Chapter Text
In the gathering gloom of dusk, the air in the mountain drew down like a live thing coiling around its prey. It seemed to Bilbo that a pall was cast over the Company - there was none of the forced cheer interspersing uncomfortable silences they had all become used to since entering the mountain, only the silence itself. Thorin was absent, but that was not unusual of late, as he seemed to prefer to wander the desolate halls or stand at the treasury's high balcony, overlooking the gold.
Bilbo, for once, made his bedroll apart from the rest. Sleeping too near to them would make it all the more difficult to sneak away, as he planned. He would have preferred to be closer, if only for the comfort. The long days on the road had made him used to the deep snoring of dwarves. He'd become fond of their company, as well, although since they'd entered the mountain he grew used to Thorin singling him out, drawing him aside to walk the treasury or to stand beside the throne.
The back of his neck prickled to think of the last time they'd been alone, just after Thorin gave him the mithril. Bilbo was not even sure he could say that the person he'd spoken to in that moment was the same person he'd followed out of the Shire. It hadn't sounded at all like Thorin - Bilbo had seen him in truly foul moods, and never had he snarled like that. His words, too, rang too familiar. Not one coin. If Smaug had not said those exact words, it had been something quite similar. Bilbo feared what it meant to hear them from Thorin now.
His friends all lay down to sleep in silence, only removing the most uncomfortable pieces of armor and keeping weapons close at hand. It was surely the looming battle that sapped the last of their brave front, and Bilbo did hate to see them like this. He had half a mind to inform them of his plan, or at least propose an alternative - they could tie Thorin up and sit on him until he came to his senses, if they were willing. It was the 'willing' part of that equation that Bilbo doubted. Even after all Thorin had done, even after it was plain he was not thinking clearly, none would raise even their voice against him. So Bilbo tried to break through to him as often as he could, whenever he saw Thorin's eyes clear and knew that he was listening instead of merely hearing the sound of Bilbo's voice.
None of it had done any good - and bother Thranduil and Bard, anyway, for making an already tenuous situation worse. Could they not have allowed Thorin time to settle, allowed some of his people to come home to rebuild before they began their demands? Though, in Bard's case, it was true that a bargain had been broken, and Bard's people were in sore need of aid.
It did not excuse the threats, much less the army camped on Erebor's doorstep. For that, Bilbo could understand Thorin's anger. Not his obsession, not his paranoia - but the anger was reasonable. Still, this was the path to certain ruin. They had come too far and weathered too much for it all to end in war over pride, of all the foolish things.
That is unfair. Thorin is not himself - has not quite been himself from the moment he set foot inside the mountain. That more than anything was the root of his commitment to this plan. Bilbo was firmly convinced that it was better to carry this blasted bewitching stone as far away from the mountain as he could, so that was what he would do. What happened to it after he got it away from Thorin was not his concern, but doubts about his plan to use it as a bargaining chip were beginning to creep into his heart. If it was cursed, as he believed, how would its magic work on kings bent toward war?
What's to say Bard won't merely take the stone as the promised payment? What's to say Thranduil won't claim it for himself? Thorin's lost himself over it - will either of them be any different?
The last of the day's light faded. Night inside the mountain was an unsettling darkness, impenetrable to Bilbo's sight. None of the dwarves seemed bothered by it, and Bilbo could only conclude that their night-sight was better than his. It meant he would have to be cautious. With the only entry to the mountain blocked by a wall of tumbled stone, there was little need to set a watch, but perhaps the Company took comfort in routine. Bombur stayed awake as the others curled into their bedrolls. Bilbo could barely make out the bulk of his form against the cold light of the stars, but even with that little illumination he could tell that Bombur's shoulders were hunched, his elbows rested on his drawn-up knees. Occasionally, he would shift and stare into the darkness of the mountain. Bilbo was certain he was looking for Thorin.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting in the dark, Bombur rose and made his way to the tops of the battlement. Bilbo took the opportunity to fumble the ring out of his pocket, to arrange his bedroll in such a way that it would appear he still slept soundly if one did not look too close. He slipped the ring on as Bombur finished his patrol across the tops. If there was one thing he had become very skilled at over the course of this journey, it was moving silently under the very nose of the person whose notice he was trying to escape.
When they woke in the morning and found him gone, would they once again assume him a coward, as Thorin had after the goblin tunnels? Would they think he had wandered somewhere inside the mountain, lost in its winding halls? Either way, the thought of his companions frantic with worry buried itself in Bilbo's gut, and he paused with one foot slung over the wall.
It's the only way and you know it, he told himself firmly. Thorin will never budge from the mountain if threatened with force. He must be brought to see reason, even if it be through trickery. He could not question his resolve. Either this would work, or they were doomed. There was no middle course. Bilbo double checked that the rope tied around his waist was snug and began his descent.
It was a hard climb, but it was not the exertion that made Bilbo struggle for breath. As he climbed, the Arkenstone was like a leaden weight in the pocket of his coat. He couldn't trust Thorin with it. He certainly couldn't trust either of the people who'd brought armies to his door.
Gandalf. If only Gandalf were here, he'd know what to do. Bilbo had never wished for an interfering old wizard as much as he did in that moment, trying not to slide down the wall and fall into the water below, halfway through a plan that was, quite frankly, ridiculous and dangerous and likely the most ridiculous and dangerous thing he'd done yet. A plan that he wasn't even sure of any longer. Bilbo took a deep breath and swallowed the urge to climb right back up the gate and return to his bedroll. He'd nearly reached the bottom, he was exhausted, and he still had a bit of a swim to make before he would come to the camp. Turning back was no longer an option.
He slipped off the end of the rope and into the water as quietly as he was able. He stayed there, clinging to the rope for a moment. Well now, Bilbo Baggins, you've gotten yourself this far into a fix. I do hope you have a plan to get yourself out of it again.
The stream was not so deep, but it was deep enough that Bilbo had to wade through it, with water up to his armpits at times. As he climbed out, his foot slid on the bank and he ended up face-down in the water, sputtering and flailing until he hauled himself out.
A bright lantern illuminated the bank, and Bilbo scrambled behind a rock before remembering that his ring kept him out of sight. Two elven scouts, one with an arrow on his bow and the other with her lantern held high, scanned the riverbank with puzzled expressions. The scout with the lantern murmured something to her companion, but Bilbo was too far away to make out the words.
This will be as good a way as any to get to where I need to be. Bilbo slipped the ring off and dropped it in his pocket, then rose slowly from behind the rock, palms out. "Don't shoot! I'm over here."
The scouts clearly did not expect to see him appear out of nowhere, but he did not end up with an arrow for his troubles. The elf with the lantern crossed the distance between them with swift strides, grabbing Bilbo by his coat as if she thought he might try to escape. "Where did you come from?"
Bilbo scowled and pursed his lips, quite tempted to snap something sarcastic before remembering that it was probably unwise to mouth off at his captors. "From the mountain, of course. I am Bilbo Baggins, of Thorin's company, and I've come to treat with Bard - and your king, too, since he's here. Take me to them directly, if you please."
That provoked a short argument in Sindarin - from what Bilbo could gather, the archer was curious to see what Thranduil would do with him, while the elf maid was doubtful. Something about orders to shoot anything that moved inside the mountain.
"If you are going to shoot me, I wish you'd have done with it," Bilbo said, standing stiff and dripping with his fists balled at his sides. "I'm cold, and I feel quite like a drowned rat. On the other hand, I'm certain Bard and Thranduil will want to hear what I have to say. Any time before the dawn, now." He paused as both elves regarded him with surprise. "And to be precise, I am outside the mountain, so you are hardly violating orders."
The elves did not appear amused by that little piece of logic, but nevertheless Bilbo found himself escorted - with a firm hand on his shoulder, despite his assurances that he had no intention of escaping - away from the mountain and into the encampment. He expected to be left to wait as Bard and Thranduil were found, but to his surprise, it appeared that neither king sought rest that night. The tent the scouts led him to was large and brightly lit, enough that Bilbo could see three silhouettes as they approached. The voices from inside were raised. One of them was booming and weathered, and Bilbo recognized it immediately. His mouth was dry and the knot of worry still gnawed at his chest, but his spirits lifted at the thought of something going his way this night.
"Please excuse the disturbance," the archer said, drawing aside the flap of the tent. "We found this halfling at the foot of the mountain-"
"Gandalf!" Bilbo exclaimed, cheered at the sight of the wizard, who turned to regard him with quite the surprised expression indeed. Bard and Thranduil were there as well, and by the way they stood at one end of the tent while Gandalf stood at the other, Bilbo suspected he could gather what they'd been arguing about.
"Bilbo Baggins!" Gandalf said. "Never may I cease being surprised by hobbits. I expected to find you inside the mountain."
"Yes, well," Bilbo said. He was acutely aware of his appearance, from the dirt smudged on his face and hands to his sodden clothes, especially as Thranduil turned to regard him with a chilly look. Bilbo was already cold, and that made his nerves nearly seize his blood to ice. Then the elvenking gestured for the scouts to leave them, and the tent closed behind them when they departed, leaving Bilbo as the sole target of Thranduil's piercing looks.
"If I am not mistaken," Thranduil said, "this is the halfling who stole the keys to my dungeons from under the noses of my guards." He settled into a chair like it was a throne, eyeing Bilbo with open suspicion.
"Ah... yes," Bilbo said, forging bravely ahead. "Sorry about that." Thranduil's regard of him did not change, and even though the corner of Bard's mouth twitched like he wanted to smile, he still affected an impassive expression. Bilbo looked between them, disconcerted by how closely they seemed to be allied. The beginnings of a new plan was forming in his mind, one that could possibly work, if either of them would listen to reason. "I came to make you an offer. Thorin will never surrender the mountain if you threaten him with force - none of them will. This is their home, and they've only just regained it."
"They are outnumbered," Bard said, his brows knit together and a frown on his lips. "Vastly outnumbered. Surely they can see that there is no victory with this course?"
"It won't matter," Bilbo said. "You don't know dwarves as well as I do - you have no idea how stubborn they can be when pressed. They'll defend the mountain to the death."
"What is it you come to offer, then? A way in?" Bard exchanged another look with Thranduil, and the frown on his face took on a puzzled cast. "Will you betray your friends?"
"Good gracious, of course not!" Bilbo said, with a vehemence that surprised even himself. Bard's words pierced him straight through, and the knot in his chest locked up tight at the very thought. He could not fathom betraying Thorin in such a way, to lead an army into the mountain through some skulking back road. "If that is why you think I've come, to assist you in this horrid fighting, I might as well turn back to the mountain before I'm missed!"
"Calm down, Bilbo," Gandalf said, hiding a smile in his beard and with a twinkle of amusement in his eye.
"I have never met a group of more suspicious people in my life," Bilbo said, still quite wound up at the suggestion. Bard's scowl had cleared, but he still wore wary suspicion on his brows. It solidified Bilbo's resolve - he could not let either of them get their hands on the Arkenstone. To give them that would be a betrayal, one that Thorin might never forgive him for. Nevermind that the thing was more than likely cursed, and throwing it into this mix would provoke yet more problems. "All this nonsense over treasure! Well, if you want it so badly, you can have mine and be welcome to it. I hardly have a use for it."
"Yours?" Thranduil asked, with an arch look that might have been amused.
It only made Bilbo more cross. "Yes, mine! I have a contract - ah-" he patted his pockets, his hand falling over the weight of the Arkenstone and immediately shying away, and finally huffed in exasperation, "-somewhere, if it's even still legible after our trip down the river. It entitles me to one fourteenth share of all the treasure in Erebor, and if you would kindly pack up your armies and be about your business, it is yours."
"I am not here for treasure," Thranduil said. "I am here for what rightfully belongs to my people."
"Whatever it is, I will add it to my claim!" Bilbo snapped, thoroughly exasperated. They could not ask for a better bargain - he was giving them what they wanted. "Part of that treasure is mine to do with as I please, and I please to resolve this mess so there will not have to be a war."
"Why?" Bard asked, that puzzled expression back on his face. "You owe us no loyalty."
"I'm not doing it for you," Bilbo said, feeling like that should be obvious. Both kings stared at him, their manner unchanging, and Bilbo shook his head. "I'm doing it for them. They've come so far, and have been without their home for so long, and we've seen each other through a number of situations that I'd rather not remember, thank you very much."
He thought of Balin's ready wit, Dwalin's gruff bluster that did not do much to hide how he always kept the Durins in sight. Oin had books worth of knowledge riding around in his head, and Gloin spoke so tenderly and fondly of his family. Dori, happy to trade the secrets of brewing excellent tea. Nori, with his knife-edged smile and wicked remarks. Ori, always delighted to hear more about the Shire. Bofur, quick with a smile and a joke, and Bombur, a force to rival Bilbo in the kitchen. Bifur, surprisingly nimble with his large hands, carving tiny bits and bobs out of sticks along the road. Fili and Kili, inseparable and bright-hearted, worried to death about their uncle but continuing on as best they could.
Thorin, noble and proud. Most of all, Bilbo could not conceive of anything happening to Thorin without his throat closing tight. "I've grown quite fond of them," he said thickly, aware that too much time had passed in silence. "I would save them, if I can. Now, Thorin gave me his word-"
"What worth is the word of Thorin Oakenshield?" Thranduil interrupted, sinking back into the chair. "Bard was also given the word of the King Under the Mountain, and yet it was easily broken."
Bilbo opened his mouth to reply and then shut it, too aware that it was a pointed argument, even though his first instinct was to defend Thorin. He had a feeling the dwarves would not thank him for revealing that their king was not himself.
"I agree," Bard said, although he looked reluctant to. "It is a generous offer, and kindly meant, but what assurances do we have that your share will be delivered as requested?"
For one long, aching moment, Bilbo felt the Arkenstone weigh heavy on his breast. That would certainly be the token Thorin would trade anything for - anything at all. The thought chilled him to his blood. Anything? he thought. Your life? The Company's? His kin?
Bilbo found that he could not face the answer to that question, for if Thorin was that far lost, all of their journey would be for nothing. The Arkenstone must remain hidden. He would speak of it to no-one.
His silence was broken with a sigh from Bard. "We should continue laying plans for the siege, Your Majesty."
Thranduil inclined his head slowly and rose from his throne-like seat, coming to the table.
"Oh, confound it!" Bilbo said, losing his hold on his temper at last. "I do not see why this is all so blasted important that you must resort to threats and - and - extortion! It must be some witchery lies on crowns, for the heads under them to become so bothersome! I am certain the two of you could figure something out - ransom me against it for all I care!"
Bilbo expected the well-bred huff of derision from Thranduil at the suggestion. What he did not expect was for Bard to turn to the elvenking and say, "I wouldn't dismiss that idea so easily. Thorin barely let Bilbo out of his sight while they were in Lake-town, and Bilbo - you vouched for his honor. I suspect that is part of what drove you here tonight."
Bilbo coughed a bit. "Well, 'honor' is a rather high-handed way of saying I am a hobbit of my word."
"The King Under the Mountain is ready to go to war against hundreds with a mere thirteen dwarves," Thranduil said, and there was something distinctly bored in his cultured tones. "What does he care for the life of one halfling?"
Bilbo bristled. "Now see here," he said, thoroughly annoyed with Thranduil's arrogant manner. "We much prefer to be called hobbits, thank you! I am fully grown for my kind, and I am not half of anything!"
Gandalf chuckled, but he remained silent, seemingly content to let Bilbo blunder through this task as best he was able. Bard was looking at Bilbo with quite an odd expression, near-pained, and then took a deep breath like he was bracing himself. "Thorin and Bilbo were never far from each other's company here in Lake-town," he said. He looked away from Bilbo, but kept sneaking looks back, as if he was expecting Bilbo to become cross with him, too. "Several times, it seemed that Thorin sought Bilbo's counsel, even above the rest. I believe he would pay a king's ransom to get him back."
"What? I - Thorin doesn't - well, all right, he does trust me," Bilbo said, remembering Thorin's words in the mountain. "We have become quite close, if I do say so myself, and we've seen each other through many perils. But he-" Bilbo stopped, his teeth clicking together, remembering that he did not wish to mention the Arkenstone or Thorin's sickness. "I doubt he would consider me important enough to ransom."
Bard shook his head. "If there is one thing he may value above the treasure in the mountain, it is the lives of those who follow him."
That, Bilbo could find no answer to, for it was the truth.
"It is a risk, to be certain," Gandalf said, the first time he had offered an opinion on the discussion. Bilbo found himself pinned under a shrewd gaze. "I would like to take a moment to speak with my burglar. In private, if you would."
Thranduil and Bard exchanged looks, but Thranduil inclined his head and made a sweeping gesture that indicated they should step out. Bilbo, his nerves still frayed from the mood in the tent, jumped not a few inches when Gandalf's hand came down to rest on his shoulder, steering him outside. "Hang on a minute, we don't have time-"
Gandalf stooped, bringing his gaze to Bilbo's level. "I must ask you something, and I must ask you to be absolutely truthful with me," he said, his voice low and firm. "Is Thorin of sound mind?"
Bilbo swallowed. Of all the things Gandalf could have asked him to be truthful about, he wished the wizard had not chosen this one. "Not.. not exactly," he admitted, feeling like even that was beyond the allowance of friendship.
"I feared it would be so," Gandalf said. "It is why I told him not to enter the mountain. Ever since his grandfather, the line of Durin-"
"That's nonsense," Bilbo said sharply. "There's nothing wrong with Thorin, not one thing. It's that blasted Arkenstone. Thorin will talk of nothing else, and he has the Company searching the treasury for it non-stop. All except me, who he will not allow out of his sight. What will happen in the morning when he discovers I am missing, I surely do not care to know."
"Oh?" Gandalf said, his bushy eyebrows lifting. "Has he threatened you?"
"Me! No, of course not," Bilbo said. "I have nothing to fear from Thorin - he trusts me. It is the others I fear for. He has grown ever more suspicious as the Arkenstone remains missing, and he is now convinced one of them must be keeping it from him."
Gandalf did not answer for a moment, searching Bilbo's face like he was looking for a lie. Bilbo merely scowled at him - the wizard had asked him to be truthful, and he was. "Thorin told you he trusted you?"
"Not in so many words," Bilbo said, "but he calls me to his side when he wanders the mountain, and he confides his suspicions in me. He never suspected me, not even when-" Bilbo stopped mid-sentence and coughed, too aware of Gandalf's sharp eyes on him. "He gave me this, and I imagine it has some value." Bilbo drew aside his coat to show the mithril shirt.
An astounded look came over Gandalf, and he straightened. "Mithril!" he said, looking at Bilbo with renewed surprise.
"He said it was a gift. A token of our friendship."
"A gift? While he is so jealous of the gold?"
Bilbo frowned. "I don't believe he sees it the same way. He said the gold was ours, and ours alone."
"Hm! Well then," Gandalf said, an amused smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. He turned to enter the tent again without so much as a by-your-leave. "Thranduil, you will be pleased to know that Bard is right. Thorin would most certainly exchange Bilbo's share of the treasure for him - in fact, I am quite convinced he would do anything if he could be assured of Bilbo's safety."
"You can't be serious!" Bilbo cried. "I was - it was - I was jesting!"
"Nevertheless, I believe it to be our best course of action at present," Gandalf said. "Ride out to the gate before the dawn, when there has been no time for them to notice Bilbo missing. Offer to ransom him for his fourteenth share of the treasure, and Thorin will comply."
Thranduil looked between Bilbo, who was sputtering half-formed denials, and Bard, who tilted his head at Gandalf before nodding his agreement. "You are certain?" he asked Gandalf.
"No! This is ridiculous!" Bilbo said.
Gandalf, however, only said, "I am as certain of this as I am that we have no more time to lose. The orc armies will be on us swiftly, and we can ill afford to be sniping at each other when they arrive."
"Orc-" Bilbo's voice squeaked, and he cleared his throat. "Orc armies?"
"Yes indeed," Gandalf said. "Azog the Defiler marches on Erebor with an army of orcs, goblins, and other manner of hideous creatures. It is why we are of the same mind on this matter - that it must be ended without bloodshed. We cannot afford to waste our resources fighting one another. Not with what comes."
"I would much rather there not be any fighting at all," Bilbo said, heart sinking. If Thorin got wind of this, he would be out of the mountain and throwing himself recklessly into battle before anyone could stop him, and the others would be right behind him. And if that happened before they could sort out the business with the treasure, Bilbo would not be there to watch out for him. He dreaded to think what harm might come to them then.
Thranduil regarded him steadily for a long moment. "Very well," he said finally. "We will present the halfling as our prisoner, and barter his share of the treasure against his release. At the dawn-"
"One last thing," Gandalf said, unperturbed by the withering look he received for interrupting the elvenking. "I believe it would be best if you, and you alone, presented Bilbo for the ransom."
"Why?" Bard asked, frowning. "It is my people who need the gold, not the elves."
"If you ever wish to repair relations with the kingdom of Erebor, you cannot be present for this. Thranduil has already earned Thorin's enmity several times over. I fear that if Thorin saw you as an accomplice in this, he would hold you in the same regard," Gandalf said.
"You can't be serious," Bilbo said weakly. "I'm only a hobbit."
"I am quite serious," Gandalf said. "Trust me in this, Bard of Lake-town. Allow Thranduil to make the negotiation."
Bard glanced between Bilbo and Gandalf, clearly puzzled, but he gave way in the face of Gandalf's insistence. "Then I will ride with the rear guard," he said. "I can be close at hand should trouble arise."
Thranduil did not bother arguing with the wizard, although it was not clear whether he agreed with Gandalf or simply did not think the matter worth arguing over. His attention turned back to Bilbo, who was quite thoroughly tired of being stared at like a peculiarity. "You must be bound, if you are to be my prisoner."
Bilbo made a face, but shrugged his shoulders. "If you must," he said. "I still don't think any of this is necessary. My share of the treasure is mine, and Thorin will give it to me."
"Thorin Oakenshield has not proven himself trustworthy," Thranduil said.
"Oh yes?" Bilbo said, waspish. "How many kings do you believe would hand over their kingdom's treasure with an army knocking at their gates? Would you?"
To his satisfaction, his question was met by nothing but silence. Thranduil did not exactly look ashamed of himself, but his face went quite expressionless indeed. Bard, on the other hand, had a twist of regret to his mouth and would not meet Bilbo's eyes.
Gandalf bustled him off to a small chamber in a ruined building, where a pallet had been laid for him to sleep. He was bundled up in blankets and given food and a blessedly hot mug of tea, which did much to drive away the chill of the river and his wet clothes. He was offered a replacement for those, but declined, reasoning that a prisoner would hardly be afforded dry clothing. He waited until the weasel of a man who had brought him tea left before peeling out of them, lest he flash his mithril shirt to all and sundry - he did not have to fear being plundered by the elves, but Men were an entirely different matter. He slept in his smallclothes, damp and somewhat cold but no more miserable than he'd been for many nights on the road.
The sleep and the food should have settled him, but instead Bilbo woke in the cold grey light of pre-dawn, sitting up abruptly. He was all nerves, alight with them, and he forced himself to pull his still-damp clothes on slowly. He hesitated over the mithril, but finally pulled it on over his shirt. If something went wrong at the gate this morning, being impervious to blades would be quite useful. He checked to be sure the Arkenstone was safe in its pocket - as he did, his fingers brushed the other, smaller pocket where his ring rested. He would need to keep that close at hand in case a quick escape was necessary.
No sooner had he made himself presentable and ducked out the ruined doorway did Thranduil arrive, astride the same enormous elk Bilbo had seen him ride before Erebor's gates. He looked down his elegant nose at Bilbo. Today, instead of veiled amusement, there was a spark of interest to his gaze. "Relieve the halfling of his sword, and bind his hands," he ordered.
To Bilbo's surprise, the same two elves who had taken him to camp the night before stepped forward. "Hello, then," Bilbo said. "I don't suppose there's time for a spot of breakfast before we get this over with?" He unbuckled Sting from his waist, holding the blade in his hands with a reluctant frown on his lips. "I mislike giving up my sword, much as I never thought I would hear myself say it."
"It is enough that we have not searched you and confiscated what items you carry on your person," Thranduil said, and Bilbo's neck prickled. He thought of the Arkenstone with foreboding. Did Thranduil know, or at least suspect, that the promise of treasure was not all that Bilbo had come to bargain with? What would the haughty King of the Woodland Realm do with a cursed jewel?
After a moment, he realized that Thranduil was looking not at the pockets of his coat, but at the gap at its front. Suddenly reminded of the mithril, Bilbo thrust out the scabbard and belt, yanking his coat closed over the mail shirt as soon as they were taken from him. He keenly felt the loss of Sting, but the idea of being stripped of his mithril shirt was intolerable. It had seemed a strange thing, Thorin giving him such a gift, but Bilbo knew it had been to protect him. The thought provoked a surge of affection, and his nerves settled a bit. No matter what the outcome of today, Bilbo was certain that preventing a war was the best thing he could do for Thorin - besides getting the Arkenstone away from him, which he'd already done.
The elves bound his hands in front of him, secure but not tight enough to hurt. He objected noisily to be tossed onto a horse like a sack of luggage, until Thranduil's unreadable gaze pierced him again and the elvenking said mildly, "If you aren't quiet when we come to the gate, I may be forced to gag you as well."
Bilbo turned three different shades of red at the thought of being subject to such an indignity and fell silent as they rode out, Thranduil on his ridiculously ostentatious elk and Bilbo slung over the back of the elf scout's saddle, on his belly, with a poor view of the proceedings save for the cobblestones passing under the horse's hooves. "This cannot be necessary," he grumbled, although he did so quietly. Sting's sheath bounced against the back of his calves from where it was strapped to the saddle, and Bilbo took some comfort knowing it was near.
"His Majesty's orders," the scout said, equally quiet - it was the archer, the male elf, the one who'd been reluctant to shoot him. "I'm certain there's a reason."
Bilbo wasn't so sure - he had a feeling this was Thranduil's way of getting his revenge for the escape from his dungeons. Bilbo hadn't expected a king to be so petty as to hold a grudge, but then again, royalty did not seem to be all it was made out to be in legend.
The ride was uncomfortable - the leather of the saddle dug into his skin, and the pace at which they trotted was enough to jounce him around. Bilbo clenched his jaw not only from annoyance, but to keep himself from biting his tongue. The dwarves would be angry enough to see him as Thranduil's prisoner - no need to bloody himself up and provoke the situation further. The pink blush of dawn was just breaking over the fields of Smaug's desolation when they approached the gate. The sound of jangling armor was all around him as the ranks of elves parted to let them through.
Bilbo's first inkling that this might not go as smoothly as he predicted was the sound of an arrow whistling through the air and shattering on the stone. Abruptly, the horse Bilbo was on came to a halt, and the sound of clanking armor went quiet.
"I will put the next one between your eyes," came Thorin's voice from the top of the gate, followed by the raucous cheers of dwarves. Bilbo closed his eyes and breathed a slow, relieved sigh - he was cheered to hear that Thorin was there, instead of holed up somewhere in the mountain.
There was the sudden sound of armor shifting, the drawing of many bows, and Bilbo struggled from his place on the back of the saddle, trying to get a better look. The voices of his companions died out abruptly. "What's happening?" he whispered.
"Be silent," the scout whispered back.
"Where is the bowman?" Thorin asked. "Has he crawled off back to Lake-town with his tail between his legs?"
Thranduil ignored both question and insult. "I have come to inform you that I have something of yours," he said. "A spy and a thief, I believe."
Suddenly Bilbo found himself wrested from the back of the horse by the collar of his coat. "No need for rough handling - stop that there!" The scout seized him firmly by the collar and dragged him from the saddle, shoving him out in front. Though he was prepared for it, he still stumbled, his foot catching on a rough stone, and fell to his knees with a sharp cry of pain.
"Bilbo!" Kili shouted. "Kidnappers!"
"They've got Bilbo!" This time it was Bofur, and other shouts of his name carried down from the tops of the wall - but nothing from Thorin. Bilbo's palms were beginning to gather sweat, and he craned his neck up at the gate, trying to see. Thorin was staring at him, and when their eyes met Bilbo could see something desperate burning in their depths. Bilbo tried to beg him with a silent gaze to calm down, to be reasonable.
Thranduil continued as if the dwarves had not even spoken. "He claimed he had come to pay your debt, King Under the Mountain," he said, and Thorin's eyes flickered to him before fixing back on Bilbo. "Something regarding a fourteenth share of all the gold in the mountain. Of course, I could no more believe the word of a thief than that of a dwarf blinded by greed."
Thorin drew his bow again, sighting on Thranduil. "I owe no debt to beggars - it is you who are the thieves! I demand you release him at once!"
"The prisoner may be released - with adequate compensation," Thranduil said. Bilbo didn't dare look back at him - it would have meant looking away from Thorin, and he felt as if he would never be able to move from that pinning stare. The elvenking added, "He seems to think he has some worth to you."
A long string of vicious Khuzdul erupted from Thorin. Fili sprang forward and grabbed his bow arm, keeping him from firing the arrow he had on the string. Bilbo heard Dori's faint, "Oh dear," followed by Balin's sharp, scandalized, "Thorin!"
"I did not think so," Thranduil said, bland and bored. "How could the life of a thief be worth anything?"
Bilbo could not see Thranduil gesture, but he must have, for the scout jerked Bilbo to his feet by the collar of his coat. He would have protested, but for the cold kiss of steel as his throat, the sharp scrape of a knife. Bilbo could not help the shocked, thoroughly embarrassing noise he made, very similar to a mouse being trod upon, and in that moment two things became quite clear to him.
First, Thranduil was taking this business far more seriously than they'd agreed, and Bilbo was beginning to be unutterably cross with him.
Second, this was doing nothing to make Thorin more willing to cooperate with the disastrous ransom plan.
"Unhand him!" Thorin roared, his face a mask of rage. There was something else in his expression when he looked to Bilbo, something aching and fierce all at once. Bilbo's fingers suddenly itched for his ring, to slip it on and dash up the gate to him so he could fix it. He could convince Thorin about his share of the treasure if he was there with him - for him.
The cold weight of the Arkenstone in his pocket reminded him why he could not do it. Even now, after only a night, the lost, glazed look - the one that came over Thorin when he stood in the treasury amidst the gold - was gone, replaced by something very Thorin. He couldn't take the stone back in the mountain now.
Bilbo's bound hands sprang up to the archer's arm, gripping hard. "Thorin!" he called, desperate to do something to reassure him. "Thorin, I'm all right! I haven't been hurt, I- mphh!"
The scout clapped a hand over his mouth, and Bilbo went limp, not daring to struggle in his grasp lest he injure himself on the blade. Thorin's eyes were wild, like he could not bear any more. Bilbo could not see him like this - it was intolerable.
"Ah, so the halfling is of value," Thranduil said, and Bilbo could practically hear the self-satisfied smirk. He wanted to tie the elf's pretty hair in knots. He wanted to go to Thorin and explain everything.
"His share of the treasure-" Thorin began.
"A fourteenth of the gold in Erebor is not sufficient to account for the damages you have wrought," Thranduil said, cold and sharp. Now, Bilbo struggled against the scout's hold on him, ignoring the whispered admonishments to stay still. "For his freedom without harm, I require no less than half of all the gold the mountain contains, in addition to the White Gems of Lasgalen, which are my property."
Another, louder cry of outrage came from the top of the wall. Bilbo, furious, yanked on the scout's knife arm and bit the palm covering his mouth. The scout let out a shout of surprise and took his hand away. "Thorin, don't! That wasn't-" the scout shoved part of his sleeve into Bilbo's mouth, cutting him off once more. He was going to ruin everything if he didn't stay still, he knew - either force the scout to release him or slit his throat, whichever Thranduil had ordered - but Thorin would never accept those terms. Thranduil was taking this too far, and Bilbo had to stop-
"Done."
That one word was like the fall of a hammer, striking stillness in all present. It was rasped heavily, and even from his place on the ground Bilbo could see Thorin's hands shaking, as if he was fighting with himself. He was breathing hard, staring down at Bilbo with that same intense, pained look on his face, and Bilbo's breath caught on a sudden tightness in his throat.
"Now release him," Thorin said, never taking his eyes off Bilbo.
"When we have the gold," Thranduil said. "Take him away."
The scout started to drag Bilbo back to the horse, and that, it seemed, was the last straw for Thorin. He yelled something incomprehensible and clutched the tops of the crenellations with both hands as if he would heave himself over the wall and attack Thranduil with his bare hands, the bow clattering forgotten to the stone. Fili seized one arm and Kili the other, but Thorin made no move either to shake them off or to struggle against them. "Bilbo," he called, voice thick and strained.
Bilbo dug his heels in, striving to stay in Thorin's sight for as long as possible. The scout had to remove his sleeve before he could toss Bilbo over the saddle again, and Bilbo ignored the glare when he yelled, "It's all right, Thorin!" Then he was face-down over the saddle again, and the scout mounted in front of him. Bilbo kept his bound hands pressed close to his chest, holding the Arkenstone in his pocket, and tried to pack all the encouragement into the voice that he could. "Don't worry about me! I can rescue myself!"
He would have continued, save for the sudden quiet from the ramparts, and the squawk of a raven. He squirmed, trying to see, but there was a clatter of armor around him and the horse had room to turn, which the scout used fully to his advantage, trotting away from the gates of Erebor.
"Wait! Go back! What's happening?" The elf didn't answer, continuing to ride away from the gate. It occurred to Bilbo that he might be a tad cross, and he had a sudden fit of embarrassment over the scene he'd made. "Erm, sorry about the biting thing," he said. "It's only that Thranduil was being excessively bothersome, and I had to say something."
The scout huffed quietly, something that might have been a snort of disbelief from a less elegant individual. "You are quite the bold one, little halfling," he said. "Do you often gamble with your life?"
"Seems like it's becoming something of a pattern," Bilbo grunted. The saddle jostled most unpleasantly, and he decided there was some advantage to skipping breakfast. The inane thought was welcome. It kept him from dwelling on the awful look on Thorin's face as he was dragged away - it had almost been like a piece of him was being torn out.
And the ransom! Half of all the gold in Erebor? Thorin had barely even hesitated. It was ridiculous - Bilbo was not so important as to be worth that kind of fortune. It almost made him seriously consider that there was something to Bard's talk of Thorin valuing him above the rest - that maybe he hadn't been misinterpreting... certain signals. But that was preposterous, and this was no time for such silly indulgences. Thorin surely would have paid as much and more to free any member of his Company from imprisonment. It was not as if Bilbo demanded such a price.
The elf seized the back of his coat to keep him from falling as he reined the horse in, turning abruptly. A shudder of vibration traveled up the horse's hooves, then another, and a faint thudding and clanking carried over the quiet of the morning. Bilbo would have kicked the scout if he could reach, but he didn't want to kick the horse, so he settled for whispering furiously. "What is it now?"
"It appears a small army of dwarves are marching over the ridge," the elf said tightly. "If my eyes do not deceive me, it is Dain Ironfoot, cousin to the King Under the Mountain. I do not imagine peace is very likely, now."
"Oh, why not? Let's have a war with three armies, then," Bilbo groaned. "If there's going to be a fight, could I please have my sword? Or untie my hands." There was nothing but silence from the elf. "At least let me sit up on the horse so I can see."
"King Thranduil was very specific," the scout said, reluctantly nudging the horse into motion again. "I am to convey you back to Dale, where you will remain safe."
"Bother that!" Bilbo said, but there was nothing for it - the scout did not answer or slow the horse, and Bilbo did not want to risk breaking something by jumping off, not when there was about to be a war. Despite the brave front he affected, fear gnawed at his stomach and his heart. Thorin would be out there, and him still not entirely well, standing against Elves and Men and Orcs and who knew what else.
The sensible, Baggins part of him, the part that had been shrilling in the back of his mind about what a foolhardy venture this was, how he should have stayed home where it was safe and cozy and nothing untoward or dangerous ever happened, insisted that he put on the ring and vanish somewhere far away from the battle.
Bilbo scowled at himself and pushed that thought away. He resolved to give his captors the slip as soon as possible so he could find Thorin in the mess of it.
His internal Baggins threw up its metaphorical hands and gave up with a final, huffed thought. You are going to get yourself killed.
Bilbo did not try to argue with himself - there was a very good chance of that, for certain - but he would not sit idly by while his friends were in danger, not while he was still able to help, and that was final.