War had come to the slopes of Erebor. A legion of goblins and wargs, followed by their minions of darkness. The fight lasted throughout the night, and even though victory had been achieved at last, many good lives were lost. Now the exhausted fighters were trailing back into the shelters that had been hastily erected, to begin the painful process of recovery.

Meanwhile, inside the mountain another battle was being fought. The life of a hobbit had balanced precariously on the edge of a knife, and even when the healers declared him out of the woods there was little hope, for he did not wake. They had bandaged and splinted, chanting prayers and dribbling healing potions down his unresponsive throat, while the miraculously intact company hovered nearby.

For nearly three weeks there was no change. Bilbo lay pale and still upon the large bed, rendered mostly immobile by the almost full body cast that was keeping his mending bones in place. Not a sound left his lips, nor a twitch from beneath closed eyelids to indicate he still remained among the living. Only a steady pulse in his wrist and neck, cold comfort for friends that wished only to hear his voice and see green eyes lit with their usual cheer. Some had begun to lose hope, wondering if perhaps his sleep was one of death rather than healing. An ever present fear permeated those that doted upon him, that one day they might enter the room to find he had slipped away.


Warm. That was the sensation that came to him when Bilbo felt the first stirrings of consciousness tug at his mind. It was quiet around him, and he wondered what time of day it would have to be for the birds not to be singing. It wasn't like him to sleep in. He attempted to stretch, trying to ease the knots he could feel in his back, only to be stopped short as he realized he could not move at all. Panic set in then, though he did not know why, for surely it was just his quilts wrapped too tightly, and he would be just fine once he extracted himself.

Bilbo's eyes fluttered open, the better to understand his no doubt laughable predicament, only to be met with a dull grey roof over his head, like stone. He blinked in confusion. What was this now? Bag end had no stone, and since when did his blankets ever get so tight? Suddenly, his attempts to wriggle out of the prison he could not see were noticed by someone out of his view, and a booming voice assaulted his ears, even as its owner was clearly attempting to keep quiet.

"Hey, welcome back laddie!" A face appeared over his head, unlike anything he had ever seen before, and his panic returned.

"Back?" he shrilled in confusion. "Back from where? What is going on?"

More people appeared around him at the sound of his voice, and he started to feel overwhelmed by all the attention he was getting, even as he strained to find a familiar face. None of them were hobbits. Where was he? What was going on?! He must have uttered those questions aloud, for a man with a white beard answered, looking especially grave.

"You're in Erebor laddie, do you not remember? You took a bit of a fall, but you're going to be alright. Mustn't try to move now, just focus on getting better."

The words were meant to be soothing, he supposed, but Bilbo only ended up with more questions, none of them comforting. Erebor? Where in the bloody blazes was that? And just when had he gotten so foul mouthed? A few of his audience quirked smiles at that observation, but offered no theory, and their mirth vanished entirely with his last and most important observation. "Who are you?"

The faces around him suddenly saddened, a few looking genuinely crushed indeed, and for a moment Bilbo almost felt bad, as if he had kicked a puppy. They were exchanging looks, seemingly unsure how to answer this. "You don't remember us?" One of the younger ones cried, his dark hair swinging unkempt around a nearly beardless face in his distress.

"What? I've never met you before in my life!" Bilbo spluttered, hating how these people could look so hurt when it was clearly they who had done something to him. Ideas began to flit through his head, each one more frightening than the last. Perhaps he had been knocked over the head and robbed on one of his walks, and these people had found him? Perhaps they were the ones to rob him and were only faking sincerity? Perhaps he had been kidnapped for some nefarious purpose?! Why couldn't he move? Had they incapacitated him in some way? Had he been drugged?

Pain began to filter through his terror, and he whimpered at the fiery pinpricks that assaulted his entire body, still immobile and unable to escape the agony that grew quickly. His chest felt constricted by iron bands, his arms and legs unbearably heavy, and he could not hear the soothing words that were being said past the roaring in his ears. 'Easy lad, drink this and get some more rest...' A nasty liquid was being trickled down his helpless throat, and he nearly choked on it before managing to swallow what was forced upon him. The room swam, and Bilbo was soon lost to the world once more...


"Thorin wait!" Balin insisted, unable to stop the king from barging into the healing rooms now that his meeting was over. He glared at his adviser, annoyed that he had missed the awakening of his hobbit and determined to rectify the mistake.

"What could be more important than my being at Bilbo's side?" he snapped imperiously, daring the elder dwarf to contradict him.

Balin winced, dragging his confession from the pit of his stomach. "He does not remember us," he murmured sadly, and Thorin stilled, blinking as he registered the words he did not want to hear.

"What?" he whispered in shock. He glanced over Bilbo's prone form as Balin continued to speak, noting with dismay the tear tracks that streaked across his pale face. He had woken oblivious, he would have been so afraid... And there was nothing Thorin could do to comfort him, because he did not remember them. He was only dragged away from increasingly dark thoughts at the sound of someone else entering the room.

"I heard what happened," Gandalf murmured sadly, meeting Thorin's eyes for a brief moment before the king was forced to retract his gaze, unable to bear the pity in that ancient face. "I will be taking Bilbo to Rivendell, and then home. I believe that is best, considering all that has happened."

To the surprise of all three, it was Balin that protested the most. "Surely that is not necessary? We are capable of taking care of him just fine here. He should be at Thorin's side when he..." He trailed off uncertainly. Thorin just stared at Gandalf, resigned to the way things were going to be. He had no more fight left in him.

"He may never remember," Gandalf said compassionately. "It is best that he be allowed to heal in a place he feels safe. You cannot think that it will be good for him to wake in fear each day, wondering what has become of him?"

When Thorin offered no argument Balin sagged. "You're right of course. I just..." he shrugged helplessly, his outrage dying like the candle that guttered low on a nearby table.

The awkward silence was broken by Thorin. "When will you leave?"

"Tomorrow at dawn," Gandalf said heavily. "I will have him sleep through the journey. For now I must go, I have preparations to make. I will return by morning."

Thorin nodded, allowing Balin to trail after the wizard. He slumped at the bedside, feeling drained and sad. Reaching out a tentative hand, he ran gentle fingers over Bilbo's cheek, cupping the small face with a shaking hand. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, voice hoarse from barely restrained tears. Bilbo didn't move, and it cut further that he would never be acknowledged again, never receive that brilliant smile, nor catch a glimpse of sparkling emerald eyes. With a pained sigh, he hefted himself out of the chair and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.


Morning dawned bright and clear, and all around the birds newly returned to the mountain were chirping joyfully. 'Mocking me no doubt,' Thorin thought to himself bitterly. He stared straight ahead, standing at the front of the group that had assembled to bid farewell to their hobbit. Gandalf had Bilbo held securely in his grasp, prepared to mount up, and he raised curious brows at the pony that was led to a place beside his own horse, burdened with supplies and a rather ornate chest.

"It's his share," Gloin offered. "Well, part of it anyway," he corrected himself hastily.

"Aye, we each put something in, to remember us..." Bofur twisted his hat in his hands, his usual cheer all but gone.

"Tis only a fraction of what he earned, but we couldn't send him off empty handed," Dwalin added shakily, frowning deeper than ever.

"Will you tell him..." Kili trailed off miserably, unable to speak past the tears, and Fili was forced to complete his thought.

The elder brother squared his shoulders, attempting to be stoic like his uncle and failing, face twisted in a grimace that was meant to be a smile. "Tell him he will always be welcome in Erebor, and if he ever wants another adventure to come visit us."

The others added similar sentiments, many unable to speak. Ori squeaked out an incoherent plea, thrusting a small book into Gandalf's hand before retreating to the comfort of his brothers embrace. Families stood close together, united in grief, until only Thorin had yet to say his goodbyes. He strode forward to take in the sight of the hobbit one last time, unable to restrain himself from placing a kiss on the pale forehead. "Farewell, my heart," he murmured. "Go back to your books, and your armchair. Plant your trees, watch them grow, and know that we are thinking of you." Shrinking back, he seemed to fold in on himself, tears now running unchecked, and Fili and Kili hurried to his sides, sharing warmth and strength with the sorrow-stricken king.

"You'll keep an eye on him?" Balin choked out.

"Two eyes, as often as I can spare them," the wizard promised. "I expect I shall be back this way, once I have got him settled at home, for I very much look forward to seeing this place rebuilt."

"We'll have a room ready for you," Thorin assured him. "Safe journey, Gandalf."

The wizard mounted up, Bilbo carefully cradled in his lap and the pony following after on a lead. He offered the group one last benign smile. "Until our next meeting." The company stayed where they were, waving until the two had passed well out of sight before retreating into the darkness of the mountain. Clouds moved across the sun, its cheerful warmth stolen away as if it had only held on for Bilbo's sake.


Author's note: I did say this story was going to have lots of angst right? Well here, have another double spoonful, and tell me what you think! Next chapter coming tomorrow.