A/N: Hello, all! I'm very sorry for the long wait for this; it's been a crazy year for me (writing my thesis, family and friend emergencies, health issues) and I'm very excited to get back to this story properly. As I was writing Chapter Five, however, I realized that I must have never got around to posting Chapter Four over here! D: Gah! I'm so sorry about that - I really am atrocious with FF dot net, just like I promised. Posting this now, and hopefully Chapter Five will follow fairly shortly.

If you want a more reliable way of contacting me - I noticed a few messages on this account that I never replied to because I hadn't logged in for months - you can find me under the same username on AO3 and tumblr. Again, my apologies for the long wait - and I hope you enjoy.


His hair still damp and his skin scrubbed cleaner than it had been since Rivendell, Thorin arrived back at Beorn's hall in the late afternoon with his back uncomfortably straight and a churning tension in his stomach. He was prepared for discomfort between himself and Bilbo, or at the very least some kind of acknowledgement of their confrontation.

It never came. Tucked away in a corner with a small pile of very large books on the ground next to him, Bilbo glanced up as soon as Thorin entered the hall. He had a battered, oversized book propped up in front of him; it was leather-bound, with The Geography and History of Esgaroth embossed in faded common tongue letters across the cover. Thorin held his breath – but Bilbo just smiled at him, small and sheepish, from across the room. For a long moment, Thorin hesitated.

Eventually he gave a quick nod in response, turned on his heel, and hasted away to talk to Balin about grain supplies for their journey.

Even if Thorin lived another hundred years, he did not think he would ever understand halflings. They were ridiculous little creatures, he decided, getting upset when there was no good reason and seeming perfectly content when they should have been upset. There was no point in trying to talk sense into them. It was altogether less confusing to sit with Balin and Dwalin, preparing heavy sacks of wheat and barley and conversing lightly about the road ahead of them.

When his mind began to drift, it occurred to him to wonder if this was something Bilbo might want once they reclaimed the mountain. An endless room full of shelves and shelves of books, all of them tucked away and private and for him Bilbo alone to enjoy. Books with gold embossing and jewels encrusted into their spines; books that were so rare and fragile they would enough gold to buy the entire Shire. Books with delicate pages and ancient illustrations, crinkled scrolls wrapped in silver-tipped cord and original manuscripts older than Erebor itself – and all of them gathered together in the simple hope that maybe – maybe – Bilbo would deign to read them one day. Khuzdul and common tongue alike, all laid out for Bilbo's taking.

Thorin wondered exactly how many books Beorn had that were written in the common tongue, and how long Bilbo might be entertained by them before he lost interest and moved on to the Elvish texts.

After about half an hour of silent agonizing, Thorin stood without a word and stomped off in search of Ori. He found him curled up in an overlarge chair, a knitted blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he scratched out letters into some kind of journal, and brusquely asked him to begin Bilbo's lessons in khuzdul before the night was over. Better to start Bilbo early than to let him go bored, Thorin decided with satisfaction, nodding curtly when Ori stammered out an affirmative before marching back purposefully to the storage house.

"Everything all right, laddie?" asked Balin wryly, raising his white eyebrows and levelling Thorin with a look just edging on unconcealed mockery.

"Quite," Thorin replied immediately, settling back into his task with a smug smile and rather more enthusiasm than before.


The night before they departed from Beorn's hall, Kili and Fili came to the conclusion that it was high time to put Bilbo's fledgling sword fighting skills on proper display. There was no announcement of this decision, no planned time or place. In fact, those of them spending the afternoon resting in the dining hall only found out about it on account of the way Dori came bursting through the side entrance in a flurry of excitement and gesticulating hands.

"Mister Bilbo and the lads are duelling!" he squeaked, his eyes shining bright and his thinly-braided beard swinging around in excitement.

For a single horrible moment it felt as though Thorin's heart had stopped in his chest – before the eager woops of anticipation rang out around him and his mind moved from thoughtless panic into the most rational reason for such a duel.

"A display!" roared Dwalin, seeming to echo Thorin's inner thoughts out loud. He shoved his plate of cheese and bread aside, feet hitting the ground with a loud thump as he stood. "About time!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," said Gandalf, but the twinkle in his eyes and the reluctant smile twitching in his beard hinted at a very different sentiment. For once, Thorin knew how he felt. Exhilaration and trepidation and fierce protectiveness seemed to burst and crackle in his chest as he imagined Bilbo actually fighting, using his little sword to protect himself and fend off an attacker.

It didn't matter that it was only for the sake of instruction, and the others were all starved for entertainment. It only took a few moments before all of them – even Gandalf – were hastily following Dori out the door.

After only a few minutes of darting through Beorn's garden it became apparent exactly where the mock-duel was taking place. Dori led them toward the edge of Beorn's lands, heading towards the stream where many of them had washed their clothes over the past few days. The rest of the company were already gathered together, and their shouts of encouragement became louder and louder as Thorin grew nearer.

Once they crested the hill, Thorin could finally see them. Bilbo and Kili were circling one another in a large swathe of pebbled ground alongside the great stream, swords drawn but not actually duelling yet. The rest of the company was gathered on a cluster of smooth rocks and stones that served as makeshift seating. Fili was perched cross-legged on a large boulder only a few feet from where Bilbo and his brother circled one another, watching them with calm eyes and an instructor's attention.

They joined the rest of the company quickly enough, all of them squishing together to watch the lesson in action. Gandalf seemed content to stand, leaning on his staff and observing everything with some combination of amusement and deadly seriousness. A few of the dwarves moves off of a larger rock near the front and Thorin took the seat without question, his eyes fixed on his nephew and his hobbit circling one another like hawks. The noise was like a physical presence all around him, the dozen of them making enough noise twice their numbers as they shouted and stomped in anticipation.

Apparently, Kili had noticed when the rest of the company had arrived to watch. He shot Thorin a roguish grin, taking his eyes off Bilbo for only a second before turning back and steeling himself for the fight to begin.

Thorin stared, allowing his eyes to roam over Bilbo unashamedly. He took in Bilbo's grip on the elven sword, the straightness of his back, the way he seemed to be completely deaf to any of the cajoling comments from the crowd. He had stripped off his waistcoat and jacket, and was wearing his light linen shirt with a leather tunic that Ori – one of the smallest of the company – had lent him to wear overtop in order to at least provide some protection against injury. Thorin remembered that they had attempted to lend him a pair of leather gloves, too, but that every pair the company owned had slipped right off his fingers.

"Come on, Bilbo!" Kili called out merrily, his broadsword still raised and ready in front of him. He gave it an goading swipe through the air. There was an eager smile on his face, and his loose dark hair had been pulled back and tied with a leather cord. He resettled his feet, eyes locked on Bilbo. "Charge at me."

"I'd really rather not," Bilbo called back, but the comment seemed to be more of a wry jest than a serious protest. Everyone laughed, but Thorin just leaned in closer. Even as the two of them circled one another, Bilbo seemed to be making a conscious effort to correct his own sword grip without ever taking his eyes off his opponent.

"Aim for his sides!" Gloin bellowed from the sidelines, making a violent slashing gesture with both hands. "You won't be able to get 'im in the neck, burglar, you're too tiny. The sides!"

"Are you mad?" asked Nori in horror, giving Gloin a horrible side-eye. "The si – no. No, Bilbo, catch him off guard and get him in the back, they never see that coming."

"Where did either of you learn how to wield a sword?" asked Balin in disdain, shaking his head with a long-suffering air that only the very old and very wise could truly muster. "Go for the heart, laddie!"

"Remember your stance," Fili called out from the sidelines, his voice kind but firm. Bilbo gave an infinitesimal nod, and it seemed to Thorin that Bilbo had very wisely chosen to focus on his and Kili's voices only. "Move your feet, too; your enemy will not stay in one place, so why should you?"

Bilbo nodded again, still not taking his eyes off Kili in front of him, and Thorin – who was seated at the very front of the group, and had thus far been the only one among them to remain silent – felt something close to pride flicker in his chest.

A few beads of sweat were beading along Bilbo's forehead from the heat, and Thorin hesitated before allowing his gaze to trail down over the curve of his neck. With the sleeves of his linen undershirt rolled up and the laces of the leather jerkin slightly undone, Bilbo was edging on outright obscene. He bit his lip and gave his head a little shake to the thought away.

"The shins!" screamed Ori, working himself up into an excited mess and simultaneously startling Thorin out of his reverie. "Slash him in the shins!"

"The sins?" asked Oin in puzzlement. He jabbed a finger into his ear and twisted it around, looking confused but still in good spirits.

"Whatever you do, Bilbo, stab that ridiculous smile off his face," said Bofur easily, lounging back against the rocks with a contented air about him. "I'm getting hungry, I am."

"No one is stabbing anyone until he actually charges me," said Kili, turning ever-so-slightly to shoot a grin at the group on the rocks – and in that tiny moment of distraction, Bilbo darted forward.

Bilbo moved quickly, swinging his little sword in an upward arc, making the best of the small opening in a way that made Thorin want to bellow with delight. Kili flinched, clearly thrown off guard by his pupil's surprise attack, but not enough to make him fumble his defence. He raised his broadsword in plenty of time to catch the Bilbo's blade, the clang of metal against metal reverberating harshly in the air. Around Thorin, the other dwarves cheered and hollered noisily as Kili responded with a counterstroke. The two of them weren't moving at full speed – Bilbo wasn't quite ready for that yet, and Kili was still leading their fights at a reduced tempo – but they moved quickly enough to give the entire affair tension.

Kili was laughing and grinning as he swung, clearly both enjoying himself and pleasantly surprised at the unexpected charge. Bilbo's dodges and parries were good, Thorin noted, but the moments where his and Kili's blades clashed revealed Bilbo's inferior strength.

"We dwarves know well that our size can be seen as a detriment in battle," Fili lectured from his vantage point, speaking loudly to be heard over the sound of sword against sword and carefully watching Bilbo's every move. "Because of our stature, there is sometimes the assumption that we cannot hold our own. This is untrue."

Abruptly, Kili's broadsword crashed against Bilbo's blade with enough force to send him stumbling back a few paces with a cry of surprise. Around him, the rest of the dwarves let out a loud groan. Thorin tensed, but Bilbo recovered – not quickly enough, however, to defend himself very well against Kili's renewed onslaught.

"Dwarves are strong despite our size!" Fili called, meriting the most unimpressed look that Bilbo seemed to be able to muster while being enthusiastically attacked by a dwarf. "We're hard and compact, and can take down enemies twice our size through brute force alone."

"Yes – yes, I am very aware of that, thank you," Bilbo grunted tersely, not taking his eyes off Kili but almost stumbling nonetheless.

Fili raised an eyebrow, leaning forward and leaning on interlaced fingers as he watched his brother and friend fight. "He's bigger than you, he's stronger than you. Think, Bilbo! How can you defeat him?"

Kili had Bilbo on the retreat, now, attacking him with a variety of quick jabs and swipes with enough force behind them that Bilbo's arms seemed to shake with the effort of keeping his sword up. It almost looked as though the fight was going to be over very soon, and Thorin winced and instinctively fingered Orcrist's hilt as Bilbo let out a cry of pain as he half-stumbled back. Fili would call the fight soon, Thorin decided, his gaze never wavering.

All at once, however, Bilbo seemed to experience some kind of revelation. He tensed for one long, heart-wrenching moment – before countering Kili with a hard and fast swing to the left. But as Kili moved to instinctively counter it, Thorin realized that Bilbo's attack had been nothing more than a feign: as soon as Kili's attention was diverted, Bilbo changed course. He darted right, flinging himself to the rocky ground only to squeeze through the space between Kili's legs, quickly get to his feet, and attack afresh from the other side. The dwarves were screaming with delight now, and Kili seemed caught off guard for a good few moments before he spun around and just barely managed to catch Bilbo's stroke.

"Yes!" Fili roared, thrusting his fist in the air in victory. "Speed! You're faster than any of us, Bilbo, and lighter on your feet to boot. You can out-maneuver almost any enemy you meet."

"Get 'im, burglar!" Dwalin roared, clapping his brother on the shoulder.

"Lovely job, Bilbo!" hollered Bofur happily.

The fight ended only a minute or two later with Bilbo sprawled on his back on the ground and Kili's blade mock-pushed against his neck. Everyone clapped and whooped despite the loss, and even though Bilbo had failed to match a few of Kili's attacks near the end everyone seemed to consider the lesson a marvellous success.

Far from being disappointed at the loss, Bilbo laughed happily when Kili took his hand and easily tugged him to his feet, allowing Kili to pull him into a quick brotherly embrace once they were both standing. Fili jumped down from his rock and joined them quickly enough, congratulating them both loudly on a wonderful practice match.

Thorin didn't move as everyone rushed to stand around him, feeling very much as though his heart was caught in his throat. The other dwarves were moving in to congratulate Bilbo and Kili, all chattering and acting out the most exciting parts, but all of it seemed to be nothing but white noise in Thorin's ears.

Bilbo's curls were slick with sweat and he was panting heavily, sword arm shaking and a look of utter joy on his face. His face was blotchy and red with exertion, and his knuckles and forearms seemed to be boasting several new scratches and scuffs. There was a ragged tear in his linen shirt that had once been so fine and proper, and his face seemed smooth and young with happiness. His eyes crinkled at the edges, and he looked as though he was shaking from the rush of it all.

Thorin didn't think he'd ever seen anything more lovely in his life.

He felt his body standing seemingly without his permission, heading over to where Bilbo stood next to his nephews wearing a grin so bright it seemed to light up the world.

"You fought well," Thorin murmured once he was only a foot or so away, his voice soft but clear, and Bilbo startled visibly at his voice. He turned and looked up at Thorin in surprise, eyes wide but very pleased, and Thorin reached forward to give his shoulder a firm squeeze. "You were quite a sight to see."

Bilbo glanced at Thorin's hand on his shoulder, paused – before laughing with either the after-shakes or exhaustion, relaxing into the touch. "Thank you," he said, and it was as though there had never been any tension between them. He reached up to rub some of the sweat from his eyes. "It was – quite, yes. I mean..." He paused for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words, before giving a breathy laugh. "I haven't felt that way before, really. Like I almost knew what I was doing during a fight. It was... rather nice, I think."

Thorin smiled, remembering the first time he felt that way during his own weapons lessons with Balin as a young man. He could feel the connection between them, then, with Bilbo beaming up at him with sweat dripping down his face and his sword still clutched in his hand. It almost felt like a palpable entity, the energy buzzing between them. Despite their different lives, this was something they shared that could not so easily be taken away.

His nephews were gone; they had likely wandered off to be congratulated by the amassed dwarves on their excellent teaching techniques. The sound of everyone's excited chattering was nothing but noise in Thorin's ears.

"Are you hurt?" asked Thorin, gesturing to Bilbo's hands. For a moment, Bilbo blinked uncomprehendingly at him – before raising his hands to his eyes to examine them for himself.

"Oh," he said quietly, seeming surprised at the little nicks and abrasions his fingers and knuckles. "Oh, they should be fine. I'll give them a clean and rub a salve on them tonight." He giggled, sounding slightly euphoric. "Still learning, still getting nicks and scrapes."

Smiling, Thorin opened his mouth – the words you will be quite a capable swordsman one day, my nephews assure me on the tip of his tongue – before a brown blur rushed past him and charged right into Bilbo head-on.

"Well done!" Bofur roared, plucking Bilbo easily off the ground and spinning him around in a little half circle. Bilbo squawked in outrage, smacking Bofur uselessly on the back, laughing and yelling before the two of them tumbled to the ground in a flurry of laughter and flailing limbs.

Dwalin sent him a look and Thorin looked away quickly, trying to cling to the elation and pride that had been singing in his chest a few moments before. Something painful twinged in his chest, but at least this time it did not feel debilitating in its hurt.

One day, he thought determinedly, wrenching his eyes away to congratulate Kili and Fili on their excellent instruction. One day I will give everything I can to you, too.


They left Beorn's hall the next morning, packs laden to the brim with supplies and their clothes scrubbed cleaner than they'd been in many a week. Unlike their flight from Rivendell, however, it was an amicable parting. Beorn accompanied them until they reached the great wooden gates that surrounded his lands, at which point he and Thorin exchanged a formal farewell. Thorin's thanks for allowing them to stay in his home were heartfelt and real, and when Beorn kneeled down to give him a pat on the shoulder that nearly sent Thorin tumbling to the ground it was obvious that his whiskery smile was genuine.

The opportunity to rest properly had done the entire company good. Well-slept and properly fed for the first time in months, the prospect of Mirkwood did not seem nearly as daunting as it had a few days ago. The sun shone brightly in the mid-morning sky as they walked away from Beorn's hall, all of them chatting and laughing amongst themselves. Even Thorin, who felt the heavy weight of uncertainty over the prospect of their long journey through Mirkwood, could not help but feel that today was a day of new beginnings.

Gandalf's departure several hours later, however, came as a somewhat more jarring and unpleasant turn of events.

"You're leaving?" asked Kili in disbelief, staring at Gandalf as though he had grown a second head. Bombur looked dumbstruck and Dwalin looked furious, and all at once the quiet cheer of the morning was gone as though it had never existed. Fili put a hand on his brother's arm, but he too stared pointedly at Gandalf as though expecting an explanation. A few feet away, Bilbo opened his mouth as if to say something – before closing it quickly again, looking pointedly away from Gandalf with some kind of emotion burning strong and hot in his eyes.

Pulling himself up to his full height, Kili looked half outraged and half extremely young. For a moment all Thorin could think about was the child he used to be; how shocked and outraged Kili had always been whenever something struck him as being unfair. "You're supposed to be helping us reclaim our home!"

Thorin closed his eyes for a long moment, mentally chastising himself for not anticipating this turn of events. They had all grown overly comfortable at Beorn's hall, allowing the urgency of their situation to slip from their minds. When Thorin opened his eyes, Gandalf had a few of his knobbly fingers pressed against his temple as though overwhelmed with their collective idiocy.

"I have promised to help you reclaim your home, Master Kili, and you can rest assured that I fully intend to do so," said Gandalf, the words somehow brusque and apologetic all at once. "But all of you have forgotten that the quest for Erebor is no longer our only concern."

"The Necromancer," said Thorin, voice low and serious, and Gandalf looked at him in sharp surprise. The novelty of Thorin actually agreeing with him instead of blistering with impotent anger seemed to fade away quickly, though, and after a moment he nodded.

"There is a great evil rising," said Gandalf quietly, his eyes growing distant and ever more troubled. Thorin could not help but feel that this Gandalf was somehow profoundly different from the gruff and whimsical old man who had shared their table in Hobbiton all those months ago. This was a warier Gandalf; one who was decidedly more worn around the edges. "I can feel it. I must do some investigating and inquiring of my own." He smiled, but there did not seem to be any joy in it at all. "Otherwise Erebor might not be the only home we have to reclaim."

Thorin nodded solemnly, his composure only wavering briefly when he glanced over at Bilbo and met his gaze. Bilbo's eyes were worried, yes – but there was also a firm resolve there that made Thorin shiver to behold it. It was a small thing, but it nonetheless sent a hot shiver up his spine.

Letting out a sigh, Gandalf looked over the group of them one last time. He seemed fond and apprehensive and determined all at once, and Thorin noticed that he shared a long look with Bilbo that almost looked apologetic. Thorin wanted to assure him that he had nothing to worry about; that he would keep Bilbo safe at any cost, that even if Thorin and all the company fell for the sake of this quest he would spend his last moments making sure that Bilbo kept on breathing.

There was no way to say any of that out loud, however, so Thorin merely nodded in hardened understanding when Gandalf's gaze met his own.

And then, without any real words of farewell, Gandalf was turning around in a flurry of grey robes and marching determinedly across a great grassy field.

"Stay on the path!" he called back to them, not bothering to pause or turn around as he spoke. "And don't get yourselves killed before I can make my way back to you!"

He disappeared into the trees a moment later, the company staring at the spot where he vanished without speaking. After a few long moments Thorin ushered them on, dragging his own eyes away and shouting at them to get a move on before they lost the day's light. He pointedly placed a hand on the small of Bilbo's back and guided him forcefully forward when the hobbit seemed inclined to linger, ignoring the shiver of sadness that ran through his small body when Thorin did so.

It would be another two days before they reached the edge of the forest. Thorin led them along, steadfastly not turning around to look back.


In the first few days of their journey into Mirkwood, the trees were spaced widely enough that sunlight continued to filter in through their twisted branches. At night the moon and stars would peek through, glimmering through gnarled bark and dark leaves and making sure they never fell into total darkness. The path was narrow and cramped, but small black squirrels scurried along the undergrowth and provided enough fresh meat that none of them felt particularly hard done-by. They sang in the evenings and chatted in the daytime, and Thorin began to suspect that the stories about the endless labyrinth of unbroken darkness and danger had been somewhat exaggerated.

The trees grew closer and closer together as they travelled deeper, and by a week the sky had completely disappeared from above them. Day became as dark as the night, any kind of small game became more and more rare, and the little streams and ponds that had been so common at first seemed to disappear altogether.

Two weeks into Mirkwood and the cobwebs started to appear. Thick, viscous things that stretched between trees, and they had to physically hack through them in order to continue along the path. Crumbling skeletons of small animals and things that once may have been men dangled from them, sometimes rattling when they passed, and low growls and moans began to emanate from the pitch dark of the woods around them. Conversation began to slow, all of them walking in a long line with only the light of a single torch to guide them and camping uncomfortably close together.

Four weeks into Mirkwood and their water supplies began to dwindle. Thorin cursed them all for their stupidity and began rationing drinking water more carefully, all of them limited to a couple of mouthfuls a few times a day. Exhaustion weighed heavily on all their shoulders, mouths dry as a bone and growing weaker and weaker by the day, and it was almost a guilty relief when one of their supply bags went missing in the night. It was hard enough to carry themselves and their weapons, and the grain had been too heavy for most of them to bear.

After days of ruthlessly pushing the thought aside, Thorin began to reluctantly consider the possibility that their journey might end here before they could even try to reclaim their home. That they would all be snuffed out like flickering candles in the dark; that he would die penniless and broken, never even knowing whether they could have won back the mountain. Never even knowing what Bilbo's lips tasted like. He had never thought it would end like this, with Bombur's shirt and coat hanging loosely over his shoulders and Fili barely able to drag both his swords behind him in his exhaustion. They barely spoke at all anymore, and Bilbo was more silent than most. He walked as though in a trance most days, stumbling on his feet with his eyes filmy and deadened to the world.

Thorin made sure to eat and drink less than all of them, pushing ahead with a pale memory of the determination he vaguely remembered having once upon a time when sunlight came from the sky and there was always, always something to eat.

Six weeks into Mirkwood and hunger and thirst were their constant companions, clawing at their insides and making their throats raw. It became harder and harder to hack through the cobwebs. Their energy dried up like a desert, and even false bravado seemed impossible to muster. The darkness seemed to pulse and twist around them, and Thorin reeled and sagged and thought that madness might just take them all before thirst did.

It was only when the path began to disappear entirely and the click-click-click of pincers in the dark reached their ears, however, that the true immediacy of their deaths sank in.