Bilbo truly, truly, wished that he could go back to Beorn's. He'd even put up with being called 'bunny' and willingly forget that he'd had any other name if it got him out of this forsaken forest. This place wasn't natural at all, for all that it had trees growing in it, and simply walking into it, for a creature of Yavanna, felt like being wrapped under layers of suffocating wet burlap. Even their wizard had left them without his presence in this nightmarish place, to stumble through it on their own. A bump at his shoulder pulled Bilbo out of his spiraling thoughts and he looked over at Ori with a gasp.
"Can you feel it more than we can, Master Baggins?" Ori quietly asked as they walked along the gloomy trail through the aptly named Mirkwood. A week of slow walking, as slow was all that they could manage through the forest's perpetual twilight and overgrowth, had worn on them all and sullen dwarves huddled into their cloaks, shoulders hunched instinctively against the air's sinister feel. Even Thorin's odd habit of calling Bilbo forward to walk with him and Dwalin, or him and Balin, had loosened in the pervading murk.
Bilbo swallowed a couple of times to wet his mouth enough to talk as rationing had left him feeling parched. "Oh yes," he couldn't help but whisper as his eyes darted up into the ruined canopy, "we were made to feel the growing things, the sun and the wind, and this place is the most profane perversion of that." He had Ori's complete attention, and the dwarf was polite enough not to interrupt with questions. "The trees grow, but they're twisted things which turn towards shadow and away from the light. The very air is foul like a poison, and there is no breath of wind to stir it. Nothing good grows here, nothing of Yavanna's glory," Bilbo shivered and hunched in on himself. Ori gently leaned against him as they walked and shared his warmth, and more importantly, shared the comfort of his presence.
"I can't feel all that," Ori started, "but I can feel the ground and stone. My feet tell me that there's no life under us, nothing whispering to be discovered, and the stones are tortured things who have no voices left to speak with. Their silence makes me want to cry," Ori admitted with his own whisper, as if ashamed of his response.
As silence fell again, Bilbo gently bumped Ori's shoulder to offer comfort and got a tiny smile in return. That night, rather than sleep near the outskirts of the group as was his habit, Bilbo took a chance and set up his bedroll between Bofur and Dori's family clusters. He got a welcoming pat on the shoulder from Bifur, who noticed him first, received an approving nod from Nori, and felt something tight in his chest unclench. He hadn't been certain that his friends would all wish to remain openly friendly, especially in this dark place, and had been keeping his distance to not stretch the tenuous ties of friendship lest they broke. It seemed, though, that his heart had chosen well and those who carried his gems may just be true friends after all. Bilbo relished the warmth of friendship and the feeling of one less burden pressing on his battered spirit.
Perplexingly, Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin also decided to bed down nearby instead of with their normal group. Bilbo gave them a confused smile of welcome and turned his attention back to his thin soup. Dwarves were confusing on the best of days, and right now he just didn't have the energy to spare in figuring them out.
Four days later even Ori's gentle shoulder bumps couldn't lift Bilbo's spirits enough to garner a smile. He felt the forest's vile darkness press down on him like a terrible weight, a depression which dulled the spark of his mind and shredded his earth sense. He trod along in the middle of the pack of dwarves in a fog.
"Master Baggins?" Ori's voice dragged Bilbo out of his own head, and sounded like he'd been calling Bilbo's name for quite some time.
"Yes, Master Ori?" he managed to mumble through a jaw stiff from being clenched tight against his misery.
"Oh, you don't… please just use my name?" Ori stammered. "Master's for dwarves like Dori, and I'm not that old yet."
It took Bilbo a few minutes of walking before the tiny joke sunk in and he gave a tiny chuckle.
Ori brightened as his plan met with success. "There now, that's better!" he cheered and Bilbo made an effort to be more aware.
As he looked up to take notice of more than just his feet trudging over the overgrown path, he caught Bombur moving back from his side and a flash of light hair brought his attention forward to catch Thorin turn forward as Fíli wove through the dwarves to walk by his uncle's side. Bilbo breathed deeply to push aside the urge to cry as their actions caught up to him- he hadn't been paying any attention to where he'd been walking, but his friends had gathered around to make sure that he never stumbled or strayed off the path. The emotions in his chest beat back the dead feeling from his earth sense and warmed him.
"I wanted to thank you for what you've done for Nori," Ori whispered to Bilbo once the other dwarves had moved back to their normal walking distance. "Too many judge without bothering to get to know my brother, and your friendship truly touched him. He won't say it himself, but both Dori and I appreciate your generous heart."
"Nori's a good dwarf, even if he has a few 'odd habits'," Bilbo reassured the young dwarf, and meant every word. He'd already overheard talk that Nori was a thief, a scoundrel, but he had been nothing less than generous to Bilbo during the journey and he couldn't judge another based solely on rumor.
Ori was quick to rebut Bilbo's beliefs. "Oh, but he's not actually a thief, he's…" he started to say, then cut himself off in a hurry and jammed his hand over his mouth, eyes wide at the near slip. Ori uncovered his mouth after a second and apologized to Bilbo, that what he nearly said was a secret that wasn't his to say.
Understanding of secrets was certainly something that Bilbo was a master at. "It's quite alright, Ori, no harm done. I already think well of your brother no matter what he does so it doesn't change a thing really," he hastened to reassure, and searched for a change of subject. "What kind of ink do you use? I've noticed that its scent is different from what I'm used to using, myself," Bilbo finally hit upon a topic which lit up Ori's eyes and started a torrent of words spilling out.
Hours later, he had been fully educated on the manufacture, upkeep, variations, and foibles of dwarven ink. It was nothing like the inks which hobbits preferred, being made from iron salts, and it was one of the reasons why Ori was included in the company. Their ink, when left on the preciously expensive processed paper for very long periods without care, would actually eat the paper under the letters; the ink itself would fade to a rusty brown as well. Ori's main job, aside from documenting their trials along the journey, would be in Erebor's grand library itself- he was to locate and begin restoration of the mountain's treaties with the other dwarven kingdoms as well as all of the signed allegiance scrolls. If they were to call for aid from their brethren, those treaties and scrolls would be their only proof of what Erebor was owed. Ori had alluded to a treaty which the elves broke, but refused to elaborate and instead begged Bilbo to ask Thorin about it instead.
In return for Ori's information, and indeed giving in to the dwarf's pleading eyes, Bilbo shared with the scribe what he knew about Shire inks. Hobbits preferred ink made with soot and animal glue as it never faded or destroyed anything it was written on. The high quality paper was saved for important documents, but Bilbo regularly used a yellow, low quality, paper for his personal correspondence; the ink worked perfectly well on the paper, and one only had to mind not to smudge the writing when it was damp out as the ink didn't truly 'dry' out. He also informed Ori that their printing presses, for books, used a different mixture altogether, but that it was a closely guarded printers' secret and no one knew what the formula was. By the time they finished their engrossing discussion, hours passed unmarked and camp was being struck for the night.
That night Bilbo felt better than he had in far too many nights and looked for a chance to pull Thorin aside to give him his gem. He tried to catch the dwarf as Bombur was making dinner, but Fíli and Kíli insisted on giving their report on the trail ahead. After dinner he tried again but was thwarted when Dwalin insisted on sitting first watch with Thorin and Bilbo was gently shooed back to his bedroll with the admonition that he appeared far too tired to stay up half the night. He gave in as gracefully as possible.
Curled up with his blanked around him, this time tucked between Bofur and Kíli, Bilbo let the warm emotions kindle themselves in his heart and caught the tear which they produced. He knew it was for Ori, for the youngest dwarf who managed to be so wise and compassionate as to reach out to draw a miserable hobbit from his suffering. Bilbo held the gem low so that no one else could see it and examined the small round miracle by the fire's light. It didn't glimmer, sparkle, or shine, at least until the light hit it just right. As a bit of flame flared higher, Bilbo was amazed to see the gem nearly glow from within with a beautifully deep color. It was a color he knew well- his mother used to paint, loved walking half the day to find just the perfect meadow or stream to serve as her subject, and Bilbo had particularly enjoyed one of the shades of blue that she used to mix. Belladonna had explained that it was called Prussian, Prussian blue, and this glowing gem could have been a drop of that same exact paint.
He tucked the gem into his pouch and settled it on his chest, against his heart, as he let the happy memories of painting with his mother soothe him to sleep. It was the best night's sleep that he had yet in this dark place.
Morning saw Bilbo and Ori sent back along yesterday's trail to pick up deadwood for the morning's fire as Thorin granted them a very rare warm breakfast. Not looking twice at the unexpected gift, both scurried down the dusky trail to fill their arms with twigs and sticks.
Bilbo took the chance to carefully watch, and once they were out of sight of the company, he pulled Ori to a stop. "Ori, I wanted to give something to you in the traditions of my people as a sign of our friendship, and ask you to call me by my name if you would," he explained as his fingers followed the now-familiar actions of digging out his gem pouch and pulling out the appropriate gem.
Ori quickly placed his armload of wood on the trail to free his hands and accepted the tiny gem. There was just enough light even in the dim Mirkwood to make it glow in Ori's gloved hand. "That's so beautiful," he breathed, "what kind of stone is it?"
"It's just a gem that's found in the Shire. We give them to our friends, but they're meant to be kept between hobbits, so they're a bit of a secret," he warned Ori, not quite sure why he said that last part. It could have been because he already told others that it was a secret or possibly because Ori knew the burden of keeping secrets and would understand.
Either way, it drew the dwarf's eyes away from the gem to scrutinize Bilbo. His hand curled protectively over the gem even as he spoke. "I don't think that's quite right Ma- Bilbo," he boldly stated. "I think there's quite a bit more to it than that, and I don't mind you not telling me, but please don't call this 'just a gem'. We can sense stone, and gems are another kind of stone even if they're very pretty. This gem doesn't feel like a stone- it feels special." Ori breathed the word reverently as he opened his fingers to look upon the gem again.
The obvious care and admiration shown to his gem made the breath catch in Bilbo's throat. Hobbits typically didn't treat friendship gems with this much care as they were simple gems to make and everyone made loads to exchange with their friends. They were special to Bilbo, however, as before the dwarves came he hadn't had a friend since he'd barely become an adult. Every tear now was a minor miracle. "No, you're perfectly correct, it is more than that. It's just not something that I can talk about," Bilbo confirmed an apologized.
"All the same, I'm honored to be gifted with one, and even more honored that you call me friend Bilbo." Ori stepped forward to quickly give him a hug and then backed away with a light blush at his impetuous action. He quickly pulled off one of his forearm-covering mittens to reveal a leather bracelet; the bracelet turned out to be a clever hiding spot which covered a small iron tube which Ori slipped the gem into. The tube was then stoppered, the bracelet strapped back into place, and the mitten tugged over it all to hide everything from sight once again.
Bilbo couldn't stop himself this time. "Why such an elaborate hiding place?" he asked.
To his credit, Ori didn't fuss at the slightly rude question or even pause before answering. "Dori made it for me. He said that when they were wandering from Erebor, the only way that they could keep anything valuable was if it was hidden on their bodies out of sight. Gear could be lost, and thieves could steal from packs, but nothing could be taken from the body without the owner's knowledge," he explained.
"Oh, that really does make sense; especially with this mess of a journey, where we've already lost most of our packs."
Ori nodded and grimaced at the thought of how those packs had been lost. "I definitely see the value of it now, but don't you go telling him that. I'll never hear the end of it!"
They shared a small laugh and gathered the firewood, aware that they'd been gone more than long enough already and that others would seek them if they tarried longer. Still, the brief encounter left Bilbo's spirit lighter and he felt better able to face the day. Perhaps passing on a gift from Yavanna had brought a bit of her grace to shine upon the desolate forest.
Bilbo couldn't know it, but their luck was soon to turn far more sour and the darkness would close in to swallow them all. Even the elves, beings of light, were effected by the evil in their forest and proved to be cruel hosts. After giant spiders, Bilbo truly didn't have the energy to figure out how to deal with a dark-hearted Elvenking, or how to cope with thirteen dwarves locked in an elven dungeon, but it didn't appear that he had much choice in the matter.
