Chapter Text
Routine was something with which Bilbo was well acquainted.
Every day it was the same. He rose with the roosters and started the fire. He set a pot of water to boiling and let the dog out to the bathroom and let the cat back into the house. He fed the pigs and made sure that the chickens were secure. He let the dog back into the house and made a breakfast of something. He then went to the room next to his and woke up Frodo. He got the fauntling dressed, pulled whatever was for breakfast out of the oven, and gave it to Frodo with a cup of milk.
It was simple and well worn. Bilbo could do it with very little thought.
He was comfortable with it.
On Thursday, April 25th he woke up to the sound of his rooster crowing and he popped out of bed. He set the fire as normal and made a mental note to gather more firewood. He trod across the cold wood floor with Beorn, their newfoundland, trailing behind him. He absently patted the dog’s nose and tugged their front door open. He stretched before stepping out of the little hobbit hole.
Bilbo promptly stopped. He blinked two times and looked around again. It was still his hobbit hole. He stared back out at his front yard and blinked one more time. Beorn whined behind him but Bilbo remained perfectly still.
There was a giant wing in his front yard. A wing with nothing else attached. It covered a large portion of his front garden, and was black. It was covered in a strange, scaly sort of skin that gleamed in the morning sunlight. The actual wing was a thin, nearly translucent grey with five bones that spread out to form the body of the wing. There were six claws on it, one at the end of each bone, and at the joint where they all joined.
There was a dark, sticky, red liquid coating the grass by where it was laying. Blood?
It was a dragon wing. Bilbo had a bloody dragon wing laying in his front yard. Why? Was its owner still around?
Yavanna’s croissants! He needed to get Frodo! He took a stumbling step back and collided into Beorn, who promptly howled in an over dramatic reaction to a having his nose touched. Bilbo spun around, clamped his hand over as much of the dog’s mouth as he could, and watched in abject horror as Sebastian ran out the door in all his siamese glory. The cat ran straight for the wing and climbed atop of it as though he had done the job of de-winging the no-doubt irate (previously) winged creature.
Beorn snuffled his hand and let out a muffled bark. “Shh!” Bilbo hissed. His heart was pounding and cold terror was trickling through his limbs. Whatever had lost the limb was probably quite large, and possibly quite dangerous. He didn’t want it finding him, Frodo, Beorn, or Sebastian.
Sebastian who was now licking the wing. “Stop!” Bilbo called, trying to put as much command as he could in his voice while not being overly loud. Sebastian looked over his furry shoulder and flicked his tail before plopping down and stretching atop the wing. He turned his head away from Bilbo and steadfastly ignored him. Bilbo would have been furious if his skin wasn’t crawling and his heart wasn’t trying to beat its way out of his chest.
Bilbo took a step further into the house with Beorn. It was horribly quiet outside except for the faint whistle of the wind through the trees around his hobbit hole. There were no bird songs, no bugs buzzing, and no animals talking to each other. It was utterly still, as though everything had fled in light of whatever had lost the wing. It was making his entire body tingle with need to flee and save himself.
Wait.
Eru’s song.
Bilbo was worried about the wrong thing. He didn’t need to be worried about the wingless creature, he needed to be worried about whatever had cut the wing off the creature.
“Wow!”
A dark haired, short, mass ran out of the door and up to where Sebastian was cleaning his paws. The fauntling hopped up onto the wing and twirled around with his hands in the air and his face turned to the sun. Bilbo very suddenly found himself charging forward, all self-preservation forgotten in the light of Frodo getting hurt. His blood was thrumming and his breath was coming in startled gasps. Every bit of his body focused on getting to the hobbit as quickly as possible, and Beorn was right behind him.
“Frodo!” He squeaked out, scrambling up next to his cousin. He grabbed the fauntling’s arms and tugged him close.
“Da,” Frodo complained when his nose was squished against Bilbo’s chest. Bilbo simply pulled him up and closer so that the child was settled on his hip instead of the ground. Frodo’s legs went around him as did his arms. Bilbo took a timid step back and nearly fell.
It was still quiet. Beorn had his nose near the ground and was sniffing with a low, rumbling growl building in his throat. Bilbo climbed off the broken wing and stood next to the large dog. Frodo tried to speak again but Bilbo covered his mouth with a finger and gave his head a hard shake.
Beorn lifted his head and growled louder. A shiver rushed up Bilbo’s spine and he clutched Frodo all the closer while taking a step back. The newfoundland tilted his head to look at Bilbo and thrust his muzzle in the air towards the left before pointing it back at Bilbo.
It scared him. Beorn smelled something that didn’t belong. The bright April morning was feeling far more like winter than spring now.
Sebastian wound his way around Bilbo’s leg and he had to press his hand over his mouth to keep from making any noise. He picked the cat up and tucked him near. Beorn stared at him for a moment longer before picking his way around the bloody wing. Bilbo stood still for five seconds that felt like an eternity before following the dog. Beorn was the best protection he had.
Each step was incredibly difficult to take. Frodo was quiet on his hip, seeming to understand the importance of being silent. He had his small hand fisted in the front of Bilbo’s shirt and had his cheek pressed against his heart. Bilbo could feel his damp breaths through the cotton of his button up shirt and that tiny thing was extremely comforting and reassuring. Bilbo would protect the fauntling no matter what happened. Beorn would block them if he had to.
Sebastian would run for his own life. His claws were already digging into Bilbo’s arm.
Beorn kept his head low to the ground, a growl constantly rumbling deep in his chest. Each step was purposeful and he moved like a bear through the trees that lined Bilbo’s secluded hobbit hole.
He was following a trail of blood. Bilbo didn’t know what to hope for. The winged creature, or the creature that had cut it’s wing off. The blood’s owner was injured either way.
Beorn came to a sudden stop and his hackles raised. He snarled and snapped at the air before freezing completely. The air seemed to grow utterly still around them for an instant, then Beorn dropped to the ground and let Bilbo see what had frozen him. A bundle of fur and leather was curled in a small ball and blood coated the brown fur that was around the top half of the figure. Beorn whimpered. It was a horribly mournful, broken noise that was followed by the dog inching forward and noising at the pile of fur.
Bilbo swallowed thickly and searched for his courage. If Beorn wasn’t attacking whatever he had found, it couldn’t be that bad, right? “What is it?” He pushed Beorn aside and peered down at the furry bundle. Frodo shuffled at his side and looked up with blue eyes that were extremely large.
“It’s a dwarf.”
“Oh Valar,” Alarm flooded Bilbo’s body and drove him to act. He set Frodo on the ground and dropped to his knees beside the furry bundle. He pushed away the coat’s sleeve to get at the dwarf’s wrist and pressed his fingers below the dwarf’s jaw. He found a pulse and the tight terror in his stomach loosened a slight bit. The pulse was faint and too fast to be healthy, but it was still there. The skin was also to cool to be healthy.
The dwarf stirred slightly as he touched him, and pale, solemn eyes peered up at him through a mess of black hair before they slipped shut again.
And then everything went a little odd.
The air around Bilbo went startlingly hot and seemed to burn his skin. The unconscious dwarf’s wrist felt like ice, and Bilbo felt his hand shake as something closed around his own wrist. A heavy weight settled on his hand, and it tightened to the point of being painful. A shadow covered his and the dwarf’s hand, and then he heard a strange clinking noise.
It happened in less than a second. Bilbo tried to jerk his hand out of the darkness, and pain, but he was caught fast. The clink noise sounded again, and Bilbo recognized what it sounded like.
The shadow melted into the air and Bilbo felt his mouth drop open in shock.
He was chained to the dwarf. A solid cuff that was a strange silvery color, was circled around his wrist, and it was connected by a chain to a similar cuff on the dwarf’s wrist. They were bound together.
What?
Panic flared in his gut, along with a cold fear that spread down his spine. It made his fingers tingle and his breath whoosh out in startled pants. He jerked his arm wildly, with no control over the reaction. The chain held fast and he accomplished nothing but making his wrist sting.
“Da? What happened?” Frodo stepped closer and reached out with extended fingers to touch the cuff. Bilbo jerked his hand away before the hobbit could.
“Frodo, take Sebastian and get back to the house right now. Wait for me and don’t you dare even think about leaving. I’ll be along in a moment.” He thrust the cat into Frodo’s surprised arms and motioned for Beorn to come nearer. Frodo ran for the house, listening to Bilbo for once.
The dog plopped down by Bilbo’s side and waited patiently.
Bilbo had no idea what to do. He was tied, magically, to a dwarf that was unconscious, who he didn’t know. There was also a chance that whatever had lost its wing was still flying around, waiting to strike. Bilbo jerked his hand and watched as the dwarf’s followed his. He tugged at the cuff, but it was solid. There was also no visible keyhole, latch, or opening of any kind. He would need tools to try anything. He had to get inside. He’d have to take the dwarf with him. There was only about a foot of chain separating them.
Thank Eru that he had Beorn.
Bilbo considered the unconscious dwarf for a moment before rolling him over. He weighed far more than Bilbo was expecting, and he barely made him move at all. He pushed again and was rewarded with the dwarf rolling on to his stomach. Beorn nosed at the dwarf’s back before trying to worm his head under the dwarf’s stomach. Bilbo heaved and pushed and groaned and thrust and finally he got the dwarf onto Beorn’s back.
The woods were still too quiet and unease was creeping back up Bilbo’s spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he felt indescribably like he was being watched.
Beorn pushed up and the dwarf remained on his back. Bilbo held him steady with a hand and jogged with Beorn back to the hobbit hole. He shut and locked the door behind himself, and, ignoring Frodo’s constant stream of questions, led Beorn to the back guest room. The dog dumped the dwarf onto the waiting bed before Bilbo could turn the blankets down and sat down expectantly. Bilbo patted him absently and stepped closer to the bed.
There was blood all over the dwarf, along with dirt and twigs. He (Bilbo thought it was a male but it was hard to tell with dwarrows) was covered in a fur coat and had several layers of what looked like armor. His black hair was scraggly, in need of a good wash and brush, and had fine streaks of grey.
He had no idea where to start. He had no idea who this was, and knew nothing about them other than the fact that they were injured and apparently enchanted.
“Frodo? Fetch me towels and a bucket of water, please. Do not leave the house.”
The fauntling hurried off and Bilbo pushed the dwarf back so he was laying properly. His skin was still too cool and his heart raced. He was taking shallow breaths and seemed to shiver. There was dry blood caked in his hair and at the top right of his head. He’d suffered a head injury then… There was also a lot of blood on his left side.
“My name is Bilbo Baggins. You fell outside my house. Don’t worry. I’m going to do my best to heal you and unchain us. You’re safe here.” Bilbo spoke as softly and soothingly as he could. His mother had always said that you couldn’t be certain that just because someone was unconscious they couldn’t hear you. If the dwarf was even slightly aware of what was happening around him, he didn’t want the dwarf to be scared.
Because Bilbo would be terrified in his shoes. He was frightened enough just taking care of the dwarf after whatever had happened outside. Not to mention the whole ‘we’ve been changed magically by something dark and it doesn’t look removable.’ Which he would think about later because he needed to focus right now and thinking of some giant, evil creature seeking revenge, or the shadow that had chained him to the dwarf, was not good for focus.
So. He would need a knife to get the armor and coat off so he could see what all needed doing. He would also need a pair of pliers and a hammer. Though, he very much doubted that he had anything that would be able to break the chain. He wasn’t even certain of what metal it was.
He hoped the dwarf knew how to unhook them.
The fur coat was pushed aside easily enough, but he couldn’t fully remove it with the chain in the way. He’d have to cut the clothes off to really see what was going on.
It was a really nice fur coat, and the weskit he had underneath was embroidered with what looked like gold. They weren’t clothes you cut. He could get the belt and boots off. The belt was tricky to unclasp, but Bilbo managed to pry it off after a few minutes. He pushed the weskit aside as well, and frowned at the armored shirt.
Something was going to have to be cut off. He had to get to the chest. He could see a dark spot around the metal armor, the dwarf had clearly been injured.
“Da,” Frodo staggered into the room, lugging the sloshing bucket of water along. Sebastian was carrying several towels in his mouth and had even allowed Frodo to drape a few on his back. Bilbo took the towels quickly and sent Frodo back out to fetch honey, aloe, and a knife. Beorn followed him out and Bilbo heard him take a stance by the front door. The dog would ensure that Frodo stayed inside and nothing else tried to get inside.
He hoped whatever the wing thing had been that it was far gone.
He tugged the dwarf’s boots off while he waited for Frodo to return again. The dwarf’s vambraces came off easily enough, as did the leather gloves things he had on. He was clearly some sort of warrior, and had been traveling for sometime. All of his items, while richly made, were well worn and dirty.
Frodo returned once again with the other supplies and promptly plopped to the floor with Sebastian in his lap while he patiently waited for Bilbo to work on the dwarf. He considered sending him away but he knew Frodo would likely not listen, and he wanted to make sure he didn’t try and leave the house.
Bilbo considered the dwarf again and mentally shrugged. If the dwarf complained about his armor, Bilbo would simply tell him that there hadn’t been another option. It was hardly Bilbo’s fault that the dwarf had chained himself to Bilbo right after going unconscious.
He used the knife to cut at the seam of the tunic that the armored plates were stitched to, and peeled the top half of the armored shirt up and off the unconscious dwarf.
Yavanna’s leaves.
The dwarf was littered with four things, hair, dirt, blood, and scars. They crisscrossed over his (defined like nothing Bilbo had ever seen) chest and arms. His chest hair was matted with blood, dirt, and sweat, most of which was originating from a spot on his lower left abdomen. There was a nasty contusion. It looked like he had been stabbed.
But more noticeably than the undoubtedly painful stab wound, was the tattoo over his heart. It was the same color as the chain that bound them and seemed to shimmer in the daylight. It was a circular design. What looked like a crescent moon with a skull beside it. Looking at it made something uncomfortable furl in Bilbo’s stomach.
Who on earth was this dwarf?