The traders stayed in the Shire for a month, trying to auction off each item they'd brought with them from Erebor. Bilbo spent that time getting his affairs in order, eager to be off as soon as possible.
He left Bag-End to his cousin Drogo. Maybe he would one day have a little hobbit to raise there. He rummaged through his belongings, trying to decide what to bring with him and what to leave behind. This was different than the last time, he realized. The first time he'd gone running off, it had been completely on a whim, and he'd had every intention of coming back if he could. Now however, Bilbo felt the last of his ties to his old home fade away. He wasn't planning on returning.
In the end he decided on bringing several of his and Josie's childhood mementos, so that Mithril would one day have something of her mother's, as well as the trunk of gold he'd taken from the trolls' cave. Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur had assured Bilbo they could fit it all into their caravan. With the exception of that, there wasn't much else that he wanted to bring. He preferred to travel light, having had far too many unpleasant experiences on the road for his comfort. He knew better than to load himself down with a bunch of trinkets.
As he organized his belongings Mithril played with his silver, or gorged herself on the vegetables in the garden. Often however, she would spend the day down at the market with the dwarves, and as Bilbo would stumble down the path to fetch his three friends and daughter for meals he would often find Mithril perched on Bifur's lap, happily playing with the toys he so eagerly supplied her with.
They were also teaching her Khuzdul. Bilbo wasn't aware of this until at supper one night Bifur stated something in their dwarven language, and Mithril eagerly replied. Even Bilbo could tell that her speech was broken and undeveloped, but she was young. She was barely managing common tongue, and that was her first language!
At the shocked look that took over Bilbo's face the three dwarves all laughed.
"It's only right," Bombur explained. "She is half dwarf."
Bilbo nodded. "Do I get to learn Khuzdul?" he asked.
This caused them to pause. "While I'm sure Thorin won't have a problem with it," Bombur stated, "we had best wait till we reach the mountain before teaching you."
Bilbo nodded, shoving down his worry at Bombur's words. They all knew what the round dwarf had implied. Just in case you're not welcomed back.
He watched curiously as Mithril resumed her conversation with Bifur, smiling at the ease with which his daughter seemed to get along with his friends.
He spent much of his time warding off the Sackville-Bagginses; even now they were still itching to get a hold of his silver. He made sure to put in writing that they were to never get a hold of any of his possessions; that any and all Baggins property was to go to Drogo and his heir.
At last it was time. Bilbo entered the kitchen with his heart pounding in anticipation, eager to be on the road. His pack was by the door, his walking stick leaning against the wall, and Bilbo had made sure he had packed plenty of handkerchiefs. He was ready.
"Easy there burglar."
Bilbo grinned as Bombur all but shoved him into a chair and sat breakfast in front of him. "You can't travel on an empty stomach," the dwarf scolded.
Bilbo snorted. "We've done just that in the past, thank you very much," he reminded Bombur. The dwarf crinkled his nose at the mention of their time in Mirkwood, moving back into the kitchen.
Down the table, Mithril was playing happily with Bofur's hat. Bilbo laughed as his daughter pulled it over her head, disappearing almost entirely into it. Only the tips of her feet poked out from the ends.
With a mock scowl Bofur reclaimed the hat, and Bifur pushed Mithril's plate closer to her. "Eat," he ordered in Khuzdul.
Mithril did so, though slowly. She could feel the tension in the air of Bag-End, and knew that something was about to happen. Whatever it was, she was eager for it to happen, and didn't want to waste time with eating.
Father and daughter eventually cleared their plates, and as the dwarves lead Mithril out of the house Bilbo cast one last glance around. This was it. Everything he would be taking had already been loaded into the dwarves' cart. Once he closed the door behind him, there was no going back.
It was surprisingly easier than Bilbo thought. As he tapped his walking stick on the ground he realized that, although he'd grown up in Bag-End, it was no longer his home. It had ceased to be so long ago. First Josie's presence, and now Mithril's had made the place bearable, but Bilbo no longer held any ties to the place. Where he was going now held much more for him, and he would be bringing Mithril.
The other traders were waiting at the edge of the Shire for them. They had learned by now who Bilbo was, and as the small group approached them Bilbo received nods and respectful greetings. It seemed everyone had heard of their king's beloved burglar, who had braved a dragon to win back the mountain for them.
The first part of their journey passed without incident. The traders, with Bilbo and Mithril among them, made their way along the same route Thorin's company had taken. At night he and Mithril would sit by their campfire, listening eagerly to Bofur's stories as they ate the meals Bombur prepared. Bilbo smiled as he curled up in his bedroll. He had missed this more than he'd realized.
Mithril herself didn't have a bedroll, so she would curl up beside her father. Often Bilbo would fall asleep with her curls splayed across his face, and wake up to her tugging none too gently on his hair.
He let her tiptoe her way around their small campfire to wake Bombur, Bifur, and Bofur. Bifur and Bofur she woke by tugging on their beards, but Bilbo always laughed as she woke Bombur by launching herself at him, bouncing off his large stomach.
They set a much more relaxed pace than Thorin's company had held. Without the fear of missing Durin's Day, there was no need for them to rush. And frankly, as each day drew them closer to the mountain, Bilbo became more and more terrified of the reaction he would receive upon his arrival.
Despite Bilbo and his friends' attempt to avoid the trolls' camp, several of the traders wished to explore it. The site of a battle, as small and pitiful as it was, of their king and his company against three mountain trolls; it had piqued the interest of the younger members of the trading party. By the time Bilbo had finished his breakfast the rest of the traders had been persuaded that it was a good place to explore, and with reluctance Bilbo led the way.
Mithril stared openmouthed at the stone statues before her, reaching out to poke at one of them. Bilbo knelt down next to her and began to tell her of his encounter with the trolls. When he told his daughter how one of them had used him to blow his nose, Mithril descended into laughter.
As Bilbo continued on with the tale, he found that the traders had paused in their investigations and were listening in rapt attention. Bilbo doubted he was anywhere near as good as Bofur at the art of storytelling, but he seemed to be doing the job. As he finished a round of applause went around the gathered dwarves, and Bilbo smiled at his success.
It was with reluctance that they kept moving. As they left the Trollshaws and passed into the open land beyond, Bilbo's eyes roamed around nervously. He remembered all too well the wargs and orcs he had once fled from here.
Everything seemed to be fine though. The traders moved swiftly, with Mithril bounding all around the group to chat happily with each trader. All the dwarves seemed to have both accepted and grown fond of her presence, and Bilbo often heard her twinkling laughter work its way back to him, coupled with that of whichever dwarf she was currently keeping company.
His peace was soon shattered, however. A dark shadow fell over the group, and Bilbo had barely registered it before a warg descended on one of the younger traders, its jaws clamping around the dwarf's throat. As he fell to the ground under the beast's weight he didn't even have the chance to let out a scream.
Immediately several dwarves were upon the warg and orc it bore, hacking with swords and axes until both lay dead. Bilbo spun in a circle, and was horrified to see a whole group of orc bearing wargs headed their way.
"There's more," he called. Immediately the dwarves went into battle positions, and Bilbo was shoved against a rock outcropping, the dwarves putting themselves between him and the danger. Bilbo drew Sting, glad he was wearing his mithril shirt. Then he realized who was missing.
"Mithril," he screamed. "Mithril!"
His eyes scanned around frantically, trying to find his daughter amid the battle that had just begun before him.
"Da!"
Mithril's terrified scream tore at Bilbo's heart, and he stumbled towards the sound. A moment later he spotted his daughter crouched under a trader's cart, hidden for now.
"Stay there," he called. "Stay-"
He dove to the ground and rolled as an orc charged him, then stood and brandished Sting, the blade glowing blue in the midday sun. The orc roared as it charged him, and Bilbo sidestepped its swing and stabbed the creature in the leg. With a scream its knees buckled, and Bilbo stabbed Sting into the orc's throat.
The blade seemed to drink up the black blood, rejoicing in being used for its intended purpose. Bilbo scanned around him, ready for the next orc. And there it was. Again he dodged as it attempted to behead him, and once more an orc fell to Sting's bite.
This would all be much easier, he thought suddenly, if you used the ring.
Bilbo didn't stop to think. He stuck his hand in his pocket, groping for the cool gold band, and let his guard down. He barely registered the next orc in time, and as he dove to the ground to avoid it he lost his grip on his sword.
Bilbo cursed under his breath, then rolled to the side to avoid the blade of the orc. He scanned around him. He had somehow moved away from the dwarves, and either way they were all busy with their own battles to come to his aid. There was no one to help, and Bilbo was defenseless.
Suddenly the orc roared in pain, and Bilbo's eyes travelled to it legs to find Mithril clinging to the creature, her jaws clamped onto its shin with all her might. Bilbo stared with mixed horror and amusement. Had she just bitten an orc?
Whatever amusement he had quickly turned to fury as the orc reached down and backhanded Mithril. She flew off its leg, landing with a cry of pain several feet away. As the orc turned towards her, sword raised, she let out a scream of terror.
Oh no you don't!
Red rage colored Bilbo's vision, and he grabbed Sting from where he'd dropped it and charged the orc, his momentum propelling the sword into its back. It bit through leather armor and flesh, and the orc collapsed forward, dragging Bilbo with him.
He pulled the sword loose and stabbed again, screaming. "Don't! You! Dare! Touch! My! Daughter!" Each word was punctuated with a stab.
It was only when the orc ceased to jerk under him that the red haze faded from Bilbo's vision. He dislodged Sting one last time, stumbling to his feet.
"Mithril," he gasped. "Are you alright?"
Mithril nodded, eyes wide as she stared at her father. Black orc blood and her own bright red blood mixed as it trailed from the corner of her mouth, and Bilbo could see a bruise already forming on the side of her face. He stepped forward and Mithril leaned away, her eyes going to the sword clenched in Bilbo's hand.
He sheathed it, then dropped to his knees in front of the girl. Immediately she crawled into his arms, and he buried his face in her hair.
"Are you ok?" he murmured. He hugged her to him, never so happy to feel the beating of her heart against his chest. "Are you ok?"
"Bilbo!"
Bilbo turned to see Bofur making his way towards him, his own axe covered in orc blood.
"Are you alright?" Bofur called.
Bilbo nodded and stumbled to his feet. "Fine," he responded. He started back towards the traders, who had by now finished their battle, Mithril still clutched in his arms.
It was horrible. Orcs lay strewn across the battlefield, but there were also several dwarves among the bodies. Bilbo's stomach lurched, and he barely had time to set Mithril down before he hurled into a nearby shrub.
"You'd think I'd be used to it by now," he muttered, wiping his mouth. Bofur chuckled.
"It's not a bad thing that you're not," the dwarf offered. Bilbo nodded and reached down to take Mithril's hand. She wasn't leaving his sight again.
"Bilbo!"
Now Bifur and Bombur were headed their way. While Bombur proceeded to check Bilbo over for injuries, Bifur picked Mithril up. Soon he began shouting angrily in Khuzdul.
Bilbo sighed as Bifur pointed to Mithril's face. "She bit an orc," he explained. He ignored the way all three dwarves' eyes widened at this; he really wasn't in a laughing mood. "And it hit her."
Bifur let out a growl, and Bombur's grip on his axe tightened. "Where is it?" he demanded.
Bilbo pointed wearily to the corpse, which lay off to the side. While the dwarves had made swift but messy work of their own foes, this orc had been hacked mercilessly. Bilbo felt no pity for his excessive force. It was what happened to those that tried to hurt his little girl.
Bofur chuckled at the sight. "I think Bilbo handled it," he commented.
"Aye." Bombur examined Bilbo with an appraising eye. "I didn't realize you had it in yah."
Bilbo harrumphed. "I was in the Battle of Five Armies," he chided. "If I survived that, I can handle one orc."
"Apparently not without your two year old daughter distracting it for you," Bofur translated for Bifur.
"You know what, I don't need this!" Bilbo threw his hands up in the air. "I'm going to get enough of this verbal abuse from Fili and Kili. Do you three really have to?"
"Yes," Bofur said simply. He said it with such a straight face that Bilbo couldn't help but laugh.
"And if you think the boys are bad, wait till Thorin has a go at you," Bombur added.
"Thorin?" Bilbo paused to consider this. While his dwarf had certainly been joking at times, when ale had helped relieve him of the weight of his quest off his shoulders, he had never been overly obnoxious.
"Aye," Bombur told him. "Where do you think Fili and Kili learned all their tricks? Thorin's the worst."
Bifur said something in Khuzdul.
"Of course," Bofur quickly agreed. "Dis is worse than Thorin." He glanced over to Bilbo. "You haven't met Dis yet, have you?"
Bilbo watched in mixed amusement and apprehension as all three dwarves began to chuckle in anticipation. "I've heard of her," he offered.
Bofur patted Bilbo on the back. "The stories don't do her justice- she's much more terrifying," he promised. Bilbo gulped.
"You lot! Give us a hand!"
The four quickly got to work rounding up the wounded and dead, and the jovial mood that had managed to find them quickly fled. Four dwarves out of the twenty had been killed, three of them barely out of their youth.
The group debated what to do with them. It was agreed that they needed a proper burial, but they were loath to linger in the open following the attack. Bilbo found a seat on a rock as the dwarves bickered, Mithril sitting on the ground beside him with a toy. His heart clenched with fury every time he saw her rub her jaw gingerly.
"What do you think Bilbo?"
All eyes turned to Bilbo at Bofur's question, and Bilbo glared at the dwarf. He seemed unrepentant, sending Bilbo a look that told him to hurry up and speak.
With a start, Bilbo realized this was a test. He knew that he would face many if he were to stay by Thorin's side in Erebor; he had spent many nights worrying about it since he had learned the king was alive. Bofur was trying to warm him to the task. A kind gesture, but Bilbo didn't appreciate it. Not with so many eyes staring at him.
He sighed. He did have an idea, but he didn't think any of the dwarves would like it.
"We could go to Rivendell," he suggested. Just as he'd predicted, the dwarves erupted into furious shouts. "Wait, wait, wait, wait!"
Bilbo's shouts finally quieted down the group, and he ignored Mithril's wide eyed stare from behind him as he stood to address them. "Many of us are wounded from the battle," he told them. "Our supplies have been destroyed, and we have no way to bury our dead. Rivendell can supply us with what we need."
"Like they'd give our kin any sort of an honest burial," snorted one dwarf. Naggoul was his name.
Bilbo rolled his eyes. "On our journey to reclaim the mountain, Thorin made the choice to accept the hospitality of elves following an encounter with orcs in these very fields." He gestured around him to the plains, deciding not to mention the fact that Thorin hadn't been told they were headed to Rivendell until they'd arrived. "Are you suggesting that the elves' hospitality was good enough for your king and his kin, but not for you?"
This seemed to give the dwarves pause. They resumed their muttering, and though Bilbo could tell they weren't pleased with his opinion, his three friends were nonetheless happy he'd contributed. At last the dwarfs sullenly agreed to go to Rivendell, and once they had salvaged what they could and rounded up the dead Bilbo lead the way, Mithril walking beside him.
His daughter seemed to sense that now was not the time to go wandering off, or perhaps the attack had scared her away from such activities, for she stayed dutifully by Bilbo's side. As the gates of Rivendell came into view the dwarves grumbled in displeasure, but a quick glare from Bilbo had them shuffling forward again.
They had to cross a bridge to reach the city, and Bilbo gulped as he stepped onto it. Hobbits were afraid of heights to begin with, but when you added a rushing river beneath, they became flat out terrified. He swallowed his fear though, knowing that unless he could make it over the bridge, the dwarves would never follow. The sight of Mithril bounding unworriedly across helped him to start forward.
They were stopped by guards at the gate. Bilbo sent a glare back to the dwarves to tell them to keep their mouths shut and stepped forward, hoping he would be able to work up the same charm as Gandalf had done.
"Hello," he greeted, ignoring his pounding heart. The elves nodded in return, eyeing the bloodied dwarves warily, and Bilbo decided to just cut to the chase.
"We were attacked by orcs on our way back to Erebor," he explained. "We were hoping to seek the hospitality of the Last Homely House East of the Sea." He utilized the name he vaguely remembered Gandalf using, hoping it would trigger something akin to pity in the elves. Or at least a sense of duty to let the travelers into Rivendell.
They nodded. "Of course," murmured one. "Your presence here is welcome, so long as you keep the peace." His eyes swept over the group. "How many number you?"
Bilbo bit his lip. Here came the tricky part. "We are twenty dwarves, one hobbit, and one of mixed blood." He nudged Mithril gently as he spoke, and the elves glanced down at her curiously. Bilbo resisted the urge to draw her protectively behind him as he continued. "Four of our number fell in the battle."
The elves nodded. "We will find a place for you to lay them to rest for now, until you have arranged with Lord Elrond their final resting places."
Bilbo nodded gratefully as the elves stepped by to let them pass. This was more generous an offer than he had expected. "Thank you," he replied. He turned slightly to gesture to the dwarves, and reluctantly they followed him through the gates of Rivendell.