Bilbo did not sleep night. How could he when his smial now housed thirteen of his dearest companions that he had not seen for nearly a century?
The time traveler had only had three days to come to terms with the miracle he had been given. While three days was not a long stretch of time, it was enough for Bilbo to prepare himself, mind and body, for the long and perilous adventure that lay ahead.
Or so he had thought. He realized that he hadn't really come to terms with it all with, with them—Fíli, Kíli, Thorin, Ori, Óin, Balin—being alive again until he laid eyes on them, watching them partake in the first decent meal they had had in a long time, throwing about his mother's century old china and simply being happy that a lifelong dream was about to become true.
His emotions had threatened to expose him, for he was hard pressed to keep his tears at bay. Seeing them again, young (except for Balin) and hearty and hale was more than Bilbo could have ever hoped for. After he had fled Erebor he had hidden himself away in his Hobbit-hole, never venturing further than the market, and had not seen his friends again before sailing for the Undying Lands.
Perhaps it was cowardly of him, but Bilbo had thought it best at the time. How could he stay in Erebor when it was his fault Durin's line had ended? Had he convinced Thorin to see sense some other way, or reached him faster, or not been knocked out atop Raven's Hill like the useless Hobbit that he was, Thorin, Kíli and Fíli's final battle with their arch nemesis would have ended differently.
After the dishes were wiped clean, a quick task since Bombur ensured no morsel of food went uneaten, and tucked away in their respective cupboards, Bilbo had crept down the hallway, poking his head inside each of Bag End's bedrooms. He knew from experience that neither his soft foot falls nor the opening of the door would be heard over the rumbling snores of Dwarves. If they could somehow bottle the sound, they could use it as a weapon to deafen their enemies.
He needed reassurance that this was not a fantasy or delusion. And if any happened to be awake still, he could claim he was being a proper host, and not creepily hovering because he feared they would vanish if he let them out of his sight.
The first gust bedroom held the Ri siblings and Balin. The soft bed was occupied by Nori and Ori, leaving Dori and the elderly advisor the plush, upholstered chairs. The arrangement was unsurprising to the Hobbit. Dori, he had quickly learned, was a mother hen on levels only matched by Thorin or Hobbit grandmothers. The eldest of the Ri brothers kept careful watch over his two siblings.
Dori was an eternal pessimist, always expecting the worse, or at least anticipating that the worst would somehow befall his brothers. It had fallen on the gray haired Dwarf to protect and feed his siblings when the Dwarves established themselves in Ered Luin, stepping up to fill the shoes their parents had left behind. He clucked over Ori's scraped knees and dealt fists to those that tried to tease Nori for being of a slimmer build than a normal Dwarf. Bilbo had laughed until he cried when he heard that tale, because anyone who tried to mess with Dori's siblings was an idiot of the highest degree. Bilbo feared being hugged by the Dwarf, so great was his strength.
Dori disregarded his own injuries to see Ori and Nori cared for first, slipped them portions of his rations, though he loved food as much as Bombur and Bilbo, reprimanding the thief when he deliberately stole one of Dwalin's knives just to antagonize the fearsome looking Dwarf.
Bilbo had thought them as different as Dwarves and Elves. Ori, while friendly when he opened up, was skittish and lacking confidence. The scribe had felt like he didn't belong on their journey, believing the only reason he had been asked to keep record of their travels because Dori would not leave him behind. On the other hand, Nori hovered on the fringes of the Company. Aside from Bilbo in the beginning, the thief was the other person the Company avoided. Not in the same manner, of course. The Dwarrow hadn't gone out of their way to bring him into the fold because they didn't trust him, and Bilbo hadn't helped matters by constantly grumbling about how ill-suited gentlehobbits were for sleeping on cold, firm ground and eating a mere two meals a day (a trait which made the Dwarves barbarians in his eyes at first). It was more that Nori was keeping his distance, watching and protecting from the shadows.
He found Thorin and his nephews, along with Dwalin, in his second guest bedroom. Fíli and Kíli huddled close together on the bed, whereas the older pair of Dwarves had chosen to spread their bedrolls on the floor. Dwalin was positioned closer to the door, ax glaringly obvious beside him. His hand twitched unconsciously, drifting until his fingers brushed against the handle. The tattooed Dwarf took his responsibility to Thorin very seriously and was unflinching in his defense of the monarch, and by extension Fíli and Kíli.
Thorin's dark head rolled over, and Bilbo hastily backed out. The Dwarf was particularly prone to feigning sleep while he brooded, and he desired not to enter a confrontation about why he was intruding on their sleep. No doubt Thorin would scold him for not resting himself, completely oblivious to his hypocrisy, tersely telling Bilbo that he would be a burden without a full night's rest and that he would not slow down nor stop should he fall from his pony in exhaustion.
The last one, belonging to the Hobbit himself, held the final five members of the Company. Hobbits were self-admitted creatures of comfort. Tasty food, good pipeweed, and a love for parties so strong they made excuses to hold a celebration once a month, were all things they enjoyed. As such, Bilbo's own bed was larger than the two that sat in his guest rooms, and Bombur, Bifur, and Bofur had crammed themselves in it, while Óin and Glóin sprawled in the corner.
Bilbo closed the door softly, nodding his approval. Each room had two Dwarves that were excellent fighters should the need arise. The sleeping arrangements were always set up in such a way that an enemy would have to fight every Dwarf to reach the exiled king. With his guestrooms situated on the opposite side of the hall to his personal quarters, and Thorin and his sister-sons in the room in the corner, the Company was easily able to adjust so that the three royal Dwarves were protected.
He didn't begrudge the Dwarrow their paranoia and lack of trust. They had just met him today, unlike him who had care about them for eighty years. Bilbo was an unknown; not one of them. A soft, fleshy Hobbit opposed to a strong, solid, dependable Dwarf. They would come to count Bilbo amongst their number with time, and some of his more reckless moments. They appreciated his unique style of bravery, no matter that they thought him mad for them.
At least, until he spirited away the Arkenstone.
Dawn broke early, bringing with it the tantalizing scent of frying meats.
After his first nightmare, horrifying images of the Company dying and Bilbo standing along in the center of their fallen bodies, blood that could have been theirs coating his sword, dripping from the point to paint his feet scarlet, Bilbo had decided he would get no sleep that night. So he uncurled his small form from his favorite reading chair and set about preparing breakfast to feed a hungry army of Dwarves. He was hopeful that a second lavish meal would put the grim Dwarves, a mix of disappointed, furious, and worried that no more of their kin would join them, in a better mood.
In twos and threes they trickled in, looking well rested and refreshed. Kili visibly perked up at the sight of the food laden table, dragging his brother to a seat and piling enough food on his plate to rival Bombur.
Conversation flowed as they debated their next step and the best path to reach the mountain. Just because the rest of their race had claimed no interest in retaking Erebor did not mean that there were not those who did. Other Dwarves that would have the treasure for themselves or greedy men who would not care that the wealth belonged to the Dwarves. Bilbo was uncomfortably reminded of the greedy Master of Laketown. It was imperative that they reach the Lonely Mountain first.
Those whispers scared Bilbo. His heart clenched tightly in fear and his breath came in short, sharp breaths. Had the gold sickness always lurked deep in the Dwarrow's minds? Growing stronger and feeding off doubts and seeing traitors in those they called shield-brothers until they were but a shell of themselves?
"Master Burglar, a moment, if you would be so kind." Bilbo moved to join Balin, who had called for him, in the entryway of his smial, where he stood with Thorin and Glóin.
"How much do we owe you?" Thorin's question was terse and gruff. Glóin's hand hovered over the coin bag tied to his waist.
"O-owe?" Bilbo stammered, barely able to form the word, stunned as he was. None of the Dwarves, not even Balin who was easily the most diplomatic of them, had offered to compensate him for the pantry they had emptied to the last crumb originally. Was this sudden generosity because they learned he was not a willing participant; that Gandalf had promised them something he had not?
The Hobbit puffed his cheeks, which were rapidly becoming rosy colored. He didn't know what had overcome these Dwarves, but he wasn't going to stand for it. Paying a Hobbit for his hospitality. Bilbo had never been so insulted, and that was saying a lot because Thorin had spent the first third of their journey belittling him at every turn.
"You'll pay me nothing, Master Oakenshield," he said firmly, ignoring how the Dwarf's face darkened. "You are my guests. I am more than happy to feed your Company and provide shelter for a night. I shall not accept a single copper coin."
"We only seek to pay you for your services, Master Baggins," the elderly Dwarf interjected.
Bilbo's heart warmed at the words, pleased that the Dwarves weren't treating him as a nuisance that needed to be watched constantly. But even if they hadn't been his friends and had arrived with him unawares again, Bilbo would have refused payment.
"It is a matter of pride amongst us Hobbits," he explained, "to see guests welcomed and tended to. Why, the Proudfoots will be positively envious when they learn I've hosted thirteen Dwarves."
Actually, they would be scandalized like the rest of the Shire, but Bilbo figured the embellishment would lend weight to his argument, even if the three Dwarves had no idea who the Proudfoots were.
"Besides," he continued reasonably, not wanting to give them a chance to protest. Bilbo would swear on his prize winning tomatoes that the journey to the Lonely Mountain took as long as it did because the Dwarves spent as much time arguing as they did anything else. "I am accompanying you on your quest. The gold will be put to better use purchasing provisions, such as food. We will need plenty of that."
Several weeks of the same rationed stew would try the Company's tempers. They were fed up with the situation long before they reached Rivendell, never mind that they nearly starved in Mirkwood.
That period had been especially hard on the lonely Hobbit amongst a bunch of Dwarves. Bilbo was accustomed to seven meals a day. To suddenly be informed they would eat once before breaking down camp and once after they stopped for the day had been alarming. He had actually fainted when the matter was cleared up, which, in hindsight, had done nothing for his worth in their eyes.
Bilbo was not looking forward to the empty, growling stomach and constant hunger that would become commonplace before the month was out.
"Why do you do this, Mister Baggins?" Thorin question, eyes suddenly looking older. Bilbo was uncomfortably reminded that even after the fact the Dwarves had received little to no help from the other races of Middle Earth.
Bilbo sighed at the Dwarf's ingrained suspicion raising its ugly head. What reason could he give? His original excuse would not pass muster. It would make Thorin more wary of him, for he had no reason to be so emotionally connected to the cause. He could not open with missing the comforts of a home he had yet to leave, but saying that Gandalf always gets his way (because only a fool disagreed with one of the Istari) would only earn him scorn.
"Tell me, Thorin, what do you see when you look around?" he chose to ask instead of giving his answer outright.
Disgruntled, the monarch turned to look at his kin, who were once more throwing about Bilbo's dishes. "Misbegotten Dwarves," he said sourly. Glóin snorted into his beard.
Bilbo permitted a smile to form. "And what don't you see?"
Thorin's dark brow furrowed, not understanding what point the Hobbit was trying to make. How could he see what wasn't there?
"Hobbits." Thorin looked at his longtime friend and advisor like he had gone mad.
"A home is not the physical walls we live in. Home is the place where you are loved, where you are together with those that you love and that love you in return," the brunet Hobbit explained. "My parents have joined Yavanna in her garden and both of their families see too much of the other in me.
"Right now, you don't have a home. You have a place where you take refuge. But you deserve to have your home back, so I will do whatever it takes to see you crowned King Under the Mountain."
And the Hobbit would. He was going to do everything is his power to make sure Durin's line lived through the Battle of the Five Armies.
Heavy silence descended upon them in the wake of his determined promise. Glóin looked quite misty eyed and half turned away to hide it. Balin didn't share the same compunction.
"Thank you, laddie," Balin said hoarsely. Bilbo was unfazed when the exiled king remained silent. He was used to Thorin's antics, and knew that his silence was acceptance.
Having convinced the Dwarrows to see his way, no matter how grudging on the king's part, Bilbo bustled about, cramming every ounce of spare food into packs belonging to various Dwarves. "No point in letting it go to waste," he told them when they asked why he was stuffing turnips and beets into every crevice.
And then he was being helped by Dori onto a pony (by helped Bilbo really meant lifted with ease) and Thorin's Company was traveling the well-worn paths to the edges of Hobbiton, led by Bifur who had the best sense of direction above ground. Within the hour they had come out the other side of Farmer Maggot's field.
With fuller pockets. Not even Dwarves were able to resist the allure to nab a couple of golden ears of corn.
"We'll make Hobbits out of you yet," he commented at the dark haired prince, who had already stripped the corn of its husk and was methodically eating a row of kernels, turning the ear up, and starting the next line.
The brothers looked back at him with manufactured innocence. "If all your food is this good, I'll gladly be a Hobbit," grinned Kíli, which was met with several eye rolls.
Bilbo eyed the rest of the Company from his place at the end of the line, looking for the Dwarf that would be his first victim, wanting to ease the Dwarves into friendship earlier. Not Ori, even though he shared similar interests with the young scribe, because Dori would jump down his throat if his criminal brother didn't slit it in his sleep. He had no connection to Glóin since he had yet to raise Frodo, not that the red haired Dwarf needed any encouragement to talk about his family. The Hobbit had been close to Kíli and Fíli, but he didn't want to start with Thorin's nephews and have it look like he was using their status in the Company to integrate himself.
His thought process was interrupted when he sneezed explosively. Bilbo cursed horse hair and all the dander Myrtle let fly into his face every time she shook her mane. He dug into his breast pocket for a handkerchief, frowning when he came up empty-handed. The line of his mouth deepened as the rest of his pockets were suspiciously absent of the square of cloth he was searching for.
Bilbo groaned piteously, attracting the attention of Bofur, when he realized he had once again forgotten his handkerchief. He couldn't remember to bring a simple hanky, yet he wanted to alter the fates of thirteen Dwarves?
The hatted Dwarf was kind enough to tear a strip of fabric from the bottom of his shirt, which Bilbo accepted reluctantly, suppressing a cringe. It was still extremely unhygienic.
The handkerchief incident wound up making Bilbo's decision for him. He gently urged his pony forward so he was between Bofur and Bombur. "Thank you," he said, because even if it was gross to wipe his nose with the dirty cloth, Bilbo possessed manners and wasn't going to stop using them because they were trekking across the wilds of Middle Earth.
"Think nothing of it, boyo," laughed Bofur, echoed by half of the column that was discretely (not anymore) eavesdropping on their newest member.
'Boyo?' Bilbo mouthed. The Dwarves had called him all manners of names, once upon a time, though they generally stuck to Baggins and Burglar. Boyo was new and unwelcomed. The Hobbit did not like to be labeled as though he was a tween.
"Aye, boyo. You can't be more than seventy."
What did his age have to do with anything? "For your information, I just celebrated my fiftieth birthday," Bilbo huffed, falling back on his overly proper speech that he used when his companions annoyed him.
"Fi-fifty?!" Bofur choked over the number. "You can't be serious, Mister Baggins!"
The Hobbit flushed as another dozen pairs of eyes stared at him incredulously. Only Fíli and Kíli looked delighted.
"I assure you I am," Bilbo answered, not seeing why the Dwarves were practically beside themselves over his age. They had never cared enough to ask how old he was before. Besides, it was merely a number. Unless they thought he would not be able to handle himself on this quest because he was younger.
If that was the case, they need not worry. Of the fifteen people assembled, Bilbo knew best what was to come and was better prepared than all of them.
"That means you're still a child!" Dori cried out.
"Maybe now Dori will lay off now that there's someone younger than us. What do you think, brother?"
"Not a chance, Kíli," the fair haired Dwarf answered. "He'll be even worse now that there's another dwarfling to protect," he lamented.
"Dwarfling," Bilbo repeated slowly, not quite believing what he was hearing. And he couldn't blame it on the ears because Hobbits had sharp ears. "Hobbits come of age at thirty-three years," he told them.
At this, the Company looked rather interested. "So young," Dori clucked. "How could you Hobbits allow such a thing? Thirty-three is not old enough to lift a hammer."
Bilbo blinked, bewildered, as several of the older Dwarves nodded their agreement and began loudly announcing their own opinions. Apparently, Óin was of half a mind to march the Hobbit back to Bag End, even if it left them without a burglar.
"Settle down, you fools," Thorin commanded. "The burglar's age matter's not so long as he can fulfill his duty as contracted. The wizard would not have recommended him if he was not capable."
Thorin's interruption, wrong though it was for the monarch clearly did not know the wizard very well, dampened the interest of all but his own nephews, who fell back to ride alongside the Hobbit. Bilbo sighed mentally, allowing the two mischievous Dwarves to draw him into conversation about what Hobbits were like (where he made a point to state the Hobbits were growers and not fighters and therefore never need lift hammers taller than they were so the rest of the Company could hear). Thorin was just as prickly and overbearing as ever. He had hoped their discussion before they left Bag End would have warmed the king to him somewhat.
However, what with his constantly referring to Bilbo by burglar instead of name, Thorin seemed intent on reminding his kin that their burglar was not one of them, did not belong, and was only there because Gandalf suggested him for the position.
Bilbo shifted his weight, trying to find a more comfortable position atop Myrtle. He knew he would be sore then they stopped riding, but he couldn't wait until then. Not even a day into the journey and he needed a break from the Dwarves. Partly because of their pigheadedness, but mostly because he needed to center himself and remind himself that these weren't the friends whose passing he had mourned.
The first two weeks of the journey were monotonous. The Company was up and moving at the first light of dawn, preparing for a long day on the road. Thanks to the Dwarves superior eyesight, they continued riding well after the sun fell.
Bilbo could handle that. While physically unused to the brutal and grueling place, the Hobbit was mentally prepared, and as such did not complain about the long hours. The soreness had already become a constant ache that he could ignore.
What he disliked was being unable to converse with his friends. It wasn't because Thorin forbid them from talking or anything ridiculous, but Bilbo had to constantly monitor himself so that he wouldn't speak of something that he had not learned yet. Given how taciturn the majority of his companions were, that was almost everything he knew about them.
It was exhausting and it made Bilbo, unfairly he recognized, rather cross. He blamed the Dwarves for not taking advantage of his questions and the hand he extended in friendship and letting him get to know them.
Thankfully, after learning that the Hobbit was younger then themselves, Kíli and Fíli had tried to frighten him with stories of nighttime attacks by Orcs, leading to Balin divulging the story of the Battle of Azanulbizar and how Thorin had proven himself to be a king worth following. Naturally, Bilbo used the little insight into Dwarvish history that he had gotten as an excuse to ask Ori for more stories.
Still, Bilbo was more than a little put out that the Dwarves weren't jumping at the chance to share personal stories with him, and it showed in his attitude. In response, the Dwarves had grown short-tempered and answered with terse, curt replies that invited no further talk.
It wasn't so much that the Dwarves were being stubbornly secretive that bothered him. They wouldn't be Dwarves if they didn't have a secret for every stone in their lauded mountain.
To Bilbo, it was about trust; or the lack of so far. How could he convince the Company to set aside their Dwarvish thinking at times if they didn't trust him? What could he change if they refused to listen to his wisdom?
"Mister Baggins, would you be of service and take these over to the lads?" Bombur hefted two bowls of stew and tilted his head in the direction of Fíli and Kíli.
Distracted from his thinking, Bilbo agreed immediately, taken the wooden bowls from him and heading towards the ponies the sons of Dís were watching over.
Had the Hobbit not been so consumed by his thoughts, he would have realized that Bombur's request preluded the appearance of the trolls.
He certainly remembered when a thick, gray hand as tall as he was closed about him and lifted him from the ground.
Bilbo's squeaked in terror, because having done it once before did not mean he was not startled when he was trapped in a troll's hand that could crush him with a simple squeeze. The clatter of the roughhewn dishes went unheard.
The troll, Tom his mind supplied unhelpfully, held him aloft. Peering at his captive blearily, he said, "What's this? More mutton? I don't like mutton."
Bilbo didn't have it in him to speak. To correct the troll or demand his release.
All he could think as Tom decided more mutton, which he was tired of, was better than none at all, was that it wasn't supposed to go like this. The trolls were supposed to kidnap the ponies, not Bilbo.
How long would it be until the Dwarves realized he had been taken?
Based on the notorious bad luck Thorin's Company had had during his first journey, Bilbo imagined he would be troll food first.
Tom the troll joined his brothers. Will and Bert were just as ugly and revolting smelling (it was a miracle none of them had noticed the smell of troll last time) and they ignored their third member as they argued until he shoved Bilbo in the space between their faces.
Why did remember the trolls' names? Because they were more Mannish than trollish? What kind of respectable troll was named Tom? Or Will or Bert for that matter. It was hard to take them seriously when they had such normal names.
"Look what I caught sneaking 'bout the woods," he exclaimed, pleased with himself. "More mutton!"
"You idiot," Bert whined in his high pitched voice, "that ain't mutton. It's a squirrel and they don't taste good."
"Better than mutton," Will muttered, tilting his large head in the direction of their pot. Bilbo thought his eyes had to be playing tricks on him because Fíli's blond hair was poking out above the ropes that tied him to the spit.
The Dwarf's eyes widened when the troll manning the spit turned it around and he saw Bilbo's predicament.
And what a predicament it was. Now the Hobbit needed a rescue plan as well as an escape plan. Though it was mildly fortunate that the trolls had also gotten their hands on Fíli because their attention would be split between them.
"Kíli!" he shouted desperately.
Bilbo was so flummoxed that he automatically replied, "I'm Bilbo."
"Kíli!" the crown prince shouted for his brother once more. An arrow sliced through the air, finding home in the meat fist that still clutched the Hobbit.
Of course, that's when Bilbo understood. Fíli was calling out for his brother to do something. Not that Bilbo thought Tom would react to being shot. It would have been a miracle if that shot had caused the troll to release him.
For a moment, Bilbo cursed that it was Fíli who had been caught, for he had more knives on his person than Nori. Kíli's arrows were useless against the thick troll hide as evidenced by Bert plucking the arrow from his brother's hand and using it to clean between his teeth. Bilbo was fairly certain he saw the troll dislodge a bone. His nerves, which had been under control until that point, fled him and he felt nauseous.
Would nothing on this accursed adventure go right?
From the minute Balin had stepped through his door everything had gone downhill. One would think they would reach the Lonely Mountain with less trouble this time, with Bilbo's forewarning. But the Valar were not going to make it easy for him. Perhaps this was a sign that he could only change how the story ended and not the path the Company took to get there.
"There's more of them. What are you waiting for?" Will demanded when neither of his brothers moved. "Don't you want to fill your bellies tonight? Go find them."
That was Bilbo's cue. One thing had had learned was that, no matter who it was, every one they encountered stopped and stared whenever he spoke up. Even if it was just because they wanted to know why a Hobbit would abandon his senses and the rolling green hills of his home for a quest that was unlikely to succeed. More than once, his words had gotten them out of a tight spot.
Bilbo already knew he could distract the trolls. One word from him and they would forget about Kíli in the forest, and hopefully the stubborn boy would be smart enough to fetch help.
"Wait!" he shouted. "That's a bad idea. You don't want to do that."
Like he expected, all three trolls forgot that Bert and Tom were just ordered to scour the trees for more Dwarves. Bilbo couldn't help but wonder what they would have done with him, because they also seemed to forget that Tom still trapped him in his fist.
"Eh? And why's that?"
"Have you seen the two of us?" Bilbo questioned. "We're scrawny Dwarves. You'd find more meat on a squirrel. Really, you're better off not wasting time tearing through the forest in search of Dwarves that aren't worth eating." With magnificent effort, he ignored Fíli's affronted look at being called scrawny. Or maybe it was outraged that Bilbo was pretending to be a Dwarf.
"You are really small. Hardly a mouthful," said Bert, beady eyes jumping from the Hobbit in his brother's hold to Fíli hanging on the underside of the spit, which was no longer turning. The Dwarf was turning red from the heat.
"Because he's a Hobbit!" Fíli shouted. "Not a Dwarf! Can't you tell by the lack of a beard?"
"Hobbit?" the trolls repeated. "What's a Hobbit?" Will continued.
"Can you eat a Hobbit?"
"A burglar, actually," Bilbo cheerfully corrected.
All three trolls' faces pinched in confusion. "A hobaburger?" Never heard of it. Are you sure that's what you are?"
Tome shoved Bert, who had asked that question with concern. "Idiot. He said he's a burglahobbit. Clean your ears out."
Bert promptly dug his pinkie into the shell of his ear and twisted it around. When he removed it there was a layer of greenish-white wax covering it. He then proceeded to flick both his wrist and finger to fling it off. It landed on the ground to his right wetly.
"Are there more of you burglahobbits 'round here?" Will asked.
"No," Bilbo answered honestly.
"Then we'll need more Dwarves to eat if we're not going to starve," the head troll decided.
"Or," Bilbo drew the word out until all three trolls focused solely on him, "I could tell you how to make a single Dwarf fill your stomach."
Fíli cursed at him, thrashing in his bindings. Tom looked at him skeptically. "What would you know about eating Dwarves?"
"I had thirteen for dinner two weeks ago."
It would be that moment that the rest of the Dwarves arrived in a cacophony of thundering feet and battle cries, ducking between the trolls' legs and hacking with their swords and slamming hammers down on toes.
Tom howled, throwing Bilbo to the ground. He hardly registered the pain of his hand being sliced open by a sharp rock as he scrambled to get out from underfoot. His heart pounded. Any moment now a second troll hand would snatch him up and threaten to tear him apart to force the Dwarves to lay down their arms.
Will grabbed Bifur instead. He dangled from the troll's hand, windmilling his arms to regain a semblance of balance since he was upside down.
Maybe it was a Dwarvish thing, but the Dwarf with an ax in his head didn't look nearly as frightened as Bilbo had. Although, Bifur probably had a lot more confidence that the rest of the Company would let him be drawn and quartered.
"Put down your weapons or this one dies!"
Bifur yelled something in Khuzdûl, making Bilbo wished he had study up on the secret Dwarf language. It was horribly annoying to be the only person who wasn't in the know.
"What's he saying, Bert? I can't understand him."
"He's diseased! You don't want to eat him." Bilbo didn't have time to come up with an excuse that wouldn't upset his companions.
Everyone in the clearing turned to look at Bilbo like he was mad.
"I'll show you diseased when I get down from here!"
The Hobbit rolled his eyes at Fíli. He glanced towards the rock that Gandalf would break. For the one person who did as he pleased, the wizard had been the one constant thus far. Absentminded and cryptic and getting cross with Thorin for his stubbornness. How long did he have until the sun rose? How much longer did he need to stall the trolls?
"In fact," he continued grandly, knowing he was about to trample on the Dwarrow's pride, "they all are. It's why they're so scrawny, like I was telling you earlier."
"What about this one?" Bert poked Bombur. "This one's quite fat. I'd bet he's juicy."
"No, no, no. Definitely not that one. He's infected with worms."
Bert leapt away from the cook, shrieking. In his haste to get away he tripped over his own two feet and went careening into the side of their soup pot. The contents spilled, dousing the fire and corroding part of the wooden structure that held Fíli above it. Did they eat acid?
The Hobbit could only watch on amazed, as the troll camp descended into chaos. The trolls were trying to get as far away as possible from the Dwarves they previously had every intention of eating, and the Dwarves were having none of it, having reclaimed their weapons and pressed their advantage.
While the Dwarves attacked the troll, Bilbo went about freeing Fíli. Half the work was done for him, since the trolls' dinner had eroded part of the base upon which the spit rested. With a couple of hard shoves, the one side crumpled. The spit now sat on an angle. Bilbo could just reach the bottommost tiers of rope.
He hacked at them with a rough rock. It was several minutes before the fibers even started fraying. The Dwarves returned quickly and Dwalin took over, cutting the prince free in seconds.
"What happened to the trolls?" Bilbo asked as the burly Dwarf rubbed circles over Fíli's arm, working circulation back in.
"Ran like thieves in the night," growled Glóin. Nori returned the accountant's dark look with one of his own, which was more intimidating in Bilbo's opinion.
"No need to worry. They will not get very far."
"Gandalf!" several voices cried out. Impeccable timing, Bilbo thought, reappearing at the end when there was nothing left to do.
"What did you do?" Ori asked curiously.
"Nothing," the wizard answered simply. "The sun will be their doom."
Having seen that his nephew was well and assured by Óin that he'd only be feeling weak until they got his blood flowing normally again, Thorin rounded on Bilbo. His fur cloak whipped in a wide arc behind him and Bilbo unconsciously took a step backwards.
"What do you think you were doing?"
Bilbo recoiled from the Dwarf king. He was only a head taller, but right now he loomed over the Hobbit, eyes dark with anger. The last time he had seen Thorin this angry the Dwarf almost threw him from the battlements.
"Plotting with trolls to kill us all!"
Bilbo was surprise how much it hurt to hear that. Thorin has said something similar the first time. But the Dwarves' deaths were the last thing he wanted. That was the purpose of his second chance, to pervert the fate that awaited them.
"It was quite the opposite, Thorin," Gandalf defended him. "If not for Bilbo's quick thinking the trolls would have eaten you by now."
"It is the burglar's fault that we were in position to be eaten in the first place."
"Tom kidnapped me!" Bilbo pointed out, redirecting Thorin's furious gaze to him.
"You should have stayed in camp."
"I was only bringing the boys dinner. It's not like I knew there were trolls in the woods." It was beside the point that he actually was aware of the trolls.
"You can't blame Mister Boggins, uncle," said Kíli. The dark haired Dwarf was kneeling at his brother's side, working on a leg while Dwalin continued his ministrations on Fíli's other arm. "They grabbed Fíli first. Well, they took the ponies first and we tried to rescue them, but they saw Fíli after he cut them loose."
Thorin growled in the back of his throat, talking across the small distance that separated him from his sister-sons. "Jarghn!" he snarled at them. "Vummen vorum guut qorl ut. I would send you back to the Blue Mountains if it were not too late."
"We just wanted to prove that we belong on this quest," Kíli said softly to his uncle's back.
The sight broke Bilbo's heart. He had not known that Fíli and Kíli thought themselves unworthy of being part of the quest to take back their home. He had never questioned their right to be part of the Company. Thorin, the only family they had left aside from their mother, was heading a dangerous quest to win back Erebor from a dragon. It was only right that they, as his nephews and heirs, took part in the quest.
But maybe that was where their feelings of inadequacy stemmed from, thinking that it was their status and relation to Thorin that earned them spots in the Company and not their skills.
Gandalf commented that the trolls needed to take refuge during the day, reasoning that there must be a cave nearby. He suggested they start looking in the direction the trolls had run.
Kíli helped his brother to his feet, slinging an arm over his shoulders. They trailed behind the rest of the Dwarves, moving slowly to accommodate Fíli's still shaky limbs.
Bilbo repressed a sigh. Convincing Thorin to value the safety of the Dwarves over Erebor's gold was going to be difficult, if he was willing to send his own nephews back to Ered Luin for one mistake.
Heart heavy, he moved to help the two princes. Fíli looked at him with a mixture of gratitude and shame. "I'm sorry for the things I shouted at you, Mister Baggins. They were undeserved and uncalled for."
"I thought it was Mister Boggins," he teased gently. Seeing as his joke did not cheer either Dwarf, he said, "It's fine, Fíli. I said some pretty horrible things too. You didn't know I didn't mean them. So let's forget about it, okay?"
Fíli looked ready to argue, but something in Bilbo's face must have stopped him. "Thorin will never," he muttered.
"Don't be too hard on him, boys. He loves you."
"Funny way of showing it," Kíli hissed, "telling us we'd be responsible for the Company's deaths."
So that was what he had said. "I know it seems harsh, but Thorin is worried about your safety. He wants to protect you. Today he realized that he can't shield you from all danger. It makes him scared, because there's a high chance that we'll all die on this quest."
The chance was as high as Thorin forgiving Thranduil for turning his back on the Dwarves in their time of need, because Bilbo was not going to let it happen. The task would be much easier with Sting in his hand, so it was a good thing they were going to collect it.
Fíli's smile was brittle. "I wish I could believe you, Mister Baggins."
Translations:
Jarghn = idiots
Vummen vorum guut qorl ut = You would have killed us
Or so I think. I based it off a list of Dwarvish words I found online. Is there some kind of generator where I can translate English to Khuzdûl?
