Disclaimer: Not mine.

Warnings: Some violence.

AN: Thank you all very much for reading and reviewing! It's inspiring (to, for example, add some more Gandalf into the storyline.) ^_~

Guilt and Courage

3

Nightfall brought a sharp northern wind that had leaves rustling and the company shuddering under their fur coats. No fire had been lit in the small cove Kili and Fili had discovered earlier – thick bushes, and trees hid their camp, but it still felt exposed.

Tonight they all slept lightly, their weapons close. Indeed, for many, sleep was hard to come by. While Dwalin and Nori shared the first watch, Thorin, too, found himself observing their surroundings from his bedding.

Gandalf did not even pretend to be resting; the wizard sat upright on a log, while next to him Bilbo slumbered peacefully. When they had redressed his injuries Balin had appeared relieved at their state, and Thorin too, thought those were healing nicely. Only the fever lingered, and while it was not high enough to render Bilbo delirious, it also had not yet broken.

Around them the leaves kept rustling, and Thorin cursed the weather – hearing an enemy approach would be even more difficult, yet he dare not send out scouts for fear of them being discovered. Goblin eyes were well adjusted to the darkness.

Sleep took a long time coming. Through the cover of the treetops he could watch the moon's slow progress across the sky. Snores echoed through the quiet clearing – it would have been a relaxing night, but Thorin's heart kept pounding.

Dwalin and Nori's presence ought to be reassuring. Dwalin had his axe set next to him, ready to be used immediately, while Nori kept staring into the trees, watching for any suspicious movement.

Thorin awoke to Gloin softly shaking his shoulder. The other dwarf immediately put a finger to his lips, gesturing for Thorin to be silent. Around them, Thorin noticed of the other members of their company were being roused.

"Dori figured he heard something," whispered Gloin, "He's out investigating, but we figured we'd wake everybody in case something goes wrong."

Thorin nodded, and pulled himself to his feet. He checked for the position of his weapons, tightening his belt, before pulling his coat over his shoulders again. The moon was low on the horizon already – dawn wasn't far, but the air was cold.

A rustle in the bushes to their left announced Dori's return. The dwarf glanced around, then gestured for everybody to come closer – Bombur trailed behind, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. Thorin was glad to see Fili and Kili both awake (though he could have done without the tension on their faces); and only Bilbo slumbered on, fitful as his sleep was.

"I think it's scouts," said Dori, "I couldn't catch sight of them, but from what I heard the group isn't larger than six or eight."

"Are they the only ones out there?" inquired Balin.

Dori shrugged. "As far as I could tell. Though I didn't dare to go too far."

Thorin nodded at that.

"We can manage a group that size," said Gloin, and his hand closed around something underneath his robe.

"Certainly," agreed Balin, "However it might also alert other goblin scouts in the area, or possibly even their main host. And judging from the tracks we found earlier today, that must have been close to three-hundred."

Gloin fell silent, and Thorin felt expectant gazes coming to rest on his back. His instinct was to order the attack – if all went well the main host would never find out, and every goblin gone was one less enemy liable to attack.

However there was the matter of silence and haste. A large-scale skirmish might warrant a hasty retreat – and render them unable to follow their plan in the open. And while Bilbo's condition was not so bad that he wouldn't survive another day out in the wild, he wasn't likely to recover this way either.

With a grim frown Thorin turned to their resident wizard. "Master Gandalf, what would you suggest?"

The wizard tugged at his beard, and then cast an unmistakable glance into Bilbo's direction. "Stay hidden," he eventually said, "Do not fight unless you have to. Tomorrow, we will…"

And then he stopped abruptly as a pained groan left Bilbo's lips and the hobbit attempted to roll onto his side. Thorin had barely gotten to his feet, as Oin, Balin and Gandalf already crouched down next to Bilbo, muttering and fussing.

From behind the three Thorin could see that Bilbo's face was stark white underneath a bright flush covering his cheeks, and there was sweat on his forehead. Oin pushed aside the blanket and furs the hobbit was buried under and proceeded to undo the bandages wrapped around Bilbo's chest.

Somebody hissed, and Balin paled.

One of the gashes had healed well, and was barely more than a scratch already. Two more remained red, scabbed over, though the third one – the deepest – was an angry red, the skin around it pale, and Thorin knew what it was even before Oin said "Infection".

Yet his heart stuttered.

"Master Gandalf," said Balin and his voice sounded shaky, "Do you believe we ought to bleed out the wound, or would you rather wait until we reach your acquaintance?"

Gandalf failed to respond immediately – the wizard's brow was wrinkled, his expression grave. "Bleed it out," he said eventually, "I don't think we should risk this worsening."

Exposed to the night air the injury did look grievous, especially with the dark bruises littering Bilbo's small chest. Hidden underneath the clothes it had been easy to forget about it, especially since Bilbo – when he was conscious – had been neither delirious nor in visible pain. Now however he trembled in the cold air.

"Very well," agreed Balin with a heavy sigh.

Thorin swallowed, and turned to the rest of the company. "You do your work. I expect everybody else to stand guard – we can't afford to be taken by surprise."

He cast another glance toward the sky, but while the moon was sinking, dawn was yet a while away. "We will leave the moment the sun rises."

There were no arguments. Perhaps because seeing the wounds on Bilbo's chest exposed had reminded the company of the life at stake – and their own mortality, too.

The wait was tense. Thorin kept opening and closing his fingers around Orcrist's hilt – and while the cool breeze helped their company to stay awake, he saw some flinch at every louder rustling of leaves. No one dared to speak; only Oin, Balin and Gandalf were whispering among themselves. Bilbo had once again fallen silent – and Thorin avoided contemplating whether or not this bode well.

Most dwarves had taken up positions somewhat hidden among the shrubbery or behind tree trunks – hopefully any potential attackers would never see them. Only Bilbo and his self-appointed caretakers remained in the center of the clearing, but Thorin knew no enemy would get to them without having to kill every other member of the company first. Also, Kili remained with the small group, bow resting ready on his lap.

Then, abruptly, he noted a movement in the darkness.

Thorin stiffened. Saw Dwalin gesture from the corner of his eye. On the clearing, Kili raised his bow and silently readied an arrow. And then, for a moment, the wind fell silent and they all could hear rustling and approaching footsteps.

Grunts.

Two, signaled Nori from across the clearing. Thorin nodded – and glanced over to Gloin. The footsteps were closest to him – Gloin exchanged looks with Kili, and then Thorin held his breath.

"Oi, what's …" said the first goblin, having seen the small group in the clearing.

He never completed the sentence as an arrow pierced his throat. His companion did not get to scream either - Gloin's axe decapitated him precisely and silently. Both bodies hit the ground with a soft thud, and then the breeze picked up again.

For a moment they all remained frozen – but no other footsteps came, no screams were heard, so Thorin dared to take a careful breath. The forest, he noted to himself, was still suspiciously silent.

He wasn't the only one to notice.

"There'll be others," whispered Bofur.

Fili nodded. "I'll scout."

Thorin wanted to stop him. Goblins had an advantage in the dark – and he didn't want his nephew exposed to such an uncalculated risk. Especially when he could tell there were more goblins out there.

Instead he silenced his aching heart and nodded.

Bilbo awoke because his chest was burning.

Somebody was dabbing the injuries with a liquid, and it set fire to his nerves, when all he wanted was to sink back into the comfortable darkness. He swatted at the hands, only to have his own hand enveloped in two larger ones. Blearily he forced his eyes to open, to find Gandalf staring down at him concernedly.

"Gan ... dalf," he muttered – forming the sounds was unusually difficult.

The wizard managed a fond smile, and Bilbo noticed movement behind him. Oin was holding up a blood-soaked cloth, while Balin looked into another direction entirely. Around them the clearing was completely, unnaturally silent.

"What?" asked Bilbo and attempted to sit up, even though his body ached everywhere and his head was spinning.

"Sssh, stay down," whispered Gandalf.

Then abruptly a fierce burning exploded in the center of his chest, and Bilbo's pressed his eyes shut, hissed , and would have rolled into a ball hadn't somebody been sitting on his legs.

When he blinked the tears away, Balin looked down on him, too. "That was the last bit, Mr. Baggins," the older dwarf announced, "We will just rewrap this, and then we are done."

Bilbo could only nod, the pain still pulsing through his body in time with his heartbeat.

On some silent gesture he found the upper part of his body being lifted up, and somebody was wrapping fabric around his torso. His breath kept hitching – breathing hurt like this, and he couldn't get his lungs filled properly – and then he was lying down again, black spots dancing in front of his eyes and somehow he heard Fili whisper "… at least twice that many."

"Be ready," Thorin replied, and the tension in his voice had Bilbo fight back to consciousness.

This time he noticed Gandalf had his sword next to him – unsheathed, the silver shining on the grass. Oin stood, nodded at them, and silently disappeared out of Bilbo's limited field of vision.

His heart began pounding faster – what was happening, why had the world turned so silent, where was everybody and why couldn't he move? Carefully he reached out and tugged on Gandalf's sleeve – the wizard still had one hand on Bilbo's shoulder, but before the wizard could look at him, there was the clear sound of metal hitting flesh.

Followed by two thuds – a body and its head hitting the ground shortly after each other.

The sound of rustling leaves returned, even though Bilbo felt no wind. "Dwalin!" somebody hissed, and there were more thuds. Bilbo trembled – all he could see were the outlines of trees against a clear, star-studded sky – and never the stars had made him feel so cold.

Footsteps, rustling, thuds – all subdued, but so unendingly loud when the only other noise was the rushing of blood in his own ears. Until there was the clear ring of metal against metal – Balin cursed, pushed to his feet, and Bilbo for the first time caught sight of a small sword in his hand.

"Gandalf?" he tried again and fear made his voice squeak.

The wizard glanced down. Though his expression was probably meant to be reassuring, Bilbo could see the worry in his eyes.

"Don't worry," said Gandalf, "Try to sleep, if you can."

"Sleep?" Bilbo repeated incredulous, momentarily forgetting the pain running through his entire being.

Gandalf swallowed guiltily. "Or just rest – no harm will come to you, my dear hobbit, and you will have to endure a little longer still when morning comes."

Dimly Bilbo recalled talk of an acquaintance, but it did little to distract his mind from the fight undeniably raging around him. He turned his neck to catch a glimpse – and what he saw made his blood run cold.

From his skewered perspective the world was a mixture of gigantic blades of grass, and in between he spied movement, all oddly silent. Three dwarves were cutting down malformed creatures – goblins, his sluggish brain suggested belatedly, left and right. He spied a batch of blond hair, so one of them had to be Fili, yet his vision was too blurred to clearly discern anybody else.

Then a breeze came up, the grass blades moved and obscured all from view.

With a groan Bilbo turned his head around, only to find Gandalf staring over his shoulder with a worried frown on his face. The sound of fighting was closer on that side, too, and Gandalf's hand was already resting on Glamdring's hilt.

"Go," Bilbo whispered – because the dwarves would need his help. And because Bilbo could probably pass for a piece of luggage, immobile as he was, wrapped in furs and blankets.

Gandalf pursed his lips.

"Go, they need you," said Bilbo. More than I do, he added in his mind.

Another ring of metal against metal, now joined by a curse. Gandalf's frown turned unhappy. "It would hardly be proper to leave you now."

"I'll just stay still and play dead," said Bilbo in return, "Just … you're needed there, not here."

From Gandalf's expression he could tell he was correct. Then there was a pained, choked outcry, and Gandalf pushed himself up.

"Very well, but make no move," he insisted, and then laid down a familiar item next to Bilbo. The small blade glinted in the starlight. "A last resort, only. I hope you don't have to use it."

And for a moment both of them recalled a day not too long ago when Gandalf had handed Bilbo the same sword with the words "I hope you never have to" – it felt like this had been another lifetime, as since then Bilbo had used the blade more often than he cared to remember.

He managed a nod.

Gandalf sighed. "I'm sorry."

And then he disappeared from view.

tbc

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