Part 2

The most racking pangs succeeded: a grinding in the bones, deadly nausea, and a horror of the spirit that cannot be exceeded at the hour of birth or death. Then these agonies began swiftly to subside, and I came to myself as if out of a great sickness. There was something strange in my sensations, something indescribably new and, from its very novelty, incredibly sweet. I felt younger, lighter, happier in body; within I was conscious of a heady recklessness, a current of disordered sensual images running like a millrace in my fancy, a solution of the bonds of obligation, an unknown but not an innocent freedom of the soul. I knew myself, at the first breath of this new life, to be more wicked, tenfold more wicked, sold a slave to my original evil; and the thought, in that moment, braced and delighted me like wine.

- Robert Louis Stevenson

Thorin drowned.

The hurricane was upon him, and when it broke it did so with the tearing roar of a thunderclap, the rending of Thorin's body, as all he knew fell into darkness. Thorin's limbs spasmed and his eyelids twitched, but otherwise there was no outward sign of the storm within. Far away, a cup of tea was cooling in Bilbo's numb fingers, a hollow ache gnawing at his heart, and the dragon-spell lay across his mind like a veil. Thorin's breath rattled in his throat but he could not cry out, and no help came.

Where once the cold turn of his thoughts had been a small, dark corner of his mind waiting to prey upon him, Thorin now felt as if it surrounded him, that his own self was shrinking, the cold beating down against him. His first instinct—to fight, to strike out against the darkness that encircled him—shot new terror through him as his limbs only twitched but did not obey him.

Then with a wrenching, jerking feeling that sent vertigo churning through Thorin's stomach and left him bereft within his own mind, he stood outside of himself and, just as with that day in the treasury, looked upon himself. He looked, and wondered at this creature before him, this broken ruin of stone and obsidian, bound by knots it could so easily break, its head bowed, its chest rising in the even fall of sleep. Thorin saw, like sand running out through an hourglass, that last patch of soft flesh on its cheek flaking away. In its place emerged the hardened scale that now covered every inch of the ruined dwarf's body save for that vulnerable spot above the heart, which all dragons must guard.

A tremor ran through his body, the shifting of muscle and bone as the curse worked the first stages of the alchemy of transformation, as it prepared to rend flesh and bone asunder. But whatever had forced him from his body lay too heavy for him to move it, and only the tightening of its body, as every nerve and sinew snapped taut, told the story of that hidden agony.

"Bilbo, help me …" Thorin breathed in the space between, this spectral world. He saw his own lips move in time with his words…

…Then the claws twitched, digging themselves into the stone arms of the throne, and knew he had not done that.

The creature upon the throne opened its eyes, and looked straight at Thorin.

"Oh, come now, we need no assistance in this, I should think." The creature smirked, the expression so alien on Thorin's own features that he was stood transfixed. The the creature broke eye contact and looked to its left. It inhaled.

Fire sliced like a knife through the ropes that bound its right wrist. The ropes fell in a charred heap upon the floor, the ends smoking. Its now-free hand slashed the ropes that bound its left wrist in a single movement, parting them like cobwebs. It stood, looking back at Thorin and beckoning for him with its claw.

"Why do you linger out there?" the creature said. "Return."

It was as if chains being wrapped around Thorin's chest and dragged him foreword. He jerked away on instinct, digging his heels in insofar as he could in this incorporeal world. It made no sense to him, how he could stand hereand be there at the same time. He only knew that the being that looked out from his own ruined body was not him, and it sent through a wave of raw and dizzying terror.

"You resist?" the creature mused. "If we do not leave soon, they will find us. Do you not hear them, O King? Do you not smell them?" The creature jerked its chin towards the honeycomb of corridors that led towards the treasury. "You are betrayed. Just as you were when you first allowed me in."

Ice flooded Thorin's veins as he stared at the creature before him. He turned, looking the way the creature had indicated, and their voices came to him, floating on the subterranean breeze along with their familiar scents. It was as if they stood before him, his senses grown so sharp they were almost painful.

"…Did you manage to find Thorin?"

"We've been worried about you!"

Fíli and Kíli. In Erebor, when not an hour before he had begged Bilbo let him keep at least that shred of dignity. To hear them after so long was like lightning through Thorin's mind, and on its heels came anguish, swift and sharp and agonizing, twisting in his heart like a knife's blade.

"No. No, he would not. He agreed…" Thorin said, and was pitifully aware of the falsehood in his own words even as he spoke them. Why should Bilbo not disobey him again, when he had already done so once, and for much higher stakes, for Erebor itself? Why should these past three days have made any difference at all? Gandalf he might have accepted but this, this was far too much and though he was not in his own body he felt he could not breathe, that his vision spun and narrowed at the edges as panic clamped off his breath like hands clenching around his throat.

"Your burglar is not coming," the creature said. "At least, not alone. Strange, that one you thought so loyal would betray you again so soon. Or perhaps not strange at all. Loyalty and honor seem a rare commodity in your life, O King."

Despair surged through Thorin and he opened his mouth to retort, to deny the creature's word, but felt something shift within him, the tipping of a balance, washing through him as darkness rose around him, not in shredded flakes as it had in the library, but a tide that rushed in, swallowed his vision, dragged him down. He did not even have time to cry out as it dragged him down, only saw with his last moment the creature grinning at him with all its teeth.

The dragon felt the struggle, felt the spike of panic, and then as despair swallowed the second consciousness and sent it spiraling down into sleep. After that it was all too easy for the dragon to do as it willed, now in full possession as it was of their shared body.

The dragon left the throne room. Now it sought that final barrier: the Halfling that had so often thwarted and driven it back, who even now kept Thorin's mind and heart separate from its own.

The throne was empty.

Bilbo froze, but the pause was brief before he was running again. He stopped at the throne, muttering, "No, no, no…" as he picked up the ropes that had fallen to either side of the throne, one end blackened by fire, the other shredded. "I- I don't understand," he choked, looking back over his shoulder at Gandalf. "He was just here." Bilbo stared back at the throne, at the stone that had become so familiar in these past three days of keeping watch on Thorin, so recent and yet feeling so long ago all at once.

"This is where you left him?" Gandalf said, coming alongside him.

"It couldn't have been more than an hour ago; he was asleep…" Bilbo said. Gandalf leaned in and gave a soft exclamation as he saw the char marks on the ropes.

"He is already breathing flames?" Gandalf said. Bilbo shivered. There was something in Gandalf's tone, a wariness that had not been there before. It was never comforting to hear a wizard surprised. "How far has the malady progressed?"

"Mostly scales," Bilbo said miserably, feeling the echo of that aching hollowness as he had watched Thorin's skin consumed day by day. He closed his eyes against the image. "Claws. H-he doesn't need to eat anymore, or drink. I saw him breathe fire once, but he didn't have any control over it." And he had joked about it then, joked so that he didn't do something so foolish as scream. And Thorin had stormed off, as if the fire that had just come from his mouth was some embarrassing social faux pas, and Bilbo had chastised Thorin for his grouchiness, not forcing the issue, not leaving then and there for aid, and Bilbo's own misery only increased at the memory.

"Control or not, if he has already changed enough to breathe fire…" Gandalf said, and shook his head. "It has been an Age since I have heard of so swift a transformation. Not since a darker power bent its will to acquiring new servants."

"A darker power?" Bilbo said, coming out of his musings, feeling a new wave of trepidation. "I should think Smaug the darkest power there is. 'Calamity of our Age' and whatnot

"There is another power, a greater one," Gandalf said. "But he is far from here, chased from his fortress of Dol Guldur, his power there unmade. Regardless of whether he was fully destroyed, or has simply gone once more into hiding, he should have no influence here."

Gandalf spoke slowly, as if searching out the shape of a thought that had not yet fully formed, and as he did a creeping anxiety filled Bilbo. It seemed the shadows grew darker with each word, and Bilbo's hand went compulsively to his waistcoat pocket. Gandalf's eyes flickered at the movement.

Bilbo pulled his hand free again, his fingers just inches from tracing the smooth surface of his little ring. It made him feel squirmy and uncomfortable to hear of the problems of the great, dark forces and ancient enemies. It all seemed very far away, and happily so, for a hobbit such as he. Such matters were better left to elves and wizards. Though it did occur to him that he might need to adjust his thinking a little, he who had exchanged riddles with a dragon and stolen from the Elvenking. But that had been a different matter altogether!

"But Smaug was here for so long, and there's so much gold. Could that not have something to do with it?" Bilbo said.

Gandalf considered this, his lips twisting as he did so, before he finally nodded. "You are probably right," Gandalf said. "It has been many centuries since a dragon has spent so long undisturbed over such a quantity of gold, and there is the problem of Thorin's family to consider. The gold sickness lies heavy upon the Longbeard clan, and Durin's line in particular, for they are the most direct descendants of the Indrafangs of old. That could well explain why it would take him so swiftly," said Gandalf.

"But there is still hope?" Bilbo said anxiously.

"My dear Bilbo, there is always hope. Though I must apologize if I appeared dismissive of Thorin's illness earlier. It had not occurred to me that it could have spread so far in only a few days. I had thought we could put this whole matter behind us, but if he is already at the tipping point…"

"Tipping point?" Bilbo echoed.

"Breathing fire means the curse has gone beyond the superficial. It is beginning to change his flesh and bone; it may well begin to change his mind. We have very little time," said Gandalf.

"Then we must find him straightaways," Bilbo said, rising to his feet, and allowing the ropes to slither free of his hand to coil on the floor.

"First there here is another task I must attend to, to remove the curse from the gold, and ensure the sickness does not spread further. Already I fear for Fíli and Kíli, and if we are to get the aid of the other dwarves in finding him it must be cleansed first. It will do little for Thorin present state, but I dare not leave the matter a moment longer, not when the curse has proven to be so virulent," said Gandalf and as he spoke he began to walk, beckoning for Bilbo to follow him as they traveled the long pathway back to the throne.

"Will it take long?" said Bilbo, trotting to keep up.

"It would have when you first came down here, for at the time I was not yet recovered from the assault on Dol Guldur. But I have spent these last days gathering strength and preparing myself. Part of my purpose in coming on this venture was to cleanse the gold should Erebor be reclaimed, and it was my intention to do so before any be allowed to enter the mountain. The possibility that I would be called away, that Smaug would be slain while I was gone, or that any would be so foolish as to linger alone inside the mountain before I arrived were all unexpected elements. This has become quite a fine mess, Bilbo, not the least because of those three outside. I intend to have some stern words with Thorin Oakenshield once we find and cure him. Much could have been avoided if he had only listened to me," said Gandalf with a huff of exasperation.

"I'm afraid you'll have to get in line to get your chance for those words," Bilbo said grimly. He went quiet for a moment, frowning as they came to the end of the path, where it broadened into the larger hall. Bilbo stopped, and nodded to himself. "Right. You return to the treasury, I will search for Thorin."

Gandalf frowned, stopping as well and leaning on his staff as he looked down at Bilbo. "I do not believe that would be wise. If his illness has advanced as far as you say, Thorin could be erratic. Once I have cleansed the gold we may call the rest of the Company to aid us in our search. They can be trusted to protect Thorin's reputation and to face him in combat, if necessary."

"Summon the-? Gandalf, we don't have time for that, and Thorin would be furious if we did!" said Bilbo.

"Bilbo," Gandalf said patiently, "even if we did search now, we would not likely find him. He knows the paths and halls of Erebor better than any. But the disease will draw him to the gold. Waiting for him in the treasury is our best course of action at present."

Bilbo frowned, looking towards the treasury, then back into the wider halls of Erebor. A part of him rebelled at the thought of abandoning Thorin on a wizard's say-so. But there was reason in Gandalf's words and he sighed, his shoulders falling.

"Right," Bilbo said. "The treasury it is."

They turned towards the treasury, and as they entered those shadowed halls, Gandalf pressed a hand to the gnarled top of the staff he carried, whispering words Bilbo could not understand. The staff flashed alight, glowing white and banishing some of the shadows, but deepening the ones that remained. Bilbo flinched away from the brightness, feeling his dark vision burn away, and grudgingly took his place trailing a few steps behind Gandalf as they navigated the halls.

That was when he heard it: the rustle and scrape of claws on stone.

Bilbo stopped and turned, peering into the darkness beyond the light of Gandalf's staff. His own shadow grew long before him, black upon the floor, stretched thin and growing thinner as Gandalf continued to walk. The tread of Gandalf's boots receded behind him, but Bilbo hardly noticed, focused as he was, listening for another sound.

"Thorin?" Bilbo whispered, and his own voice echoed back at him. Nothing moved in the dark that was somehow deeper now with the passing of Gandalf's staff. All of Erebor seemed darker, the dusty hollows echoing with the wind like the moaning of its ghosts. Somewhere its king wandered those halls, lost within his own flesh and mind.

Bilbo shivered and turned away. Gandalf had turned down the one of the hallways that made up the many corridors between the throne room and the treasury, but the light still glowed and cast Gandalf's shadow behind it. Bilbo opened his mouth to call for the wizard, to bid him slow down—

A hand closed around his mouth.

Bilbo seized, his fingers coming instinctively to claw at the iron grip, and his scream fell flat against the hard, scaled flesh. Then the second arm came up to wrap around his shoulders, pinning his upraised hands to his chest. His head snapped to the side as he was jerked sideways and pulled off his feet. Bilbo's mind went blank, and the light of Gandalf's staff grew dimmer as it receded around the corner.

A voice scraped across his ear and through the blank panic he only knew that it was not Thorin. It was pitched too high, sibilant and mocking, but he could not understand the word it spoke. Khuzdûl, it had to be Khuzdûl, and he heard the grinding of stone and stared wide-eyed as a door hewed itself from the stone, and opened at his captor's bidding.

Bilbo's eyes widened and he kicked out, dragging his heels on the floor to push himself back from the inky blackness of the doorway, struggling and tearing at his captor's grip as he was dragged across the threshold.

The door shut behind them.

The grip vanished and Bilbo fell to the ground. His breath thundered in his ears and he stumbled back, searching with his fingers and nails for any sign of the door they had come in. Dwarf doors are invisible when closed…

"No, no I will not…"

Bilbo froze, a chill dripping down his back at the sound of Thorin's voice pitched in a low snarl, speaking to the empty air. Bilbo turned, and only at the last second remembered to lower his gaze against the dragon-spell. But even out of his peripheral vision, Bilbo saw him; the corpse-light glow of Thorin's eyes was the only light in that room. He was not looking at Bilbo, but was bent double, a clawed hand pressed to his forehead and his face twisted in agony.

Then a high, rasping chuckle came from Thorin's lips that made Bilbo's hair stand on end.

"Not yet, perhaps, but soon. How many more betrayals will you accept?"

"Thorin?" Bilbo said, his voice trembling. And part of him could have cried with relief to see him again after the throne, still alive, still there to be saved.

The rest of him felt it would die of terror.

"Let me deal with him in my own way. You will stay back," Thorin snarled in his own low voice. With that he stood and Bilbo could see, by gait and posture, that it was Thorin. He turned and looked at Bilbo, like a creature carved of dark granite, the light of his eyes growing brighter as Bilbo's eyes adjusted. Bilbo's breath caught in his throat and he pressed his back to the wall as Thorin advanced towards him, stopping just in front of him and placing his hands against the wall on either side of Bilbo's head.

Let us out, Bilbo thought, but was too petrified to bring the words to his lips. Thorin was leaning against him, so close he could feel the stir of his breath, his body trapping Bilbo against the stone. But it was Thorin, at least, not whatever had been the source of that hissing, mocking voice. Thorin was fighting it, pushing it back, and there was still hope. They could fetch Gandalf, they could find Thorin his cure, they could—

"Tell me, burglar," Thorin snarled. "Did you wait even an hour before going to fetch my kin?"

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Author Note: Apologies for the delay, guys! This should be the only bad one, this chapter really had it in for me. Thank you for your patience and if you have a moment, please consider leaving a review. It would really mean a lot to me after the sheer agony that this chapter has been ^_^