A Willing Heart

Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit. It belongs to the late, great J.R.R. Tolkien. The chapter titles are from 'Sally's Song' from The Nightmare Before Christmas.

i. something in the wind

Just when Bilbo Baggins thought that the doings and thinking of dwarves could not possibly surprise him any more, there would come another ridiculous situation to prove him wrong.

His poor legs were scraped bloody from scrambling about in Gollum's cave, most of the hair had been singed from his feet in his mad attempt to save Thorin Oakenshield from losing his head and he was so tired that the ground of the rocky little valley looked like a feather bed. Bilbo could hardly remember the last time he had slept - before Goblin-town at least, and he hadn't even dared to close his eyes after the thunder battle for fear he would miss his chance to return to Rivendell.

By rights the dwarves should be in a worse state than him, having to run through the goblin tunnels, opposed for every step they gained. But instead the fools were clustered around the huge rock that Gandalf called the Carrock, muttering to each other in their harsh tongue and exploring it with their fingertips and weapons.

Thorin was having his wounds attended to by Oin while Balin spoke with him at length. Bilbo tried to make out what they were saying, afraid that perhaps Thorin's wounds were worse than expected, but Oin at least seemed calm, although that may have been because he was stone deaf after losing his horn in the tunnels.

"You should sleep while you can, Master Hobbit. We will have to move on before long."

Bilbo turned to Gandalf who sat wrapped in his long grey cloak. Smoke curled from his pipe, and his eyes were kindly as he looked down at him. Bilbo threw down his jacket and used it as a cushion to shield against the stony dirt. It did little good and he sighed, running a hand over his face as though he could rub away his weariness along with the dirt.

"Should they be doing that?"

Bilbo nodded towards the dwarves who were still apparently fascinated by the unremarkable lump of rock. Dwalin, he saw, had borrowed Bofur's mattock to chip away at the shelf of stone that reared above their heads, while Fili and Kili hovered curiously over his shoulder. Bilbo had once tried to lift Bofur's mattock and had only succeeded in dragging it while its owner chuckled good-naturedly at his efforts. It looked like a toy in Dwalin's meaty fist.

Bilbo looked at Gandalf anxiously as Dwalin struck at the Carrock again before leaning close to peer at the result.

"Won't your friend be angry? That they're ... well, hacking away at the Carrock?"

Gandalf laughed and let a thin cloud of smoke stream between his lips.

"Oh no. It would take even a dwarf a long year to make any sort of dent in that."

Chips of stone went flying as the mattock bit in again, and Bilbo raised his eyebrows.

"I think you might be underestimating how stubborn they can be."

Gandalf only smiled into his beard and wandered away to speak to Thorin. Bilbo sat a moment, watching the dwarves at work before he saw a familiar huddled shape a little way off. Bofur was sitting with his back to the sun-warmed rock with his beloved hat pushed over his eyes, and his pipe smouldering forgotten on his knee.

Bilbo flung himself down beside Bofur, kicking out his sore feet in front of him and resting his spine against the smooth grey stone.

"Good afternoon, Mister Boggins."

Bilbo rolled his eyes at the grin spreading across the lower part of the dwarf's face.

"And what's good about it?" He asked grumpily, massaging his calves gingerly.

"Well, I thought the being alive part was worth a bit of celebration."

Bilbo stopped and stared at his companion for a moment.

"Does nothing ever dampen your spirits, Bofur? Don't you ever get angry?"

Bofur pushed his hat back and met Bilbo's eyes with genuine puzzlement.

"Angry about what exactly?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact we were all nearly killed at least five times last night? Or that we nearly fell off a cliff? Or even the fact that the Eagles managed to bring us out of the Mountains but couldn't waste two minutes putting us on the ground instead of on top of a cliff with steps we had to climb down using our belts as ropes?"

"Yes, well they probably don't like going on the ground much, would they, the Eagles? All that living in trees and on mountain-tops - and I'm sure the Men wouldn't like it, what with their sheep being such a tasty snack for a bird that size."

Bilbo thumped his head against the Carrock and sighed.

"I don't know why I bother with you. You're irrepressible."

Bofur was studying him with great intent as Bilbo complained. Then he began to struggle out of his heavy overcoat, dragging off his scarf in the process.

"I think what you need is a nap, Bilbo. We could all use a rest before long, even Thorin, though he'd never admit it. Everything will seem better when you wake up."

Bilbo privately thought that no amount of rest could ever make him feel 'better' about being nearly brutally murdered and eaten by that horrid Gollum creature, but Bofur stifled his mutters by dropping his coat over Bilbo like a blanket.

He protested, naturally, but Bofur just patted his shoulder with a wink and a grin and refused to take the coat back, and it really was comfortable with the rock at his back soaking up the sunlight - and Bilbo's eyelids seemed to sink of their own accord.

With a fierce struggle he got them pried open again to see Bofur humming quietly to himself as he knocked the ashes from his pipe.

"Why aren't you with the others?"

"Hmmm?"

"Why aren't you looking at the...Carrock?"

Bofur smiled gently and pressed his fingers against the rock at his back.

"I can see it fine from here. Aye, and feel it too. It's good stone, no faults in it. You can tell because of the warmth. Poor stone is always cold, rotten right through the grain. You remember that, Master Burglar."

"But that's because of the sun. It's only warm because the sun is on it."

Bofur cocked his head and in his dark eyes there was amusement.

"Is that so?"

There came a shout in Khuzdul from where the Company were gathering near Thorin and Gandalf and Bofur looked up. Then he jumped to his feet and answered in the same language. Whatever he said made Fili and Kili laugh, and Dori shake his head in mild disapproval.

Bofur looked back down at where Bilbo lay, his nimble fingers tightening his belt as he spoke.

"You'd best take your rest, Bilbo. We're moving on soon, but they're needing me for scouting behind to make sure none of those goblins have sniffed their way after us. Hold onto my coat 'til then, I won't be needing it in this weather."

Later, when Bilbo thought about that guileless bright day, turning it over and over in his mind in guilt and grief, he should have realised. He should have heard it from the trees, sensed something in the wind that might have saved him.

But Bilbo Baggins was not a warrior, nor a great wizard, nor even a very good burglar. And as he watched the three figures dwindle away down the valley until they were lost to sight, there was no doubt in his mind that they would be back when he woke.

Author's Note: This will be a Study in Angst in five parts. I regret nothing.

Concrit always appreciated,

Taluliaka.