In which the beginning of the end takes place a little too early in the eyes of the Company.
Enjoy and please comment your opinions. I welcome criticism so I may improve, so please point out anything you don't like as well.
_
Looking back to many months ago, Bilba Baggins realized that this was not how she planned on spending her Winter at all. She was supposed to be baking desserts and treats for the small Winter Festival, avoiding Hobbit men in search of courting, crocheting and knitting clothing for those who were going without, and reading books inside her comfortable smial. Not fighting for her life in a raging field of blood and gore. At the moment she was taking refuge in some of the wreckage of Dale, inside a ring of stones that once served as the foundation of a guard tower. Her tattered cream colored dress's skirt folds were torn and smeared with dirt and crimson, with her burgundy waistcoat underneath her much-too-large chainmail armor. Not to mention her dark-green hood and cloak was dirt ridden and soggy (and she thought it looked weather stained when Dwalin gave it to her!).
Her patchy green/brown eyes frantically searched out an escape route the moment she heard the shrieks of an orc pack closing in on her location. Her fingers fumbled underneath her mithril mail and traced her waistcoat pocket anxiously, feeling the urge to slip on her ring. She peered between two stones and her breath caught in her throat in a strangled gasp. Bilba immediately ducked back to her previous position. There were five of them, garbling out orders in their Black Speech and searching out stragglers that fled from the battle nearby. Bilba did not understand a single word being said, and did not give a care about it. All she was worried about at the moment was getting out of the ruins of Dale and locating Gandalf in all the chaos. That is, until she heard his name.
She had heard his name uttered by an orc tongue once before, and every sound from that horrid beast was deeply carved in her memory with a cruel blade for good. Bilba hesitated, she did not want to get that horrible itching sensation in the back of her mind when she wore her magic ring. But then again, how was she supposed to escape from these monsters without detection? How was she supposed to know what they were speaking of? How was she supposed to know if he was alive? She squeezed her eyes shut, deciding to do what she had repeatedly done on this entire blasted journey. What her mind had constantly asked her in her moments of strife. What would Thorin do?
Bilba took a breath and gripped her letter-opener so hard that her knuckles turned white. Bilba Baggins was not a coward. Bilba Baggins wasn't wholesomely a Baggins, but a fool of a Took as well. With that very thought in mind, she slipped on her magical ring and dove out of her temporary shelter. Her surroundings faded to a wispy gray, all background noise becoming silenced to her ears. The only thing she dared focus on was listening to the orcs conversations.
"Master Azog had Oakenshield cornered, last I heard. The line of Durin will surely perish on this day." Snarled one, whose skin was mostly black instead of the deathly white, its claws flipping over a large slab of stone in its search.
Thorin! She must go lend aid to her- her what? What was he to her? What position did he hold in her mind's eye? Never mind the horrid things he shouted at her. His threats to hurl her over the barricade and onto the rocks below, straight to her death... Right. Never mind those harsh words indeed, the heartbreak she suffered, the deep betrayal she felt by them all when she was cast out. It was only to save them, she only wanted to spare them a war. She only wanted to spare everyone the pain of battle...
"Yes, yes, now let us get back to our task and eliminate the Halfling, the scum has caused us enough trouble."
"Agreed, Othrokh. I can sense the Halfling is near, it reeks of dwarf and dragon."
Oh dear, they could smell her! She had completely forgotten that their sense of smell was stronger than a hound's! Her plan to sneak up and pick them off one by one with Sting would surely fail in that case. Now her only choice was to flee on her Hobbit feet and hope that they would not detect her any longer. Bilba spun on her heel and fled. She fled until she was beyond the perimeter of Dale, then continued. Her feet carried her directly into battle.
All of a sudden a whole new world was introduced to Bilba Baggins. A world with no dialogue possible, only a constant, deafening roar of thousands of dwarves, men, elves, and orcs fighting to the death. Debris was flung from every direction, whether it be from a shattered sword or dirt being kicked up, armor getting bashed off, or stray elvish arrows. The smell of sweat, blood, and death slapped her in the face and clawed its way through her nostrils.
The poor Hobbit was knocked clean off her feet by a dwarvish hammer, wielded by none other than Dain Ironfoot, cousin of Thorin and ruler of the Iron Hills. She sailed back a few feet and her back collided against a shield, which caused her to lurch forward and fall face-first onto the frozen ground. Floundering for more than a moment, she struggled to regain her breath. Her chest and spine ached horribly, the pain radiating out from her core and out to her extremities. She felt completely and utterly paralyzed from the pain.
It was a wonder that she wasn't crushed from how long she lay there, motionless and staring at the sky in her misty and warped world her magical ring provided her. It was as if she was in a trance, the constant pain wilting her strength entirely. After laying there for what felt like ages, which was really only a few minutes, Bilba inhaled sharply, only to be encompassed in pain once again as her ribs raked her insides. Tears formed in her eyes and her lungs screamed for oxygen, causing her to forcefully inhale again. If anything, it was worse than the last time. But at least she could feel the heavy weight on her chest that was holding her down start to lessen with each painful intake of air. At least now she could think.
She could hear Dain's battle cry as he swung that dreadful hammer, hear the bloodchilling shriek of the unfortunate receiver of the blow. Just as she was gathering her strength to sit up and attempt locating Thorin once more, there was a bone crushing crunch. She let out a pained shout and yanked her hand back, choking down the sob that tried to escape from her lips. Someone's boot had ground the bones in her left hand to a meal, at least that's what it felt like. Alright, I've wasted enough time lying here on the ground. Get up you miserable Hobbit. Thinking this allowed the sob to finally release. Why, why did she have to think of that? "You miserable Hobbit..."
Oh Thorin, if only I had a chance at saving your life, just one more time.
The only thing that kept Bilba from sitting there any longer was the fact that she heard a familiar voice nearby give a loud, pained cry of anguish. She sat upright so fast that her vision blurred and she saw spots. Ori! The youngest Ri brother was in trouble! Gathering her wits, the Hobbit lass launched herself to her feet and weaved between warriors, ducked beneath battle axes, dodged deathly blades, and jumped over fallen warriors. She nearly jumped over Ori as well.
"Ori!" She yelped, tugging off her ring and tucking it safely away in her pocket before kneeling by the ashen-faced dwarf.
His right shoulder had an Elvish arrow lodged firmly within it, the shaft of it giving away the race who fired it with its intricate details carved into it. Other than the arrow there were only a few gashes and scrapes tormenting the young dwarrows body, although there was a rather nasty looking gash that trailed down the boy's jawbone that worried Bilba as well.
"Bilba..." Ori replied breathlessly, sounding both relieved and terrified at her sudden appearance. He forced a tiny smile of gratitude towards her, though it quickly transformed into a grimace. "Dori-... Dori's going to skin me alive..." He muttered pitifully, eyeing the arrow and thinking for sure that it was the same sort of arrow that had pierced Kili.
Bilba automatically smiled reassuringly at the youngest Ri brother and looked around for any possible shelter. Not a single option was in sight. "Dori will not do such a thing." She replied, maybe a little too quickly. Her eyes returned to the source of Ori's pain and she very carefully grasped the arrow. Should she leave it or remove it? What would Oin do? It's not as though it was his chest after all, it was only blood loss she was afraid of. She decided that she would let Ori make the choice. The lass braced her crushed hand to the boys chest and tightened her grasp upon the arrow's shaft, biting her lower lip in determination.
"No! Don't take it out! Please, just leave it..." Now Ori looked terrified, almost as if he knew death was approaching him.
As soon as Ori shouted Bilba released the arrow and held her hands up in surrender. "Alright! I will need to think of something else then-" She began, but didn't finish, for an orc suddenly pounced before them both, wielding a weapon that Bilba had no name for. Bilba gave a squeak of terror before flinging her body over Ori's as a sort of shield, her good hand pointing Sting at the orc. "Don't you come any nearer!" She yelled as threateningly as she could, though she was ashamed to admit that it came out scratchy and frightened.
The orc hissed at them both, it's eyes reflecting how little of a threat he thought Bilba to be. It raised it's gnarled blade high above it's head and prepared to deliver a death blow.
Quick as one of Radigast's Rhosgobel Rabbits, Bilba sank her blade deep into the orcs exposed abdomen. The horrid creature let out a shrill squeal before dropping its weapon, only staying up because Bilba's letter-opener remained in his belly. She growled and twisted her blade before kicking the vile beast free of Sting, then put her whole body into the effort of swinging her blade forcefully enough to knock its head clean off. Her chest burned with such an intense heat that her head swam, causing her to sink down to her knees and gasp for air. Her lungs sucked in air rapidly and exhaled it just as quickly. For a moment or two she thought she was going to faint. Bilba was blinded with the pain until she was reminded she was still in the presence of Ori.
"Bilba?" Ori's gentle voice barely reached her, he sounded astonished by what he had just seen, which made no sense at all to Bilba. Really, they were on a battle field filled with things ten times worse than what Bilba just committed.
Still feeling queasy, Bilba crawled back to her ailing comrade. "You are going to be okay." She murmured, though she was sure he didn't hear thanks to the constant roar around them. Her sharp eyes darted around their surroundings once more before Bilba came up with a strategy. "I am afraid I have no choice but to hide you in plain sight, Ori dear." She spoke regretfully, reaching down and shredding a length of her dirtied petticoat.
Ori swallowed thickly and nodded, knowing there was no other option. He was going to have to wait until the battle was over and risk infection, but it was better than dying while attempting to hobble away. He showed little protest while she bound his shoulder, but yelped sharply when she tightened the knot.
"Sorry," Bilba muttered before getting to her feet and dragging over a corpse that was lying nearby. "Just try to stay still, only react to anything if you see someone who you know will help you." She instructed as she troublesomely rolled the body over most of Ori, now out of breath once more.
Ori groaned and let his head fall back to rest on the earth, "That will not be a problem..." He mumbled, only looking at her through half open eyes.
Once Bilba regained her composure, the Hobbit lass straightened and reached into her vest pocket. She eyed Ori worriedly, sending a silent prayer to the heavens that Ori would be found by a member of their company or- even better- Gandalf. Releasing one last labored breath, Bilba let her ring slide snugly onto her finger.
"Be careful!" Ori shouted at her the moment she vanished.
I will. Now it came to be more difficult. Her eyes sought out the high grounds where she knew Thorin to be in and she began picking her way through the battlefield cautiously. This proved to be much more difficult than she expected. About halfway through someone's shield collided with her shoulder, sending her tumbling into an elf. As she shook herself and scampered away from the fight, she noticed the elf looked incredibly bewildered. If the circumstances were different, Bilba might've felt bad for the elf, but she had no time to lose. Not when she wasted so much time lying on the ground! Her hobbit feet made it difficult to scale the large boulder that led to the fighting grounds of Ravenhill she knew Thorin to be in, but her willpower and effort won over. As she dragged herself up onto a flat slab of stone, she heard distant yells and sounds of ice cracking that echoed clearly to her sharp ears.
Huffing and puffing, Bilba crept as fast as she dared in the direction of the grunts and clashes of metal upon metal. She grew immensely afraid when all sounds ceased, followed by the swoops and caws of the Great Eagles flying above. Wonder filled her eyes as she looked behind her towards the great battlefield, following the Great Eagles with her eyes. Her breaths came in short, lively gasps before she remembered what was happening before her. The sound of water being disturbed and ice cracking surrounded her. Just as she was making to peek over the ledge she heard a familiar voice bellow and echo a fair distance away.
It was Dwalin. Running in her general direction and roaring in all forms of Khuzdul (none of which were kind, she knew for sure), and leading a thin string of orcs trailing behind him, all weilding deadly weapons. Surely Dwalin could not be shouting at her, for she was bearing her ring! So he must have been yelling to whomever was fighting below. As she was contemplating this, a sudden howl of pain broke all of her concentration and sent her soul spiraling into a panic.
The wounded sound was such a foreign thing to Bilba, but she immediately knew whom it belonged to. The Tookish side of her completely scrapped her Baggins wits and fueled her to the brim with courage. She leapt atop the overhang just as a great thunderous crash split the air. There below her stood Azog the Defiler, The Pale Orc with his back to her and obviously overpowering Thorin Oakenshield beneath him. Her heart stuck in her throat and for a moment, just a moment, her courage wavered. Then, as quick as that moment had surfaced, a large burst of audacity pumped through her veins. She vaulted off the overhang and landed on the ice below in a heap, though she only hesitated long enough to gasp in a breath and let out the most bloodcurdling battle-cry a hobbit could muster.
Surely this startled the orc out of his senses long enough to ease up on the pressure he held to Thorin's sword. That didn't last long though, for the source of the battle-cry did not cease its shriek until there was an abrupt amount of impact upon the orcs spine.
The Pale Orc let his pain be known by the bellow that followed, shoving off of Thorin and stumbling backwards over the difficult surfaces of the ice. Azog pawed at his back and turned in ever dizzying circles, shouting and stumbling to his knees.
This left Thorin all in a tizzy. Still dazed from his near-death encounter, and still in shock from all his wounds, he managed to push himself up into a sitting position. Each breath of thin air he took left his head feeling light, for the cold was so fierce on that day that it would even make a dwarrow shiver!
Azog was still flailing, though each attempt was weaker than the last. After several painstaking seconds of nothing but grabbing at air, the Pale Orc seemed to finally grasp his attacker and free himself. The orc looked surprised for just a moment, then sneered and raised his sword-of-a-hand up to meet his assailant's demise. Still grasping at what looked to be simply air, Azog held whomever it was well above his head.
"Today you will meet your end, Halfling. Just as the Line of Durin shall." The orc drawled out, looking impossibly strong even after the injury inflicted to his back. He threw his head back to give a victorious roar- only- he should really have not done that, not if he valued his life. For the very next moment, an Elvish sword imbedded itself in his chest. Then a line of crimson drew itself across his throat. He dropped whomever he was holding and made a dreadful gurgling noise as he grabbed at his own throat, all the while sinking to his knees.
Still fighting for her breath, Bilba scrambled to her feet and backed away from the horrid creature. Her eyes immediately sought out Thorin. He had gotten to his feet and appeared unharmed other than a heavy limp. She froze as he looked in her direction, obviously seeking to spot his savior. He knew of her special ring, as did the company. Yet it seemed as soon as he looked toward her, he charged Azog.
Thorin's expression didn't show a trace of pain as he head-butted the orc, sending him sprawled on his back, dazed. The next moment he was kneeling over him, driving the sword completely through Azog's chest and into the ice itself.
Silence followed. Even Dwalin's desperate yells had ceased.
Azog the Defiler was dead.
Bilba's trembling shoulders relaxed so much that her mithril slipped from her shoulder, now hanging loosely.
"Bilba?" Thorin breathed hopefully, his eyes leaving the lifeless corpse of the Defiler and looking aimlessly in her general direction. "Bilba, please." He pleaded, taking such an un-Thorinlike step that he appeared impossibly vulnerable to her.
She stood wavering for such a long time that Thorin began to turn away, believing that she had left. He wouldn't blame her. But she held her breath and removed her ring, placing it in her waistcoat pocket. "Thorin..." She whispered.
His gaze snapped to her so quickly that his hair whipped across his face.
A small tremor of terror ripped through her, for the last time she had locked eyes with him she was nearly thrown from the ramparts- by him. She opened her mouth to say something else, but was interrupted.
"Thorin!" Cried Dwalin, waving frantically from an above cliff. Next to him were Fili and Kili, shouting Thorin's name as well. Kili himself was literally jumping for joy as a familiar redheaded elf bounded nearby, heading farther up the cliff and shouting at an enemy.
Both Thorin and Bilba were looking at the trio with relief when, suddenly, the voice of the elf maiden shouted a warning. Dwalin grabbed both of the Durin boys by the scruff and forced all three of them to ground level, squashing them with his bodily shield.
Moments passed.
Nothing happened.
Dwalin was the first to move, checking both Fili and Kili before looking at the cliff below. "Thorin!"
His shout made Thorin flinch out of surprise, for he was no further harmed.
Then he realized that Dwalin was not looking at him.
He whipped around to see Bilba standing in the exact same place, only to see a petrified expression on her face and an arrow protruding from her exposed chest. His usually composed demeanor cracked at the foundations and his throat tightened, making his voice crack in the most unkingly way. "NO!" He ran as though his foot had not been wounded at all and slid to a stop in front of her, staring at her in disbelief.
She was still standing. Her chin wobbled as she held back a sob. There was a steady stream of crimson trickling down, down her torso, down her arm and pooling in the palm of her hand. A tear cascaded down her left cheek. "Thorin..." She whimpered, her words swept away by a sudden torrent of frigid wind that sucked all warmth from her body. A wave of nausea swept throughout her body, ending in her throat and staying there.
Thorin placed his arms around her as she teetered from the gale, holding her against him as though she was made of glass. He lowered her so she was flat upon her back and kept one hand underneath her head to cushion it. "Don't speak, all will be well." He croaked, using his free hand to move aside the mithril to examine her wound. He had no choice but to yank a hunk of fabric from her torn skirts and use to stem the blood flow.
Her breaths became labored as she fought not to cry out in agony and her vision blurred with tears. "I'm sorry," She whispered desperately, feeling an intense need to express her guilt over the Arkenstone. "Thorin, please f-forgive m-m-me... I was a f-fool to take it." Bilba breathed in forcefully, her lungs quivering from the extreme cold. A burst of strength allowed her to reach up and place her hand over his. "Forgive m-me..."
Her words shook him, for he was the one who owed an apology. "No," He whispered, his expression pleading.
Bilba faltered, her eyes averting away from his. She couldn't stifle the sob that racked her body.
"Forgive me." Thorin rasped, leaning closer. "I am the one at fault, you were trying to prevent war. Trying to save me from myself!" His voice quaked at the final word, and a tear leaked out. He could hear Dwalin, Fili, and Kili beginning to reach them now. The sight of her usually pink lips fading to a chapped blue made his heart hammer. They needed the wizard, now. More tears escaped, wetting his beard and landing on her face and neck. "You, you hold on." He ordered, face hardening in a determined glare meant only for himself. "You've so much more to see." He tried smiling for her, but it only lasted half a moment.
The hobbit squeezed the dwarf king's hand with all her might, attempting to channel the pain radiating in her breast elsewhere. Sweet tears of relief intermingled with bitter tears of pain, carving paths down her face. She shivered violently as another gale swept over them, stealing her breath away. Bilba wheezed and looked up to Thorin again, his eyes being the only reason she could stay calm and not panic. She didn't react when Thorin looked over his shoulder and shouted.
"Get Gandalf! Get the other wizard! Get an elf! Anyone!"
The three stopped their route towards the two and looked at each other. Kili locked hands with Fili and exchanged hurried words before departing back up the cliff in search of the redheaded elf maiden. Dwalin and Fili hesitated, then both dashed off in search of their mountain goats.
"Bilba, Bilba, look at me. Look at me!" He leaned forward again to block the wind from her. He watched as her eyes fluttered open again, unfocused and dull.
"Thorin..." She murmured, sucking in a long, shuddering breath and whimpering.
Thorin leaned closer, so his breath was warming her face. "You are not alone."
Her eyes focused and unfocused on him. Oh, she was so tired, but she needed to say it, and soon. "Thorin, I..." She swallowed and winced, "I think... I-I think I love y-you..." Her breathing became ragged and uneven, so much that she couldn't watch for his response. Bilba squeezed her eyes shut and welcomed the darkness. There was nothing else she could do now but wait.
The dwarf king looked at her in shock, his extremities going numb. On their journey he had known that she was his One. Ever since the first time his skin came in contact with hers, shaking her hand. By the look on her face at that time he had guessed it was only he who felt the connection, she had seemed just as calm as ever. He kept his distance throughout the journey and did his best to treat her the way anyone else would after that. Now, her words only caused him more anguish, the very opportunity that they could not be together now that the feeling was mutual was too much for him to bear. "No, no no no, Bilba! Look at me, help is coming."His voice shook more with each word, and by the end he was weeping freely. He lowered his head so that his forehead touched hers and counted the seconds between each of her breaths. They were becoming shorter, shallower. "Open your eyes," He whispered, looking down at her pale face. "You're going to write your own books, have your armchair again, plant your trees and watch them grow..." After going without a response for the third time he bowed his head.
And the king wept.
A/N: Ah yes, poor Thorin and Bilba. I feel so evil, this is too much power for me. I love it.
The reason Ori did not get up and continue fighting with his shoulder wound was because the arrow hit a sensitive nerve and tore muscle tissue needed to use his sword and/or his slingshot. Most dwarves would've yanked out the arrow themselves and continued fighting, but Ori was just a little older than Battle Ready, and the arrow hit a crucial area.
In the book Thorin and the company found out about the ring in Mirkwood.
I saw on that dwarves referred to their loves as their One, although it is not canon, I'm using it. It also makes sense with Kili and Tauriel, for she had to touch him while they were being captured and taken to the dungeons.
Thank you for reading, I may or may not add a sequel, but you tell me in the comments. Your feedback is appreciated.
Again, thank you.