-nots, daisies, and daffodils he’d gone ahead and made earlier anyways.
The Company pauses and watches the king internally debate whether to give in or not. Thorin heaves a sigh and cheers break out among the dwarves. He grimaces as he approaches the hobbit, taking a seat beside him and bowing his head graciously so Bilbo can place the crown atop his head.
“A fitting crown for the King Under the Mountain, no?” Kíli snickers.
Thorin scowls at his nephew until a small hand on his arm has him turning to look at the hobbit. His face eases when he notices the pleased smile on Bilbo’s face. “I’m glad you could join us,” he tells him. “It wasn’t the same without you.”
“Then I’m glad I’m here now,” Thorin replies.
Without warning, a body wedges itself between Thorin and Bilbo and the two find themselves looking at Kíli instead of one another. “You’re still not allowed to have the hobbit to yourself,” he tells his uncle. Then he turns to Bilbo. “You can return to your enthralling conversation about weeds with Óin now. I’ll keep him off you for a while.”
Bilbo sighs with exasperation but turns back to Óin anyways, muttering something about herbs under his breath as he does. Thorin shoots his nephew a displeased look. Kíli returns it with an innocent one of his own. “It’s only fair.” Thorin rolls his eyes and plucks a few stray flowers, idly playing with them as he enjoys the presence of his pack.
Bilbo is right to think Beorn would be amused when he sees all of their crowns. When they enter the hall for dinner later that evening he takes one look at them and lets out a booming laugh that startles some nearby animals. Gandalf gains this twinkle in his eye that shows when he’s amused. Thorin shoots them a glare that just dares them to make any comment about his accessory as he sits at the table. Bilbo finds their whole interaction amusing.
Gandalf clears his throat while they’re eating. “I see you all have been enjoying the respite,” he says with a chuckle. “But I think we should continue on with our journey. The Northern Path through Mirkwood is a half day’s ride from here, and Beorn has graciously offered us the use of his ponies, as well as supplies to get through the forest.”
Thorin nods. “Very well. We will leave on the morrow.” Bilbo is a little saddened to be leaving the hall so soon; it is so peaceful, and they are unlikely to find such quiet anywhere else on their trip.
“I have found no traces of orcs following you,” Beorn mentions, “so it should be a safe journey for you. Until you enter the forest.”
“Yes, that is fortunate,” Gandalf comments. “Well, I think a good night’s rest is in order, don’t you?” he asks as he stands. There are mutterings of agreement through the Company as they all begin moving to where they’d laid out their bedrolls.
Bilbo sits in his place beside the dwarf king and begins carefully removing the flower accessories from earlier, setting them off to the side. It is unfortunate he won’t be able to keep any of them; he would have liked to have them pressed, but given the circumstances it simply isn’t possible. At least he’ll have the memory to cherish—and he’d gotten to see Thorin in a flower crown, which is more than he’d hoped for.
He soon falls asleep after that, a small smile on his face.
Notes:
Art for the chapter by GizmoTrinket here on Tumblr and here on Instagram. Guys definitely check it out it's lovely. Someone colored the art here!!
Also, some of the scenes at Beorn’s were inspired by ideas from Lionesspuma and ImperialRedWolf. Thanks so much to you guys and everyone else who came up with suggestions!
This is officially part one of a series. Part two is a companion piece to this chapter that isn’t really necessary to read (but I would definitely recommend), but it's there for y'all to enjoy if you want.
Chapter 13: The Misery of Mirkwood
Chapter Text
They leave Beorn’s hall around midday after spending the morning gathering the supplies Beorn graciously provides with new packs. They are also given ponies—Gandalf, a horse—for the journey, which Bilbo isn’t too happy about. Thorin and Gandalf ride at the head of their procession, so Bilbo hangs back to chat with Balin, something he hasn’t been able to do in a while. They pass plenty of time on their journey that way.
When they reach the entrance to the path through Mirkwood, the Company halts and starts setting the ponies free as Beorn had instructed. Bilbo watches as Gandalf strides a little ways into the forest, grumbling to himself as he examines a vine-covered stone pillar. Looking at the forest himself, it is no stretch to assume why the wizard is so discontented. Even he can feel the sickness that has taken over the forest.
Gandalf walks back to the Company with a troubled expression. “I’m afraid this is where we depart,” he tells them, to everyone’s shock.
“Gandalf! Where are you going?” Bilbo desperately asks. The forest is dangerous, and as much as he trusts the dwarves to protect him he would feel better with the wizard at their side.
“Yes, what is so important that you must leave us?” Thorin grouses, obviously annoyed.
“I would not do this unless I had to,” Gandalf replies vaguely, jumping onto his horse. “I’ll be waiting for you at the overlook, between the slopes of Erebor. Keep the map and key safe. And do not enter that mountain without me.” He shoots a stern glance to Thorin, who looks away with a huff. “This is not the Greenwood of old. The very air of the forest is heavy with illusion. It will seek to enter your mind and lead you astray.”
Bilbo frowns and looks at Dwalin, the alpha nearest to him. “Lead us astray? What does that mean?”
“Nothing good, I expect,” the warrior grumbles.
“You must stay on the path,” Gandalf implores them. “Do not leave it. If you do, you will never find it again.” He gives the Company a solemn nod before urging his horse off.
Many watch him go before turning back to the forest. “Come on. We must reach the mountain before the sun sets on Durin’s Day,” Thorin reminds them. He starts trudging into the forest, the rest of the Company following close behind.
Mirkwood thoroughly disturbs him. None of the dwarves seem to notice the oddness that permeates the air in the forest. Conversation is relaxed among the group as they walk, and on any other day it would’ve calmed Bilbo to know the group has no reason to be on edge, yet he can’t help remaining tense.
For the first few days, everything is mostly okay. Then the tedium of the forest starts to get on some of their nerves. Tempers are just a little shorter than normal and things that would’ve been laughed off before are now met with quick retorts and snappish tempers. Thorin is particularly irritable, grumbling to himself about something or other at all times. Bilbo gets nervous every time the alpha dwarf requests he walk next to him, not wanting to upset the dwarf further.
By the end of the first week, even Bilbo is starting to pick up on the pack’s irritation. It hardly feels like they’re making any headway into the forest since everything looks practically the same. Sunlight is scarce through the trees and bathes everything in a perpetual twilight that makes telling time hard. Thorin rests the group when they are tired, but he’s always quick to get them back on their feet and moving, something Bilbo appreciates but hates at the same time. He wants to get out of there as much as everyone else does, but by the Valar he is tired of walking.
Halfway through the second week, he realizes they’re going to run out of rations if they don’t make it out of the forest soon. They start cutting down on their meals, but Bilbo fears it won’t be enough.
After they start cutting back on food—Bilbo can’t quite recall how many days it’s been since then, they all tend to blur together now—the monotony of travel is broken by the appearance of a river. When they stumble upon it, many halt from the sheer surprise of seeing water instead of just more trees. “How are we supposed to get across?” Fíli asks, looking at the broken bridge jutting out from the sides of the water.
“We could swim it,” Bofur lightly suggests, and several of the dwarves eye the dark and murky water suspiciously.
Bilbo quickly shakes his head. “No,” he declines, “Beorn said not to mess with the water. It’s got a spell on it.”
“Then how would you propose we get across, Master Baggins?” Thorin growls at him, clearly annoyed though at what Bilbo isn’t sure.
“Well, I don’t know,” he retorts, patience quickly thinning.
“Wait!” Kíli interjects, and the Company look towards him, the young alpha having taken a position on higher ground to get a better view of the area. He’s pointing off at something in the distance to their right. “I see a boat! We can use it to ferry across the river.”
“That’s brilliant, Kíli!” Bilbo gushes once the archer has rejoined their group, earning a pleased look from the dwarf. “All we need to do is draw it over here.”
“I’ll get it,” Fíli quickly volunteers, pulling out a length of rope he has on his belt. He ties a thick hook to the end, meant to catch the boat. They stand back to give him some room when he prepares to throw it. His first toss falls short just a few feet, so he reels it back in and attempts again. It catches the edge of the rail that time and he pulls the rope taught to drag the boat back.
For a moment the boat catches, and Bilbo fears they’ll lose their hold on it. Both his brother and Dwalin join the crown prince in pulling it back, and with their combined strength they manage to free it from whatever had been stopping it, drawing the boat to their side. When it gets close enough, Bifur reaches out to grab the boat and partially pull it onto the bank.
“How are we gonna get across the river?” Bombur asks, peering into the boat. “There’s no oars.”
“We can use another rope to get us across,” Bilbo says. “If we shoot an arrow with the rope attached, we can use that and pull ourselves over. Then we just drag it back to this side with Fíli’s rope and hook.”
“A brilliant idea, Bilbo,” Balin lightly remarks.
Kíli immediately moves to carry out Bilbo’s plan, tying the end of the extra rope Bifur is carrying to one of his arrows before notching and shooting it across the river. It sticks solidly in a trunk, and after yanking a bit on it Thorin deems the rope sturdy enough. “It will hold.”
“Perhaps we should send the lightest over first, just to be safe,” Balin suggests, which Thorin considers for a moment before agreeing. Then they all look to Bilbo, who lets out a small, nervous noise.
“Me?” he asks. “Is that safe?” He eyes the boat. While it had seemed like a good idea at the time, now that he’s got a look at the vessel up close he suddenly doubts its integrity. None of the dwarves seem to share his reservations, though.
“You’ll be fine, Bilbo,” Thorin assures him. “Just keep a hold of the rope.” He nudges the hobbit over to the tiny raft, his large hand resting gently on Bilbo’s back. The dwarf helps him into it, letting Bilbo get settled and reminding him to hang onto the rope overhead before he and Dwalin gently nudge the raft off the bank.
Bilbo struggles to pull his weight across the river for several moments until he builds up enough momentum that it is easier going. Still, it’s quite the workout on his arms and Bilbo is glad when a couple minutes later he feels the boat hitting the opposite bank. He jumps out, taking care not to touch the water, and then glances back to his dwarves watching him. He waves and gives them a thumbs up, indicating things are all good.
They seem to get the message as Thorin and Dwalin begin pulling the boat back with Fíli’s rope. They make short work of it and soon Thorin and Balin are making their way across, much faster than Bilbo did on his trip. The rest of the dwarves come over in pairs until only Bombur is left on the opposite end, though soon enough he’s making his way over as well.
The rotund dwarf is just stepping out of the boat when they hear the sound of hooves running through the forest. They all turn in the direction, Kíli notching an arrow, only to encounter a massive herd of deer moving towards them. They blow through the Company, dodging dwarves and hobbit alike as they travel, and it’s over just moments after it starts. Unfortunately, Kíli hadn’t managed to shoot anything in the fray, too disoriented to make a decent shot.
No one ever heard the splash, nor realized anything was amiss until Bofur noticed his brother had vanished. “Where’s Bombur?” he asks, frantically looking around the group. It sparks a minor panic among the rest of the Company as they look for their wayward member. It isn’t until Bifur peers over the edge of the bridge that they spot him floating along his back in the river, unconscious.
Bilbo panics as they scramble to pull him out, doing their best to not make contact with the water themselves. He flutters nervously around the dwarves as Bofur and Bifur tend to their relative, trying to draw him out of his sleep. Some part of Bilbo knows he isn’t going to wake up so easily, and it makes him all the more nervous.
Eventually Thorin grows impatient and they hurriedly come up with a plan to carry Bombur with them. A makeshift stretcher is quickly fashioned out of what they can find around them, and it initially takes several dwarves to lift him. The four carrying him bring up the rear; it makes traveling swiftly much harder, to Thorin’s annoyance, but they have no other option. Bilbo and many others absolutely refuse to even consider leaving him behind.
Several days pass and Bombur still hasn’t woken up, but Óin has determined he isn’t getting worse either, so they learn to accept the temporary stasis he is in. They’re still slowly running out of rations, and everyone’s tempers are at an all-time high when the worst finally happens.
They’ve stopped for some reason or another, and as Bilbo glances around he comes to the horrifying realization that they are not on the path any longer. He scrambles to retrace their steps some ways, but it’s pointless. There is no indication of where they’d gone astray.
He storms up to the front of the group to find Thorin, intent on learning exactly what had gone wrong. The dwarf has to have realized they aren’t on the path, and yet he hasn’t said a thing! That stubborn fool, Bilbo growls inside his head. He approaches the alpha and roughly yanks on his sleeve, drawing his attention from where he’d been scowling at the ground in contemplation. “Do you have any idea where we’re going?” he hisses under his breath. He isn’t sure if the rest of the pack is aware that they’re lost, and if they aren’t he doesn’t want to incite any panic.
Thorin’s eyes narrow as he regards the omega. “We’re getting out of this forest,” he growls.
“And how do you know that? We’ve lost the damn path!” he snaps back.
“We’re heading in the right direction,” Thorin gruffly assures him.
Bilbo has to bite back his scoff; this is the very same dwarf who got lost in Hobbiton. Twice. “You have no idea what direction we’re going in. There’s no possible way to navigate this place, not without the sun. Just admit it, Thorin, we’re lost.”
“We are not!” he growls.
Bilbo shakes his head, looking away from the dwarf in frustration. He eyes the tree nearest them, his gaze drawn up the trunk to the canopy above. Barely any light filters through the leaves. As he looks, a crazy idea forms in his head. It wouldn’t be any worse than what they’re already doing, wandering aimlessly through the forest as they are. He shoots a sharp look at Thorin. “I’m going to climb the tree and see if I can’t figure out where we are. Don’t go anywhere.”
The alpha almost appears as if he wants to argue, but Bilbo gives him no opportunity to do so. He approaches the closest tree he can get a handhold on and quickly pulls himself up. Below him, the Company seems to have realized they’re stopping for the moment and quickly settle to relax. He makes his way to the top, his small stature making it easier than it would’ve been for a stocky dwarf. When he breaks through and feels the sun on his face for the first time in what feels like years, he can’t help but pause a moment to soak up the warmth. Already his head feels clearer than it has ever been since they entered the blasted forest. He almost doesn’t want to climb back down, but they are on a deadline and they need to get through Mirkwood.
He turns, his eyes easily finding the Lonely Mountain on the horizon. It is larger than the last time he’d seen it atop the Carrock, but it doesn’t appear too far away. He stares at it, trying to commit the direction it stands in his memory so he can still recall where it is when he goes back down to lead the Company out.
As he makes his way down, a rustling in the treetops has him pausing, wary. He can’t see anything through the leaves around him, but he still draws his sword from its place at his hip as a precaution. He is dismayed to find he can’t hear the Company down below him. The rustling in the trees moves closer to him until suddenly a large spider drops down in front of him from the branches above. Instinctually he lashes out, his sword scratching at the insect’s face. When it flinches back he pushes forward, taking advantage of the opening to quickly finish it off before it can regain its senses and overwhelm him.
Eventually he manages a good stab at the bottom of its head and the spider finally grows still, curling in on itself as it falls from the branches to the ground below. Bilbo warily glances around for any others that may be near, but he doesn’t hear any more rustling. He slowly continues his descent, made slower by the fact he hasn’t sheathed his sword. When he does reach the ground, he is dismayed to find the Company gone, though oddly enough their bags are still laid haphazardly around the clearing. He glances around the makeshift camp for any of his dwarves, only to catch sight of rustling leaves in the distance.
It’s all too easy to figure out what’s happened and he quickly hurries after them, doing his best to stay out of the spiders’ sight lest he get caught along with them. It’s difficult to keep sight of them, high up in the trees as they are, but thankfully all of the rustling makes it a bit easier for him. It also helps that, as they get closer to the spiders’ nest, there are more and more webs draped across the trees and foliage. Several times Bilbo has to cut himself free when his clothes snag low-hanging pieces.
The spiders stop at a large tree, stringing their wrapped cargo amongst the thick webs at the top. Bilbo can hear them hissing and clicking to one another, no doubt communicating something, and he can only hope they haven’t decided to eat any of them yet. He knows he has to draw them away from the Company, but he isn’t quite sure how to do that without attracting their attention himself, which is something he definitely doesn’t want. Still, he needs to think up something fast.
He picks up a hefty stone, testing it in his palm. It could provide a momentary distraction, maybe just long enough to free a few of the Company who could possibly come up with something more substantial. He heaves it as far as he can throw in a direction off to his right before cowering in his spot as all the spiders’ attentions are drawn over there. There’s rustling above his head as they scramble over him. He waits several moments until he’s sure none remain in the area before he makes his move, clambering up the side of the tree as quickly as he can.
He approaches the closest wrapped object and hacks away at the strings connecting it to the rest of the web. Once it’s free, he pulls at the webbing covering what he thinks is the dwarf’s face and is pleased to find a groggy Fíli slowly coming to his senses. Once the dwarf starts to realize what’s going on, Bilbo quickly moves to the next wrapped dwarf and does the same.
Bilbo manages to free all of the Company, a process that goes much quicker once the other dwarves begin helping, and while they’re a little dazed and uncoordinated, they are all at least aware enough of themselves to be prepared when the spiders eventually return. They have much more of a forewarning this time, now that they know what the rustling of the treetops means, and are able to put up a much tougher fight.
Bilbo does his best to try and stick close to one of his alphas. He knows he isn’t meant for this kind of combat. Yet despite how they try, he finds himself on a branch with only a spider near him. His confidence from before hasn’t quite returned, but somehow he still manages to fend off the insect with his unpracticed swings. The spider screeches when his blade slashes across its many eyes. When it rears up, he takes the chance offered and lunges forward, impaling his blade in the center of its body.
He has a moment to feel proud of his kill before the spider is reflexively curling in on itself, trapping Bilbo within its legs like a cage. It falls and he has no choice but to go with it. He shouts, briefly drawing the attention of one of his dwarves, but he’s gone before they can do anything about it. It’s rough going down as they manage to hit nearly every branch on the tree, and Bilbo is sure he’s going to have bruises.
As they’re jostled, he notices the golden ring he’d almost forgot about falling out of his pocket and landing in the dirt a little ways from where they’ve rolled to a stop. He quickly hacks his way out of the spider’s clutches and scrambles over to where it lays. He picks it up, cupping it reverently in his hands as he admires the shining band, rubbing away the dirt stuck to it.
He soon becomes aware of a spider approaching him and grows annoyed with the insect for daring to interrupt him. He slips the ring on his finger for safekeeping—he doesn’t want to worry about it falling out of his pocket again—and is surprised when the world is washed in grays, his sight and hearing becoming oddly distorted. The spider in front of him stops, its many eyes looking everywhere, though for what, he doesn’t know. He’s right there.
“Where did it go?” the spider hisses, and he’s shocked to find he can understand it now. His brows furrow with confusion as he looks to the ring on his finger; it has to be the ring doing this, but how? He turns his attention back to the spider when it takes a few steps forward, unknowingly moving closer to his hiding place. He moves quickly, confident with the knowledge he can’t be seen, and plunges his blade through the spider’s head, killing it instantly.
He pushes the ring’s strange abilities out of his mind as he catches sounds of fighting from a clearing a little ways away. More than likely the Company has taken the fight to the ground, same as he had. He makes his way over, only to stop by the surrounding trees. His dwarves are gathered in a defensive circle in the center of the clearing, preparing to face enemies that are not spiders but in fact elves. He hadn’t even been aware of their approach.
There’s a blond one strutting around that seems to be the leader, and he watches as he inspects Thorin’s blade—to the dwarf’s very obvious annoyance. He speaks in Sindarin, and Bilbo is surprised to find he can understand even that. Their attention is briefly drawn when a red-head female elf joins the group, pushing Kíli in front of her. The blond elf sneers something, to which she responds, before he barks orders to his warriors.
The dwarves are searched and stripped of all their weapons—with Bilbo watching in amusement as the exasperated expression on the elf searching Fíli grows with every new blade found—before they are bound and instructed to march. Bilbo is fairly sure they’re taking the Company to the King of Mirkwood, and he knows it isn’t going to be nearly as easy to free them this time as it had been with the spiders. Still, he follows along as close as he dares, keeping in mind the sharp senses of the elven race. Even invisible, he has to remain cautious.
He barely manages to slip inside the kingdom when the Company is led inside. Now they are all trapped.
Chapter 14: The Escape from Thranduil's Dungeons
Chapter Text
After he slips inside the gates he’s immediately forced to take cover so he won’t be noticed. He ducks behind a nearby column and watches as the pack is led further into the kingdom, scowling when he realizes he won’t be able to follow. With the elves’ advanced hearing and the silence in the halls, he’ll have to be careful about his movements.
He waits until he’s absolutely sure there aren’t any more elves in the area before venturing out from his cover. Glancing around the entryway, he grimaces as he notices three branching halls. Without having any idea where his alphas have been locked up, it will take him a very long time to find them. ‘Well,’ he thinks, ‘there’s only one logical way to go about this,’ and he heads down the hall furthest to the right.
A week later—or at least Bilbo thinks it’s been a week; it’s hard to tell time in the underground kingdom—he still hasn’t found a sign of his dwarves. The paths all look the same, so it’s hard to differentiate between where he’s already searched and where he hasn’t, and he doesn’t dare get too close to any of the elves lest he be discovered and possibly imprisoned, or worse, killed.
At this point he wanders aimlessly, his strategic search abandoned. His stomach grumbles; it’s been a while since he last stumbled upon some food. Finding a decent hiding place to sleep is also a major concern, especially since he doesn’t want to accidentally be stumbled upon by an elf. He is desperate to find his dwarves. The distorted world of the ring is slowly driving him crazy and he fears he will give in before making any progress. He goes through many periods of intense distress that forces him to hide, otherwise the elves would find him just by his scent. How he manages to push through them by himself he doesn’t know.
He stumbles down a random hall he thinks he hasn’t been down before—though that may be wishful thinking on his part. It veers downward, catching his attention from his mindless wandering. His pace increases with anticipation and he finds himself moving quicker than he has in a while. Eventually the hall widens until it opens up into a large cavern with many twisting pathways shooting off down the side. Whatever motivation Bilbo found earlier disappears when he notices that. Still, he trudges on.
These halls aren’t nearly as nice as the others he had wandered down, and he starts to notice that the doors in the walls are less like doors and more like bars, giving him some hope that he might be getting close to his pack. He moves quicker down the corridor, throwing caution to the wind as he moves with a new energy. He takes turns at random, some unknown instinct leading him further into the elven dungeons until he stumbles to a halt, catching sight of a familiar figure sitting slumped in a cell.
“Bofur?” he calls out, initially with surprise but then with more confidence. “Bofur!” He barely remembers to take off his ring as he rushes towards the door, the other dwarf startled into movement at the call of his name. They meet and immediately hands are reaching through the bars to grasp at his clothes, drawing him closer to the dwarf in the cell.
“Bilbo, you’re alright,” the alpha exclaims. “Have you been wandering the halls all this time? How have you not been seen?” Bilbo opens his mouth to answer, but he is quickly cut off. “Never mind that. Just promise me you’re being careful?” A large hand gently cups his cheek and Bilbo flushes under the other’s intense gaze.
“I am,” he replies.
“Good.” The dwarf stares a moment longer. “Have you found any of the others? How are they?” Bilbo sighs heavily and Bofur pats his shoulder in understanding. “That’s fine. I’m sure you’re on the right track; I don’t think they put us that far apart.”
“That’s good to hear,” Bilbo says, exhaustion creeping into his tone as he leans some of his weight on Bofur and the bars.
Bofur’s eyes soften. “Why don’t you rest here for a while?” the alpha suggests. The hobbit doesn’t immediately answer, expression conflicted between his desire to rest and his desire to find the rest of his pack. Seeing Bilbo’s hesitation, he pushes further. “You’ve probably been on edge for a while. Just camp here an’ I’ll keep an eye out for you.”
“I don’t—”
“You can’t very well find the rest of us if you’re dead tired on your feet. C’mon, Bilbo.”
He finds he can’t resist the other’s words any longer, his eyelids growing heavier without his permission. “Ah, alright then.” He had found one of them, finally; he deserves a break. There is a niche in the rock opposite from Bofur’s cell that he thinks will make a good hiding spot, so he goes over and makes himself comfortable. Then, as Bofur watches, he slips on the ring as an extra precaution, disregarding the alpha’s surprised gasp and then subsequent chuckle as he quickly falls unconscious.
Bilbo finds himself slowly waking up much later, actually feeling well-rested for the first time since he’s entered this damned forest. He sits up, rubbing his eyes as he glances in the direction of Bofur’s cell, half expecting everything to have been a vivid dream. He is pleased to realize it isn’t. The dwarf sits near the bars of his cell, occupying himself with something in his lap. Bilbo shuffles over to the other, taking off his ring as he does so and catching the other’s attention.
“That’s a neat trick you’ve got there,” Bofur remarks.
Bilbo makes an abstract noise of agreement. “It’s become very handy these past few weeks.” Then he notices the plate of food in Bofur’s cell and his stomach gives a loud rumble.
The alpha wryly grins, grabbing the plate. “Here, I saved this for you. Figured you’d need it more than me,” he says, holding it up to the bar so Bilbo can grab off of it. “The guards stopped by a little while ago. Since even I couldn’t see you I didn’t think there was a need to wake you.”
“Much appreciated,” Bilbo manages through the food in his mouth. He scarfs the whole plate down in record time, to the alpha’s amusement, though Bilbo either doesn’t seem to notice or doesn’t care.
“Feeling better now?” the dwarf asks once Bilbo has finished and relaxed for a few moments. He smiles after Bilbo nods in agreement. “I hate to say this because I’d rather you not go, but I think you should keep looking for the others. They can’t be too far from me, so you should have an easier time of it now.”
Bilbo sighs heavily. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
“Just don’t forget where you found me and everything will work out,” Bofur cheekily remarks.
“As if I could.” Bilbo glances down the hall he hasn’t yet ventured down. “If worst comes to worst, I’ll just use this place as my reference point.”
“Even if it doesn’t, you should still come and visit me when you can.”
Bilbo shoots the alpha an amused look, lips quirked at the corners. “I’ll do my best.”
“I believe you. Now go.” The dwarf makes a shooing motion with his hands. “No doubt everyone’s worrying themselves sick over you, and I think we’re all just about going mad in these damn cells.”
“Yes, yes, I’m going,” Bilbo says as he heads down the hall. He glances back at Bofur before he completely disappears from the other’s sight. Once again he’s wandering the tunnels alone, but at least now he has a place to return to.
It takes him another couple of hours, but he manages to find Dori and Nori just down the hall from each other. After that it takes him a while to get started again since they each insist on fussing over him—Dori more so than Nori, as the elder dwarf fussed over his health, asking if he was getting decent sleep and food. They seem slightly mollified to hear he’d found Bofur earlier and had gotten a good rest and something to eat. Then they inform him to keep them updated on the others he finds before sending him on his way.
He finds Bifur down a side hall not too far away. The dwarf doesn’t say much, but he does give Bilbo an extra-long hug that the omega can honestly say he doesn’t mind. The alpha also insists he take a rest which, again, he isn’t going to argue against. It is nice to sit and relax, even if they can’t hold much of a conversation.
After leaving the alpha, Bilbo decides to give it another couple of hours searching before heading back to Bofur’s cell to get some actual rest. He has a vague map of where the dwarves’ cells are in relation to each other, but he wants to be sure before he goes too deep into the dungeons. Unfortunately, in his looking he encounters a dead end and, figuring this is as good a place to pause as any, begins backtracking to Bofur. He makes sure, as he passes the dwarves, to update them on what he’s done and where he is going. He is pleased when he makes it all the way back to Bofur, who is happy to see him again and more than willing to once more keep an eye out for elves.
The next time he wakes up he takes a different path near Dori and Nori and he’s lucky enough to encounter Bombur, Óin, Glóin, and Balin over the span of a couple of hours. It takes longer than it should have because they all insist on him sticking around for a bit, though he’s too glad for the company—and his own progress—to complain at all. Then he also has to stop for a small food break, which Balin so graciously provides, and goes back to the other dwarves he’d found the day—or search?—prior and inform them of the others he’s found, and that takes some time as well.
He rests again near Balin for a good while. There is another hall he hasn’t explored yet but plans to, though he wants to be fully rested when doing so in order to save time since it seems to go further underground than any place he’s visited so far. He leaves with a few snacks from the others, just in case it takes longer for him to return.
This section of the dungeons has a creepier feel than Bilbo is used to. There’s less natural light creeping in through the cavern and the damp, stale air combined with the faint dripping sound of leaking water has this area feeling more dungeon-like than any of the areas before, made all the worse by the distorted world of the ring. He has a feeling that, if anyone is going to be kept down here, it will be Thorin just because Thranduil sounds like the kind of elf to do something as petty as that. Luckily enough for Bilbo, there don’t seem to be as many halls branching off the main path, hopefully making this search a quick one.
An hour later he doesn’t feel so lucky anymore when he has yet to find anything. The hall seems to stretch forever and nothing looks any different from the hall before. In his frustration, he almost doesn’t hear the whisper of fabric indicating elves are approaching and barely manages to step off to the side to avoid the two walking down the hall. He holds his breath the entire time it takes them to pass and then vanish from his sight. Once they do, he carefully creeps forward from his hiding spot, not wanting them to get too far ahead of his sight. If he can manage to keep up undetected, perhaps they can lead him to the rest of the pack.
For the first time in a while, Bilbo is grateful he’s a hobbit and for the fact they can move extra quietly despite the large size of their feet. It’s far easier to tail the elves when he doesn’t have to worry about being loud, though he is especially cautious to avoid any unnecessary sounds. Soon enough they enter a larger cave of sorts with several cells, as well as two more side halls. One of the elves vanishes down the hall to the left, which Bilbo makes note of, while the other approaches one of the cells Bilbo is now realizing is occupied. He moves around the circular room, making sure to stay well away from the elf, to get a look at its occupant.
He is pleasantly surprised to find it is not just the one, but another cell as well, that are occupied by the Company’s youngest princes. The elf—female, redhead, seems vaguely familiar to Bilbo though he can’t recall exactly where he’s seen her before—is delivering food to the two, first to Fíli. Bilbo isn’t sure whether to be pleased when he snubs her or appalled by his lack of manners. Then she moves to Kíli, and he’s surprised when she pauses for an actual conversation with the alpha.
They talk for some time about an upcoming holiday and party the elves are going to be hosting in a couple weeks—as if any of them would be able to go or even enjoy this holiday. But he notices Fíli rolling his eyes and huffing as he eats his food, and Bilbo kind of feels like doing the same. They talk for a bit longer until the other blond elf returns from the hall, calling for the other, whose name he learns is Tauriel. They finally leave, and after Bilbo is sure they’re gone he removes his ring and approaches the bars. Both dwarves immediately jump up with exclamations of his name and crowd towards him between their cells.
“You’re alive!” Kíli shouts.
“Of course he is, you idiot,” Fíli scolds his brother, though the grin on his face betrays any hint of annoyance he might’ve been trying to convey. “I knew you’d come for us,” he tells Bilbo, reaching out for the hobbit once he’s close enough.
“So did I,” Kíli is quick to add. He grasps Bilbo in a tight hug of his own once his brother lets go.
Once both of the dwarves release him Bilbo takes a step back so he can watch them both. “I’ve found just about everyone in the pack, though it’s taken me longer than I would’ve thought since this place is a damn maze. I only need to locate Thorin, Dwalin, and Ori and then we can work on escaping. Or, well, I can. Though I am open to ideas.”
“That’s brilliant, Bilbo,” Fíli says.
“We may be able to help a bit,” Kíli adds. He nods his head towards the hall the other elf had disappeared down earlier. “They’re keeping Uncle Thorin down there, away from the rest of us.”
Fíli nods. “Yeah. Don’t know about the other two though, sorry.”
Bilbo waves it off, a relieved smile growing on his face. “That’s fine. I’m sure I’ll find them in no time anyways; there can’t be much more to these dungeons.” He glances down the hall Kíli indicated. “Perhaps I should go and find him now. You know, the sooner I figure out where all of you are, the sooner we can work on escaping,” he explains, slowly inching towards the hall.
The two dwarves give him a knowing look. “Go find our uncle, Bilbo,” Fíli says, smirking. “We’ll see you when you come back through.”
Bilbo nods in response before heading down the hall. It leads even further down into the earth, but he’s glad he doesn’t have to walk very far before coming upon the only cell and its occupant. Thorin sits at the back of the space, hunched over his lap with his hair hanging around his face so Bilbo can’t see a thing. He cautiously approaches the bars, oddly apprehensive about seeing the alpha after all that’s happened. Before he can say anything, though, Thorin speaks up.
“Have you come back so soon to taunt me again?” he growls.
Bilbo frowns. “Thorin…” but he trails off, not sure of what to say.
The dwarf’s head snaps up so quickly, his eyes immediately locking onto the hobbit’s. “Bilbo,” he breathes out, standing and rushing towards the bars. Bilbo is already prepared for the arms that reach through and wrap around him, moving into the embrace and returning it wholeheartedly. He burrows as close as he can to the alpha, relishing in the attention.
“You have no idea how glad I am to see you right now,” Thorin whispers into his hair before pulling back, his hand gently caressing Bilbo’s cheek. The omega flushes but still manages to meet his alpha’s gaze.
“I may have some idea,” he replies, “since I’ve been searching for all of you for some time now.”
“How are the others?” Thorin asks.
Bilbo gently smiles, hoping to ease some of the pack leader’s concern. “I’ve found everyone but Dwalin and Ori, and they’re all doing fine. Bored, probably desperate to get out of here, but fine.”
“And you, Bilbo?”
“Better,” he admits, “now that I’ve found you all. Sneaking around these blasted halls while having to keep a look out for elves is tiring.”
“Hopefully you won’t have to for much longer. Have you found us a way out?” he asks.
Bilbo grimaces. “Not yet. I’m still looking for the last two. Honestly, I haven’t the faintest idea how we’d go about it, but I’ll see what I can manage.”
“I’m sure you’ll do just fine. I can see now Gandalf was right in inviting you along on our journey. You are showing yourself to be quite the burglar,” Thorin grins.
Bilbo huffs out a laugh. “Stealing 13 dwarves out from the Elven King’s dungeons. My greatest feat yet.”
“But certainly not the least if we get our quest back on track,” Thorin adds.
The reminder has Bilbo sobering ever so slightly, thinking about the dragon sleeping in a mountain not too far from them. “Ah, let’s not get ahead of ourselves yet.” He weakly chuckles. “Just two more, and I don’t think it’ll take me much longer. There’s only so much I haven’t explored now.”
“Very well then; I will let you get back to it,” Thorin reluctantly agrees, though he makes no move to release Bilbo from his hold. “But do keep me updated on your progress for getting us out.”
Bilbo nods. “Yes, I’ll be sure to. You and everyone else in the pack.” He smiles fondly in recollection. “You’re all so insistent I stop by whenever I can, I won’t have any time in the day to actually find a way out.”
Thorin lets out the smallest of chuckles at hearing that. “I am not surprised. We are all worried for your safety since we cannot be there to protect you.”
“I’m fine, Thorin. These elves have yet to catch me,” Bilbo reminds him. “And they likely never will.”
“We’re your alphas; it is our job to worry.” Thorin gives him a serious look. “And if you were to get caught…I don’t think any of us would forgive ourselves.”
“Well,” Bilbo begins, but he has to pause to clear his suddenly dry throat. “The sooner I find us a way out of here, the sooner you all won’t have to worry so much. But I really do need to get back to it.”
The arms around him tighten just a bit. “Stay a little longer.”
“Thorin,” Bilbo lightly scolds, trying to draw away from the alpha’s grip. “I have to go. If you want to make it to the mountain before Durin’s Day, you need to let me go.”
The dwarf sighs heavily, slowly loosening his grip—though not outright letting go—so Bilbo can move away. “Come back soon, Bilbo.”
He nods. “I promise.” He slowly backs away from the caged dwarf, maintaining eye contact as he walks down the hall until he can no longer see the other. Then he slips his ring back on, just in case, as he makes his way back to Fíli and Kíli.
When he makes it back to the main hall he makes sure to spend a little more time with the boys in their cells, and he does his best to curb the time he spends there to only a handful of minutes despite their protests—which he marginally succeeds at. Instead of going down the other hall—he trusts the boys when they assure him none of their pack is down there—he makes his way back to the rest of the pack. Dwalin and Ori have to be somewhere near them he hasn’t checked and he is determined to find them quickly.
Tracing his way back to the others isn’t as hard as he thought it would be. He pauses for a couple of minutes to update Balin and the others on Thorin’s condition, though when asked he isn’t able to tell anyone how the negotiation for their release is going. He isn’t even aware there were negotiations, but it seems no one is expecting much either. Soon enough he manages to leave the group and get back to his exploring. He has to backtrack some way—stopping every time he encounters a dwarf; thankfully, though, there are no elves. But he’s soon wandering down another unknown hall.
True to his earlier beliefs, Dwalin and Ori aren’t far from the others and he happily updates them on the latest news from the rest of the pack. Bilbo ends up resting near them for a few hours afterwards, stealing a quick meal from Dwalin when an elf stops by to feed them.
When he leaves them he makes his way back to Balin, whom he figures will be the most useful in helping him plan their escape. In all honesty, he has no idea where to start. The front door is out of the question, and he can’t even begin to fathom where to look for an alternative exit. He’s had enough trouble just finding the dungeons. And this is all assuming he can even get the dwarves out of their cells in the first place. When he mentions all of this to the elder alpha he pauses for several minutes, thinking.
“Well, laddie, as for getting us out, I’m afraid your best bet would be to follow our jailors and see where they keep the keys to our cages. That would be easiest,” he says.
“Easiest,” he repeats with a disbelieving huff. “Easiest for you to say; you’re not the one doing it.”
“We have the utmost faith in you, Master Baggins,” Glóin chimes in from his nearby cell.
Bilbo tries to grin, though he’s sure it comes off as more of a grimace. “I suppose I have no choice in the matter.”
“You’ll be fine; you’ve got that neat little trick of yours and you’ve lasted this long undetected.”
“Don’t jinx me,” Bilbo mutters. “But it’s all moot if I can’t find us a way out of here.”
“There are other ways into the kingdom,” Balin assures the omega. “You just have to find them. My recommendation would be to find the cellars. They can’t grow all of their food here; they must be trading with Esgaroth, and to do so they most likely have a second entrance for merchants.”
Bilbo groans. “Wonderful. Yet another week of searching.” Still, it is a start. “I should go hang around by Bofur’s cell, then, and wait for the next guard to come around.”
“Have faith, Bilbo,” Balin says as he departs.
He tries, but it’s difficult. Just when he’d been excited about finding all of his dwarves, it vanishes when he realizes he still has a lot to do to get them out. If anything, he hopes Bofur might be able to cheer him up again.
Sure enough, as soon as he announces his presence the dwarf is glancing out of the bars and, after seeing no elves, a grin stretches across his face as he whispers a quiet, “Bilbo?”
“I’m here,” he replies, though he doesn’t dare take off his ring this close to the entrance of the dungeons.
“Taking a break?” the dwarf enquires, scooting closer to where Bilbo sits against the walls until they’re almost back to back.
“Sort of. I’m waiting for the guards to show up so I can follow them and hopefully find a way to get you guys out of these cells.”
Bofur perks up at that. “So you’ve found everyone, then?”
“Oh, right, I didn’t tell you. I found Thorin and the boys a while ago; they’re deeper down in the dungeons. And then I found Dwalin and Ori maybe a day ago. I don’t know.” Bilbo sighs. “Time is so weird here. I’m sorry I didn’t visit sooner.”
The dwarf waves away the apology. “It’s fine. I know you’re busy. Besides, you’re here now.”
Bilbo can practically hear the grin in the other’s voice, and it has him doing the same. “I can’t wait until we’re out of here and I don’t have to keep running between you all. It’s too tiresome,” Bilbo sighs.
“We’re almost there now,” Bofur reassures him. “You’ll have us out in no time, I know it.”
“I sure hope so.”
Bilbo waits hours by Bofur’s cell for the elves to arrive, sometimes napping while other times the dwarf will keep up a constant stream of chatter for him to listen to. They are almost caught like this, the elven guards walking by as Bofur is in the middle of telling him a story about Bombur when they were little dwarflings. They both give him a disdainful look. “Have you really gone so mad you’re talking to yourself now?” one sneers.
“Gotta amuse myself somehow,” he cheerfully replies, “and I don’t know anyone funnier than myself.”
The elves exchange a brief couple words as they leave food before walking off. Both Bilbo and Bofur watch them go, Bofur silent now. When they figure the elves are far enough away Bofur speaks up again. “Now we’ll just sit tight until they return and you can follow them out.”
“Yeah,” Bilbo agrees.
They quietly wait for the elves to return, knowing it won’t take them too long to finish their round, and they don’t want to be surprised again. Besides, Bilbo is a bit too nervous about what he’s going to do to hold a steady conversation. Thankfully Bofur seems to understand this and lets them sit in companionable silence. Soon enough the elves are walking back and it’s Bilbo’s time to shine. He gives them a moment’s head start before following behind, making sure to be especially quiet so their enhanced hearing won’t give him away.
He counts his lucky stars when they lead him to what appears to be the kitchen. He makes sure to stay out of the elves’ way, and there are several bustling about, no doubt preparing for the next grand meal. Besides, he has no real reason to actually go into the kitchen so he skirts around the entryway, choosing a nearby hall he’d seen some elves come up from to go down. It leads further underground and he hopes this doesn’t lead to more secret rooms or the like.
He slowly descends on the off-chance there’s an elf coming back up, but luckily enough he doesn’t meet anyone. Not too far down the hall opens up into a large cavern, the left side of the wall dropping off into a river some dozen feet below them. Further on he can see the stairs lead to a cellar; just what he’s been looking for. He can also see a pair of elves so he makes sure to remain quiet as he continues. If he can figure out how they get the shipments in and out he can return to Thorin and the others with good news and possibly a plan for escape. They are so close now he can’t help the excitement growing within him.
Once he actually makes it to the cellar it’s easy to see how they send and receive goods. There is already a stack of empty barrels waiting to be sent off, which he is sure will be just fine for the pack. The biggest issue will be getting past any elves they may encounter from the dungeons to the cellar. There are two guards in the room itself, though Bilbo can tell outright they aren’t too serious about their job because they spend the entire time Bilbo’s there relaxing at the table.
He picks a spot out of the way of things and settles down to watch. To figure out the best time to free the dwarves he’ll have to watch and observe, though hopefully not for too long. He doesn’t want any of them to worry about him while he’s gone, though if he knows any of them, they probably already are.
He can’t tell how long he’s been sitting there but he figures it’s been at least a day or three. However, it hasn’t all been for nothing. He soon finds out when the elves make another round to give the dwarves food that the keys to their cell are kept in the cellar, under the watch of the two guards—the very same guards that like to dip into King Thranduil’s wine stores in the evening and drink themselves silly. Then he spends another couple days watching the halls between the cellar and the dungeon, taking notice of how often elves traffic the area in order to determine the most optimal time for their escape.
By the time he returns to his dwarves he has a definite game plan in mind. He waits in the cellar for the elves to return from delivering their last meal of the day—and he knows this because the guards are well on their way to oblivion. It will be their best chance to leave since they have the longest interval of time before someone goes to check up on them. He easily grabs the keys without the guards’ notice and quickly makes his way back to the dwarves.
When he enters the dungeon he pauses briefly by Bofur’s cell, making just enough noise to alert the other of his presence. Once the dwarf is close enough he cuts the other off before he can speak. “I only have a little bit of time to talk,” he interrupts, “but I’ll be back once I get everyone else out of their cells. We’re getting out.”
Immediately a grin breaks out on the alpha’s face. “I knew ya could do it,” he says. “Hurry along then. I’ll be waiting.”
Bilbo nods—not that the other can see it—before hurrying off. He goes straight to Thorin and the princes’ cells since they’re the farthest away, not stopping to speak to any of the others like he did Bofur. He expects they have several hours where they will be able to move about the halls unnoticed—more than normal, given the celebrations going on tonight—but every second the dwarves are out of their cells will have him on edge, constantly wondering whether they’re going to get caught or not. He is the only one who can vanish out of sight, and if Thranduil catches them sneaking about he knows they won’t be going back to those cells unharmed.
Before the thought can really settle in his mind he banishes it, forcing himself to focus. The closer he gets to the dwarf king’s cell the less he worries about making any noise, more concerned with being as quick as possible, hence the reason Thorin isn’t too surprised when he reveals himself in front of the cell. The dwarf is already waiting at the bars, a concerned expression on his face. “Bilbo!” he exclaims, rather loudly in Bilbo’s opinion. But that might’ve been the stress. “Have you found a way for us to escape?”
He shakily grins, holding up the keys. “Better yet, I’ve come up with a plan. We’re leaving tonight.” He quickly unlocks the cell, only fumbling once in his nervousness. But soon the cage is unlocked and he’s being wrapped up in strong arms, his face buried against a cloth-covered chest as Thorin tightly hugs him.
“I never doubted you,” he murmurs into the hobbit’s hair and Bilbo feels a more genuine smile break across his face from the words. He doesn’t hesitate to return the embrace, and as much as he wants to savor the experience he knows they need to get to the others as soon as possible.
“We need to get moving, Thorin,” he reminds the dwarf, attempting to pull away. Thorin only lets him get as far as his arms. “Thorin—” he tries again, but is interrupted by the dwarf king’s lips on his.
In his surprise his mind freezes for a solid moment before rebooting, the single thought in his head being, ‘Thorin is kissing me.’ Then he melts against the dwarf, falling into the feeling so easily. He’s pulled tightly against Thorin, probably for the better since he can’t be sure his legs are working properly; they are feeling a little unstable.
Soon though—much too soon in Bilbo’s conflicting opinion—he’s pulling away and they’re back to business. “Right then. We’ll get Fíli and Kíli next,” Thorin is saying, heading back up the tunnel. He does, however, keep a firm grip on Bilbo’s arm, pulling the omega along with him. He doesn’t resist; he saw the tender look on the dwarf’s face before he turned away and it warms him to think of how far they’ve come since this whole journey started. He has no doubt now that the head alpha considers him, no, wants him to be part of their pack.
Freeing all of the pack takes a little longer than Bilbo accounted for since they all insist on having little moments once they’re out of their cells—though none of them try to kiss him, thankfully; he isn’t sure he could take all of that sentiment in one night. Soon enough, though, they’re cautiously making their way through the palace’s halls. Bilbo made sure to memorize the path to and from the cellar and he is able to quickly lead them to their destination, not a single elf in sight. He does have them all stop in the hall where it opens into a cavern, going ahead of the group using his ring to check on the state of the guards. Luckily it’s late enough they’ve drunk themselves to sleep and the coast is clear.
He takes off the ring and beckons them forward until they’re all gathered in the cellar, looking to Bilbo for the next step in their escape plan. “Into the barrels,” he says, gesturing to the pile of empty barrels.
There is no movement as they all give him odd looks. “Are ya sure?” Dwalin asks, giving the barrels a disdainful glance.
Bilbo sighs in exasperation. “I’m sorry, did you manage to come up with a better escape plan on your way down here?” he sarcastically asks, giving the alpha a look. “Yes, I’m sure. Now get in the barrels. Quickly,” he snaps, glancing at the elven guards out of the side of his eye. He isn’t sure how easy it’ll be to wake them, and the longer they spend in their presence the higher the likelihood rises.
There are some hushed, reluctant grumbles from the pack but they do as he asks without any more questions. Once they’re inside he stuffs the lids on top of them, hoping to give them some form of protection from the water, not that they will be airtight. Then he moves to the large lever that will send them into the river. He hesitates just a moment to send a quick prayer to the gods for an easy escape since he knows this will likely be loud and therefore probably wake up the guards, which will no doubt alert them to the fact the prisoners have escaped. He just hopes they will have a bit of time to gather themselves before an elven hunting party is sent out on their tails.
He throws himself at the lever, pushing it with all his strength to release the latch holding the floor up. It goes with minimal resistance and soon the barrels are tumbling into the river below with muffled shouts of surprise from their inhabitants. Bilbo quickly rushes after the last barrel, jumping into the water while the hole is still open. The icy cold water rushes up at him and he only has a moment to gasp for a breath of air before he’s engulfed in liquid, flailing around to get his bearings and back to the surface. He doesn’t quite know how to swim but he sort of knows how it works, in theory. Perhaps this isn’t the best of times to test that knowledge.
When he feels the edge of a barrel in his grip he does his best to quickly latch on, using that to pull himself up and get his head above the water. Once he does he gasps, rapidly inhaling air. They are moving fast down the river due to the underlying current and all Bilbo can focus on is breathing and maintaining his grip. If he lets go he knows he’ll be doomed; the dwarves won’t be able to help him now, stuck in the barrels as they are.
It’s a wild ride, one Bilbo has no desire to repeat ever again. Keeping a grip on the wet barrel with his own hand soaked and shivering from the cold has been what Bilbo feels is his toughest struggle, but somehow he manages to make it through being jostled and jolted every which way. He’s almost knocked against the rocks on the side of the rapids a couple of times, only barely managing to avoid being crushed by manipulating the barrel. When the current finally starts to slow down Bilbo has never felt more relief ever in his life before.
The barrels eventually drift to the shore and Bilbo is finally able to release his death grip on the barrel, though not without some trouble since his hand has cramped. After he massages it out he gets to working on freeing his dwarves for the second time this night. It takes some maneuvering but he gets the lid off the barrel nearest him, revealing a rather shaken Ori that practically rolls out of his confinement once he’s no longer contained. Bilbo helps the younger alpha gather his bearings first before moving onto the next barrel, Ori doing the same.
Soon all the dwarves are free, though a little waterlogged and a lot grumpy. Thorin decides it will be best if they spend the rest of the night there, which hardly anyone disagrees with. None of them want to deal with Mirkwood at night, especially without weapons. Nevertheless, it’s going to be a difficult night. They can’t build a fire to get warm since they don’t want to give away their position to any potential elf scout that might be looking for them. Instead they huddle all together, everyone but those on guard trying their best to sleep.
Despite the situation, for the first time in a while Bilbo finally feels comfortable. Perhaps it’s because he hasn’t had the luxury of being able to sleep without worrying about being stumbled upon like the dwarves had in their cells, or maybe it’s because he finally has all of his dwarves back together with him. Either way, he’s glad to be out of the Elven King’s palace.
Chapter 15: The Entry into Esgaroth
Chapter Text
Bilbo reluctantly wakes the next morning. His limbs feel waterlogged and his head like it’s filled with cotton. He would groan if he thought it worth the effort. This is no time for him to be getting sick; they are so close to the mountain and Durin’s Day is nearly upon them.
“Bilbo! Bilbo, you awake?” he hears Bofur frantically whisper and reluctantly opens his eyes. Then he notices Bifur and Bombur standing protectively in front of him. The alpha shoots him a glance from the corner of his eye.
“I got you up as soon as we saw him,” he replies. “Don’ worry, I won’t let him harm you.”
Bilbo frowns and leans over to look around the alphas gathered in front of him. His breath catches when he spots the man standing before them, a large bow in his hands with an arrow notched and pointed at Dwalin, the closest dwarf. “Oh dear,” he mutters.
Luckily, before things can escalate any further Balin is stepping forward and negotiating with the man to have him take them into Laketown. Despite some grumbles from the more obstinate of their group, eventually they reach an agreement and the man—who introduces himself as Bard—takes them all down the river to his boat anchored at the edge of the lake. Bilbo nearly groans in relief as he slumps against the side. A day of walking in his state would’ve been absolute hell. At least this way he can try and get some rest.
Of course, 20 minutes into their trip, that idea is slowly becoming a pipe dream. The dwarves are getting antsy on the boat even though they’re back on track to getting to the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo half-suspects it’s partly because they are having to get help from a man, but he isn’t about to verbalize that thought. He sits near Bofur and Bifur, who are quiet enough that he manages some moments of rest. Even once the Lonely Mountain comes into view and the whole Company stands in awe, Bilbo can hardly be roused. It isn’t until a more pressing mater presents itself that Bilbo tunes back into the others on the boat.
“What is it?” he asks, snagging Bofur before the dwarf can move too far away.
“Guards,” the dwarf solemnly answers.
“What are we going to do?” He pushes aside his weariness in light of the potential danger and makes an effort to stand.
“Give me the money. Now!” Bard demands.
“We’ll pay you when we get out provisions, but not before,” Thorin angrily retorts.
Bard meets the gaze of the King Under the Mountain with a hard look of his own. “If you value your freedom, you’ll do as I say. There are guards ahead.”
As they approach the smaller settlement, the Company rushes to hide themselves in the barrels. It is difficult for Bilbo to muster a sense of urgency with his head pounding like it is, but with Dwalin’s insistent help he manages it. By the time they reach the dock their presence has been hidden. Bard disembarks, and then they are alone. It only takes a moment of waiting for the dwarves to become curious.
“What’s he doing?” Dwalin angrily whispers.
Bilbo shuffles around in his hiding spot and is pleasantly surprised to find a convenient hole in his barrel to look through. “He’s talking to someone,” Bilbo answers. “And…he’s pointing right at us!” he continues, slightly panicked. “Now they’re shaking hands.”
“What?” he hears Thorin say, louder than is probably recommended.
“The villain!” Dwalin growls. “He’s selling us out.”
There is some anxious tittering amongst the rest of the Company, but before any of them can manage to do anything massive quantities of dead fish are being poured over their heads. There’s more spluttering, but Bilbo can hardly make a sound in his surprise. He hears a thump—maybe Bard has kicked one of them—and the soon they are moving again.
Bilbo doesn’t have to struggle too much to keep himself awake. Despite his exhaustion, the situation is tense enough—and gods do the fish reek—especially now that they are even more at the mercy of Bard. He can practically smell the discomfort of the rest of the Company, despite the fish, and it almost starts to agitate him. Yet they can’t do a thing. They must wait for another half hour before Bilbo begins to hear the sounds of a village. Finally, they’ve reached Esgaroth.
“Halt! Goods inspection,” a voice shouts. “Papers, please. Oh, it’s you, Bard.”
“Morning, Percy,” the bargeman responds, presumably doing as the gatekeeper asks.
“Anything to declare?” the gatekeeper continues. Bilbo waits, though he doubts Bard will give them away.
“Nothing, but that I am cold and tired, and ready for home.”
It seems like they will soon be on their way, until another voice speaks up. Bilbo doesn’t like the way the man sounds, nasally and slimy. Even if he could see the man, Bilbo probably wouldn’t have trusted him. Men don’t have the same secondary genders as the other races do, just the one. They don’t give off very strong scents, either, save for their own body odor. It makes it hard to determine their intentions, and less trustworthy in the eyes of the rest of them.
“Empty the barrels over the side,” he hears, and then starts to panic. There are footfalls on the barge and some grunting that almost has Bilbo revealing himself, but then Bard speaks up.
“Folks in this town are struggling. Times are hard. Food is scarce.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“And when the people hear the Master is dumping fish back into the lake, when the rioting starts, will it be your problem then?”
Bilbo, and he’s sure the others are too, wait with baited breath to see what the other man will do. As it is, they can still hear fish being dumped into the canal and it’s only a matter of time before they hear the larger splash of a dwarf. Finally, what feels like an age later, the slimy man speaks up. “Stop.” The splashing halts and the footsteps of the soldiers recede off the boat. “Ever the peoples’ champion, eh Bard? You might have their favor now, bargeman, but it won’t last.”
At last the order is given for the gate to be raised. The man tries to call out to Bard one last time, but the bargeman manages the last word with a quip Bilbo finds rather amusing. Then they are moving again. Their trip is shorter this time around before they dock again. Then Bilbo hears the sound of barrels tipping over again, followed by the grumbling of dwarves. When he hears Dwalin growling, but not panicked, he assumes they’ve finally arrived and that it is safe to leave, so he stands. Around him the rest of the Company are doing the same.
Once they’re all out, Bard leads them off through what looks like a market. Bilbo sticks close to the young princess, though Bofur follows not far behind. They don’t get very far, though, before a boy runs up to Bard. They have a brief conversation before Bard turns and quickly converses with Thorin. He sees the dwarf king nod and then Bard is moving off with whom Bilbo assumes is his son. “What are we doing?” he hisses at the dwarves closest to him.
“Into the canal,” Thorin orders.
“What?” Bilbo exclaims, perhaps louder than necessary.
There is a clamor from further in the market and they’re forced to hide themselves as some guards start poking through the stalls. By some luck they aren’t found, but then Thorin is ushering them into the frigid water. Bilbo has no chance to protest—this is definitely not going to help whatever illness he’s caught—before he is none-too-gently being shoved off the dock. He flounders briefly, limbs flailing as he tries to tread water, until a strong hand clamps onto his collar and he’s being dragged onto a sturdy back. He coughs up some water before turning to look at the dwarf who’s grabbed him. Dwalin glances back at him with a grin.
“Not a swimmer?” he asks as they begin moving, following Thorin as they keep hidden underneath the docks.
“Certainly not!” Bilbo replies, though with his teeth chattering as they are he probably doesn’t sound as annoyed as intended.
It takes far too long, in Bilbo’s opinion, for them to reach Bard’s house, or at least he assumes that’s where they’re going. And then they wait—wait!—in the freezing water for some blasted reason Bilbo cannot fathom. He grumbles to himself on Dwalin’s back, though judging by the dwarf’s chuckles he’s not quiet enough. Thankfully they aren’t kept waiting long, as Bard’s son pokes his head through a hole above them and gestures for them to enter.
Bilbo is nudged off Dwalin’s back and handed to Fíli behind him, who helps keep him afloat. Then Dwalin climbs up, and once he’s settled he reaches a hand down to help Bilbo. The hobbit gratefully takes the offered appendage, happily letting the dwarf do all the work in hauling him up. Once safely back on solid ground he follows the boy’s gesture to enter the house and gladly does so. It is much warmer inside, and when one of Bard’s daughters hands him a blanket he eagerly accepts. By the time the whole pack is gathered, Bilbo is cozily ensconced in blankets warming by the fire.
“Any more room there?” Kíli asks, his brother beside him, and after nodding they sit themselves on either side of him, huddling close to share warmth. It’s all very nice, and in no time Bilbo finds himself nodding off.
When Bilbo comes to again he’s being shaken awake by Thorin. “Wh-what is it?” he asks, sitting up. His headache hasn’t abated much and he still aches, but at least he’s no longer cold.
“We’re leaving,” he says. “Hurry and get up.” Then he moves away, probably to go rouse the rest of the dwarves or something.
Bilbo stands, gathering the blanket around himself like a cloak. There isn’t much else for him to do. He catches sight of Bombur and moves to stand near the stout dwarf. “What are we doing?”
“Going to rob the armory,” he answers.
The omega looks askance at the dwarf beside him. “What?” he asks incredulously. “Isn’t Bard supposed to give us weapons?”
Bombur grimaces. “They aren’t very good weapons,” is his response to that.
Bilbo decides not to question him further. It isn’t like he is a very good judge of that kind of thing. If anyone would know, it would be the dwarves. “Well, alright.” He hopes it won’t take too long; he can still catch a decent amount of sleep afterwards, and maybe then he’ll finally get over his cold.
“Time to make use of your burglar skills again,” Bombur grins, and then with a hearty clap on his shoulder walks off.
He gapes after the round alpha, stunned to a standstill. He is in no condition to be doing much of anything, let alone burglaring. He spins and looks anxiously for Thorin, and when he finds the alpha he quickly rushes over, interrupting the other’s conversation with Nori. “Sorry,” he says with a quick smile to the other alpha. Nori is amicable enough to leave them be, and Bilbo turns to their king. “Thorin,” he begins, “about this stealing…”
“Are you prepared? We’ll be heading off soon,” he interrupts.
“Right. No, not really,” Bilbo answers, but Thorin doesn’t seem concerned and starts to head off.
“Well,” he says, “you have the trip there to prepare.” And then Thorin leaves with the Company following, and Bilbo has no choice but to go after them. He does so with an exasperated sigh.
By the time they arrive at the armory, night has properly fallen. It’s easy to sneak around the village now that everyone is inside sleeping. The few guards that are out are easy to avoid. When they arrive at the building they head around to the back, where there is a window high on the tower. “Alright, form up,” Thorin orders. Half of the dwarves gather to form a pyramid underneath it, and Bilbo is confused for a moment before Nori takes a running start, nimbly stepping up the dwarves before jumping to the window. He catches the ledge and easily pulls himself up. Then Thorin turns to him. “Up you go.”
“Th-Thorin, wait,” he tries, but the dwarf king is already nudging him forward. Bilbo takes his best attempt at the ledge, but he knows as soon as he’s jumped he won’t make it. Luckily enough, Nori is quick to snag his arm once he’s near and haul him up the rest of the way, a cheeky grin on his face.
“There you are,” he says as he sets him down inside. “Now, hop to it, yeah. I reckon they keep the steel nearby. See if you can find it.”
The hobbit supposes there isn’t any point in protesting now and so, shoving aside his aches, he goes to find the armory proper. It isn’t far away, like Nori said, and when the others in the Company join him they begin raiding the racks. The dwarves hand him swords and axes to carry, and though he struggles with the weight he makes no complaints.
“Take that downstairs,” Thorin orders him after adding one last blade to the pile. Bilbo merely grunts in reply. It takes all of his concentration just to keep his arms up. He doesn’t know how he’ll manage the stairs.
A moment later he has his answer. Poorly, it seems, as he missteps down the first stair, tripping forward and dropping his entire load with a loud clang. All movement in the armory freezes and Bilbo looks up, horrified, to the concerned glances of his dwarves. “I’m sorry—” he begins, but is cut off by the sound of clamoring footsteps as the guards return to their tower, swords drawn and pointed at them all.
Soon they’re being ushered out and pushed roughly down the streets of Esgaroth, to where Bilbo doesn’t know. People start to gather in the streets when they hear the commotion. Eventually they are stopped before a mansion, and then a head is poking out for a moment before disappearing. The pack is corralled in the center, guards standing at the ready behind them with a crowd of people further back. Then the door opens again and a fat man storms out, the man from before following.
“What is the meaning of this?” the fat man bellows.
“We caught them stealing weapons, sire,” the lead guard replies. This must be the Master of the town, Bilbo surmises.
“Ah, enemies of the state, then.”
“This is a bunch of mercenaries if there ever was, sire,” the other man says, and Bilbo recognizes his voice from their first arrival on the boat. He grimaces, realizing the man looks just like Bilbo imagined him: slimy and greasy-looking.
“Hold your tongue,” Dwalin snarls. “You do not know to whom you speak. This is no common criminal; this is Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thrór!”
Then Thorin steps forward. He makes a great speech proclaiming their intentions to reclaim the mountain, which would then bring great wealth flowing to them in the town. The people cheer at that, and Bilbo hopes it will be enough to sway the master into being generous with them.
It almost works, he thinks, until Bard speaks up and reminds everyone of the dragon. He tries to convince them by recalling what happened to Dale, and how they couldn’t kill the dragon then and likely wouldn’t be able to kill the dragon now. Everyone quiets at his words and Bilbo fears he has swayed them back until the master steps forward. With a couple of words he manages to turn the crowd against Bard, and Bilbo is mildly impressed.
Bard seems to realize he’s lost whatever argument he was trying to make and storms angrily up to Thorin. “You have no right to enter that mountain!”
Thorin meets him with a hard gaze of his own. “I have the only right.” Then he turns to the master. “I speak to the Master of the men of the Lake. Will you see the prophecy fulfilled? Will you share in the great wealth of our people? What say you?” They all wait in tense anticipation to see what the man will say.
He keeps them waiting for several strained moments before smiling and pointing at Thorin. “I say unto you…welcome! Welcome and thrice welcome, King Under the Mountain!”
Bilbo sighs in relief as they’re let into the large house. The master quickly leaves them, oddly enough, but his slimy servant then grudgingly leads them to some rooms they can use. There are just enough that they have to double up, and Bilbo quickly finds himself herded into a room with Thorin. Under normal circumstances he might’ve balked at the idea of spending the night alone with an alpha he intends to mate, but he is too tired to think much about it. No, the omega heads straight to the large bed and makes himself comfortable. He hears Thorin moving around him but pays the dwarf no attention. Sleep comes to him quickly.
The next time he wakes it’s to a harried-looking Dori standing over him. When he realizes Bilbo is awake and blinking he frantically gestures off to the side. “Quick! Get Óin and Thorin.”
“Why?” Bilbo grumbles as he tries to sit up, though the dwarf gently but firmly nudges him back. He goes without a fight, though still manages a confused look at the other. “What’s the matter?”
“The matter is, Bilbo,” Thorin says as he enters, several of the Company on his heels though they have the sense to wait at the door so as not to crowd him, “you’ve been sleeping for the past three days.”
“What!” Bilbo exclaims with surprise. “But, Durin’s Day!”
“Is still a couple of days away,” Thorin interrupts. “And we have been using the time to gather supplies, so it was not wasted. Now that you’ve awoken we can set off on the morrow.”
“If I think he’s well enough,” Óin says as he elbows his way through the gathered pack into the room. “Now, out with you lot,” he barks, making shooing motions to the others. “Go on, get out. I’m not gonna look over him with you lot standing over my shoulder.” They go, but not without their grumbles.
Bilbo watches, mildly amused, before turning to Óin. “I’m fine,” he tells the dwarf.
The healer gives him a look. “I’ll be the judge of that. When did you start feeling under the weather?”
Bilbo shrugs. “After escaping the dungeons, I believe. I’m fairly sure it’s just a cold.”
“I’m sure that’s what it started as, the frigid waters and lack of sleep not helping, either. But I get the feeling that’s not just what this is.”
The omega fidgets nervously in his bed. “What do you mean by that?”
Óin halts before speaking again, and when he does Bilbo notices that he won’t meet his eyes. It might’ve made him more concerned if he hadn’t also caught the flush to his ears, and the hobbit doesn’t know what to make of that. “When…when did you last have your heat, if I may ask?”
Now it’s Bilbo’s turn to flush and he looks aside, thinking of the dwarf’s question. Truthfully, he had put thoughts of his heat aside after he’d first presented. They only occur every six months, so it’s an easy thing to forget about, but he does his best to remember. It had been a couple of weeks before the Company arrived, so really it all depends on how long they’ve been on the road. He asks the dwarf as much.
“Oh, maybe six months or so,” he replies.
“Ah,” is Bilbo’s response to that. “It won’t be long now, I think.” And isn’t that concerning, for several reasons. They haven’t reclaimed the mountain yet; he has nowhere to nest, and they can’t afford the several days it will take him to work through it. He has a mountain to rob.
“Well, that’s probably what affected your cold,” Óin says. “Hormones throwing off the body and all that. But I wouldn’t worry too much; you seem to be over it now.”
“And my heat?” Bilbo asks, clutching nervously at the sheets around him.
“Not long off, if what you say is true,” Óin flippantly responds.
“But what about the quest?” he can’t help but ask, concerned about the other’s lack of concern. “We haven’t reclaimed the mountain.”
“I think we’ve got some time. But I’ll inform Thorin,” Óin says. Then he stands. “I’ll leave you to it now. Some more rest probably won’t do you any arm, so I’ll tell the others to keep their distance. Our mighty alpha will indeed want to leave tomorrow, so get all the rest you can. You’ll find little of it soon enough. Good day, Master Baggins.”
Bilbo manages a half-hearted response to that, too worried about what will happen. He isn’t sure what’s more troublesome, his upcoming heat or the idea of stealing from a dragon. In the ends he decides to think of his heat because at least that is something he can control, if only marginally.
Finding a safe place is the most pressing matter, though he doesn’t doubt the pack will do everything they can to protect him. Regardless of that, his instincts won’t be satisfied, he knows, unless they are somewhere safe. And then there are supplies to think about. He will need to eat much more than usual to make up for the strain of the heat, as well as whomever decides to help him.
He flushes again just thinking about it. When they first set out Thorin had been against him, but now that they are on better terms he likely won’t argue against mating him. Strangely enough, the idea doesn’t scare him as much as it would have six months ago. Maybe because he’s gotten to know Thorin and the rest of the pack before their mating, or maybe it’s the simple fact that he has chosen them. Well, he amends to himself, is choosing them now. He knows he can be happy with them—he already is—far more than he imagines any other hobbit will make him.
Perhaps it would be best to talk to Thorin before anything happens, see if the alpha has any idea of what to do. But until then, Bilbo figures Óin’s advice is as good an idea as any and settles himself back down to nap.
Next morning finds Bilbo waking pleasantly rested—finally—and in a good mood. He gets up without disturbing Thorin beside him and pads out of the room to look for food. He is utterly starving, having only had small bowls of soup over the past few days. Luckily, he arrives in the dining hall just after the cooks have set out the food. He doesn’t wait for an invitation to sit down and tuck in.
One by one his dwarves stumble in as the morning goes, until they’re all seated and just as rowdy as they had been in his smial so long ago. It makes Bilbo smile to see them all carefree in light of what they are about to do. Granted, it isn’t any of them going to steal from a dragon, so they don’t have as much to worry about. They’re all just excited they are so close now to reclaiming their home.
Eventually Thorin calls an end to the meal before midday and the pack starts to gather their minimal things left unpacked. Several ponies have been readied for them, already loaded with packs of food and weapons the Master has gifted to the dwarves. They set off not much later across the long bridge that connects the town to the mainland. According to Balin when Bilbo asks, they have a day and a half’s ride to reach the base of the Lonely Mountain, and then the day after is Durin’s Day. In Bilbo’s opinion, they seem to be cutting it a little close, but since none of the other dwarves seem concerned he supposes there isn’t any reason to be.
The riding is infinitely better than walking, that much Bilbo can appreciate. They had done far too much walking before arriving at Laketown—much farther than any walking holiday he’s taken, for sure—so the riding feels almost like a vacation, as much as heading to a mountain where he is expected to steal from a dragon can be considered a vacation. Perhaps it is the good mood of the pack infecting Bilbo’s own that has him thinking so lightheartedly. Indeed, they make it hard to worry about the important things. Even now he can’t muster the concern when they are so close to Erebor.
As Balin had expected, they arrive at the base of the mountain the evening before Durin’s Day. They make camp without a care for any danger in the lands, Bofur even going so far as to sing a song after dinner. They are all in high spirits, save for Thorin. Oddly enough, he only seems to grow more serious the closer they get. Bilbo finds him that evening turned away from the fire, his gaze solely concentrated on the mountain above them. He almost thinks to approach, but something about the alpha’s mood has him pause.
“Don’t be too concerned about him, lad,” Dwalin suddenly speaks up from beside him.
Bilbo jumps in his seat from the surprising sound before turning to the larger alpha. “But isn’t it odd?” he argues.
Dwalin shrugs. “Maybe. But this means a lot more for him than it does the rest of us. Yeah, we’ll be gettin’ our home back, but it’s his kingdom.”
Bilbo mulls over the other’s words, and though he can see some truth to the statement he doesn’t think that’s all it is. But there isn’t much else he can do except wait.
Come morning Thorin wakes them all up bright and early before the sun has even risen, to the groans of everyone else. He’s come up with a plan to split them up to search the areas around the mountain. Bilbo is paired with Thorin and Dwalin, and it is decided they will search near the gates. For what, Bilbo has no idea, and when he asks Thorin the dwarf just tells him, very helpfully, “Something out of place.”
They search for hours, and Bilbo always makes sure to keep the two alphas in sight, not that there is anything dangerous near the mountain. That would be inside. Out here, there’s nothing but rock. The massive carved dwarves near the entrance look exactly like that, and if there is something out of place on them Bilbo can’t tell what.
After a brief lunch with the two he decides to wander father than he had before, outside of the valley. It all looks the same, more grass and mountain and stone and sky. He takes a brief respite up there, now that Thorin isn’t in sight to complain. He has been almost fervent of late, and Bilbo really needs the moment to himself. Any more staring at rocks and he’s likely to go insane.
He looks up at the sun instead. Or near it, because he doesn’t feel like going blind. Half the day has gone, and if they don’t find the door today they will have to wait an entire year for the opportunity again. Thorin, or any of the others, really, won’t like that, and neither will Bilbo, for that matter. Eventually he turns back to the mountain, because this does need to get done and he hasn’t checked this side yet. The dwarf looks much the same, just as the mountain does. Still, he scans the landscape trying to find anything unusual. There is an interesting design carved up the side of this dwarf that wasn’t on the other, but that’s all.
Actually, when Bilbo really looks at them, they go up much farther than the statue and higher than he can see. He moves closer out of curiosity, and when he approaches them at the base of the mountain he starts thinking that maybe this is just what they’re meant to be looking for. “Thorin! Dwalin!” he shouts. “Thorin! I think I’ve found it!”
It takes the alphas maybe ten minutes to get to Bilbo, and the rest maybe another ten, but by then Thorin has confirmed Bilbo’s suspicions. “You have a good eye, Master Baggins,” the dwarf king praises him. When everyone has gathered at the large stone steps they begin to make their way up. Unfortunately, the climb takes a good portion of the afternoon and Bilbo worries they will run out of time. At the top they reach a small outcropping of grass against a sheer stone wall. It certainly looks like a door, or at least a wall that would contain one, but Bilbo can’t see a thing.
“Where is it?” Bofur asks, looking at the assembled Company.
“Find the door!” Thorin orders.
Dwalin and Glóin immediately step forward with their axes drawn. They go to work all over the wall, swinging away at any space they can, but all it accomplishes is the chipping of their weapons. Bofur and Bifur try with their own, but it doesn’t go any better. Then Nori steps up, tapping more delicately at the door to suss out any hidden mechanisms—and that’s when Bilbo learns he used to be a thief before joining the Company. Still, not even he can find the door. As the evening grows, so does Thorin’s ire.
“We need to find the blasted door before Durin’s Day is over or this whole quest will have been pointless,” the head alpha growls, pacing back and forth near the ledge. Bilbo nervously watches him, feeling the alpha’s anger more so now that his heat is approaching. Maybe before, he might have approached to try and reassure his friend, but now his instincts are telling him to keep away and he listens to them, sitting near Balin instead. The older dwarf watches his companions with weary eyes.
“It’s no good,” he tells them with a heavy sigh. “The door’s sealed. It can’t be opened by force; there’s a powerful magic upon it.”
“No!” Thorin shouts. “The last light of Durin’s Day will shine upon the keyhole. That’s what it says.” He glances angrily between the map and the rock face. “What did we miss?” He turns a desperate look to Balin and Bilbo and it nearly breaks the hobbit’s heart to see the distraught expression on the dwarf king’s face. Behind him, the sun slowly disappears over the mountain range.
“We’ve lost the light,” Balin remarks, standing and making his way to their leader to place a heavy hand on his shoulder. “There’s no more to be done. We had but one chance.” At that everyone’s mood seems to plummet in despair. In silence, they start to make their way back down the stairs.
Bilbo jumps up in mild panic. “Wait a minute! Where are you going? You can’t give up now!” He meets the gaze of Thorin, the last standing up there with him, but the dwarf soon looks away. He holds up the key for a moment and then drops it to the ground. “Thorin,” Bilbo pleads as he makes to move past the hobbit. The dwarf merely presses the map into his chest before moving on. He grasps at it out of reflex. Then he’s left alone.
He looks between the wall, the stairs, and where the key lays abandoned. It can’t be over; he won’t believe it. He turns the map in his hands. “Stand by the gray stone…” he reads, so he goes to do just that and stand by the wall they’d just hammered at for hours. “When the thrush knocks…” he continues, and then pauses to listen, though he doesn’t hear anything so he reads on. “The setting sun…and the last light of Durin’s Day will shine…” he trails off. “The last light,” he repeats. There has to be something they’re missing or overlooking.
He turns around to think, glancing away from the mountain. It had helped the other day when he found the stairs, maybe it will help again. His gaze catches on the moon, bright and whole in the sky. It shines clearly in the sky, illuminating the whole clearing despite the late hour. A fluttering sound has him turning back around, and when he does he finds a little bird perched on a rock, a nut in its beak. Bilbo watches, almost disbelievingly, as it starts hitting it on the rock. “As the thrush knocks…” he mutters in amazement. Then a cloud shifts behind him and a beam shines on the rock, highlighting an indention in the rock that looks an awful lot like a hole a key would fit in. He gasps.
“Thorin!” he shouts. “Dwalin! Balin! Thorin! Guys! The keyhole!” he continues. “The last light is the moon! Come back!” Then he turns, annoyed they are taking so long. “The key, the key, where’s the damn key?” He searched the ground before his gaze catches on a glint of gold and he turns with building anticipation. He picks it up, carefully, and when he stands again he catches sight of Thorin waiting on the top step of the stairs.
Wordlessly he holds the key out. Thorin steps forward to take it before turning to the wall. The keyhole is still plainly visible, and Bilbo watches with the rest of the Company that has made their way back up as their alpha leader smoothly inserts it into the slot and turns. There is a deep grinding noise from inside the mountain and they watch as a seam appears in the rock in the shape of a door. Thorin gently pushes and it opens effortlessly.
“Erebor,” he breathes quietly in awe. Then he turns back to face them, his gaze finding Bilbo’s in an instant. “Bilbo, you did it!”
“Way to go, lad,” Bofur agrees.
Bilbo can’t help but smile. It’s like a heavy weight has been released off his shoulders, never mind what he has to do next. “Well, I have always liked riddles.”
It has Thorin cracking a smile too as the dwarf king approaches him. “Never have I been more glad you’ve come with us, Bilbo.” He takes Bilbo’s face in his hands, gazing at the omega with such adoration that Bilbo’s breath catches. They look at each other like there isn’t anyone else there, such is the magnetism between them, and without even thinking Bilbo is leaning in to meet the dwarf’s lips with his.
Vaguely he hears the cheering and whistles of the rest of the pack, and when they separate he flushes red at seeing their wry grins. He averts his gaze back to Thorin, though looking at the alpha is nearly as bad. Never before has he seen Thorin so pleased on their quest. “Tomorrow,” he hears, “we will enter the mountain, but tonight I think our burglar has earned a break.”
Cheers go up again amongst the Company, and though he wants to share their excitement Bilbo is suddenly reminded why he was brought in the first place. He has to steal from a dragon tomorrow, and somehow he doubts anything will convince Thorin otherwise. But he doesn’t want to ruin their happiness for the evening, so he goes with them to set up the camp, pushing his thoughts aside for the time being. That’s a problem for tomorrow.
Chapter 16: The Battle Against Gold Sickness
Notes:
Wow, cannot believe it's been 3 years since I last updated this. I started the summer after my 1st year at college, and now I'm a certified graduate. To those who have been here since the beginning and are coming back, I'm glad you're still here! To those who found this in the interim and left comments, I saw them all and they gave me encouragement to keep coming back. And finally, to those who are discovering this for the first time, aren't you lucky you didn't have to wait like the rest of them.
One major thing, I've gone back thru this whole story and rewritten it in present tense. My writing style has changed over the years, and to go back and write this in past tense was just odd. Also, I felt like redoing it all would get me back in the groove of writing (and it did, there's a new chapter!). Nothing major was changed in regards to the plot, so if you don't want to re-read you don't have to.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
When Bilbo wakes the next morning in Thorin’s arms, for a while he can forget that he’s going to be stealing from a dragon, he’s so comfortable. His instincts are telling him moving is a bad idea. Unfortunately, the decision is taken away from him when Thorin wakes with the rising sun. He urges the rest of the pack to rise as well and soon the dwarves are bustling about preparing a meager breakfast. Bilbo is left mostly to himself, for which he is grateful.
But he isn’t left to himself for very long. He’s barely finished his breakfast when the head alpha approaches him, an intense expression on his face. “Master Baggins, it seems your time has come.” All movement across the camp halts at the dwarf’s words.
“Wait, Thorin,” Bofur finally speaks up, “you’re not really gonna send him in there on his own, are ya?”
“That is what Master Baggins was contracted to do, was it not?” he retorts, turning to Balin to give the elder dwarf a look.
Balin looks conflicted but he does nod in agreement. “That is correct,” he says, though reluctantly.
“Then I don’t see what the problem is.”
“Well, it’s just—” Bofur sputters, confused by their leader’s blunt words. Is he not concerned about Bilbo facing the dragon, as they are?
“Are we really going to send him in by himself?” Kíli interjects.
The head alpha shoots his nephew an impatient look. “Doing otherwise will defeat the purpose of Master Baggins being hired in the first place.” He turns his gaze on the rest of the Company, meeting their stares evenly. “I do not want to hear any more complaints or excuses. Master Baggins will enter the mountain.” He finally turns to Bilbo, who has remained silent through their arguing. “Are you ready?”
Bilbo swallows thickly as his gaze skitters around the rest of the dwarves, suddenly unable to look at Thorin. Many of them are nervous, some outright concerned. Balin is looking especially conflicted, and Dwalin appears on the verge of anger. Many of the others are tense, glancing between Thorin and himself. He tries to calm his own nerves in an attempt to soothe his alphas, though he doubts it’ll help much. Finally he turns back to the head alpha and nods. “As I’ll ever be, I suppose,” he mutters.
Thorin seems far too pleased to hear that. “Good. Then as soon as breakfast is over we’ll show you inside,” he declares. Bilbo glances down at the bowl in his lap, a few bites of their oatmeal remaining. He merely nods his acceptance of Thorin’s words before taking another bite. Distantly he wonders if eating breakfast is even worth it if he’s just going to be swallowed by a dragon, but he doesn’t stop.
The rest of the camp resumes their activities, though there is a tension in the air that hadn’t been present before Thorin’s words. Bilbo pays it little attention, too absorbed in his own thoughts. He doesn’t even notice when Glóin sits down next to him. Bilbo merely blinks when the dwarf makes his presence known, and puts up no token of protest when the nearly empty bowl is surreptitiously replaced with the dwarf’s own much fuller bowl.
“You need the extra nutrition more than I do, lad, especially with your heat approaching,” the alpha grumbles nonchalantly.
Bilbo knows better than to argue, especially about something like this. And he doesn’t really want to, either. Though it will only slightly delay the inevitable, the hobbit appreciates the gesture.
Breakfast still ends far sooner than he would’ve liked. With Thorin eyeing him from across the camp, he has no way to delay any longer. As soon as he sets aside his bowl the head alpha is heading over, an intense look in his eyes. “Come along, Master Baggins.” Bilbo nods and follows him to the door into the mountain. “Balin will show you to the treasury. Remember, your goal is the Arkenstone. With it, I can rally the dwarf armies to defeat Smaug.”
“Right,” Bilbo mutters. “And just what does the Arkenstone look like, actually?”
“You will know it when you see it. It is a gem unlike any other,” Thorin replies—unhelpfully, again, in Bilbo’s opinion.
He turns to Balin and the dwarf gestures him forward with a resigned expression. “C’mon, laddie, I’ll show you the way.” Bilbo spares the pack one last look, skirting his gaze over Thorin—something about the dwarf unsettles him—and tries not to linger on their downtrodden expressions. It isn’t very confidence-boosting when they all look like he’s walking into his grave, but he supposes he doesn’t have the odds on his side right then.
He and Balin re-enter the tunnel they’d only briefly explored the night before. Bilbo spares no second glances for the carvings on the wall he’d been so fascinated with before. His entire focus now is on the drag—stone, the stone that awaits him in the treasury. He glances at Balin. “Really, though, what does the Arkenstone look like?” he asks, hoping to get a better answer than Thorin’s, the dramatic oaf.
“It is a large white jewel,” the elder dwarf replies, “and it shines far brighter than any other, even in the dark. Thorin wasn’t wrong when he said you’d know it when you see it, but I do suppose that is a tad unhelpful. I hope I could have been of more assistance.” Then he stops walking, and Bilbo notices the hall they’re in leads to an entryway that opens into a wide, cavernous space from what he can see. He glances back to Balin, who nods. “Down those stairs is the treasury. I can go no further with you.”
“Right.”
“In truth lad, I do not know what you will find down there,” he says. “Forget what Thorin says, you needn’t go if you don’t want to. There’s no dishonor in turning back. We’ll still want you even if you cannot do this for us. You’ve proven yourself many times over.”
Bilbo turns a grateful smile to the alpha, his nerves calmed only somewhat. “Thank you, but I won’t. I promised I would do this, and I think I must try.”
Balin chuckles. “It never ceases to amaze me.”
“What’s that?” he asks, shooting him a curious look.
“The courage of hobbits,” he replies. “Go now, with as much luck as you can muster.” Bilbo nods and prepares to walk off, but pauses when he hears Balin speak up again. “Oh, and if there is in fact a live dragon down there…don’t wake it.”
Bilbo pauses a moment to nod again, and then heads into the treasury.
Oh, if only he had done as Balin asked, Bilbo laments. But he never stood a chance. Whatever hobbit-y smell he’d had before had been lost on the journey he spent with 13 dwarves. If he even had it on the journey, given they’d formed a partial bond before they set off, and it had only strengthened the longer they were together. And if that hadn’t been enough, Smaug could clearly smell that he was an omega—one nearing his heat, at that. Which, Bilbo thinks, was probably what had woken him up in the first place.
From there it wasn’t hard to deduce he had a pack waiting for him somewhere, which set the dragon off on Esgaroth. Bilbo was very concerned for the people who’d helped them before, though the dwarves were just pleased the dragon was out of the mountain. Somehow, though, it seems one of the villagers was prepared because Smaug was shot down eventually, but not until after most of the wooden village was set ablaze.
Bilbo knows it’s only a matter of time before the men head to the mountain, probably to yell and demand reparation. So far they seem to have settled in the ruins of Dale. Still, Thorin doesn’t seem to care one whit. Since they’ve taken the mountain he’s spent most of his time in the treasury with all of the pack, save for the ones assigned to watch Bilbo. Except in the evenings. He always spends the time after dinner and before bed with Bilbo.
In fact, most of them are trying to spend time with Bilbo in some way. His heat is quickly approaching and he knows they can clearly tell by now. If his scent changing hadn’t been a dead giveaway, the nesting probably would. Thorin had instructed him their very first evening to pick whatever rooms he wanted, and that is where everyone has made their camp. As Bilbo explores the rooms in the mountain—under the watch of Bifur, Bofur, and Ori, who are to make sure he doesn’t wander anywhere unstable—he stockpiles all the softest blankets and things he can find to build his nest.
This time, Bilbo knows, isn’t going to be anything like his first heat. Erebor is not his nice and cozy little hobbit hole where nothing dangerous can get at him. Not to mention, it had been in the midst of spring and he’d had plenty of food and supplies for himself. Now, the onset of winter is rapidly approaching, and when he asked about provisions Thorin had just waved him off and told him he’d handle it. As if he knows what a hobbit’s heat is like!
Suffice to say, Bilbo is maybe stressing a little about his upcoming heat, which is in turn stressing the dwarves around him. Mostly. Thorin seems largely unaffected by a lot of things nowadays, except the Arkenstone.
Which Bilbo has indeed found and currently possesses, not that he’s going to tell the head alpha that. Something about the dwarf seems off, but he can’t tell what it is and lately he’s had more pressing concerns. The whole Arkenstone business can wait until after his heat has ended, and no dwarf who tries to tell him otherwise will be tolerated. If Thorin finds out…well, he can reconsider his position as Bilbo’s first.
Except, things don’t always go as planned. Unbidden, Smaug’s words come back to Bilbo, and he knows without a doubt that Thorin is definitely going mad.
After his outburst in the throne room with Balin and Dwalin, Bilbo can no longer ignore what is in front of him. He almost wants to—his heat is nearly upon him, to come any day now—but this is his alpha, his future mate, and he’s not okay. He seeks out Balin and the elder’s words of wisdom, but what he gets is only further disappointment.
He doesn’t know what to do, short of abducting the dwarf and taking him far away, but that’s just not possible. The dwarf king is too stubborn and dead set on that damn jewel. And there’s no telling if he’d be able to convince the others. No one seems to care about Thorin’s behavior except for Balin, the only one who won’t indulge him in his fruitless search of the treasury.
It’s frustrating to no end, driving Bilbo nearly to tears with his emotions heightened as they are. This also has the unintended effect of frustrating his alphas, who can tell something is wrong with him but have no idea how to fix it because he refuses to tell them what it is, adding to the vicious cycle.
The sheer madness of it all has Bilbo slipping on his ring one afternoon to escape his dwarf shadows who refuse to leave him alone. He understands their concern, really, but it’s starting to feel smothering and Bilbo needs a moment to himself.
He finds a large rock somewhat near the destroyed parapet to rest on and takes a large breath of fresh mountain air. It’s crisp and clean, unlike inside the mountain where the air is dusty and stale, and scented lightly of dragon. For as long as he can, he just wants to sit and breathe and forget about all his worries. Idly he plays with the contents of his pockets, imagining a happier time for them all.
“What is that?!” Thorin growls, startling Bilbo so badly he nearly drops what’s in his hand.
‘So much for me time,’ he thinks, turning to see Thorin storming up to him. He abruptly stands, trying to meet the alpha’s gaze despite the other’s intense presence. He’s much more sensitive to the dwarves in his pre-heat, instincts to submit present, though currently controllable. “It’s nothing,” he says.
“Show me.” It’s an order rather than a request, like it’s should’ve been. But arguing about propriety and privacy would be more trouble than it’s worth and Bilbo acquiesces, revealing the little acorn he’d plucked from Beorn’s garden.
He knows what Thorin assumed, but he can’t even feel hurt by the unspoken accusation because it’d be true. But he is pleasantly surprised when the suspicion clears from the dwarf’s expression, leaving only amazement. “You carried it all this way?” he asks, looking at Bilbo with such fondness that for a moment he recognizes his old Thorin.
“Yeah,” he replies, his expression softening in turn. “I want to plant it somewhere in Erebor. Start a new garden, here in my new home,” he admits, his tone hopeful.
Thorin smiles, genuinely, and it’s the best thing Bilbo’s seen yet. The dwarf’s hand closes protectively around Bilbo’s holding the seed, his other coming up to gently caress his cheek. Bilbo finds himself leaning into the affection, needy with his approaching heat, grasping the dwarf’s hand in turn. “I am glad to hear it,” Thorin says, softly so as not to break the moment. “Anything you wish, anything you need to make you happy here, I will do my best to provide.”
Tears bud at the corners of his eyes. He sounds so much like his old self, Bilbo can almost forget the past few days. But he’s not so naïve, and that only makes it hurt worse. ‘Will he still think the same when my heat passes and the Arkenstone remains lost?’ he wonders. “Thorin…” he haltingly whispers.
“Thorin!” Dwalin shouts, drawing the king’s attention, and it’s like a curtain has dropped. Thorin steps away to attend his second, leaving Bilbo feeling bereft and off-balance from the sudden lack of warmth—physical and emotional. The dwarves walk away to the gate, and Bilbo takes a shuddering breath before following.
When Thorin takes one look at the lights in Dale and orders the front gate barricaded Bilbo has to quickly smother his disappointment, lest any of the others pick up on it. Kíli tries to protest, futilely, but Thorin is set. He leaves soon after that, unable to watch his alpha stray further from the honorable dwarf he once knew.
Bilbo knows his pre-heat is nearing its end; he has maybe a day or two left before he’ll be unable to even leave the nest, too consumed with the need to procreate. But the people of Laketown have finally arrived in search of aid, and they don’t come alone. The rest of the Company try to keep him off the newly fortified gate, but Bilbo is adamant on not being left behind. He just knows Thorin will be difficult, but he hopes his presence and influence might be enough to temper the king.
He should have known better.
“Thorin!” he snaps, following the dwarf back to the top of the gate after he turns Bard away, denying his request for aid. A part of him knows arguing is pointless while Thorin is sick, but he cannot sit idly by and let him cheat the people of Esgaroth. “Just give them what they need to survive. We set the dragon on their city; it’s the least we can do considering we basically burned their whole lives down.”
“I will not,” he defiantly proclaims. “The men offered us help in exchange for our riches because they knew we had no choice. Why should I honor such an agreement?”
“Because you are an honorable dwarf, or has that changed since we’ve been here?” Bilbo retorts. Thorin draws short and turns to regard Bilbo with a heated look in his eyes. Bilbo swallows heavily, suddenly wary of the alpha before him, but he presses forward anyway. He hasn’t caved to Thorin before, and he doesn’t intend to now. “Regardless, we should help them because it’s the right thing to do.”
“You will come to learn that, as a ruler, our duty is to our people first. It may not be what is right for others, but it is what we must do.”
Bilbo blinks incredulously at the dwarf before him. “So you’d rather go to war? Is that what’s right for us now? We can’t fight an army with 14, especially not now.”
“Soon we won’t be just 14,” Thorin says, a glint in his eye. “And you would not fight anyways. Your place is here in Erebor where you will be protected.” He turns away from the battlement to head back into the mountain before Bilbo can do more than sputter indignation. “Come! We must arm for war,” he shouts to the others. “And I have something for you as well, Master Baggins.”
Bilbo isn’t happy—and quite frankly in no mood for gifts—but he trails behind the Company as they head to the armory. He hasn’t been there before. He tends to avoid most of the inner rooms; they’re closer to the forges and are therefore too hot for him to be comfortable. He lingers at the entrance and watches his dwarves pick out armor and weapons. They all look quite intimidating—and that thought sends a jolt of heat through him, making him flush and fidget, uncomfortably aware of his impending heat. None seem to notice and Bilbo contemplates leaving, only for Thorin to finally remember he’d intended to give Bilbo something as he approaches the hobbit fully adorned in armor, something small and shiny in his hands.
“This, Master Baggins, is for you,” he proclaims, holding the object out to Bilbo, who hesitantly takes it under the watch of the whole Company.
“What is it?” he asks as he admires it. Holding it up, the object unfolds to reveal a metal shirt, though it looks unlike any chainmail shirt he’s ever seen. The links are tiny and tightly woven, and the shirt itself is so light he just knows he could wear it without any encumbrance.
“Mithril, one of the toughest metals, and most rare. No blade will pierce this,” Thorin explains. “Consider this to be the first of many mating gifts. Once Erebor is returned to its former glory we will be able to shower you with all the priceless gems and gold you can imagine.”
For a moment Bilbo is speechless, glancing between the gift and the alpha. “I…don’t know what to say, Thorin. This is…” he trails off, unsure of how to finish. Words flit through his mind—beautiful, amazing, too much—but none of them seem appropriate.
“Insufficient,” Thorin finishes for him, “compared to how much we value you, Bilbo.” There is a tender look in his gaze, and it reminds Bilbo so much of the Thorin back at Beorn’s that he can’t help the smile of his own.
“You know I don’t particularly care for expensive and fancy things,” Bilbo gently chides the dwarf. “This is more than enough for me.”
“Aye, we know,” Thorin agrees good-naturedly. “But that will not stop us. There is nothing we would not give to see you protected.” There’s some murmurs of agreement from behind the dwarf from the rest of the pack watching them and Bilbo shakes his head in fond exasperation. “Put it on,” the dwarf urges.
At first Bilbo hesitates, but after several encouraging calls he strips off his outer coat and—though he hesitates again for only a moment—pulls on the mithril armor. It is even lighter than he expects and Bilbo marvels at the garment’s fit on him. Pleased, and unexpectedly shy, he turns to his alpha to see his approval, only to feel his good mood shrivel at the look in Thorin’s eyes. It is…hungry, with a dangerous glint as the dwarf’s gaze sweeps over Bilbo’s form.
“Beautiful, my treasure,” his deep voice grumbles. A fission of heat runs up Bilbo’s spine, though he’s suddenly unsure of its welcome. Thorin’s hand comes heavily down on his shoulder and the dwarf directs him to an alcove a little ways from the armory, well out of earshot of the pack.
Bilbo is alarmed by the dwarf’s suddenly close presence, Thorin standing right before him. They’re nearly breathing the same air as Thorin leans in, and Bilbo freezes, waiting to see what the alpha will do. There’s a wild look in his eyes that worries him. “I have been blind, but I am beginning to see,” he whispers, and Bilbo blinks, thoughts crashing to a halt with this unexpected turn. “I have been betrayed.”
“Betrayed?” he repeats incredulously. “What—?”
“The Arkenstone. One of them has taken it,” he insists. “One of them is…false.”
Bilbo swallows heavily. “Thorin,” he chides, but the alpha won’t hear it.
“They have betrayed me, my own kin.” His gaze, drifted off to the pack, suddenly returns to Bilbo in all its intensity. “But I still have you, my precious omega. You would not betray me.” His hand grabs at his cheek once more, but it is not the same affectionate gesture from before. His hand slides down, fingers curling gently around Bilbo’s neck. His pulse skyrockets under Thorin’s grasp, but the dwarf either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He drags Bilbo forward into a forceful kiss, stealing the breath from his lungs and leaving Bilbo dazed when it’s over.
Then he is gone, and the rest of the pack is following. Every one of them is prepared for war.
Bilbo lies awake that night, and he knows for certain what he must do. It takes careful planning, what with Thorin keeping him close by at all times when he’s not in the treasury. But as they settle down for the night Bilbo kicks up quite the fuss about being allowed to sleep between Balin and Dwalin, enough that even Thorin with his head alpha possessiveness in high gear eventually gives in and lets him do as he pleases. Dwalin grins smugly, intentionally laying to block the king’s view of the omega, but Balin gives him this knowing look that only further cements Bilbo’s decision to go through with this.
When the pack is asleep he slips away, and Balin is the only one to see him go with a reassuring pat on his side before he does. He slips on his ring, making his way up to the barricaded gate. He quickly ties the rope he’d acquired to a ring on the wall, and as he does so a voice speaks up, startling him.
“You should be inside,” Bofur chides, standing on the opposite side. “Out of the cold. It can’t be good for your condition.”
Bilbo mentally curses; the dwarf isn’t supposed to be on guard yet, so what’s he doing out here. He slips off his ring since there’s no point in pretending, and turns to face the dwarf. He can read the concern and resignation on the other’s face, and his own twists with guilt. “Bofur…” he starts.
“Bilbo, what’re you doing?” he asks. “You can’t still want to leave us. We’ve come this far; we’re so close.”
“The war—”
“We’ll protect you,” Bofur insists. “You won’t have to leave the castle. We’ll barricade in here with you if that’s what it takes, but not one of us will let you get hurt. We all…we adore you, can’t you tell, Bilbo?” he pleads desperately. “Don’t go.”
Bilbo rushes to the other, the urge to comfort his alpha too strong to resist in his state. Bofur clutches at him, holding him as if he has no intention of letting go. “Bofur, I’ll come back,” he swears. “I promise. I…” He chokes, words he can’t admit, not like this, stuck in his throat. “I adore you all as well, and that’s why I have to do this.”
“But your heat, you’re so close,” he reminds him.
He doesn’t have much time left, he knows. By tomorrow he’ll likely be in full heat, but if he doesn’t get this done, by tomorrow there will be a war as well. “I’ll be careful. My ring will protect me. Please, Bofur, I don’t have much time,” he insists, trying to project reassurance to the other.
“Okay. Okay,” the dwarf repeats, as if to convince himself. But he does let Bilbo go, and the hobbit doesn’t linger, as much as he wants to. He does need to go, and the longer he lingers the more his conviction wanes.
He throws the rope over and slips down, scrambling across the field between Erebor and Dale as fast as he can manage. Despite the late hour, Dale is wide-awake. Elves and men alike are preparing for the war on the morrow, and as alarming as it is Bilbo has one destination in mind. Bard has been reasonable enough so far, and Bilbo knows if he can convince the other of his plan then things will turn out for the best.
To his surprise, it is not just Bard he finds in the fallen city of men, but Gandalf as well, though the wizard looks much more haggard than they last saw him. The wizard looks just as surprised to see him. “Bilbo Baggins!” he exclaims when Bilbo makes himself known to the pair. “What are you doing here?”
“Gandalf,” he sighs, frustration twisting his features. He ignores the question, rather addressing the wizard’s remark to Bard prior. “They won’t stop. This is a fight they cannot win, but they refuse to surrender, all over a mountain of gold. I tried, but he won’t listen to me.”
Bard scoffs, but he seems sympathetic as he regards Bilbo, sharing in the hobbit’s frustration. “Thorin Oakenshield will listen to no one, at this point.”
“I know,” Bilbo agrees. “But…I think I may know how to convince him otherwise,” he admits. He glances to the side, where an opulent tent has been erected in the far side of Dale. It is the Elvenking’s, but Bilbo doesn’t think he’ll mind the interruption when he hears what he has to say. “Perhaps we should discuss this in private.”
Thranduil takes the intrusion calmly, glancing between Gandalf and Bard before settling on Bilbo with a knowing look in his eyes. “If I’m not mistaken, this is the Halfling who stole the keys to my dungeons from under the nose of my guards.”
Bilbo can’t look anywhere near the elf as he admits to doing so. “Sorry about that,” he apologizes, if only because it’s the polite thing to do. He’ll never be truly sorry for it, not after what he endured in order to get them out in the first place.
“Why have you come to us?” Thranduil asks, evidently not too bothered by his dungeon break as he dismisses the topic. He nonchalantly pours himself a glass of wine and gracefully sits in his chair, haughtily regarding Bilbo. “Especially on the eve of your heat. It must be very important, for you to brave the ranks of nearly hundreds of alphas.
Bilbo tenses, but he refuses to be intimidated. He’s well aware of where he is, more so than anyone else, and the Elvenking is no more imposing than Thorin at his worst. “I came here…to give you this,” he says, pulling out the bundle he’s taken great pains to keep hidden away, unwrapping it on the table before them.
All three of the men gathered step forward to behold the Arkenstone. “The Heart of the Mountain,” Thranduil whispers incredulously, his gaze stuck on the gem. “The King’s Jewel.”
“And worth a king’s ransom,” Bard remarks, looking down at Bilbo. “Why are you giving this to us?”
“I’m not doing this for you,” Bilbo admits, unable to look at the trio. “I know that dwarves can be obstinate, and pigheaded, and difficult. They’re suspicious and secretive, with the worst manners imaginable.” He shares a wry look with Gandalf, who can’t help but smile, if only a little. “But they are also brave, and kind, and loyal to a fault. I’ve grown…very fond of them, and I would save them if I can.” He clears his throat, his emotions getting the better of him.
“Now, Thorin values this stone above all else.” It pains him to admit it, but it is the truth for the time being. “In exchange for its return, he will give you what you are owed. There will be no need for war,” he says, outlining his plan. He looks between Gandalf, Bard, and Thranduil, though his gaze lingers the longest on the elf king. He knows Thranduil is the one pushing for this war, and it is he whom he has to convince to hold off.
The elf gazes searchingly at him for a long time, long enough for Bilbo to grow uncomfortable with the scrutiny. But eventually he nods. “Very well then. But this will be the last attempt to bargain with Thorin Oakenshield. You will not stay my hand a third time,” he warns.
Bilbo nods. It’s the best outcome he could’ve hoped for, at least. He clears his throat to draw their attention once more. “Ah, if it’s all the same to you, perhaps”—he flushes red despite his best attempts not to—“you could wait, hmm, several days before approaching with your demands.” He coughs and glances away, unable to look at any of them.
“I suppose so,” Thranduil drawls, amusement clear in his tone.
“Great.” Bilbo has no intention to linger any longer, not as embarrassed as he is, and besides that he has dwarves to get back to. He promised. Without further ado he departs the tent, though Gandalf follows close behind.
“I assume you are going back to your dwarves?” he says, amused for only a moment. He stops Bilbo with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Are you…sure that’s the best idea? Regardless of whether this ends in war or not, Thorin…he will not be pleased with what you’ve done.”
Bilbo’s fists clench at his side. “I know.” It’s why he’s waited so long in the first place to do this. All of the glimpses he’d seen of the old Thorin, they’d given him hope that perhaps the dwarf could be shaken from his gold sickness. He knows better now, and his only hope is that this will be enough to shake him from it. If not… “I’m not afraid of Thorin.”
“You should be,” Gandalf warns him, spinning around to level a hard look at the hobbit. “Don’t underestimate the evil of gold.”
“I know, I know,” Bilbo admits. But leaving is far easier said than done. Bilbo is invested, whether Gandalf likes it or not. “But I can’t leave him. He’s still in there, I know he is.”
“And you think you can fix him?”
“I can try. I have to.” He can’t look the wizard in the eye; he doesn’t want Gandalf to spot his hesitation and try to convince him otherwise.
Thankfully, he doesn’t. “Go on then, back to your pack,” he says instead. His tone is gentler, and his eyes kinder as he regards Bilbo. “It is unsafe for you to be out like this. Hurry along, and stop for nothing.”
Bilbo nods, quickly ducking out of sight around a corner and slipping on his ring. Gandalf is right, at least in that he has a pack to get back to.
He makes it back without incident, slipping between Dwalin and Balin without a sound.
When he wakes, there’s a burning need inside of him that itches to be filled. He gasps, shifting from the discomfort. Vaguely he’s aware of voices talking around him, movement jostling his nest. He almost wants to snap at the disruption, make it go away, but then a soothing touch at his side draws his attention.
He looks over to find Thorin sitting beside him, already disrobed save for his trousers. Bilbo reaches a desperate hand for the alpha, inviting the other forward. “Thorin,” he gasps as the alpha’s scent enthralls him.
“Yes, love, I’m here,” the dwarf whispers, gently nuzzling at Bilbo’s neck where is own scent is strongest. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you,” he promises. Adoration shines in his eyes, every touch of his gentle like it was before. Bilbo has hope that maybe, just maybe, this will be enough to shake the sickness from him.
Notes:
Really hope y'all weren't waiting for the Bagginshield sex, because I have never written sex before and am not super comfortable doing so (struggles of being ace, ig). Also, I don't wanna up the rating on this fic. If I ever get around to writing it, it'll be posed as a separate story in this series (chapter 16.5 lol).
Chapter 17: The Battle for Erebor
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Bilbo wakes, bleary but fully aware of himself for the first time in five days. There’s no burning desire driving him to mate, or do anything, really; there’s no incessant need to have his alphas nearby, either. As it is, he’s instinctively more aware of them than he’s ever been before. He can distinctly identify Thorin and Dwalin sleeping on either side of him without ever opening his eyes, and he knows the rest of the pack are gathered just on the edges of his nest around them.
This is what a proper bond must be like, he realizes, and the thought is…comforting. From the time of his presentation to when he left on the quest he’d dreaded his future mating, assuming the experience would be more like a prison sentence than any sort of loving relationship. Yet this was even better than he’d hoped for. Not only did he have 13 dwarves to love and cherish him for the rest of his life, but they were intimately bonded in a way that would only deepen as their affections did. Bilbo could not wait to see what the future had in store.
But first, there were several important matters that would soon demand their attention, if they hadn’t begun to already. He shifts and sits up, glancing around the room and taking count of his dwarves. Bifur is missing, but he can tell the dwarf is stationed on the gate, has been all morning. Then his gaze falls to Thorin.
Asleep, the tinge of madness that had darkened the alpha’s visage before is gone. Even throughout his heat it seemed like Thorin had managed to forget his need to find the Arkenstone, focusing solely on Bilbo and his needs. He wants to think his heat and their bonding had erased the alpha’s unhealthy obsession, but he knows that’s wishful thinking. There’s something…uncomfortable festering in the back of his head. Much like his innate ability to tell where his dwarves are, he can also tell there’s something not right in their bond and he knows it’s because of Thorin.
The dwarf in question grumbles, shifting and throwing an arm over Bilbo’s midsection as he settles back down. Perhaps he won’t be getting up just yet, he decides. Important matters can wait. For now, Bilbo will enjoy the last of this peace while he can, because he has a feeling that once his alphas realize his heat is over, things will return to the way they were before. He can hope otherwise, but Bilbo doesn't care to bet on losing odds.
When he wakes again, still sluggish from the exhausting week he’s had, he reluctantly drags himself from the pile of furs and blankets in search of his missing dwarves, and the scent of food he can smell on the air close by. Just outside the chamber he finds Bombur tending to a fire, Bifur keeping him company. Even without the bond he can tell the rest of his dwarves have long since gone on with their day.
“Where is everyone?” he asks, taking a seat next to Bifur and leaning into the dwarf’s warmth. Winter is coming, and the mountain is already chilly enough.
Bifur waves a hand vaguely to the side as Bombur clarifies, “The gate. There is an army on our doorstep.” Despite the rather alarming statement he’s just dropped on the hobbit, he hands Bilbo a heaping bowl of soup without much concern.
Given that his alphas don’t seem to find this concerning, Bilbo tries to remain calm as well, though it still draws a frown to his visage. “Already? But…” His head had only properly ended yesterday, their bond freshly finalized, and Bilbo only wanted to bask in the new feeling. Their journey was mostly complete; Smaug was gone, the mountain was theirs. Ideally, they should be taking time for themselves. No matter could be so important they couldn’t indulge in their new relationship! Even hobbits, backwards as their traditions were, still allowed a week’s honeymoon for newly bonded couples! But things were far from ideal, and it was just Bilbo’s luck that even his mating to an alpha he cared for wouldn’t go right.
“Eat your food, dear. You need to recover your strength if you’re to bear the king’s child,” Bombur says when he makes no move to start eating.
Bilbo huffs. Before, a comment like that would’ve had his ears and face burning with embarrassment, but now…he could not find it in himself to muster any humor. Not with Thorin’s state of mind.
After finishing lunch, as he is informed by Bombur that he spent all morning in bed, he ventures under Bifur’s escort to where the pack has stationed themselves at the front gate. All of them are back in full armor, discarded for his heat but donned once more now that the threat of battle is imminent. Bilbo watched their bustling with a heavy heart.
Bofur, one of the closest, catches sight of them and calls out, drawing everyone’s attention. They gather around—not Thorin, Bilbo notices—and Bilbo find himself swept up in strong arms, Bofur playfully swinging him around. “Almost thought you’d sleep all day,” he teases.
Bilbo scowls, though the corners of his lips twitch with the effort to keep from smiling. “You spend a week in heat and then we’ll see how motivated to move you are.”
“Is that an offer?” Bofur smiles and Bilbo flushes, under the jeers and snickers of their companions.
“What’s going on?” he pointedly asks, clearing his throat. He heads for the parapet, his pack trailing after and around him like puppies begging for attention, to stand beside Thorin. His heart skips a beat when he glances out over the valley to find it teeming with legions of elves—and a small cluster of men. They stand like statues before the gate, completely still except for the two columns that turn as their king approaches.
“Thorin?” Bilbo prompts, apprehensive. He knows why they’re here, though he hadn’t expected them so soon, but perhaps he should have. Yavanna forbid he have time to enjoy his new mating.
Thranduil approaches, Bard not far behind, and they stop just before the broken bridge. The Company gathers behind Bilbo and Thorin in a pitiful show of force. There is a tense standoff between the three leaders for several excruciating seconds.
“Kíli,” Thorin mutters.
Bilbo glances sharply at the dwarf. “Thorin, no!” he hisses, grabbing his arm. Debatable whether the dwarf feels it through his armor, but he does not take the bow Kíli offers.
“Speak, elf. Why have you gathered at my gates? Was I not clear enough the last time we spoke? I will not give you my gold!” “Shouts of agreement ring out from the pack, echoing in the valley. The army before them is unmoved.
“We’ve come to tell you that payment of your debt has been offered. And accepted,” Thranduil replies, Bard watching the two.
“What payment? I gave you nothing. You have nothing.”
In response, Bard pulls out the Arkenstone from his jacket pocket, holding it up for all to see. “We have this.”
Its radiant, unnatural shine draws gasps from the Company.
“The Arkenstone…” Kíli mutters, shocked, though it quickly turns to anger. “Thieves! How came you by the heirloom of our house?! That stone belongs to the King!”
“The King may have it,” is Bard’s blithe reply, “with our good will. But first,” he pockets the Arkenstone again, “he must honor his word.”
Thorin shakes his head in disbelief. “They are taking us for fools. This is a ruse. A filthy lie. A trick!”
“No,” Bilbo interjects, unable to listen to the utter foolishness Thorin continues to spout. A pit of despair starts to grow in his stomach. This is not the dwarf he fell for, and as his spouse, Bilbo will not stand for the injustice he insists upon allowing. He made his decision the moment he gave away the Arkenstone, and though he fears what it may now cost him, he will see it through.
“No, it’s not a trick. The stone is real.” He speaks no louder than normal, but he has drawn the whole pack’s attention. Thorin’s intense gaze bores into his own. Bilbo’s throat works as he swallows heavily, mustering his courage to admit, “I gave it to him.”
Time seems to stop as he awaits the alpha’s reaction. The pack shifts nervously around them, a multitude of conflicting feelings trickling through their bond, but Bilbo pays them no mind. He feels put to trial, awaiting his own fate to be determined by Thorin Oakenshield.
He finds himself speaking, just to fill the silence. “I took it as my fourteenth share of the treasure. If you won’t help them as they did us, then I’ll pay for it myself. You know I don’t care for gold or jewels, so I think this is a suitable solution for us all. And besides—”
“You would steal from me?” Thorin interrupts. “My own beloved?”
“Steal? I did no such thing, not when they are rightfully owed!”
Thorin shakes his head. “My lover, my mate, has betrayed me. I should have known. Was this your plan from the beginning? Trap us in a marriage just so you could steal the Arkenstone from behind my back? You have taken me for a fool, Bilbo Baggins. Are you satisfied?”
He gazes at Bilbo with such pain in his eyes, tinged with the madness that lingers. Truly, Bilbo doesn’t know which of them is hurting more. To have their whole relationship until now written off as a ploy, all of his effort to prove useful to the Company an act, never mind that he saved their lives! Bilbo’s heart breaks. It feels almost physical, the sharp pain that cuts through this chest. He grabs at his shirt, clenching the mithril, and blinks away the tears that form in his eyes.
“I was going to give it to you,” he grits out. Thorin is beyond his reach now. Whatever they could have had, the family he dreamed of becoming—a hopeless wish. “Many times, I wanted to. But—” he breaks off, grimacing, the anger clouding his words, “—you are changed, Thorin. The dwarf I met in Bag End—the dwarf I fell in love with, on our journey, would never have gone back on his word. Would never have doubted the loyalty of his kin! You…are not worthy of being King.” Bilbo takes a sharp breath. “And you are not worthy of being my mate.”
A manic fury sparks in Thorin’s eyes as he watches Bilbo, no trace of the loving warmth from two days prior. It starkly contrasts the coldness of his next words. “Then we have no further need of you. Throw him from the ramparts!” When on one moves, Thorin grabs Fíli, trying to drag him over, but the young alpha fights him off. “Fine, then I will do it myself.”
He lunges for Bilbo and grabs a handful of his short. More hands grab for him and Bilbo quickly finds himself the object of a brief tugging game before he’s roughly shoved back, Dwalin’s imposing figure stood before him.
“I’ll not let you harm the burglar, Thorin,” he says, hand threateningly on his axe.
“Thorin,” Fíli pleads with his uncle, “you’re making a mistake. That’s Bilbo, our omega! How can you say this?”
“He is a traitor! And if you defend him, then you are a traitor as well!” Thorin snaps, glaring at the alphas opposing him. He draws his sword against Dwalin, the slide of metal ringing out, and Bilbo hides his face in Bofur’s arm when a voice rings out.
“If you don’t like my burglar then please, don’t damage him,” Gandalf says, magic amplifying his voice to echo through the valley. “Return him to me.”
It stalls Thorin, and Bilbo finds himself ushered over to the forgotten rope he’d used to sneak out the night before. He doesn’t fight it. His emotions are all in turmoil and the pain in his heart stings all the while.
“Bilbo, here, take it and go.” Bofur shoves the rope in his hand, but he can’t seem to grasp it. The rope slides right out of his numbed fingers. “Bilbo—”
“I can’t,” his voice breaks, tears slipping from his eyes now that he can’t help it anymore. He tries to look at his alpha—no, not his alpha, not anymore—but the tears blur the friendly face he’d so often sought out before.
“I’ll take him,” a gruff voice says, arms picking him up like a child. “Hold tight, burglar.”
“Mister Dwalin—”
“Brother—”
“You heard Thorin,” Dwalin growls, throwing the rope over. He pauses to give a stony look at the dwarves. Even Thorin is watching them now, having said his piece to Gandalf, and there is a wordless snarl on his face. “But I have not forgotten my honor, and my promise to protect our mate.”
“Begone!” Thorin shouts, attempting to storm toward them though Glóin and Fíli hold him back. “Before I have your heads! Never again will I deal with wizards. Or Shire rats.”
Dwalin swings them over, Bilbo clutching tightly to his front, and they make their way to the trio before the army. He keeps his face buried in the dwarf’s furs—he does not care what agreements they ask for, what further threats Thorin attempts to make. He can feel nothing but overwhelming grief. Not even Dwalin’s heavy hand on his back penetrates the fog of his pain, though it is all he has left.
“Bilbo. Bilbo!” Gandalf’s insistent call of his name catches his attention, and he reluctantly turns to face the wizard.
“Here, laddie, ya need to stand on your own.” Dwalin sets him down, prying his hands from his coat.
Bilbo abruptly notices the pounding steps of the marching elves as they shift around their group. Panic grips his heart. “No, they can’t fight. The pack will fall.”
“It is not the Company they seek to battle, not yet.”
“Dain has arrived,” Dwalin gruffly informs him, his axe drawn. “Stay close, Bilbo, and I’ll protect you best I can,” he says as Gandalf and Dain entreat. His thick paw of a hand wraps around Bilbo’s arm, dragging him forward. “Here, stand with the men. While Ironfoot and the elves battle, we’ll head for Dale.”
He sounds of battle echo around them, Dain and Thranduil calling out orders as the two armies meet. Bilbo grasps at Dwalin desperately. “Don’t leave me.”
Dwalin, who had been watching the charge as if they might suddenly appear near their position in the back, finally turns to give Bilbo a grin. “Aye, your Highness, I’ll stick by your side.”
Bilbo chokes out a pained laugh. “I’m not royalty, Dwalin.”
“It’ll work out, lad. Once this is over.”
Horns sound in the distance, and the cacophony of battle dwindles to silence as the armies turn to observe the newcomer to the battlefield.
“Are those orcs?” Bilbo fearfully asks.
Dwalin mutters a curse that he takes for agreement. “Well make for Dale with the rest of the men. You’ll be safer there with them.”
The battle begins anew as the two armies, once set against each other, turn on their mutual foe. The guttural cries of the orcs and trolls echoes chillingly in the air. All of a sudden this conflict has escalated to a desperate degree. The elves and men had come for what they were owed. Bilbo knows they could be reasoned with, given the right incentive. No one would have had to die, for all that Thorin was stubborn. But the orcs had come to slaughter, and they would not rest until all were dead.
Bilbo is infinitely more grateful Dwalin had chosen to leave with him. He was but a small, poorly trained hobbit with a short sword and maybe a neat magic ring. Having his battle-hardened, fearsome alpha at his side gives him some hope he might actually make it out of this conflict alive. They flee to the city with the men, though it seems soon to be overrun as well.
They enter alongside the men’s army to complete chaos as orcs run rampant through the city. Civilians scream out as they are attacked, and the men rush to protect them. Bilbo keeps at Dwalin’s side as they navigate the narrow streets. His sword is drawn, though he has little use for it, as efficient as Dwalin is, which he is grateful for. The battle is all a blur to Bilbo. Just nonstop fighting and running and screaming. He couldn’t have said how long they moved through the ruins of Dale, only that they never stopped. Even when he grew weary, Dwalin never let him stray further than his arm’s reach.
When they happen upon a rare moment of peace—the rubble-filled street startlingly quiet, no groans of the dying to be heard, the sounds of battle a muted noise in the distance—Bilbo forces them to pause on the empty terrace overlooking more chaotic streets. The orcs will probably notice them soon, but he wants to give Dwalin at least a small break, and catch his own breath. He’s practically on autopilot at this point, his tumultuous emotions warring with the physical exhaustion of battle, and while he doesn’t want to think too hard about anything at this point he knows his alpha needs a break.
He glances out over the valley, trying to determine the tide of battle, when his gaze catches on four solitary figures heading up the mountain. His heart stalls in his chest.
“Dwalin! Dwalin, look! Is that—?” his voice breaks off, caught with emotion. He hadn’t thought Thorin would involve himself, all too willing to barricade inside the mountain, but if it was him…
“Aye, it’s Thorin and the boys.”
“Where are they going?”
Dwalin jerks his head over. “To kill the general. Azog’s probably calling the shots. Kill him and the orcs will falter.” He lifts his axe again. “Come on, burglar. We can’t linger.”
They rejoin the fray just as a horse comes barreling down the path. “Gandalf!” its rider shouts, approaching the wizard nearby. Bilbo tugs at Dwalin’s arm to direct him over, joining the unusual trio.
“Legolas Greenleaf, what are you doing?”
He dismounts. “There is a second army of Gundabad orcs,” he urgently informs Gandalf, sparing a half-second glance for Dwalin and Bilbo at his side. “They are almost upon us.”
Gandalf sighs. “This was their plan all along. Azog engages our forces and then Bolg sweeps in from the north.”
“Ravenhill,” Dwalin scowls.
“Ravenhill?” Bilbo whips around to stare at the mountain they’d looked at earlier. “But that’s where Thorin and the boys are headed.” Dwalin’s expression grows tight. Gandalf strides off while Legolas and his companion return to their horse, departing as well. “Wait, Gandalf!” Bilbo trails after the wizard.
He follows the wizard further into the city, to where a horn has been sounded. Thranduil looms over the bodies of fallen elf soldiers and orc alike, his commander having given the signal.
“Assign your company to Ravenhill. A second army approaches. Thorin must be warned,” Gandalf demands.
Thranduil is in no mood to listen. He brushes past the wizard. “I have spent enough elvish blood in defense of this accursed land. No more.”
“Thranduil!”
“I’ll go,” Dwalin immediately volunteers. Bilbo’s head jerks to look at the alpha. Dwalin meets his gaze. “You stay with the wizard.”
“Dwalin!” Bilbo cries indignantly. “I’ll go with you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gandalf interjects. “You’d never make it. Dwalin will be faster on his own.”
“No!” he turns pleading eyes on Dwalin. “You said you wouldn’t leave me.”
“Bilbo Baggins. I will not allow you to leave.”
The hobbit turns a stony gaze on the wizard. “Gandalf, I’m not asking for permission.”
Dwalin huffs out a laugh. “As you wish, your Highness.”
Bilbo rolls his eyes but doesn’t bother correcting him this time. There’s no time to waste debating.
“We need to move quickly,” Dwalin says, echoing his thoughts. “Keep that letter opener out just in case.”
“Don’t worry about me and go. I won’t be seen.” He gives the dwarf a reassuring smile, which Dwalin acknowledges, and then they’re off. Bilbo vanishes before their eyes, though he keeps a hand clenched in the back of Dwalin’s coat so the alpha knows he’s still around.
The dwarf barrels his way through, only killing those that directly impede him, while Bilbo remains entirely unseen. They escape the city, and once they cross the river they encounter significantly fewer orcs, allowing Bilbo to surface from his shadow world. He follows Dwalin up the rocky path to Ravenhill. When they arrive, they find it suspiciously deserted, no dwarf of or orc in sight.
“Where could they be?” Bilbo frantically asks, spinning around as if one of his boys will jump out from behind a rock ledge to scare him. Dwalin paces around the courtyard, checking inside doorways and up the stairs, but he seems reluctant to completely abandon the omega.
“Thorin! Thorin! Fíli! Kíli!” he shouts desperately, as foolish as it is giving away their position. “Come back! It’s a trap! Thorin!”
Fíli and Kíli are in the narrow tower hall when they hear a shout. It’s too faint to make out, but now they’re aware they certainly aren’t alone. “Stay here. Search the lower levels. I’ve got this.”
“Wait, brother.” Kíli stops him with a harsh grip on his arm.
“What?” Fíli snaps, tense.
Something tells him they should not spit up. It would make more sense, cover more ground and clear the tower quicker. But…his instincts scream for him to turn around and go back. To drag his brother if he must. They fight for one thing right now, and cannot afford to make mistakes.
Another shout breaks the tense silence, and it’s like Kíli knows what he needs to do. “We have to go back. I can’t explain why, but we need to retreat. We’ll regroup with Thorin—”
“He told us—”
But Kíli is not listening to his brother anymore. Besides the instinctive feeling something is wrong, there is the sour tinge of panic at the back of his consciousness. They hear the shout again and Kíli moves without thought, heading back the way they came.
“Hey, where are you—” Fíli starts, but Kíli pays his brother no mind. The other mutters a curse but follows the younger.
They walk into the previously empty courtyard to find two figures they least expected to see.
“Bilbo!” Kíli dashes forward, sweeping the omega up in a hug as soon as he turns towards them. Fíli crashes into them a moment later to join in. Something in their bond is still cracked and aching, but with Bilbo in his arms it’s soothed. When the omega starts squirming to try and free himself Kíli’s arms subconsciously tighten before he remembers himself and lets the other go.
“There’s a second army coming,” he says quickly. “We need to leave. Where’s—where’s Thorin?”
“He went to find Azog,” Fíli answers. Dwalin curses.
Bilbo glances between his alphas. “Should we go look for him?”
The screech of an orc answers that question for him. They close ranks around Bilbo and his letter opener as the first wave of the orc army storms down the stairs and out of the tower they’d just come from. In seconds the peace of the hill is shattered.
They are three against far too many. Kíli turns on killing anything that gets too close to their omega. None of them migrate far from their position. But soon he gets wept up in the tide of battle and loses track of Bilbo—the omega must’ve hidden himself, he assumes.
Until Fíli shouts.
The words themselves are lost in the din of battle, but the visceral fear saturating his brother’s voice throws him off and he glances over to the blond. His brother’s stricken face is locked somewhere behind him and he turns to follow his gaze, only for his own breath to catch. Bilbo lies on the ground, unmoving—lifeless?
Dwalin is there, having cut the orc who felled him straight in half in a blind rage. Fíli and Kíli converge to give him a breather, as Dwalin checks the hobbit over.
“Alive. Probably a nasty concussion,” he informs them, standing.
The orcs have thinned, but they still swarm. As far as he can tell, Bolg hasn’t appeared yet either. The fight is far from over.
“Stay close,” Dwalin growls, as if they need reminding. Pushing through the exhaustion, they ready themselves to keep fighting.
Hours later, or perhaps only minutes, the eagles arrive. The tide of battle turns, and then calms.
Notes:
it's small, but it's something...?
(everyone still commenting on this fic, this is for u. i see ur comments. i feel bad. i write a little more. thank u and sorry it took so long)
Pages Navigation
Cloud_Nine on Chapter 1 Tue 23 May 2017 03:47AM UTC
Comment Actions
PK102 on Chapter 1 Tue 23 May 2017 04:03AM UTC
Comment Actions
Cloud_Nine on Chapter 1 Tue 23 May 2017 04:08AM UTC
Comment Actions
Hekates_Phoenix on Chapter 1 Tue 23 May 2017 08:38AM UTC
Comment Actions
LiYun on Chapter 1 Tue 23 May 2017 08:57AM UTC
Comment Actions
ValiantJokingThorn on Chapter 1 Tue 23 May 2017 02:39PM UTC
Comment Actions
DayDreamingAni on Chapter 1 Tue 23 May 2017 06:48PM UTC
Comment Actions
Trelane83 on Chapter 1 Tue 23 May 2017 08:21PM UTC
Comment Actions
PK102 on Chapter 1 Tue 23 May 2017 09:53PM UTC
Comment Actions
zoey878madcat (Guest) on Chapter 1 Wed 24 May 2017 12:00AM UTC
Comment Actions
Xanatrice Bass (Guest) on Chapter 1 Wed 24 May 2017 08:17AM UTC
Comment Actions
LaughingCat on Chapter 1 Wed 24 May 2017 09:46AM UTC
Comment Actions
Mollyjean on Chapter 1 Wed 24 May 2017 05:31PM UTC
Comment Actions
Jeanne160 on Chapter 1 Wed 24 May 2017 06:02PM UTC
Comment Actions
LadyLaran on Chapter 1 Wed 24 May 2017 11:16PM UTC
Comment Actions
IAMTHENAME (Guest) on Chapter 1 Thu 25 May 2017 01:13AM UTC
Comment Actions
Akahi on Chapter 1 Sat 27 May 2017 02:23AM UTC
Comment Actions
Karuka14 on Chapter 1 Mon 17 Jul 2017 04:46AM UTC
Comment Actions
PK102 on Chapter 1 Mon 17 Jul 2017 05:25AM UTC
Comment Actions
Mm (Guest) on Chapter 1 Mon 19 Feb 2018 09:43AM UTC
Comment Actions
DreamyRoads on Chapter 1 Mon 25 Jun 2018 12:44AM UTC
Last Edited Mon 25 Jun 2018 12:44AM UTC
Comment Actions
PK102 on Chapter 1 Mon 25 Jun 2018 02:02AM UTC
Comment Actions
DreamyRoads on Chapter 1 Tue 26 Jun 2018 01:26AM UTC
Comment Actions
PikaSeeU on Chapter 1 Wed 03 Jul 2019 01:39AM UTC
Comment Actions
Anavas8 (Guest) on Chapter 1 Mon 18 Apr 2022 12:58AM UTC
Comment Actions
laedere on Chapter 1 Tue 20 Sep 2022 10:34PM UTC
Comment Actions
Pages Navigation