Chapter 8: A kingly dinner review
。・゜゜・ T ・゜゜・。
As Thorin slowly came to he twitched from the intense pain surging through him. He had been in battle often enough to know when he was wounded, but it took a moment to remember why. When he did his eyes shot open and he tried to sit up, despite the wounds littering his body and despite a broken rip or two. They would heal as they always did.
"The halfling!" he could still remember the small form illuminated by the little elvish blade knocking the advancing orc over, remembered seeing Bilbo kill it and step in front of him, sword held in surprisingly steady hands to defend Thorin to the last. Could still see him raise his sword as Azog advanced, almost in challenge. Then his memory drew blank. His heart gave an unsteady beat, as if knocked from it's normal rhythm.
"The hobbit!?" He repeated, looking from face to face. They seemed grave, but he was alive so... so why...
"Bilbo?" he finally asked, this time sounding almost pleading. He looked at Dwalin, read the frown as the warrior looked away uncomfortably. Most of the company couldn't meet his eyes and he felt his heart sink.
His voice broke a little when he croaked out a weak sounding "What happened...?" already dreading the answer. He could not see Bilbo anywhere. No. No, Bilbo was probably hurt, he was not-
It was Nori's haggard appearance and behavior that settled a heavy stone somewhere deep in his stomach. One of the thief's hands were opening and closing and he didn't even look in Thorin's direction, but towards... towards the mountainside, even though those seemed to be further away than Thorin had expected them to be. His other hand clenched around a small object, hiding it from view. Forcefully he pulled his gaze away from Nori and turned back to Balin.
"I'm sorry, laddy." Balins soft voice was soothing, a hand reaching out and holding his shoulder in a comforting, familiar gesture. It was the same way Balin had reached out to him on the battlefield while he was kneeling in the filth of the battle, blood still seeping from his numerous wounds and the creeping realization that while the battle had been won, his grandfather, father and brother hadn't lived to return back to the Blue Mountains. The field was littered by bodies and too many of them were of his people and now... now with this battle he had become king.
But this time there wasn't anybody hurt... there wasn't... Bilbo just wasn't there.
"Bilbo... Bilbo fell."
There was a wounded sound echoing in the mourning stillness that seemed to engulf the company. It took Thorin a moment to recognize it coming from his own mouth, but the way his heart felt like it was pealed open, like there was a gaping open wound in his chest, Thorin wasn't really all that surprised. Oh he had denied it. Had forced any silly notions that painted the hobbit in a positive light out of his head by sheer stubbornness. Until Bilbo had forced Thorin to look at him only moments before.
It was not fair that he had just finally recognized the hobbit's worth and started to contemplate on his real feelings towards the hobbit, only to loose him scant breaths after. It was not fair!
He had not apologized. He had behaved atrociously, right from the start. He had blamed Bilbo for things he couldn't have prevented, like the trolls (which hadn't actually been his fault but Thorin had never been able to admit that either) and tried to push him away, no matter how stubbornly Bilbo kept at his heels.
The whole company was unusually quiet. It made the absence of their missing (notdeadneverdead) member all the more obvious. They packed in silence, checked supplies and counted their weapons. Not even the first sight of Erebor could really draw them out of the subdued mood that had settled over them. Thorin watched them absentminded, while his thoughts rested on their lost burglar.
It all started – just like the quest – back in the Shire...
。・゜゜・ ✿ ・゜゜・。
Thorin had already been in a pitch-black mood, coming back from a fruitless meeting with the other dwarrows and having to look forward to repeating the sad experience to his company. That only twelve dwarrows answered his call stung. It stung deeply, just as much as the other dwarrows insistence that it was a fools errand. Especially after all he he had done for his people over the years.
At first, just shortly after their exile, Thorin had not felt the full weight of his people resting on his shoulders. Back then there had still been the hope of recovering. Of aid, from other dwarven kingdoms at least. To say it had broken his heart to see his people denied was putting it lightly. Already weary of the world, especially in face of the recent abandonment by their elven allies, Thorin could say he had hardened quite a bit during that time. But back then his grandfather and father had still carried the brunt of the responsibilities that came with the title of king and prince respectively.
That too had ended before he even had the chance to reach his majority, at the scant age of 53 in the nightmare of a war that ended in the Battle at Azanulbizar. A battle they won, but it was a pyrrhic victory at best. They had lost many, among them Thorin's grandfather and younger brother.
Thorin became king in the same breath as his father vanished on the battlefield and was believed dead. There had been no time to truly grieve. He had people who suddenly looked at him to lead them, people who waited for him to make decisions about the future, their future.
He had never been able to admit to anyone just how scared he was. Dwalin had probably known, had stuck to him come hell or high water and had endured Thorin's temper like a mountain withstood the storms of nature. To be truthful, without the sons of Fundin and his families support he probably would have succumbed to the pressure that kept piling up on his shoulders those dark days in the past. Of venturing out in the world, with wounded and old and young, to places where too many of them perished before they even got to their goal. Hope dwindling as they went from place to place and yet soon after arriving they were forced to move on again. They endured. And yet everyone had felt the loss of someone precious at one point or another.
After all they had been through in their years of exile and the way Thorin had worked himself to the bone, meeting with other dwarven kings and their councils to try and find a place to settle his people, only to get turned down time and again. Of the humiliations of having to sell their meager belongings, their precious few heirlooms for mere morsels to buy food and clothes. Of learning how to be a blacksmith, something Thorin had never thought he would do before the dragon came. It didn't matter that Thorin found the forging of weapons to be a rather relaxing activity, despite it's physical demanding requirements, fact was: Being a blacksmith was not exactly a job for a king.
It had not been easy to learn but it had been something that had put food in his peoples mouth, sometimes for months if he managed to find a promising job for several dwarrows in a town.
They had struggled. Together. Until he had finally found them a place to settle and while Belegrost was not the most comfortable or safe mountain, they had been able to live instead of only surviving.
But the one time he called for them, most hadn't answered. If Thorin had not understood their position so well, it would have hurt a lot more. But even despite his understanding, it was a bitter pill to swallow. The Blue Mountains offered them a home. Not a comfortable one, nor a well off one, but after so much loss and tragedy Thorin couldn't hold it against them to cling to the little bit they had earned and worked so hard for. He could have ordered them. But he had not been able to bring himself to force the unwilling to such a journey, nor would he be able to trust them with his life if he always had to doubt their loyalty to him.
The refusal of the other kingdoms... well, after his experiences in the earlier years of the exile it had not exactly come as a surprise, but despite that Thorin had allowed hope to rekindle in himself. Surely they saw the signs. Surely they would agree to help, if only a little. At least his kin... not close but kin nonetheless...
Deep in thought as he was, he had lost his way, getting turned around in the confusing maze that seemed to make up the Shire. It was pure chance that Thorin had spied the glowing rune and followed the tiny light towards the burglars home. It was quaint and warm. Comfortable and secure in the ways he and his people weren't. Hadn't been for so many years. Some – like his nephews – had never gotten to know it. The meaning of having a home and to be without the worry of how to get the next meal. It soured his mood even more, especially since now he had to face his company, those dwarrows most loyal to him and tell them that they were on their own.
He had failed to secure them aid.
Back then the door had opened to the little, well off hobbit hole. Needless to say he had not been impressed, even though he knew his resentment was uncalled for. But even then he had justified his reasons with just a look around. It hardly looked like the home of a burglar, much less that of a warrior. No, it was a home of a creature of comfort, what's with all the knick-knack lying around and... and crochet and other dust-catchers. Bilbo himself had hardly been impressive at all. Soft and comely in his own way, but a short look over his person showed Thorin more than enough. No callouses on his hands, at least not from a weapon. Short curls of goldbrown framed a soft, beardless face.
He might be a little attractive, but he was certainly not a creature who ventured out in the dark. Let alone on a quest with dwarrows all the way back to Erebor.
And having thought the hobbit knew about the quest but was trying to back out of it had left a sour taste in Thorin's mouth after the meeting with the dwarrows and being turned down just hours before.
Had he known how unprepared Bilbo had been at that point of time, he might have curbed his tongue at least a little. Might have not been so derisive about the hobbit's home and way of life. Alas he had only gotten to know about that tidbit of information after Ori had told him about it in Rivendell.
At least there was enough food. Thorin had been quite confident that the little hobbit would stay away, and was happy with that decision. It would be a burden on the rest of them to take him with them. He would be utterly useless anyways and just get into the way if a fight broke out, if he didn't get himself killed right away. It was better this way, he had thought as he readied himself for bed in one of the guest-rooms.
Just as he had lied down to sleep, he had been scared awake again by a female voice whispering in the dark room he had been sure was empty except for himself.
Your storms have worn me out …
"Who-?!" he had shot up in his bed, growling and already having a dagger at hand. He scanned the room, looking into the shadows with a fierce scowl, while being ready to defend himself at a moments notice. In times like these he was grateful to be born as a dwarf who had excellent vision in the dark. He didn't like being surprised. After a few moments though he exhaled and felt himself relax a little as nothing happened. It had to have been his imagination... the long day was probably catching up to him now.
At least being king did have the perks of getting a room to himself, so no one saw him questioning the empty room. And he was. By himself. Alone. Looking suspiciously around one more he found nothing out of the ordinary... had it truly been his imagination then?
Shaking his head and frowning he lay back down, closing his eyes and stubbornly insisting that it had been a trick of his mind. Slowly his heart-rate settled down. But his hand refused to let go of the dagger just in case. He hadn't lived to this day to get killed in his sleep in a hole in the ground.
The next morning he had woken blearily, dragged himself out of the cloud-soft bed that had seemed like it would swallow him whole and had quietly rounded up his company. They cleaned up, quick and in silence, and crept out of the hobbit's home with none the wiser. Their host was still asleep. It was better this way. Thorin felt a small pang of regret that he quickly squashed with a shake of his head.
Yes... this was right, Thorin had reassured himself as he had put the saddle on his pony and fastened the belts.
… I've been chasing …
He stopped, heart-rate spiking again. Discreetly he chanced a look around, while his hands – well used to their task – proceeded with strapping his traveling gear to his pony. Nothing. No one – except his fellow dwarrows – was around, least of all some woman. His mood blackened, the little bit of peace the Shire's calm morning environment had offered disappeared in a moment as he gave sharp instructions in Iglishmek, so as to not wake the Shire-folk. Or their host.
They rode off, and Thorin felt torn, oddly relieved yet a little guilty. Maybe he should have at least given thanks for the meal to the hobbit before departing. That explained the guilt, but the relief? It's probably due to the fact that the useless and soft hobbit stayed at home where he belonged and Gandalf hadn't gotten his way to drag the creature with them. He would have been a burden and Thorin certainly didn't need any more of those, least of all on a quest as important as this one would proof be. The further they went, the more relaxed he became, even if there was a small pang of... something. Like he was forgetting something important, but he had checked his equipment more than three times. Strange. Well, the Shire was rather peaceful and maybe it was only a longing for his own home, so once again he shoved the feelings to the back of his mind. He was on his way to get his home back now, so hopefully he would soon be able to concentrate on rebuilding his kingdom instead of only dreaming about returning to it.
And then that blasted hobbit came running after them. Complaining about handkerchiefs of all things and dressed for entertaining dinner parties at home! Thorin was sure that the gentle-being wouldn't last a few days before turning his back and trudging back to his hole.
He couldn't help scowling at Bilbo suspiciously, as the strange (softhopefulcalming) voice had started in his home. Maybe it was some sort of strange hobbit magic. That or he was going mad. Which was a terrifying thought on it's own. His greatest fear in fact, followed closely by Dís wrath. It was deeply ingrained in him to be distrustful of strangers and outsiders. The hobbit was both and Thorin didn't feel an ounce of guilt to fully blame the hobbit for the strange voice. He had a gut feeling it had something to do with him and he trusted his instincts. He would keep an eye on the hobbit. And on himself. Whatever this strange magic was, he wouldn't let it influence him, the quest or anyone around him.
In spite of it he couldn't help himself but strain to listen, whenever the female (caringlovingpromising) voice sounded. He quickly realized noone else but himself could hear her and felt his heart sink at the realization. Having voices in your head was not something that spoke for a sound mind. His inability to ignore her annoyed him and messed with his sleep. He was more broody than ever.
It was the hobbit's fault.
… you up and down …
And then, of course, the trolls happened.
After his argument with Gandalf he had chosen to sit by himself, watching his company make camp while he slowly unsaddled his pony and stowed away his stuff. Then he sat down to care for his weapon. Out of the corners of his eyes he saw Bilbo leaving the camp with two bowls in his hands. Frowning he turned back to his task. Keeping Deathless sharp was soothing to his mind and hopefully he could forget about the whispering voice and the companies burden. He was still riled up by Gandalf's insistence to carry on, which had made him all the more determined to stay exactly where they were. Slowly his tense shoulders relaxed with each stroke with the sharpening stone. It was soothin-
"Trolls! Trolls took the ponies!"
It was as natural as breathing to jump to his feet, weapon ready as Fíli ran into their camp out of breath. All around activity froze for a second before all of a sudden chaos erupted. Weapons were thrown to their respective owners, armor was put back on and the camp was secured.
Meanwhile Thorin crossed the clearing to his nephew and grabbed his shoulder, steadying him just as much as trying to calm him down.
"What happened, Fíli? Where is Kíli?" and where was-
"I don't... uh, we..." Fíli stuttered before straightening up "Kíli is back at the troll-camp and watching." his heir managed evenly, then slumped a little with a guilty expression "Aaaand we might have send Bilbo to... scout out the area?"
Thorin felt his heart skip a beat. And strangely enough his first thought was not on Kíli but the soft little hobbit without any battle-experiance scouting out a troll-camp. Thorin shook off the strange thought and decided to concentrate on the issue on hand.
"What were you thinking?" then he shook his head "Nevermind." that could be settled once he had gotten the two missing members of his company back to safety. Hopefully they wouldn't do something stupid.
"Let's go!" he called over the camp and watched as the mismatched company of toymakers, thieves and warriors turned at his call. They were small in numbers, they might not be the best warriors... but they were loyal to a fault and they had followed him willingly on this crazy mission. He couldn't ask for more. A small smile tugged at his mouth as he acknowledged that he was blessed with this company, more blessed than with any army standing behind him.
And no troll would get to take one of his numbers before they even got to face the dragon. Not if Thorin could do anything about it.
Mentioning to Fíli to lead the way they returned to the woods and Thorin felt a warmth rekindle in his chest as the company fell in step behind him.
。・゜゜・ ✿ ・゜゜・。
They arrived just in time to watch Kíli run into that clearing and nearly causing Thorin to have a heart-attack. Of course there had been no option but to charge in too. The hobbit? Nowhere to be seen. At first. Maybe the trolls had already eaten him... the thought made Thorin sick. While he hadn't liked the halfling, that was not a fate he would have wished on the gentle-being.
Seeing his nephew standing in the center of attention of three trolls also meant that Thorin did not have a lot of time to contemplate on a plan. With quick and sharp movements of his hand he directed the company to spread out, before signaling them to charge.
And then he had seen Bilbo at the edge of the fight. It distracted him that he nearly got stepped on by a troll and he scowled, returning to focus on the fight. He had noticed that his gaze often pulled back to the hobbit even at camp time or during their rides. But having the same awareness of Bilbo during a fight was unacceptable. Hobbits and their strange magic were probably at fault. He had never been one to be easily distracted during a fight and he couldn't explain why it should happen now.
Which was when the hobbit did the most astounding and unexpected thing: Hitting one of the trolls in the eye. The unpredictable flailing of the giant being interrupted what little team-play they had gained in the short fight, dwarrows fleeing left end right to avoid being stepped on or getting hit by the coals flying around by the trolls mad dash though the fire. Thorin himself couldn't help himself but gape in surprise at the chaos. An attack like that... he had never expected it to come from the hobbit and neither had the rest of the company.
Their surprise and inattention – Thorin cursed himself for it – cost them dearly. It was just a split second but Thorin didn't even have the time to shout a warning. The next moment Bilbo was caught, clutched in the fist of a troll and Thorin's heart fluttered in fright at the sight. The hobbit was so small and looked very fragile in the grip, as if a little squeeze could end his life in a single moment.
"Drop yer weapons!" the troll threatened "Or I'll squish this little..." the troll looked at Bilbo and frowned "What are ye?"
The company hesitated, glancing in Thorin's direction for instruction. Thorin struggled with himself. Once unarmed there was little chance of survival and the quest was important to the survival of his people. It should be his duty... he should put his people before a simple hobbit from the Shire. And yet...
And yet he couldn't do it. Grinding his teeth together in frustration and feeling his fears validated now he stabbed his sword into the ground and surrendered. The company followed suit, weapons clattering to the floor. Dwalin's warhammer left a dent in the soft ground as the dwarf released some of his anger when he put it down with force.
It was even more humiliating when they were forced to disarm themselves, stripping them not only of their weapons but armor as well. Thorin had rarely felt this vulnerable and felt reminded of the times he had been forced to do things he wasn't proud of to feed his people. And then they were forced into those sacks or bound to a roast. Thorin glowered from his spot on the ground, thinking furiously about how they could possibly get out of their dilemma now.
It was embarrassing that he had not been able to think of a plan to escape their predicament, but then again they wouldn't have been in danger if the hobbit hadn't walked into a troll camp. Only he hadn't, as he had later found out. Not really. No, his nephew had charged in. With no choice left they had followed and attacked. And only then had Bilbo entered the fight, shooting a... a nut into the eye of a troll and pretty much destroying the camp when said troll went on a rampage. The trolls had not been amused. Hell, Thorin had not been amused. Bested by trolls. If Dís heard of it, Thorin would never live it down. At least his fellow dwarrows were in the same situation so maybe it could be kept secret. Not likely but one could dream.
And what became of the infuriating hobbit? Stood up and talked about how to best cook a dwarf. Thorin had nearly been blind in fury of this... this impertinent betrayal! Until he realized through his rage Bilbo's intentions, but by then Bilbo had almost talked himself into a corner. Luck was on their side as Gandalf intervened and turned the trolls into stone just in time, preventing a tragedy.
… just in case you need me …
By now the voice had become a repeating whisper in the back of his mind. It didn't bother Thorin all that much anymore, though a slightly uncomfortable thought of going mad remained. But so far, nothing seemed to happen and the voice... it didn't seem threatening at all. In a way Thorin wouldn't admit, it was comforting. Like a mother singing a lullaby. Now if Thorin would only know why it happened and what it meant...
Of course Thorin had faulted Bilbo. He would admit to be prone to saying things he didn't mean after a scare, and had proved that by ripping into the hobbit. He was surprised that Bilbo had showed a backbone and talked back. Had even insulted him!
It baffled Thorin, who had until the night before thought the Hobbit to be a gentle creature that seemed to avoid any sort of discontent and strife. Naive to the ways of the world, unprepared for the cruelties of the wild and not fit to be on their journey, having no experience to fight or even how to survive. Thorin was able to shut up some of the most war-hardened dwarrows existing (exception being Dwalin who just knew him to well for it to work), and thus was a little stumped that this... this soft little hobbit was so easily ignoring it. He had to admit now that he might have made hasty assumptions. There was probably more to Bilbo... something he had missed, something...
After that there was little time to think as they had to run from wargs and orcs, nearly getting eaten as they were surrounded. Again, Gandalf came to their rescue, finding a way out and Thorin, too relieved to think much about it had followed the urge to protect his company and shoved Bilbo down the escape-way. Bilbo who had been standing beside him, obviously trying to protect his side despite being terrified after being confronted with the foul creatures the first time in his whole life – a ridiculous notion, him needing protection from an inexperienced beginner like the hobbit – managed to bravely stand his ground. Thorin had to admit he felt... intrigued. And more than a little protective. So he had made sure the Hobbit was safe before himself, and only after Kíli followed had he jumped down the tunnel himself, safe in the knowledge that the entire company was whole and secure before looking after his own hide.
… Can't make you choose …
He had wondered why Bilbo was held back by Nori, but after he appeared all fight went out of the hobbit. A strange gleam was in the halfling's eyes, and it took a moment until Thorin realized the gentle creature had been worried about him. It was a... startling revelation. And a bit ridiculous as well, for Thorin was a battle-hardened experienced warrior and would be able to hold his own for a while to make some time for others to retreat.
Following the path had landed them with elves due to the meddling of the wizard. And Bilbo revealed that he could speak the tree-shaggers language. It offended Thorin on a personal level. One in his company, speaking that... that abominate language! Even more enraging was how enraptured the hobbit was with anything elvish. Thorin watched uncomfortable how Bilbo glowed as he looked around, how positively happy and relaxed the atmosphere made him. It hadn't been obvious before how tense the halfling was, until Bilbo apparently felt safe again and the tension disappeared. Any positive feelings that might have started to blossom after the troll-incident evaporated instantly, or were repressed by an iron will after that, because Thorin – the more he watched – was sure they were slowly loosing Bilbo to the elves. There was also an indiscernible gut-wrenching feeling in his stomach. Probably all the green food they were forced to eat. Most of the time in Rivendell was spent scowling and brooding, not that he would admit it to anyone. Never!
… Between your heart and your head …
And yet more and more often Thorin felt his eyes stray towards their smallest member. Or would have, if Bilbo actually was with the rest of them. Watching him as much as possible, since the hobbit kept disappearing at the strangest times. He did note though that Nori just so happened to slip away more often than not during the same time.
Scowling to himself he crossed his arms and watched as the thief once again sneaked away and couldn't help but wonder what Nori had found in the hobbit that drew his attention.
Later that evening his thoughts drifted back to Nori's and Bilbo's absence. The rest of the company was in the room they had been offered by the elves. Dwalin was staring hard at the door to their room before switching back to sharpening his axe with more vigor than necessary. Then he would turn back and stare again.
Just what was it that Nori had seen in the soft creature? Then again, he wasn't all that sure why he was so interested in the hobbit all of a sudden. Or no, maybe he wasn't. It was his job as a leader to know what his company was up to, right? That's what it was.
Standing up he gruffly told Dwalin that he was out to get some fresh air. He needed time to think. Leaving the room he frowned at the delicate shaped doorways before stalking away. He wanted to be alone. The readings of the runes would be soon and-
Maybe he should pull Nori aside and have a talk though. Or maybe he should pull Bilbo aside-
Heaving an aggrieved sigh he rubbed his forehead. He could feel a headache coming on. More often than not his thoughts returned to the hobbit and it was galling him. It was magic. It had to be. Thorin was not obsessed. And he was not going crazy. Hobbit magic. He should be making plans to get supplies and how to best cross the mountains, yet here he was contemplating Nori's and Bilbo's relationship!
Huffing he turned around another corner and almost ran over the object that had been occupying his thoughts nearly constantly since arriving in Rivendell.
"In a hurry, Master Baggins?" he scoffed, raising an eyebrow and prepared to give the hobbit a piece of his mind. He was frustrated and he had been off to regain a semblance of peace and of course Bilbo had to show up right there and then!
And then he did a double take, noting the bruises on Bilbo's legs and forearms. The small cuts on his hands and fingers. There was a mark on his throat and a slight swelling barely hidden by the short hair on Bilbo's forehead.
And then it was as if a red haze settled over his thoughts, instincts screaming at him and fury mounting. Someone had assaulted the hobbit. He shouldn't have let Bilbo go alone. What had he been thinking? What had Bilbo been thinking? He should grab the hobbit and run. He had been a fool to trust those elves.
And when had the hobbit became Bilbo?
"-the elves? They dare hurt-" he had not even been aware that he had started to speak until Bilbo interrupted him with a sharp "No!" that left him snapping his mouth shut and bristling at the tone the halfling had taken. And he had no idea how Bilbo had managed to calm him down just as quickly as he had riled him up. But afterwards Thorin was astounded. He was not someone who easily opened up to people and while he had not told the hobbit much, it was... strange for him to speak to an outsider of their situation. And yet he had told Bilbo (in the vaguest sense) as to the reason of his hatred of elves. As if he owed it to the hobbit to explain himself!
But the conversation also revealed a little of Bilbo's stance, of his reasons of joining their quest. Such a soft creature, looking at what's best in people instead of searching for the worst to be prepared. Thorin... Thorin hadn't had that luxury in a long time. It was a naive way of thinking that Thorin envied Bilbo for. He had long since given up on that concept. He had lost too much. Too many. Had been burned once too often.
"I... I see." the hobbit whispered a little hoarsely "But... I can't agree. It's not in me to hold someone accountable on actions of another." he flinched under Thorin's steely gaze, but Thorin admired the honesty. While he wished to have the opportunity to say the same, too many fates rested on Thorin's shoulders to let go of his suspicious nature. Not when trusting the wrong person could lead to another disaster, costing them food, shelter or at worst lives.
But he couldn't hold that against the hobbit, Thorin thought resignedly. He just feared that all to soon the quest would force Bilbo to adapt, to lose the innocence he displayed right now. It settled a little ill with Thorin, which in turn surprised him because he had always been the sort that preferred it when people got a reality check in face of such naivety. In Bilbo it just... fit.
"You are..." Thorin sighed "You are a kind soul, Master Baggins." he frowned at the hobbit. Maybe it would be better if Bilbo decided to stay with the elves. He would – probably Thorin grudgingly admitted – be safe here.
"I do hope you will not loose that trait. Our journey is likely to be... rough. Tread carefully and... do keep an eye out. There are many who would use your nature against you." and with that Thorin beat a hasty retreat. He felt unsettled by Bilbo's presence and wanted to sort out his thoughts. Was this truly hobbit magic? Or... was it something else?
。・゜゜・ ✿ ・゜゜・。
The next few days Thorin had tried to avoid Bilbo like the plague. It wasn't hard as Bilbo still kept disappearing, yet Thorin noted with mounting irritation that new bruises kept appearing on the hobbit's skin. Being clumsy Bilbo had called it, Thorin was entirely unconvinced. And yet he hesitated to interfere or investigate. Bilbo didn't seem to be a victim of any mistreatment, at least his demeanor didn't change to fit that suspicion.
He had hoped that his straying thoughts would return to their purpose – namely the quest – if he just stopped being around Bilbo for a while. Well, he was dead wrong. If anything he was more distracted then ever, whenever Bilbo was out of his sight. It was troubling and Thorin really couldn't decide if magic played a part or not. He had vaguely asked Gandalf if there was a curse on him and had wanted to sink into the floor at the look the wizard had given him.
"If you are worried about the gold sickness-" the wizard hadn't been able to say more before Thorin had interrupted him and closed that topic before it even begun.
Maybe hobbit magic was different from wizardly magic.
Truthfully: He had behaved atrociously towards their hobbit, and never once apologized like he ought to.
What really topped it all was what happened on the mountain path. Where he had nearly lost half his company and with them his nephew Kíli and Bilbo. In a way it had felt as if the world had stopped for a moment. The relief when he had found the company still alive had been staggering, but the fear when he realized Bilbo was lost almost felled him again. Once the hobbit was found he had not even thought about it, before swinging down to grab Bilbo and heave him to safety. Any other option seemed out of the question, the other outcome was simply unthinkable.
Only once he himself was back on the path did he realize his actions. He had nearly lost his life, trying to rescue the hobbit. The company would have been without a leader, for Fíli while being a wonderful heir was still too young to lead a quest like this, too inexperienced.
He had risked the quest for Bilbo's sake without a second thought. For the second time now, if one counted his surrender with the trolls as the first time.
With his heart pounding in fright he had once more reacted harshly, Bilbo being just the outlet of his frustration. He had not actually meant the words, which made the conversation between Bilbo and Bofur almost painful to listen to. He was not really used to feeling guilty, but he did. He had resolved to apologize to their hobbit, especially since the talk he had eavesdropped had revealed a lot about Bilbo's character. That Bilbo had placed his life and the companies above his own had nearly pulled the ground beneath his feet.
… But I'll walk you through …
And then the floor disappeared literally.
… the parts I understand …
Tumbling down into goblin town was en experience Thorin could have done without. He had been ready to reveal himself. He had known that it was very unlikely that they would get out of this cluster-fuck alive, but he had been willing to step forward and hope to bargain for at least the freedom of his company. He had not anticipated nor appreciated being jerked back and for the hobbit to take his place. And oh, he had been furious, but between Nori and Dori they had managed to keep him under control. He had wanted to rage, but he had also been intrigued. Bilbo had talked. Thorin recognized that he was playing for time, just like he had weaved words around the trolls before. It was admirable to watch the soft hobbit spin words around his enemies, to watch him stand up against those foul beings despite so very frightened. But his opponents were so much smarter this time and so much crueler. Reluctantly Thorin had settled down to see if the burglar had some sort of plan. And oh, did he have! The nerve of the hobbit! For a moment Thorin had contemplated if the burglar had indeed just used them for his own goals. Those thoughts had been quickly wiped away the longer he had watched Bilbo. Watched the hobbit fight for his life in his awkward helpless way that made Thorin's heart threaten to jump out of his chest.
Oh, he had been so stupid. How had he not recognized the burglar stealing his way into his heart? While Thorin did not know just what he felt for the halfling, well, it wasn't something bad. Dare he say it? He was becoming fond of the little fierce strange creature. He didn't want to, but he was.
And he realized that just as he would be able to watch the halfling die? It was a cruel mockery.
"MOVE!"
Bilbo narrowly escaped being speared by his enemy and Thorin struggled not to give away that he was free of his bonds. Not until the whole company was free and they had an opening, even if that meant Bilbo was in danger for some time more. Thorin hardly could take his eyes off him and... was Bilbo...?
Grinning fiercely he realized that Bilbo finally managed to put a plan together, even if it was a shaky one at best. It was only when the plan came together and the platform fell apart that Thorin realized that while Bilbo was good at making plans, his plans still had some work in front of them before they could be called finished. Cursing under his breath he gave a signal to the company and they jumped up, shoved the nearest goblins off the walkway and lunged for their weapons. After that he regretfully turned his back to the platform, busy defending their spot, because if they wanted a chance out of this? Then he had to hold their position and fight their way out. Otherwise they would all be dead soon. Luckily Gandalf finally made an appearance and aided them in their escape.
He fought. He fought twice as much to get to Bilbo and had practically ordered Dwalin to give the hobbit to him, needing to reassure himself that the hobbit was still in one piece. He had held onto Bilbo with a desperation and an overpowering need to protect the hobbit. This fierce, brave, soft, wonderful creature with a core of mithril. Raw but oh so precious.
Nori always had an eye for quality.
But they managed to survive, while hurt, none of them were unable to move and that's more than they could have hoped for.
Bursting out of the mountain brought a feeling of exhilarating freedom and he nearly felt high from their victory.
Carefully he set Bilbo down and looked at him. Really looked at him.
He was dirty, blood smeared over his face from a cut and the gash on his side was straining his clothes red. He was sweaty, hair tousled and dirty. He looked nothing like he had back in his home, his fancy clothes had turned threadbare and more than one button had been ripped off. He looked disheveled and tired and exhausted and...
… still so very attractive and beautiful.
Thorin scowled in reflex to that thought.
"What did you think you were doing, halfling!?" he growled, towering over the hobbit and ignoring the murmuring of the rest of the company. He shook Bilbo – gently mind you but honestly, what had the hobbit thought he was doing challenging the goblin king?! He was amused to note that Bilbo did not cower away from his temper but instead seemed to ready himself to argue right back. Silly creature.
"You could have been killed!" but he hadn't! By some miracle Bilbo was standing here, before him and almost whole.
"Of all the ridiculous and stupid things you could have done-" Thorin ignored the interruption "- you challenge the Goblin King to a duel?!" really. And he even succeeded. It was hilarious, if it hadn't almost given Thorin a heart attack! And where would they be then? Leaderless, that's where.
"What were you thinking?!" really, he was the leader, if anyone should have risked their lives it should have been Thorin, not Bilbo. And Bilbo who had no experience in battle? A duel? What sort of stupid idea had that been, he could have died and the rest of the company would have to deal with the fallout, if they would have been allowed to stay alive. Thorin didn't trust the word of the goblin one bit. They would have been killed without a chance to negotiate. "You put us all in danger-"
A hand on his shoulder interrupted the tirade that had been building up and Thorin stopped in surprise.
"What he's trying and failing to say is 'thank ya'." Ehhh... hadn't he said that? Thorin thought back and felt himself flush a little in realization that he had laid into the hobbit. Well, he had never said he was good with words "In Thorin-speak he just wanted ta say that he was worried 'bout ya."
What sorts of friends did he have? Ones that fell into his back apparently and if Dwalin hadn't been so right he would have scuffed him over the head for that cheek. At the very least.
Looking down at Bilbo he realized the hobbit had a point with his worry about what might have happened if Thorin had been recognized in the cavern. Then his gaze fell on the gash on Bilbo's side. It was still bleeding sluggishly.
"Óin! Look after B- our burglar." he hollered at the half-deaf dwarf, then turned back to Bilbo, suddenly unsure how to talk to him. He was not used to apologizing or admitting to wrongs. And he was unsure about how to talk to Bilbo. They were essentially strangers, since Thorin had avoided him or harassed him. He probably owed Bilbo multiple apologizes and resolved to – for once – jump over his shadow and make it happen. The hobbit deserved that, and more.
For now an awkward "I... you were quite brave." had to be enough. At least until they had put enough distance between them and the goblin nation out for their blood. He quickly took over organizing their company, making them gather their stuff and then he forced them to march. As much as he wanted to give them a break, he wanted Bilbo – and everyone else – out of reach of the goblins now that they had managed to escape.
And if he kept an close eye on Bilbo... well, he wasn't the only one.
Finally he had deemed them to be far enough away and ordered them to set up a camp. After a quick bite to eat, not nearly enough to satisfy their stomachs but they needed to keep up their strength, most of the company laid down to sleep.
。・゜゜・ ✿ ・゜゜・。
It seemed like no time had passed at all when howls filled the air and woke them up again. Thorin sprang to his feet, adrenaline giving him a boost to snap to awareness in a blink of an eye.
They broke down the camp and then they were running again. Thorin really hoped the wargs wouldn't catch their scent, but so far their quest wasn't a very lucky one and just as he predicted their luck didn't hold this time either.
It wasn't until the cliff that Thorin realized just how unlucky they truly were. It was as if the whole universe conspired against and was out to get them!The whole company had scrambled into the trees as a last resort but that way they had just become sitting ducks. Thorin cursed lowly under his breath.
And lets not forget about Azog. Who should not be walking around but rotting somewhere else. Preferably while scavengers picked at the remains and ripped the monster apart piece by piece. But no, of course not. It couldn't be easy for once, right?
"Azog." however that piece of filth had survived... if Thorin had anything to say about it he wouldn't continue breathing the same air as himself.
"Nuzdigid? Nuzdi gast?"
Foul creature and it's foul language!
"W-what is he saying?" surprised Thorin glanced next to him. He had been so distracted by the orc's appearance that he had missed Bilbo climbing the same tree as himself? Thorin didn't offer to translate the words. Lies. Meant to dig into his mind and leave a seed of doubt behind. He wouldn't repeat the words and he wouldn't believe them.
"Ganzilig-i unarug obod nauzdanish, Torin undag Train-ob."
Of course Azog had to continue speaking. He probably loved to hear his own voice, even though it grated on the ears of anyone listening. And sitting in the trees the dwarrows were forced to do exactly that. Thorin's face darkened as he got an understanding of what the orc was talking about. Anguish and fury kept building up. The orc was mocking him, taunting him. Grief tore through Thorin at the reminder of his fathers and brothers fate. But he would never believe the words of a fell creature, only his own eyes would believe their death. No matter how unlikely their survival was. It was a very probable possibility that they had been beyond recognition and had been burned in the pyres of their dead. Or they had been dragged off by enemies, which would make their survival unlikely. Thorin was well aware that there was a big chance his kin was dead, yet he had never lost the hope that despite that he would somehow find them again. Without seeing their dead bodies Thorin just couldn't convince himself of their death. With Gandalf returning the key and the map... well, Thrain's death had been confirmed. He had not asked for details. He would not believe them out of this orc's mouth either.
And then the orc ordered his wargs to attack. And the trees fell. The company was slowly herded to the edge of the cliff until they had gathered in the last tree standing. The idea with fire-pinecone-missles seemed to give them a little reprieve as it drove the wargs back but the tree already had taken too much damage and it too slowly got uprooted by it's own weight and the company's sitting in it's branches.
Most of the dwarrows had almost fallen to their death. Thorin had barely managed to swing himself around the tree-truck and managed to cling to it until it settled on a very precarious place above the abyss. He was the only one who was on the more or less flat side leading back to the cliff while the rest of his companions were struggling for survival and purchase.
They would all die if something didn't change. He had not come so far to cower in a tree from his enemies. Slowly he rose to his feet, his eyes staring straight at the foul orc and it's beast of a mount.
No. He wouldn't give that orc the satisfaction of ending the line of Durin. And maybe, just maybe he could distract the orcs long enough for the others to get away.
He ignored Balin shouting after him as he drew his sword, ignored Dwalins pained howl when he started to charge and the looks his nephews send him. He didn't dare look in Bilbo's direction for fear of being distracted again.
It was a mockery of a fight. He managed to hold his own for some time but the warg and orc combined with Thorin's exhaustion due to little rest and even less to eat made for one powerful enemy. Smoke stung his eyes at the most inopportune time and before he could react Azogs mace hit him at full strength. But even that did not immediately down him. Instead he struggled to his feet, dizzy and weak and disoriented from the pain. Then he got mowed over by the warg and that was the point where he feared his life to be lost. He struggled to reach for his sword. It wasn't very far away but his body didn't seem to want to obey him anymore, no matter how much Thorin gritted his teeth and tried to endure. His senses were fading in and out again as he fought to stay conscious. He was aware enough to realize that Azog had just ordered his death and everything in him rebelled against the thought of being felled by a nameless enemy while lying on the ground – helpless. Angry he tried even more to reach his sword, his fingers stretching in the direction of Orcrist grazing it's hilt. A steel-clad dirty boot stepped on his harm, drawing out a pained grunt.
Felled by orcish scum. How ironic. He could see the orc raising his arm with it's sword and barred his teeth at it.
And then the orc was gone, mowed over by a small figure that should. Not. Have. Been. Anywhere. Near.
"B-bil..." where? Where was the hobbit? Where were the orcs? Panic gripped his heart in a ruthless grip as he succumbed to darkness just as a furred foot stepped in front of him.
。・゜゜・ ✿ ・゜゜・。
Thorin's heart had stopped for a moment as he remembered all of what had transpired up to his point, before achingly restarting in pulsing regret. He had not managed to apologize. And now...
It was too late. Frustrated and pained – because they were at fault for dragging Bilbo out of his comfortable home and through the wild, that was no place for the gentle-hobbit – he turned away from the company for a moment to pull himself together again. They all needed a break anyways. His eyes roamed over the area that they had been able to cover with the help of the eagles. He tried to make out the cliff they had fought on but failed to see it. They were too far away. Bilbo was out there somewhere, likely dead and all Thorin wanted was to search for him and at least give him a last place to rest. A grave was the very least he should be able to do for the brave hobbit he had refused to acknowledge. But... but Thorin was king. He had responsibilities towards his people and had promised them to try and return their home. No matter how much he wanted to, he could not turn his back on his duty.
Maybe later. Maybe after the quest. It was wishful thinking for Thorin knew that regaining control over Erebor would only be the start. Duty would bind him to the mountain for sure, there would be no time to look for the remains of a small hobbit far from home. Bitterly he turned away, unable to face that direction anymore.
Turning to the company he looked at each member. A hallow feeling settled in him, as if an important part of him had been cut out.
"We need to get moving." he murmured and drew the attention of the company to himself. He straightened, lifting his head high and keeping a tight lash on his emotions. He couldn't allow grief to consume him.
"Get up, pack your things... this area is too vulnerable."
He turned away, regret a painful twinge in his chest that had nothing to do with his wounds.
A/N:
Most. Horrible. Chapter. Ever. I worked every evening on this thing and I'm STILL unhappy about it. I've decided to just work through my writers block... and to post the chapter before I delete like... 90% of it. Well, part of it had been prewritten already so that's probably the only reason I got it done. Besides I needed a distraction.
About the chapter itself... I actually wanted to cover a lot more. I don'tknow why almost every single chapter amounts to nearly 8.000 words. This time it's around 9.000 even! I had to split it again :)
So... yeah. And no Bilbo. Sorry about that, I think he went and died. :(
