Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) J.R.R. Tolkien.


Chapter Eight


The Misty Mountains.

If there was ever a place in Middle Earth that Bilbo would have been happy never to see again, it would have been that mountain range. He could see it from the distance even miles away, and the sight of it made his stomach twist into knots.

all he can focus on is the cold. It is the type of cold that he has never felt in all his years. It is a cold that burns when it touches his skin, makes every breath hurt, and turns every joint in his body stiff

"Is there really no other way than this mountain?" he asked Bombur as they lingered in the back of the Company.

"Well, one could go around the mountain if they were up to it," the cook answered. "But it takes a lot longer."

"And we don't have time to spare," added Óin from his other side.

Bilbo frowned. The first time around he had never given much thought to the reason why their journey was made in haste besides the obvious reason of the door. But now he found himself curious as to what the cause could possibly be.

"Why is it so important for us to get to the mountain as quick as possible?" he asked aloud.

"Because others have heard the rumors that Smaug may be dead or gone and are seeking our treasure. We must hurry to beat them," Bombur answered, rubbing his belly.

"Besides, we've been waiting for decades to reclaim our home. We will wait no longer," Óin added with a fierce scowl that could rival Dwalin's on a bad day.

"Ahh, that makes sense." He nodded before another question formed from the answer. "But who would want to challenge a rumor of a possible dead dragon just for gold?"

"When it comes to greed, there are no depths that one will not go to satisfy their lust," Óin replied. "We Dwarves know it well. It is a fine line we walk between greed and passion. It is one we must always tread with caution."

there is a look in Thorin's eyes that he does not know. He has never seen those blue eyes darken so greatly or become so detached from any sort of life. He follows the king's gaze and finds it is on the Arkenstone, and feels himself turn cold

I think I understand what you mean, Bilbo thought, glancing to the front of the Company where Thorin led them on.

I think I understand quite well.


It was dark when they finally reached the mountain.

It was agreed that they would rest for the night before beginning the journey through the mountain. Camp was set up and everyone began to attend to their own needs duties and needs. Without anything to do, Bilbo found himself a snug nook to curl up in, and watched his Dwarves go about their business.

It was a silly and overly sentimental thing for him to do, but he found that he enjoyed watching his comrades more than he did speaking to them. He enjoyed watching Bombur become so engrossed in his cooking that he tuned out the entire world. He watched fondly as Ori scribbled in his book and smeared ink on his cheeks every time he pushed a braid out of his eyes. He liked to memorize the melody that Dwalin hummed to himself while cleaning his weapons, and the sound of Kíli's laughter as he teased his brother.

I have become the old man I swore I would never be, he admitted to himself, snorting and shaking his head.

"Something funny, Master Burglar?"

Bilbo glanced up to the Dwarf that had joined him, and shook his head with a grin. "Simply laughing at myself, Master Bofur."

"Often times that is the best thing to laugh at," Bofur agreed, taking a seat next to him. In his hands he held a small, curved knife and a piece of unmarked wood.

"What are you making?" he asked, nodding to the knife and wood.

Bofur shrugged as he made himself comfortable next to the Hobbit. "Don't know yet. Maybe a whistle. Maybe a toy. Maybe even a figurine. We'll see when we get there."

"Hmm." He watched the Dwarf as he fiddled with the knife before a thought occurred to him.

"Master Bofur? May I ask you a question?"

"Only if you call me by my name and without titles," the other answered with a dimple grin.

He chuckled. "Very well. Bofur, why is it that you are a toymaker but your brother is a cook? I thought that most dwarven families go into the same trade."

Bofur clucked his tongue and glanced across the camp to Bombur. "That's true enough. Bombur and I did start out as toymakers back in Erebor. We were even preparing to take over our father's shop, and maybe even open up another."

"So what happened?"

"Well…There was this dwarven lass. She worked in the palace kitchens and used to walk past our store every day on her way to work and back," Bofur said quietly, his eyes darkening in memory. "I remember that she used to keep her brown curls tied back with blue ribbons that matched her eyes. She probably could have had any Dwarf she wanted, but the only one she ever seemed to want was Bombur."

"Oh," he said, unsure what to say. "And did he… want her back?"

Bofur smiled a smile of unspoken memories. "Oh, yes. My brother did not just love her; he worshiped her. She was his stone and jewels and gold and everything precious. They were so very happy together, and I swear I have never seen anyone so well matched as those two were for each other."

Bilbo felt his throat tighten. "What happened to her?"

"Smaug came and Erebor fell. She fell with it. And my brother was never the same again." Bofur finally looked at him, and it was with the face of one who had seen too much death to be changed by it now.

"We Dwarves… We each deal with our grief differently. Some of us throw ourselves into battle. Others thrown themselves into drink. Bombur threw himself into food because it reminds him of her. That is why he is the cook and I am the toymaker now," the Dwarf finished softly.

Bilbo did not know what to say. He never knew that Bombur had been married or why he loved food so much. It made him realize even more that there was so much he did not know of his companions and the lives they had led before. And it drove home how just much they all truly lost thanks to Smaug.

"I cannot imagine how he must feel," he said quietly. "To have known that type of joy and then to have lost it… How do you go on?"

That was certainly true. He knew what it was like to grieve for a lost love but his grief was a one sided one. He never knew what it felt to love and be loved in return only to lose it all.

"You learn to live with it," the Dwarf advised, returning to his woodwork. "It changes you and you will never be the same but you can't let it define you. Because once you do then you will lose yourself to that moment—that memory—forevermore."

The words were wise and knowing and sent a chill down his spine.

"Bofur… What did you lose when Erebor fell?" he wondered in a soft voice.

Bofur snorted and did not look away from his carving. "I think the better question would be what did I not lose, Master Baggins."

Bilbo did not ask any more questions that night.


The next morning they began their climb.

It was a slow and rough affair. The High Path, no matter how well used, was not the easiest road to walk. It was a rocky and steep climb up the mountain and took longer than he remembered it taking the first time around. Everyone was on guard for Orcs and goblins and Bilbo was greatly tempted to tell them not to bother worrying for their greatest threat would come as they slept.

Then, as night fell, the Stone Giants began their fight.

He had forgotten, over the many years, exactly how frightening the climb was with those great creatures fighting overhead. The rain and thunder could not drown out the sound of their stone flesh hitting one another, and no matter how much he pressed himself back against the mountain he found that he could not escape the stones that rained down on him.

"We need to get to shelter!" Balin yelled from somewhere near the middle of the group.

"Agreed!" Thorin yelled back. "Stay together until then!"

Bilbo glanced up and realized that the fight between the giants was getting more heated. Quickly he eased himself back against the mountain until there was space for the others to walk, and then nodded to the Dwarves who walked behind him.

"Go on ahead of me!" he yelled over the weather and giants.

"Why?" Fíli yelled back even as he nudged his brother onward. Kíli slid past the Hobbit without question with Ori trailing him.

"I have a better grip with my bare feet and can move faster!" he explained. "The rest of you don't with your boots! So go ahead and stay together and I will follow!"

That was only partly true. He did have a better grip with his feet and he did want the group to stay together, but it was in order to avoid what happened last time. Though things turned out fine, he did not want to risk them getting stuck between two quarreling Stone Giants again.

Fíli looked skeptic but did not get a chance to argue as Dwalin, who stood behind him, nudged him on the shoulder. "Just do as he says! Keep moving!"

Fíli sighed and followed Ori without another complaint. Dwalin soon followed with a grave nod to Bilbo that he translated to mean, 'Thanks for protecting the stubborn prince.'

He nodded back and leaned further into the rough rocks so the larger Dwarf had more room to walk. After him followed Bofur and then Nori; both were huddled under their cloaks in a futile attempt to hide from the rain. Only once they were past him did he finally breathe a sigh of relief, and began to follow the group again.

They trudged on through the rain and fighting. Bilbo found himself constantly glancing up at the giants above them; watching and measuring their every move in hopes that he could time when they needed to leap to safer grounds. But it was difficult to spot them with the rain and darkness.

It is only a bit further, he thought to himself, and then the one we stand on should move and

Then the stone before him began to move.

He stumbled back before he caught himself with his hands. When Bilbo looked up, he found that the giant had broken off from the mountain and was moving. Most of the group was stuck on the giant's leg, but his attention was not on them. It was instead narrowed on Fíli, Dwalin, Bofur and Nori who were still before him, and not on the giant like they should have been.

"Jump onto the giant!" he yelled but his voice was lost to the wind and thunder.

Bilbo began to move closer to them, hoping that they could still time it right and maybe manage to get to the other side before the giant crumbled. But before he had even taken two steps he found the ground beneath him crumbling, and on instinct he jumped back just in time as—

—he caught sight of Fíli's wide blue eyes one last time—

—the ledge crumbled into ruins and the Dwarves standing on it fell into the darkness below.