Chapter Text
You've changed, Bilbo.
You're not the same hobbit as the one who left the Shire.
The words reverberate in his mind, making his fingers twitch around the cool piece of gold in his pocket.
"I was going to tell you ..."
The wizard tilts his head, hands seemingly relaxed upon his staff as he leans forward, but Bilbo knows him better than to assume Gandalf is listening in any other way than intently. His piercing gaze makes Bilbo's skin tingle – or maybe it is also the ring, which has begun to vibrate inside of his pocket. But that is ridiculous, isn't it? After all, trinkets can't move on their own.
Or can they?
Well, it has made him invisible though, so there's that. Which brings him back to questioning the righteousness of his intention.
Why does he suddenly have the urge to tell Gandalf about it? It isn’t even that important. A wizard certainly has other things to worry about than a stupid golden ring, especially now that they're on a quest to kill a dragon and reclaim the dwarrow's homeland.
But still … there is this inkling, this deep-rooted feeling that something is off about this … precious, as Gollum called it. The way it seeps into Bilbo's mind and makes him think in a way he's not entirely used to is unsettling at times, albeit the wondrous advantages it has procured him until now will undoubtedly be quite useful – to both him and their quest.
“Yes?”
The hobbit snaps out of his thoughts and puts on a lopsided smile as he straightens his back, not willing to let his uncertainty show on his face even more than it probably already does. Not that it would make a noticeable difference considering his opposite is Gandalf the Grey himself – one of the five Istari in Middle Earth and ranking right behind their leader, Saruman the White.
“I … I found something in the Goblin tunnels.”
Don't!
Bilbo freezes, his brows furrowing. Where did this voice come from? He glances around but finds that every single dwarf is occupied with unpacking the stuff from their ponies. No one even so much as glances in his direction.
"Found what?"
His head whips back to Gandalf, who eyes him questioningly.
He knows. You don't need to tell him.
What does it matter if I tell him when he already knows of it?
You must not tell him.
"What did you find?"
He feels Gandalf's fingers grasp his shoulder.
Artwork by Pingvin
It's grounding to some extent, reminding Bilbo of his intention. If only there wasn't this odd sensation inside of him, this clump that feels like sand rasping over his throat when he tries to start talking about it. About the ring. Which sits snugly in the right pocket of his waistcoat.
The thought alone is enough to make his hand clutch tighter around it.
This is not you, something deep inside of his soul murmurs, but he finds that it does not permeate the wall that surrounds him – it is like a cloud that obscures a mountain peak, preventing everyone from looking at it from the outside but also keeping the peak marooned and lonely in his fluffy prison. Except that his heart and mind embody the mountain peak and the cloud around him is actually a band of gold, blinding him more than the sun ever could.
And it irritates him.
No. Bilbo’s head twitches, his eyes narrowed. It is more than that.
He feels it in the slight tremble of his fingers, the tension in his whole body, the way his teeth are clenched together so hard he believes he can hear them crunch.
This isn’t just irritation, he realises. It is anger. But not at the ring or someone else around him. It is anger directed right at himself. After all, since when did hobbits let themselves get swayed by treasure, and one made of gold at that?
No, I won’t be controlled by a simple – if yet magic – ring.
Surely, he should be able to utter four words.
I would not do that.
Bilbo distantly feels his hands curling into fists.
Blast this godforsaken voice in his head!
You have no claim over me!
"There was a r–"
A flash of fiery red explodes behind his eyes, cutting into him like a knife. A dark shadow materialises in the centre of the raging flames, growing taller and taller until it fills the entirety of Bilbo's vision. He feels himself swaying – the grip on around his shoulder tightening only noticed on a side by his consciousness – as the presence in his mind seeps through his every fibre. Every second that goes by feels like a day, dragging on until he feels as cold as ice. His heart clenches, and before his inner eye the figure morphs into a phantom of himself, caught in a grip of darkness emanating so much evil he has never imagined to be able to exist.
With a jolt he comes to himself again when the figure before his eyes dissolves into nothing but ash. It leaves behind a salty, metallic taste on his tongue.
He blinks, fast and disoriented, and sees Gandalf has leaned over him and the wizard’s hand is still firmly planted on the top of Bilbo’s shoulder. It is laying there without real pressure, but still, it is a weight threatening to drag him down, down into the abyss that has just been laid out before him.
Blinking again, Bilbo licks away the drop of blood on his lower lip, and stares into Gandalf's eyes. They hold something akin to worry, and he sees himself in there – the reflection of his face, weathered by the rough wind and sun. But there is a shadow around him, a barely noticeable shade of black that surrounds his form as if it wants to embrace him. Just like seconds before.
He shakes his head, however, it does nothing but worsen the pain in his head. It flares up like a knife being twisted inside of a wound. He presses his eyes together so tightly that it burns and he feels the weight of the wizard's hand on his shoulder getting heavier as he tries to breathe through the stabbing pain.
"Whatever ails you my friend, the threat is not real. I am here to help you.”
Gandalf's voice is unusually soft, but it does not ease the ache in his head. Instead, that thing inside of him flares up even more once again, like a flame feeding on oxygen. It screeches and yet, Bilbo hears no sound. He feels it in his guts, in his head and his heart, as it claws itself deeper and deeper into skin and bone, burying itself so deep it cannot easily be brought to light again. It fills him with a sense of dread and rage … and hate.
There is a hand on his arm now. His right arm.
And he snaps.
“It’s mine!”
He hurls forward, eyes opened wide as both his hands reach out to defend himself – to protect the ring! There is a snarl still on his lips, but before he can get to Gandalf, he is stopped in his tracks. He struggles against the arms that have wrapped themselves around his body, caging him like an animal that is to be restrained.
His discomfort must be visible on his face because genuine worry shines in Gandalf's eyes – which certainly does ease the hobbit’s nerves in that moment, because Bilbo can count the amount of times he has been witness to such an utterly disturbing occurrence on the fingers of one hand. On top of that, he notices how his own breathing grows more frantic, his lungs desperately trying to force more air into him. But there just is none and he feels like a fish on dry land.
“You are safe, Bilbo. Just breathe. Breathe with me.”
Then the wizard extends his hand again, lifting it slowly so Bilbo can follow its motion, until it is placed on his forehead.
He squints and tries to focus not on his stumbling heartbeat but on the touch and the prickling sensation that originates from it, desperate to dispel these clouds of anger and morosity that have embraced his insides.
He waits. The seconds draw out. The pounding lingers. And then, there is a faint tug at the edge of his mind, as if someone drew the curtain away from a window to finally let in some sunlight.
Slowly, as the grip of those invisible claws seems to loosen up, he senses his body relaxing a bit. Soon his tight shoulders slump forward and with them, the arms around his torso release him, allowing him to draw a hitched breath and clutch the fabric of his waistcoat. He distantly reaches for the last button that is left on it, traces the outline of the bold relief-like acorn with his forefinger. This metal is cold and yet comforting. It reminds him of home – unlike this blasted ring in his pocket.
And suddenly, various voices around him come into the fore. This time, he knows them. But as much as he tries to match them to their owners' faces, he finds himself unable to do so. Instead, his focus shifts from one sensation to the other, the continuing whispers in his mind, the pulsating of the ring, the tingling in his head …
An eternity seems to fly by as he attempts to regain his countenance, but at long last he finally manages to open his eyes with a flutter. Instead of a looming shadow and blazing fires, he is met with the sight Gandalf towering before him. His pointy hat obscures a great part of the sky and his bushy eyebrows have almost travelled up into his hairline, a deep crease etched into the skin between them.
"Gandalf! Tell us what is ailing him?”
“What is going on with our burglar?”
“Is he sick?”
Bilbo flinches and only now he realises that the dwarves are standing closely around them, their faces twisted into various grimaces of concern. Gandalf lets out an annoyed huff and Bilbo shuts his eyes again, the light of the sun above him too bright for his comfort right now.
"I will tell you when I know what troubles our Hobbit and until then you will remain silent, so I can focus. And for the Valar's sake, give him some space to breathe!”
There is a lot of grumbling as the dwarves shift on their feet, backing off begrudgingly, but Oin's and Gandalf's menacing stares aren't so easily ignored.
Bilbo, however, finds the closeness of his company soothing as their murmurs drown the whispers inside his head and fill him with a warmth that makes him feel more like himself again.
“No,” he croaks, reaching out with his hand in search of physical contact; anything to ground him and bring his mind back to reality. Away from this cruel eye of fire. “Stay. Please.” He couldn’t care less about the slight whining tone in his voice when a warm hand grasps his own and another strokes his back, making him sink into the touch with a relieved sigh. He instantly feels his heartbeat slowing down and his breath evening out a bit.
It takes him a few seconds until he feels ready to open his eyes again, this time a bit slower. And when he does, he finds himself staring into thirteen pairs of worried dwarven eyes. Thorin is nearest, still grasping his hand and his face is twisted into his usual scowl, but Bilbo sees the worry flickering in his icy orbs, etched into his furrowed brows. He sees it in the way Thorin’s shoulders are hunched up as if he was cold. He feels it, as the dwarf’s thumb caresses the skin on Bilbo’s hand in slow, comforting motions.
He takes a deep, shuddering breath. ”I am alright. It is just a simple qualm, I guess.” Bilbo attempts a reassuring smile. “Most probably I ate too little.”
Not even half of the company looks convinced.
“I’ll just need a few more minutes. Then we can continue, right?” He shoots Gandalf a glance, half pleading and half asking, seeking for support.
The wizard, however, is holding his hand over Bilbo’s head with a concentrated expression, surely scanning the hobbit with those same wizard-skills of his that he must have used on Thorin a few weeks ago at the top of the Carrock. And if Bilbo does not just imagine it, he thinks he can feel an odd tingling sensation in his body as Gandalf does his work.
After one or two more seconds the wizard opens his eyes and stares at Bilbo with an unreadable expression, his eyes narrowed. They pierce through him in that particular way that always makes him think that he's being downright judged.
“It truly appears like you’re exhausted, my dear burglar.” Gandalf’s forehead smooths out and his form slackens – but his eyes are telling another story. “Perhaps the stress finally caught up with you. Apart from that, you should be fine. I only need to set some things right.”
Bilbo looks up at the wizard with a weak smile, his eyes hopefully conveying his gratitude. The wizard nods curtly. Then he looks up to the dwarves, tilting his head nearly imperceptibly.
“Thorin?
The dwarf throws Bilbo a glance, the unspoken question sounding loud and clear through the stuffy air even so. The hobbit’s lips tug upwards in affection, and he nods reassuringly. Thorin still hesitates for a second, but then he nods back. He gives Bilbo’s hand a last gentle squeeze and then calls on his company to give Gandalf and Bilbo some space which they begrudgingly obey to.
Bilbo looks at their retreating backs, immediately missing their closeness. He catches a few of them glancing over their shoulders as Thorin leads them to the entrance to Mirkwood. With a frown on his face, Bilbo turns their back on them to face the wizard.
He clears his throat. “What is it with you and your secretiveness, Gandalf?” It is meant to be half a joke at least, but Gandalf’s sober expression wipes the inceptive smile from his lips.
“You must tell me what you have found in the tunnels, Bilbo.”
The hobbit flinches and shakes his head frantically, his eyes instantly widening again.
“It is important, Bilbo.” The wizard’s face is compassionate but stern. Once again he reaches for Bilbo's shoulder.
Bilbo looks away, unable to meet the Gandalf’s sharp gaze. “I can’t.”
“I am aware–”
“No, you are not!” Bilbo spits and he is shocked by the bite in his voice. He takes a deep breath and continues in a calmer, quieter tone: “It does not let me.”
Gandalf’s brows knit together even further and his eyes narrow. “It?
“I want to say it out loud but I just … I can’t. But I don’t know why.”
“My dear Bilbo, you need to answer me honestly, if you are able to. Can you do that?”
The hobbit nods, his eyes silently pleading.
“Is the thing you found in the tunnels something made of gold, by any chance?”
Bilbo’s gut clenches. But he manages to nod again. Fights the urge to reach into his pocket and clutch the ring.
“Well done,” Gandalf mutters. “It is a trinket?”
Another nod.
The wizard’s eyes grow darker, his voice graver.
“Is it a ring?”
The whispers come back at full force and Bilbo gasps for air. This time he reaches into his pocket, however, his fingers close not around his ring, but his acorn. Clenching his teeth he focuses on the delicate texture of the little nut and wills the voices away. He keeps his eyes open as he parts his lips against the invisible force that presses them shut, ignoring the clump in his throat.
“Yes.”
Gandalf’s eyes flicker with something akin to resignation and he leans back, his gaze straying into the distance – and the tension between them breaks. It gives Bilbo the chance to take a deep breath again.
For a long moment, Gandalf remains quiet and the silence hangs in the air, heavy with concerns and suspicions still unspoken.
“So?” Bilbo inquires after what feels like an eternity to him, squirming uncomfortably. But his question receives no response from the wizard who still seems to be deeply in thought.
Bilbo shifts his weight, his hand reaching out for the grey robe. “Gandalf, please tell me what’s happening! What is wrong with me?” He looks up to the old man’s face, pleadingly so, until the wizard finally regards him with a stern gaze.
“You said it does not let you talk about it. Has it done anything else?”
Bilbo blinks. Clears his throat. “When I put it on, I seem to be…” he listens for the voice to protest, but for once it remains silent, “… invisible.”
Gandalf’s brows climb higher.
“Tell me, have you seen any engravings in it?”
“No.” Bilbo frowns. “No, it is plain. Why is that important?”
“Ah. Well, that is good, quite good,” Gandalf says, once again successfully ignoring Bilbo’s question. In lieu, he puts on a small smile that is surely meant to be encouraging. But Bilbo does not trust his words. There is still something in the wizard’s eyes, something that just tells him that there is more to this ring than Gandalf wants to let on.
“And why is that good? Does that mean … I can keep it?”
At that, Gandalf’s eyes narrow.“Yes.” He draws the word out and Bilbo feels strangely exposed. “However, until I am sure what it is exactly, you must not use it, except for when you find yourself in a situation so dire that there is truly no other way.”
Why does he always have to speak in such riddles? Bilbo wonders. “What will happen if I use it?” He thinks back to when he escaped Gollum. If one ignored the orc attack afterwards, he and the dwarrow had been totally fine – no dark shadow seemed to pull them into an abyss, and they weren’t burned alive. Although we were surrounded by fire, Bilbo realises. But it was Gandalf’s doing – the ring cannot command a wizard, can it?
“I am not entirely sure about that, either.”
Scrunching his nose, the hobbit looks at Gandalf with a frown. “So, what are you sure of then?”
The wizard sighs. “I know that using the ring might be more than dangerous. For you. For the whole company, even. And therefore, also for the quest.”
“Well … can’t you do anything about it, then? You could take it yourself, can’t you? After all, you are a wizard. No one will dare to go near you in fear of what you would do to them. Right?”
Gandalf quickly shakes his head and leans back. “Unfortunately, I can’t. Not if it is what I think it is.” For the first time since Bilbo has known him, he believes he can see a shimmer of fear flickering through Gandalf’s eyes.
Bilbo gulps down the anxiety that builds up inside of him again, and covers it up with a huff of annoyance. “So tell me then what it is that you are thinking of!”
The wizard tilts his head from side to side with a contemplative expression on his face. “I think it is too soon yet to tell, for I do not wish to worry you any more than is necessary.” Bilbo’s brows move upwards in disbelief, and he is one moment away from snapping at the old man in a way none of his Baggins relatives would approve. Bungo himself would certainly turn around in his grave, ashamed of his son’s lack of manners.
In the end, however, he does not have to say anything – apparently, his thoughts have been plain to see in his face because Gandalf’s nonchalant mask falls and his lips twist into a lopsided smile. “Your resemblance with your mother’s spirit and her sense to detect any attempt of mine to hide something from her is truly uncanny.”
Bilbo grunts. “Not to badmouth my mother’s social skills, but I don’t think you’re trying particularly hard, old man.”
The skin around Gandalf’s eyes wrinkles and the smile on his lips turns into an almost boyishly innocent smirk. Bilbo thinks it makes him look at least one century younger. Or a millennium.
“Don’t think you can outsmart me with your alleged innocence,” Bilbo chides him mockingly, but there is an impatient edge to his voice. He’s had enough of the mysteries. “If you have got only the slightest reasonable idea for what this is is, I believe I have a right to know what is going on. Don’t you think, Gandalf? Considering it is me who carries this … this thing.”
Gandalf sighs heavily and closes his eyes for a second, before opening them again to regard Bilbo with a grave expression. “Very well, I will tell you. Even though I gather that you won’t find it too comprehensible.”
Nose twitching, Bilbo replies dryly, “I guess I will be the judge of that.”
The wizard huffs, looking as if he wanted to bring Belladonna Took back into life to give her a proper piece of his mind about how she could let her son not only inherit her courage but also her sassiness.
“Bilbo, it appears you have found a magic ring. A ring that has been forged a long time ago and quite possibly comprises a history you could not even begin to grasp.”
For a moment, Bilbo just stares at Gandalf as if he is trying to figure out if the old man tries to fool him. “Okay,” he lifts his chin and purses his lips, “so what does that mean for me?”
“It means, Bilbo Baggins, that you will have to be careful. Very careful. Rings of power are no objects to carry or even use lightly.”
“So … there’s more magic rings?”
“Oh yes, quite so.”
Bilbo scrunches up his nose and looks towards Gandalf’s hands that curl around his wizard staff. “Is that one?”
Gandalf follows Bilbo’s gaze towards the golden band with the encased ruby; even in the feeble light that filters through the clouds, the gem glints like the fire in his hearth back in Bag End.
“Hmm, this? Oh, that my boy, this is just a ring.” Gandalf tilts his head forward, smiling fondly in this unique way of his where his smile is a tad to sweet, but at the same time his eyes seem to carry a depth of wisdom and knowledge that suddenly makes Bilbo feel far too small for this vast world. “This is but a simple … heirloom, as one might say. Even though it was given to me not by any ancestor but a good friend of mine.”
The hobbit scrutinises the wizard’s innocent face, quite aware that the old man is not or at least not fully telling him the truth. But Bilbo also did not really expect Gandalf to reveal all of his secrets just because he is being a noisy hobbit. The Greybeard is still a wizard, after all.
“So, it’s no magic ring then?
“Well, I would not quite say that it carries no magic. There are lots of different kinds of magic and –”
“By Mahal, Gandalf, you know what I meant!”
Gandalf’s eyes twinkle in that unmistakable mix of mystery and juvenile glee he’s perfected. It is a perfect setup to pique someone’s curiosity before he gives them answers that only seem to satisfy their inquisitiveness at the first glance, while in actual fact he’s only deepening the abyss of confusion even more.
“Ugh, why do I even bother?” Bilbo pinches the bridge of his nose. “Do you at least know how many of the rings of power exist?”
“Yes.” Gandalf’s gaze flickers to something behind Bilbo’s back. “But that, my dear Bilbo, is a tale for another day. And right now I am more concerned to make sure that you know how to handle your ring.” His eyes settle on Bilbo once more with graveness. “You must heed my warning, Bilbo Baggins. I do not yet know if your ring is amongst the rings of greater power but even if it is not, it still contains enough magic to sway even the mightiest of warriors.”
Bilbo refrains from reaching for the ring that pulsates a bit stronger at that, the voice inside his head simultaneously increasing in volume. As if it is complaining, he thinks.
“You must promise me to keep it to yourself. For now, at least. Don’t tell anyone about it.”
Bilbo’s nose twitches. “What about the dwarves?” He mutters, feeling his heart grow heavy as he casts a look over his shoulder towards the company. Some dwarves wave at him with soft smiles. Thorin seems to be wary, but he shows no sign of being annoyed that Bilbo has caused a delay in their schedule. It would have been completely different just a few weeks back.
He turns to Gandalf again. “They’ve just begun to really trust me. Do I really need to keep this from them?”
“The more people know about it, the greater is the danger it poses. Especially now that you will be entering Mirkwood.” Gandalf throws a glance at the dark forest and frowns, before he looks back at Bilbo and the ends of his lips tug upward in the attempt of an encouraging smile. “Apart from that, I would not want you to have another ‘reaction’ when you’re trying to talk about its existence. So, for now it is better you keep it safe, Bilbo. Keep it hidden.
Bilbo grits his teeth. “What should I tell them then?”
“Nothing that might make them suspicious. Do not drop any hints about rings and, more importantly,” Gandalf knowingly raises one eyebrow, “do not ask them about the rings of power. Such questions are not to be asked lightly and, as you are well aware, dwarves in particular are terribly secretive and therefore more than suspicious in such matters – especially if it regards items of metal or gem and a form of great power that comes with it.”
“Ohhh, so do you want to tell me you are actually a dwarf, Gandalf?” Bilbo places a hand above his heart and smiles as if he is deeply moved. “I am so glad you consider me such a good friend to share this so openly.”
This time it seems like Gandalf’s whole body sighs as a whole, his shoulders dropping as he leans heavily onto his staff – as if Bilbo’s comment has drained all energy from his ancient bones. At the sight, Bilbo allows himself a smug grin. But, as expected, the moment doesn’t last long: the amused flicker of mock-exasperation is Gandalf’s face is gone in a tick, his eyes as perceptive again as ever.
“Considering that you have not only recovered your usual sharp wit but even seem to have enhanced your sense of irony, I trust that I can leave you alone now.”
Bilbo’s heart instantly drops – along with his lopsided grin. “Must you really leave?”
“Yes. The knowledge about your ring puts me even more to haste.” He places a hand on top of Bilbo’s shoulder, before stepping back and beckoning his horse over with a quiet whistle.
Bilbo can only nod weakly. and his throat is dry as he watches Gandalf mount the beautiful beast, unable to form a comprehensible thought or even a sentence.
“We will see each other again at the overlook of Erebor, Bilbo. I should have more answers for you then.” Gandalf takes the reins and his horse begins to prance forward. “Stick close to the dwarves and do not use the ring unless there is no other way. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I will only use it if I have to.”
Gandalf’s mouth twitches. “Good.” And just like that he turns the horse around, urging it on with quiet whispers Bilbo doesn’t understand.
“And remember: Stay on the path!” The voice sounds warningly through the air, as clear as if Gandalf stood right in front of Bilbo instead of riding away on a galloping horse.
With a heavy heart, Bilbo stuffs his hands into his pockets and keeps watching the wizard and his horse as they rapidly get smaller in the distance, leaving the hobbit behind with one answer and hundreds of questions. His finger taps against the mysterious trinket absentmindedly.
Only after the small speckle eventually disappears, it suddenly occurs to Bilbo that Gandalf hasn’t once mentioned what he thinks the ring is exactly. Bilbo is sure he had specific suspicions about its nature but the old man once again successfully skirted around answering that particular question, while still feeding Bilbo information that should distract him from his original inquiry.
And Bilbo fell for it.
He narrows his eyes and his jaw tenses, as he mutters under his breath, “Blasted wizard!”
“Are you alright?” He nearly jumps at the unexpected sound of Thorin’s voice, and Bilbo draws a deep, quiet breath before he turns around with a half-smile on his lips.
“Yes.”
Thorin tilts his head a bit forward, crossing his arms before his chest, and one brow rises in silent demand.
Bilbo feels as if he melts under the dwarf’s gaze, and he drops his shoulders, uncurling the fists he had unconsciously formed inside his waistcoat pockets.
“I guess I am just worried about Gandalf not accompanying us – well, guiding us through Mirkwood. Even Beorn advised us not to go through this forest and he’s the tallest as well as the broadest being I’ve ever seen.”
A fond smile tugs at Thorin’s thin lips, and he lays both his hands around Bilbo’s shoulders in nothing more than a touch as lightly as the kiss of a butterfly. This time, it is a truly grounding gesture, and Bilbo feels more tension leaving his body as the remaining whispers in his head get drowned out by Thorin’s timbre.
“Of course, I can’t promise you we will encounter no troubles – after all, it seems like we’re a rather trouble-attracting company.” He gives a wink that leaves no doubt about Thorin’s kinship with Fíli and Kíli. “But I assure you that we will do everything we can to have a safe journey through Mirkwood.”
Bilbo huffs a little laugh and he is sure he only imagines Thorin’s eyes lighting up and his smile broadening somewhat. It’s quite likely that the sick forest and this weird ring are already playing tricks on his mind.
“And let’s not forget that we have a witty Burglar amidst our ranks,” Thorin concludes with a hint of a wink, but his tone leaves no question about the sincerity of his words.
In quiet thanks Bilbo raises his arms to lay his hands on Thorin’s elbows.
There is a short moment in which they do not talk – not verbally at least – as they look at each other in silence; one seeking comfort and one seeking to provide it. For Bilbo it is a moment of peace in which every sound from the outside disappears into thin air. There is only Thorin’s face before him. The gentle pressure of his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders and Bilbo’s heartbeat which, he is sure, can be heard from kilometres away.
“Thorin?”
The moment snaps apart and so do they.
Bilbo instantly misses the warmth of Thorin’s presence as soon as they have established a respectful distance again. The warm tingling around the spots where the dwarven king’s hands have laid on Bilbo’s shoulders are a poor substitute, but he will take everything he gets – most of all including the small, apologetic smile from Thorin that makes Bilbo’s heart jump, before the dwarf turns around to fulfil his duties.
The hobbit catches a curious glance from Dwalin directed at Thorin who only growls at the warrior and attempts to cut him off but, of course, Dwalin is not impressed and follows him as the king makes his way to the rest of the company. Bilbo can only huff a silent chuckle before he turns around for a moment to look at the spot where he’s last seen Gandalf’s silhouette. However, as Bilbo has expected, there is no trace of him anymore. Heaving a sigh, he fights the urge to reach into his waistcoat pocket.
Suddenly two shadows appear on his sides and, in the next moment, he is flanked by both Fíli and Kíli, each linking one of their arms with his and swirling him around with them.
“Boys?!”
“Oi, Bilbo, we thought you’d like our company during our trek through this matted mutation of a forest,” Kíli exclaims playfully.
“And we could tell you a few nice stories from Ered Luín,” Fíli says in a calmer, but no less friendly tone. “If you’d like that.”
From the head of their group he can see Thorin throwing a glance back, checking in with them. His gaze lingers a tad longer on Bilbo and the hobbit thinks he can see a little tilt of his head.
Bilbo rolls his eyes but, contrary to the weeks before, he does not feel like he is being policed. Now he feels like there is someone, who truly, from heart, watches out for him. Even if it means Thorin has sent his nephews to keep Bilbo entertained and distracted from the arising darkness in his mind.
“Well then, boys, go on!” he chirps. “Tell me the most embarrassing stories about your Uncle. I want to hear everything.”
The young dwarves bellow out excited laughter. A few moments later they are quite vividly recounting the time when Thorin tried to assist his sister Dís with cooking and confused sugar for salt in the process. They also tell the tale of the day Fíli and Kíli sneakily relocated a box to right in front of Thorin’s bedroom and placed a tub with water behind it – that morning a particular sleepy dwarf Prince took an early and entirely involuntary bath.
The two young dwarves go on and on, until the borders of the woods have long since disappeared from view. And so, for quite a while, Bilbo forgets about the burden in his pocket and instead loses himself in recounted memories of a past so vividly told he can imagine he has been there himself along the way.
The tales and the resulting laughter that echoes through the forest will be one of Bilbo’s last light-hearted memories for a long time.