Heart of the Mountain

by esama

Summary:

After the Battle of Five Armies, there is still the matter of the Arkenstone and the Lonely Mountain to be settled.

Notes:

Proofread by Tsuyuhime

Chapter 1

The Lonely Mountain loomed above them all. Bilbo wasn't sure how long he'd been staring at it in listless exhaustion. The image was starting to burn into his eyes now. And whenever his eyes flickered, the outline of the mountain against the early morning sky was imprinted there, behind his eyelids.

It was beautiful, he supposed. It was special, as much as he knew mountains anyway. The Lonely Mountain was very striking, the way it cut through the sky, rising above them all, a solitary figure of simple majesty. Sometimes, he could just glimpse the feeling that the Dwarves must feel when they see it. The stirring of breathless awe.

He wasn't sure how it had been worth all the bloodshed and misery. Lake Town, the armies of Men, Elves and Dwarves. So many dead upon the fields at the root of the mountain, and for what? Thorin had spoken of land, of home, of mountain halls. In the end, though…

No one had spoken of the mountain as a home since the Dwarves had laid their eyes on the gold.

"Bilbo?" A familiar voice asked and the Hobbit harrumphed a tired answer, not shifting his eyes from the mountain. It was Bard. "Have you had any word yet?"

"It's gone quiet," Bilbo answered and closed his eyes, the outline of the mountain still there, on his inside of his eyelids. "They've stopped shouting and running about."

"That can be good or bad," the Human said and sat down beside him with a grunt, shifting awkwardly into a comfortable position on the broken bit of wall that Bilbo had claimed as his own.

Not far from them stood the Elven tents of healing. They'd been abuzz with activity since the battle – Men, Elves, and Dwarves were treated there indiscriminately. That was mostly Gandalf's doing, Bilbo mused – the wizard had refused to stand down before Thranduil had promised treatment for every wounded that could still be saved. Thranduil, Bilbo imagined, had agreed only because he still had a claim to stake on the riches inside the Lonely Mountain.

Apparently, there were special gems there, which the Elf King had demanded. Thorin, when he'd been in the grips of his madness, had found them and hidden them according to the others. Not even Balin knew where. Having heard that, Thranduil had been in parts furious and impressed.

"A Dwarf is apparently a Dwarf even at the very fringes of his sanity," had been the Elf King's observation. Now, Thranduil refused to leave until he could demand their retrieval and return to Elven hands. Demand it from whom, though, was left to be seen.

"Have you had treatment?" Bard asked, bringing Bilbo back from the memory.

"I wasn't injured," Bilbo answered with a sigh, lifting a hand and rubbing at his eyes, trying to rid himself of the mountain's ghostly afterimage. Determinedly, he flipped around on the broken wall, turning his back to the Lonely Mountain. "Just a blow to the head – every now and again someone stops by to see that I haven't fallen asleep, but that's it."

"Good to hear," Bard answered.

They were quiet for a moment then, Bard staring at the healing tents, and Bilbo at the ruins of Dale. It was easy to see the town as it had been – much of it had been preserved. Most ruins, Bilbo knew, were stripped bare by the people who walked through them. But Dale had been left untouched since its abandonment – not even the most daring of adventurers had dared to risk the Desolation of the Dragon.

So the statues and carvings, paintings and brass flagpoles, the fountains and the walkways stood where they'd been left. Some of the houses were almost intact. According to the Human men and women who were picking their way through the city, they had been able to find undisturbed homes. Clothing had rotted with time, most of the rooftops would not hold rain, but the furniture was there, some of it still intact. Some had even been able to find odds and ends like unbroken pottery, cookware and whatnot.

And Bilbo knew for a fact that someone had found a tavern, its wine cellar still intact. There'd been quite a bit of indiscriminate drinking to the dead before Bard had put an end to it.

"Why didn't you let them have their fun?" Bilbo asked, thinking back to it. "With the wine, I mean."

"We need to keep our heads – there are still orcs about," Bard said with a sigh, not looking away from the healing tents. "Besides, most of those wines are almost two hundred years old. If we play our cards right, find the right buyer… they could be worth a lot of money."

Bilbo blinked and turned to him. "You think you need money?" he asked, bewildered. "But Erebor – the gold hoard there. You have a claim to it."

Bard grimaced. "That was a deal with you, a deal for the word of a king who… wasn't even a king then. And now I don't know who or what will lead the Dwarves of Erebor," he said.

"You… still have the Arkenstone, don't you?" Bilbo asked. "However it goes, that will bargain your deal for you."

"Will it, though?" Bard said, a tight look on his face. He glanced down at Bilbo and then away, at the camp around them. It was mostly Elven tents there, with some Dwarven ones amidst them – Dáin Ironfoot had refused lesser accommodations than Thranduil, especially not with what was at stake in the tents of healing. There were men and women from Lake Town everywhere, going about doing chores, carrying items, picking up dried bushes from the weathered stones to fuel the cooking fires.

"Come with me," Bard said, standing up suddenly. Bilbo stared at him with dismay, not really feeling like moving. Still, it wasn't as if he could say no seeing that Bard was already walking away. So he dropped down from the wall and to his feet, sighing when the impact jarred his worn, weary body. Wondering when the Elves would allow him to sleep properly, Bilbo followed the new leader of the Men of Lake Town, away from the open area.

Bard had claimed one of the buildings that had probably once been a store of some sort as his own. His children were there, still asleep, huddled together under worn blankets. Bilbo was a little relieved to see that they were in better shape now. Bain had been injured, but his colour was back and he looked almost content in sleep. Sigrid and Tilda looked a little less worn too.

"Here," Bard said, leading Bilbo to a side-room, a dark and dinky place without windows that had probably been set aside for storage. There, the Man pulled out an item wrapped in cloth, crouching down to show it to Bilbo.

Bilbo stared at it for a moment, blinking. It looked different and it took a moment for his tired mind to spot the difference. "What's happened to it?" he asked with some alarm, looking up to Bard.

Between them, the Arkenstone lay on a piece of ancient silk, its light gone.

"I don't know," Bard admitted, taking the stone carefully in his hand and turning it. There was still a flicker of that strange power inside. But the flicker was faint, barely visible, and nothing like the obvious shimmer of before, when it would've been enough to light the whole room. "I didn't notice it, but I think it's been losing its glow ever since you brought it out of the mountain."

"You think…" Bilbo swallowed. Had he ruined the stone by bringing it out?

Bard shrugged uneasily. "When I did notice, I thought for sure that it was a sign that the House of Durin must've ended," he admitted. "I made for the healing tents straight away, but they wouldn't give me an answer. They're alive yet, but… I suppose the healers do not know if they'll live for much longer."

Bilbo swallowed, looking away to the door, to the now unseen healing tents.

Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli all were there, teetering on the brink of life and death, their fate still as uncertain now as it had been on the icy field where they'd fallen, one by one, to Azog and his warriors.

"We need to talk to Balin," Bilbo said more decisively than he truly felt.

"Balin?" Bard asked uncertainly. "One of your company?"

Bilbo nodded. "The oldest and wisest of them. He is as much an advisor as Thorin allowed anyone to be. If anyone would know what's happened to the stone, it would be Balin."

The Man frowned, looking down at the stone hesitantly.

"You can't keep it a secret," Bilbo said urgently. "That stone is very important to them. It has… powers, I think. If there is something wrong with it, they must know. There's no knowing how vital it might be, now or later."

Bard hesitated a moment longer and then quickly wrapped the stone up again. "You're right," he said and stood, pushing the wrapped Arkenstone back into his pocket. "Very well. Where can we find this Balin, then?"

They found Balin in Dáin Ironfoot's tent, where the ancient Dwarf kept company with the Dwarf lord from the Iron Hills. Bilbo hadn't yet had the chance to meet Dáin personally, having only seen the impressive – and impressively loud – Dwarf at a distance. His court, Bilbo was somewhat unsurprised to see, was just as extravagantly warrior-like as their lord.

It was very easy to see why Thorin, even in the fit of his madness, had so trusted the strength of his brethren. Dáin and his kin were the very epitome of Dwarven strength. Even now, with the battle long ended, they still wore full armour and seemed to feel none of its weight.

"What is it, Master Baggins?" Balin asked, his voice tired but kind, as Bilbo hesitated at the doorway of the tent.

"Ach, this is the Hobbit from your company?" Dáin asked, turning in his seat with a creak of metal as armoured plates grinded against each other. Bilbo was somewhat relieved – and alarmed – to see a wide grin on his face. "Come, come, Halfling! Have a drink with us! Balin's been telling us about your venture, but bits are missing. Come and tell us about how you snuck up on the old fire drake!"

"Maybe later, my lord. I was struck on the head, and the Elven healers have me under strict orders not to do anything… rampageous," Bilbo said with an awkward bow. 'Rampageous' had been the precise word the healer had used, giving an evil eye to Bofur who had a broken arm and had been talking about arm-wrestling.

"Psh, the Elves! They know nothing if they don't know that good company and good drink are the quickest way to recovery!" Dáin said, waving a dismissive hand.

"All the same, my lord, I must decline," Bilbo said with another uneasy bow. Then he looked at Balin. "Please, can I speak with you, Balin? Privately?"

Balin glanced at the other Dwarves and then stood. "Of course," he said, bowing his head to Dáin and his warriors. "Excuse me."

"Check on Thorin and the boys, will you?" Dáin asked. "See if there's any change."

"Of course."

Balin, if he was surprised to see Bard outside the tent, said nothing, and merely arched an eyebrow at Bilbo. "What is it, lad?"

"In private," Bilbo said, keenly aware of all the Dwarves around them – none of whom he knew, all of whom were staring at Bard suspiciously.

"It's a matter of some sensitivity," Bard added.

Balin looked between them and then nodded, motioning at them to lead him on. They found privacy in one of the tents Dáin's people had erected for their own supplies, amidst crates and barrels of food, and Bard unveiled the darkened Arkenstone to the old Dwarf.

"I do not know what happened to it," Bard said with only the barest hint of nervousness as Balin stared at the stone without expression. "Only that it has gone dark. We… suspect that it has something to do with the stone being outside the mountain."

"Is it… hurt, or something?" Bilbo asked worriedly. "Should I not have brought it out?"

Balin frowned, humming under his breath. "It's not the first time the Arkenstone's been outside the mountain," he said. "May I?" he asked then, making a motion to pick the stone up. Bard, after a moment of watchful hesitation, nodded, and the old Dwarf lifted the Arkenstone from its cradle of silk. It remained dark in his fingers as Bard and Bilbo waited nervously for his pronouncement.

"When you showed it to us at the gates, it was a… surprise to see the Arkenstone glow," the old Dwarf then admitted, turning the dark stone in his hand. "This is how we expected to find it."

"Huh?" Bilbo asked, surprised.

Balin nodded tiredly, rummaging in his pockets and bringing out a jeweller's loupe. He fitted it onto his eye and peered at the Arkenstone. "This is how the stone was when it was originally found. This was how it was in the mountain, when miners unearthed it," he said, examining the stone thoroughly. "It only began to glow the way it did at the gates… when it was presented to Thrór."

"So it is not damaged?" Bard asked in obvious relief.

"No, I do not think so," Balin answered and removed the loupe. "When did it begin to fade?"

"I think it started the moment Bilbo brought it out," Bard admitted, glancing at the Hobbit.

"I didn't notice any change in it – but I had it wrapped in cloth," Bilbo said thoughtfully, folding his arms. The entire time in Erebor when he'd had the stone, it had glowed steadily and powerfully. The reason he had had to wrap it up so many times was because it kept shining through his clothing. "If the fading began when I still had it, I had no way of noticing."

Balin set the stone down back in the cradle of silk in Bard's palm. He looked at Bilbo thoughtfully. "When did you find it, Master Baggins?" he asked.

Bilbo shrugged. "Around the same time as when Smaug found me, really," he answered. "It was glowing then. It was hard to miss, really. I snatched it up right away."

"And didn't give it to Thorin," Balin said slowly.

"I… don't know why, but… no, I didn't," Bilbo sighed, scratching at the back of his neck awkwardly. It had been the right decision in the end – Thorin's Gold Sickness had been immediate and powerful and who knew how much more so it would've been, had Bilbo handed the Arkenstone to him right away. Why he hadn't, though… he wasn't so sure himself, anymore.

It had just felt like the wrong thing to do.

"Interesting," Balin said thoughtfully.

"So, it only glows when it's near the King of Erebor, then?" Bard asked as he carefully wrapped the stone up again.

"That is how it was, yes," Balin said, still looking at Bilbo. "It only ever glowed for Thrór – in his hand, or atop his throne. In anyone else's hands, it was as dark as it is now. So it is quite normal – no need to worry."

"That's a relief," Bilbo sighed. "For a moment there… well."

"Hmm," Balin hummed in agreement, glancing at Bard. "You still intend to barter the Arkenstone for a share of Erebor's gold, then?"

Bard grimaced. "Only for what's owed to us," he said. "Your king gave his word. Your actions led to Lake Town's destruction. We need funds to recover, to rebuild – we need it to live."

"I understand, lad. Believe me, I do," Balin assured him. "And I've no doubt some sort of agreement will be reached. Dwarves of Erebor need the Men of Dale – or of Lake Town, however that will resolve itself. No matter how things will turn out, that truth will not change. For now, though, we must be patient. Things are very delicate at the moment – quite a lot is hanging in the balance."

"Yes. Yes they are," Bard sighed, and hid the Arkenstone in his pocket again. "Lord Balin, what will happen if Thorin and his nephews were to die?"

Balin considered it and then shook his head. For some reason, he looked at Bilbo. "It is too early to say," he said. "One way or another, though… Erebor will have a king. The Lonely Mountain will have a king."

"Yes, I suppose it will," the Man said, looking away with a troubled expression. "Do you think Dale is…" he trailed away. "With the dragon gone, with Lake Town burned, Dale is our best bet for a new home. Do you think it can be rebuilt?"

"I think it must be rebuilt, for the good of us all," Balin said quietly and turned away. "I will go see how Thorin and the lads are doing. Master Baggins, would you like to join me?"

"Yes, of course," Bilbo said, glancing at Bard hesitantly.

"Go," Bard said. "I'll go see how my people are doing. Now that I know that the Arkenstone is not harmed, and with these reassurances… there is a lot to be done. The sooner we start to permanently settle, the better."

They parted ways, Bard heading back towards the city centre where most of the Men of Lake Town had settled while Bilbo followed Balin towards the healing tents. The Hobbit had to almost jog to keep up – despite how worn and tired he looked, there was now a spirited stride to Balin's steps that was just short of a run.

"The Arkenstone glowed right from the beginning?" the old Dwarf asked.

"Well. Yes, I think so?" Bilbo answered. "It was glowing when I first noticed it anyway. I wouldn't have noticed it if it hadn't been."

"Hmm…" Balin hummed and said nothing more. They reached the healing tents and though the healers there gave Bilbo narrowed looks, they let them pass without a word, letting both of them enter the tent where the Sons of Durin were resting.

Fíli and Kíli lay on the left side of the tent in separate bunks. Fíli was the worse off of the two of them – he'd been without treatment for longer and as far as Bilbo knew, his injury had been bad enough that the healers had been forced to remove organs. Kíli's injury, while not any less than Fíli's, had been easier to deal with because it had gotten treatment almost straight away. Tauriel had been working non-stop on him from the moment she'd reached him, saving his life.

She was there now, sitting between the brothers, a pale look on her face as she held Kíli's hand in hers.

"Lord Balin," she said, not looking away from Kíli.

"Tauriel," Balin said with warmth in his voice. "Any change?"

She took a breath slowly and released it even slower, as if steeling herself. "I think he's resting easier," she said, and then caught herself, looking up. "I mean. They are better. Kíli's heartbeat is no longer erratic and the bleeding has stopped. Fíli's temperature is still high, but the healers think he will recover. And Thorin is breathing much easier. His lung is no longer bleeding. The treatments are taking effect."

"They'll be just fine then," Balin said with the confidence that Bilbo couldn't quite share. The old Dwarf stepped forward and clasped the Elf warrior by the shoulder. "We Dwarves are a hardy folk. It will take more than this to take us down. Have you gotten any rest, lass?"

Tauriel looked at him and then down at Kíli. "I don't want to leave him."

"Understandable. But you still need rest yourself. You were injured too," Balin said. "Go and sleep, Tauriel. Just for an hour or two, enough to recover your strength. Bilbo and I can stay here. We'll come get you if something changes."

Tauriel hesitated for a moment, not looking away from Kíli. Finally, begrudgingly, she nodded. "Very well," she said, and stood, a tall and slender figure. "Two hours. No more."

"Thank you," Balin said and turned to check on Thorin. It was an obvious and blatant move, as the old Dwarf completely ignored the way Tauriel bent to press a gentle kiss to Kíli's lips, something Bilbo was fairly certain wasn't entirely proper. Maybe back when Durin's Folk had been merely homeless wanderers with only the barest claim to any sort of nobility, but now… now they had a kingdom again. Kíli was a prince now.

It was all very confusing and overwhelming.

Tauriel breezed out of the tent without another word, leaving Bilbo and Balin alone with the three injured royals, all of them in various stages of unconsciousness. They all looked so pale and so vulnerable that it was hard to look at them – especially Thorin, who had always been the very epitome of strength. His face was now bloodless, his lips slightly blue, and the fact that he was bare under the thick wrappings around his chest made his vulnerability even more obvious.

"The Arkenstone," Balin said suddenly, pulling a Dwarf sized chair to Thorin's bedside. "I never saw it glow, myself."

"I'm sorry?" Bilbo asked, confused.

"In Thrór's time," the Dwarf explained. "He was very good at hiding it, but we knew. The Arkenstone lost its glow as Thrór descended into the madness of the Dragon Sickness. Already by the first time when I saw the stone – during a palace function where I was one of the guardsmen present – Thrór was hiding the stone's lack of glow with the trickery of lenses and mirrors, aiming light at it to make it seem like it was shining."

Bilbo frowned, stepping forward. "But you said it glowed only for Thrór," he said, standing at the old Dwarf's side.

"And it did, in the beginning. There are hundreds of texts, describing it, and I heard older folk speak of it," Balin sighed. "But the stone began fading before my birth. In the end, unless it was lit from the outside, it was as we saw it in Bard's hands – dark, with only a faint shimmer within."

"And that's how you expected to find it at Erebor?" Bilbo asked.

"Hm," the old Dwarf nodded. "We had hopes. Great hopes. All we wished was to see Thorin take the Arkenstone, and to see it light in his hands…" he trailed away, looking at Thorin where he laid on the bed, wounded and still balanced somewhere between life and death.

"So it began to glow again when Thorin entered the mountain and then… started fading when Thorin got sick?" Bilbo asked sadly.

Balin said nothing for a moment. "We call it the Heart of the Mountain and the King's Jewel and the Birthright of our People, and many other names," he said finally. "Only one of those things is true. Did anyone tell you why the Arkenstone is so valuable to us?"

"I… No, I guess not?" Bilbo answered. "I thought it was because it… well, because it shone."

Balin chuckled. "And we cultivated that belief intentionally to hide its true worth," he said, and looked up to the Hobbit. "Before the Arkenstone was found, Erebor wasn't prosperous by any stretch of imagination. It had been, or so our people believed, mined out by the previous generations. The Arkenstone changed all of that."

Bilbo frowned. "How?" he asked. "I thought the Arkenstone was the only one of its kind."

"It is, as is the Lonely Mountain itself," Balin agreed and leaned back. "Thrór led our kin in the resettlement of Erebor after they were driven from the Grey Mountains," he said and looked up at Bilbo. "You see, Erebor had been abandoned previously. The mines ran dry, so Thorin the First – our Thorin's great, great, great, great, great grandfather – led our people away from it and joined the rest of our kin at the Grey Mountains. Thrór was forced to resettle our people at Erebor, four hundred years later, because the Cold-Drakes of the North attacked the Grey Mountains."

"I see?" Bilbo answered. A part of him wished that he had a pen and paper to write this down, and another part of him was wondering what this had to do with the Arkenstone. He refrained from asking, and instead sat – very carefully – at the foot of Thorin's bed. "You make it sound like Erebor wasn't a good choice."

"It wasn't, but it was among the last ones left," Balin said. "Erebor was not a good prospect, no, but Thrór led our people back because it was safe and defensible and if nothing else, the old fortress of Erebor was still there, still secure. He was a different Dwarf then, and the safety of his people came above wealth for him. In the beginning, anyway."

"And then what?" Bilbo asked quietly.

"Then the Arkenstone was found and… it changed everything," Balin said quietly. "You see, with the Arkenstone, Thrór could find every seam of gold, every geode of gem, every single jewel, as if he'd always known where they were. That, Bilbo, is the power of the Arkenstone. It is the Heart of the Lonely Mountain and the one who has it knows the mountain as well as they know themselves."

Bilbo blinked. "That's…" he stopped and considered it. "And with the stone he found the famous rivers of gold."

Balin nodded. "And more. There is usually an element of luck to mining, you see. You never know what you will find before you actually find it. Most of the time, all you find is worthless stone. With the Arkenstone, though…" he shook his head. "Thrór could just walk to a wall and tell the miners if it was worth it to mine there. He could point them to the right direction. And so Erebor grew in wealth very quickly in a short span of time. From a worthless mining colony to the wealthiest Dwarven kingdom since the days of Khazad-dûm."

"I see," the Hobbit murmured, amazed. "No wonder it's so valuable then."

"Yes. It made Erebor great. It was also the first step of its downfall. The more wealth Erebor – and Thrór himself – hoarded, the greater Thrór's hunger for riches grew and the more he wanted. Erebor mined far more than it needed – far more than was economically safe. And as the hoard grew and Thrór's greed for it began to consume him, the stone lost its light for him – it stopped responding to him," the old Dwarf said with a sigh. "At that point, however, it didn't matter. Because at that point, Thrór had already led his people to the largest seams. Erebor's wealth was already affirmed, the treasure already established. Most did not notice that Thrór could no longer lead the miners right to the riches anymore."

Bilbo nodded thoughtfully. "How many knew that the Arkenstone had that power?" he asked curiously.

"Every Dwarf in Erebor knew – it was our most sacred secret, and was never shared with outsiders," Balin answered. "The gold blinded most of our people, however. There was so much of it – you saw it yourself. Even those not as susceptible to the greed were overwhelmed. So only very few of us noticed that the stone had lost its shine. Thorin was one of them. But then, of course, the dragon came and it did not matter anymore."

They were quiet for a moment, watching the leader of their company. There was a bit of red seeping through his bandages, Bilbo noticed, but not nearly as much as in the beginning.

"The Heart of the Mountain, huh?" he murmured.

The old Dwarf nodded. "It became synonymous with the king's right to rule," Balin added quietly. "It made Thrór the king he was, for better and for worse. And quite possibly led to his madness. If nothing else, it made the fall all the more swift."

"What will happen if the Arkenstone won't glow for Thorin?" Bilbo asked quietly.

Balin sighed and shook his head. "The fact of the matter is," he murmured. "I'm not sure if he should ever have it at all."

Notes:

This would be the Semi-Sentient Lonely Mountain story I’ve been wanting to write. I am AUfying lot of Erebor’s history here to suit my evil purposes, I ain’t even sorry. There probably won’t be any pairings here, aside from Tauriel/Kíli on the side, but I dunno. I might ship Bilbo with Fíli before we're through.

Chapter 2

They were burying and burning the dead when Thorin finally woke up. Of the three Durins, he was the first to come to.

Bilbo wasn't there when it happened – he was helping some folk from Lake Town cook. Humans, he'd found, had next to no restraint with food when they were hungry. When Thranduil's people had first brought them food, a good half of it had been absolutely wasted. Either it had been eaten raw or it had been actually trampled in the stampede as everyone tried to get their supposed fair share. As a Hobbit – and a gentlehobbit at that – Bilbo simply could not stand the notion of it happening again.

And as it were, there wasn't much for him to do around Dale and the army camps within it.

So, he was elbows deep in potatoes, four helpful Human lasses bustling about him as they fixed vegetable soup that would, hopefully, feed everyone from Lake Town. It wasn't much to anyone's liking – the Wood Elves had only brought vegetables, fruits and seeds, and for the fishermen of Lake Town, it was apparently unwholesome fare. But he didn't much care. Unless they brought him fish to add, they'd eat their carrots and potatoes or they'd starve.

"Bilbo!" a familiar voice called for him just as Bilbo finished dicing the last potato. "He's awake! Thorin's risen from his sick bed!"

"That's wonderful!" Bilbo said, and handed him a ladle. "Stir while I add these."

Bofur, much to his credit, or most likely to Bombur's credit, did not so much as blink – he just stuck the ladle into the soup pot and began to stir while Bilbo poured the potatoes in. "He's even clear-minded," the Dwarf said excitedly. "Well, as much as he ever is. The first things he asked for were his sister's sons – or that's what I hear anyway. The healers have only let Balin and Dáin in."

"That's welcome news," Bilbo answered, turning to get the carrots Sigrid had diced for him. "Thank you, love," Bilbo said and then added them too to the pot. "What of his injury?" he asked of Bofur who was just about to stick a finger in the soup. Without pause, Bilbo swatted at his hand.

"Well, it's not exactly a small thing, being punctured in the lung and Mahal knows how many broken ribs he has. But I could hear him being cranky all the way in the street," Bofur said cheerfully. "Thranduil walked in, you see."

Bilbo snorted and took the ladle from him, attending to the soup himself. "That would make him cranky," he said and glanced at his helpers. "About half an hour now," he said to them. "You can start setting the tables." Setting the tables here mostly involved making sure none of the makeshift tables they'd put together had collapsed, and checking that there was clean water in the barrels for people to fetch their share from. There were no dishes to set – everyone brought their own, if they had any. Most drank their soup from cups, with no cutlery in sight.

Such was the life of refugees.

"Are you going to see him?" Bofur asked.

"If he asks for me," Bilbo said. He and Thorin had made their peace and Bilbo was satisfied with that. It wasn't Bilbo's place to butt in anymore, though. Thorin was no longer the leader of their company. He was the King of Erebor now, crowned or not. He would have more important matters to attend to than a semi traitorous burglar. That, and he had a good bit of healing to do.

If Thorin asked for him, Bilbo would go. But he would not bother Thorin now, when he was no doubt going to be busy.

"But Thorin is alright now? The Gold Sickness passed," Bofur said, blinking at him. "Or are you… mad at him?"

"I'm not mad at Thorin, I never was," Bilbo sighed. Granted, being hung over the edge of Erebor’s gates hadn't precisely been pleasant, it had been… heart-breaking more than anything. Thorin had looked so broken, desperate more than angry. "I was only ever worried. He'll be busy now, though. And I'm busy here, which is good enough for me."

Bofur scowled at that. "Busy cooking for the Men," he said, a note of complaint in his voice.

"Well… yes," Bilbo shrugged. "It's something to do, at any rate. Besides, they were wasting good food by not preparing it properly. It was utterly disheartening. I had to do something."

"Pfft, you and Bombur both," Bofur snorted. "Do you know, he's taken over the management of Dáin's stores? Not that the old goat complained. Apparently, his own cooks weren't exactly stellar."

"I know, I got this from him," Bilbo said, tapping the ladle against the pot. "None of the Men had pots big enough for cooking for big groups. Bombur was kind enough to share," he said and then looked at Bofur curiously. "How's Bifur?"

Bofur shrugged. "Bifur is Bifur," he said. "He met some of his old buddies from Azanulbizar. They've been catching up."

They chatted for a moment about the other members of their company while Bilbo watched over the soup. A lot of the company had friends and even relatives among Dáin's people. A lot of people from Erebor had gone to the Iron Hills, when Smaug had come.

"Not me and Bombur though. Blue Mountains, born and bred," Bofur said. "Bifur was born in Erebor, though. Dunno how much he remembers about it. He was young when Smaug came. Bombur and I, we weren't even born then."

"He remembers," Bilbo assured him, thinking back to when they'd been running around the city, trying to stay out of Smaug's sight. Bifur had never faltered, not as far as Bilbo had been able to tell. "Are you three going to settle in Erebor?"

"Yeah, of course," Bofur said and grinned. "We're rich folk now! We're lords now, not mere miners or tinkers or cooks. Well… Bombur will probably still be a cook, but Bombur's Bombur. We'll be claiming the high dwellings and the rich robes and we'll be all mighty and fancy. What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You're rich too," Bofur said, nudging at him with his elbow, not particularly careful with his own broken arm that rested on a rough sling. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm not rich, Bofur," Bilbo smiled, ever so slightly smug. "I took the Arkenstone for my share of the treasure, and gave it away, remember?"

"But that's–! You had to do that to make Thorin see sense, that doesn't mean anything now! Of course you still have a share," Bofur said, horrified.

"No, I don't. Even if I had, I wouldn't want it," Bilbo said, taking a spoon and dipping it into the soup for a taste check. It was a bit raw. They only what spice herbs they'd managed to find in the wild, which wasn't many, and there was very little salt to spare. Humming, Bilbo dipped the spoon back in and then held it out for Bofur. "How is it? Should I add more dill?"

Bofur tasted it and made a thoughtful face. "Maybe a bit, though I don't know if these folks will be able to tell the difference. What do you mean, you don't want it?"

"It's cursed treasure," Bilbo said, reaching for what little fresh dill they'd found. "It was hoarded by a dragon, you know, for a very long time."

"But it's gold!" Bofur said, looking at him like he'd lost his mind. "It's good pure Ereborean gold! There is no purer gold anywhere in the world!"

"It's sick," Bilbo answered, adding the dill in. "As sick as Mirkwood, even. I don't want a single coin from it."

While Bofur just gaped at him, the flaps of the cooking tent were thrown open and another Dwarf stepped in – Ori, who had bent over, gasping for breath. "Bilbo," he said, after catching his breath. "Master Balin's asking for you. Thorin wants to see you."

Bilbo hesitated and then nodded. "Yes, alright," he said. "Sigrid!"

"Yes, Bilbo?" the girl said, peeking her head into the tent.

"I need to be off. The food's almost done – just another five minutes and you can start serving it out," the Hobbit said. "Remember, no more than two ladlefuls at first. If there's any left over, then you can serve more. Can you and Tilda carry the pot outside by yourselves?"

"Marta's here, she can help us," the girl said, stepping forward. "I'll save you a serving, alright?"

"Thank you, lass. I appreciate it," Bilbo grinned and handed the ladle to her. "Just stir it lightly and it'll be fine."

After making sure that she had the task handled, Bilbo turned to follow Ori, Bofur quick on his heels.

"Told you should've gone to see him right away," the miner commented.

"You didn't. Just asked if I would," Bilbo answered and shrugged. "But he asked for me and now I'm going so it doesn't matter."

"Hm. Bet you he thinks you've been hiding," Bofur said with a grin. It faded from his face quickly, though, and was replaced by a thoughtful look as they crossed over the streets, making way to the district of the ruined city where the Elves and Dwarves were camped. "Do you really think the treasure is sick?"

"Don't you?" Bilbo asked plainly.

Bofur frowned. "Durin's folk have a… history," he said. "We're not Durin's folk though, me and my kin. None of our forebearers ever had Gold Sickness."

"None of my forebearers ever riddled a dragon," Bilbo answered with a shrug. "There's always a first for everything, you know."

Ori glanced between them. "Master Balin thinks the treasure needs to be re-forged," he offered hesitantly. "All of it, melted again and cast anew, to rid the dragon's taint from it. Which is just as well, seeing that there needs to be new coin. Old Ereborean coins all have the image of King Thrór on them."

Bofur frowned at that, and then grinned. "Yes, that'll do it, won't it? Melt it all down and recast it, and it will be all clean again."

"I wonder if that would be enough," Bilbo muttered. "The dragon lay in the treasure for a long, long while."

They reached the section claimed by the Elves and Dwarves, and soon made their way to the healing tents. Óin stood there, outside the tent where Thorin and his nephews rested, waiting for them.

"Well come on then," the old Dwarf said, pointing his ear-horn at Bilbo almost accusingly. "He's almost re-opened his wounds twice now and won't rest before he sees you. He's got the fool notion that you've ran off, or some other nonsense."

"Let's set him straight, then," Bilbo laughed, and stepped into the tent.

Balin and Gandalf were there, with Tauriel lingering almost rebelliously in the corner of the tent, near Kíli's feet. Thorin was propped up on his bunk, not quite sitting up but not quite laying down either. It looked like he was trying to decide who to glare at, Gandalf or Tauriel.

"Master Baggins," Balin said at the sight of him, his shoulders slumping with what Bilbo was almost certain was relief. "Ori found you then. Good."

"I wasn't exactly hiding," Bilbo answered, even as Thorin turned his glare on him. "Thorin. You look…" Bilbo looked for a word for a moment. "Horrible," he settled.

"I feel it," the Dwarven royal grunted, his face a mask of tension and strain. "Where have you been, Burglar?"

"Cooking, actually," Bilbo answered, stepping between Balin and Gandalf, taking the hand Thorin was reaching for him in his own. It felt cold and clammy in his, and Thorin's grip was soft, almost lax in a way that did not feel healthy. "You would not believe how much food Humans can waste unless there's someone there to supervise them. How do you feel?"

"Like an orc ran me through," Thorin said, but some of the strain on his face seemed to ease. "Cooking," he repeated. "We've fought a war and claimed a kingdom and there are three armies here now, about to fight over what remains and you've been… cooking."

"I've been cooking," Bilbo agreed with a hint of a smile. "No one can fight with an empty belly, or so I hear."

Thorin chuckled at that – and seemed to immediately regret it, if the pain that ran across his face was any indication. "Oh, don't make me laugh," he winced, gripping Bilbo's hand a bit tighter in his pain.

"Well," Gandalf said, looking between them. "Now that you've seen that our burglar is still around and hasn't vanished like a thief into the night, will you talk to Bard and Thranduil like a proper adult?" he asked. "So that we can start resolving this situation and come to some sort of compromise?"

Thorin scowled at him. "And negotiate a treaty from my sickbed?" he asked with a snort. "With Thranduil lording the skills of his healers over me, adding all the more to the debt he thinks is owed to him. I think not."

"Thorin," Bilbo said softly, frowning at him.

"I will not enter into any treaty with the Men or the Elves from such a position. I will treat with them once I can stand on my own power," Thorin said, glancing up at him and then looking back at Gandalf. "No sooner than that."

"What of the Arkenstone?" Gandalf asked shrewdly. "Will you leave it in Bard's hands until then? You do realise your healing might take weeks."

Thorin snorted, but Bilbo could see the hesitation on his face, could feel it in the way his hand quivered. "Can you and Bard talk it over like friends – or even like acquaintances – and not like leaders of your people?" Bilbo asked almost plaintively. "He's not yet official in his position. You've yet to…"

Well, Thorin had found a crown and worn it, but how official that was, Bilbo wasn't too sure. To him, it had seemed more like the meaningless preening of a madman than something a proper, rightful king would do. But then again, Hobbits did not have kings, so what did he know.

"Well," Balin said, "You could have an unofficial talk. Between Thorin the leader of the Company and Bard the Bowman of Lake Town. Let the King of Durin's Folk and the King of Dale meet later, when everything is more settled."

Thorin scowled at him and at Gandalf who was examining his pipe like nothing unusual was going on. Then, oddly, he turned to glare at Tauriel. "What are you doing here, she-elf?"

"Watching over your sister's son's recovery," she answered defiantly. "And you will not shift me from this position."

"Tauriel saved Kíli's life," Bilbo said before Thorin could say anything. "Twice now."

"So I hear. But for what reason? What does Tauriel hope to gain from such feats of charity?" Thorin asked, narrowing his eyes.

"I find there's very little charity in love," Gandalf said, standing up and not so subtly positioning himself between Tauriel and Thorin, disrupting their glaring. "Thranduil banished her for her deeds so you need not worry about her spying. Her loyalty, as far as anyone with eyes can tell, has been quite shifted. Should I get Bard?"

"Do not," Thorin grumbled. "Not yet. I will speak with Balin and Bilbo first."

"In an hour, then," Gandalf said, nodding his head and then striding out of the tent before anyone could put up an argument.

"Wizards," Thorin muttered after him.

"Very persuasive folk, wizards," Bilbo agreed. "What with the way they just walk off before anyone can get a word in. It's very effective, I must say. Irritating as all get out, but effective."

Balin snorted at that. "I'll take irritating over serious any day, myself. It's when they sit down at your table and start taking you seriously that you need to be worried," he said, and turned to Thorin. "How are you feeling, Thorin? Honestly this time."

Thorin sighed and finally released Bilbo's hand. "I feel weak and wounded and would've fallen asleep trice now if it did not hurt so Mahal damned much," he admitted wryly. "But I will live. It's my sister's sons’ whom I worry for," he said and his eyes trailed off to glare at Tauriel again. "They told me they have not woken once yet."

"They haven't, but they are getting better," Balin assured him. "Kíli more so than Fíli, but Fíli is recovering as well. They should wake soon."

"I will feel better once they actually do," Thorin murmured, looking away from Tauriel, and at Balin and Bilbo instead. "How fares our company? I know some of us were injured. Bofur took a hit and I saw Nori bleeding from the head."

"Nori got a cut on his forehead – not deep but it did bleed a lot. And Bofur's arm was broken, but it's been set and splinted," Bilbo said. And with Balin, they detailed how the company was doing. They were banged and bruised and more than a few had broken bones and sprains and cuts. Bofur was the worst injured aside from the Sons of Durin, however, and his recovery would take the longest.

"We've all made ourselves useful around camp," Balin said. "I've been advising Dáin's people – and doing what I can to keep them from riling up the Elves more than they already have. Dwalin is wrangling the worst of Dáin's warriors. He’s already wrestled a couple of them into a more agreeable mood set. Óin's been dealing with the Elves the most though. He's been working with the healers and I have to say that's smoothed the relations in-between more than anything I've managed."

"Turns out Elven and Dwarven healing complement each other surprisingly well," Bilbo said with no small amount of amusement.

"Wonderful," Thorin muttered wryly. "And I bet Gandalf's been running around, twisting everything to suit his purposes, whatever they are."

"Right now his only purpose seems to be the stability of the region. He's as eager to see a King under the Mountain as we are," Balin said. "The quicker we can settle things with Bard and Thranduil, the quicker we can concentrate on the restoration of Erebor."

"Hmmh," Thorin hummed, closing his eyes and frowning.

"You do realise that whatever happens, we need good relations with our neighbours, don't you?" Balin asked, a little uncertainly.

"Do we?" Thorin asked, not opening his eyes.

"Unless Erebor can grow its own food and make its own clothing, then I imagine you do," Tauriel commented from the corner of the tent.

"No one asked you, she-elf."

"That doesn't make her wrong," Bilbo said, looking between the two Dwarves. "Or can Erebor exist in isolation?"

"No, it can't," Balin said, staring at Thorin like he was trying to push that understanding into the king's mind through the sheer power of his gaze. "Gold is very fine, Thorin, but we can't eat it."

Thorin snorted at that and opened his eyes tiredly. "You need not try and glare me into being agreeable, Balin. I am not a child. I do understand," he said. "I just don't like it. And I like the fact that this treaty is being pressured on us this way even less. Whatever the treaty will entail, the cost will prove higher now than it would have been, should we have had a better bargaining position."

"I don't know about that," Bilbo said, folding his arms. "Bard's people don't exactly have the upper hand on you. Especially with the Dwarven army camped at Erebor's entrance, keeping everyone out," he added, thinking of Dain's warriors. They'd all but barricaded the broken gates of Erebor and no one, not even the company, had been allowed in.

It would've been more worrisome, if Dáin hadn't been there personally shouting at Thranduil's healers so many times. Whatever Dáin's goal was, stealing Erebor from under Thorin's nose wasn't it, never mind the fact that he had the manpower to do it, easily.

"I'm speaking of Thranduil, not the Man," Thorin said with an annoyed sigh.

"Thranduil just wants his gems," Bilbo said. "Whatever they are."

"The White Gems of Lasgalen," Thorin said and opened his eyes as Tauriel let out a quiet gasp. He glanced towards her as she stared at him with shock and then looked away, at Bilbo. "They are… very important to the Wood Elves. Their history is long and bloody and… not entirely relevant now. Thranduil gave them to my grandfather, so that the jewel smiths of Erebor could refashion them into a necklace. It was an enormous show of good faith and my grandfather, then already in the grips of his sickness… never gave them back."

"It's a wonder Thranduil did not have you all killed when we had you imprisoned in his halls," Tauriel murmured, her eyes a little wide.

"If he had, what little chance he would've ever had of regaining the gems would've been lost," Thorin snorted. For a moment he looked like he was struggling with something, a decision that he did not like to make, before he sighed. "They were never truly part of Erebor's wealth," he muttered.

"So you'll return them to Thranduil?" Bilbo asked.

"We'll see," Thorin harrumphed. "If they're all Thranduil wants, and I doubt they are… We shall see. And what does Bard of Lake Town want?"

"Only enough to rebuild," Bilbo assured. "Only enough for his people to live."

"It would be best for all of us if his people settled in Dale, and rebuilt it," Balin commented. "The old trade routes that passed through Dale were the lifeblood of the region. You know as much. We need them back, if Erebor is to ever regain its glory."

"And for that we need a go-between?" Thorin muttered.

"Or we could open the doors of Erebor to every traveller, trader, adventurer, and vagabond that happened to come by," Balin answered dryly, giving him a flat look. "I'm sure that would go marvellously for us, letting Elves and Men and Dwarves from parts unknown travel around our city."

Thorin frowned at him. "Why are you talking to me as if I were an infant?" he asked in some aggravation. "I'm your king, Balin. Show some respect."

"I'm talking to you as if to an infant because you're making a very good pretence of being one, o king of mine," Balin said with a snort. "I'll treat you like a king when you start acting like one, rest assured. So far I have yet to see it."

Bilbo only barely managed to smother his snicker, as Thorin glared belligerently at Balin, and Balin stared back, cool as anything. Thorin was the one to relent first, though that was probably due to the injuries more than anything else. "Fine," he grumbled. "So they will resettle Dale. And need our aid to do it."

"And we need their aid to resettle Erebor, so it works quite well for both parties," Balin answered. "All you need to do is settle the grudge between you and work out the details. As it stands now, we either treat with them and we treat with them fairly, or we pack our things and head back to the Blue Mountains. It is as simple as that."

"Head back and leave Erebor for anyone to take after all this trouble and pain? I think not," Thorin muttered and then sighed. "Fine, Balin, you win. I will talk with Bard the Bowman, but only him for now. Thranduil can wait his turn, since he's so very good at waiting."

"Should I send for Bard, then? Get it over with?" Balin asked.

Thorin glared at him all the way until Balin was out of sight. Then, with a wry sort of smile, he turned to look at Bilbo. "I suppose you think me a stubborn brat as well, Master Burglar?"

"I never would say such a thing out loud. But yes, I do," Bilbo agreed, looking at him worriedly. "But I think you should be given the time to rest and regain your strength. Balin should not push it."

"No, he should," Thorin answered with a weary sigh. "There is no time for me to lay idle. The situation is too tense, and must be resolved as quickly as possible. It is most likely even more dire than Balin had informed me. I can't imagine him liking this any more than I do, having these negotiations while I am so weakened. But if we do nothing, our idleness might lead us to another war."

Bilbo arched his eyebrows. "Not quite a brat after all," he said.

Thorin snorted. "Balin's been here for quite a while, expounding on the importance of negotiations to me," he said. "He gave me no choice but to listen. And Dáin wants nothing to do with Thranduil. He's quite happy shoving that burden on me, the bastard."

Bilbo tried and failed to smother a grin. "Isn't he your cousin?"

"A royal bastard, then," Thorin muttered. "Tell me what you have been doing, Burglar. Distract me before I fall asleep."

"Keep you awake by telling you stories? Yes, that seems like a plan likely to succeed." Bilbo snorted, but began explaining what little he'd been doing around Dale. Mostly, he'd been running around doing chores, the little tasks that could be done. Before he'd landed the task of minding the feeding of the Men of Lake Town, there hadn't been much for him to do, really. With so many able-bodied warriors, quite a bit of Dale had been cleared, the streets reopened, and some of the houses damaged in the fighting secured again.

Thorin wasn't really listening though. It became more and more obvious as he kept on just staring at Bilbo, his expression going from fond to grim to fond again – and then falling into a frown.

"What?" Bilbo finally asked.

"I cannot tell if you're putting up a cheerful front for me, to hide whatever you truly feel," Thorin said. "I know now how good a liar you are."

"And what do I have left to lie about, Thorin?" Bilbo asked, frowning, and for some reason he thought of the little golden ring, hidden even now in his pocket.

Thorin frowned. "You saw me at my worst," he said. "Long before the others did. Does it pain you to be here now, having seen that?"

Bilbo blinked. "… No," he said slowly, a little confused. "No, of course it doesn't. It pains me to see you hurt. It pained me to see you so severely injured. And yes, it pained me to see you so… unlike yourself. But being here now, seeing you recover, both from the injury and from the madness, this… this does not pain me at all."

Thorin looked away. "Madness," he muttered. "You think I went mad."

Bilbo hesitated, glancing at Tauriel who looked back and then away, at Kíli who still did not stir. "Didn't you?" Bilbo asked quietly, turning back to Thorin. "Was it not the same Gold Sickness that plagued your grandfather?"

"Same? No, it was not the same," Thorin said, still looking away. "I am not my grandfather."

Bilbo wanted to ask what that meant, but Balin returned before he could – with Bard of Lake Town following closely behind him. The leader of the Men of Lake Town hesitated a bit before fully entering the tent, giving Bilbo a curious look before looking at Thorin.

"So you've survived," Bard said. "For a moment, none of us were quite sure."

"Your concern is duly noted," Thorin said dryly. "Come, sit," he said, waving at the seat beside Bilbo. "Tell me your price and then we negotiate. Let's get it over with."

Bard arched an eyebrow and then sat down. "Alright," he said. "My price is what you promised. Enough to rebuild Esgaroth, wasn't it? Enough to build it ten times over."

Thorin looked quite pained at that. "I promised that?"

"You did," Bilbo agreed and glanced at Balin. "I don't suppose you'd know how much that would amount to?

"I think I can come up with a figure," Balin mused thoughtfully.

Bard snorted at them. "We're not rebuilding Esgaroth, though," he said. "We're rebuilding Dale. So, I am willing to amend my side of the bargain. Give us what we need to rebuild Dale to a condition where it can support us. For that, I will give you this."

That said, he brought out the silk wrapped Arkenstone and unveiled it. Thorin blinked at it, a look of numb incomprehension on his face, and Bilbo had a distinctive feeling of déjà vu. Thorin looked just like he had when he saw the stone so darkened.

Then Thorin's eyes widened in realisation. "It's gone dark," he whispered.

"Yes," Balin agreed and added quickly, "It is the Arkenstone, however, real and true. I looked it over myself."

"It's… lost its shine again," Thorin murmured, lifting his hand and then jerking it back. The look of hesitation was almost painful as he looked away from the stone, and at Bard who was still holding it. It seemed to almost physically hurt Thorin to ask, but ask he did. "May I?"

Bard leaned back for a moment, but then seemed to catch himself. "For a moment, only," he said severely. "I will only hand it over once I have what is owed to us."

Thorin swallowed and nodded. "Only for a moment," he promised, holding out his hand, palm up and fingers held open. Slowly, Bard laid the stone on his palm.

It remained dark.

Notes:

I gave the White Gems of Lasgalen an AU background because I couldn’t find anything canon about them - but they won't really feature much in the story.

Chapter 3

What energy Thorin had managed to accumulate all but fled him the moment he touched the Arkenstone. The longer he held the stone, still dark without any hint of light to be seen, the paler he got, and his hand soon began to shake so badly that Bard was forced to snatch the stone back before it fell.

"Thorin?" Bilbo asked, leaning in. It was alarming, the whole thing – how quickly Thorin had gone completely white, how grim Balin's face was, the way Thorin's hands shook and how his eyes watered. It was worse than the way he'd looked at the gates of Erebor – then, he'd still had strength and determination in him.

Now, it looked like he had lost the last dredges of what strength remained.

"What does it mean?" Bard asked quietly, looking between Thorin and the stone, as Tauriel stepped forward, an unreadable look on her face.

"Please, would you leave us?" Balin asked, taking one of Thorin's shaking hands into his own.

"What does it mean?" Tauriel asked, her voice sharp. "We all know the stone is supposed to shine. Did it not shine before? What does it mean that it has lost its light?"

"It means things are about to get very complicated," Balin said grimly. "I had hoped we could start working out a solution to the current situation, but… we must postpone. Please, Lord Bard, Tauriel, leave us a moment?"

Bard hesitated, looking between Thorin and Bard and then looking at Bilbo uncertainly. Bilbo shook his head and with a last glance at Thorin, Bard stood. "I'll be nearby for a moment," he said. "In case you still want to talk. But for now… Lady Tauriel, would you join me?"

Bilbo stood up as well, intending to leave with them. Before he could take a step back, Balin's hand shot out and grabbed him by the wrist. "Stay, Master Baggins," Balin said before he could step back. "You were the one to barter with the Arkenstone. This concerns you too."

Bilbo couldn't help the nearly fearful swallow at that, but he stayed. The tension in the tent was almost palpable as Bard and Tauriel retreated, leaving him alone with the Dwarves. Worst of all, though, was Thorin. He was now staring at nothing, his eyes almost glassy.

"Balin?" Bilbo asked nervously, as the tense silence stretched.

It was Thorin who answered, though. "The Arkenstone rejects me," he whispered. "It does not acknowledge me."

Bilbo swallowed again, dryly. "M-maybe it will once you heal?" he asked nervously. "Once you're crowned King under the Mountain, official like."

Thorin looked up and the look on his face was void of hope. "The Arkenstone rejects me, Bilbo," he said, like it meant something more.

"Yes, but –"

"The Arkenstone marks the King under the Mountain, Master Baggins. The Arkenstone was what made Thrór the King under the Mountain," Balin said gruffly. "Without it, Thorin is only the King of Durin's Folk."

"Isn't that the same thing?" Bilbo asked, and the laugh Thorin let out at that was like the croak of a raven, utterly void of mirth.

"It isn't at all the same," Balin said grimly. "Thorin is and has been the King of Durin's Folk ever since his father Thráin was officially declared dead. He is the King of Durin's Folk wherever he goes. But the King under the Mountain is the one for whom the Arkenstone glows – the one the Arkenstone grants its powers."

"It is the Heart of the Mountain," Thorin said, his voice dry and horrible with misery. "The Lonely Mountain acknowledged with it the one it accepted as Erebor's ruler. My grandfather was chosen by the Lonely Mountain, by the Arkenstone."

Bilbo hesitated uncertainly. "So… you can't use the Arkenstone's powers like your grandfather did?" he asked. "Does that really matter? I mean, Erebor is so full of riches and all. Do you really need it –"

"You don't understand, Bilbo," Balin said tiredly. "I told you, how the previous mining colony at the Lonely Mountain failed, yes? The Dwarven settlement failed, withered, and suffered before the Arkenstone was found. It wasn't until the mountain accepted Thrór as the king that we could survive here, never mind being prosperous"

"Before the Arkenstone, our people starved and died inside the mountain. There were numerous cave-ins and tunnel collapses – even in places where the structures were supposed to be secure," Thorin said hollowly. "They persevered, but only barely until the situation got so bad that they had to abandon Erebor entirely. The mountain rejected them, and drove them out – until my grandfather won its trust, and it gave us the Arkenstone."

"You make it sound like the Lonely Mountain is alive," Bilbo said, and Balin and Thorin both just looked at him. "Well," the Hobbit said, a little overwhelmed. "If it is, then… why did it allow Smaug to drive you away? Why didn't it help you? Why didn't it force Smaug out?"

"Because my Grandfather betrayed the mountain," Thorin said, closing his eyes. "It held no love for us then, and did not care for our fate."

"Who knows why it didn't push Smaug out? Maybe it couldn't. A cave-in wouldn't have been enough to shake a dragon," Balin said, running a hand over his face. "It doesn't matter now. If the Arkenstone won't accept Thorin as a King, then…"

"I cannot claim any right to rule over the Kingdom of Erebor," Thorin said, his voice growing wearier and wearier. "I failed the mountain, the same as my grandfather. I fell to my greed. The mountain saw my weakness and it will not have me now. I am still the King in Exile and nothing more."

Bilbo blinked. "What? But… after all that we did, after all this –"

"All for naught, if the mountain rejects us," Balin said grimly and gripped Thorin's hand. "It's not all lost yet, Thorin. The Arkenstone might yet glow for Fíli, or Kíli."

"You don't think it has lost its patience with the house of Durin by now?" Thorin asked tiredly and closed his eyes. He looked older now, wearier – as old as Balin, even, and far weaker. "I seem to recall that the stone did glow, before. Did I imagine it, Balin?"

"You did not. It did glow," Balin assured him, looking at Bilbo. "It shone until Bilbo brought it out of the mountain and handed it over to Bard."

Thorin frowned at that, not opening his eyes. "It glowed until then? And after?"

"Bard says it faded afterwards," Bilbo said quietly, his voice almost choked by his guilt. "Slowly, so that he didn't notice until the light was gone."

"It shone in his hands, and then faded," Thorin murmured, his voice fading. "It faded…"

Bilbo and Balin watched him, but Thorin said nothing else. His breathing eased but his face did not relax, remaining weary and tense even in the uneasy slumber it had fallen into. After a moment, Balin stood and pulled the blankets higher on Thorin before stepping back and motioning Bilbo to follow.

"What does this mean, Balin?" Bilbo asked quietly as they stood at the tent entrance. "What will happen now?"

"It means…" Balin trailed away and shook his head. "We must wait and see. The stone might yet shine for the boys, if it won't for Thorin. They did not fall to the gold sickness, or to their greed. And if it won't shine for them… we must test every member of the company."

The old Dwarf smiled grimly at Bilbo. "The stone shone, if only for a while," he said. "We must take it as a hopeful sign. As a sign that the mountain is ready for a new King under the Mountain. We must find the one the Arkenstone will accept now, and hopefully… Erebor might yet be reclaimed."

"And then ruled by two different kings – the King under the Mountain, and the King of Durin's folk?" Bilbo asked. "That sounds… very complicated.

"Well. We shall see," Balin said. "Now, let's find Tauriel and Bard and hopefully we can persuade them not to tell anyone about this yet."

They were too late. Bard had already spoken with someone, and word spread like wildfire among the Dwarves. Though the Men and Elves did not at first know what it meant, it didn't take much for them to guess correctly. Just by watching the way the Dwarves reacted, a mixture of dismay and horror and eagerness, was enough.

Before night fell, everyone in Dale knew. Thorin was not the King under the Mountain, nor did anyone believe he would be.

Bilbo watched it with increasing dismay, how the rumours and gossiping spread. Though the Men did not understand why the Arkenstone's light mattered so much, they accepted its importance eagerly. The Dwarves, already knowing its importance, were just as bad. Because, after all, if Thorin Oakenshield could not be the King under the Mountain, then… then the position was yet open for someone else. And who knew?

"It might even be a Man!" said more than one Man from Lake Town, their eyes blown wide open with hopeful, eager dreams. "It shone in Bard's hand, did it not?"

"If the stone rejects Thorin, then it might just as well reject his nephews – and none of his company is exactly guiltless of the greed that claimed him," the Dwarves could be heard muttering. "Who says it's not Lord Dáin, then, the one who is to rule Erebor."

Bard was called, more than once, to bring the stone out for people to see. The fact that it no longer shone in his hand did nothing to curb the excitement – everyone was calling for the chance, the right even, to touch the stone, to see if it shone for them – if they were the rightful King of Erebor.

It made Bilbo feel more than vaguely sick. What had been a mere faint hope of a better future was blown completely out of proportion and everyone spoke of the riches of Erebor again, and their own personal right to claim them for themselves. All previous arrangements were called to question; the Company's claim to the gold horde was claimed null and void. After all… their leader was a mere King in Exile now, with no right to Erebor, no right to hand away its gold.

Bard was forced to take refuge with the Elves, who had no interest in claiming either Erebor or the Arkenstone, to avoid being mauled by his own people. Bilbo sat with him, feeling dull and hollow, while outside they could hear the Men and Dwarves call angrily to Bard, for the Arkenstone.

"Well, this got quite messy, quite quickly," Gandalf muttered.

"Such seems to be the way of Dwarven kingdoms," Thranduil muttered derisively, glancing at Bard who was resting his head in his hands, looking exhausted. "Though the House of Durin has had this a long time in coming. Their right to rule should've been called to question far before the dragon came."

"That helps no one now," Gandalf said, and turned to Bilbo. "Who all have touched the stone?"

"Thorin, Bard, Balin, and I, I think," Bilbo said dully.

"Balin is related to the house of Durin, and no doubt its eldest member currently," Gandalf muttered, stroking his beard. "And the stone rejected him as well?"

"He examined the stone. It stayed dark in his hand," Bilbo shrugged.

"Has Dáin touched the stone?" Thranduil asked thoughtfully. "After Thorin and his sister's sons, he's the next in line for the throne of Durin."

"He hasn't even seen the stone," Bard answered, lifting his head. "It has just been the ones Bilbo named. I haven't let even my children touch it."

"Well, we must settle that right away," Gandalf said, looking at Thranduil. "Call for Lord Dáin. If the stone shines for him, we can start settling this and all the other matters once and for all."

"Is that the right thing to do?" Bilbo asked uneasily. "Thorin's yet to wake, shouldn't we –"

"Thorin's opinion no longer matters, does it?" Thranduil asked with no small hint of pleasure at the notion. "Erebor isn't his kingdom, nor is that golden hoard his to take. Not unless the true King under the Mountain, whoever that is, approves his claim to it. And chances are they… won't."

Bilbo frowned at that, but he couldn't do much. The whole matter of Erebor and its supposed ownership had gone way past him and he couldn't figure it out – where Thorin's Kingdom ended, and the Kingdom under the Mountain began. As it were, his opinion on it mattered not.

Thranduil called for Dáin without further ado. Judging by how quickly the Dwarven Lord answered, he'd been expecting it. Dáin Ironfoot marched into the tent almost immediately, with an expression like a stormcloud, heavy armour clinking and clanking ominously with every step. He looked ready for battle.

"Let's see it, then," he said, tugging is iron gauntlet off and holding out his hand.

Bard looked up with a somewhat haunted expression. "If the Arkenstone lights up for you, will you honour your kinsman's promise?" he asked suspiciously.

"Even if the stone shines for me, it's still in your possession until we actually barter it back, isn't it?" Dáin snorted, casting an evil look at Thranduil. "The Elves won't have it any other way, will they?"

"We will not," Thranduil answered with a faint smile.

Dáin muttered something in Khuzdul at him, and then looked at Bard. "Well?" he said, clenching and opening his palm. "Bring it out, then. Let's get it over with."

Bard stared at him for a moment before finally sighing and digging the wrapped up stone from his pocket. He unveiled it gently as Dáin leaned in, a look of intense concentration on the Dwarf's face. Then, while Bilbo sucked in a breath and held it, Bard handed it over.

There was not a hint of light in the Arkenstone, as it rested on Dáin Ironfoot's bare, calloused palm.

"Well, that's that then," Dáin harrumphed, turning the dark Arkenstone in his fingers and then handing it over with a grim nod. Apparently, he'd been expecting the stone's reaction – or lack thereof. Then he turned to glare at Gandalf. "Shouldn't you be testing Thorin's company first and outsiders after?"

"We thought it would be prudent to make sure that certain rightful succession was followed first," Gandalf said with a grimace. He'd obviously hoped for a quick and easy solution to the issue. "Thank you, Lord Dáin."

"Hmh," Dáin answered, obviously unimpressed with him. "I'll send the rest of my cousin's company in. You test them first. Then we wait for Thorin's actual heirs to wake and we test them. And then, and only then, do we test anyone else."

"Do they need to be awake to be tested?" Thranduil asked, eyeing the Arkenstone in Bard's palm with a cool expression. "We might as well place the stone in their hands now, awake or not, and see if it reacts."

"I think everyone will feel much better about it, if it's done when they're awake," Gandalf said. "Before that, though, we might just as well see how the Arkenstone reacts to the rest of the company."

A strange sort of exhaustion fell over Bilbo as the company came in, one by one, to test the stone. This wasn't how it was supposed to go, he felt, but could not say. As he swallowed his half-formed objections, Thranduil and Gandalf took seats while Dáin joined them, and then they all watched like judges in a festival game.

Balin tried the stone again without a flicker of expression, and set it down when it again failed to react. Dwalin, next in line of succession after Balin, tried next, his face stormy. The stone did not react to him either. After that it was Óin's turn – and he only took the stone under half mumbled protest, his brother elbowing him until he did. Neither he nor Glóin got a reaction, and they both stepped back, Glóin looking faintly disappointed. Then it was Dori's, Nori's, and Ori's turn – though they had no relation to the house of Durin, distant or otherwise, they were still part of the company. They passed the stone between them quickly, Ori slumping visibly with relief when the stone remained dark. Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur got similar results.

The stone shone for none of them.

"It has to be one of the lads," Bofur said, folding his arms. "If it's really not Thorin, then it's Fíli, I'm betting. He's the King under the Mountain."

"That is yet to be seen," Thranduil answered, looking ever so slightly annoyed. Gandalf seemed similarly vexed by the Arkenstone's lack of reaction.

Bilbo ran a hand over his chin to hide a small, smug smile. No easy fix for their political dilemma – no quick shoe-in for Thorin, after all.

 After the testing of those members of the company who could be tested, they waited. Thorin woke up again later that day, but refused to see anyone but Balin and Dwalin, who stayed in the healing tent for several hours, talking with the King of Durin's Folk. Bilbo heard that Thorin had tried to get a reaction out of the Arkenstone again – after Dwalin had insisted seeing it himself – but with no luck. The Arkenstone remained dark.

Dáin dealt with the worst complainers of his army to get them to quiet down and though the Men of Lake Town still muttered and shouted at Bard to let them test whether or not a Man could be the King under the Mountain, the mood of anticipation eventually spread. With Thranduil, Gandalf, Dáin, and all the Dwarves of Thorin's Company all but holding their breath, waiting for Thorin's nephews to awaken, the ruins of Dale fell into tense expectation.

No one spoke of what might happen, should Fíli or Kíli fail to get the Arkenstone to react to them.

Bilbo eventually returned to the cooking tents of the Men. The expectant mood was getting to him and it was easier to handle it while keeping busy. So he inspected vegetables and set aside those fruit that were getting bad, and with Sigrid and the other human lasses, he prepared for the evening meal. Not far from the tents, some of the Men were starting to do what they could, to repair the worse holes in the buildings that had been deemed suitable for living.

The air, Bilbo noted with some dismay, was getting cold. When it blew from the north, it smelled of smoke and snow.

"How are winters in these parts?" Bilbo asked of Sigrid, as the two of them sorted the ingredients for yet another pot of vegetable soup.

"Not as cold as all that," Sigrid said with certainty that Bilbo could tell was borrowed from someone older, someone who had actually visited places other than Lake Town. Her father, probably. "There is some snow and parts of the lake freezes, but it doesn't freeze solid like it does further north."

"We're not at the lake, though," Bilbo commented and she frowned.

"I think it will be okay," she said slowly. "Only… I've been wondering about where we're going to get firewood. The dragon burned the forests, so there's not a twig left anywhere. There's barely even any grass here. They used to bring lumber on rafts down the river and to the lake, felled from where the Elves allowed. But the lake doesn't reach here. So…"

"That… is a very good question," Bilbo murmured. That was the whole point of the Desolation of the Dragon – why it was called desolation. Smaug had burned the land fifty miles and more in every direction of the Lonely Mountain, destroying what had once been a proud forest. And then the dragon had burned it again when it grew back. There was no wood left, not anywhere near.

And it looked like it would be a cold winter. Would the Elves bring wood to Dale from Mirkwood? Somehow, Bilbo doubted it.

There was a fight later that day, while Bilbo and the girls were cleaning up the kitchen tent for the next day. Bilbo only heard about it later from Nori. A group of Lake Town Men and Iron Hill Dwarves had an argument about who had the right to the Arkenstone – and with it, to Erebor. As the Dwarves had yet to find the supposed King under the Mountain, the Men felt that it should be just fitting that everyone should have a try.

"People are starting to think that it doesn't matter whether the stone glows or not – that just possessing it makes one the King under the Mountain," Nori said thoughtfully. "That Bard, seeing as he has the stone, should be allowed into Erebor."

"Hmm," Bilbo answered noncommittally as he spread out his blankets. Though there were more beds and tents around the city now, he still slept with the majority of the company. Glóin had gotten a tent for himself and his brother nearer to the healing tents – and thus, nearer to the nexus of power in Dale. But the rest of them still shared a tent, their blankets thrown together. Even Balin and Dwalin, despite having been offered better accommodations by Dáin, shared theirs.

Bilbo had a feeling it was because it was simply so much warmer, sleeping in a larger group. That and they'd all gotten used to snuggling into each other during the long journey.

"It's all stuff and nonsense," Dori commented from where he was brushing Ori's hair fastidiously. "As if merely having the Arkenstone is enough. The mountain would shake the fools off, if they thought it was."

"Or bury them in a cave-in, or some other thing," Ori agreed.

Balin, who was brushing his own beard for the night, hummed thoughtfully. "I don't know if it would get to that," he said. "But it would be altogether impossible to rule Erebor without the Arkenstone. Thrór could only do it in the end because by that point he had the mountain memorised. That's the sort of expertise that only age and experience bring. None here has it."

Bilbo settled down on his blankets, listening to the Dwarves talk about the Arkenstone and Erebor and how the Lonely Mountain had moods until he fell asleep, his back against Bombur's and his face tucked against Nori's shoulder.

The next morning, so early that the sun had yet to rise, good news woke them all. Fíli and Kíli, true to their natures of doing nothing alone, had both woken up during the night, and were improving by leaps and bounds. Even Fíli, whose injury had been far more threatening, was awake and alert.

"The power of youth," Dwalin harrumphed at the news of their near miraculous recovery, as the rest of them all but ran to the healing tents, eager to hear more. Balin had already rushed ahead – he'd been the first awoken and called when word had come, and they all knew why.

It was a tense wait outside the healing tent in the dim light of the early morning. Gandalf and Thranduil were both already in the tent. And soon after Bard came, walking past the rest of them, looking tired but determined as he entered the tent. The silence that followed was unbearable, the tension so thick that it felt like it was hard to even breathe, forcing all of them to hold their breaths.

Dáin clanked in, looking irritable and half asleep. He paid none of them any mind as he entered the tent, the tent flap falling shut behind him. The silence stretched on and on, increasingly thick with anticipation. Bilbo shifted awkwardly from one foot to another, wondering if there was time to peek into the kitchen tent. He was sure he could whip up a small breakfast for all of them in no time at all…

Then Balin stepped out, looking grim.

"Don't tell me," Dwalin sighed as they all tensed, bracing for the bad news.

"It didn't react," Balin said, holding the tent flap open. "Gently now, the lads might be awake but they're still badly injured…"

They entered the tent, Dwalin first, then Bofur, then the rest. Bilbo waited until Ori had entered, the last of the Dwarves, before stepping in himself. The tent was elf-sized, but with the entire company there, plus the various others, its capacity was definitely being taxed. It was simply easier for Bilbo to fit himself into whatever space remained, rather than risk being trampled.

He could barely see the princes past the others, but Fíli and Kíli looked, while not good, at least a bit better. Tauriel was there sitting by Kíli and holding his hand in hers – and he in turn barely dared to look away from her. Fíli, whose face was wan with exhaustion and pain, was still holding the dark Arkenstone in his fingers.

"No one has managed to make it light up?" he asked wearily, when the general cacophony of well wishes and delighted comments over the princes' recovery died down.

"Not since Bilbo brought it out of the mountain," Balin commented while Thorin looked at nothing in particular, the look of guilt and misery only badly covered by his scowl.

"Huh," Fíli said, turning the stone in his fingers, eyeing it blearily. "So all of you tried it?"

"It reacts to none of us," Dwalin answered darkly.

"We were hoping it would accept you, Fíli, and if not you then Kíli," Dáin said, his arms folded and a look of worried concentration on his face. "What in the blazes we'll do now, I've no notion. Start testing my warriors, I suppose. See if we can find someone, anyone, who the blasted stone will like."

Fíli blinked. "What's wrong with Bilbo, then?" he asked confusedly.

"Bilbo?" Dáin asked, blinking. "The Hobbit? He's fine the last I saw," he said, and the others quickly murmured assurances of Bilbo's good health.

"He's right here, lad!" Bofur said, taking Bilbo by the neck and pushing through the others, dragging Bilbo from his comfortable nook in the corner of the tent to right beside Fíli's bunk. "Right as rain, see? He's been cooking for the Men, of all things. Nothing to worry about!"

Fíli snorted tiredly at that and held out his hand to Bilbo. Bilbo took it automatically – it, and the stone held in it.

And the whole tent lit up as the Arkenstone began to shine.

Notes:

Merry Christmas :D

Chapter 4

The noise was deafening and Bilbo heard not a word. He stared in blank astonishment at the Arkenstone where it rested on his bare palm. Everything felt very unreal. It continued to glow, its shine as bright if not brighter than the first time he'd seen it, back in Erebor. And as strange. Distantly, his thoughts oddly removed, Bilbo remarked to himself how it looked like a near physical thing, the flickers and rays of light that shimmered around the stone like a halo. It looked like he should be able to feel the light on his hand.

His mind could not quite catch up with it, however. It was glowing, he thought. After all this time and worry and trouble the Arkenstone was finally glowing. Just like that, it was glowing.

It wasn't until Thorin shouted, "SILENCE" that he realised how loud the tent had gotten. Bilbo looked up with wide eyes as the cacophony died down, as Thorin's shout was followed by a horrible bout of wracking coughs – Thorin paying the price for raising his voice. Everyone was staring at Bilbo. Most of them looked alarmed, and a lot of them looked angry.

"That's enough!" Óin said, rushing to Thorin's side and helping him sit up so that he could cough easier. Bilbo could see the blood on his lips just as Óin handed Thorin a rag to cough into. "That's enough," Óin said again, sounding furious. "Everyone out, now! I will not have this sort of rabble in a sick tent. Thorin needs space to breathe in. Out, out! All of you, out!"

It was a testament to the power their healer had over them, how no one in the company put up a single protest. Glóin was the first out of the tent, despite how incensed he looked. Bilbo made a move to get up too, automatically – just as well trained as the rest to follow Óin's orders without question.

Fíli's hand on his wrist stopped him and with a start Bilbo realised that he was holding the Arkenstone – and that it was still glowing.

He'd made it glow.

"Bilbo." The Hobbit thought it was Gandalf who said it, but his ears felt like they were full of hay, and the world was tilting to the side. Everything felt blurry. Thorin was still coughing and there were voices, muttering, hissing. Bilbo almost fell over as the realisation gave way to sudden, overwhelming horror. A hand guided him down to sit on the side of Fíli's bed. It might've been Gandalf, or Dáin, or maybe even Fíli himself. It didn't matter.

 The Arkenstone lay on his hand, brilliantly lit up.

"Bilbo," another voice said, and this time Bilbo managed to tear his eyes away from the stone. It was Fíli, looking up at him from the bed. There was a look of question on his weary face, and concern, and sympathy maybe. Bilbo wasn't sure. His eyes were watering and he couldn't see right.

"Bard, where is – I need to give it back, I need to –" Bilbo gasped, making a move to get up again.

"He's outside," Óin answered from where he stood, hovering over an exhausted looking Thorin. They were alone in the tent now, he and Óin and the injured Sons of Durin. Everyone else, even Dáin, Gandalf, Tauriel, and Thranduil, had been driven out of it. "The Lakeman seems to trust you not to run off with the stone, unlike the rest of us."

"Well, he was the one to hand it over in the first place," Fíli said, the barest hint of a smile on his lips.

Bilbo swallowed, glancing at the Arkenstone and then quickly away, suddenly unable to bear to look at it. It meant too much. "Thorin?" he asked urgently, looking at him instead. "Are you alright?"

"Fine, Master Baggins. I've been coughing blood ever since I woke – clearing my lungs, they say," Thorin said tiredly, waving a hand at Bilbo. He would not look at Bilbo, though, and his expression was tight with pain and what Bilbo could only hope was not anger.

"I can't believe none of you thought this before," Fíli muttered from beside Bilbo. "How was this a surprise to anyone?"

"It was a surprise, lad, trust me," Óin said, casting a glance at Bilbo, at the light shining in his hand.

Bilbo swallowed and after a moment of hesitation, set the stone down on the covers of Fíli's bunk. It continued to glow even after he let go of it, but its shine began to diminish noticeably.

"I don't want this," the Hobbit whispered. "There must be someone else."

"There won't be," Thorin answered tightly, wiping his blood-stained lips. "The stone has chosen. It only chooses one."

"As far as you know!" Bilbo objected desperately, inching away from the Arkenstone and its damning, still faintly lingering, light. "It shone before. We all saw it, didn't we? It shone for you. Even if it won't anymore, there must be someone else. There must be – this has to be some sort of mistake –"

"It shone for you! Not me," Thorin snapped and finally turned to him, to glare – and there was fury and grief in his eyes, betrayal even. "It only ever shone for you, Bilbo. Even if it ever would've shone for me, it will not, not anymore, not ever again."

"But I don't… I can't – I'm…" Bilbo drew a breath and it sounded very much like a sob even to his ears. "I'm not a – I'm not – I'm just a Hobbit! I'm Baggins of Bag End and nothing else. I'm not anyone important. I'm not… T-this has to be some sort of mistake, this –"

"Bilbo," Fíli said, weakly reaching for his hand. "Peace, Bilbo. Calm down."

"Óin, get Balin back in here," Thorin grunted, looking away. "He knew. I know he did. He knew from the start, that old fool. Let him talk to the Hobbit – or better yet, send the Hobbit to talk to him. Him and all the rest. I imagine they have a lot to talk about."

"Thorin," Bilbo whispered brokenly. "I did not mean this. You know that, right?"

Thorin let out a mirthless grunt of a laugh at that. "I know, damn you. Go talk to Balin."

Bilbo looked at him and then cast a look at Fíli and Kíli. They all looked so worn and exhausted. Fíli and Kíli were only just awoken, he realised with dismay, and Thorin was in no way well off yet. He stood. "I'll… talk with Balin," he murmured, his hand sliding from Fíli's lax grip.

"Don't forget the stone," Thorin said, not looking at him and with shaking hands Bilbo wrapped the Arkenstone back in silk, smothering it even as it began to shine again in his hands.

Balin was waiting for him outside with the rest of the company, his face full of a grim sort of sympathy. The big folk were gone, though – no sign of Gandalf, Dáin, and Thranduil anywhere to be seen. Only Tauriel was still there, and the moment Bilbo stepped out of the tent, she stepped past him, returning to the tent and to Kíli's side without a word.

"Come on, lad," Balin said, reaching and gripping Bilbo by the shoulder even as Dwalin and Bifur stepped to flank Bilbo, both of them not so covertly holding onto their weapons. "Let's go talk this through."

"The stone. Bard – I should give it back," Bilbo said uneasily.

"Lord Bard's fine leaving it with you," Balin assured even as he began steering Bilbo away. "He's with Dáin, Gandalf, and Thranduil. They'll see you later. We need to talk this amongst ourselves first."

There were a lot of warriors around, now. Elves. Thranduil's army had not so conspicuously started to position themselves more around the camp, all but blocking the streets. And for a moment Bilbo thought, somewhat inanely, that they were there to stop him from running away.

"Did they see the light?" he murmured.

"The tent walls aren't exactly thick – everyone saw it and everyone heard the commotion that followed," Balin said grimly and Bilbo saw it – the Dwarves and Men that the Elves had pushed back, clearing a vast space around the healing tents. The light of the Arkenstone must've caused an uproar. He thought he might've heard some of it – though it might've just as well been his own blood, roaring in his ears.

Balin and the company steered him away from the street and to one of the Dwarven tents. Dáin's tent, he realised, which had been emptied of all other Dwarves than those of Thorin's company. There, Balin pushed Bilbo to sit at the end of Dáin's table and someone – Bombur – put a goblet of heated wine in Bilbo's hand.

Bilbo drank it all in two desperate gulps. "Thorin said you knew?" he more asked than said, looking up at Balin as everyone found themselves seats, a serious, borderline solemn air about them all.

"I… suspected," Balin admitted, sitting beside him. "You were the only one who had seen the Stone truly shine – in whose hands it had shone the brightest. It only ever reacted to you. I wondered actually why it ever shone in Bard's hands at all. I hoped it meant that the stone was open for others as well… But I suspect now it is because you gave it to him. It must've known your purpose, so the light lingered."

Bilbo blinked, setting the wrapped up Arkenstone on the table. "So I can… give it away?" he asked hopefully.

"I doubt it, lad," Balin said with a sort of sad smile. "If it's taken a shining to you then I'm afraid the rest of us will quite pale in comparison."

"I don't see why," Glóin muttered. "Not that Bilbo isn't a fine Hobbit, but… that's just it. He's a Hobbit! Why would the mountain prefer a Hobbit over a Dwarf?"

The others muttered in a mix of agreement and argument, casting looks at the wrapped up Arkenstone. The shine was now visible even through the heavy silk, shimmering past the ancient threads, and even young Ori had a slightly covetous look about him as he stared at it.

Balin silenced them with a contemptuous snort. "Thrór lost the mountain's – and the Arkenstone's – love by his greed. Thorin, if he ever had it, did the same. Can any of you tell me you did not feel a stirring of gladness in you, when you saw that gold? I cannot. My heart leapt at it."

"Can you blame us?" Dori asked somewhat defensively. "You know the life we live at the Blue Mountains – we all lived it! That gold will change everything for us."

"I can't and I won't – but the mountain can and it will," Balin answered, shaking his head. "If any one of us had found the Arkenstone and had it glow in his hand, what would've we done? Bartered it away for peace without a second thought, perhaps? Hah."

Bilbo swallowed, looking down at his lap. That wasn't the reason why he'd kept it – he knew that, even though he didn't know why he had. When he'd found the Arkenstone and kept it, there had been no threat of war. Thranduil hadn't come yet with his army and Bard had not yet led his people to Dale. Even Smaug had not yet been dead. He'd still kept it, for no other reason than because… because…

Because it had simply felt wrong to hand it over.

"In any case, it doesn't matter what we would've done, or how right or wrong it would have been. The Arkenstone will have none of us. Not us, nor the House of Durin, and I doubt very much it will ever have anyone, not if it can have Bilbo," Balin said with finality.

"And if I leave?" Bilbo asked, looking up wearily. "I don't wish this. I never wished for any of this. I don't… I don't want this."

"And that is precisely why I think the Arkenstone chose you," Balin answered and shook his head. "What do you care for the mountain or its kingdom or its riches? Nothing. You care for kind things, soft and comfortable things. You care for a home. You said yourself that you stayed with us because we had none. That is what you care about. And that makes the difference."

The old Dwarf looked at him steadily and then at the others – addressing them and their faintly uneasy expressions. "If you leave – or worse yet, if you're killed… well. Some fool might think it's a solution and a way to install another King under the Mountain. I think it's a recipe for disaster," he said remorselessly. "The mountain likes you, Bilbo, whether you or we like it or not. It does not bear thinking what it would do, if you were to be kept from it."

Bilbo gaped at him. "K-king under the –" he said and then almost choked.

There was a moment of uneasy silence at that, everyone exchanging looks and Bilbo trying not to pass out as his mind tried and utterly failed to wrap around the concept.

"Bilbo," Balin said finally, his voice quiet, almost gentle. "We need you to do this. You do realise that, right?"

"But –"

"Blazes, it's better that it was someone in the company, rather than someone from the Iron Hills. Or worse yet, a Man or an Elf!" Dwalin said and laid a heavy palm on Bilbo's shoulder. "The Arkenstone chose you. Can’t speak for its taste in Kings, but… well. You seem immune to Gold Sickness. So there's that."

"He did barter his share of the treasure away, with the Arkenstone," Bofur added and frowned. "Never made sense to me, but then…"

"It was a damn fool thing to do, but Thorin wasn't exactly honouring his word," Dori muttered thoughtfully. "He was making liars out of us Dwarves."

"So Bilbo made us honest?" Nori asked with a snort and leaned in, looking at Bilbo. "Tell me, Bilbo. Ignoring all this mess about inheritance and politics and whatnot, what would you do? About all these Men and Elves, I mean. A lot of them are very mad right now, and bitter. With the Arkenstone and the Kingship under the Mountain, you have the power to set it to rights. Would you? Will you?"

Bilbo blinked at that. "Oh dear, is that up to me now?" he asked in horror.

"Looks like," Nori grinned.

"The House of Durin has a claim to a lot of the riches of Erebor, mind you," Glóin said quickly. "They built that kingdom and mined that treasure –"

"From the mountain, which makes it the mountain's property originally," Nori said with a strange sort of mirth in his eyes. "Besides, if Bilbo chooses it now, it's not as if they or we could get our hands on it."

"The company is directly responsible for the liberation of the mountain," Glóin said hotly. "Without us the Dragon would still be there!"

"Actually, that was Bard's doing mostly. Bilbo woke the dragon and got it to move, and Bard killed it," Nori said pleasantly.

"Thorin was the one who drove it out of the mountain!"

"Yes, and that went very well for all of us, didn't it?"

"Er," Bilbo said as the two of them fell into a heated argument over who owned what, treasure and responsibility and credit and all the things in-between. It threatened to split the company apart – into those on Glóin's side, who believed they were owed their fair share, and those on Nori's side, who felt that it was up to Bilbo.

Like it was something Bilbo could actually decide over.

Miserably Bilbo looked down at the bundle of silk that held the blame to all this grief. If only it shined for Thorin, then none of this would've happened. Objectively, he could see why it hadn't – if it understood greed and the damage it could do, and if it really had lost its shine for Thrór over his gold lust then… it made a sort of sense. Not that it had taken a liking to him, precisely, but that it had rejected Thorin. Still, if only it could've been sensible.

No one – no thing – in its right sense would choose a Hobbit for such a task. Him, in charge of such things? It was utterly, completely, ludicrous.

"Well?" Nori's voice brought Bilbo back from his miserable musings, the argument bitterly settled, with Glóin glaring furiously at the table between them. "What will you do, to resolve the tension? You do realise that we're very nearly on the brink of another war here, right, Bilbo?"

He did realise.

"There is a big storeroom," Bilbo murmured tiredly, running a hand over his face. "Near the front entrance of the mountain. There is a quantity of coal there, among other things. I'd start by bringing it out, to Dale. People will need it, to keep the houses warm in the upcoming winter. It would… be a start."

Silence fell over the company.

"What?" someone asked finally. It sounded like Bofur. "Coal?"

"Coal, in a big storeroom – do you mean the Trade Hall?" Dwalin asked incredulously. "Wait, how do you even know about –?”

"The Arkenstone," Balin said quietly and Bilbo looked up, what he'd just said only now catching up with him. Everyone was staring at him and Balin nodded knowingly. "It's already working for him."

"And after the coal," Nori said, urging Bilbo on with a nod. "Then what?"

"The White Gems," Bilbo answered with growing apprehension. He knew now where they were. Thorin had hidden them in the old residential floors of the Royal House of Durin – and somehow Bilbo knew the grand room he'd hidden the White Gems in was where Thorin's grandparents had once spent most of their time away from their duties. He could almost see it, how Thorin had gone there, rummaging through the drawers and chests, looking for something. He hadn't found it, and had later hidden the White Gems in a chest full of clothing.

"I would fetch them and give them back to Thranduil," Bilbo whispered. He could see them. The White Gems, ancient and distant. They'd never been part of the Lonely Mountain, had not come from its veins. There was a strange light in the gems, and they seemed… foreign, and Bilbo could not sense them.

Not like he could sense the gold hoard of Thrór, the gems in it. He'd touched some of them, in his search of the Arkenstone – that crystal, that ruby, that emerald, that diamond… He knew where they'd come from, how they'd been mined. They were part of the Lonely Mountain in a way the White Gems of Lasgalen weren't.

"Oh, dear," Bilbo murmured faintly. Somewhere in the back of his head, he could feel the mines and caverns, corridors and halls within the Lonely Mountain. They opened up, vast and ancient and he could feel them – he knew them, knew their histories, as if he'd spent his whole life studying them.

"Bilbo?" Balin asked quietly.

Bilbo looked up, his eyes wide. "I can feel it," he whispered. "The mountain. There's a river of lava, deep beneath. And a river of water too, that had been redirected to supply the fountains of Erebor. And the large caverns of gas and coal – the pipes that lead the gas to the forges."

"Well. All hail the King under the Mountain," Dwalin muttered, shaking his head.

"Oh, please don't," Bilbo begged, resting his suddenly pounding head against his hands. He felt so very small – he felt almost battered by the sudden immensity of the mountain. It was all around him, beneath him, inside him, and it felt overpoweringly large. He did not feel at all like a King of any sort beside that.

"Well," Balin said with a wry sort of satisfaction. "That's that, then."

There was a moment of silence as the notion settled over the company – some of them still did not seem to like it, but apparently now it was a done thing, somehow, and there was no more talk of Bilbo being unsuitable, a Dwarf being preferable. Whatever they thought was different though, Bilbo didn't quite feel it. He felt… vaguely sick, actually.

"So, how does it feel?" Bofur asked finally, leaning in curiously. "Does the mountain have a will then?"

Bilbo shook his head, though not as an answer. "Yes. No. I don't…" he shook his head again, unable to put it into words.

"Never mind that. That's between the mountain and its King, and no business of ours," Balin said. "Now that we know this won't be changed, we need to figure out what is to follow. Bilbo, will you honour the company's claim to the gold? One fourteenth of the gold to each member."

Bilbo blinked and looked up from his hands. He knew how much there was of the gold, now. He couldn't wrap his mind around its actual tradable worth, but he knew the actual physical quantity. "One fourteenth of all the gold of Erebor?" he asked slowly. "Or just the hoard where Smaug slept?"

"All of the gold – all of it!" Glóin said quickly. "Every single bit of gold!"

"Mined or un-mined?" Bilbo asked.

"You mean there's gold that hasn't been mined yet?" Bofur asked with surprise.

"The gold that's been mined and is readily available, Bilbo," Balin said. "Let's leave the gold that's still in the stone where it is for now."

"One fourteenth of all the readily available gold of Erebor is…" Bilbo did quick sums in his head, trying to recall the dimensions of rooms. "Almost… Two thousand and seven hundred cubic feet," he added. "I think.”

A silence fell over the company at that for a moment.

"That's one fourteenth's share of all the gold of Erebor?" Ori asked finally, his voice faint.

"It's a little hard to tell for sure, but I think that's… about right, yes," Bilbo said and looked up. "The hoard, the statue – well, it's a floor now – plus all the gold in the rocks that's already been mined and there are several sections of underground vaults where there are gold bars in stacks… and, adding to this, the gold in the personal quarters as well, and other statues. Altogether, it's… thirty eight thousand cubic feet, I think. Give or take a thousand or so."

"You've not taken into account the empty spaces between coins," Glóin said, frowning.

"Ah, no," Bilbo answered. "I mean yes – I mean. I don't feel the air. Just the stone and the metal and such. Parts of the mountain. Air's not really… an issue."

Balin fell into his seat with a thump.

"Mahal's forge," Dori muttered.

"That's… a lot of gold," Nori agreed, his eyes wide.

"Two thousand seven hundred cubic feet. That would be enough to fill a large house from floor to ceiling," Bofur said, looking amazed.

Bilbo frowned at them as they all began marvelling at the sum, how they'd never be able to fit it anywhere. Golden floors, golden plates and cups and cutlery – gold tiled walls and floors and ceilings – were all discussed and heartily approved. Everyone seemed to think that gold statues of themselves would be just the thing.

"That is, of course, if Master Baggins approves our claim to the gold!" Balin interjected before the speculation got too wild, and everyone turned to Bilbo again.

"Hm," Bilbo said noncommittally. They all looked like strangers all of a sudden – very much like they had looked, the first time they'd seen the hoard. Did he really know them? How had he ended up in their company, when obviously they had so little in common?

Who were these Dwarves?

"It is our right!" Glóin said, standing up now, banging his fist against the table. "We signed the contract – you signed the contract! One fourteenth! For all of us!"

The others agreed in nods and grumbles, looking at Bilbo.

"Sure," Bilbo said, weary at them and at the feel of it, the gold in the back of his head. It was now a heavy, heavy presence. A sickly, dead weight on his already tired mind. "If you want it, you can have your fourteenth share. And you can take it with you when you leave, too."

"What?" Glóin asked sharply.

"If you want to have it and keep it, to turn it into your statues and plates and tile your houses with it…" Bilbo said slowly. "Then you can't stay in the Lonely Mountain. The mountain does not want the gold. It's sick with the dragon's taint and greed and the mountain doesn't want it. If you want to keep the gold, then you must do it elsewhere. It is not staying in Erebor."

Notes:

Such drama. I tried to research the sum of gold in Erebor, but decided all the sums were too small - too grounded in reality. Taking into the size of the hall where the hoard was, the forges and the gold there, and the fact that there was enough gold on that statue and the following golden floor for Smaug to swim in… So behold, utterly ridiculous final sum of gold. :D

Chapter 5

It became quickly apparent how bad an idea it was to put such a choice before Dwarves. Bilbo had nearly made enemies out of the entire company with his challenge. For all that they managed to agree that it was a good thing, that it was a member of the company who had managed to win the Arkenstone's light, they did not agree with Bilbo's ideas about what was to be done about the gold.

To them, Ereborean gold ought to stay in Erebor, and as to what becomes of the curse, well, re-forging would fix it, right as rain. And what did Bilbo know of gold anyway? He was a Hobbit! Hobbits hardly had any use for gold! Obviously he did not know what he was talking about, but that was alright – they'd show him. Yes, Bilbo was being quite hasty, misguided even, quite naïve really – but he'd see, they'd show him. The gold would be re-forged and he'd see.

"Well, at least now I need not worry about the responsibility of this thing, or whatever duties it might shackle me with," Bilbo muttered, eyeing the Arkenstone bitterly. "As it seems that whatever power it gives me amount to none, when compared to the importance of gold."

"You gave Dwarves an ultimatum over a pile of gold," Gandalf grumbled around his pipe. "What did you expect to happen?"

Bilbo sighed. "I didn't… I don't know. I just grew so very weary," he said and pushed the stone back in his pocket, reaching for his own pipe instead. They were both quite out of pipe weed by now, but it was comforting just going through the motions. "They all seem to become strangers whenever the gold is mentioned, and I am just… so weary of it."

"Hmm," the wizard grumbled, and for a moment they just stared at the bustle of the camp. Bard and Thranduil had both wanted to see him – to begin negotiations and whatnot – but Bilbo had begged off. He would not make any decisions without Thorin's input and right now, well. It didn't really seem like anything would even be up to him.

"That gold is not safe to be around, is it?" Bilbo asked after a moment. "I am not imagining it, am I? The danger in it?"

Gandalf hummed for a moment, chewing on his pipe. "Imagining it? No, I don't think you are," he said and gave a little smile that fell short of being truly merry. "What do you know about Dwarven hoards?"

"I… didn't know they were something that had to be spoken of in plurals," Bilbo said with some unease. "There are several of them?"

"There were," Gandalf said, looking at the camp again. "At the very height of Dwarven power, there were seven. The greatest was in Khazad-dûm – Moria, they call it now. It is what Thorin and his people fought for in that war that ended at the unfortunate battle of Azanulbizar. Dwarves are things of earth and so they feel close kinship with those things that come from it. Metals and gems are to them like flowers and food to Hobbits. Their yearning for those things is merely an innate part of their nature, not an evil quirk of personality. It is, unfortunately, how they are made."

"Hmm," Bilbo answered, frowning a little.

"But the Dwarven hoards are a… special evil," the wizard continued. "They all started from a single point, you know. Seven magic rings that were given to the seven Dwarven lords – seven traps for them to fall for. In them lay a seed of greed that kindled what was a fondness for gold to an all-consuming love. And so, the hoards began, and at the heart of them all was a single ring."

Bilbo frowned at that. "Magic rings?" he asked somewhat awkwardly. "Really?"

"It's a long and grim tale, perhaps best left for another time," Gandalf murmured thoughtfully. "At any rate, the hoards that accumulated around those rings were tainted by them and their greed. The greater the hoards grew, the greater the pull they had on that innate Dwarven love – the bigger the hoard, the more dangerous the trap. The gold of Erebor is the last of those hoards."

"What happened to the others?" Bilbo asked, shifting where he sat.

"I'm sure you can guess," Gandalf chuckled darkly. "Gold hoards affect not only Dwarves, after all. They all fell to dragons – except for Moria, which fell to something far more dangerous. From first to last, they all fell. And of all of them, only one has been retrieved," he added, nodding towards the Lonely Mountain that loomed above them. "And that hoard is made all the more dangerous by the brooding of a dragon."

Bilbo nodded, eyeing the mountain, trying to ignore the weight of its treasure in the back of his mind. "So I am right. It can't remain here."

"Sure it can. Just, not safely," Gandalf said and glanced at him. "You do know that I did not support this venture just for the gold, don’t you?"

"I had a suspicion," Bilbo said and lowered his eyes. "And I heard you and Thranduil and Bard argue over it. Something about Angmar."

"Angmar as it was might not exist, but those fortresses and cities still lay north of us, and many other things besides," Gandalf said. "Times are changing. There is a darkness creeping about. Nothing but a greater commanding force could move such an Orc army. Azog was a powerful leader, but he was never powerful enough to build such a force, to arm it so well. Something is coming – something that will require preparations."

He turned to look at Bilbo. "The Iron Hills and its Dwarven warriors north of us, and Mirkwood and the Elves west of us are both forces to be reckoned. But they are far removed from each other, and hardly allies. It was only when Erebor stood at the height of its power, when Dale was flourishing, that the region was truly united," he said urgently, his voice strange and grave. "Erebor, Bilbo, rules these lands. Not merely by the merit of its wealth, but for its location. It is the nexus of the region."

"So I've gathered," Bilbo said, frowning at his pipe.

"If another war comes – and I cannot see a future where it does not, not having seen what happened here…" Gandalf shook his head. "Erebor must be strong. It must return to what it was. To pull the region together, to secure it as a defence against whatever lies north."

Bilbo sighed at that and chewed on his cold, smokeless pipe in agitation. "I don't see why you're telling me this," he said somewhat sullenly. "I might hold the Arkenstone but it doesn't seem to quite matter anymore."

"Oh it matters, it matters very much," Gandalf chuckled darkly. "Now that I know of its true power – now that word of it is spreading… The company might be bitter and sullen now, but they will see."

"See what?" Bilbo answered.

"That the true strength of the Arkenstone doesn't lie in the light, or its ability to show you the veins of precious metals that run in the ground," Gandalf said and quirked a smile at Bilbo. "Tell me. How many people – Elves, Men, and Dwarves – are there in Dale right now?"

"Two thousand four hundred and eighty nine Men, four hundred and twenty seven Dwarves, and nine hundred and seventy five Elves," Bilbo answered promptly.

"Where is Bard?"

"With his children. They're eating supper."

"And Thranduil? What is he doing?"

"He's in his tent. He's writing something, and looking over some maps. It's all in Elvish though."

Gandalf smiled as what he was doing dawned on Bilbo. "Oh," the Hobbit said, blinking. "Oh."

"You see now?" the wizard asked. "After the Arkenstone was found and Erebor grew wealthy, do you not think people tried to take that wealth for themselves? No land rush ever worked on Erebor, however – no thievery ever succeeded. It was credited to the strength of the fortress, to Thrór's superior martial cunning, how he seemed to just… know what his enemies were doing. How he could just root out the traitorous members of his court, oust the deceitful ambassadors, and catch the spies and thieves in the night, all without ever needing any sort of investigation," The wizard chuckled. "Now that I know of the Arkenstone, however, it all makes sense."

"Oh, good grief," Bilbo murmured, rubbing at his forehead. "I didn't even realise. And I can tell what has happened too – not here so much, but inside the fortress."

"I'm not surprised. Mountains have long memories," Gandalf smiled.

"Still. It does not matter if no one listens to me," Bilbo said. "As it is, I'm not sure I want them to listen to me."

"Hmm," the wizard answered, glancing at him.

"I did not want this. I do not want this. I want…" Bilbo trailed off and sighed. "I want to go home, Gandalf. I want to go back to the Shire and to Bag End and I want to claim nothing as much as I want to claim my armchair, and rest my feet on the stones of my fireplace, and maybe even finish that silly adventure novel I was reading, the day before the company came. And the most I want to deal with is the gossip of my relatives and neighbours, not this… regional politics nonsense."

He let out a breath and looked up to the wizard. "But I can't, can I? I can't ever go home. Not unless the Arkenstone finds someone else it likes, and everyone seems to think it won't."

Gandalf just looked at his pipe for a long while. "You are quite desperately needed here," he said finally. "The situation in the camp is growing worse every day. The Elves are growing restless. Thranduil is… not pleased with any of this – calls it stalling. The Men are cold and hungry and still teetering on the edge of whether or not they'll stay or leave. And the Dwarves…"

He turned to Bilbo. "You need to speak with Thorin."

"I would love to. He will not speak with me," Bilbo grumbled.

"We'll see about that," Gandalf said and stood up, grabbing his staff as he did. "This won't take but a moment." Bilbo was half certain that Gandalf used his staff to whack Thorin over the head or some other thing. It was the only way to explain how quickly he managed to persuade Thorin to change his mind. Bilbo was called not ten minutes later to the healing tent. Thorin alone was awake. Fíli and Kíli were both in an easy, if still very weary looking, slumber.

Thorin did not look happy with Gandalf, who strode out the moment Bilbo entered, looking quite pleased with himself. "Well then, Master Burglar. Come, sit," the King of Durin's Folk said. "Let us talk."

"Are we going to talk or are we going to argue, though?" Bilbo asked, glancing at the princes. "Because if it is the latter then I would prefer we held off until your nephews weren't resting. They look like they need their sleep."

Thorin snorted softly at that, shaking his head. "We won't argue," he said, and there was something strange about his face. A softness that did not belong there. "Sit. Let's talk while I'm soused with the damned Elven medicine. This is as agreeable as you're going to find me on this damn bed."

Bilbo blinked at that and then sat on the seat beside Thorin's bunk. "You are soused with… medicine."

"It's very pleasant actually. Takes the pain away quite efficiently," Thorin said, closing his eyes. "It's all unnatural Elven nonsense of course, but still. Quite pleasant."

"Well, you are drunk," Bilbo snorted.

Thorin smiled, not opening his eyes. "And for once it was you who made the company angry," he said. "Very angry. Even Balin was angry with you and he likes you."

"They were being… Dwarves," Bilbo muttered at that.

"It was very crudely put, from what I heard. Whatever were you thinking, making such a taunt?"

"It wasn't a taunt. An ultimatum, at most. A suggestion made perhaps a bit too strong by my exasperation," Bilbo answered, folding his arms with a sigh. "Whatever will the mountain has or hasn't aside, it does not bear the weight of that gold gladly. It wears on it."

"Hm," Thorin answered, his voice a deep, thoughtful rumble. "So it all must go?"

"Not all of it. The hoard, and what gold was spilled onto the floor of the Hall of Kings," Bilbo answered, considering. "The gold the dragon touched. It's about five sevenths of all of the gold in the mountain. The private vaults, what remained at the forges and the raw nuggets not yet processed, those are still pure."

"So, ten fourteenths of the gold in the mountain is cursed?" Thorin said quietly. "With the dragon’s sickness?"

Bilbo shook his head. "It's… yes, well. Something like that," he said and ran a hand over his face. "It feels like gangrene, Thorin. Like a disease. I imagine it's whatever evil magic that dragons possess, rubbed off on it. Even if the mountain did not detest it so, I can't imagine a situation where keeping it would be safe."

Thorin sighed and opened his eyes. "And is it really the mountain's will, rather than your own annoyance speaking for it?"

"My annoyance?"

"It is not as if you've made any effort to hide your opinion of Dwarves and gold," Thorin said pointedly. "You don't like our love for it."

"I don't like what that love does to you," the Hobbit answered, his voice hard. "I don't like what it turns you into."

"And so you'd rather be done with it. Send it away, deprive us of it," the Dwarf said accusingly.

Bilbo sighed. "Well if that's what you think, then sure, why not. I would rather rip every last coin from your hands and leave you utterly destitute than see you fall into the madness again – than see anyone from the company, any Dwarf in general, fall for it," he said in irritation. "If that makes me a villain, then I'll be a villain. A fine Hobbitish villain, the depriver of gold."

Thorin snorted at that, very close to actually snickering at Bilbo. "How can you even say that with a straight face?"

"It's the power of us evil villains. You wouldn't understand," Bilbo said imperiously and grinned as Thorin chuckled at him. "You are very addled right now, aren't you? Out of curiosity, what was the medicine the Elves gave you? I must get more of it, it makes you very agreeable."

"Don't you dare," Thorin chuckled. "My pride could not take it."

Bilbo snorted at that, shaking his head. "Your pride can take many hits and still stand above us all, Thorin Oakenshield," he said, watching the smile linger on the Dwarf's face. "You know I'm right though," he said – or maybe begged. "That gold is not safe. So long as it remains in Erebor, it will remain a danger."

Thorin sighed. "So, that's your plan then? Give the rest of the company their share, and then send them off with it?" he asked, looking at him. "And who will get the other four pure shares?"

"Don't be ludicrous. Even if it was up to me to send anyone away – which it is not, I am under no delusions about that – it would never work. For one, it would take something like… three thousand horses just to carry one share of the fourteenth from the mountain," Bilbo said with a weary laugh. "Trying to even attempt it is a horrifically bad idea, from start to end. And secondly… I would never send anyone from the company away, no matter how hard-headed and foolish they are."

"Then what would you do?

Bilbo snorted and stared at his knees for a moment. "Trade it?" he asked almost plaintively. "What would any one person even do with that sort of gold? What use is it to anyone, if not for barter? Sure, a gold statue might be nice to look at. But all the same, I'd rather have warm clothing and wood in my fireplace and maybe even a proper bed to sleep in, if it were up to me."

Thorin stared at him expressionlessly.

"There must be hundreds of things Erebor needs," Bilbo said desperately. "It's been empty for how long now? Almost two hundred years. If anyone is to settle it, it needs food to start with. If anything remains from before, it would've rotted and dried and turned to dust by now! It was quite cold too, inside the mountain, so the people will need clothing. And boots, I suppose, since it will be settled by Dwarves. And there are so many things that need fixing – collapsed tunnels and broken bridges, pillars that I would not trust to support the ceilings… The stone to fix them will come from the mountain itself, yes, but any construction requires wood too. And for all the things that Erebor has, it doesn't have hard metals. Iron is needed, obviously, and so many other things besides."

Bilbo took a deep breath. "I think… if the gold is spread out, if it's traded out, if it's… exchanged, then the curse will lessen and wear off," he said. "So let's keep the pure gold in Erebor, and trade the impure one for things Erebor needs."

"Hmm," Thorin hummed noncommittally.

"Dale needs to be rebuilt too. For that they will need materials from elsewhere," the Hobbit added quietly. "And they will need other things as well, for the future. Farms and such, to feed the cities – Dale and Erebor both. And farms require a whole slew of things. Animals and seeds and saplings. And with the earth so burnt here, new fertile soil might be needed as well. Not to mention the expertise to actually make it work seeing that the Men of Dale as they are now are lakemen – fishermen and not farmers…"

There was a chuckle behind him and with a start Bilbo glanced over his shoulder, to see Fíli awake again. "Sounds like you mean to remake the entire region, Bilbo," the blond Dwarf said, grinning at him.

"Yes, he has very grand plans, doesn't he?" Thorin snorted, shifting where he lay, pushing back against the pillows. "Have you talked with the men of Lake Town about these plans? Or Thranduil?"

Bilbo slumped a bit where he sat. "No, of course not," he said. "I would not actually do anything or enter any sort of bargain without you."

"It is well within your right. You're the King under the Mountain," Thorin said calmly.

"I'm no such thing," Bilbo snorted. "Erebor is and will always be a Dwarven kingdom and all know it. Your kingdom – no matter whatever the Arkenstone seems to think."

Thorin frowned at that, looking at him. "You really think that?"

"Well, yes, obviously," Bilbo said and shook his head. "I'm just a Hobbit, Thorin. I'm no King. Why anyone entertains this charade I don't know, but …"

"Bilbo," Thorin said, his voice a low aggravated growl. "The Arkenstone glows for you."

"Yes but that doesn't actually mean I lead a kingdom, does it? I mean it was very startling in the beginning, but in the end it doesn't actually mean that I'm a king of any sort. So I can find everything and everyone around these parts. That just makes me good at finding things, nothing else," Bilbo said, waving a hand. "A kingdom is a nation of people, not a place. And the people, in this incidence, are yours."

"Mahal save me from foolish Hobbits," Thorin groaned while Fíli started to chuckle quietly. "Bilbo, the nation of people as you put it might be mine, but Erebor is yours."

Bilbo sighed. "That's very fine nonsense, all of it," he said somewhat irritably. "I'll be the grandest of all landlords across all the lands. It does not make me a King."

Fíli was outright cackling at him now.

Thorin just sighed at him. "A landlord and a banker, the great overseer of all," he said, rolling his eyes. "Who owns the lands and all the riches on those lands. No, that is not at all like a king, is it?"

"I'm glad you see it my way," Bilbo said pleasantly.

"Hobbits," Thorin grumbled but there was a look of weary fondness on his face.

"But to return to the previous matter," Bilbo said. "Does it not seem like the right thing to do? Surely you see the gold must not remain. The risk in it is too great."

"I do see. It pains me deep in my Dwarven heart, but I do see," Thorin sighed. "The problem is, you cannot do what you plan and honour the company's contract at the same time. Not if you mean to trade ten shares of the fourteen away."

Bilbo sighed at that. Again Thorin made it sound like it was up to Bilbo. "I had hoped I could make them see reason," he said. There was… so much of the gold. So very much. What could any one person – or even any one family do with that sort of wealth? Aside from tiling their homes’ floors and walls with it and building solid gold statues of themselves, there was simply too much for anyone to spend. Bilbo wouldn't have known what to do with one hundredth – or even one thousandth – of the treasure, himself.

"I mean," Bilbo said. "Divide the pure gold in fourteen and it's over seven hundred cupid feet of gold per share. Isn't that already far more than anyone could ever use?"

"Seven hundred cubic feet? Per each member of the company?" Fíli asked faintly from his bed. "Good Mahal, we're counting the gold by cubic feet…"

Thorin hummed, his eyebrows drawing together. "So, you'd share out the pure gold among the company, and use the impure, dragon tainted gold for Erebor's, Dale's, and the region's restoration?" he asked slowly. "Exchanging it for trade goods?"

Bilbo shrugged somewhat helplessly. "It… well. It seems the best solution I can come up with," he trailed off and sighed. "It's just an idea. I suppose there's no hope of it being taken seriously."

"Oh, Bilbo," Thorin murmured, shaking his head. "Tauriel?"

"Yes?" the Elf asked from where she sat reading beside Kíli’s bed.

"Have you a knife to lend me for a moment? The healers seem to have liberated all of mine."

Bilbo watched uneasily as the ginger elf stood, grabbing a clever looking blade straight from her belt. She handed it to Thorin handle first, and Bilbo wondered what must've transpired between the two of them. The exchange seemed, while not quite easy, somewhat convivial. Some sort of truce had been struck, at any rate.

Then Thorin used the blade to saw off the braid beside his left ear, and Bilbo had no thought to give to Tauriel. He was too busy gaping at Thorin in horror.

"Thank you," Thorin said, handing the blade back to Tauriel. While both Bilbo and the female elf stood watching in confusion, Thorin eased the beads off the braid and then unwound the dark hair. "Bilbo, come here. Bend down."

What transpired next was one of the most confusing things that Bilbo had ever played part in. While he leaned over Thorin awkwardly, the King of Durin's Folk took a strand of Bilbo's hair beside his pointed ear and then began braiding his own cut off hair into it, starting close to the roots and winding the locks of hair cleverly together.

"Have you any sort of string, Tauriel?" Thorin asked calmly and she wordlessly handed over a strap of leather which Thorin used to bind the braid. "There," the Dwarf said, satisfied.

Bilbo leaned back, touching the braid in bafflement. It hung there, heavy and long enough to reach his chest and utterly strange. "… What?" he asked, his voice faint.

Thorin smiled, as close to enigmatic as he'd ever looked. "You might not think it so, but you are the King under the Mountain. And humbled, I pledge myself to your service, my King," he said and cleared his throat. "Apologies. There are actual proper words and ceremonies but I've quite forgotten them."

Bilbo gaped at him wordlessly.

"Balin can explain it to you better," Thorin assured him. "He'll probably shout at me for not doing it properly, actually. It's how our knights pledged themselves to my grandfather, long ago. It's a sign of… many things. My humility in this case."

"Have you gone mad again?" Bilbo asked, his voice going high with horror, and Thorin laughed at him.

"Bilbo?" Fíli called from his bed and Bilbo just barely managed to tear his eyes away from Thorin. Fíli made a come hither sort of motion at him, grinning from ear to ear. "Come here. Tauriel, give me that blade for a moment, please."

"Are we pledging loyalty to Bilbo now?" Kíli asked sleepily, yawning.

"No one's pledging anything. Your uncle is made silly by his medicine and will probably regret this when he comes to his senses again," Bilbo answered, standing up with every intention of making a run for it. They were all sick and bedridden, after all. It wasn't as if they could follow. "I think I will come back once he feels more like himself."

"Bilbo," Thorin said. "Don't make light of my pledge. I do mean it."

"You're clearly addled," Bilbo answered, stepping back.

"I am not," Thorin retorted, giving him a level look. "Do not remove it. Please."

Bilbo hesitated and lowered his hand from the braid. It felt so very weird, but no, of course he couldn't remove it. He might not know its true meaning, but he knew enough about Dwarves to know the importance of their hair and braids. Just from the grievous hassle that was involved with Thorin keeping his beard short, it did not take much to figure out that anything that required cutting off hair was quite serious in Dwarven culture.

"Thank you," Thorin said, giving Bilbo a smile. "If you manage to convince the company of the wisdom of your idea about the sharing of the treasure, know that I back you on it. Seven hundred cubic feet is quite enough for any Dwarf, I think. For the rest… I trust your judgement."

Bilbo swallowed and collapsed to sit beside him again. "And the White Gems of Lasgalen?" he asked. "I want to give them back to Thranduil, and end the conflict with the Elves. Do I have your backing on that, too?"

Thorin took a breath and released it slowly. "Yes," he said, though begrudgingly. "Yes. I imagine you know where they are?"

"I know where you hid them, yes," Bilbo murmured somewhat guiltily.

The Dwarf's smile was wry and mirthless. "Go and fetch them, then, and bring us peace."

"Before you go, though, come here. Don't let this be for nothing," Fíli said. He was holding a cut off braid of his hair, grinning smugly all the while.

Chapter 6

The meaning of the braids – and Bilbo ended up leaving the healing tent with not one or two, but three of them – was even more serious than Bilbo suspected. Balin sputtered in horror at the sight of them, and the rest of the company was quite struck dumb as they quickly figured out where the braids had come from.

"Oh, those idiots," Dwalin said, running a hand over his face. "Did Thorin go mad again?"

"You know, that's exactly what I said," Bilbo answered, fingering the braids uneasily. Thorin's braid was on the right side of his face, Fíli's and Kíli's on the left, and he was acutely aware of how unnatural they looked in his hair. None of them, not even Fíli's, was much like his own hair colour, and the parts where the hair were interwoven were very obvious. "I suppose it looks very silly."

"What in Mahal's name did you say to them?" Balin finally choked out, coming forth to check the braids over with a strange sort of urgency, checking the braiding and the binding. "At least they didn't give you their beads. Which part of their hair did they cut off?"

"The part on the left side of their faces. I think it was that one with all three. Is that bad?" Bilbo asked nervously when Balin groaned at the words. At their urging, Bilbo then explained what happened. "As far as I understood it, this is Thorin's way of objecting to my disclaim of the title King under the Mountain," he added, shifting where he stood. "I suppose in true Oakenshield fashion, he took his gesture too far."

"I don't know. He could've taken it farther and just asked for your hand in marriage there and then," Bofur chortled.

"He bastardized about… a dozen different ceremonies and played none of them right," Balin groaned. "Some of our knights used to present a braid of hair to King Thrór, as a symbol of their devotion and loyalty and intention of serving him above all others. Only a few of them actually did it – it was also considered a vow of, well, a type of chastity. A symbol of their intention to forego creating families while they're in military service."

"I gave some of my hair to King Thrór," Dwalin said, looking at the braids thoughtfully. "It was ceremoniously burned."

Balin nodded. "The hair was never actually braided to Thrór's own hair. Things of that nature are only done in true unions of family. Marriages and adoptions and such. And even then the sum of hair transferred tends to be small. There's a finger's worth of each of their hair here!"

"So they shouldn't have done it?" Bilbo asked uneasily.

"And they cut off an actual braid – a visible braid!" Balin added. "The House of Durin is made of fools!"

"It makes for a very strong and obvious gesture," Dwalin explained gruffly. "To cut off hair where its absence is clearly visible. It's something done in… shame, mostly."

"Shame?" Bilbo asked with dread.

"Hm. You know they've all kept their beards short, of course – well, aside from Kíli who can hardly even grow one yet," Dwalin said thoughtfully. "Now that Erebor is reclaimed, they will let theirs grow again, I imagine. What they did, is similar to that."

"Oh, good grief. Thorin said it was a symbol of his humility, but –"

He stopped when Bofur snorted. "Humility. Thorin Oakenshield, humbled. You really must've riled him up."

Balin harrumphed, leaning back and regarding Bilbo. "Well. They're all fools, but I suppose it makes their intention obvious at any rate. And there might even be some small good in this. If there were any expectations of you and Thorin fighting for power, there won't be now, not with him pledging his allegiance to you so obviously. And he did it oh so very obviously."

"I can't believe them," Glóin muttered. "And after the Hobbit's ludicrous plans too."

"About that, actually," Bilbo said, clearing his throat. "I talked it over with Thorin…"

While seven hundred cubic feet of gold wasn't quite as attractive a sum as two thousand and seven hundred, the idea that it was truly pure and completely free of the dragon's taint did garner some interest. That, and the fact that those seven hundred could be kept safely within the mountain. Granted, of course, that it be kept separate and not put in a big pile.

"The dragon tainted gold probably still needs to be forged again, and the hoard separated into manageable bits, stored away in chests maybe, something of that nature," Bilbo added. "And the floor that was created must be broken up and removed, as quickly as possible, and no one should walk over it. It should lessen the danger of the hoard, to begin with, but it will not be safe before it is completely moved to where it can't influence anyone."

"So you'll just send it off?" Glóin asked suspiciously. "Where?"

"I won't be sending it off," Bilbo shook his head. "I'll be trading it, buying whatever Erebor and the region needs with it. Food and wood and cloth and whatnot. Whatever we need to restore Erebor and Dale. I suppose you could think of it as filtering it into safer forms of wealth."

"Hrmm," Glóin said, looking at him with narrowed eyes. "Filtering it. So, what you're saying is that if someone brought gold from elsewhere, and we exchanged it with the dragon tainted gold, that would be safe gold?"

"Well… yes, I suppose it would be, though it sounds very much like needless hassle," Bilbo said thoughtfully. "Having a hoard, any sort of hoard, is not safe. Smaug is a testament to that, after all. So long as it is known that there is such a sum of gold here, it will attract unseemly attention. I would much rather a wealth of fine wine and exotic spices. No one's starting wars over wine and spices."

"You'd be surprised," Balin muttered, but he looked thoughtful. "It's a lot of gold to spend."

"I don't know, I can think of a lot of things to spend it on," Dori commented thoughtfully.

"I can too," Bilbo said. The more he thought about how to restore the area, the more it seemed like there was to be done. "There is a lot that needs fixing in these parts. And the sooner we begin, the better. So what say you?"

"Seven hundred cubic feet, and a home in the Lonely Mountain," Bofur said thoughtfully. "Or two thousand and seven hundred and exile from it. Hmm…"

"And if we all take the exile?" Glóin asked.

Bilbo sighed, looking at them. "You're welcome to do so. It will solve the problem of the tainted gold quite easily too, to have you cart it off. But you do realise that the transportation of the gold will be both perilous and quite time consuming, right? And you'll have to manage it on your own. Such an undertaking will take time, and right now it is time we don't quite have. Not with winter almost here."

"How much does two thousand and seven hundred cubic feet of gold weigh?" Ori asked, a frown on his face. "How much does a single cubic foot of gold weigh?"

"Eighty five stones, give or take," Dori answered, also frowning. "Gold is heavy."

"S-so two thousand and seven hundred cubic feet would weigh over two hundred thousand stones?" Ori asked, looking faint. "How many horses would it take to pull that?"

"Thousands, easily."

Bilbo looked at them as they calculated the sums in their head, figuring out what sort of undertaking it would be, to get the gold out of the mountain. Glóin was looking at him, though. Apparently he'd already done the sums, probably even planned the travel routes.

"Considering how hard it would be to get all of that gold out of here, how do you think you'd manage, getting rid of all of the tainted gold?" Glóin asked.

Bilbo shrugged. "Send out word to any trader selling what we need. Knowing the prices we're able to pay, I imagine they'll come to us. I mean… isn't that why Dale was the greatest trading city in these lands in the first place?"

"Aye, it was. Word is already spreading anyway. People will soon start showing up – some to see, a lot to settle, all of them looking to get their share," Dwalin said gruffly. "If nothing else, there will be a lot of people looking for work. Men and Dwarves both…"

Bilbo shrugged. "All the better for us. There's a lot to be done. But you lot need to decide what you're doing now."

The Dwarves looked at each other, none of them willing to be the first to speak. "I guess, Thorin and the lads are staying, and they're going to take their smaller share of the pure gold," Dwalin said, looking at Bilbo, at the braids.

"That's the impression I got, yes," Bilbo agreed.

"They would have to stay, wouldn't they. It's their home, their kingdom," Bofur said. "Even if it has another King too."

"Don't call me that," Bilbo said with a sigh, folding his arms.

"King Bilbo the First under the Mountain," the miner said, grinning at him.

"And what a king he makes," Glóin muttered thoughtfully, stroking his beard and watching Bilbo. "And if we stay, what will be our part in your kingdom?"

Bilbo blinked. "You're… well, you're the company," he said, looking from one Dwarf to another. "I rather assumed you'd help make the government. To start with, at any rate."

"So, a smaller share and governmental work," Nori said with a snort, reaching for something in his belt. "I'll bow out of your offer, if you don't mind."

Bilbo looked at him sadly. "Well, that's your right, I won't blame you for –" he stopped as Nori brought out a knife and reached for the back of his own head. They all fell silent, watching as Nori came away with a strand of his hair – about a finger thick.

"Nori!" Dori gasped while Ori gaped at his sly brother. "What in Mahal's name are you doing?"

"Pledging my allegiance to my King," Nori said calmly. "Mind if I braid this in, Bilbo?"

"Um," Bilbo said in utter and complete bafflement. Nori didn't wait for his answer and just stepped up to do as he meant. His hair was shorter than the braids the Durins had braided in, but just as thick. It found its home just behind Bilbo's left ear, behind Fíli's and Kíli's braids.

"I'll take some handful of gold, for myself. A dozen cubic feet would be about enough, I think," Nori said as he did the braiding. "The pure stuff, if you don't mind. That, a home somewhere in the mountain, and some work which I will figure out the details of later. I'm not really suited for council work at any rate, so don't count me in for that."

"Nori, you fool!" Dori snapped.

Bilbo stared at Nori in astonishment as the thief bound the braid and stepped back, looking quite pleased with himself. "Well," he said, touching the little braid. And for some reason, the fact that Nori had hidden it in the shadow of Fíli's and Kíli's braids made him wonder about its meaning to the Dwarf that had made it. "Well," he said again and cleared his throat. "Alright then."

The others stared at Nori in a mixture of horror and confusion for a while before Dwalin let out a snort. With Balin staring at him in dismay, he too went to cut off a strand of hair from the back of his head. Bilbo could do nothing but stare at him in wordless wonder as he went to braid it into his hair – behind Bilbo's right ear, in the shadow of Thorin's braid.

"We can figure out the exact sum of gold later," the brusque warrior said as he gently braided the hair in, his fingers far more nimble than Bilbo would've expected them to be.

Bofur, Bombur and Bifur muttered something amidst themselves in Khuzdul before Bifur stepped forward, a length of black and white hair in hand. The three braids went to Bilbo's neck and as Bilbo stood still for them to be braided in, he felt a queer moment of vertigo and had to wonder if he'd fallen asleep and was dreaming the whole thing. He had to be.

"I must look so very weird right now," Bilbo muttered somewhat dizzily, as an angry looking Dori and an eager looking Ori stepped forward too. Apparently, the whole thing was catching, somehow, and now that it had begun it wouldn't stop. Even Balin, looking somehow both white and red at the same time, was holding a knife, waiting for his turn furiously.

"Absolutely ridiculous," Bofur agreed cheerfully, stepping back to admire Bilbo with his strange braids. He grinned. "But you just wait. We'll make a Dwarf of you yet."

Glóin was glaring at them all crossly by the time his elder brother had stepped back, having braided another strand of white beside Balin's elaborate braid. "Well this is a fine ordeal, isn't it," Glóin muttered.

"We're a bunch of fools, all of us," Balin agreed with a rueful sigh. "But I suppose, as gestures go…"

Glóin put his braid just slightly behind Thorin's braid, glaring at Bilbo the whole while. "I'll take my seven hundred cubic feet and not an ounce less, you hear me?"

Bilbo smiled at him. "I hear you. Thank you, Glóin," he said and looked at the others, the weight of the braids strange and foreign and oddly comforting. He must've looked so very ridiculous, with braids of so many different colours and lengths coming from beneath his actual hair. "I can't say I understand any of this, but… thank you, all of you."

Balin just harrumphed. "Well, now that we've made a proper disgrace of ourselves… now what?"

"Now we go back to Erebor. There are things that I need to fetch," Bilbo said, relaxing a little.

"You're going to go get the White Gems of Lasgalen, then? I think I'll refrain from joining you. I want to speak with Thorin," Balin said, shaking his head. "It's too little too late, but perhaps I can still talk some sense into him."

Óin begged off as well, but the rest quickly began getting ready for the venture. With the preparations under way, word of it spread across camp almost instantly. Bilbo was soon besieged by the local lords – Bard, Thranduil, and Dáin all demanding his attention.

Then they all spent a moment gaping at him, at the braids. Dáin sputtered for a moment at him, and then he let out what sounded terrifyingly like a giggle before finally bursting into hysterical laughter. Thranduil made a face at him and then at Bilbo and asked, almost delicately, "Dwarf hair, I imagine? Does it not smell something awful?"

Bilbo just glared at him.

Bard looked between the Dwarf lord, now bent over and gasping, and Thranduil, whose nose was all but scrunched in disgust. "I…" he said and then shook his head, clearing his throat. "So you and your company have come to an agreement, then? Over the whole… Arkenstone business?"

"Something like that," Bilbo said almost gratefully, turning his attention to the Man who, obviously, was the only other sensible person in all of Dale. "For now, I suppose I'll be… acting for us," he said, with a swallow.

"As the King under the Mountain," Thranduil said, still eyeing the braids.

Bilbo just sighed at that. "Lord Dáin?" he asked almost plaintively.

"Yes, Halfling?" the Dwarf lord wheezed.

"Are you alright?"

"Never better," Dáin gasped and straightened. "Oh, I needed that," he said, patting at his belly through his armour. "Has your whole company eaten some funny mushrooms or something? Because if so, I am deeply offended that they did not share. That Thorin's hair I see at your right ear, then?"

"Yes, my lord Dáin, it was the first one they put in," Bilbo agreed with a sigh. "And there were no funny mushrooms involved, aside from whatever the Elves fed Thorin. Otherwise, I assure you, I'd have partaken in them myself and then shared them around liberally."

The Dwarf lord chortled, stepping forward to examine the braids with a strange mixture of joviality and deadly seriousness. He touched Thorin's braid first, checking the binding. "The lads' braids?" he asked, and then examined Fíli's and Kíli's braids, before looking at the rest as Bilbo named them one by one.

"Balin and Glóin too, hmm," Dáin said, while Thranduil sighed in exasperation and Bard merely looked on in confusion. "Well, this is a new day. And may all hail the King under the Mountain, as he comes at last to his own. May songs be sang and drinks be drank and joy spread all across the lands. We'll have a great party tonight! Yes, indeed!"

"No we will not," Bilbo disagreed exasperatedly. "Be sensible, lord Dáin, there is nowhere near enough food or drink to go around for any sort of party."

"Nonsense," the Dwarf lord said as he stepped back. "I brought enough wine for all of my warriors to drink to the crowning of the King under the Mountain. I will not have that go to waste."

"While this is all very… charming," Thranduil said with some annoyance. "It can very well wait. We heard that you and your company were intending to return to Erebor," he aimed the words at Bilbo. "Is there any truth to this?"

"Only to visit, to retrieve what might be useful around Dale," Bilbo answered, turning to the Elf. "And what we need to ease tensions here."

Bard straightened a bit at that. "What might be useful?" he said. "You're intending to bring something out, then?" Bard asked, putting special weight on something.

"Coal, mainly," Bilbo shrugged. "There's a quantity of it in the mountain, enough to be shared with the Men of Dale, who I know will need it. And we'll bring whatever other things might be useful around Dale. There might be some clothing and whatnot, I do not know for sure. I'll know once I'll see the stores up close. I was hoping that you might lend us some carts if you have any you can spare."

"I think we can lend you a couple for such a purpose," Bard said, nodding thoughtfully.

"And what of my desire?" Thranduil asked with cool curiosity.

"What do you think I'm going to retrieve in the first place?" Bilbo asked, looking up at him and at Bard. "I have Thorin's backing, now, so we'll be doing some dealing, I suppose. I'll start with honouring previous arrangements as much as I can."

"Hm. So I see," Thranduil said, eyeing the braids resting against Bilbo's chest. "Well then, O King under the Mountain. If you intend to do any bartering with my kin, know that precious gems will have much better value than dragon tainted gold."

Bilbo considered that and nodded. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, making a mental note to fetch some. Mirkwood would probably be their main source of food until trade routes could be properly established, so bartering with them would be unavoidable.

Bard looked between Bilbo and the Elven king thoughtfully. "I'll take the coal and the cloth if there are any. And if there is any oil to be had in Erebor, that would be welcome as well," he said slowly. "However… the gold…"

Bilbo arched his eyebrows. "You want it now?" he asked.

"We're hoping to send some men to nearby towns and villages, to secure food for the winter while it's still possible to travel," Bard explained. "Among other things."

"Alright," Bilbo said with a nod and then looked at the three lords around him. "Lord Dáin, would you like to join us at the mountain?" he asked.

"I'd be damn well delighted," the Dwarf lord said with a nod.

Dáin joined Bilbo and together they waited for Bard to deliver the carts and for the company to make ready. Dáin's warriors joined the work eagerly at their lord's command. They quickly began clearing the way, both out of the city and at the gates of the mountain, where the way in was quickly being evened out and made ready for the carts.

"Are all of your warriors only that, warriors?" Bilbo asked thoughtfully, watching them work in the distance.

"How do you mean?" Dáin asked, glancing at him.

"Do they have other occupations? Most of the company are able warriors, but they are other things besides. Miners, tinkers, smiths, and whatnot," Bilbo said. "I was wondering if such skills could be found among your army."

The Dwarf lord eyed him curiously for a moment and then nodded. "They all have some small skill at blacksmithing," he said. "And most know their way around a mine. That there is Baraz – when he's not swinging an axe around, he manages and fixes the forges of the Iron Hills. And there's Gabi – he's one of the better stoner workers we have, makes very fine statues too. And there's Gor as we call him – he makes the best ale in all of the Iron Hills."

Bilbo nodded along as Dáin pointed out some of his warriors, naming their skills.

"What have you in mind, then, Lord Bilbo?" Dáin asked shrewdly.

"I have in mind the broken houses of Dale," Bilbo admitted, shifting uneasily at the title. "And the thought that Dwarven hands and Ereborean stone might do much for them has occurred also." He turned to look at Dáin. "How long do you and your warriors intend to stay in these parts?"

"The idea was to see Thorin crowned and settled, waiting perhaps until his people from the Blue Mountains reached the Lonely Mountain. That would take some months as they will be travelling in a large company, and slowly," Dáin said, stroking his beard. "So a year at the very least, with some rotation between the Lonely Mountain and the Iron Hills, of course. You mean to put my warriors to work?"

"I was wondering if we might hire them," Bilbo answered, leaning back. "If there are those among them with useful skills that would not mind taking Erebor's gold."

"To fix the city of Men," Dáin stated, looking at him closely. "Rather than the city of Dwarves."

"There are more Men here, than there are Dwarves. Dale will be well settled before any sort of true settlement of Erebor will even begin," Bilbo shrugged. "As it is, I am not quite sure how safe it is to move to the mountain just yet. It's still very shaken up after the dragon and the tunnels aren't as secure as they were. Restoration must be done before settlement, and before that can begin, well. The workers must live somewhere."

"So, Dale ought to be restored first, at least to some extent," Dáin nodded thoughtfully and looked at the city of Men. He smiled at it. "And to think the Men don't think you will honour Thorin's word at all."

Bilbo frowned at that, looking down at his bare feet. Dáin laughed at him, clapping a hand on Bilbo's shoulder. "The unfortunate thing is, Thorin hasn't endeared himself to anyone in these parts," he said. "So the Men think that at best you will cart out a bunch of gold – a fine thing, to be sure, but not likely to be of any immediate help. But in the meanwhile, you do not only plan to aid them in the fixing of their city but… you already have plans to start, don't you?"

Bilbo shrugged. "I've been led to believe that I own these lands now," he said ruefully. "That includes Dale, in a manner of speaking. What sort of landlord would I be, letting my holdings fall to ruin?"

Dáin laughed uproariously at that, shaking Bilbo by the shoulder. "I like you, Halfling! We must drink together some time!" It was, probably, meant to be companionable, as rough as it was. Bilbo bore it with a smile. There were worse things than having the amused approval of a Dwarven lord.

The expedition back to Erebor was ready not much after that. While Dáin's warriors pushed and pulled the carts of Men towards the mountain, Bilbo took a moment to visit Thorin and the princes, to explain what they'd be about.

"You already have my approval," Thorin said, waving a hand at him. "So long as you don't bleed the mountain dry and the pure gold stays in Dwarven hands…"

"Are you planning to bring any gold out?" Fíli asked

"I'm going to give the Men some of the dragon tainted gold. They intend to send a party to trade with nearby towns and need the funds," Bilbo answered. "And I've been talking with Lord Dáin about hiring some of his warriors as builders, but we've only talked it over, and not yet spoken of any sort of contracts. I was hoping to talk it over with him, Balin, and Glóin in more detail."

"Well, you seem to have things well in hand," Thorin said, relaxing on his bed and closing his eyes. "You don't need to report to me, Bilbo."

"I felt like I ought to share my plans with the rest of the company, so that no one is left in the dark. Also," Bilbo turned towards Kíli's bed. "Tauriel? I understand if you'd rather decline, but would you like to join us at the expedition?"

She blinked at him as Thorin and Kíli both startled at the words. "Me? Enter Erebor?" she asked and gave Bilbo a confused smile. "Whatever for?"

"It's going to be your home too, isn't it?" Bilbo asked, glancing at Kíli and then at Thorin who let out a sharp sigh. Thorin would not meet his eyes, though, so Bilbo turned back to Tauriel. "Also, I'd like an Elf's advice, as to how to deal with the issue of the White Gems." Among many other things, he added silently to himself.

Tauriel smiled somewhat bemusedly at Bilbo and opened her mouth to obviously decline, but Kíli reached out to touch her arm.

"Go," he said, smiling at her. "I would like for you to see Erebor, and hear what you think of it."

"A mountain is not a place for an Elf," she said quietly. "We are not things of Earth like Dwarves are."

"I know," he said. "Please, Tauriel."

She hesitated and then sighed, reaching to press a kiss on Kíli's forehead. Then she stood, letting her hand slip from his. "Very well," she said, checking her weapons and grabbing her bow from the side of Kíli's bed. "Let's go then."

Bilbo nodded and looked at the Durins. "If there's anything you want from the mountain, now's the moment to speak."

"The crown of Erebor," Thorin said, not looking at him. "I… left it in the hall of the kings, where the golden floor was formed. Could you bring it to me?"

Bilbo hesitated and then nodded. "Alright," he said. "Anything else? Kíli, Fíli?"

"I'd like nothing but my lady's opinion of what might or might not be our home," Kíli said, grinning at Tauriel who gave him a look of fond exasperation.

"Could you bring me my fiddle?" Fíli asked hopefully. "I left it with our packs at the armoury, where we… prepared for battle. It should still be there."

"Your fiddle?" Bilbo asked, surprised. "I thought that was lost in Mirkwood?"

"It was. I found another at Lake Town," the blond Dwarf grinned. "Didn't get the chance to even tune it yet. I'm bored very nearly to death on this bed, and it would be something to do. So, if it's not any trouble…"

Bilbo looked at him for a moment and then smiled back. "Your fiddle then," he said and looked at Tauriel. "Shall we?"

"Lead the way," she nodded, and together they left the tent to join the expedition. Dáin met them at the road leading from Dale to Erebor, and with some awkward ceremony Bilbo was pushed by the company to the head of the expedition. There, Bilbo resigned himself to his fate.

And so, with the Arkenstone glowing brightly enough to show through his clothing, he began making his way back to the Lonely Mountain.

Notes:

Aaaand there I hit a bit of a writer's block...