Chapter 3

Bilbo was starving. Well, not starving, per se, but he was certainly feeling famished most of the time.

After the company had left Bree, beginning their long trek through the Lone-Lands, the weather had taken a turn for the worse, and the group was forced to travel through an unholy downpour for two weeks straight. Bilbo had gotten sick within the first day, and he had no choice but to consume his food supply to gain enough energy to heal, instead of rationing it like he had planned. The hobbit had gotten better in a week, but most of his snacks were gone, so he had to do with the meager amount of meals Bombur prepared for them and some wild berries he managed to pluck from his position atop Myrtle. Since then, Bilbo had noticed he tired more easily than before, was crankier and snapped at every taunt the dwarves saw fit to dole out at the 'useless hobbit'. His belly was shrinking in a rapid fashion, and he had to clinch his belt tighter than he could ever recall doing.

Another week went by after the rain had let up before someone confronted him about his moodiness. The sun sat low in the sky when the king called a halt to the procession, pointing at an enormous tree ahead.

"We camp here for the night," he ordered, scanning the group. "Bombur, start on the dinner. Ori and the boys will take care of the ponies. Dwalin, you go scout the area. The rest will set up camp."

Everyone nodded in agreement. Bilbo sighed. There wasn't much he could do - everyone was more than happy to ignore him, in any case - so he went to ask Bombur if he needed help. The large dwarf smiled at the hobbit, and directed Bilbo to chop onions for the rabbit stew he planned to prepare. Dwalin sneered at him before disappearing through the woods, the others snickering at the warrior's parting remark Bilbo didn't hear. The hobbit scowled at his retreating back, muttering an insult under his breath no respectable resident of the Shire should even know. The dwarves must have been rubbing off on him.

Bofur snorted, plopping down beside Bilbo after depositing an armful of firewood at Bombur's feet.

"Pay them no mind. Dwarves are a stubborn and prideful race, and not much for outsiders. They'll get better with time, you'll see."

Bilbo huffed. "I would be fine if it were just mistrust, Bofur. I just can't understand why they have to be right bastards as well," he grumbled, bringing the knife down upon the onion a little harder than he had intended in his anger. The toy maker shrugged, eying his movements.

"You seem... more annoyed than usual," Bofur said after a minute of silence. "Did something happen to make you angry?"

Bilbo's shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry. I know my temper is getting away from me," he muttered. Bofur had always been nice to him. He hadn't meant to take his frustration out on the dwarf. "I'm just tired and hungry most of the time. It's harder to keep my emotions in check."

Bofur lifted his eyebrows. "Aye, I noticed you have trouble sleeping. But is the food not enough for you? I thought Bombur would prepare plenty for everyone," he said, shooting a glance at his cousin.

"Oh, no! Bombur's meals are wonderful, and he always makes sure to save me a portion," he hurried to placate. "Hobbits are just... different from dwarfs. It's not so much the quantity of the food, but the regularity of our meals that matters. We burn energy much faster than other races seem to."

A look of realization dawned on Bofur's face. "That's why you have so many back at the Shire, then. Second breakfast and elevensies, was it?"

Bilbo chuckled and nodded. Bofur hummed, stroking his beard in thought.

"Oi, Bombur!" he suddenly called out. Bilbo snapped his head up as the toy maker wound an arm around his shoulders. "Our hobbit here seems to be somewhat different from us, dwarfs, in more than just looks. Would you mind portioning his share of meals in smaller, but more parts? Like maybe two before noon, two after, then one dinner? He can eat on the ponies as we go."

Bombur paused at the request, squinting at Bilbo. "Aye, I've noticed he seems to be losing weight." He shook his head, frowning still. "I"m not sure how it will be possible, Bilbo, but for now I can give you Bofur's share of apples, as long as you're okay with a smaller portion in the evenings in return. How does that sound? Are you both satisfied with that?"

"Sounds good to me!" Bofur said before Bilbo could protest on his behalf. The hobbit gaped at the dwarf glued to his side.

"Bofur, wait! Are you sure about this? I don't want both of us to be hungry. One whiny hobbit is enough."

The toy maker chuckled, ruffling Bilbo's hair. "It's fine. Don't worry. Besides, I'll get my fill at night."

"I..." Bilbo was lost for words. Bofur had been nice to him, yes, but never would he have expected the dwarf - any dwarf - to go out of his way for him. The generosity threw him a bit, but there was warm feeling spreading through his chest as he stared at the grinning toy maker. His... friend. Bilbo cleared his throat. "Thank you. This is very kind of you," he said, blushing.

"Nonsense. We can't let you keel over before you reach the dragon now, can we?" Bofur teased.

Bilbo dug his elbow into the dwarf's side, chuckling at the resulting "Ooof" of feigned pain. Perhaps joining this quest hadn't been such a bad idea after all.

- BB -

"What was that?" asked Bilbo, staring into the distant darkness without blinking. The sound he had heard reminded him of the wolves' howls back in the Fell Winter, and he shuddered at the memory. He had been but a fauntling, yet the creepy wail of wolves remained to haunt his nightmares to this day.

"Wargs," Fili hissed.

"Accompanied by Orcs, no doubt," added Kili.

"Wargs? Orcs?" Bilbo gulped. He had heard stories of the cruelty of those creatures. Not in a million years would he have thought he would have to fear them though. Orcs never ventured close to the Shire, so even though Bilbo knew of them, they were not something he personally needed to deal with. Yet here he found himself in the company of thirteen dwarves and a wizard, huddling around the fire like sitting ducks. The vague, dark outlines of the distant trees suddenly seemed menacing instead of a source of protection, and the night air turned chillier than it had been a minute ago.

"Oh, yes. The Lone-Lands are crawling with them," Kili said, and Bilbo glanced at him fearfully.

"That's right. They creep up on travelers in the dead of the night, wait until everyone is asleep. Then they attack," Fili added.

The younger brother nodded. "They kill everyone. Not a single survivor is left after a raid."

Bilbo's heart was pounding in his chest. He never wanted to come across an Orc. Shivering, he wrapped his blanket around himself, terrified the monsters would come upon them. How could he sleep, knowing Orcs could attack at any moment?

A giggle escaped Kili's mouth, and Bilbo whipped his head around at the sound. The duo were huddled close together, snickering at the scared hobbit. Bilbo opened his mouth, but no words were forthcoming. The brothers were joking?

"You think this a good joke?" he finally spat at them, seething at their thoughtlessness. "You think my fright funny? Is cruelty a source of amusement for you?" he ranted, disgusted at their behavior. Young or not, this was not acceptable.

"Stop with your dramatics, halfling," called the king. Bilbo to turned his glare on him. "Although, you are right," he continued. Bilbo lifted his brows in surprise as the dwarf narrowed his gaze at his nephews. "Orcs are not a laughing matter. Grow up, lest you get yourself killed with your stupidity," he snapped at them, then marched off to the other end of the camp. Bilbo's eyebrows climbed even further up his forehead. Dramatics indeed.

The company stared after their leader in open-mouthed bewilderment. It was not until Balin spoke up that their attention left the brooding king's back.

"It's all right, lads," he began. Bilbo snorted, but no one paid him any mind. The boys' appalling behavior was certainly not all right, and the old advisor placating them caused Bilbo's hackles to rise. No wonder most dwarves turned out so rude if this was how they were taught. Bilbo had not spoken much to Balin, yet he seemed a wise man, if only by virtue of his age. Also, he held a an important position in the lives of the royals, and the hobbit was quite disappointed by his complacency. "Thorin has more reason than most to despise Orcs."

Balin then launched into a tale of reclaiming Moria, the ancient dwarwen kingdom, and in particular about how Thorin Oakenshield won the battle at Azanulbizar for their people with his determination and strength. Destroying Azog and his army had come with a heavy price though; Thorin's grandfather - the late king Thrór - and brother had been slain along with thousands of dwarves, rendering their victory hollow. Thráin had also disappeared, and no one knew what became of him. It was a sad tale, and Bilbo had to wonder just how many such tragedies the dwarves had been forced to endure.

The hobbit pondered upon his contradictory feelings for the dwarves and their king. He felt a great amount of pity, this he could not deny, yet he also couldn't shake his dislike for most of them. The proud race had gone into battle after battle for a lost kingdom when they had been already decimated and chased away from their home by a dragon. Why by the Valar had Thrór led his people to Moria when they had help from the Iron Hills and a place in Ered Luin to settle? This simply made no sense to Bilbo. Their misfortune was in no small part due to their own actions, making the peaceful hobbit uncertain about his feelings on the matter. He wanted to help them reclaim their home, yet he was as leery of their motives as he had been in the beginning.

"Bofur?" he whispered to his friend, gesturing the dwarf closer. When the toy maker settled down beside him, Bilbo hesitantly broached the subject. "I have been wondering about this for a while - could you tell me why going back to Erebor is so important?" Bilbo asked, then hastily added, "I mean, I know it was your home, but haven't the dwarves settled down in Ered Luin? Or is it awful there?"

Bofur stared at Bilbo for a while, tilting his head to the side. Afraid he had offended his friend, Bilbo backtracked. "Never mi-"

"It was very hard in the beginning," Bofur cut him off. Bilbo lowered his gaze, but the dwarf patted his shoulder, the gesture showing he wasn't upset. "After Erebor fell, the survivors had no place to go, no possessions, nothing. We wouldn't have accepted help from the woodland elves even if offered, so we scattered through Middle Earth. The dwarves from the Iron Hills helped a lot of us, but they had their own people to feed.

"In the end, the Blue Mountains were our only option," Bofur said, sighing. "The problem is that most of the resources those mountains held had already been depleted by the time we got there. There were no precious metals available, no way for us to make a living of the only thing we ever knew; mining and metalwork. The dwarves had to adapt to a new way of life, learn new professions we never cared for in order to survive. It was especially harsh on the older generations - if you ever get a chance, have the 'Ri brothers tell you their story. I, myself, was a miner before Smaug. I only began making toys after Erebor.

"But it's not that bad anymore. It has been a long time. The newer generation, for example, is perfectly content in the Blue Mountains. I can't complain either. I made do."

"Then why are you here?" asked Bilbo with a frown. "I thought you all wanted Erebor back."

Bofur shrugged. "It's not that I don't wish to go back, I'm just content without it. Mostly though, we're here for our king. Or in my case - because I'm easy to convince. Couldn't leave my cousins to come bumbling by alone after all," he said, sending a fond smile at Bifur and Bombur.

"I see..." Bilbo trailed off. Shaking his head, he asked, "Then why is Thorin so determined to go back? If his people are all right?" Wasn't he just making the same mistake as his grandfather with Moria? - added Bilbo silently.

"I think he feels pressured to do so, to live up to the Durin name. The dwarves may be content, but we aren't prospering like in Erebor. Honestly, we are quite poor. But this is exactly the reason we are so few on this quest - no one wants to help when we already have a good place to live, not even for Thorin."

Bilbo hummed in thought. Despite all he had learned, he was still no closer to making up his mind than before. He still couldn't decide wether this quest was launched for noble or greedy reasons. Perhaps a little of both. "I wonder why Gandalf is helping. Wasn't it actually him who started this in the first place? He had that map and key, too."

Bofur snorted. "Who can know the minds of wizards? Whatever reason he has, I'm grateful he's with us. I don't think we stand much chance against a dragon, but without him? Mahal's beard, the probability of victory is below zero."

Bilbo giggled. If it was a tad on the hysterical side, none of the two mentioned it. "Isn't that the truth."

- BB -

The following four days passed blessedly free of Orcs. Bilbo became more than a little jumpy since the princes' tasteless joke, especially since the rest of the dwarves seemed to be on higher alert as well. A scouting party of two was sent ahead of the group at all times. Fires were small and lit only after dark for as long as it took to cook dinner, so the nights were colder than ever. Bilbo usually huddled closer to Bofur and Bombur for warmth. Bifur often joined them, and though the hobbit could make no head or tail of his speech and gestures, he seemed accepting enough of Bilbo's presence.

On the fifth day, the company reached the Trollshaws by mid-morning. The forest was dense -and somewhat ominous, in Bilbo's humble opinion. On the other hand, the trees provided coverage so that they could keep a small fire going throughout the nights, which the hobbit was grateful for. Still, he couldn't wait to be out of these woods. His unease mounted with every day they spent in there.

"Aren't you just being paranoid?" Bofur asked when Bilbo confided in him about his misgivings. "We're staying well away from the hills. The trolls don't come down this far."

"And the Orcs? What if they come upon us? We'll never see them approaching among these trees."

Bofur shook his head patiently. "We're scouting around every location we set up camp at, and there's always someone on watch at night. I think you're worrying yourself needlessly."

Bilbo jerked his shoulder. "Maybe."

"We stop here!" rang out the king's order from ahead. Bilbo glanced up to see him standing by a ruined little farm house, its roof missing and pieces of the wall littering the ground around it. There was something odd about the sight, but Bilbo couldn't quite put his finger on the reason.

Glancing at Bofur, who nodded at him, Bilbo urged Myrtle into a trot until they caught up to the rest of the dwarves.

"Fili, Kili, take the ponies and stay on watch. Oin, Gloin, scout the area and gather firewood," Bilbo heard the king instruct. The hobbit slid off the saddle, giving Myrtle a pat on the neck, and leading her over to the boys. He had grown attached to the pony, despite his initial aversion to riding. The beast was sweet.

As Bilbo headed back to join the others and ask Bombur if he could help with dinner, he spied Gandalf and Thorin in a heated discussion beside the abandoned ruins. The king's usually sour face looked downright disgusted with Gandalf at the moment.

"We have a map we cannot read, Thorin. Lord Elrond could help us!" the wizard snapped at whatever his royal haughtiness had said.

"Help?" the king bit out. "Smaug attacked Erebor - what help were the elves? Orcs took over the sacred halls Moria, and the elves looked on did nothing! You expect me to seek help form the very people who betrayed my grandfather? My father?" Thorin sneered.

"The elves of Rivendell have betrayed no one!" Gandalf thundered. "The dwarves' past with Lord Thranduil has nothing to do with them. And above all; you are neither Thráin, nor Thrór! I did not give you that map and key for you to hold on to past grudges!"

"My birthright was never yours to keep," said the king, his tone deadly calm.

Gandalf stared at him for a moment. Bilbo shrank back when the wizard suddenly threw his hands into the air and stormed away, heading right in his direction. Gandalf pushed past him without a glance, and the hobbit watched, slack-jawed, as he reached the edge of the camp and disappeared into the forest. He turned to look at the king incredulously.

"Stop him!" Bilbo ground out.

Thorin gave him a withering glare. "Why should I? He can go wherever he pleases," he replied, unconcerned, and walked away to talk to Balin.

Bilbo couldn't believe it. Was the king really this stupid? He offended the only real help they had - a wizard, at that! - and was willing to watch him walk away, for what? His pride? Just when Bilbo thought he couldn't dislike the king any more than he already did, he goes and does something like that. He was putting the whole company at risk. Damn the stubborn fool!