Work Text:
Bilbo scrambled down the secret passage, the heat of dragon fire egging him on. He came up short as he reached the dwarves, gasping raggedly for air.
“Master Boggins!” Kíli yelped, jumping to his feet, the rest of the dwarves following a second later.
“Sm… Smaug… he knows… we’re here. Almost caught… me.” Bilbo wheezed, an arm wrapped around his middle, the other on the stoney wall of the tunnel. The long trek of the journey to the Lonely Mountain had gotten Bilbo in pretty good shape, but he was still not used to sprinting for his life.
Thorin stepped forward, placing a warm, steadying hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “You’re alright?” He asked, “No injuries?”
“I’m fine. My hair’s a bit singed, but I’m alright.” Bilbo said placatingly.
Suddenly, a roar rent the air. It was unlike any of them had ever heard, except those of them that had been in the Mountain when Smaug had first arrived. To them, it was all too familiar. It was the snarl of a Great Dragon on the hunt.
An intense rumbling followed, like an earthquake, like a volcano, like stone being ripped apart as easily as bread. Smaug roared again, for who else could it be but a dragon? Then they heard beats, like a bird, but much, much louder.
Bilbo turned to face the door. “Shut it! Shut the door!” he screamed.
“But we won’t be able to get back out!” Gloin cried.
“Smaug is coming! He’s going to kill us if we don’t SHUT THE DOOR!”
Thorin nodded. “Everyone’s inside, and we can’t get the ponies up. Shut it.”
Bilbo squeezed Thorin’s hand in thanks as Dwalin and Gloin, the two closest to the secret door, struggled to push out the stone that was wedging it open. They got it free, and the door thudded shut. Darkness poured in around them, embracing them in its cold arms. Not a second too late. They heard another roar, and then the crackling fvoosh of dragon fire hitting the stone wall. They all backed up, fast. Once they were a good 20 feet back, a few of the dwarves reached to light torches.
The dim, flickering light of the fire spread out, pushing back the darkness, giving them a bubble of safety. There was a beat of silence.
“What do we do now?” Ori asked in a small voice.
“We wait.” Bilbo sighed.
A couple hours later, they heard a sound none of them had ever heard before. A dragon’s roar, melting into a keening, low wail, eerily similar to that of a person in distress. Then the sound of something big hitting the lake.
Then nothing.
None of them spoke, too disturbed by what they had heard.
They heard nothing more.
By the next morning, (or as far as the Company could tell,) after they had slept, and heard nothing for since the wail, they were mostly convinced the dragon was dead. They packed up the small camp they had made, and headed down the path, back into the Mountain.
Bilbo went first, creeping along quietly, followed by dwarves trying to creep, and failing miserably. When they reached the last turn in the tunnel, right before the hall with all the gold Bilbo motioned for them all to stop. Bilbo wondered briefly what the hall was called, if the treasure was kept there normally, or if Smaug had piled it all there after collecting it from around Erebor.
“Wait here. I’ll see if Smaug is there, just in case.” Bilbo whispered to the group of huffing, stamping, LOUD dwarves behind him.
“And if he is? Smaug knows your scent now, Burglar. It’s not safe.” Thorin whispered back.
“Safer for me than you. At least I’m quiet, unlike you. Even if Smaug knows I’m there, he won't know where, exactly.” Bilbo huffed impatiently.
“Bilbo…” Thorin said in a worried voice.
“Thorin…” Bilbo said back, in a fake-worried voice, mocking Thorin’s tone.
“Thorin, the lad has a point. He’ll be alright, he’s proven he’s capable.” Balin said. Fíli and Kíli started snickering behind Balin. Thorin whipped around to find Bilbo missing. He’d snuck away while Balin unknowingly distracted Thorin. Thorin ground his teeth and crossed his arms but stayed put.
A few minutes later, Bilbo reappeared from around the bend.
“All clear. No sign of Smaug.” Bilbo stopped in front of Thorin, seemingly not seeing the scowl on the dwarf’s bearded face. “Come on, O King Under the Mountain.” he snarked. The company slowly followed him around the bend and out into the hall. Rolling hills of gold greeted them, spotted with gems of rich reds, blues greens and purples.
They stood frozen for a moment, mouths agape, staring wide-eyed and the scene before them. The spell broke, and they all rushed forward, picking up the gold and gems to inspect. After a minute, however, Thorin called for attention.
“Congragualtions, Master Baggins. You have completed your duty.” He gave a small bow, grinning at Bilbo. “We thank you.” Then, Thorin turned to the others. “Start searching. We must find the King’s Jewel. We must find the Arkenstone.” Something in Thorin’s eyes as he said that, a small kernel of cold, buried deep in his pupils, made Bilbo shiver. The small pocket on the inside of his waistcoat felt much heavier.
The next few days were stressful, and yet boring and repetitive. They were spent mostly in the hall of treasure, searching for the Arkenstone. They ate and slept outside of it, but almost all of their waking hours were spent in the hall. Bilbo was worried for the dwarves. They seemed fixated on the Arkenstone in a way that felt unnatural. Especially Thorin. He was spending more and more time in the hall, and less outside. He was up before everyone else and went to bed later. He was eating less, too. A dark secret part of Bilbo’s brain whispered that it might be Gold Sickness. Bilbo tried to ignore it, pushing it down, but it wouldn’t stop whispering.
A few days after they had reclaimed the mountain, Thorin called Bilbo over to him, while the others were still rifling through the gold. Thorin had found the crown his grandfather had worn, along with some royal looking deep blue robes. Bilbo hated them. The crown most of all. It was cold and commanding, nothing like the Thorin Bilbo used to know.
“Master Baggins. This is for you. Put it on.” Thorin held out a shimmering silver shirt of mail. Bilbo took it.
“What is it?” Bilbo asked, running a hand across the twinkling metal.
“It is mithril. Light as a feather, stronger than steel.” Thorin replied.
“That is a kingly gift.” Gloin said, looking up from the hill of gold he was sifting through. Bilbo looked up at Thorin. Thorin was fixated on Bilbo. His eyes burned. Bilbo thought that maybe this wasn’t just a gift, but a sign of possession. Ownership. Bilbo felt a finger of ice trace down his spine. He shivered.
“Well? Put it on.” Thorin ordered. It was an order. Bilbo could tell.
He slowly removed his waistcoat and shirt, drew the mithril shirt on, then replaced his shirt and waistcoat. Thorin nodded in approval.
“Good. You’ll be safe now.” He rumbled.
When Thorin turned his back, Bilbo left the hall. He did not sneak. Certainly not.
An hour or so later, Balin found Bilbo not hiding in the kitchen. Bilbo was aggressively making bread. He had found the kitchens while exploring Erebor. All the other dwarves had been busy, so he had had to fix it up himself. He had done a good job too, if he did say so himself.
“Are you alright, Laddie?” Balin asked Bilbo gently, placing a warm hand on his back. Bilbo paused for a moment, meeting Balin’s gaze. There was something cold flickering in Balin’s pupils. All the dwarves had it now. None were as strong or cold as Thorin’s eyes, but they all had some. They were all acting strange. Different. They didn’t talk as much, didn’t sing, and when they did, it was about gold. Gold and gems. Nothing but treasure. And Thorin… Bilbo looked back down at the dough he was kneading.
“I’m worried, Balin. And…” scared. I’m scared. All of you are acting crazy, drunk on gold, and Thorin is looking at me like I’m a jewel, something to lock away and possess! Bilbo’s mind screamed. “… and Thorin is acting weird.” Bilbo said dejectedly, ignoring his racing thoughts.
Balin sighed. “I- I believe it is Dragon-sickness. I’ve seen it before. That look. That terrible need. It is a fierce and jealous love, Bilbo. It sent his grandfather mad.” Bilbo’s heart sank. He had hoped he was wrong.
“Balin… if- if Thorin… had the Arkenstone… if it was found. Would it help?” Bilbo stammered quietly. Balin looked shocked for a moment, then regained his composure. Bilbo thought ruefully that that was not the most subtle way to ask. He hoped Balin wouldn’t tell Thorin.
“That stone crowns all. It is the summit of this great wealth, bestowing power upon he who bears it. Will it stay his madness? No, lad; I fear it would make it worse. Perhaps it is best that it remains lost.” Balin finished. He nodded slowly to Bilbo, as if trying to convey something. The stone should stay lost. Don’t give it to him. Bilbo nodded back.
Bilbo sat at the edge of the firelight as the Company ate dinner. He stirred his stew, glancing towards the door to the hall. He wondered what it was called. Thorin was still in there, striding about and digging through gold piles. It had been a while since he saw him eat.
“Is Thorin going to eat?” Bofur asked the group at large, seemingly having read Bilbo’s mind.
“‘E ‘ed ‘e ‘ould ‘ater.” Kíli mumbled through a mouthful. Fíli smacked his brother’s head, violently conveying to swallow before he spoke. The dwarves seemed content with that answer. Bilbo wasn’t.
Later, when the rest were sleeping, Bilbo rolled over on his bed roll, unable to drift off. His eyes strayed to the door, a faint golden light seeping through it. It has been hours since they had dinner. Thorin has still not come through the door.
Bilbo isn’t able to fall asleep at all that night. He watched the door.
Thorin still hasn't left the hall when the other dwarves start stirring.
Bilbo wandered the halls of Erebor after breakfast. Well, calling it breakfast was rather generous. He was already only eating three meals a day, and now he could barely eat a few bites during those meals. As Bilbo wandered, he stumbled across a door leading to the outside.
Through the door is a large balcony, covered in plants. Bilbo wondered if it might have been a graden, once. Now it is overgrown, plants spilling from boxes of dirt, climbing up walls, circling rails, trailing over the edge of the stone, hanging in empty air. There were vines, bushes, and succulents. Lilies, jasmine, lilacs, peonies, azaleas and bellflowers dipped and curved, offering gentle reminders of home. While most of the plants could produce flowers, none of them had any buds or blossoms.
Bilbo breathed the fresh air, enjoying the scent. He was glad to breathe air not stifled by stone and rock. It felt wonderful to be out in the open air. Maybe it will do Thorin some good, too. Bilbo thought.
Bilbo spent most of his time on the balcony in the days following. Hobbits are deeply connected to the natural world around them, and Bilbo had felt like he was underwater constantly after being inside for so long.
Four days after he found the balcony, and 9 days after they reclaimed Erebor, Bilbo was hard at work in the kitchen. He made more bread, a pie, and meat-stuffed dumplings. While their provisions weren’t numerous, there was still enough left to last them a couple months, so he allowed himself to be extravagant. Well, extravagant is pushing it. Bilbo chuckled to himself. If he were in the Shire, this meal would be considered the biggest of insults. One kind of dumpling? Only one pie? And no jam for the bread? Scandalous!
But Bilbo figured it was enough for their current situation, and more than they had had in a while, what with no kitchens on the road. Bilbo was going to invite Thorin to dinner on the balcony. He thought that fresh air would do that stubborn, thickheaded dwarf some good. He hoped. Please.
When the last dumpling was fried to perfection, he packed it all up in a basket and hung it on his arm. He was only a little surprised Bombur, Fíli, and Kíli hadn’t come running at the smell of the freshly baked food. But then, none of them had been acting normal.
Bilbo quietly slipped into the hall of gold, trying to see where Thorin was. He had to climb to hills of gold and gems, and walk through a valley of coins before he found Thorin. He was slowly disemboweling a mountain of gold, scooping out handfuls, then tossing them over his shoulder. Bilbo walked up to Thorin carefully, making sure to not be too quiet; he was a little afraid that if he startled Thorin, Thorin would stab him.
“Thorin?” Bilbo said, trying to squish down the trepidation he felt. Thorin glanced at him briefly, seeming uninterested, before turning back to his work.
“Yes, Master Baggins?” He replied, his tone confirming just how interested he was.
“I- well, I was wondering…” Bilbo paused, steeling himself, before forging onwards. “I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me? I made a picnic, and I’ve found a lovely little balcony, well, ‘little’ is a bit understated, but it is quite nice and…” Bilbo realized he was rambling. He tended to do that when he was nervous. “And I thought it would be nice. To have dinner. With you.” Bilbo smacked himself mentally. He was bad at this.
“Thank you, Master Baggins, but I am busy at the moment.” Thorin’s voice dripped with distaste. It wasn’t very obvious, to an outsider, to someone who didn’t know Thorin, but to Bilbo, who knew Thorin, who could read Thorin, it was painfully obvious.
“O-oh…” Bilbo stammered, dropping his head. “A-alright. Sorry to have bothered you.” Bilbo trudged away. He found Fíli and Kíli shifting through more gold, cursed gold! Bilbo handed them the basket of food, no longer hungry.
“Here. Split it with the rest of the Company.”
“Thank you!” Fíli said happily.
“Thanks, Master Boggins!” Kíli said at the same time. Bilbo smiled weakly at them, before leaving the hall. He slowly made his way to the balcony garden, feeling miserable. He stayed in the garden all night, the whispering wind and rustling blossoms lulling him to sleep.
The gentle sun woke Bilbo the next morning. He stretched, then looked around, a little surprised that he had fallen asleep on the balcony. The memories of last night came back, weighing on him. Bilbo’s head sunk down between his knees, wondering what he should do. He raised his head and sighed.
A flash of color caught Bilbo’s eye. He turned towards it and saw a small bud. It was an iris plant, a small white bud, just starting to grow. Bilbo leaned closer, gently stoking the new bud. Irises symbolized new beginnings and hope. Maybe things will get better. Bilbo hoped they would.
Bilbo sighed and sat against a pillar of stone. He pulled the acorn he had gotten in Beorn’s garden out of his pocket, twisting it between his fingers. He gently rubbed the smooth shell of the nut, reminiscing of simpler times. Back in Bag End. Or, heck, even just earlier in this confounded adventure. Like when he was convincing trolls not to eat his stupid dwarves. Or stabbing spiders. It was… nicer to have a problem that had such an easy solution. Don’t get eaten by spiders. Nice and simple. The King Under the Mountain is mad, however? Now, how does one fix that?
Suddenly there was a growl from behind Bilbo. He turned, only to find Thorin positively snarling at him.
“What is that?” He said fiercely. He strode threateningly towards Bilbo. Bilbo stood up hurriedly. “In your hand?” Thorin roared.
“It- it’s nothing.” Bilbo said nervously.
“Show me.” It was not a request.
“It’s just…” Bilbo held out his hand, the small polished nut glinting in the light of the torches on the wall, “I picked it up in Beorn’s garden.”
Thorin looked surprised for a moment, before his face melted back into cold, unmoving, uncaring stone. “You’ve carried it all this way.”
“I’m gonna plant it in my garden, in Bag End.” Bilbo smiled a little at the acorn, poking it with one finger while it rested in his other palm.
“That is not much in the way of treasure.”
“One day it'll grow. And every time I look at it, I’ll remember - Remember everything that happened, the good, the bad. And how lucky I am that I made it home.” Bilbo met Thorin’s eyes. There was… something. Something kindling in the depths of his eyes that seemed… almost like the Thorin from before the mountain, in the peace of the Shire. Then it shut down, and the cold, golden light returned to his eyes.
“You intend to leave.” None of Thorin was left in his eyes.
“I-”
“You do not intend to stay.”
“Thorin, I-” Bilbo was cut off short as one of Thorin’s big hands shot out and clamped around his wrist, making him drop the acorn. Bilbo cried out in pain and fright, unable to look away from the golden anger in Thorin’s eyes.
“You will not leave. You will stay here.” Thorin’s hand squeezed a little tighter. He raised a steel clad boot over the small acorn.
“NO!” Bilbo shouted. He lunged out with one of his feet, kicking the acorn up into the air, aiming it to fall and catch in the back of his jacket. To the untrained eye, it looked like it disappeared. Bilbo felt it land at the nape of his neck, nestled in the fabric. Thorin blinked, looking around for the nut.
There was the sound of running dwarven feet coming towards the pair. Dwalin burst into the hallway, panting.
“Thorin, survivors… from Laketown. They are streaming into Dale. There’s hundreds of them.” He said, thoroughly distracting Thorin.
“Call everyone to the gate.” Dwalin nodded, turning to gather the company. He cast a slightly anxious eye at the hand wrapped around Bilbo’s wrist, but said nothing before he disappeared. “You will stay with me, Master Baggins.” Thorin began stalking towards the Gate of Erebor, dragging Bilbo behind him by his wrist. Bilbo yelped as Thorin started, nearly tripping over his feet. His wrist throbbed in sympathy. Bilbo regained his feet, and trotted hurriedly after Thorin.
Bilbo stayed by the Gate all night with the rest of the dwarves. He couldn’t sleep, and every time he stood or stretched his legs, Thorin’s gaze snagged on him and watched him with a ferocious intensity that kept Bilbo where he was. He watched in despair as Thorin ordered giant stones to be piled up in the gateway, blocking out all those who needed help.
Bilbo listened as Thorin refused Bard, sending him away and dooming them to war. He sucked in a breath, steeled himself, and walked over to where Thorin was standing.
“What are you doing?! You cannot go to war.” Bilbo said.
“This does not concern you.” Thorin growled.
“Excuse me? I’m in this mountain that is now at war, same as you! And just in case you haven’t noticed, there is an army of elves out there. And not to mention several hundred angry fishermen. We-We are in fact outnumbered.” Bilbo objected.
“You should remember your place, Master Baggins. I am king,” Thorin said quietly, “And we will not be outnumbered for much longer.”
“What does that mean?” Bilbo asked, a bit nervous.
“It means Master Baggins, you should never underestimate dwarves.” Thorin’s smile was sinister. Bilbo shivered. He met Balin’s eyes. They shared a worried look.
The dwarves prepared for war. Bilbo watched them don heavy, yet intricate plate armour, arming themselves with sturdy war axes and swords. He rubbed the bit of mithril poking up from beneath his collar, dreading the battle to come. He would be of no help. And yet… he could still die in it.
“Master Burglar. A word.” Thorin strides over to Bilbo’s side, a hand resting possessively on Bilbo’s shoulder.
“What is it, Thorin?” Bilbo asked quietly.
“I have been blind. Now I begin to see. I am betrayed!” Thorin quietly roared.
“Betrayed?” Bilbo froze up. Did Thorin know? How could he know?
“The Arkenstone.” Bilbo’s blood ran cold.
“One of them has taken it. One of them is false.” Bilbo wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or horrified. It didn’t sound like Thorin suspected him, but he suspected one of the Company. One of his kin.
“Thorin...the quest is fulfilled. You’ve won the mountain. Is that not enough?” Bilbo said tentatively.
“Betrayed by my own kin.” Thorin rasped, seemingly not hearing Bilbo.
“No...You...You made a promise… to the people of Laketown. Is-Is this treasure truly worth more than your honor? Our honor, Thorin. I was also there, I gave my word.” Bilbo tried.
“For that I’m grateful. It was nobly done. But the treasure in this mountain does not belong to the people of Laketown!” Thorin’s voice seemed to shift, growing deeper and more malicious. “This gold...is ours...and ours alone. By my life I will not part with a single coin!” His voice sunk into an inhuman register, sounding almost… “Not… one… piece of it!” …dragon-like. He echoed what Smaug had said exactly. His voice sounded like the dragon had, possessive, mad and controlling.
The Company marched past, all outfitted in war attire. With each thud of their footsteps, Bilbo felt his heart sink lower. Thorin was consumed by the Dragon Sickness.
Bilbo careful, quietly lifted himself off of his sleeping roll. Thorin had finally decided to sleep; Bilbo assumed to prepare for the upcoming battle. Bilbo hadn’t been able to leave Thorin’s side all day. Any time he had tried, Thorin’s hand shot out and gripped Bilbo’s shoulder or wrist. But now he had his chance. He snuck up the stairs built by the dwarves, skulking across the battlement. He took a rope and tied it to a stone across from the edge of the ramparts, then slung the rope over the edge. He was about to climb down when a voice stopped him.
“What are you doing?” Bofur walked over. Bilbo cursed himself silently. He’d somehow managed to forget that someone was on watch.
“Are you leaving?” Bofur asked, echoing what was said on the goblin’s front door. That felt so long ago.
“I- I must. I will be back.” Bilbo replied. Bofur looked confused, going to say something, but Bilbo interrupted him.
“Bofur, do you trust me?” Bilbo asked seriously. Bofur’s expression shifted to surprise.
“Aye, laddie, I think you’ve earned that much.” He said, a small smile on his lips.
“Then, please, trust me now. This is important, and I must do it. But please… please don’t tell anyone. Especially Thorin.” Bilbo looked at the stone chunks that made up the floor, feeling slightly guilty. This is for the best, he reminded himself.
Bofur slowly nodded. “Alright, lad, I won’t tell anyone. But you’ll be back?”
Bilbo nodded. “I’ll be back. I’m not leaving you.” He glanced down at Thorin’s sleeping form on the ground below as he said the last bit.
“Be back before dawn. I… Thorin might be upset if you’re gone.” Bofur too glanced over at Thorin, worry in his eyes. They had all noticed he was acting strange about Bilbo.
Bilbo nodded again, then gripped the rope and clambered down the blockade.
Bilbo snuck into Dale, slipping past the human guards and avoiding the Elven ones. At one point, he was trying to sneak past two Elven guards on watch and accidentally stepped on a stick. It snapped under his hairy foot, and he froze. He sank to the earth as quickly as possible, but was able to see the elves through a gap in between to boxes he had ducked behind. He watched as both their heads snapped towards him in perfect unison, and shivered. It was eerie how in sink those elves could be. Bilbo waited for their attention to drift elsewhere before moving on.
Eventually, he heard the rumble of a familiar voice.
“…agree with this? Is gold so important to you? Would you buy it with the blood of dwarves?!” Gandalf was speaking to someone up ahead. Bilbo felt a rush of joy, he hadn’t known that Gandalf was back.
“It will not come to that. This is a fight they cannot win.” Bard responded to Gandalf. Bilbo stepped up behind them.
“That won’t stop them. You think the dwarves will surrender - They won’t. They will fight to the death to defend their own.” Bilbo said, a hint of sadness sitting at the back of his tone. Gandalf whipped around at the sound of Bilbo’s voice.
“Bilbo Baggins!” he cried happily, “I am glad to see you alive and well!”
Bilbo smiled tiredly at the wizard. “I’m glad to see you too, Gandalf. A… lot has been going on.”
The corners of Gandalf’s eyes crinkled in concern. “I am sorry to have left, but it was necessary. How goes the Company in my absence? They seem to have entered the mountain without me, despite my warning.”
Bilbo sighed. “That’s why I’m here. Thorin is… different.”
“It is as I feared.” Gandalf rubbed his brows.
“Let us continue this in the tent. Master Baggins, would you join us? You seem to have valuable information.” Bard interjected.
Bilbo nodded, following Bard to a nearby silken tent. Bard lifted the tent flap for Bilbo and Gandalf, standing to the side as they entered. The inside was laden with the pelts of many beasts. Bilbo recognized some to be the furs of grizzly bears, bobcats, and deer, along with others that Bilbo didn't recognize. There was a table with a map, a wine glass, a bottle, and a warm lantern. At the back of the tent was an ornate wooden throne that looked like it had grown there. In that throne was King Thranduil of the woodland elves.
The Elven King spared a glance for Gandalf, before his cold, piercing stare settled on Bilbo. Bilbo swallowed nervously, stealing himself.
“If I’m not mistaken, this is the halfling who stole the keys to my dungeons from under the nose of my guards.”
Bilbo locked his lips. “I'm sorry I had to do that, but I won't apologize. You did kind of imprison my dwarves. For life.” Bilbo said. Well, really, they were imprisoned for Thranduil’s life, not the dwarves' life, so they would have been in those cavern cells forever. Bilbo decided not to say all that.
Gandalf raised a bushy gray eyebrow at ‘my dwarves’, but said nothing.
Bilbo swallowed again. “I came… to give you this.” Bilbo reached into his inner pocket and pulled out the wrapped bundle he kept hidden. He carefully set it on the table. He moved to unwrap it, but just as his fingers brushed the brown cloth, Bilbo hesitated.
Then he grit his teeth, and removed the wrapping. When they saw what Bilbo had brought, Bard almost leapt back in shock, Thranduil sat up straight, staring at the stone, and Gandalf… Gandalf seemed surprised, but also not. Like he hadn't expected it, but was more speculative than shocked.
Thranduil leaned forward, eyes never leaving the stone. “The heart of the mountain! The King’s Jewel.” he breathed.
“And worth a king’s ransom. How is this yours to give?” Bard asked in awe.
“I took it as my fourteenth share of the treasure.” Bilbo replied shakily. He didn't know if this was the right thing. No, it was. He saw the look in Thorin’s eyes. This was right. It has to be.
Gandalf smiled slightly at Bilbo's response.
“Why would you do this? You owe us no loyalty.” Bard questioned.
“I’m not doing it for you. I know that dwarves can be obstinate and pigheaded and difficult, suspicious and secretive…with the worst manners you can possibly imagine, but they are also brave and kind...and loyal to a fault. I’ve grown very fond of them, and I would save them if I can.” Bilbo hoped he could save them. “Thorin values this stone above all else. In exchange for its return, I believe he will give you what you are owed. There will be no need for war.” Bilbo finished.
Gandalf, Bard and Thranduil looked at each other. Gandalf started chuckling.
“What?” Bilbo asked.
“Oh, I just don’t know why I’m surprised.” Gandalf said.
Gandalf led Bilbo through the bustle of Dale. When they had reached a quiet corner, Gandalf turned to Bilbo. “Rest up tonight. You must leave on the morrow.”
Bilbo stared at Gandalf in disbelief. “What?”
“Get as far away from here as possible.” Gandalf told him seriously.
“I’m- I’m not leaving. You picked me as the fourteenth man. I’m not about to leave the company now.” Bilbo said, despite the slight stammer in his voice, with conviction.
“There is no company - not any more. And I don’t like to think what Thorin will do when he finds out what you’ve done.” Gandlaf said sagely. Bilbo shivered slightly at the thought.
“The company is still stuck in the mountain, most beset by Dragon-Sickness! They need help, I would be a sorry Hobbit indeed if I abandoned them. And I’m not afraid of Thorin.”
“But you should be! Don’t underestimate the evil of gold. Gold over which a serpent has long brooded. Dragon-sickness seeps into the hearts of all who come near this mountain,” Gandalf paused, looking thoughtfully at Bilbo’s determined face. “Almost all.” Bilbo huffed. He played along as Gandalf told that oily wretch of a man to watch him, as said horrible, greedy man treated him like dirt. He waited until Alfrid fell asleep. Then he crept away. He better make it back in time. Bilbo thought it had only been three hours, but he wasn’t sure.
He picked his way over the rocks, going faster on the way back than the way there. Right before the gates, he tripped and almost sent a bunch of rocks clattering. But he managed to catch himself in time, getting up quietly. He found the rope he had used to get down and clambered back up it. Bofur was waiting for him.
“Oh, thank goddess, lad. I was gettin’ worried.” Bofur breathed in relief. Bilbo smiled tiredly at him, and began pulling up the rope, coiling it at the other side of the rampart.
“Thank you for this, Bofur. I should go back to my bed roll before anyone wakes.” Bilbo whispered. Bofur nodded hurriedly.
“Almost time for me to wake Bombur for ‘is watch.” Bofur whispered back. Bilbo nodded, then headed down the rough stone steps of the battlement. He quietly tucked himself into his blankets. A slippery dread was slowly filling his chest, though he didn’t know why. He tried to push it away, but it would not go.
The feeling of dread was still with Bilbo the next morning. He helped with breakfast, making sure everyone got a portion. Soon, too soon, the dwarves headed up to the battlements. They watched as the armies of the Elves and the Lakemen assembled. They watched as Thranduil and Bard rode up to the side of the bridge that hadn’t been destroyed. Bilbo stood to the back, behind the armed and armoured dwarves and their angry king. He watched, with the feeling of dread growing, as Thorin knocked a short bow and shot the arrow at Thranduil and Bard’s feet. They stepped back in surprise.
“I will put the next one between your eyes!” Thorin roared. Behind him, most of the dwarves cheered and shook their weapons above their heads. Balin did not cheer. Balin looked slightly sick, like he had never seen Thorin before, like he couldn’t believe it was this bad. His eyes looked a little wet. Like he was deep in a terrible memory.
Thranduil did not show any reaction to the threat. He stared at Thorin coldly. Then, he tilted his head to the side. A small miniscule movement. It had an enormous effect. The front few rows of elves removed their bows from their shoulders, knocked an arrow, and pointed them at the dwarves. All in sync. In unison. Bilbo shivered. It was really quite creepy. The dwarves all shouted in surprise before ducking beneath the wall of the rampart. All except Thorin. He stared at Thranduil, matching the Elven King's cold stare with a blisteringly hot one of his own. After a few moments, Thranduil lifted his hand. All the elves dropped their bows to point the arrows at the ground. Slowly, the company peeked over the wall, then returned to their previous positions.
“We’ve come to tell you: payment of your debt has been offered… and accepted.” Thraduil intoned, his voice as icy as his glare.
“What payment? I gave you nothing! You have nothing!” Thorin snarled back.
“We have this.” Bard removed a wrapped bundle from his coat pocket, mirroring the movements Bilbo had made a few hours earlier. He removed the dirty fabric scrap from the Arkenstone, letting it shine out, singing a song of light and beauty, of the Beginning of Things, and an End to come.
“They have the Arkenstone? Thieves! How came you by the heirloom of our house? That stone belongs to the king!” Kíli gasped in outrage, grasping at his bow.
“And the king may have it - in our good will.” Bard replied cooly. He put the stone back in his coat. “But first he must honor his word.”
“They are taking us for fools. This is a ruse, a filthy lie.” Thorin said quietly. Only those near him, those on the battlement, could hear it. Balin looked shocked that the idea could even be considered.
“The Arkenstone is in this mountain! It is a trick!” Thorin yelled.
“It- It’s no trick.,” Bilbo stepped forward, trying to swallow down his fear. Maybe Gandalf was right. “The stone is real. I gave it to them.”
“You…” Thorin growled, turning to glare at Bilbo. Thorin’s face was alight with furry. And… sadness. Buried under the anger, Bilbo thought he could see sadness at his betrayal in Thorin’s eyes. That made it sting all the more. Bilbo glanced down at Thranduil and Bard. They both seemed astonished to see him. They must have thought I was still in Dale. Bilbo thought ruefully.
“I took it as my fourteenth share.” Bilbo said, and despite the fact that his hands were shaking, his voice was steady.
“You would steal from me?” Thorin asked, anger flickering through every syllable.
“Steal from you? No. No. I may be a burglar, but I like to think I’m an honest one. I’m willing to let it stand against my claim.”
“Against your claim?! Your claim! You have no claim over me, you miserable rat!” Thorin took a step forward. Bilbo stepped back. Then, he stepped forward. He would not let his dwarf scare him into backing down.
“I was going to give it to you. Many times I wanted to, but...” Bilbo stopped, the many reasons, the many ways Thorin was different flashing through his thoughts.
“But what, thief?!” Thorin spat. Bilbo barely suppressed a flinch. It hurt. It hurt. That tone. As if just speaking to Bilbo made Thorin’s flesh crawl and left a sour taste in his mouth.
“You are changed, Thorin!” Bilbo said, determination giving him the resolve to continue. “The dwarf I met in Bag End would never have gone back on his word! Would never have doubted the loyalty of his kin!” Bilbo felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes.
“Do not speak to me...of loyalty!” Thorin roared, taking another step closer. Then he whirled to the company, watching with bated breaths and fear in their eyes. “Throw him from the rampart!” Thorin commanded. The dwarves stared at him in shock, most taking a step back. Bilbo could not stop the pain from flashing across his face. Thorin turned, looking at each dwarf in turn. None met his eyes. None moved to obey.
“DO YOU HEAR ME?!” Thorin screamed. He whipped around, grabbing Fíli’s arm, as if to force him to do what his uncle commanded. Bilbo cried out, not willing to let another get hurt for him, especially not Fíli, how could Thorin do that!? Fíli ripped his arm out of his uncle’s grasp, stepping in front of Kíli, as if to shield him.
“I will do it myself!” Thorin growled, striding towards Bilbo. Bilbo squeaked in terror, while a few of the dwarves cried out.
“Thorin, please lis-” Bilbo was cut off as Thorin lunged, one of his big hands clamping around Bilbo’s throat. Bilbo choked on the pleas that he could not utter, and on the pain of Thorin’s gentle hand being so hard and aggressive.
“CURSE YOU!” Thorin yelled, dragging Bilbo to the edge of the rampart and holding him over the long, long drop.
“No!” Fíli shouted, trying to pull Thorin away from the edge. Thorin rammed his elbow back into Fíli’s ribs. He fell back, armour clanging on the stones. Kíli cried out in terror and rushed forward, hugging his brother and staring in disbelief at Thorin, tears spilling over his cheeks. Balin rushed to help them, Dori shouldering in front of the two, shielding them from their uncle.
Bilbo couldn’t stop the tears, helpless as they came pouring out of his eyes. He could not help Fíli or Kíli. He could not stop Thorin from hurting his sister-sons. He could not save Thorin.
“Th- Thorin… puh… please… stop.” He managed to choke out. He couldn’t make out more than the blurry form of Thorin though the tears swimming in his eyes.
“Curse you, you pathetic halfling! Cursed be the Wizard that forced you on this Company!” Thorin roared. Bilbo grasped Thorin’s wrist between his small hands. He tried to blink away his tears, to see Thorin’s face, but they wouldn’t stop pouring out.
“IF YOU DO NOT LIKE MY BURGLAR…” Gandalf’s voice thundered, before returning to normal, “Then please do not damage him. Return him to me! You’re not making a very splendid figure as king under the mountain, are you? Thorin son of Thrain!”
“Never again will I have dealings with wizards...” Thorin snarled. He threw Bilbo to the ground of the battlement. Bofur rushed over, helping Bilbo to his feet. Bilbo still couldn’t see clearly. Bofur gave Bilbo the briefest of one-armed hugs, whispering “oh, laddie…” Before helping Bilbo toss the rope over the rampart. “Go.” He said quietly, showing Bilbo’s hands where the rope was and his feet where the edge was.
“Or Shire-rats!” Thorin spat. Bilbo descended clumsily, sliding a few feet before catching himself. His hands were riddled with rug burns. When he reached the ground, he stumbled in the direction of the giant, blurry mass of gold that was the elven army. The tears still wouldn’t stop. He could feel them pooling in his eyes, tracing waterfalls down his face, and dripping off his chin. He tripped, only to be caught by a tall, gray, pointed figure.
“Bilbo…” Gandalf’s gentle, gravely voice greeted him as he lifted to his feet. Gnadlaf’s gray robes swallowed Bilbo in a hug. Bilbo sank into the warm, all encompassing comfort of the hug. He sobbed uncontrollably into Gandalf. Gandalf’s steady, solid frame provided support, when Bilbo’s own body had given up. He heard the sound of Bard’s voice, but couldn’t make out any words. His frame continued to shake, wracked with sobs, as the conversation continued.
He did hear Thorin’s voice. He heard as Thorin declared war. His breathing hitched, then shuddered to a halt. He raised his tear stained face to stare in horror at the distant, blurred shape of Thorin. He wished his Thorin was here.
“Since when do we forsake our own people? Thorin, they are dying out there.” Dwalin growled.
“There are halls beneath halls within this mountain - places we can fortify.” Thorin murmured, seemingly not hearing Dwalin. “Shore up, make safe. Yes…” His eyes glinted with gold madness. “...Yes - that is it. We must move the gold further underground - to safety!”
“Did you not hear me?! Dain is surrounded! They’re being slaughtered, Thorin.” Dwalin shouted.
“Many die in war. Life is cheap.” Thorin’s voice sounded almost mournful. “But a treasure such as this cannot be counted in lives lost. It is worth all the blood we can spend!”
“You sit here in these vast halls, with a crown upon your head, and yet you are lesser now than you have ever been.” Dwalin spat.
“Do not speak to me as if I was some lowly dwarf lord… As- as if I were still… Thorin… Oakenshield.” Thorin’s voice choked off, and now he really did sound sad, as if the true him was peeking through the mist that is madness. “I am your King!" Then, it was gone.
“You were always my king. You used to know that once.” Dwalin’s tone was laden with sorrow. “You cannot see that you have become.”
“Go! Get out...before I kill you.” Thorin snarled.
Thorin strode down the entrance hall, steel-toed boots echoing on the newly golden floor. He gazed into the deep, rich color of the gold beneath his feet.
He started to hear voices.
“You sit here… with a crown upon your head… you are lesser now than you have ever been...” Dwalin’s deep voice said, disappointment echoing through it.
“... but a treasure such as this cannot be counted in lives lost...” Thorin heard his own voice, but now he thought… It sounded unreasonable. Mad.
“... a sickness lies upon that treasure...” Balin’s wise, sad voice whispered.
“... the blind ambition of a mountain-king…” Bard’s voice said next. Thorin bristled in outrage, then something in the back of his mind whispered the Bowman might be right.
“... AM I NOT THE KING...” His own voice roared.
“... this gold… is ours… and ours alone...” Thorin heard the echo of his voice whispering to Bilbo, his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, grasping it.
“... treasure…” Balin’s voice said, as the words started to intertwine and speak at once.
“... I will not part with a single coin...” Thorin whispered, his words echoing Smuag’s.
“... he could not see beyond his own desire...” Bard said, voice full of loathing.
“... as if I was some lowly dwarf lord…” Thorin spat.
“... Oakenshield...” He whispered.
“... a sickness that drove your grandfather mad...” Balin warned. He did not listen
“... Oakenshield...” Thorin felt a pang of… something in his chest at his name.
“... this is Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror...” Balin introduced Thorin.
“... I am not my grandfather…my grandfather.” Thorin's voice was full of conviction. He was not so sure anymore.
“... you are the heir to the throne of Durin...” Gandalf told him.
“... they are dying out there.” Dwalin’s eyes commanded him to make the right decision. He did not.
“...take back...take Erebor...” Gandalf’s voice echoed.
“...Dain is surrounded... surrounded...is surrounded...Dain is surrounded...” Dwalin yelled.
“...take back your homeland…” Gandalf whispered.
“...you are changed, Thorin...” Bilbo. Bilbo’s strong, determined, voice whispered in Thorin’s ear. Thorin’s heart stuttered.
“...I am not my grandfather…” He whispered.
“…Thorin, please lis-…” Bilbo begged Thorin. Thorin did not listen. He- Oh, what had he done?
“...No!...” Fíli shouted, trying to stop him. He-! He had hurt his sister-son! Kíli’s heart-broken, tear stained face looked at Thorin. Thorin gripped his wrist, planting a hand on one of his eyes.
“...is this treasure truly worth more than your honor...” Bilbo asked quietly. Thorin choked on a sob.
“...I am not my grandfather…” Thorin’s voice whispered.
“... stop…” Bilbo was dangling over the edge. And Thorin's hand was holding him there.
“... Shire rats!...” Thorin's voice snarled.
“...this treasure will be your death…” Gandalf’s voice warned. Thorin ripped his hand away from his face, his shoulders shaking. He looked into the golden floor. It was… rippling. It warped under his weight, bowing and sinking. Thorin tried to scramble out, but the sides were slick. No… they were… warm. They were liquid. There was an echoing roar. Thorin looked down, only to see the great, awesome jaws of Smaug lunging up from the depths of the gold to swallow him.
Thorin screamed.
Thorin woke with a gasp. He was laying on the golden floor, panting. He shakily got to his feet. He gazed down into the gold for a long moment.
Thorin ripped the crown off his head and threw it to the floor. The clang it made as it hit was small, not very loud in the enormous hall. Like a ripple in a lake, one drop of rain.
Thorin felt free.
Thorin strode into the room where his company was waiting. He no longer wore the stifling fur mantle. As he entered the room, Kíli stood and walked towards Thorin. His gate was determined and calm on the surface, but Thorin knew his nephew well. There was fear in Kíli’s every step, and buried in his face. Fíli stood and quickly followed his brother. While he let Kíli take the lead, Fíli was tense, as if prepared for a fight, prepared to defend his brother from Thorin. The others all had the same posture. Thorin's heart ached. It hurt. It hurt that it was there, but what was worse was that he put it there. It was well deserved.
“I will not hide behind a wall of stone, while others fight our battles for us!” Kíli snapped. His voice was steady, to anyone but those close to Kíli. Thorin could hear the tremor beneath the brave words. “ It is not in my blood, Thorin.”
“No, it is not. We are sons of Durin. And Durin’s folk do not flee from a fight.” Thorin managed. He gently placed his hand on Kíli's shoulder. He pressed his other to his face. “Ach, Irakdashat, I am so sorry.” Thorin looked up at Fíli, tears spilling over his cheeks. “I- I am sorry. I was wrong, I could not see. I hurt you. I hurt you both! Oh, Irakdashatith…” Thorin buried his face in his hands and sobbed.
Kíli tackled Thorin, with Thorin barely managing to not fall over. Fíli joined his brother in hugging his uncle, but a lot less violently.
“I’m sorry.” Thorin sobbed into Kíli’s hair. He stroked Fíli’s mane with his hand. “Oh, my Irakdashatith…”
“It's ok, Irak’adad. It wasn't you.”
“It's not ok!” Thorin burst out. Fíli looked at Thorin appraisingly.
“It was not your fault, Irak'adad. Listen to Kíli.” Kíli perked up at that.
“Yes, listen to me!” Kíli giggled. He sobered. “But really, uncle, you can't blame yourself.”
“I was awful. Unforgivable” Thorin's voice was cracked and raw.
“Uncle, would you blame great grandfather for the dragon? Or for his madness?” Fíli asked quietly.
Thorin bristled at such implications. “Of course not! He could not help it, the gold sickness is to blame!” He growled.
“So how come that doesn't apply to you, too?” Fíli asked. Thorin sagged, but nodded.
“I see your point.” he grumbled. He turned to the rest of the company. “I have no right to ask this of you; but will you follow me one last time?” Thorin asked in a small voice. His company raised their weapons over their heads.
A horn sounded. Bilbo looked up from where he was sitting, thoughts swollen and slow from crying. Suddenly, the battlements were smashed by a ginormous golden statue of a dwarf. Bilbo watched in astonishment as the company rushed through the falling rocks, Thorin at their head.
“Thorin…” he said, voice choked. Distantly, he heard Dain shouting “To the King! To the King!” and Thorin yelled something in Khuzdûl.
“The dwarves… they’re rallying.” Bilbo said quietly. Maybe his dwarf was in his right mind.
“They’re rallying to their King!” Gandalf exclaimed gladly.
A while later, Bilbo saw Thorin, Fíli, Kíli, and Dwalin heading up Ravenhill on goats. A few moments later, Legolas and Tauriel arrived. They warned Gandalf of what waited on Ravenhill. Bilbo's blood ran cold. Thorin could not go there. He was gone before anyone could notice. Well. Not everyone. The quick steps of an elf and a flash of red hair followed him.
Up on Ravenhill, Thorin sent Fíli and Kíli to scout. He thought it would be safer. He thought the real danger would be down, on the ice.
“Thorin! Thorin!” Bilbo ran toward the two dwarves on the ice, skidding to a halt in front of them.
“Bilbo…” Thorin’s face is heartbroken, laden with grief and guilt. Bilbo decided to ignore that for the present time.
“You have to leave here! Now! Azog has another army attacking from the north. This watchtower will be completely surrounded. There’ll be no way out.” Bilbo panted.
“We are so close! That orc scum is in there. I say we push on.” Dwalin growled. Bilbo was tempted to growl right back at him, but before he could, Thorin interrupted him.
“No! That’s what he wants. He wants to draw us in.” Thorin said. “This is a trap!” He whipped to face the place where his nephews had disappeared. “No…” he breathed. He turned to Dwalin. “Find Fíli and Kíli!” Thorin said, desperation permeating through his voice.
“Thorin, are you sure about this?” Dwalin asked quietly.
“I-” Thorin was interrupted by a sound from above, from the watch tower. They all turned to face the noise. Bilbo’s blood ran cold. Thorin’s face shattered into an intense mixture of panic, grief, and rage. Dwalin tightened his grip on his axe.
Azog stood above them, holding Fíli by his throat. Fíli was struggling in the White Orc’s grip, but in vain. Azog said something in his own tongue. Though Bilbo could not understand it, he knew it was bad. He tried furiously to think of something, anything, he could do.
He could do nothing. Nothing but watch.
“No!” Fíli choked out. Thorin made a sound of pain. “Run!” Azog ran him through with the blade on his stump. Fíli stiffened, letting out a gurgle of pain. Azog dropped him to the ice.
“NO!” Thorin screamed. He made to run over to Fíli’s crumpled form. Then he saw Kíli, face alight with furry, charging up the stairs to Azog. “Kíli!” Thorin shouted in panic. Thorin charged towards The Defiler.
“Thorin…” Then Dwalin was gone, racing after his King. Bilbo stood, shocked and frozen on the ice. He glanced down at his hands, distantly aware they were trembling. He heard a noise, and whipped around to see an army of Orcs. He took a few steps back, gripping the hilt of his sword.
Suddenly, Dwalin came charging out of the fog. He swung his axe in huge arcs, taking on the rabble all by himself. Bilbo stooped and grabbed some rocks. He turned back to the battle. So much was happening. His mind was a blur of thoughts. One moment, he saw Fíli, stabbed through the chest. Then Thorin, charging after Azog, Then Kíli, running up the stairs to face Azog. Then he was back in the present, throwing rocks as hard as he could, hoping to help Dwalin a little.
He heard a step behind, and whirled around, only to see Bolg. The Orc lifted his arm, and then brought it slamming down. Something hit the back of Bilbo’s head.
The world went dark.
When Bilbo woke, his eyes were turned to the sky. Huge brown shapes were in the distance. His eyes sunk into focus.
“The eagles… the eagles are coming.” He murmured. He slowly stood. He heard steps on the ice behind him and turned. Thorin came stumbling out of the fog, clutching his chest. He tripped, then fell to the ice. For the second time that day, Bilbo’s blood ran cold. He moved slowly in Thorin’s direction, eventually breaking out into a run. He collapsed to his knees by Thorin’s side, hand drifting over him, not sure how to help.
Thorin’s eyes cracked open. “Bilbo…” he murmured.
“Don’t move! Don’t move! Lie still!” Bilbo said hurriedly. He gently moved the fabric of Thorin’s tunic uncovering the ghastly wound that tore through Thorin’s abdomen. He sucked in his breath between his teeth, making a hissing sound.
“I’m glad you’re here…” Thorin mumbled, hand straying towards Bilbo’s.
“Shh.” Bilbo reprimanded, tears pricking at his eyes.
“I wish to part from you in friendship.” Bilbo could feel Thorin’s eyes on him. He didn’t meet them. He didn’t want to see the life fading from them.
“No. You are not going anywhere, Thorin. You’re going to live.” Bilbo said, barely restraining a sob.
“I would take back my words and my deeds at the gate. You did what only a true friend would do. Forgive me...I was too blind to see. I am so sorry, Bilbo.” Thorin coughed, blood staining his lips. “I’m so sorry that I have led you into such peril.” Bilbo met Thorin’s eyes. Past his own tears, Bilbo could see water in Thorin’s eyes.
“No, no, I’m glad to have shared in all your perils, Thorin - each and every one of them. And it’s far more than any Baggins deserve.” Bilbo tried to still the tremor in his hands.
“Farewell, Master Burglar. Go back to your books and your armchair. Plant your trees, watch them grow. If more people valued home above gold, this world would be a merrier place.” Thorin whispered. His hand settled on Bilbo’s.
“No! No, no no nonononono, Thorin! Oh don’t you dare!” Bilbo sobbed. “Thorin! Thorin, Thorin, wake up. The eagles… the eagles… the eagles are here. Thorin… the eag…” Lost for words, Bilbo lowered his head onto his dwarf’s chest and sobbed. He let out a guttural wail of pain. He didn’t notice the company assembling around him and Thorin.
Bilbo only looked up when he felt a huge gust of wind. An eagle perched before him, looking at him with one huge, golden eye. It lifted a leg, foot reaching for Thorin.
“NO. No, no.” Bilbo gasped. He clutched Thorin closer, unable to give him up. He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Laddie, let him go.” Balin said gently. Bilbo shook his head.
“No.”
“Lad, this eagle will take him to get help. He… Thorin’s not dead.” Balin told him. Bilbo’s breath shuddered. Not yet, was not said. He slowly released Thorin, letting the eagle grasp him in its claw and carry him away. He watched as two other eagles followed the first, carrying two small shapes, one with golden hair, the other brown. Bilbo turned and sank into Balin, sobbing.
When the company made their way down the mountain, Oin immediately ordered all of them to the healing tents to be checked up on. Dwalin had lost an eye, Balin had lost part of his beard, and had a nasty cut on his jaw. Bifur had his axe removed, of which Oin was most concerned about. The rest just had nasty cuts and bad bruises, along with some broken bones. Oin said they'd be fine. Bilbo had a concussion, but was told he just needed to take it easy. He nodded numbly, unable to care.
“Where is Thorin?” He asked Oin once he had been cleared. Oin’s face fell. He directed Bilbo to a large tent at the edge of the camp that had been set up to help the wounded. Bilbo slowly walked over, pulled the flap back, and entered. One one side, Fíli and Kíli lay next to each other, both bandaged and breathing. Bilbo felt a little of the ice in his heart melt at the comforting sight. He turned his gaze to the other side of the room. Thorin lay on a cot, tunic off. Not that it made much of a difference. His entire top half was bandaged, a spot of blood starting to seep through the cloth of the bandages. Bilbo rushed to Thorin’s side, eyes scanning him. He… he thought Thorin was still breathing. But it was so… small. The barest hint of movement, of life.
“Thorin… oh, Thorin. Please. Please, Yavanna, please let him live. I'll… please.” Bilbo prayed, hoping, pleading, to his goddess. He remembered that the dwarves were created by Yavanna’s husband. He thought… he thought Ori had said his name was Mahal. “Please, Mahal, please don't let him die. Please…” Bilbo whispered. He laced his hand in Thorin's, squeezing it gently. He could feel a faint pulse of blood thrumming through Thorin's hand. Bilbo pressed his forehead to their intertwined hands and silently cried. He drifted into sleep, hoping the Valar would hear his pleas.
Bilbo awoke slowly, greeted by the dawn. He was still next to Thorin, but a blanket had been draped over his frame. Thorin's bandages had been changed, to. His hand still clasped Thorin's larger one. Bilbo rubbed sleep and tears from his eyes. He sat quietly for a while, thinking. He was taken out of his reverie when Dori entered the tent. He was holding a steaming bowl of stew.
“Ah, good, you're awake.” Dori walked over to where Bilbo was sitting. “You need to eat, Master Baggins.” He gently forced the bowl into Bilbo's hands. He then adjusted the blanket, tucking in the edges, and making it looser in certain places to allow Bilbo to eat his stew without the blanket falling off.
“How is everyone?” Bilbo asked after a few mouthfuls of stew.
“Oh they're alright. Most of them are helping out around camp.” Dori looked over to where Fíli and Kíli still lay, asleep. “The healers predict those two will wake up soon, and make a steady recovery after that.” Dori paused, not looking at Bilbo.
“And Thorin?” Bilbo pressed him.
“They… they think he'll live.” Dori sighed.
The next few days were agonizing. Bilbo refused to leave Thorin. He helped change his bandages, and got him to swallow some broth. Surprisingly, neither Fíli nor Kíli had woken up yet. Fíli was developing an infection from Azog’s blade. The healers couldn't figure out why Kíli wasn't waking up. Bilbo thought that maybe he didn't want to be awake in a world without his brother.
Four days after Ravenhill, Thorin stirred. Bilbo looked up sharply when he heard Thorin's breathing quicken and a soft gasp come from his mouth. Bilbo leaned in, brushing a sweaty strand of hair from Thorin's forehead.
“Thorin…” he asked quietly.
“Bilbo?” Thorin murmured, barely conscious.
“Shh, Thorin don't push yourself. Here, drink this.” Bilbo gently pressed a cup of broth to Thorin's mouth. Thorin obediently swallowed. He was asleep again before he reached the bottom of the cup. Bilbo wiped his eyes. Hearing his dwarf’s voice again was so… relieving. He had thought he might not hear it again.
Thorin woke again the next morning. When he did, Bilbo was asleep, head pillowed on his arms, resting on the edge of the cot. Thorin sat up slightly, one hand reaching out to gently brush Bilbo's curls away from his face.
Bilbo started at the contact, jerking up and awake. He looked around, panicked, then noticed Thorin's eyes on him.
“Thorin! Oh, Thorin, thank Yavanna.” Bilbo breathed. Tears pooled in his eyes as he clasped Thorin's hand.
“Bilbo…” Thorin said weakly. “What… where are we?”
“We're in the healing camp, in a tent. It's ok, Thorin the battle's over.” Bilbo said reassuringly.
“Bilbo… why are you crying?” Thorin asked haltingly. Bilbo made a sound that was half sob, half laugh, pressing Thorin's hand to his face.
“I- I’m so happy you're not de- dead.” Bilbo sobbed, voice filled with teary joy.
“Oh… was I dying?” Thorin asked, confused. Bilbo looked at him incredulously.
“Thorin. You were stabbed by Azog. All the way through.” Bilbo deadpanned. Thorin stared at him for a moment.
“Fíli! Kíli! Are- are they alright?” Thorin gasped, jerking up suddenly. It wasn’t a wise move, as he collapsed back, coughing and holding his stomach.
“Yes, yes, they’re fine. Right over there." Bilbo pointed to the other end of the room where Fíli and Kíli rested. Thorin took them in, before heaving a relieved sigh. Thorin looked at Bilbo again. Suddenly, his gaze intensified. He lifted a hand slowly to Bilbo’s throat, just shy from brushing the skin. His eyes were caught on the bruises that ringed Bilbo’s throat, an ugly necklace against his lightly tanned skin.
“Bilbo… what have I done?” Thorin’s hand slammed onto his face covering his eyes as his shoulders heaved.
“Thorin-” Bilbo tried to say.
“I hurt you.” Thorin whispered, tone filled with self depreciation. “I- I was going to kill you.”
“It wasn’t you.” Thorin opened his mouth to speak, but Bilbo cut him off. “No- Thorin, listen, for once, you silly dwarf! Yes, you choked me, yes, you were going to kill me. But it WASN’T YOU.” Bilbo’s voice grew in volume. “It was the gold-sickness. You can’t blame yourself. I won’t allow it. Would you blame me, if I went mad?” Bilbo threw his hands in the air.
“No.” Thorin chuckled. “You sound like my nephews.”
“Well, yes, they are quite smart young dwarves, you should listen to them.” Bilbo huffed.
“Yes sir.” Thorin said amiably. Guilt still gnawed at his chest, curling in his brain, but he would try to beat it. If his hobbit said so, he would try. Bilbo got up from his chair, trotting to the entrance of the tent.
“Oin!” he yelled, no doubt startling the poor old dwarf, Thorin thought. The healer came grumbling in, looking quite startled to see Thorin awake.
“Took you long enough,” he growled, “Maybe your grousing will wake your nephews.” He set about feeding Thorin, and redressing his wounds. He gave Thorin some herbs for the pain, and something to stave off infection.
“Uncle?” a tired, foggy voice asked. Thorin’s head whipped around. Fíli was awake, groggily raising his head slightly off his pillow. He groaned, his head dropping back down to rest.
“Ow…” he muttered. Oin was immediately by his side, fussing over him and asking questions. Fíli replied as well as he could, but most of his answers amounted to “it hurts”. Bilbo got both of them some stew, though not of a very hearty variety. Oin had declared that they couldn't handle much more than that. Thorin struggled to look at Fíli for the first couple minutes. Fíli seemed exasperated by this, and when he finally caught his uncle's eye, his gaze seemed to remind Thorin of a previous conversation. Thorin’s eyes dropped to the floor, but he would look at Fíli after that.
Fíli fell asleep with his arm curled around Kíli’s shoulders, despite Oin’s grumblings. Bilbo refused to sleep anywhere else besides Thorin. Nothing would change his mind, just as nothing would have the previous nights. His hand stayed in Thorin’s the whole night. Nori quietly sold tickets to the rest of the company. The dwarves silently cooed and exchanged sacks of gold. Balin, Bofur, and the entirety of the Ri family were quite a few gold coins richer. As was Kíli, though he didn’t know it.
Kíli woke up the next morning. He was delighted by the sight of four new coin purses next to his pillow.
“Finally figured it out, did you uncle?” Kíli quipped, a grin splitting his face.
“What? Figured what out, Kíli?” Thorin grumbled, shielding his eyes from the sun peeking through the tent fabric.
“Yes, what are you on about? Kíli?” Bilbo asked. Kíli’s grin turned even wickeder.
“Shh, Kee. Don’t spoil the fun.” Fíli whispered conspiratorily. Kíli giggled. Thorin scowled at his nephews. Bilbo tutted.
“No conniving before breakfast.” He said sternly. Fíli and Kíli adopted identical evil grins.
“Yes, Auntie Bilbo~” They both replied perfectly in sync, in a sing-song tone.
“Auntie?” Thorin spluttered. Bilbo looked confused, as if unsure how to react.
“That was uncanny, lads. Like those bloody elves, all synchronized.” Bofur said amiably as he strode in through the tent flap, four bowls of stew precariously balanced on his arms. He handed out the stew. Thorin was still muttering, and Bilbo accepted his bowl without really seeming to know he had taken it.
“Ah, bless me, I forgot.” Bofur looked at Kíli. “Laddie, you’ve got a visitor.” Bofur left the tent without explaining. A few minutes later, Tauriel entered. Bilbo could swear he heard a few of Thorin’s teeth crack. He laid a comforting and restraining hand on his arm.
“Thorin. Leave her be. She is worthy of Kíli.” He whispered.
“Worthy? How could an elf be worthy of any dwarf?” Thorin spat, albeit quietly.
“She makes him happy.” Bilbo motioned to wear Kíli was sitting, propped up by pillows, face a glow with delight and wonder. “And he makes her happy.” Bilbo added softly. “Plus, if it weren’t for her defence of him, Kíli might be dead.” Bilbo added wryly. Thorin huffed, but seemed to accept Bilbo’s reasoning. Tauriel was handing Kíli something. On closer inspection, Thorin identified it as the stone Dis had given Kíli, making him promise to keep it safe.
…And Kíli had given it to Tauriel. An elf. Who… had kept it safe. Had not laughed at or scorned the tradition, but had respected it. Maybe Bilbo was right. Kíli laughed at something Tauriel had said, Fíli chuckling next to his brother. A smile brushed Thorin’s lips. She made Kíli happy.
That night, Thorin struggled to sleep. He was sure Fíli and Kíli were asleep. He thought Bilbo was too. But he could not drift off. He sighed, and tried to roll over, but found he was unable to do so without his wound hurting terribly. He sighed again.
“What ails you, O King Under the Mountain?” Bilbo asked quietly at Thorin’s side. Thorin startled a bit.
“I thought you were asleep.” Thorin murmured.
“How could one fall asleep, when there is a grumpy huffing dwarf in the next bed over?” Bilbo chuckled.
“Sorry to keep you up.” Thorin responded.
“Oh, I don’t mind, you silly dwarf. Being kept up by you is a pleasure.” Bilbo said. Then his face flushed, the blush creeping up his cheekbones and spreading to the tip of his ears. Thorin privately thought it was adorable. “N- not that sleeping next to you is unpleasant either.” Bilbo paused, as if thinking about what he had just said, then buried his face in his hands. “Oh… I am so bad at this. Ignore me.” He commanded. Thorin chuckled.
“I don’t mind sleeping next to you either, Master Burglar.” Thorin rumbled. Bilbo’s blush, if possible, got even deeper. He finally emerged from his hands.
“Hush, you.” He grumbled. Thorin laughed, a full belly laugh. Bilbo shushed him, gesturing to Thorin’s nephews, sleeping on the other side of the tent. Thorin opened his mouth and nodded in a silent ‘ah’. There was a moment of silence as both individuals stared at their hands.
“Thorin-”
“Bilbo-”
Both spoke at the same time, then paused.
“You go first.”
“You may speak.”
They both stopped again laughing as quietly as possible.
“You go.” Bilbo said.
“Bilbo… I don’t want to hurt you-”
“Ach, you stupid mountain!” Bilbo exclaimed, forgetting to be quiet. “You won’t hurt me!”
“I did. I did hurt you.” Thorin said, voice stained with regret.
“That was not you! How many times must I say it? It was Dragon Sickness! Not you.” Bilbo looked down. “Never you.”
“It is… hard… for me to trust that I will not do so again.” Thorin said quietly.
“And does my trust count for nothing?” Bilbo snapped.
Thorin looked up hurriedly. “Of course not, I- …I trust you more than anyone.” Thorin’s blue eyes focused on Bilbo. Bilbo looked astonished. He glanced away.
“That’s rather silly. I haven't done much but mess up.” He murmured.
“Must I list all your achievements?” Thorin asked. Bilbo blushed even deeper, his gaze snapping back to Thorin. Thorin hadn’t noticed how… pretty his hazel eyes were.
“No!” Bilbo gasped. Thorin smirked.
“One. You are the reason we escaped from the trolls. Two. You protected me from Azog, otherwise I would surely be dead long before we ever got close to our goal. Three. You broke us out of the dungeon. Four-”
“Enough! Enough, I get it, you vapid fool.” Bilbo gasped, overwhelmed by the praise.
“You seem to have a multitude of insults, stored up, just for me.” Thorin remarked. Bilbo spluttered. He was cute when he was flustered.
“Well, with how silly you are, it is not difficult!” Bilbo said. Thorin chuckled. He brought one hand ghosting over Bilbo’s curls, barely not touching them. Bilbo held very still. After a moment, Thorin spoke.
“Your hair is quite a mess. Would you… mind if I brushed it?” Thorin asked slowly. Bilbo nodded his assent. “I have a brush in my bag, over there.” Thorin pointed to a bag at the foot of his cot. Bilbo rose and retrieved the brush. He handed it to Thorin, before seating himself on the floor next to Thorin’s head. Thorin, slowly, slowly, began brushing out the curls. He didn’t breathe for the first couple strokes. After a while of the gentle sound of the brush, Bilbo spoke.
“It’s gotten longer, and I haven’t had time to cut it. Keeps getting in my face.” He said off-handedly. Thorin’s hand stilled for a moment, before continuing its movement.
“I know how to braid hair so it will be kept off your face, if you would like.”
“That sounds quite nice, thank you.” Bilbo replied. After brushing out all the knots, Thorin began working on a braid, starting at Bilbo’s temple. His hands trembled.
“Thorin.” Bilbo said. Thorin’s fingers stilled.
“Yes?”
“I’m not dense.”
“I-”
“There is more significance to this than I am aware of. What is it?” Bilbo asked, in a do-not-lie-to-me kind of way.
“Ah.” Thorin cleared his throat. ‘Hair… is very… important to darrow. Letting another groom one’s hair is a sign of… courting.” Thorin murmured. Bilbo sat frozen for a moment. Then he asked:
“Thorin Oakenshield, did you just propose to me without my knowledge? And did I say yes, without aforementioned knowledge?” Bilbo asked. Thorin blushed.
“No! No, not purpose, exactly…” Thorin said quickly.
“Ah. Let me rephrase. Did I just agree to date you?”
“Not… not if you don’t want to.”
“Who said I don’t want to?” Bilbo asked, face red as a beet.
“Ah.” was all Thorin could manage. There was a beat of silence.
“There… is a lovely garden balcony in the Mountain. Would you like to go there with me, when you are better?” Bilbo asked haltingly.
“I… would like that, yes.” Thorin resumed braiding Bilbo’s hair. They sat in comfortable silence.
“There. Done.” Thorin dropped the finished braid. Bilbo stroked the interwoven strands with a gentle, curious finger.
“This is amazing, Thorin. The weaving is very well done.” Bilbo complemented, marveling at the braid. Thoring chuckled.
“You act as if you have never had a braid before.” Thorin remarked.
“I haven’t. Hobbits don’t wear braids, and few know how to weave them.” Bilbo replied.
“You- do you not know how to braid?” Thorin asked, shocked. Bilbo shook his head.
“Every dwarf knows how to braid.” Thorin said.
“I noticed. Every dwarf in the company has braids of some sort.”
Thorin thought for a moment. “Would… could I teach you?” He asked quietly.
“That sounds nice.” Bilbo mumbled. He looked up to where one could see the vague outline of the moon through the canvas of the tent. “It’s getting late, we should sleep.” He turned an appraising eye to Thorin. “Especially you, mister injured dwarf.”
“I can’t sleep.” Thorin reminded him. Bilbo stared at him for a moment. Then, slowly, he moved to Thorin’s cot. He carefully lay down, pressed into Thorin’s side. Thorin did not move. He did not breathe. He held as still as he could as Bilbo’s smaller, warm body settled against his.
“Is this alright? It doesn't hurt?” Bilbo asked.
“No. No, it’s fine.” Thorin breathed. Blibo grabbed his own blanket from the floor where it had been sitting. He tugged it over himself, shifting a little to get comfortable. Thorin stayed still as Bilbo’s breathing became deeper while he drifted to sleep. Thorin could feel sleep tugging at his own consciousness. Before he succumbed, he slowly pulled an arm out from his blanket, and gently wrapped it around Bilbo. Bilbo didn’t wake, only sighed and snuggled into Thorin’s side.
Thorin slept well that night.
Kíli clamped a hand on his brother’s mouth. He felt his own shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter, lips pressed tight in a vain effort to keep it in. Fíli reached over and likewise secured his own hand on Kíli’s mouth. Kíli tried holding his breath, slightly worried the pair of lovebirds would notice his trembling. Fíli appeared to be tensing all of his muscles, trying to achieve the same goal.
Both failed.
Once Fíli had regained an ounce of his self control, he whispered “When do you think the wedding will be?” Kíli’s cheeks blew up with the force of the suppressed mirth.
“What do you think the babies will look like?” Kíli whispered back. They devolved into giggles, vainly trying to hold them back.
Neither Thorin nor Bilbo noticed.
A week later, when Thorin was well enough to stand, and permitted to leave his bed, Bilbo made up a nice picnic lunch and brought Thorin to the garden.
“I did not know Erebor had so many plants.” Thorin marveled. Bilbo laughed.
“I didn’t expect it. I think most of them have grown while Smaug was occupying the Mountain. See how wild they are?” Bilbo responded, delighted by how untamed the garden was. He had always preferred wild gardens to the neat, orderly, stifled gardens that were common in the shire. Bilbo busily set about spreading out a blanket and setting up the food. He had made all of it himself, refusing to let anyone help. He had informed Thorin on the way up that good food and flowers were how hobbits courted. That had made Thorin blush. Bilbo marked that as an achievement. It was more difficult to make Thorin blush than himself.
“This looks wonderful, Bilbo.” Thorin rumbled. Bilbo smiled. He looked around the garden, noticing the same iris plant that had caught his eye earlier. The bud had bloomed, along with many others, into a graceful white blossom. Bilbo smiled, gently stroking to petals. He carefully picked it, turning to show it to Thorin.
“This one means hope, and new beginnings.” Bilbo told him. The corners of Thorin’s eyes crinkled.
“And this?” Thorin pointed to a deep purple flower.
“Ah! That is a violet. It symbolizes free love.” Bilbo pointed to a pink flower next to it. “And that one…” Thorin listened intently to everything Bilbo said, as if taking mental notes. Bilbo smiled to himself. He loved his obvious dwarf.
After a few hours of pleasant munching and chatting, Thorin grew slightly distracted. Bilbo watched him intently as he tried to put a scone in his eye.
“What is it.” Bilbo said. His tone demanded an answer.
“I… I made you something.” Thorin’s hand moved to a pocket, slowly pulling something out. His cheeks were dusted with pink as he held out his hand to Bilbo, palm open and up. In it was a small, intricately carved wooden bead. Bilbo took it, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, admiring the small carved runes and flowers.
“It’s a bead. For your hair. Dwarves give beads to others close to them, family, friends, and… partners.” Thorin was staring furiously at a patch of the blanket.
“It’s beautiful, Thorin.” Bilbo breathed.
“The runes mean that we’re courting. And I know you like flowers…” Thorin rambled. Bilbo leaned forward and touched Thorin’s face.
“Thorin. Will you put it in my hair for me?” Bilbo asked. Thorin looked up, and nodded. He carefully undid the end of Bilbo’s braid, weaving the bead into it. Bilbo brushed it when Thorin was done, unused to the weight, but enjoying it. He turned shining eyes to Thorin.
“Thank you.”
Bilbo went to Bifur for help. He wanted to make Thorin a bead, but was unsure how. Besides, Bifur wouldn’t laugh at Bilbo. Bilbo explained his dilemma. Bifur nodded seriously, then got right to work. He told Bilbo it was customary to use stone for a courting bead, then helped him find some suitable options.
Bilbo chose a sky blue stone, very similar in color to Thorin’s eyes. Bifur gave Bilbo a carving tool, and showed him how to carve the stone into the shape of a bead. When Bilbo was done, he had a very sloppily shaped bead. He carefully followed Bifur’s instructions for carving the courting runes onto the surface. Bilbo thought it wasn’t bad for a first attempt.
The next time Bilbo had Thorin to himself, he gave him the bead.
“I- I made this for you.” he mumbled. Thorin stared at it with surprise. “I- I know it’s n- not very good. You don’t have to take it, I’ll-” Thorin grabbed Bilbo’s hand as Bilbo was about to withdraw.
“Bilbo. I love it.” Thorin said.
“O- oh. Well, good. I worked very hard on it, you know.” Bilbo stammered. Thorin smiled.
“I’m sure.” he moved to weave a braid to put it on, but Bilbo stopped him.
“I’ll… I’ll do it.” He said, blushing furiously. Thorin obediently dropped his hands. Bilbo gathered three strands of hair, as that was the only weave he knew. He clumsily wove them together, making a sloppy braid, fastening the bead at the end.
“Ach, that’s awful.” Bilbo moved to undo it, but Thorin blocked him.
“Don’t you dare.” Thorin said, dead serious. Bilbo raised his hands in surrender, laughing. “I love this braid, and wish for you to braid my hair every morning.” Thorin declared. Bilbo fell into his side, unable to control his giggles. Thorin ruffled Bilbo’s hair, his chuckles reverberating through his body.
Bilbo stiffened. He sat up slowly, face turning towards the door. “You can come in, I know you're there.” Bilbo said. Thorin looked at him, then back to the empty doorway. Bilbo glowered at the entryway. “Do not make me come get you. I will take away your snacks.” He threatened. The entire company slowly and ashamedly came into the room. None of the dwarves would meet Bilbo’s eyes.
“What?” Thorin spluttered. “How did you know?” He asked Bilbo.
“Hobbits have very good hearing.” Bilbo muttered, still glaring at the group of sorry dwarves.
“Why-?” Thorin asked.
“I won’t apologize, uncle you two are so cute!” Kíli burst out. Fíli elbowed him.
“About as cute as you and Tauriel.” He teased. Kíli gasped in mock offense. Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose.
“What am I to do with you lot?” Thorin groaned.
“Admit it, you love us.” Kíli wheedled. Thorin sighed. Bilbo nodded.
“At least Auntie Bilbo loves us.” Fíli sighed.
“Indeed.” Bilbo agreed.
“Can I have cookies?” Nori asked.
“Yes, yes I’ll make you all cookies.” Bilbo agreed. Every dwarf perked up at the promise, including Dwalin.
“Come on, come on!” Ori and Kíli rushed forward and yanked Bilbo off from his spot next to Thorin, dragging him to the kitchen.
“Help me, Thorin, I’ve been kidnapped!” Bilbo shrieked. Thorin immediately leaped to his feet.
“Asemble, my armies! We must save Bilbo from those nasty kidnappers!” Most of the dwarves rallied to Thorin’s side, but Fíli and Nori joined Kíli and Ori in keeping Bilbo hostage.
The war was long and brutal.
In the end, everyone got cookies.