Thorin gazed off into the darkness with a vague smile, calling up visions of his beloved hobbit covered in golden chains and jewels. It would be a beautiful sight, of that he was certain. He would have to stoke up the furnaces, craft new pieces by his own hands to suit his delicate consort. Leaves of gold, studded with the tiniest of emeralds, and flowers of rubies and sapphires with diamond centers. The mithril shirt was a good start, even if it had not been made with the hobbit in mind, but Thorin loved the way it sat against his pale skin, a bright distraction under copper hair. Perhaps he could drape jewels of a similar nature in the hobbits curls, over his neck, around his wrists and ankles. Jewels of white starlight like the skies over the Shire, and wouldn't the poncy elf king be angered by that! Thorin grinned at the thought of the stupid creature protesting angrily to see the gems he coveted most displayed for all to see on the King's treasure.
He felt he could hear the very sound of despair that would fall from Thranduil's lips, a thin cry that reverberated around the hall, until he realized it was far too loud to be a figment of his daydreams. With a start, Thorin glanced up, tempted to berate whoever had chosen to interrupt his musings, only to blink in disbelief. The hobbit was falling, arms thrown out in a fruitless attempt to regain balance, tiny fingers grasping for anything other than air. Thorin lurched to his feet, denial pounding a swift tempo in his heart as the hobbit disappeared out of sight. Surely he was hallucinating, his hobbit was fine, Bilbo was fine... Then came the dull thud, echoing back to him from some dim place far below, and Thorin held his breath until he was dizzy, reluctantly peering over the side. The small crumpled form was almost indiscernible against the darkness below.
The whispered no was a roaring in his ears. No, this was wrong, this couldn't be happening, it was some sort of trick. The king raced through the halls, his footing sure even as his world threatened to collapse around him, desperate to refute this impossible truth. He took a corner hard, bashing his shoulder into the stone wall, ignoring the flaring pain as breath came in ragged gasps. Another corner and he was toppling to his knees, the treasury massed in front of him. The company were at his side in an instant, but he barely saw them, his wild gaze turning to fix on the corridor he would need... there! He stumbled upright again, dashing off with the others fast on his heels, their cries for an explanation ignored in favor of speed.
Far too much time had passed when he at last reached his destination, and he sank to his knees with a moan, hands hovering uncertainly over the broken body. Bilbo's eyes were clamped shut in fearful agony, breath coming in wheezing gasps, arms and legs splayed out in gruesome parody of a rag doll. "Bilbo?" Thorin whispered thinly, one finger gently moving a wayward curl off the hobbits face.
Bilbo's eyes flickered, cracking open slowly, then ranging around until they came to rest on the dwarf. "Thorin?" Green eyes met teary blue, and the hobbit smiled weakly to see the clarity returned to their crystalline depths. Suddenly the smile faded, replaced by a look of deepest guilt, and Bilbo's fingers twitched as he tried to move his arm.
"Don't," Thorin choked out, trying to prevent the feeble struggles without injuring the hobbit further. "Don't move, just lie still. It's going to be alright," he sobbed. Tears misted his vision, but through them he could see Bilbo's lips moving, his voice too quiet to hear as he fought for breath. Thorin leaned closer, not wanting to lose a second of hearing that most precious of sounds.
"My pocket... look in," Bilbo whispered, eyes drifting to the left. Confused, but unable to deny the hobbit anything now, Thorin reached in and pulled out the wrapped bundle that lay there. The linen square fell open in his hands, and the dwarf was struck dumb at the sight of the blinding light shimmering in his palm. The arkenstone threw out rainbows of color, leaving all else dull by comparison. 'Not all,' Thorin thought. 'Not Bilbo.' The hobbit would outshine even the brightest of gems, and that revelation brought the object of his thoughts crashing back to the forefront of his mind. His eyes flew to Bilbo's face, heart stopping as he realized that the arkenstone had indeed drained all color from the hobbit. He lay pale and still.
"Bilbo?" Thorin whimpered uncertainly. He laid a palm against Bilbo's cheek, ice rushing through his veins when there was no response. "Bilbo no, please, please wake up..." His hand drew back, fists tried to clench, only to be stopped by the large gem in his hand. He ignored it in favor of staring intently at the hobbit, as if by his will alone he might make this all go away. "Please..." Still there was nothing, not even a twitch of a finger, and suddenly the ice was replaced by boiling rage. He glared down at the traitorous stone in his hands, hating what was once so all-consuming in its beauty. With a bellow of anger he hurled it away, disgusted by the very sight, and he felt only the mildest of satisfaction when it shattered against a wall, coating the stone in glittering fragments. Chest heaving, the tears began anew, flooding down his face until he buried it in his hands in shame, unable to look upon the company.
Balin was the first to gather himself, kneeling down opposite the king and letting a hand trail along Bilbo's face in mourning. The hobbits eyes were closed, but still he did not look like he was sleeping, he did not appear at peace, and the dwarf found this strange in the dim part of his mind that was still functioning. Idly the hand trailed lower, past Bilbo's chin and along his neck, only to stop abruptly in shock. A faint thump beat against his fingers, the trembling pulse making itself known with stubborn insistence. "Mahal," Balin whispered. "He's still alive. Thorin, he's still alive, there may be yet time..!" By the end of his revelation he was almost yelling in fearful hope, and it was enough to jerk the king from his pained stupor.
Thorin looked up with red-rimmed eyes, half crazed, but with a madness that was contrived in grief rather than gold. When he spoke his words almost seemed to lack inflection, the calm of shock tempering his next commands. "Oin get over here please. Keep him alive, do whatever you must, but keep him breathing if at all possible." The healer nodded, moving quickly to his side and gently nudging him out of the way so he might see what needed doing. "Balin, send for the wizard. Tell him whatever you must, but get him here." He hesitated for a fraction of a second then before adding with the barest reluctance, "send for Thranduil also. Offer him his gems, offer him anything, just get them here now."
Many of the company started, even Balin whirling back around in surprise from where he had already been heading away. "Thranduil? You wish the elf to come here?" he asked incredulously, trying and failing to hide his disgust. The sentiment was echoed on most of the others faces, but Thorin just glared imperiously up at him.
"Yes I want the blasted elf! You think any of this matters when Bilbo is dying? I would give him the mountain if it means Bilbo will have a better chance!" The group flinched at his tone, but there were no more questions, and Balin raced as fast as he could towards where he had last seen one of their messenger birds.
If Gandalf was surprised to have a raven land insistently on his arm and give him a message, he did not show it. The wizard merely excused himself from the company of the elven king and Bard, promising to return when he had dealt with what he assumed was a private matter. It was only seconds later that he reentered the tent, his expression that of barely concealed panic that had the other two rising quickly to their feet.
"What has happened?" Bard cried first, agitated at the sight of the wizard looking as far from collected as he had ever seen him. Even Thranduil was frowning gravely, abandoning his usual impassive facade when Gandalf slammed a tattered bit of parchment on the table between them.
The missive was staggering despite its relative simplicity. 'Gandalf. Accident in halls, Bilbo wounded, near death. Please help. Bring the elf, promise him anything. Please. Regards, Thorin.'
"Could this be some sort of trap?" Bard wondered aloud, shrinking back a little at Gandalf's withering look.
"He does not sign as king under the mountain," Thranduil observed almost casually, flipping the paper over with pale fingers to see the back. Nothing else was written upon it, so he abandoned his idle curiosity.
"Indeed," Gandalf returned, a smug tone to his voice despite the gravity of the situation. "I do believe our king may be cured of his sickness."
Thranduil nearly rolled his eyes, unwilling to take anything at face value. "I will be the judge of that myself," he said coolly, before snapping out a command to the nearest elven guard. The guard promptly hastened off, returning with two of his healers. "Come," he beckoned them with a snap of his fingers. "We are going to the mountain."
"A most wise decision," Gandalf murmured in approval, ignoring the scathing retort shot his direction as he fell in behind the elves.
"You had better hope it pays off," Thranduil snapped, the threat in his words clear.
When Balin returned, it was with a wizard and three elves at his back, and he already appeared hard pressed to keep his temper after suffering the presence of Thranduil for so many minutes.
Gandalf brushed past them first, pain evident on his face at the sight of the broken hobbit, and the dwarf king who had not moved from his side. "Oh Bilbo, my dear friend, whatever have you done now?" he murmured sadly.
"He fell so far," Thorin whispered, staring at his hands where they shook in his lap. He looked up then, his gaze searing. "Please say you can fix him," he pleaded brokenly, fixing Thranduil with the full force of his stare. "I will give you your white gems, anything you ask. I would give you the arkenstone if I hadn't..." Here a strangled noise of derision tore from his throat as he gestured vaguely in the direction of the shards that still lay scattered about. The elf followed his gaze, eyes widening. "It was worth nothing compared to his life," Thorin muttered, looking down again in a twisted mix of fondness and agony.
"We will help, though I make no promises," Thranduil found himself assuring. He knew this pain, and would not have wished it upon anyone, so in this he really had no other choice. The elves he had brought had already begun to catalog the hurts that littered Bilbo's small form.
"We should move him somewhere safer if possible," one of them ventured.
"Are you sure it's wise to try moving him?" Oin questioned them.
The elf looked torn, but settled with nodding. "It would appear that nearly every bone is broken, or at least cracked. We cannot do much more damage than has been done, and it will be better if he is somewhere clean and warm." Behind them Thorin moaned in despair, but they spared him no more than a compassionate glance before getting straight to work. Balin led the way, allowing the healers to carry Bilbo along until they reached a room near the treasury. A fire was lit, blankets were brought from the packs they had scattered about, and the company was ushered out of the room to give the healers space to work. All that was left to do was wait.
Author's note: The ride of pain is only just beginning my friends. Goblins approach the mountain, and Bilbo's life hangs in the balance... Stay tuned, and let me know what you think. Only three more chapters to go, the next will be posted tomorrow.