This story comes in two slightly different flavours; this one is gen, the next is very slightly slash. Same plot, different wrapping. Enjoy. :)

Chapter One - Gen

"No."

"Master Hobbit..."

"My name is Bilbo, Dwalin, and still no. I will not walk into that mine shaft."

Dwalin rolls his eyes the way he does when he thinks Bilbo's being very slow or deliberately obtuse. "All you need do is walk to that corner, hold up your torch, and describe what you see. We'll be able to see you the whole way."

"It isn't you seeing me I'm worried about."

"You're the smallest and the lightest. The floor may be weak. You have the best chance."

"I understand the reasons, but I'm not going in there." It's not the first time he's refused to enter a chamber or tunnel, but it is the first time anyone's argued this hard. Bilbo doesn't care. He's not walking into that mine shaft. He can see what's waiting for him down there.

"I'll go."

Bilbo turns to see Kíli already tripping off his heavy coat and weapons, passing them to Fíli along with his dagger and gloves. Fíli accepts them without protest, but he's frowning. "Are you sure?"

"I'm not much heavier than he is, and I'll have a better sense of where to step." He grins completely sincerely at Bilbo.

"Kíli –" Dwalin starts.

"He doesn't have to," Fíli says sharply. "Bilbo is not a Dwarf, and we shouldn't be throwing him at mines and expecting him to provide a miracle."

"Although if anyone is going to provide a miracle, it'll be our Master Boggins," Kíli adds cheerfully, taking Balin's torch with a grin and ducking into the tunnel.

Dwalin snorts. "Nori, escort Master Hobbit back to the living areas. Perhaps he won't be so picky about helping Bombur with dinner."

"I'll take him," Balin says before Nori can answer. "I wanted to speak with you anyway, Bilbo."

Bilbo finds himself ushered away. He's aware that Balin is choosing a path that will avoid the areas Bilbo has refused to enter, but he's so tired he can't really focus on it. It's a kind thought, but it won't help much. What he's trying to avoid is everywhere; it only throngs more thickly in those rooms.

In the residential levels, Balin steers Bilbo to a seat, studying him. "You're very pale, Bilbo." Bilbo doesn't answer, and Balin smiles faintly. "Well, fighting with my brother will do that to a body."

Bilbo shakes his head. "I don't want to be fighting with him. I don't mean to cause trouble."

"Fíli's right. You aren't a Dwarf, and expecting you to act as one is unfair."

Bilbo twines his fingers together, staring at them. "It isn't that I don't want to help. I do, very much. But I cannot do what Dwalin is asking me."

He toys with the idea of explaining exactly why he can't enter the deep parts of Erebor, why even some of the residences are closed to him. Balin might understand. But it would hurt him deeply, more than anyone except Thorin; and, though it's selfish, Bilbo cannot bear to have the Dwarves look at him as the Hobbits do.

Balin watches him for a moment before sitting beside him. "There's an old Dwarfish legend," he says conversationally. "Not one we believe nowadays, not truly. About people called –" He hums for a moment. "I've only ever heard it in Khuzdul, but I think in Westron it might be Death Speakers. Certain Dwarves, the legend goes, had the ability to see what remained of those who'd died. Men call them ghosts, or spirits…they say when someone dies in anger, or violence, that something lingers. And the Death Speakers could see those remnants."

He's silent, but Bilbo's throat has closed and he can't speak.

"And I thought," Balin continues softly, "if such a thing existed, in other races than Dwarves, then bringing them here might be very cruel. Because I know that many died here, in fear and agony."

"It isn't…" Bilbo has to stop, and think about the words, forcing them around the lump in his throat. "I don't know what your legends say," he said finally, unable to stop himself from telling Balin. Maybe, if he really has legends, maybe he won't think Bilbo is godsforsaken as the Hobbits do. "And if you lost someone here, I am sorry. But I cannot talk to them, I cannot pass on a message in either direction."

"No," Balin agrees placidly. "I did not expect you to. And I'll say nothing," he adds at Bilbo's look. "Although I will make it clear to my brother that you will go where you will and only where you will."

Bilbo shudders, looking back at his hands. "It…" He has to stop again to swallow. "The ones you mean, they're not a problem. I was expecting those. I know how to deal with those."

"Then what is it, lad?"

He closes his eyes, unable to watch Balin's face. "It's the ones below."

There's silence for a long time, until Balin says "What ones below?"

"You have to understand, what I see – I only see. There's impressions, feelings. Sometimes if I get too close, there's memories. But they can't talk to me. I don't always know what's happened."

"What ones below, Bilbo?" And there's a terrible urgency in Balin's voice now.

Bilbo shakes as he answers. "When Smaug attacked, not everyone got out."

"They burned."

"No," Bilbo whispers. "No. Some survived, and fled into the mines."

"No," Balin breathes. And he's grown up in mines; he knows what happens when people are trapped inside. "Bilbo, no."

"There were children." Bilbo knows he's being cruel now, but he can't stop, can't breathe under the weight of what he's been seeing. "I watched them wait, for days, thinking they'd be rescued. They cried for hunger and thirst, and when the dams finally realised no one was coming – when they realised, they couldn't bear to let the children starve…"

He breaks, then, weeping into his hands. Balin has tears running down his face, but he lays one hand on Bilbo's arm.

When Bilbo has calmed, Balin says quietly, "You know where this happened?"

"Yes."

"Will you show me? On the plans," he adds at Bilbo's terrified look. "I'll not ask you to go back there."

"Why?"

"Because they were our people, and they were abandoned in life. I'll not leave them abandoned in death." He studies Bilbo. "Will it help? Proper burial and ceremonies?"

Bilbo shakes his head. "Time helps. Nothing else. What's here, what I see, it's not – them. Only an impression; like a coat that still smells like someone. It fades away."

He's watching the shade of a tiny Dwarf flee across the hall, crying helplessly. Balin jogs his arm lightly. "Bilbo."

"Yes."

"If you wished to leave, for a while – until they fade…"

Bilbo smiles. "It's been a hundred and fifty years, Balin. They have not faded yet." He looks away as the tiny Dwarf flees past again. "Show me the plans. I will show you where your people lie. And then I'd very much like to sleep for a while."

It won't be restful. He'll watch the Dwarflings die over and over in his dreams. But at least he won't have to hide his reactions. He can cry for them then.