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.

ii. seems like tragedy's at hand

Bilbo woke up cold and uncomfortable, with a terrible feeling that something was wrong. He had slept away the afternoon and the Carrock loomed unpleasantly at his back, blotting out the first pale stars.

Clouds were blowing over in ragged streamers of pink and gold, and the sky was the pale blue that warned of the coming of autumn. If he had been in the Shire, it would have been a sky he could have watched for hours until the stars spilled across the heavens like grains of wheat blown by the wind.

A cold breeze howled through the little valley, making Bilbo shiver. He was clutching Bofur's coat to his chest as he clambered to his feet, and he could feel his heart pounding away beneath his shirt. The dwarves were blocks of shadow against the richness of the sunset. A blue star flickered over Thorin's head like a crown as Bilbo hurried over to join the Company. Seeing Gandalf gravely standing a little to one side, Bilbo wriggled through the silent dwarves to reach him.

"Gandalf, what's going on? Is there something wrong?"

The wizard looked down at him and terror touched Bilbo's heart. Gandalf looked old, ancient and sorrowful and enduring, like a tree weathered by time and worn by wind to a shadow of its former strength and beauty.

In the middle of the watching Company, Fili and Kili were standing in front of their uncle. Kili's face was white and drawn, his jaw tight. Fili had a firm grasp on his shoulder and as Bilbo watched he shook his brother gently, bringing a little life to Kili's blank stare.

Then Fili reluctantly stepped forward and held out a weapon that Bilbo knew very well. He spoke in Khuzdul with a halting rhythm, and when he stopped Thorin slowly reached out and touched the worn wooden handle of Bofur's mattock.

Gandalf stirred beside Bilbo.

"That was Ancient Khuzdul, of which only a few phrases remain to the knowledge of the dwarves. Here is the weapon of an honourable dwarf. Here is the best and last of one who died for his King."

"No!" Bilbo cried out involuntarily, and his arms hung nerveless at his sides. Bofur's coat fell into a miserable little bundle on the ground but Bilbo didn't notice. He stormed his way up to Thorin Oakenshield and looked him straight in the eyes.

"He's not dead. You're wrong. He's not dead- he's...he's..."

Thorin's solemn gaze splintered into a dark blur as tears filled Bilbo's eyes. Savagely he wiped them away, and Thorin deliberately looked away over his head to address Fili.

"How many were there?"

"We counted ten, Uncle, maybe more. We must move before the pack catches our scent. Kili shot three but-"

"I hit the one that had Bofur. Put an arrow right through its throat and it wouldn't die." Kili recounted in a lifeless tone. His previously blank gaze was now directed on the sparse tufts of grass growing under his boots.

Dwalin spoke up then, his craggy face as cold and unfeeling as though it had been hewn from rock.

"Had they riders?"

"Nay, but it is only a matter of time before they follow."

The tip of Gandalf's staff gleamed with a bright light, illuminating the Company as the sun dipped below the horizon. Crickets buzzed, hidden somewhere amongst the rocks as evening crept in.

"Then we must move, Thorin, or risk another night like the pine forest. We have already lingered too long."

Thorin hesitated, then gave a slight nod.

"Let us begone from this accursed place, and swiftly."

The Company was ready to move within moments, the only preparations needed being the tightening of their belts and the gathering of their weapons, those being all that they had carried out of the lair of the goblins.

Little Bilbo stood dazed in the midst of all the commotion, a pain in his heart and disbelief in his head. He didn't understand how the dwarves could be so cruel. Besides himself, it seemed that only Ori felt the loss of Bofur was a matter for tears, and even as Bilbo watched Nori clapped a hand on the young dwarf's shoulder and murmured something to him that made Ori nod and wipe away his tears.

"Come now, Bilbo. We have a long walk ahead of us in the dark."

Bilbo turned to face Gandalf's kind smile, made all the worse by the fact that he was ordinarily so quick-tempered, so crotchety and grumpy. Gandalf was trying to make him feel better, and Bilbo was too numb to think of anything he could do except fall into step beside the wizard. He twisted his neck around for a last look at the Carrock, but it was invisible in the darkness and Bilbo began to weep again, silently. He kept his head down and let the tears roll off his cheeks as they picked their way along the rough uneven ground.

The dwarves left Bilbo alone. Thorin was at their head, leading them on with the superior night-vision granted to his race that lived out their lives underground, and Gandalf and Bilbo walked at the back, the wizard occasionally lifting his staff to help Thorin see the path when even he faltered.

Once Kili dropped back, sure-footed and silent as an elf, to give Bilbo the squashed, wool-lined hat he had recovered from the scene of their battle.

The sight of it, without Bofur, was so wrong it turned Bilbo's stomach and when Kili turned to melt away back into the night Bilbo stopped him.

"Wait -I - shouldn't this go to Bombur? Or Bifur?"

"Thorin has given Bombur his brother's mattock as a keepsake. Bifur has no need of another weapon, nor of any hat."

"But it shouldn't -"

Kili cut him off, saying shortly, "Bofur was as kin to you. It is right that you should have something of his."

Afterwards, Bilbo carried his friend's hat carefully in his hands until Gandalf leaned down towards him.

"Hats are meant to be worn, Master Hobbit. Bofur would have wanted you to use it."

"Yes...yes, I suppose."

But he could not put it on, not now, and though a bitter rain began to fall Gandalf did not press him and Bilbo tucked the hat into his jacket so it would not get wet, though he knew full well that Bofur had worn it in all types of weather.

The Company stopped their march after several hours for a rest. Gandalf strode off to speak with Thorin and Balin, looking anxious, and from what Bilbo could make out he was encouraging them to move on quickly, so as to make it to his friend's house by the next day.

Bilbo didn't care if the terrible march ever ended. Now that they had stopped he could no longer keep his mind on putting one foot in front of the other and sadness welled up inside him again. He sat alone, tired and sore and heartsick, while the dwarves huddled for warmth and conversed quietly together.

Suddenly, Bilbo remembered poor Bofur's coat that he had dropped at the Carrock. He thought of that sad little heap of fabric, much patched and mended by his friend's clever fingers, perhaps the only coat he owned, now wet and muddied and abandoned.

He was a terrible friend, a terrible person, and Bilbo could feel the tears hot and thick at the back of his throat. Then he saw Bifur. The dwarf was standing by himself in the pouring rain, staring doggedly back the way they had come.

Did Bifur understand that his cousin was dead? Was he waiting for him to appear out of the darkness with his familiar smile and his unquenchable good cheer?

Bilbo sat and watched Bifur, and considered what he could do, what he should do. Kili had called him Bofur's kin. That meant Bombur and Bifur were as well.

Bilbo Baggins stood, pulling Bofur's floppy hat onto his head, and walked out into the downpour. He took Bifur's scarred and callused hand in his.

"Come on now, Bifur." Bilbo said, trying to sound calm and cheerful and brave, trying to sound like Bofur had when he spoke to his strange cousin.

"Come in out of the rain and we'll get you warm again."

Bilbo tugged gently on Bifur's hand, and the dwarf huffed out something that might have been a word, or only a sigh, and followed.

Author's Note: I have now given myself the sads. I probably deserve it.

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