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The Desolation of Smaug was a terrible sight to see and Bilbo’s heart ached as he gazed at the scarred land. He dug his toes into the dirt and almost cried to feel how barren it was, how utterly devoid of life so much so that he couldn’t even sense an ant crawling its way through.
After the Battle of the Five Armies, the land was now blood-soaked and bleak, the stink of death thick upon it. Winter clutched the land in its grasp and the freezing chill added to the stark wasteland that Bilbo stood in.
He turned around to gaze upon Erebor. The Lonely Mountain shone in the near darkness with torchlight, glowing like a beacon. Months after the battle, the dwarrow were finally well on their way to rebuilding the great city and the alliances with Dale, Mirkwood, and the Iron Hills didn’t harm either, keeping a steady stream of supplies flowing between the kingdoms. However, Thorin knew that they couldn’t depend on the generosity of the elves and Dain forever and Bard agreed. They asked Bilbo on his expertise with food and growing things, knowing of the abundance of the Shire, and Bilbo consented to take a look at the fields surrounding the kingdoms, particularly around Dale, where the Men used to till their fields and grew crops.
But the land around Erebor was thick with disease, tainted by the dragon, and it extended down to Dale. Bilbo hadn’t told Bard yet, however, hoping to find better news for the ever-troubled King of Dale. He continued around the vale, feeling the soil for anything, any scrap of life so that he could begin the process of restoring the earth.
Bilbo let out a long sigh and dropped into a crouch, digging his fingers in. Behind him, the five dwarrow assigned to guard him stirred. “What is it, Master Baggins?” the youngest of them, Hvasli, asked.
“Hm? Oh, nothing, nothing,” Bilbo said. “I was just… I had hoped to find something by now,” he said despondently.
He knew the dwarrow didn’t quite understand what exactly he was trying to find, but Thralhoir, who worked as a stone carver back in the Blue Mountains, had said it was probably similar to detecting different types of stone and whether it was hale enough to carve into the desired shape he needed. After that, the dwarrow seemed to nod amongst themselves. Thralhoir spoke now, “Come now, Master Baggins, it may not be as grim as you think. We will find id-sadz soon.”
Bilbo smiled wearily at him. “I hope so, Thralhoir.” He stood and dusted off his hands. “Lets go home, before His Majesty starts sending out search parties for us.”
They clambered on to their war rams and began making their way back to Erebor.
As they approached the main gates, they found Thorin waiting for them, his arms crossed before his chest and his profile lit by firelight, cutting an imposing figure standing before the massive gates stretching high above their heads. The silver circlet he wore in place of the heavy crown gleamed as he tilted his head, dark eyes drinking in the sight of Bilbo as he dismounted.
“I told you to be home before dark, kurdu,” he scolded lightly as he stepped forward to embrace Bilbo. “You know there could still be orcs in the lands around us.”
“I was perfectly fine, my love,” Bilbo said, snuggling into the fur cloak Thorin wore. “We were making our way from the Western Fields and I wanted to check near the stream again.”
Bilbo’s guards bowed to the King, who nodded to them, and they led the rams back to the stables, eager to get out of the cold. Bilbo too shivered and Thorin rubbed a hand down his back. “Come,” Thorin said, leading him inside. “Bombur’s prepared dinner for us.”
“Hmm that sounds lovely.” Bilbo took Thorin’s hand and let him lead them up to one of the dining halls where they found the rest of the Company merrily eating, drinking, and shouting at one another.
“Bilbo!” Bofur called, spotting them first. The rest of them cheered to see their King and their Hobbit and Balin and Ori shuffled aside to make room for them.
A full platter of food and a tankard of ale was pushed towards Bilbo, who eagerly dug in. The others laughed to see his appetite and he sighed happily when he finished, leaning against Thorin’s shoulder as he sipped at his ale. Thorin pressed a kiss to his temple, above the braid that held the silver courting bead that hung above his ear, and murmured, “How goes the search?”
Bilbo let out a noise of discontent. “Poorly,” he said shortly. “The blight spreads farther than we assumed. I haven’t found any signs of life, even after three days.” He turned worried eyes to his intended. “I fear what would happen if I don’t find anything at all.”
“We will try for another few days,” Thorin soothed, “If after you’ve scoured every inch of this land and found it wanting, we will inform Bard and decide then what we should do.” There was a heavy frown on his brow, however, and Bilbo knew that the winter had been a strain on their food stores. If they were unable to grow crops, and soon, they would eventually begin to starve, as there was no feasible way for two of the four realms to sustain all of them.
Bilbo grasped his hand. “We still have the Shire,” he said, sounding a little doubtful even to his own ears. “I’m still waiting for a response from the Thain. Perhaps the next caravan…”
“Caravans move slow,” Thorin sighed. “There is no telling how soon they will arrive, not to mention it would mean more mouths to feed. Even if the Shire-folk can spare anything they have, it is still winter yet and I don’t intend on having your people starve for our sake.”
“Oh, they won’t starve,” Bilbo assured them. “After the Fell Winter we’ve all made sure to stock double what we normally would since then but yes, it still wouldn’t be enough.” He rubbed a hand across his forehead frustratedly.
Thorin watched affectionately and leaned in to press a kiss to Bilbo’s curls. “Thank you for trying so hard, ‘ibinê,” he said tenderly. “Words cannot express the gratitude…”
“None of that now,” Bilbo said firmly. “I told you Erebor is my home and that means I will work just as hard as you will to make sure it’s all restored, to give you back the home you lost before.”
At that, Thorin gently pressed his forehead to Bilbo’s. “Amrâlimê,” he breathed.
Bilbo patted his arm with a fond chuckle. “I love you too, you sap. Now move over; I see honey cakes.” He eagerly snagged four and sat back to snuggle against Thorin and enjoy his prize.
The next day, at dawn, Bilbo and his guards mounted their rams and trotted off towards the foothills. The stream that caught Bilbo’s attention yesterday gushed next to them as they made their way back towards the direction of Dale. Finding a good place to stop, Bilbo halted his ram and slid down. The guards fanned out around him, three to watch the area and two to always remain close to him. Today he is flanked by Nâsamlí, a fierce dam skilled with a spiked mace, and Ugntír, an older dwarf with a thick silver beard bound in a single braid down his chin.
Bilbo wandered, following the natural dips and swells in the land, taking care to really feel each step. He didn’t speak in his concentration and his guards too were quiet. They knew the importance of his task.
Nearly a hundred yards later, he abruptly stopped at the peak of a hill, head cocked.
“Master Baggins?” Ugntír asked, reaching for his war hammer as he warily scanned their surroundings.
Bilbo flapped a hand at him for silence and knelt. There was a… tingle in his mind, a whisper. He began to dig at the frosted dirt with his fingers, trying to unearth it, deeper and deeper until his finger touched—
Oh.
And there it was.
Bilbo laughed and laughed and laughed and the dwarrow stared with growing hope. He turned to Nâsamlí and said, “You’d better get the King.”
Thorin came racing to him with Fíli, Kíli, Dwalin, Balin, as well as a host of other dwarrow on his heels not even an hour later. He threw himself from his mount and ran to Bilbo, who was still crouched with his hands firmly stuck in the ground, knees hitting the dirt as he went to embrace his betrothed. “Bilbo,” he said, anxiously, “Are you—”
“I found it.” Bilbo looked up at him with shining eyes. “Thorin, I found it.”
Thorin threw his arms around him. “Thank Mahal.”
“It’s speaking to me,” Bilbo said. “It wants to grow.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how much I can do by myself, however. The land is still sick. It will resist.” He worried his lower lip and tightened his grip.
“Whatever you can do, kurdu, will be more than enough,” Thorin assured him. He sat back on his haunches. “Is there anything we can do to help?”
Bilbo shook his head. “No. I brought you here so that you can watch.” He paused, searching, letting the song come to him.
Every Hobbit can sing to the earth, to encourage growth and life and energy, but every song is different. Hobbits don’t learn them, only listen and let the song come forth within them so that they can give voice to it. Bilbo’s own father, Bungo Baggins, had been particularly skilled at listening, catching even the slightest wisp of song, and he was the one who taught this to Bilbo, who in turn was able to hear the song in the earth of Erebor and uncover it.
Bilbo patiently waited for the song to develop in strength and when it was ready, he opened his mouth and sang.
It wasn’t a song with words from any language of the Free Peoples. It was a song with no lyrics, no melody that they understood. But it was beautiful and enchanting, and all who listened to it felt their hearts lighten as they watched.
Bilbo’s voice was high and sweet, carried aloft by the wind. Slowly, a little tendril of green began to thrust its way out of the ground and several dwarrow cried upon seeing it. More and more of these tendrils forced their way out, tiny little shoots of grass that weren’t even half the length of a fingernail. But they were there and Thorin could feel hope grow within him to see them.
Soon, however, Bilbo stopped. All around them, the hill was covered with pale green. “That’s all I could sing today,” he said, voice rasping slightly and Thorin beckoned to Fíli for a waterskin, which his nephew hurriedly handed over. “There’s still much more of the land to heal and coax, but it’s a good start.” He drank deeply.
“Bilbo,” Thorin started, and stopped.
Bilbo smiled and touched a hand to Thorin’s cheek. “I love you.”
“I love you,” he echoed.
The dwarrow cheered and the sky and the Mountain above echoed with the sound of joy.