Chapter 7 – A Most Unusual Specimen

AN: Wooohooooo! Two fic updates in one weekend, even though I feel like crap! :D I'm going to do my best to continue this, although AMUS will not be updated for a few weeks. :/ I'll have to work on a history research paper next weekend. Them's the breaks. Ah well, I hope you enjoy this chapter! Not much beard!lovin' but more developement in the relationships!

Disclaimer: Disclaimers listed in the first chapter still apply.


Chapter 7

The rush out of Goblin Town was the most hectic, frightening, and exciting event that had happened to Bilbo yet. Much more exciting than that time as a hobbitling in the Shire when he'd stolen some of his Aunt's cookies straight out of the jar and right under her nose, to be sure. The screeches of the goblins as they clamored after the sprinting party rung in his ears like forks scraping against fine pottery, loud and reedy and painful to hear. They poured over the bridges and pathways like rivers, waving sharpened stones and bones and scrabbling to grab a hold of their escaping captives.

Bilbo was lost in the whirlwind of activity, slashing his sword here and there, letting out a startled cry when a goblin hand grabbed at his ankles or tugged at his arms. He tried to focus on Dwalin's back as they sprinted through, praying he didn't trip over a stray rock or slant of wood, but inevitably he had to focus elsewhere. Up ahead he could see Gandalf leading the company, parting the sea of goblins with the slashing blue light of Glamdring.

Another blue light flashed through the air: Orcrist, slicing through goblins like a hot knife through butter, wielded by the furious and grim faced Thorin Oakenshield. He cut through the ranks falling on them with expert skill, his battle cry sounding from his lips like the roar of a great beast. He moved with the fluidity and ferocity that Bilbo imagined the warrior kings of old would have, and though he barely caught more than a glimpse or two, the hobbit found himself a bit in awe.

Dwalin was no less fierce than Thorin, though he lacked the regal bearing that the dwarf king carried even in battle. The warrior was truly frightening to behold, a bear of a dwarf snarling and slashing with his gleaming axes. He was power in physical form, his brow furrowed and his teeth bared, and Bilbo had never been more thankful to be fighting at his side in the goblins' den.

The fighting continued for quite a long while as they jumped over gaps in the bridges that made Bilbo's heart leap into his throat and sprinted through the darkness. He could hear the rest of the company fighting around him, Bombur and Bofur at his back, Dwalin and Thorin at his front. He wished he could look around, make sure everyone was safe and charging forward, but no time could be spared for that. When Gandalf blasted part of the mountainside off the wall and used it to knock all the goblins off the path ahead, Bilbo saw a light shining from above. The exit!

They reached the bridge leading to the exit when the Goblin king, his jowls shaking and his grin wide, broke through the opposite side of the bridge, blocking their path. He gave a high-pitched gurgle, looking at Gandalf, who stood at the front of the company, with malicious glee.

"And where do you think you're going? Trying to escape?" His voice boomed loudly in the cavern, and he swung his staff at Gandalf threateningly. The wizard dodged and fell back, looking aggravated at the goblin. "This is my kingdom, wizard. It'll take a lot more than your little pig sticker to get past me!"

"We shall see," Gandalf muttered, before quickly slicing through the wobbling chin of the Goblin King, who let out a squeal of pain. The wizard brought his long sword back again, splitting the goblin's large stomach open with ease.

Bilbo felt his dinner boil in his stomach and fought not to vomit. He must have made some sort of song for heard Dwalin's rumble at his back, and the cool kiss of metal knuckledusters grazed his bare wrist. He had a moment to feel comforted when the bridge they were standing on gave a loud groan under the giant goblin's slack weight as he fell forward. Bilbo heard the loud cracks of wood breaking and rope tearing, and suddenly they were all plummeting into the darkness, crying out in alarm.

Bilbo hung on to the rope and wood at his feet, his eyes squeezed shut and his heart hammering madly in his chest. He'd never imagined that he could die this way, by being flattened out like a pancake on the ground in the bottom of a goblins' lair. Goodness, it seemed like this entire journey they'd gone from one life-threatening scenario to another!

The wooden bridge battered against the sides of the cavern before getting caught in the narrowing stone sides. The now battered and broken configuration of wood sagged against the ground, a bit confining but certainly not crushing.

He opened his eyes and saw Gandalf removing himself from under the wood and brushing the dust off his hat. With a groan, Bilbo rolled off the top, sliding down the hard cavern face and wincing at the small bites of pain where the jagged wood scratched at him like needles. He reached the ground just in time to avoid being crushed by the Goblin King's corpse, which fell like a large sack of potatoes on the woodpile.

"Come on, come on," he said quietly, ushering Dori and Ori out from under the wood. They accepted his helping hand with grateful smiles and moved to help the others as well. Bilbo looked around for Dwalin and found him at the bottom of the woodpile, groaning and cursing up a storm.

"Here," he said, moving to pull the wooden planks off the dwarf's back. He winced upon seeing the large, bleeding scratch on Dwalin's head and leaned forward to get a closer look. "Oh dear, that looks pretty bad, Dwalin."

"It'll be fine. Just a scratch, is all," he grunted, getting himself upright and rubbing a hand down his face. He turned a measuring eye to the small hobbit next to him, looking concerned. "What about you? Anything broken?"

"No, I think I'm—"

"Quick!" Gandalf shouted. "We must get out of the mountain. Only daylight can save us now!" He pulled Bofur and Kili from the wreckage and pushed them toward the path, looking with no little amount of panic up at the waves of goblins descending down the cavern's faces.

"Oh dear." Bilbo said rather shocked. He was given a hearty push by Dwalin and turned around to give him an indignant look when Bofur ran to him.

"Come on, you two! Let's go!" the mustached dwarf shouted, grabbing Bilbo's hand and pulling him in the direction Gandalf was running.

"Ah! But—" the hobbit shouted, looking over his shoulder worriedly. He tried tugging against Bofur's hand, wanting to go back and make sure everyone was up on their feet and running as well. He could see Dwalin, where he was pulling Thorin to his feet and giving him a harsh shove in their direction, before they turned a corner.

As they sprinted through the rock tunnel, Bilbo tried to count the dwarves ahead of him. He could see Bombur's lumbering form, oddly agile for his size, as well as Kili's and Fili's heads behind Gandalf at the lead. Bifur was running in front of Bofur and prodding a heavily panting Ori to keep moving. He could hear one of the dwarves panting behind him, though he did not dare turn around and see.

The light in the tunnel was growing brighter and brighter, and soon they could see the afternoon sunlight through a large opening in the wall. Only with their salvation in sight did Bilbo look over his shoulder, and with relief he saw the rest of the company behind him, Dwalin and Thorin at the end of the line.

They broke through the doorway, feeling the sun's warmth wash over them and breathing in the clear air. They kept jogging down the hill, momentum and residual fear keeping their feet moving quickly. Far enough away from the hole to be safe from the goblins, the company stopped to rest, many bent over and gasping for breath.

Bilbo leaned against a nearby tree, shaking off the tension one gets from running for dear life and giving a relieved smile to Bombur, who had plopped onto the ground next to him.

"That was quite something, wasn't it?" he asked breathily, placing a hand on his chest to still his galloping heart.

Bombur gave a long wheeze and fell onto his back, his eyes closing and sweat dribbling down his face. Bilbo took that to mean 'yes, it was harrowing' and moved away from the relaxing dwarf to check on his friends.

Kili and Fili had already caught their breath and were looking around at the rocky mountainside with curiosity, both grinning when Bilbo approached them. "Everything all right, you two?" he asked with concern.

"Oh, yeah," Fili shrugged casually. "It'd take more than a few goblins to do us in."

"Yeah, that was nothing," agreed Kili, leaning against his brother and giving the hobbit a winsome smile.

"Nothing, huh?" Bilbo looked at them dubiously, one hand stroking down his tangled beard. "Then that's not blood creeping down your neck, Fili? And I guess neither is that soaking your right pant's leg, Kili?"

The blond dwarf reached up a hand to feel the side of his neck gingerly, his mouth tightening in a grimace. His brother had taken one look down at himself, muttered "Well, how about that," and had straightened up again, giving the worried hobbit a hapless shrug.

"It happens," Kili said, nodding with acceptance of the situation.

"No, it does not just happen!" Bilbo cried, feeling familiar exasperation well up in his chest. "Look, we'll need to have Oin—"

"Company, gather round!" Thorin said loudly, casting a look at where Bilbo, Fili, and Kili stood talking. Bilbo grumbled at the interruption, sending the brothers a look that clearly said 'this is not finished!' before joining the circle. He caught sight of Dwalin standing stalwart next to his prince, looking hole and hearty except for the red dash on his head. He gave Bilbo a small nod before focusing again on Thorin.

"We need to make an inventory of everything that we managed to keep. Food, water, weapons, packs: everything." He commanded roughly. The company immediately complied, digging through their pockets, belts, and packs, murmuring with delight and sometimes grumbling with agitation. "Once we have an idea of our supplies, then we'll get off this forsaken mountain. We have to reach a good distance before nightfall, or else they'll catch us once the moon's high in the sky," he continued, reaching into his own equipment.

Bilbo took the time to look through his pack quickly, luckily having managed to keep a hold of it in the scuffle. He still had most of his food packs and a water skin or two, his spare clothes and buttons. He nearly crowed with delight when he found his mother's beads, still safe and sound in their small pouch.

"Bofur! Master Baggins!"

Bilbo looked up at the call of his name, instantly recognizing the voice. Thorin looked between them, seeming both reluctant and chagrined, before fixing them with an intense look.

"Your stalling tactic was…good thinking, if poorly executed. Next time, however, do not do such a thing. As we nearly saw with Master Baggins, it'll only get you maimed or killed." Thorin finished gruffly and turned away to talk lowly with Gandalf.

Bilbo shared a look with Bofur, not knowing whether to be pleased or insulted by the dwarf prince's words. He still chafed around the collar at all the things Thorin had said before this goblin debacle, so he was rather inclined to be insulted by this as well. The toymaker simply shrugged and grinned, obviously choosing to take it as a compliment. He gave the hobbit an encouraging pat.

"Well, that could have been a lot worse," he said jovially. "Ye're not hurt, are ye? My beard got all tangled up in that mess on the bridge, so ye must've felt something similar." His dark eyes darted down to the hobbit's beard.

"Yes, I think there are some splinters tangled up in it," Bilbo sighed. "Most of it can wait, but there's this one sharp piece of wood that pressing right against my chin." His fingers struggled to carefully work the sliver out of his beard without much success, and the hobbit gave a small grunt of irritation.

"Would…would ye like me to help with that?" Bofur asked hushed, reaching a hopeful hand forward.

Bilbo nearly welcomed him to it, before the howls rent through the air. He turned to stare at Thorin and Gandalf, panicked and face pale. Next to him, he heard Bofur mutter, 'just can't catch a break at all,' before Gandalf was shouting at all of them to run.

They started their sprint again, though their muscles were crying out for mercy, but they quickly discovered that there was nowhere to run. At the end of their path, a jagged outcropping, like a stone fang, sat before them, one tall tree standing on its curve. Bilbo could hear the thumping of wolf paws against the earth, the snarling growls rumbling through the air growing closer and closer.

"Up into the trees! Quick!" Gandalf shouted from his perch at the top of the farthest tree, and Bilbo had a moment to marvel at the wizard's speed before he climbed agilely into the nearest tree. He'd known how to scale trees since his hobbitling days, so it was no problem for him, though it was obvious the dwarves struggled a bit. Bombur particularly so, as his weight and bulging belly gave him some trouble.

He looked down to see young Ori jumping frantically, trying to grip the nearest tree branch but having no luck. Quickly, Bilbo slid down to the branch above the lowest and reached a hand down to the dwarf, grabbing and pulling with all his might. He thought he felt a few muscles in his arm burn with fierce pain, but the hobbit concentrated on yanking Ori into the tree. Despite Bilbo's lack of real upper body strength, he was able to get the dwarf onto the lowest branch, just in time to escape the open jaws of a warg below.

They scuttled up higher in the tree, Bilbo muffling a small whimper at the pain in his arm before turning his attention back to the trees. Everyone had gotten into a tree safely, though Bombur was still frighteningly low on his branch in the tree across from Bilbo's. He saw Bifur and Dori reach down to help hoist the large dwarf higher up, though it was a struggle.

Looking around at the others, Bilbo had missed most of the stilted conversation between the orcs and Thorin's gasp of disbelief, but he certainly did not miss when the wargs began battering themselves against the trees, scratching and jumping along the tree trunks and snapping their teeth hungrily.

The dwarves and hobbit all shouted in alarm as the trees began to tip over one by one, causing a terrifying need to leap amongst the falling branches from tree to tree. Miraculously, they all managed to make it to Gandalf's tree whole and not warg food, but their situation could not have been more dire. The wargs had now formed a ring around the base of the tree, and from a small distance away, Bilbo could hear the jeering laughter of the pale orc on his warg.

Gandalf's idea of using the pinecones as small torches was a brilliant one, setting the ground ablaze and driving off the wargs for the moment. They had whimpered and whined under the licking flames, dashing back to hide behind their master, who was no longer grinning with triumph. For a wondrous moment, it seemed like they would find a way out of this colossal mess.

But, of course, then the tree they were all on tipped backward under their weight, and they were held over the side of the mountain, the ground hundreds of feet below. Bilbo gripped his branch tightly, thankful for having found a very thick branch indeed. He was comparatively lighter than the rest of the dwarves, so he had the least trouble hanging on to the lopsided tree. The dwarves were struggling, their heavy armor and weapons weighing them down.

"Mister Gandalf! Help!" Ori shouted, and his grip slipped.

Quick as a lightning's flash, Gandalf had thrust his staff downward, giving something for Ori to hold on to. The small dwarf dangled there, his face scrunched with effort and his eyes wide with panic. His brothers called out for him to hang on, and Nori began to inch his way onto the tree's trunk to get closer to Gandalf.

Bilbo pulled himself up as well, thinking frantically of ways to help Ori when he heard Dwalin's cry. The hobbit's heart sank when he saw the warrior dwarf grasping tightly to the tree trunk, struggling to pull himself over. Bilbo turned to follow the stricken look in his eyes and his heart plummeted even further in his stomach, and a cold sweat begun under his shirt.

Thorin was being held in the jaws of the enormous white warg, his face twisted in pain. The pale orc, Azog, was smiling widely, holding his arms out as if to show all present of his victory. He was a horrible creature, impossibly large and muscled, riddled with thick scars and dried blood. His left limb, white and gruesome, ended in a barbed black hook. In his other arm, he held a large axe, grisly with grime and gore.

Thorin brought his sword hilt down upon the warg's muzzle, causing it to toss the dwarf into the air. He landed hard on a nearby ledge, Orcrist falling from his hand. He laid there feebly, struggling to draw in breath from the damage the warg must have visited upon his chest.

Bilbo watched this, his hand gripping the small hilt of his sword and his heart beating madly in his chest. He took a couple deep breaths, reaching down into himself for his courage. As the orc soldier sauntered over to the fallen dwarf prince, Bilbo sprinted forward, throwing caution and care to the wind. Right as the orc drew his crude blade back, Bilbo threw himself at the vile creature, frantically stabbing with his sword when the orc tried to grab his neck.

When he felt the orc stop moving under his blade, he jerked back, swallowing against the nausea that welled up inside at the realization that he'd really just killed something. He could hear Dwalin's voice in his head, the lessons he'd taught Bilbo days ago: "Ye'll find no mercy comin' yer way. So strike fast while ye've got the chance."

Positioning himself in front of Thorin, Bilbo stood between the large pack of wargs and orcs, now furious that he'd just taken out one of their soldiers. He knew this would probably be the end of this hobbit, standing fearful but strong against this group of monsters, but he could not bring himself to regret the decisions that had led him there. He was proud to have been amongst the company, to have traveled and fought along side them, regardless of whether he'd been wanted or not by some.

Though if he did have one regret, it was that he'd not taken the chance to kiss Dwalin within an inch of his life while he still had the opportunity. If they did somehow manage to make it out of this alive, Bilbo swore that would be the first thing he would do.

He saw the pale orc's nostrils flare, the orc glaring furiously at the hobbit. He called out something in the black speech, and the wargs began to close in on the lone hobbit. Bilbo flashed his sword threateningly, but the orcs only sneered at him, drawing their rough iron weapons from their belts.

Just when a warg was close enough to take a bite at him, battle cries sounded from his right. He turned with shock to see Fili, Kili, and Dwalin charging into the clearing, swords and axes flashing in the firelight. They collided with the warg riders, fighting with all their strength. Kili quickly sliced into the neck of his opponent, sending the warg crashing onto the ground and its rider to drag itself out from under the wolf's corpse. Fili was parrying one of the warg's snapping jaws and the orc soldier's sword, clearly in need of a second weapon but fighting well all the same.

Bilbo even managed to get a glimpse of Dwalin smashing one of his axes into a warg's mouth, scattering its teeth with the ease of breaking icicles, before he was forced into his own battle. An orc had dismounted from his warg and walked purposefully toward him, his sword brandished. Bilbo faced him and darted forward, watching the blade rise up in defense and darting around his arm, cutting hard at the elbow just as Dwalin had taught him. The orc yelped in pain, dropping his sword and grasping his nearly severed limb.

Bilbo knew that this was the time to strike again, that he should end the orc now before he had a chance to turn the tables. But as he watched, for a moment, as the orc writhed and howled on the ground, Bilbo couldn't bring himself to finish the strike.

He began to step away, to move back to stand in front of Thorin's defenseless form, when large white paw slammed into his side, sending him tumbling onto the ground many feet away. Bilbo gasped, white-hot pain searing his chest and stomach while his back protested the harsh landing. He struggled to upright himself, one arm curled protectively around his aching torso while the other grasped his sword tightly. Two stripes were forming on his shirt and through his waistcoat, thin and bright red. The cloth was split open and frayed on the edges, and through the gaps he could see his skin swelling and bleeding in small rivets, as though the tips of the warg's claws had only just managed to catch his skin. He could barely struggle to breathe, so he knew that the beast had at the very least bruised his ribs, if not broken them entirely.

Another growl, closer than he'd realized, forced him to look up at said warg and its terrible master, though Bilbo's vision swam a bit. He'd never felt as small as he did then, laying on the ground in front of the largest, cruelest wolf like an injured deer about to be prey.

At that thought, Bilbo forced his arm to move away from his injured chest and grasp his sword again, holding it in front of him though his grip trembled with effort. After all he'd been through and how much he had faced, the hobbit refused to die like that, like prey hunted down for slaughter. Perhaps he'd only be able to give the giant warg a toothache, but he'd go down fighting, and that would be the end of that!

As if he saw the resolve in the hobbit's eyes and was amused by it, Azog grinned ferociously, mouth opening to showcase teeth as thin and sharp as needles. He leaned forward, guiding his warg to slink closer and drawing his axe up from where it lazed against the side of the wolf.

A sudden cry rent through the air, piercing and high as a bird's. Which, Bilbo soon realized, it was in fact as birds', as giant eagles began to circle around the rock outcropping. Before the hobbit had a chance to wonder if the situation had become much better or much worse, one of said eagles swooped down onto the scene and grabbed a warg and its rider in massive, black-nailed talons and promptly tossed it off the edge of the mountain.

Bilbo gave a shout of surprise and stark relief as the orcs and wargs were forced to retreat, Azog's bellow of rage lost into the strong wind created by large, tawny wings. The hobbit felt a sort of savage pleasure at the orc's fury, fiercely satisfied that the orc had lost once again.

Azog turned to look in the hobbit's direction again, perhaps trying to catch sight of the dwarf prince that he'd failed at killing for the second time, when he saw the hobbit's expression. His face immediately darkened, his lip curling in fury, a black promise in his eyes.

Bilbo felt a shiver of fear run down his spine, a reminder from his Baggins side about self-preservation since his Took courage had left once the eagles had arrived. But then an eagle was soaring right for him, and he shook his head as if to plead with the bird not to throw him off the cliff side, but indeed, that's what it did.

He'd tumbled through the air for a heart-stopping moment before he landed hard on a warm, downy bed of feathers. The eagle under him gave a small snort, as if angry with the hobbit for falling so hard onto its back.

"Sorry," he muttered, giving the feathery back a few pats and wondering if he'd hit his head during his fight with the white warg. Apologizing to a giant bird that had just saved him from certain skewering by orc and warg: what has his life come to?

The other members of the company were flying on the backs of eagles as well, which made Bilbo sigh in relief. He saw Ori being mothered fiercely by Dori on an eagle nearby, the younger dwarf seeming surprisingly willing to sit through it. Bilbo supposed dangling over a few hundred feet drop had changed Ori's priorities in that regard.

A few of the other dwarves appeared to be nursing minor wounds on their hands or arms, while others had their faces pressed into the bird's back; sleeping or unconscious, Bilbo did not know. Fili and Kili were watching their uncle, held in the curved talons of a large light brown eagle, with anxious and concerned eyes.

They flew like this for an hour or so, traveling over impossibly beautiful mountains and forests down below, basking in the golden light of the rising dawn. The sky was a gentle mix of light pink, yellow, and purest blue, accompanied by the puffy cotton plumes of the clouds above. However, most of the company did not have eyes for the gorgeous landscape around, as their leader was still unresponsive.

When they finally reached their destination (according to the eagles), they were gently placed upon a large rock, like a miniature mountain, over looking the surrounding trees and left to their own devices. The company hastened to circle around Thorin as Gandalf stepped forward and placed his hand upon the dwarf's forehead, muttering a string of low phrases that Bilbo suspected to be a form of elvish.

Thorin's eyes blinked open, looking tired and hazy, but he asked roughly, "The hobbit?"

Gandalf gave him a lopsided smile, turning to look at the hobbit standing nearby. "It's alright. Bilbo is here, and he is quite safe now as are the rest of the company."

At this, Thorin began to struggle to his feet, reluctantly accepting help from Dwalin and Kili before turning to face the hobbit with a thunderous look on his face. "You! What did you think you were doing? You could have gotten yourself killed!"

Bilbo's mouth dropped open in disbelief. What on earth had he done now? For goodness sakes, he'd saved the bloody stubborn dwarf! And now he was being scolded for it like some errant child!

"Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would never survive out here in the wild? That you had no place amongst us." The dwarf growled fiercely.

Bilbo had no idea what to say, his heart squeezing tightly with that familiar hurt. It ached worse than it had the night before, after the thunder battle in the mountains. All he'd ever done on this journey was try to be helpful, and friendly, and be a lot braver than any hobbit had ever been or had any cause to—

"I have never been so wrong in all my life," Thorin suddenly said, his face breaking out into a radiant smile that stupefied the poor hobbit. The dwarf stepped forward and wrapped the hobbit in his arms, embracing him as he would a shield brother. "I am sorry I doubted you. I—Master Baggins!"

Bilbo had fallen onto one of his knees, his uninjured arm holding his chest. While he'd appreciated the hug and the hard-won acceptance that it stood for, Thorin had perhaps not restrained his strength in deference to Bilbo's smaller stature or the wounds on his chest. Which, to be fair, the dwarf had no way of knowing about. He focused on taking as deep a breath as he could bear for a moment, before opening his eyes again and giving the dwarf a week smile.

"It's fine. I'm fine. Just a bit of bruising, that's all." He patted the dwarf prince's arm gratefully and smiled when Dwalin appeared at his side and helped him stand, handling his arm very gently.

"This does not seem like simple bruising," Thorin said lowly, reaching a hand forward to trace a finger along one of the slashes in Bilbo's clothes. Blood had pooled into the edges of the cloth, though the scratches had thankfully stopped bleeding at some point along their flight here. "Oin! Come look at this."

"Oh, really, now," Bilbo huffed in exasperation, batting Thorin's finger away lightly. "It can't be any worse than your injuries. If he's going to have a look at any of us, it should be you! It's not as if the warg bit me like he did you."

"But you did encounter the white warg?" Thorin questioned, his expression growing dark. Next to him, Dwalin shifted closer to Bilbo, his large hand curling protectively around the hobbit's small elbow.

"Well, yes, it might have…pushed me around a little bit, but your injuries must be much more—"

"'Pushed you around a little bit'?! Dwalin suddenly cried indignantly. "Bilbo, it practically slammed ye out of its path! Ye were sent flyin' out of the way!"

"Now, that's a bit over dramatic. Yes, it did knock me around a bit, but look, its claws barely broke skin! There's not even a lot of blood, so really—"

"Not even—just barely broke—are ye mad, hobbit?! It's soaked the front of yer—yer whatever ye call the fancy little coat ye wear! Ye could have scars there!"

"It's a waistcoat, thank you very much. And mine was made of a particularly fine material, so it's really no wonder that it was cut through so easily."

"Oin!"

"Would ye all just shut yer traps for a bleedin' moment, why don't ye! I don't have me trumpet anymore, thanks to those goblins, so I can hardly hear what yer sayin'." Oin huffed as he walked stiffly over, pulling his medicinal bag out from his bag and looking at the three intensely. "Now, who is it that needs seein' to?"

"The hobbit should be seen to first," Thorin said immediately, ignoring Bilbo's squawk of outrage.

"No, no, it's Thorin that needs to be seen first! And Dwalin after him. You see, he's got this really nasty gash on his head from the fall in Goblin town."

"This is nothin' I can't handle," growled Dwalin, giving Oin a pointed look. "He's the one who was thrown about this way and that by a warg and without any armor on him, as well."

Oin surveyed them as they broke out into a fussy argument again, sharing an exasperated look with the wizard watching amusedly nearby.

"Perhaps we should all get down from this rock and take stock of everything by the river. I can hear one running down below; it's not too far a walk for any of us that might be injured," Gandalf suggested smoothly, raising an eyebrow at the trio.

"Yes, that would probably be best," Oin agreed, packing his medicinal bag away in his pack again. "That way we can wash the wounds and clothing and such. Aye, let's do that." He nodded and set off toward the stone steps nearby, oblivious to the calls behind him in objection.

"Well, that settled that then," Bofur said cheerily, picking up his pack and Bilbo's.

"Bofur, I can carry my own pack! Thank you, though. I mean, it's very nice of you but unnecessary," Bilbo stuttered, stepping forward to take it back from the dimpled dwarf.

"Sorry, I can't hear what yer sayin', Bilbo. Must've been that flight through the sky; it's bogged up me ears or somethin'." Bofur grinned cheekily and trotted away, following Oin, Bombur, and Bifur as they followed Gandalf down the steps.

Bilbo huffed and then winced as the motion put pressure on his ribs. When he noticed how both Thorin and Dwalin had turned to look at him worriedly, the hobbit rolled his eyes and followed behind Balin down the stone steps, ignoring the two dwarves that hastily followed after him.


It went against everything Dwalin stood for and believed of himself to admit that he was scared. He'd been raised to fight and protect the throne of Erebor, to protect his family, his comrades, and his king. He had always walked into battle thinking only of the fight and why it was important that he succeed, never about the possible death that awaited him at the end of an enemy's sword. Once he'd drawn his axes and found his target, he charged without fear of death or pain, only the fight for family, brothers-in-arms, and the fatherland.

When he'd seen that lowly orc piece of shite draw his crude, iron mess of a sword on his prince, his king, Dwalin had been afraid that he would lose his brother, his friend, and his prince in one fell swing, while he dangled from a tree branch, useless and shamed. And then Bilbo, the courageous foolhardy little hobbit, had thrown himself into the line of fire, defeating the orc soldier and protecting the dwarf prince. And Dwalin had been frightened beyond what he'd ever known before.

Bilbo's small body, without armor and soft, in front of the Pale Orc, the most reviled denizen of Gundabad the dwarven race had ever known, with nothing but a sword to protect himself…. Mahal, it would haunt his dreams.

When he'd charged into battle a moment later, he'd not been thinking much about Erebor, or his shield-brothers, or even his prince. He'd been worried about that brave little hobbit that had protected Thorin from a dishonorable death even after the dwarf had been such an arse to him all this time. He'd not had enough time to really teach Bilbo how to defend himself, how to face a warg rider and its warg at the same time. But damn it all, if Dwalin hadn't been so proud of him when he'd easily disarmed that orc soldier in one go! Perfectly executed, but Bilbo had not finished the move. He'd pitied the orc on the ground, and though he knew Bilbo had a compassionate heart, his hesitation was partly to blame for what had happened next.

That scene would give him nightmares as well. The giant white warg lifting a huge paw and slamming it into Bilbo's turned back, catching the hobbit unawares and sending him spinning onto the ground several feet away. It had been so easy for the damned creature, like a cat playing with a little mouse, and at that moment, Dwalin swore that he would slice that warg's throat the first chance he got. It was clearly as evil as its master.

Dwalin was pulled from these dark reminiscences by the loud and boisterous splashing of Kili and Fili across the small river from him, their shouts and laughter lightening his mood despite his forbidding glower.

Oin had forced all those with even the smallest injury to strip and take a few moments to wash in the river, leaving Gandalf to stay on guard for trouble. Dwalin had tried to get out of doing so, leveling a stony look at Oin and stating that the only wound he had on him was the cut on his head, and he didn't need to be naked for that to be treated. However, the old healer had had his way, and so the warrior dwarf now sat in the shallow section of the river, glaring mutinously into the water.

Despite the various protests, Oin had chosen to look over the dwarves with minor injuries first, stating that his larger patients would need more time and that he could help more people more quickly this way. Dwalin and Thorin had both tried to protest that, or at least put Bilbo at the head of the line, but the hobbit had agreed wholeheartedly with the logic of Oin's statement and had even offered to help. Oin had simply told him to go ahead and wash in the river instead, so that he would be ready when the healer got around to him. Bilbo had looked like he wanted to argue with that but had conceded to the healer's demand.

With a flushed face and bright red ears, Bilbo had undressed, obviously trying to hide how gingerly he was treating the movements and the occasional winces that they caused without much success. When he was finally undressed, Dwalin had looked away to preserve his modesty (the hobbit's modesty, not Dwalin's; he'd take a good eyeful and then some, if he thought he could get away with it) until he was deep enough in the water that none of his privates showed.

Dwalin and Thorin had both made small intakes of breath when they'd caught sight of the hobbit's torso. Large bruises, purpled and angry, formed around the long scratches made from the warg's claws and around Bilbo's side, marring Bilbo's otherwise creamy and smooth skin. The scratches themselves did not seem very deep, as far as Dwalin could tell, but who knows what could have been on the beast's claws? Oin would have to cleanse it pretty thoroughly. Seeing the hobbit as he was now, peaceful but covered with bruises and achingly vulnerable, idly de-tangling his magnificent golden beard, made it hard to reconcile the image with the bold and determined hobbit that had stood between Thorin and the Defiler.

Thorin himself had gotten away with much less injury than he'd expected. The finely crafted brigandine that the dwarf wore must have shielded him from most of the warg's deadly bite, leaving not much more than bruising from what Dwalin could tell. He had a few scratches here and there from the escapades in Goblin town but was otherwise relatively unharmed. Unlike the hobbit, who was quite harmed for his smaller stature.

"All right, my lad, let's see what we've got here," Dwalin heard Oin say as he approached said hobbit, who had by then successfully untangled his beard and could run his fingers through the wet length as he pleased. Dwalin felt a stir of lust awaken in his body at the sight, wishing he had the right to braid Bilbo's beard for him, but that was a task given only to close family and spouses. Plus, he wasn't even really sure the hobbit liked him enough to allow him that. He'd been getting mightily close with Bofur these past few weeks on the trip, so it was quite possible that he favored the toymaker more than he favored Dwalin.

Not to say that he would give up on forming a relationship with the hobbit, by any definition of the phrase. He was as determined as ever to find out more about Bilbo and become closer with the hobbit, who had shown he was much more than any of them had known or expected. He'd realized his attraction at their first meeting in Bag End, with his lustrous beard and phenomenal cooking ability. Now, though…now he'd proven his courage and strength, his wittiness and his wiles, managing to save and protect the company a few times, not to mention his most recent protection of Thorin!

He admired the hobbit for all of these traits and was quickly becoming rather enamored with Bilbo Baggins.

"Oooh, this is not good at all," Gloin murmured, bringing Dwalin back to reality with a resounding snap. "Ye might have a few cracked ribs, Master Baggins. These cuts are definitely going to need watching over the next few days as well, lest they become infected. "

Bilbo finally seemed to become a bit concerned about his condition. "What should I do to help them heal, Master Oin? Oh, and could you look at my arm? I think I might have strained it a bit too much."

"Hmmmm…. Yes, I believe yer right. Well, it'd be best if ye could get some bed rest, but… that's not likely to happen very soon, unless that blasted wizard is up to something. Which is likely, I'll admit," Oin nodded with flat look on his face, turning to his medicinal bag and pulling out a small pot. "This is one of my special pastes that'll help heal yer ribs and alleviate yer lungs a bit." He spread the light green colored medicine over Bilbo's skin, taking care to be gentle around the scratches.

Dwalin looked down into the water again lest he be tempted to follow the path of those fingers with his own or offer up his services as a medicinal spreader.

"And this should help with the scratches, prevent them from becoming infected if we can—what on earth was that?!" Oin shouted.

A loud, booming roar had echoed through the forest, frighteningly close to their temporary camp by the river. Dwalin and Thorin both surged out of the water, grabbing their nearby weapons and facing out into the wild, completely unashamed of their nakedness and battle-ready. Bilbo on the other hand had tried to move back, to grab his clothes on his body in case they had to move out rather quickly, but his wounds and the solidifying paste made his movements slow or else very painful.

The rest of the company had mimicked Thorin and Dwalin, grabbing their weapons even whilst stark naked, leaving Bilbo to wonder if this was a dwarf nuance.

"That sounded like a bear," Fili whispered, his sharp eyes watching the forest line warily, his sword grasped in his hands in front of him.

"Or another warg," Ori said equally as hushed, though his face grew pale at the thought.

"You're close, Prince Fili, but not entirely correct," Gandalf spoke clearly from behind them all, startling the dwarves. "He's sometimes a massive bear that guards the neighboring lands with incredibly ferocity. He's also sometimes a very tall man that enjoys spending time in the garden with the flowers and rabbits."

Dwalin wondered if perhaps the wizard had smoked some very strange weed during his watch. He'd have to ask about it later, if for nothing else than to avoid it in the future.

"What is he?" Bilbo asked, sounding both curious and wary.

Gandalf gave him a smile and patted him on the shoulder, not noticing when the hobbit winced under the force or when Dwalin and Oin both glared at him for it. "He, my dear Bilbo, is our host for a bit."


AN: Okay, so I'm having a bit of a pickle. -.- I told myself that I really needed to decide in this chapter if I wanted this to be a Bilbo/Dwalin or a Bilbo/Dwalin/Thorin. Either way, the rating will have to go up soon. I just can't decide. :( I thought I had decided to make this simply a Dwalin/Bilbo, but the muse seems to want the three of them together. What do you readers think?