Bilbo couldn't get back to sleep. Something was wrong. It was as if a layer of his skin had been peeled away, and now everything felt different. All he knew was that something was missing. Something he needed. He slowly opened his eyes. A candle was smoking on the mantlepiece. They had left while he was asleep.
"Oi, get up, Master Baggins!"
Bilbo shot up. "What?" He gasped, only half realizing which life he was in. "Shhh! Everyone else is still asleep. Bombur asked me to wake you. Says he wants some help in the kitchen making some'at fer breakfast." Bofur had obviously just woken up; he was looking at Bilbo blearily and his clothes were crumpled, as if he had slept in them. "Right then, thank you, Bofur. I'll go and help him at once."
Bilbo gingerly stepped between the 'Ri brothers, who had decided that Bilbo's room was the perfect place to rest. As he walked out into the hallway, he made a quick mental overview of the rest of the company. They were all snoring peacefully, without the first rays of dawn to disturb them. They looked almost peaceful like this, sprawled over every article of furniture and inch of clear floor space. He made an effort to be a quiet as possible.
Bombur jumped when Bilbo poked his head through the doorframe. "Sorry, did I surprise you? Trying not to wake the others, you know. Now then, let's see, I was prudent enough to place some things for breakfast in that cupboard over there, here's the key, and why don't we get the stove-top running, yes?" He bustled through the kitchen, pulling out his cooking utensils and instructing Bombur, who compliantly did whatever was asked of him.
In about an hour they managed to put apple tarts, muffins, eggs, sausage, toast, and some bacon on the table. Bombur was somewhat impressed by Bilbo's ability to not only cook well, but also quickly, so he was kind enough to teach him some hobbit tricks and methods that had been passed down to him. Not all of them, though. He was entitled to some secrets.
Bofur gave a low whistle as he surveyed the meal that Bilbo and Bombur had cooked. "That, brother, is how a meal is made." Bilbo smiled. "Really, don't give me all of the credit. Your kin helped considerably, and I daresay that he is quite the cook himself." Bombur blushed a deep red. Everyone knew of his prowess in the kitchen, but it was still rather rare for him to actually be complemented.
Bilbo pulled off the last of the sausage, and set some eggs aside for Gandalf."Now, lets see how many of these lumps we can kick awake, shall we?" Bofur laughed. "I like your way of thinking, Master Baggins." Bilbo pulled up his suspenders, preparing himself for a repeat of last night's dwarf armageddon.
"Right then, let's get to it!" Bilbo pulled open his living room door, whacking Kili on the head with it's corner. An indignant, "Hey!" broke out of his rat's nest of hair. "Get up; breakfast is ready." Fili lifted his head and let out a stifled groan. "Whaaaa?" "I said, breakfast is on the table. There is currently only one pot of coffee in the kitchen, and two of the others are awake already, so by my calculations if you want any caffeine this morning you have about three minutes to get up and claim your share."
The Durin brothers immediately bolted out of their blankets, tearing down the hall to the kitchen. Bilbo shook his head. Well, whatever motivated them. He stepped into the adjourning guest bedroom, where Thorin had taken his only other spare bed. "Your nephews are up. I should probably shorten my earlier estimate from three minutes to about sixty-five seconds."
Thorin was already awake, and leaning against the wall, brooding. Of course. He had been starting to fear for Thorin's sanity; he had never seen the dwarf without a true scowl on his face for so long. He looked up, starting slightly at Bilbo's appearance. "Come on, Thorin Broodyshield, breakfast is getting cold." Thorin sighed, but where at one point there probably would have been annoyance or disdain, there was only a sort of weary fondness.
"Well fine then, stay in here and worry until your eyebrows fuse together. But I am eating your share." Thorin chuckled. "Are you packed? It would probably be best for you to avoid the handkerchief fiasco that occurred last time." Bilbo huffed. "Thorin, after being alive for one hundred and thirty three years, one learns to live without pocket handkerchiefs. Although I do wish I had something to wear that is more suited to this sort of thing than my good dinner jacket; it was quite ruined last time."
Thorin snorted, and a smile flicked across his features. It was a small, quick thing, but it still appeared. Bilbo remembered how, as his mind began to fail him, he had tried to cling to as many of his memories of the quest as possible. One that had always remained clear as day no matter how much he aged was the image of Thorin giving him one of those rare smiles, in the heart of a mountain and besieged both from without by the approaching men and elves and from within by the encroaching dragon sickness. "You know what? It might actually be better if you go back to brooding. The others are going to start thinking you've been smoking too much pipeweed."
He shook his head. "It still troubles me that they would worry should I appear content, but when I am in a dark mood they assume that all is well." Bilbo stepped out the door, looking back at Thorin with a grin. "Well, you do have a tendency to overthink dangers and troubles. If you're in a good mood, then I think they assume you're taking us to Erebor via a field of daisies and kittens."
And with that, Bilbo stepped out and helped the Durin brothers and Bofur to wake up the rest of the company. He should really give Thorin his privacy,after all. For him, it probably seemed as if he had been stabbed through the chest and died only a few weeks ago.
He would have to remember to make something with blackberries in it on the road. He didn't care what dwarves said, sweet things always made it easier to see events in a better light. He shoved his way through the clumps of dwarves now blocking his entrance into the kitchen and hallway, thankful that he had eaten earlier. He made sure to double check everything in his bag before placing it by the door, ready to go as soon as possible. Then he paused.
It felt as if he was missing something. something important. He re-checked his bag, fumbled through his jacket, pulled out the pockets in his trousers. Oh, where was it, where was it… it was such a small thing, had he lost it? His worry and anxiety mounted, until his fingers found their way to his waistcoat pocket.
He breathed a sigh of relief. Of course. That was where he always put it. It was a wonder he ever thought the thing lost at all, but then again he was a natural worrier. With a small smile, he pulled out a square of cloth, with the initials B.B. embroidered on the corner. No matter what he had told Thorin, it wouldn't do to leave this behind again, now would it?
Thorin had woken before the dawn. He was the only one with his own room, but the solitude had been somewhat unnerving after spending so long sleeping with the buzz of crickets and snoring of companions. Of course, soon he would probably be more than willing to trade those things for a warm bed again, but it still felt unsettling that he could not see the other members of the company around him.
He lay there in the relative darkness, (With his dwarf night vision, he could still see rather well) Listening to the others snore and the birds chirp. He had decided to get up when he heard Bofur waking Bilbo. He pulled on his tunic and boots with a sigh, rubbing a hand against his cheek as if to wipe away some of the weariness that still clung to him after last night's discussion.
He could still hardly believe that Bilbo had even been able to forgive him. Hell, he couldn't even forgive himself. It was just another thing to add to his growing list of debts that he could never truly repay. Still, he was glad that the hobbit was coming along with them on the journey. It felt right, somehow, to have him by his side.
Thorin cringed. Right? The two of them had been ill-matched since the beginning. He could hardly remember a single time that He had not either called the hobbit a burden, or else pushed him aside in favor of other matters, wandering through the treasury, following in his grandfather's footsteps.
Bilbo had risked everything to help him and his kin on a suicidal quest. Then he had saved the quest, and Thorin's own life, from destruction multiple times. He had endured Thorin's wrath, fought in one of the largest and bloodiest battles in Middle Earth's history. He had gone through more than Thorin should ever, could ever have asked him. And even when he had returned home, it had been to a life of reclusiveness and isolation from his neighbors and kin, save his nephew Frodo. All the while, his heart was slowly corrupted by The One Ring. Until he brought himself to do the one thing that Thorin never could. He gave up the item he had been obsessed with for over sixty years.
They both had a second chance at this journey. He had a second chance to make up his shortcomings and build a better future, try to ease the lodestone of guilt he bore if only the slightest bit.
But for now, the journey was only starting. He could hear the sounds of Bilbo and Bombur cookin breakfast in the kitchen, The hobbit making small talk with his quick wit and cunning anecdotes, while also instructing Bombur on how to properly make a fried egg. He was a different person then when Thorin had first met him, and also different from the blood-soaked shield brother he had left behind. This Bilbo had some of the same frivolous nature of the gentlehobbit he had first dragged on his adventure, but it was not the instinctive, naive manner it had once been.
Now he seemed less flighty and more coy, as if he played the part of respectable Master of Bag End but was ready at any moment to drop the guise. He seemed more in control, more aware of his abilities. Thorin wondered what it would be like, finding out just who this new Bilbo was. No. It was the same Bilbo, but he was… older. More mature.
Thorin wondered if, now that he was no longer so naive, he would not be as thoughtlessly forgiving or gentle. It made his sense of self-reproach even stronger to think that it was he who had taken away the carefree hobbit he may once have been, tested his endurance beyond what any hobbit should have to take.
But Bilbo was who he was, and Thorin knew that he would have plenty of time to become re-acquainted with him. After all, he wouldn't be able to act like he trusted him until he had proven himself at least once to the rest of the company.
Suddenly, Bilbo himself popped his head into Thorin's room. "Your nephews are up. I should probably shorten my earlier estimate from three minutes to about sixty-five seconds." Thorin just gave him a look. He was not in the mood for company just yet. "Come on, Thorin Broodyshield, breakfast is getting cold." Thorin let out a sigh. That was another thing. This Bilbo was undoubtedly less easily intimidated. Although then again, after the battlements, he supposed that it would be impossible for a simple scowl to ever cow the hobbit again... a shudder ran through him, and he quickly schooled his face into a mask of nonchalance.
"Well fine then, stay in here until your eyebrows fuse together, but I am eating your share." Despite himself, Thorin chuckled. Only Bilbo could make jokes at a time like this, with him, after everything that had happened between them. "Are you packed? It would probably be best if you avoided the handkerchief fiasco that occurred last time." Bilbo gave an indignant huff. "Thorin, after being alive for one hundred and thirty three years, one learns to live without pocket handkerchiefs. Although I do wish I had something to wear that is more suited to this sort of thing than my good dinner jacket; it was quite ruined last time." Thorin snorted, then smiled at the memory.
Even after spending so long in such rough conditions, Bilbo would still complain over the most redundant things. It was always, 'Oh dear, I stained my good shirt!' or ' My goodness, I do believe I forgot to brush the dirt off my bedroll last night!' and never 'Valar above, I just threw myself in front of a huge orc riding a warg with nothing but a elvish letter opener!' or 'God damn it, I haven't had anything to eat for three days in a row stuck out here in this accursed forest!'
Bilbo cocked his head to one side, eying Thorin thoughtfully. "You know what? It might actually be better if you go back to brooding. The others are going to start thinking you've smoked too much pipeweed." Thorin would have rolled his eyes, had he not suspected that Bilbo was actually serious. Mahal, he must have been pretty damn grouchy the last time around.
"It still troubles me that they would worry should I appear content, but when I am in a dark mood they assume that all is well." Bilbo smiled, beginning to step out of the door. Then, he paused and looked back. "Well, you do have a tendency to overthink dangers and troubles. If you're in a good mood, then I think they assume you're taking us to Erebor via a field of daisies and kittens."
Thorin chuckled, and then Bilbo was out of the room, from the sound of it employing nothing but the most brutal methods to awaken the other sleeping dwarrows. At least, brutal by hobbit standards, which pretty much encompassed a lot of kicking and a few well-placed whacks with a spatula. Thorin re-checked his pack one last time, and then set out to meet the company for breakfast.
Bilbo felt good. Good in a way he hadn't in a very, very long time. It was the feel of the road, of having companions to talk and joke with. He couldn't remember the last time things for him had felt so right. The closest feeling he had to it was when he had given up the ring to Frodo. But that had been a brief victory, for as his mind was mostly freed from the clutches of the ring, his body was claimed by the sands of time. He had barely been able to make it back to Rivendell from Erebor.
But now he was young again, and being swept off his feet by the road. Oh, was it wonderful to experience the inspiration for that poem again... well, actually, he was on a pony, not being swept off his feet, but still. It was pretty much the same. Even if it would take some time to get used to their hair again. Myrtle whickered softly, throwing her head back a bit. He sneezed, sinuses welling up, and reached to his waistcoat pocket.
He couldn't believe it. He would have sworn that he had the handkerchief on his way out. How had he managed to lose it? "Oi! What's wrong, Master Baggins?" He looked up to see Bofur's cheerfully inquisitive gaze. "Just Bilbo, thank you, and if you must know then I do believe that I've left behind my pocket handkerchief."
Thorin was suddenly suffering from a rather loud coughing fit. Bilbo glared at him. He would have to make a mental note to get him back for that. "Here!" Bofur ripped a piece off his jacket and handed it back to Bilbo. "Wouldn't want our burglar to get the sniffles now, would we?" If it hadn't been for the dwarf's shit-eating grin then Bilbo just may have been inclined to believe him.
"Hey! Nori! Bofur said to give this to you; doesn't want you having a runny nose." Bilbo tossed the square of fabric back in the general direction of a certain star-shaped hairdo. Nori popped up, indignation written all over his face. "I am a thief, not a burglar, thank you very much!" "No he isn't!" Dori chimed in, giving his brother a stern glare. "He's an Expert Liberator of Valuable Objects, isn't that right Nori?"
Bilbo laughed. "Hardly 'expert'. I believe this is yours, Nori." He tossed a pouch of needles and small bottles of questionable liquids at the dwarf. Nori looked from the bag to Bilbo, then back at the bag, then back to Bilbo. "Okay, I changed my mind. I want to be a burglar." "Nori!" "Oh, come on, Dori, even you have to admit that's just a bit impressive!"
The rest of the company burst out laughing, and as Bilbo settled back to enjoy the company of his old friends, he thought to himself that everything they were soon to go through just might be worth it.
He didn't understand it. It was quite simply beyond his imagination. How was it that Gandalf, who had been able to rain a cascade of flaming pine-cones on a group of wargs, drive back the necromancer, and if Bilbo was not very much mistaken even come back from the dead, could not stop a simple rainfall?
Well, then again, according to Bilbo he had not been able to prevent a blizzard either, so maybe it was simply that the mechanics of weather were beyond his magic. Either way, Thorin was utterly miserable. It made acting moody and unsociable quite easy, though.
Every once in awhile he would glance back at the hobbit. Whereas he had to act as similar to how his friends had know him as possible, Bilbo did not, and the difference between how he had acted at the beginning of the quest last time and how he acted now was quite noticeable.
Already he had managed to make friends with most of the company, and was currently worrying over Kili, who stoically insisted that he was not, in fact, catching cold, he just thought that Bilbo would feel less embarrassed by his own sniffling if he started blowing his nose as well.
Well, at least the rain was slowing now. That they had not needed to fight trolls in the rain the last time they were here had been a small blessing. Speaking of which...
Suddenly, Thorin spotted a familiar sight. It was the ruined home that they had camped by before encountering the trolls. It was about time he got Orcrist back. He approached the abandoned farmhouse, pretending to survey the area. "I believe we should camp here for the night. Fili, Kili, look after the ponies." He gave them both his very best Durin glare. "And watch them carefully." The brothers nodded.
He looked over to Gloin and Oin. "You two. Get a fire going." They nodded and began to gather as much dry wood as they could find. Gandalf walked up to the broken down and rotting remnants of the home. His expression darkened and brow furrowed with worry.
"I think that it would be wiser to move on. We could make for The Hidden Valley." Thorin looked up sharply, scowling at Gandalf. "You mean Rivendell. If I remember correctly, then I believe I already told you that I would not go near that place." Strangely, ever since he had come back to life, his disliking for elves had diminished greatly. When he remembered their betrayal, he no longer saw Thranduil as the face of all elvenkind, leaving his people to suffering and death without a care in the world. He saw a flawed individual whose first priority was, and always would be, his people.
Thorin may have had more than his fair share of his own flaws, but hypocrisy was one he hoped to leave behind him."Why not? The elves could help us. We could get food, rest, advice."
Well, he could take Gandalf's advice, and risk the doubt and suspicion of his kin. "I do not need their advice." The furrow in Gandalf's brow deepened. "We have a map that we cannot read. Lord Elrond could help us." Thorin snorted. "I have no doubt. But at what cost? The pride of my kin? Would you have us seek aid from the ones who abandoned us, left us to die and cower in the wilderness? In our eyes, they are the ultimate example of betrayal." Gandalf's look of frustration and annoyance shifted slightly. What he looked at Thorin with now was just a bit closer to curiosity.
Then, he swiftly turned round and began to stalk off. Bilbo watched him go by with an expression of mild interest. Then, he sidled up to Thorin. "What did you say this time?" he said softly, looking up at Thorin plaintively, only the mischievous twinkle in his eyes giving away that he was not asking out of simple concern. "That is no business of yours, halfling." He said loudly. Then, as he turned to stomp off, he said quietly, "'Told him that everybody would be pissed if I agreed with him."
It was a good thing he wasn't looking at Bilbo, otherwise the hobbit's smirk might have proved infectious. "Well, if we get in danger and he isn't here to help us, I'll have you know I'm blaming your kingly arse for it!" Thorin had to choke back a laugh, before searching for the closest thing in this forest to a corner for him to pretend to brood in.
Bilbo missed Sting. The kitchen knife was unbalanced and disproportionate, feeling awkward as it hung by his waist. Still, at least this time he wouldn't have to pick-pocket a troll.
he slipped quietly away to go and watch the boys. Things would be easier without him having to pick-pocket a troll, but easiest if the ponies were never captured to begin with. He leaned back against a birch tree, surveying the lads as they laughed and talked, doing pretty much anything that was not keeping an eye on the ponies.
As quietly as he could, he stepped out of his hiding spot and walked over. "My, my, and I thought men were terrible at concentration. If you two aren't more careful, something is going to happen to those poor beasts." Fili and Kili jumped, staring in shock at Bilbo's appearance. "We were-" "You see-" "It's this special dwarf thing…" "We have super vision!" "Yes!" We're watching the ponies!" "Honest!"
Bilbo rolled his eyes. "Trust me when I say that I know the extent of dwarven abilities. Super vision isn't on the list. Now, tell me something, do you see that light over there?" The brothers looked over their shoulders. "Yes." "Kinda." "He means yes." Bilbo stepped forward slightly. "Well, as our resident burglar I thought it would be best to check it out, and do you know what I saw? Trolls. Three of them. All of whom were very sick of mutton and complaining about the lack of man or horse flesh. do you think they'd make do with dwarves and ponies?" Fili and Kili both paled considerably. "That's what I thought. So, do us all a favor, and keep an eye on the ponies."
Both of them slowly nodded and turned round. With a sigh of relief, Bilbo began making his way back to camp. Bombur would be needing his help with the soup. "Er… Master Baggins?" Well, that hadn't taken long. He should really learn to stop expecting any semblance of peace on this trip.
"You know that shaggy black pony that Balin rides?..." "And the white one that Dwalin uses?" "Well…" "We're not saying they're gone…" "But they aren't here." "And there are some huge ass footprints on the ground." "Just thought you'd like to know."
Bilbo rounded on the brothers. "When this is over, you two owe me a new set of nerves, because the ones I have are gradually being frayed into non-existence. Well done. I didn't think it was possible for anyone other than my nephew to accomplish that."
"So, what with you being our burglar and all, you'll be getting them back, right?" Bilbo dodged Fili's arm. "I will scout out the area. I may even get a chance to steal them. But you two are going for backup, and I am not doing anything until you get back." The brothers shared a look. "Deal."
Fili and Kili rushed out of the woods, making a bee-line for a certain furred overcoat. "Thorin!" The dwarf glanced up. The brothers didn't bother waiting for him to speak, getting out what they had to say in a panicked rush. "Trolls." "The ponies." "Master Boggins." "Going to the trolls." "To get the ponies." "You need to come." "Right now."
Thorin's eyes widened. "Master Baggins said that he was going to go and get the ponies?" The brothers exchanged a glance. Well, it certainly didn't sound like the beginning of the worst scolding they had ever received in their collective lives… "He said he was going to wait for us to get backup." "Then he's going to get the ponies." It was hard to tell, but there just may have been a bit of relief in their uncle's eyes when he heard that.
"Right then. Dwalin, help me round everybody up. Tell them to bring their weapons; we're going to need to get our ponies back."
Author's Note: I know that the space between chapters have varied a bit lately. I promise I'll try to update regularly about every 5-6 days from now on.
