CHAPTER 3
The Great Escape
It had been completely fortuitous, really, the way the idea developed itself in Bilbo's mind.
First, he had been cornered by a patrol of elves, which forced him to retreat down narrow stairs that he had never taken – he was searching for a way out, so going deeper into the palace held little interest to him, unless he was visiting Thorin. He soon found himself in what was probably the biggest cellar he was ever given to see. Racks and racks of bottles piled high against the walls, from floor to ceiling, cushioned by straw and some covered with a delicate layer of dust.
He had heard voices and instinctively hid behind a large barrel, forgetting for a moment that his ring made him invisible. There were elves, of course, all dark hair and pretty smiles, and the ones in the cellar were rolling three barrels to an empty spot by the far wall.
"I do believe that is the last of them. Let us send them to Esgaroth so some space is freed for the full ones," one elf with intricate braids in his hair said.
"Do you think there will be enough wine for the feast?" another asked.
"We still have four days left until the feast. We yet have time to prepare."
And with that, the elf lowered a wooden lever, opening a trapdoor through which the barrel rolled and disappeared. The loud splashing sound that followed indicated that they had landed in water, presumably some kind of river.
And that is when things began to click into place in Bilbo's mind.
When the night of the feast was upon him, Bilbo took to stalking the guard who had responsibility of the keys to the dwarves' cells. He strained his ears and his eyes for any opening that might allow him to relieve the elf of his load, for after all time was of this essence and he had a feeling that if he didn't try anything that night, the company may very well spend a decent amount of months locked up in the Elvenking's palace.
And they couldn't afford it.
Of course, he hadn't told the dwarves about his plan, not even Thorin. He didn't want to disappoint them should his plan backfire. That, and he had a feeling that they wouldn't like said plan very much, either. But if any of them had a better idea, well then, they were free to try their luck! And if the past few weeks were any indication, they hadn't come up with anything worth trying.
Bilbo almost chortled when the elven guard descended the stairs to the cellar. Was it by pure stroke of luck that two parts of his plan were to meet? He decided to overlook that coincidence and hurried after the elf.
When Bilbo reached the cellar he promptly hid behind his regular barrel, watching very carefully as the elven guard made his way over to two of his kin. The two elves seemed to be whispering about something.
"These empty barrels should have been sent to Esgaroth hours ago," the guard said as he approached, and when he gestured to the pile of barrels sitting in a corner, waiting to be sent away. Bilbo's chest swelled with relief when he counted twenty of them. He just hoped they wouldn't be thrown out before he could put the rest of his plan in motion. "The party has been waiting for them."
The tallest of the two elves whirled around to face the newcomer and gave a tentative smile. "Say what you like about our ill-tempered King, but he has excellent taste in wine." When the guard's frown didn't waver, the elf held up a half-drunk bottle of clear red liquid, and it dawned on Bilbo what the elves were doing in the cellar. They were pilfering wine from the feast. "Come, Elros, try it."
Bilbo's prey, now known as Elros, shook his head. "I have the dwarves in my charge." He dangled the bunch of keys hanging at his belt for emphasis, making Bilbo sigh with want.
"They're locked up, where can they go?"
The burglar watched in disbelief as Elros thought hard, then finally relented and sat down at a small table already laden with bottles and glasses. If he gets tipsy enough, maybe I'll be able to snatch the keys without him noticing, he thought.
And get tipsy that elf did. Bilbo didn't know just how strong elvish wine just was, but it took only two bottles and a couple of hours for all three elves to lay their heads upon the table in drunken stupor. Whether fate had had a hand to play in this or not Bilbo didn't know, but he sure was no ungrateful hobbit!
Sending a silent prayer of thanks to the Valar, Bilbo slipped out from his hiding spot and skilfully relieved the elven guard of his clinking charge. Holding the keys together in one hand so they wouldn't make any unnecessary noise, he ran up the stairs and into the deserted corridors of the Elvenking's palace.
He knows he has to get Thorin first. He couldn't possibly free the other dwarves and have them all merrily stumbling and bumping their way down to Thorin's dark cell. Nor could he leave such a large company to wait in the corridor, where they would stand out like hairless hobbit feet at a Yule eve party.
With practised ease, Bilbo almost flew down the stairs to Thorin's cell, keys tightly clenched in his right hand. He quickly checked for elves – one could never be too careful – before he called out for the King.
"Thorin!" he said as he came to the door. "Thorin, wake up, it's me!"
"Bilbo?" Thorin drawled, his words thick with sleep.
"Please, please, hurry up, we don't have much time!" the hobbit pleaded, and he was already trying out keys on the cell's lock. Sudden dread gripped him; what would he do if the key to Thorin's cell was somewhere else, and he was only holding the keys to the other dwarves' freedom? A shudder ran through his small body, but he chose to shrug it off. For the time being.
"Have you found a way out?" Thorin's voice was suddenly very awake and close. The dwarf must have moved to the door.
"Yes, yes I think so… But for now I would just like to- Ah ha!" Bilbo grinned foolishly as the lock mercifully clicked and the door slid open. "There, you're free! Now let us go and fetch the others before- hmph!"
With surprising speed and strength for someone who just spent the past few weeks holed up in a dungeon, Thorin had trudged out of his cell and grabbed Bilbo in a fierce hug. The hobbit was startled; the embrace held the same warmth as the one he had received on the Carrock, after Azog's attack. Only with fewer layers of clothing, and Thorin seemed to have lost some weight.
"I shall never doubt you again, Bilbo," the dwarf said, his voice muffled by golden locks.
"I'll remind you of these words by the end of the night," Bilbo said in return, briefly hugging Thorin back. When the dwarf gave a puzzled huff, he shook his head. "Later. Now come, there's no time to waste."
Grabbing Thorin's larger forearm, Bilbo hurried towards the stairs and start climbing them in earnest. He stopped at the second step, however, as a sharp tug on his arm sent him staggering backwards. There was a gasp, and he looked down to see Thorin lying flat on his stomach, head cradled in his hands. It dawned then on Bilbo that maybe, he should have warned Thorin that there were stairs.
Just maybe.
"I forgot that you couldn't see anything," he apologized softly as he helped the bigger dwarf up.
"Well, it gladdens me that you remember, now," Thorin grunted as he rubbed his sore nose. Blood was slowly dribbling down his chin and into his mockery of a beard. He must have split his lip.
Their ascent to the more hearty rooms of the palace was slow and tedious. Thorin had his arm around Bilbo's shoulders, for support as well as guidance. The staircase was so narrow that the smaller being was pressed into his side.
Soon, lanterns appeared, and Bilbo slipped off his ring to avoid giving Thorin a heart attack. His footsteps wavered slightly, but light was quick to flood the staircase and he carried on swiftly. He noticed that Thorin's eyes were only half-opened, and he realized that the sudden light must be hurting them. "Do you wish to stop and rest a bit?"
"No," Thorin shook his head. "As you've said, we have no time to lose."
But he was panting, almost blind, and Bilbo wouldn't be surprised if his burly legs gave out from under him. He decided to do the King a favor. "We are almost there. I can't take you to the other cells, this palace is a real maze and you would slow me down." Bilbo tutted at Thorin's indignant huff and pursued. "Wait for me here. I shall retrieve the rest of the company, and off we go. You are closer to the exit I have in mind than the others."
The mention of the other dwarves cast a dark shadow over Thorin's features. He had forgotten that he would have to face them, all of them, if they were to escape from the Elvenking's grasp. "What if an elf comes this way?" he asked.
"That is highly unlikely," Bilbo said as he pushed the dwarf against the wall where he let him slide to the ground. "There is some kind of feast going on in the higher rooms, and there's nobody wandering the halls. You have to trust me."
To Bilbo's relief, Thorin only hesitated for a couple of seconds before he nodded. "I trust you."
"Good. I won't be long."
Bilbo turned away but before he could continue his way up the stairs, Thorin's battered hand shot out and grabbed his own, smaller one. "Be careful," the king all but whispered.
His chest tightening with something he quite couldn't name, Bilbo nodded solemnly and gave the large hand a comforting squeeze. He tore away from Thorin's worried blue eyes and willed himself not to look back as he set off to free his dwarven friends.
"I'll wager the sun is on the rise," Bofur drawled, his feet propped up against iron bars. "Must be nearly dawn."
The rest of the dwarves gave half-hearted grunts of acknowledgment. Even though their kind was especially good at telling time, even underground, many had lost count after the second week of imprisonment. They relied on Bofur, who had always been particularly gifted with this skill, to keep track of time. But even he was starting to lose grip.
"We're never gonna reach the mountain, are we?" Ori asked dejectedly, his back softly hitting the wall.
Bofur sighed and was racking his brain for something cheerful to say, when a familiar little voice piped in.
"Not stuck in here, you're not!"
As if springing forth from thin air, Bilbo appeared before the cells. At the sight of the heavy bundle of keys the hobbit was brandishing, the whole company roared and cried out in joy. Kili and Fili started jumping on the spot, as delighted as dwarflings on their nameday.
"Ssh! Keep it down!" Bilbo scolded as he unlocked Balin's cell. "There are guards, nearby!"
A small lie, but it would keep the dwarves quiet, at least for a little while.
Much like their uncle – not that he was going to reveal it – Kili and Fili enveloped Bilbo in a bear hug as soon as they were out of their cells. "Lads, lads you are crushing me!" he squeaked.
"You're the best burglar ever, Bilbo!" Fili cheered.
"I always knew you would get us out of here!" Kili added, nuzzling Bilbo's hair. "Mister Dwalin said you would abandon us, but I always had faith in you!"
"Oh did he now?" Over Fili's shoulder, Bilbo's eyes rested on the tattooed dwarf who, to his credit, had the decency to look sheepish. "On my way to his cell, I might accidentally drop the keys then…"
Muffled laughter followed his statement, and when the brothers set Bilbo's hairy feet on the ground again, the hobbit made quick work of the remaining locks. Soon, all twelve dwarves were huddled around him, awe and astonishment visible in their tired eyes. Bilbo was overwhelmed with a strong sense of pride, and he puffed up his chest. Just a little bit.
"I stand by what I said," Dori stated smugly. "Stopping in Bag-End was the best decision we ever made!"
"You've got to be joking!" Gloin growled. "You never stopped complaining about the Shire, you old bugger. I, on the other hand, always valued your worth Master Baggins!"
Bilbo waved dismissively when the dwarves all erupted in praises and thanks. "While I am deeply flattered, my friends – no, no, Kili, stop hugging me, you're crushing my ribs – while I'm deeply flattered, I beg you to hurry. I don't know how much time we have left, and it might already be too late."
"What in the name of Eru is the meaning of this?"
All froze when they heard the panicked, almost high-pitched voice coming from above.
Bilbo chanced a glance, and up there stood the elf that had been talking to Legolas, the day he had found Thorin's cell. Hatholnin, something like that. And he was beyond surprised.
Time seemed to hang as hesitation kept both parties from making the first move.
It was Kili who snapped out of the semi-trance first. He whirled around and before anyone could blink, he hurled the wooden bowl that had been left in his cell at the elf. It connected with the dark-haired Firstborn's forehead with a cracking sound, and sent him toppling to the ground, unconscious. A good thing too, as the elf was about to call for help.
"Well done, lad!" Balin grinned as they realized just what Kili had prevented.
"A nice shot if there ever was one, brother mine," Fili nodded, clapping his sibling on the back.
"That's why I'm the one with a bow, and you're just a boring heir meant to sit one day on the throne of Erebor," Kili winked, elbowing the golden-haired prince.
Mentioning Erebor reminded Bilbo that that was a certain King waiting for them in a narrow staircase, arms wrapped around himself to retain his body heat as well as his sanity. "Let us not tarry, maybe someone will come looking for that elf," he instructed. "Follow me!"
Thankfully, the dwarves nodded and let him take the lead. All were as silent as possible, especially Dwalin, who was still feeling shame for doubting Bilbo. The tattooed dwarf was also probably mourning the loss of Grasper and Keeper, his two trusted battle-axes, to the elves.
Bilbo led the rather large party through the maze of halls, rooms and corridors. He hushed his companions when he picked up sounds that reminded him of a patrol, but thankfully, they didn't run into anyone on their way to the cellar.
Soon, Bilbo raised his hand, and the dwarves stopped.
"What is it, Master Hobbit?" Nori asked, tugging Ori closer to him.
"I need you to wait here while I go and retrieve Thorin," Bilbo whispered. "I won't be long, five minutes at most."
"But what if elves come this way?" Dori asked worriedly.
Much as he had comforted Thorin, Bilbo told the dwarves that nobody was to come their way, since this area of the palace was always relatively empty, and even more so with the feast going on. When he took his leave to find Thorin, he heard Kili complain that he should have brought the other bowls with him. The hobbit chuckled at this.
Thorin was still sitting where he had left him and now that there was proper lighting, Bilbo could see that the dwarf was a sight for sore eyes. Half-healed cuts and bruises were scattered along his face and neck, and he looked even more tired than after their encounter with Azog. On the bright side, though, his hair and beard had grown a little since they were hacked down.
He looked up swiftly when he heard Bilbo's footsteps, but instantly relaxed when his blue eyes fell on the hobbit.
"Come on, it's time to go," Bilbo whispered as he took Thorin's arm to haul it over his shoulders, but he was met with resistance on the dwarf's part. "Thorin, what-"
"How can I face them?"
That strained, fearful voice wasn't Thorin's. No, it couldn't be. "What do you mean?"
"How can I even look at them? I have no worth anymore…"
"Don't be silly, you stubborn dwarf," Bilbo grunted as he bore part of Thorin's weight. "You will face them just like you faced every new development of this insufferable journey of ours: like a King would."
The hobbit's words seemed to lift Thorin's heart a little, for the dwarf inhaled and began to ascend the stairs. Bilbo disliked reminding the dwarf that he was a king – after all, if Thorin Oakenshield's head got any bigger, no door in Erebor would let him through – but it had its uses. Especially since it wasn't in his power to bodily drag the heavy dwarf to his freedom.
He, however, felt Thorin shudder quite violently the moment the rest of the company came into sight. The dwarf slowed his pace and Bilbo almost got his toes stepped on by the metal-clad boots.
He had no time to ask if everything was alright, however, as Kili's sight was apparently as sharp as his aim.
"Uncle Thorin!" the young one called out.
"Mahal bless you, we were afraid that-" Fili's voice caught in his throat as he and everyone took in the state Thorin was in. The sorry mess of a dwarf that they once called King.
Nobody said a word as Bilbo and Thorin neared them; in fact most of the dwarves were avoiding looking at the pair, busying themselves with looking around for eventual patrols. It puzzled Bilbo to see them act this way. For all they had been worried about Thorin's welfare, they were oddly unaffected, the lot of them. They even seemed… disturbed.
There was pity in Fili's eyes, and it's probably what prompted a low growl from Thorin's throat and tore him away from Bilbo's side. The King stood on slightly trembling legs, but he held his chin high. "Get us out of here, halfling," he grunted sharply.
Bilbo's heart felt a small pang at the offensive word, but he nodded and hurried the dwarves towards the cellar. Thankfully, it wasn't very far from where they stood, and they soon found themselves only a staircase away from their freedom.
"This way," Bilbo instructed as he padded down the steps.
They were halfway down the stairs when Bilbo heard the dwarves skid to a halt. He turned around and motioned for them to hurry, but they hesitated. He followed their gaze and saw the cause for their discomfort; the elves passed out on the table. The hobbit rolled his eyes and started gesturing with more urgency.
"Come on," he whispered, beginning to feel a bit frustrated. He wasn't going to fail so close to their goal!
It was Thorin who moved first, prompting others to do the same, though their wary eyes never left the snoring elves. Once they were satisfied that none of them was going to wake up, the dwarves actually took some time to look around the new room they were in.
"I don't believe it," Kili whispered. "We're in the cellars!"
"You're supposed to be leading us out, not further in!" Bofur panicked.
Bilbo let out a frustrated hiss and refrained from stomping his feet like a four year-old. A plague on those ungrateful dwarves! "I know what I'm doing!" he said instead, perhaps a little too loudly, but this bunch of oafs was starting to grate on his nerves. He raised his hands in defeat when he was copiously shushed by the entire group. "Alright, alright, this way. This way."
He cautiously led them to the barrels which, he couldn't thank Yavanna enough, had yet to be sent away. He didn't even dare imagine what he would have done, had that been the case already.
And now, for the certainly most unpopular part of the plan…
"Everyone, climb into the barrels, quickly."
This was first met with silence, which Bilbo was not dumb enough to mistake for acceptance, before the dwarves dissolved in indignant and mumbled protests.
"Are you mad? They'll find us!" Dwalin growled, crossing his thick arms over his equally thick chest.
"No, no! They won't, I promise you," Bilbo begged, and the pleading tone made the Took in him gag. Unfortunately, he had no time to explain his plan in detail, nor did he possess the strength to just make the dwarves follow his instructions. So begging it was. "Please, please, you must trust me!"
But the members of the company only began mumbling with one another, and words such as "crazy", "raving mad, for sure" and "Bombur wouldn't even fit in those things!" came to his hobbit ears. Bilbo sighed; there was only so much a halfling such as him could do leading a pack of burly dwarves.
Desperately, he searched for Thorin. He found him on the side, leaning heavily on a guardrail and quite unaffected by the mumbling dwarves. He didn't look like he had any intention to step in.
But when Bilbo gave him a pleading look, the King sighed and turned to his kin. "Do as he says!" he barked sharply.
Bilbo saw the other dwarves hesitate for a second, and suddenly he feared that Thorin had lost any kind of authority he had over the group along with his hair and beard. It came as a relief, really, when first Fili, then Kili and everyone started climbing into the barrels. They whined and complained and grunted, but they were doing it.
Thorin was the last one to choose a barrel. He kneeled in front of one and, waving Bilbo's helping hand away, just rolled in the empty barrel and curled himself in a very tight, very silent ball. Much like an injured dog would.
Satisfied, Bilbo hopped towards the lever he had seen elves use to send the barrels away, but before he could reach it Bofur stuck his head out.
"What do we do now?" the toy-maker inquired.
To which twelve other heads appeared and an indecent amount of eyes looked expectantly at Bilbo, waiting for his answer.
And there was only one he could give.
"Hold your breath."
"Hold my breath? What do you mean?"
The lever went down, and so did the barrels.