Chapter Text
The moment he saw the mountain in the distance, his feet grew restless with the pace they had set. Two years was far too long a time to spend away from the place that he longed to call home.
He clutched the latest letter from Thorin in his hands while he waited for the caravan to catch up with him. They had sent them back and forth every month throughout their separation. He lamented needing to leave so soon after the mountain was reclaimed, but he knew that if he lingered past the winter, he would never return to the Shire, and he needed to do so at least one last time.
He owed Thorin another letter. Roac sat nicely on the cart, nearly overladen with his things. He had brought more than intended on the trip and left the rest of Bag End to his cousin Drogo. He hoped Thorin wouldn't mind that he had brought so much. He wouldn't dream of asking him to make space for it in his rooms. That was presumptuous, but if construction was going as well as Thorin alluded, then maybe their rooms would be near each other.
“You’re getting farther and farther away from us each time you run ahead, laddie,” Loric said, holding up his hand to motion for the caravan to stop.
“Are you stopping here for the night?” Bilbo asked, concerned.
“Aye, ponies need watering, and people need a nice meal,” Loric confirmed. It was a nice area right on the edge of a small tree cropping. The next stop would be crossing the Anduin, but it would still take over a month at their speed to reach the mountain.
“You know there's been some talk of who you've been sending letters to,” Loric said conversationally, but with a smile that reminded him of Balin.
“It’s no secret I’ve been writing to the king.” Bilbo motioned to Roac. “It’s the king's raven that delivered my letters.”
“That we know, laddie, but it’s what you’re writing that piques a few interests. I can’t say that coin hasn’t changed hands.” Loric looked at the letter that he was still holding to his chest, and Bilbo quickly straightened himself.
“Dwarves are just as nosy as hobbits, you know that?” Bilbo sniffed, twitching his nose in agitation. Loric let out a full-bellied laugh.
“Not much else to do but be in each other's business on the road.” Loric looked out towards Erebor with a smile. “You know you can be there in a tenday if you set out on your own.”
Bilbo looked at him in surprise. “I couldn't. My things are here, and that’s not a fair burden to dump on you.”
“I think we can manage the furniture, lad. Unless it’s something else keeping you?” Loric wasn't being nosy; he was being a friend. He had known him for the better part of a year after all.
“Two years is a long time. The closer we get, the less certain I am about what to put in my letter. It would be the last one.” Bilbo looked back at Erebor, struck with an overwhelming longing. “I need to go. Everything I want to say has to be said in person.”
Loric went around the side of the cart and grabbed his traveling bag. It was already packed. “I thought you might need it soon. You've got Sting on you, so I know you'll be protected. Travel fast and quiet.”
Bilbo laughed and nodded. Now that he had made up his mind about leaving, he couldn't set out soon enough. Anticipation and excitement caught in his chest. He gave the dwarf a good hug.
“Thank you.”
“I look forward to telling the story of how I traveled with the consort of Erebor,” Loric replied.
No no! It’s not like that!” Bilbo felt a familiar squeeze in his chest. “Thorin and I were… nothing is official or… like I said, two years is a long time to wait for someone…”
Loric clapped him on the back and walked away without saying another word. With his things already packed and light still in the sky, he saw no reason not to leave immediately. He said goodbye to a few in the convoy, promising to see them again when they arrived.
He couldn't leave without sending Roac home. He could warn Thorin he would be early, but he hesitated. Two years' worth of hopes and fears. He wasn't afraid he wouldn't be welcome. Thorin had overemphasized how welcome he would be and how much he looked forward to showing him the splendor of Erebor. He suspected it was why he told him very little of the restoration. He wanted it to be a surprise.
He wanted to live in the mountains for his remaining days, regardless of what happened upon their reunion. That didn't mean he wanted to make a fool of himself. Dwarves shared closer, more intimate bonds with friends than hobbits did. His infatuation…his ever-growing admiration and love for Thorin could be one-sided in its intent.
He made up his mind to surprise him. If he gave him no chance to prepare for his arrival, then Thorin couldn't plaster on that cool and calm look of stern pride that hid all emotion. He just needed a second, a flicker of what he felt reflected in blue.
“Roac,” He stroked the bird's feathers until he woke up. A series of clacks and trills told Bilbo he wasn't thrilled about his nap being interrupted. “Sorry, but it’s urgent. I’m leaving tonight, don't fly back right away.”
The raven blinked at him, turning its head in question.
“At least wait until you see me go inside. I want my return to be a surprise.” Bilbo smiled and rubbed at Roac's beak. The dwarves would take good care of him. “If for some reason you get there first, don’t give me away.”
He looked back over his shoulder more than once as he made his way. There was a certainty in traveling with a group. Less time for one's mind to run away with itself. He kept busy with the songs and poems that seemed ever to fill his mind.
He made it to the Anduin in only a few days, then walked along it until he came to a familiar stretch of plains. He deliberately tried to avoid Beorn's. His friend would insist upon his lingering. He should have known it was impossible to evade him in his own lands. The thundering of the earth stirred a lingering instinct to hide, but he stood his ground as the massive bear came into view, stopping just short of him to rear up onto his back legs.
Bilbo averted his eyes as he shifted back to a mannish form. It seemed painful and indecent to watch.
“I didn’t expect your group for weeks. What brings little bunny hopping across my lands so early?” Beorn said, crouching at the knees to get closer to his level and yet still towering over him.
“It’s just me.” Bilbo smiled. Despite his urgency, it was good to see his friend. It brought back a flood of precious memories. “I’m rather impatient to get back.”
Beorn let out a loud, deep laugh. “That is the least surprising thing you could have said. I will not try to persuade you to stop your determined march, but if you'll stop and rest for a while, I will help you make up the time.”
“I don't know-” Bilbo paused when his hand came to rest on his shoulder. He was tired. Exhausted really.
“What would your dwarf think if you arrived on his doorstep a ragged shadow?” Beorn said kindly.
“He’s not my dwarf,” Bilbo replied, resigned to any further argument.
“He is more yours than he is anyone's, I think,” Beorn smiled.
“Two years is a long time,” Bilbo said, laughing at his own repetition.
“Two years is nothing, little bunny. Not measured against the rest of one's life.” Beorn meant that as a comfort, but he had only known Thorin for a little over a year before he met him. They spent more time apart than together. If a year was so small a time, then it was easy to move on from. He touched the first letter he got from Thorin, secretly tucked away under his bracers.
In the end, he was grateful that his friend had better sense than him. He fell onto the furs and swaddled himself in their comfort. When he woke, the sun was shining through the windows, and he could smell salted meats and eggs cooked with peppers.
Beorn's home hadn’t changed since the quest. It brought back so many memories. He had been so tired when he laid his head down that he failed to realize it was the exact same place he had slept during the quest. He ate with a smile, thinking of how nervous he had been then. Still shaking with adrenaline, getting used to Thorin not treating him with indifference. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Thorin threw his bedding down next to him. Had he not been so weary that night, he might not have gotten a wink of sleep due to the fluttering of his heart.
The memories made him want to leave faster. He finished eating and found his bag already filled with things for the road. True to his word, Beorn brought him to Mirkwood. He thought the big bear would have them part ways at the treeline, only to be surprised when he ran straight through it.
“You’re taking me all the way!” Bilbo shouted over the wind.
He only received a grunt in response and decided to question him later. They were going faster than he ever thought possible. Even when Bilbo started to grow tired, Beorn kept his pace. It took them only two days to cross the forest using the elven path, and when they finally reached the end of their time together, Beorn had brought him all the way to the bank of the long lake.
Beorn didn’t say goodbye to him in the traditional way. He nudged him with his head and started racing back through the forest. Bilbo waved at his retreating form and decided this was as good a place as any to rest.
He set his pack up to face the silhouette of the mountain on the horizon. It was growing bigger and bigger. Was this a fraction of what his friends felt on the journey? Watching Erebor rise in the distance with longing. At least this time, there was no dragon to contend with.
He rummaged for a little food in his bag and found the stack of letters they had shared over the last few years. The sentimental Baggins in him wanted to save them for binding to look back on in the future. They brought him comfort.
He liked the one that detailed Thorin’s coronation the best. It was the longest, and he spared no detail in writing it. As he got to the bottom, Thorin spoke with regret that he could not hold off until he was there to see it. The words were sincere, and more than one phrase had been crossed out in favor of another. It was unlike him. So much promise hidden behind a heavy-handed pen.
He put that one next to the other letter he kept close and tucked the rest away.
He was less than a day away when the ruins of Laketown could be seen. It was far away now, completely inaccessible on foot. He half expected it to still be smoking, but it was little more than a black husk half sunken. Somewhere under all of that was Smaug. He hoped, despite all that had happened there, that it would one day be rebuilt. It wasn't always a seedy town reeking of desperation born of a power-hungry master. Thorin had called it the center of all trade in the north. It deserved to be that again.
He had thought long and hard about how he would fill his days living in Erebor. He was not one to be idle. Would Thorin have him as a diplomat? Unlike the king under the mountain, he had not been raised learning the tenets of diplomatic negotiation, but he was a scholar at heart and had sat on the council in The Shire for some time. Anything he didn’t know, he could learn.
His thoughts carried his feet until he was over the ridge. A gasp was pulled from him as he saw the spires of Dale rising against the clouded blue sky. Once a ruin, it had now become a sprawling city in various stages of restoration. The designs were distinctly human, but it was impossible to miss the dwarven influence in the finished buildings.
Looming larger than life behind Dale was a familiar sight with brand new life. Never had he seen it in such craftsmanship. So this was what the gates to a dwarven kingdom looked like in their splendor. It was impossible to comprehend the magnitude of it. It was clear even from a distance. Its sheer size on display. He could make out details and carvings, both artistic and practical. He could even spot the ramparts.
The biggest change of all was a sizable river now flowing from the base. It had been a pitiful trickle when he left, and he could see how the land was supposed to be shaped with it restored.
He pulled his bag higher onto his shoulders. The grasses were growing back nicely, and the riverbanks were gentle. He had a very hobbitish urge to plant something out here. Trees and perennials to look forward to in the spring. Would the ground be too rocky for vegetables?
When his path met the road to and from Dale, his journey was no longer void of others. There were stalls along the road, and it was busy with the foot traffic of men and dwarves alike.
He didn't expect it and found himself having to step carefully around people before he was crushed underfoot. A dwarven boot on hobbit toes was incredibly painful as he had learned the hard way in his winter spent among them.
Before the gate was an open area where wagons could be unloaded, and goods exchanged, beyond that was the doorway flanked by two statues of dwarven kings. He knew they were kings by the raven crowns they wore. He studied them enraptured by their craftsmanship, but more so by their likeness to Thorin. He didn't need to be a scholar to recognise that he had committed his father and grandfather to stone to guard the gates to the home they loved.
His feet carried him faster and faster. Would he know the way when he got in? He had explored only a small portion before, and Yavanna had so much changed. He could at least find his way to the throneroom. That was not something likely to change places.
“Halt!”
Bilbo stumbled back before he could collide with the dwarf that had manifested in front of him.
“Non-dwarves are not permitted in the mountain at this time. Take your leave.” The guard was an annoyed-looking dwarf with a square face and a thin nose. His beard was three braids, again braided together and tied with a red metal cord. The hair atop his head was braided close to the scalp on the sides and more loosely down the middle. He didn’t recognise him at all from his winter in Erebor.
“I commend you for doing your job, good sir, but I’ve traveled a very long way. I’m a friend of the king, and I would very much like to see him.” Bilbo said, pulling himself up to his full height proudly.
“Do you think I was born yesterday?” The guard tsked. Bilbo’s eyes went wide, and he took a step back at the force of the words. “The king doesn't have time to entertain vagabonds. He said, ‘no one comes in that isn't a dwarf’, and he didn’t make any exceptions for elf children.”
“I’m a hobbit!” Bilbo spat. He was tired and beyond niceties. The long journey was already getting on his nerves, and he had seemingly, naively thought he would face no resistance at the gate, “The very same hobbit that helped reclaim this mountain, thank you very much.”
“And I’m a member of the royal family. Get lost. As I already said, the king has no time for wayward travelers.” The guard dismissed him, and Bilbo felt actual rage build up in him.
“I have proof! Actual letters from King Thorin himself and signed by him.” Bilbo pulled one of the letters from his pocket and held it up. “See? From the king.”
The guard snatched it from him, and he tried not to whimper as it left his hands. The guard looked it over, and his eyes lingered on the signature at the bottom. To his horror, he balled the parchment into a ball and threw it on the ground beside him.
“A good forgery, but a forgery nonetheless. The king no longer signs his letters with his 'beggar king' epithet. He signs it, son of Thrain, king under the mountain.” The guard moved to stand in Bilbo’s face. “Slink back to Dale, or I’m going to let you into the mountain, but not in a way that you’re going to like.”
A bubbling rage was growing inside Bilbo. He bent to pick up his letter and took the time to smooth it back out and fold it up appropriately. He calmed his nerves enough to stop his hands from shaking, but it didn't stop his lip from curling.
“I don’t think you know what the king's signature looked like from a hole in the ground. I certainly don't appreciate the insinuation that I’m a fraud from a glorified door watcher. If you’re going to arrest me, then do so. In fact, take me to the king himself and tell him what you think of me, but when you’re stripped of the few titles and beads you have, don't look to me for an ounce of mercy. Not if this is how you treat people.” Bilbo said, holding the guards' gaze in challenge.
“You don't know who the fuck you’re talking to,” The guard growled. He pulled the red chain tying the end of his beard off and held it as close to Bilbo’s face as he could without it touching him. “You see this? The king gave it to me as a reward for fighting in the Battle of Five Armies. I’m a decorated guard of Erebor. You should show me some respect.”
“It’s a shame that metals of war don't come with the authority to make me believe you’re someone of actual importance,” Bilbo said deadpan.
In a rage, the guard grabbed him by the back of his pack and dragged him backward to the circle where carts were being unloaded, dumping him onto the rocky ground.
“You’re very lucky I can’t leave my post. If I see you again, I’m going to teach you and that smart mouth of yours a hard learned lesson.” The guard waited until Bilbo was starting to get up before kicking him back onto the stones and walking away with a smirk.
Bilbo glared after the dwarf as he got to his feet. Embarrassment burned in him as several onlookers averted their gaze and went back to their tasks when they had been caught.
He had not traveled all this way to be turned out at the front gate by a guard throwing his weight around. Bilbo wasn't one to pull his connections, but he wished he had at least gotten his name. He was certain Thorin would be less than pleased to hear about the conduct of his guardsmen, and he looked forward to the look on his sorry face when he realised his blunder. Before he could do that, he needed to make it past the stoop.
He never thought he would get the chance to sneak into the mountain twice in one lifetime. This seemed like a downgrade from his first adventure and somewhat harder. He no longer had a magic ring to rely on, and he regretted handing it over to Gandalf now that he needed it again.
It was a long wait until nightfall. He didn’t retreat all the way to Dale and briefly thought about seeing if the secret entrance was still open before remembering that Thorin had shut it again for the safety of the mountain. Only the company knew about it, and it was unmanned. He ate some of what Beorn had packed him and looked out over the much-changed landscape. Thorin was in there right now, sleeping, probably, and wondering if his letter would arrive soon.
He never let his mind wander too far from his task at hand. He had enjoyed people watching his entire life, and it was coming in handy now. The guard who had denied him entry was still there. The way some of the others moved around him said a lot about his status. The guards straightened when he was around, then softened when he wasn’t looking. Higher ranking but not highly respected. Bilbo snorted. That figured.
It was the middle of the night when Bilbo finally got his chance. A changing of the guard. He got to his feet and realized immediately he was not going to be able to bring his pack with him and stay silent.
There were very few trees, and even then, he didn't want to leave it in the elements. He would only be gone from it for a short while, but all of his letters were in there. It pained him already to have to leave them. His only good option was to leave it in a rocky patch, with juvenile shrubs growing around it. He pulled out his handkerchief and threw the rest of the snacks away from the pack so he wouldn't attract bugs. Regrettably, he left Sting as well. Should things go wrong, he didn’t want to be seen as a threat.
It was as secure as it was going to get. He still had the letters tucked between his bracers, and that would have to be enough comfort. If all went well, he would be able to get the rest before noon tomorrow.
He turned his sights to the mountain. He wasn’t going to try talking again. It was too big a risk that they wouldn’t do the same thing as their leader did, but Gandalf, those years ago, was right. He was light on his feet and small enough not to be obvious. He would need a distraction to get them to move away from their posts. This was not like the elves, where he could toss a rock and get them to follow it. Dwarves have too good a stone sense for it to cause them any concern.
He could…set a fire? It felt like taking a page out of Gandalf's book, but it was effective, and there were many places where it wouldn't spread. He backtracked and found his pack again. He missed the flint and steel that the dwarves had. You could use it one-handed, and it was guaranteed to ignite. Alas, he would have to do this more traditionally. He put his pack back and snuck as far away as he could still in eyesight of the gate.
His margin of error was nonexistent. He hit the rocks and watched a spark jump into the bramble. The moment it caught, he bolted into the shadows, not even risking calling attention to the fire for fear of making his position known.
The guards saw it quickly, and as they rushed from their posts to put it out, Bilbo slipped past and was met with another challenge. An actual gate. Somehow, he had neglected to think of this hurdle. It was not made of stone but of sturdy oak, with rivets and an iron lattice covering it. The symbol of the line of Durin was carved into the wood like a brand.
His only saving grace was a rain drainage port at the very bottom. It was far too small for any race to use for entry… except perhaps a hobbit, a bit thinner in the middle due to travel. No time to second-guess himself, he dropped to the floor and wished he had eaten one or two less rolls at Beorns. There was no one on the other side when he poked his head through. Thank Yavanna. He really didn't need that added to his humiliation today. He had scraped the entire front of his vest on the way through, getting mud and silt down his front. So much for making a good impression when he saw Thorin again.
The hall looked far larger after restoration. He got to his feet and almost stumbled back. Surely this was not the same place that Thorin had walled himself up? It looked full of life. Like a gilded mosaic, except he noticed the distinct lack of gold. Not even a hew of it.
The abrupt change made him second-guess where he needed to go to get to the throne room. He raced to the back left and out through a hallway. He heard feet behind him and pressed himself to an indent in the wall. The guard who passed was too focused on their task to notice him.
“Captain, there was a fire, but it’s contained now. We have no idea how it started. There's no lightning, and it’s a clear sky.” The guard reported.
“Lad, no need to go fussing. A dragon isn't coming back to haunt you. It might have been a torch ember or a stray pipe for all we know. If it’s squashed, then pour a bucket on it and keep an eye.”
That was Dwalin! A voice so achingly familiar that it made him half laugh before he remembered he needed to be quiet. He didn't need to be quiet! Not with Dwalin just on the other side of the door. If anyone was going to guarantee his safety, it was the dwarf who checked his saddle and bags four times before he was allowed to actually mount his pony and leave.
“Dw-!” He stepped out from the shadows, and before the words left him, a hand silenced him, and a sharp knock to his head made everything go black.