Disclaimer: Not mine. And the prompt came from the kink meme on lj. For the lack of hyperlinking: prompt post 10, p.5.

Warnings: PTSD, angst and political intrigue.

AN: Thank you very, very much for reading and reviewing! I apologize for the delay with this update, but life somewhat unexpectedly got rather busy. The next two weeks may also be, though I do hope things calm down after that. Anyhow, if you want to poke me - pm me. I usually reply to those faster than to reviews. (But I do treasure all equally).

The Price of Gold

Chapter XIV

Bilbo thinks he's improving. He's moving about in his tent, and a part of him desires to step outside. The nightmare is already mostly forgotten, and it may not be sunny or warm, but he'd like to see the sky again, feel the wind on his cheeks (and not think about how long it has been since). However, the noises make him weary. While he may not want to admit to it, the idea of facing so many dwarves leaves him trembling – and so he tells himself to wait a little longer.

He's getting better, so it won't be too long now.

Then he stumbles in his wanderings, and a large hand on his arm stops him from falling.

Instead of being relieved, Bilbo freezes with fear. His heart stops, and his chest won't move, and he can't breathe, can't speak, can't even see the floor in front of him anymore.

He recalls a hand grasping his arm hard, being tugged and pulled, stumbling, the world spinning, and then darkness. The all-consuming, mind-numbing darkness that he has tried so hard to forget. Like a monster it rears up and envelopes all that is on his mind, every thought, every hope, every emotion, until all has turned black and dark and terribly lonely.

When his vision clears, he settled against the cushions on his bed, and a nervous Bofur hovers at his side with Gandalf behind him.

The council is unhappy at his announcement, though not surprised. Dain is the first to leave the tent, his advisors make to follow him a bit more leisurely. Before Balin manages to leave, Thranduil leans forward. "One small matter though. The Arkenstone was to be removed from our discussions - that was our agreement. Master Baggins to commandeer it until peace has been established."

Balin's stomach rolls uneasily. The air has gone still – the remaining advisors have all halted their actions.

The elf king smiles – but it is not a pretty expression. "However, it has been brought to my attention, that Master Baggins' is exclusively surrounded by dwarves."

"He's ill!" one of Dain's advisors shouts, "He has been ordered to bed rest and few disturbances."

"Indeed," Thranduil replies, "Yet dwarves may seek him out, while my kin is turned away? I fear Master Baggins' impartiality may be endangered under these circumstances - especially, if he is indeed as gravely ill as you suggest."

Balin swallows. Thranduil is right, there is no denying his words. And yet, shielding Bilbo from ambitious council members is the last comfort they can offer their hobbit. Balin does not want to imagine what new pressures this might put on Bilbo, no matter how friendly he was with men and elves.

Bard clears his throat. "I do share this concern – given Master Baggins' condition and position I fear he is particularly vulnerable to influences or coercion. I do not doubt his judgment, but in this position his hand can easily be forced and we have no way of knowing."

With a heavy sigh, Balin nods. "I understand your concern," he tells them, "And I will personally ask Master Baggins if he is willing to receive visitors. I ask you, however, to accept his decision, no matter what it will be."

Bofur thinks his own smile feels brittle.

And how could it be any different, when his good-intentioned act to keep Bilbo from falling had instead scared the hobbit into unconsciousness? He knows what Thorin has done to their burglar – Bifur had not kept it a secret, though where Bombur raged and Bofur felt like punching their King, their cousin had simply looked at them sadly.

"And what did we do?" he asked them, before he had left.

The call of the gold is one thing Bofur still remembers too clearly, and it makes him shudder even now. On the bed, Bilbo sits upright and chats merrily with Gandalf. Yet Bofur sees how pale his skin is, how thin he has become. There are shadows underneath his eyes, and his smile misses its spark.

Their kingdom has cost more than anybody anticipated. Gandalf included.

The wizard looks at his charge with concern, that does not vanish even when Bilbo apologizes for "words that in the heat of the moment. I hope you know I did not mean them."

Whatever they were, Bofur thinks Gandalf would not mind had Bilbo meant them.

But Bofur sets out to dispel the grief lingering in the air. He is a toymaker – he wants to make people smile. And if light-hearted tales of Bombur's adventures in cooking with men and elves make Bilbo chuckle, then he has done all he came for.

"…and apparently, to men, those mushrooms cause hallucinations. Bombur as quite surprised to find…" Bofur says, and is interrupted by a bell.

"Excuse me," Balin says and enters.

Bofur feels the air change. Gandalf's face darkens, while Bilbo's smile turns resigned. Balin does not look happy either – if rumors are true, he is leading negotiations, and Bofur thinks it has to be a lonely, thankless task.

"The council does not convene today," he announces, and then to Gandalf adds, "Thorin remains asleep."

The wizard nods thoughtfully.

"However," Balin turns to Bilbo, "Thranduil raised the matter that he fears you might be … influenced, being sorely in the company of dwarves. Both he and Bard desire a meeting – though I asked them to prepare for a declination. So it's up to you."

Balin smiles. This is the best version of choice he can offer, Bofur realizes. Bilbo is too central for the negotiations to withdraw and recover, he must at least allow himself to be involved.

Even though everybody can see how it's draining him.

"Well, then I'll see Bard first?" Bilbo laughs.

On the other side of camp, Kili despairs at Oin.

"Please, just tell me what happened?" he asks, and gestures to the still form of his uncle. Thorin rests quietly on a cot well-covered in furs and warm blankets. But his face is pale and drawn, and even now traces of a frown linger.

"He needs his rest," Oin tells Kili. He had not wanted the lad in here – on the off chance that his distress might register with Thorin, and because it is bound to affect the princes' own recovery.

"Yes, but you put him to sleep!" Kili bites out, accusingly, "I recognize the smell! That's your special tea – why did you give it to uncle? Why did you-"

His voice breaks, and Oin forces a smile. Kili is still so very, very young, and it is terrible that he is familiar with the smell that clings to Oin's special tea. Which he feeds only to those very sick, in pain, or the dying.

"Don't worry so much, lad," Oin tells him with a sigh, "Your uncle is … has exhausted himself. I just want him to sleep for a bit longer."

Kili bites his lip, and his eyes wander back to Thorin's prone form. Conflict shows in his eyes, and Oin wonders how much the young prince knows.

"Will he…?" Kili swallows, "Will he be alright then?"

"As good as new," Oin promises.

"Like before?" Kili bites his lip, and Oin guesses before means a time before the quest. When uncle Thorin was an uncle, and not king.

And Oin cannot turn back time. He will not lie to Kili either. So he settles for the best response he can give, and hopes Thorin – whom he last recalls catatonic and broken, even to Bilbo and his oldest friends – will indeed recover.

"He will certainly try."

"You look pale, Master Hobbit," Bard says, once Dwalin has allowed him into Bilbo's tent. The hobbit is upright, on a chair behind a desk and looking over a number of documents.

Bilbo grimaces, and tugs the heavy fur coat closer around his shoulders. "Hobbits are not made for battle," he replies evasively, "Nor for drawn-out negotiations, I'm afraid."

"Nobody is made for that," Bard agrees, "And I'm terribly sorry we had to involve you after all."

Bilbo is reminded of the small box placed inconspicuously in a corner of his tent, and his stomach twists. He forces himself to shrug instead. "I brought it upon myself, in a matter."

The conversation drifts to lighter topics for a while. Then Bilbo inquires after Laketown.

"Hardly salvageable," Bard replies with a shake of his head.

Bilbo's eyes widen. "What will you do in winter? I heard you wanted to rebuild Dale, but that will need time, I suppose."

"Indeed it will," Bard says, "As for winter… we'll have to survive. Somehow. It would help a lot if we could trade for food and equipment while the roads are still open."

Bilbo nods. The plea is not really hidden – Bard is telling him that the men need the gold, otherwise they will die. And even if they can trade, it is dubious whether all of them will last through winter. The thought hounds Bilbo all through their conversation.

"Maybe you will join us tomorrow?" Bard asks as he prepares to leave, "I think we could all use somebody with a different view on those matters. Of course, it's dreadfully boring, too."

He smiles and Bilbo's heart goes out to him. Even though he does not want anything more to do with the politics surrounding Erebor. Even if he feels he has done more than his share for this already – but he knows he can help, and he knows the problems Bard speaks of.

"I will think about it," he tells Bard. Though he knows that tomorrow he will be there.

No matter what it will cost him.

When the entrance to their tent is opened, Fili at first thinks it is Kili. It is lucky that he has not called out in greeting, because the dwarf that enters is unfamiliar and wrapped in thick, bejeweled furs from head to toe.

"My prince," the dwarf bows, "I apologize for disturbing you. I am Fror, son of Nror, and advisor to his highness, King Dain of the Iron Hills."

"And I am honored to meet you," Fili replies, and sits as straight as he can on the bed.

When the dwarf steps closer and the polished metal of his shoes catches the light, Fili feels terribly unsuited to this meeting. His is ripped, his braids not properly done, and he is in bed, still.

"We are all looking forward to your speedy recovery," Fror announces, "Your company seems to have suffered heavily from the recent battle."

"We were rather in the thick of it," Fili replies, "And before that, we did face a dragon."

Fror nods, and then proceeds to engage Fili in the most terrifying bout of small talk he has ever been involved in. With Fror, Fili does not know what is said to garner a reaction, or where the traps are.

He grows increasingly paranoid as Fror continues to ask about his childhood, Thorin and a grandfather Fili cannot remember – eventually he clears his throat.

"Forgive me," he interrupts, "I am afraid I am not good company. My healer has advised me to rest frequently, and, well, I am inclined to believe him."

"I shall leave you to your rest momentarily," Fror replies, "Though I was wondering – might I invite you to join the council sometime? Unfortunately your uncle has taken ill, and it looks unlikely that we will reach an agreement during his absence. As the heir, you could take his place."

Fili can almost see the thoughts lurking behind that deceptively concerned expression – that dwarf aims to manipulate him, believes a young prince to offer no protest where an experienced ruler would do so at once.

So he smiles as nicely as he can (and if it has an edge, Fror does not know him well enough to tell): "As long as my uncle lives I will not take his place or make decisions for him."

Nighttime brings an unusual visitor. Nori sneaks into Bilbo's tent with all the secrecy of a thief, and only offers a grin when Bilbo inquires as to his reasons.

"There were so many people going in and out of here today, I'm pretty sure each party has their own spies making lists," he says, "Everybody is terribly curious about you."

It's not the kind of news that makes Bilbo feel comfortable.

Nori shrugs, and then cuts straight to the point. "Anyhow, Dain is no bad ruler."

Bilbo blinks. "But he…"

"He did not support the quest, that is true," Nori agrees easily, "But if you think about it, that was a fairly rational decision. I mean, Erebor's defense was wiped out by the dragon, and Dain's host may be strong, but probably not strong enough to take on a dragon."

He shrugs. "Anyhow, I sort of went through camp, and it seems Dain's popular enough with even the little folk at home. Considered rather honorable and reliable…"

Bilbo purses his lips while his pulse speeds up. He wonders at what Nori saying – and then the dwarf abruptly looks at him.

"See, what I am trying to say is – you don't have to play along. Go out and speak your mind; Dain certainly won't make a bad king, and he'll probably honor our contracts, too," Nori leans forward, "You don't have to fight this battle as well."

And then his smile softens. "If you want to go home, go home. You don't owe anybody."

Bilbo's breath catches in his throat. He has to blink because his eyes suddenly burn, and something in his chest unclenches ever so slightly. Perhaps he should…

… go home to his books. His garden. The familiar green hills, the lake and the tree. See the trees bloom in spring, and the fields turn golden in summer.

His heart aches for the familiar scenery.

Yet, he shakes his head. "I'd very much like to," he softly confesses to Nori, "But I won't. I joined you to help you win back your home. I will see it done, too."

Sleep has become elusive now that the majority of Kili's injuries have healed. Instead, his head keeps going over the last few days, twisting words and their meanings and trying to figure out what he is supposed to do. But all he comes up with is the image of nail-shaped marks on wood, and Bilbo's terrible pallor these days.

The darkness of the tent grows claustrophobic, and Fili's even breathing does nothing to change that. With little hesitation Kili shrugs on his clothes and steps out.

It's cold enough that his breath mists in the air, and the sun barely crests the horizon. But light and cold penetrate the haze dark thoughts have thrown over him, and he gazes over the quiet camp. Not many are about now, and except for Bifur who guards Bilbo's tent no familiar face is in sight.

His eyes are drawn to another tent, and with a clench in his chest he recalls that he still does not know what happened to his uncle.

It's been two days already. Kili bites his lip. He is - angry, disappointed, disgusted, furious, and yet, strangely at the same time he can't help feeling worried. Oin's face was so drawn when he told him, and Balin, too, had seemed so consternated.

All Kili can conjecture is that something has happened. Something that caused these old warriors to forgive Thorin's crimes, and remember their age-old friendship. But Kili does not know what happened, and so he does not know if he should – blindly – follow their lead, or judge the situation according to what he knows for sure.

The emotions bubbling in his chest provide no orientation – half of him wants to be angry, demands of him to be upright – what was done to Bilbo was fundamentally wrong, and it is unthinkable that it should be ignored and forgotten, especially after all Bilbo did for them – and yet.

Yet the other half of his chest wants his uncle back.

"Good morning," a familiar voice calls out and Kili glances up to see Balin approach.

He returns the greeting, and after a short hesitation, asks: "Any news from my uncle?"

Balin sighs. The sun has just risen, but it does not look as if got much rest the last night. Kili frowns to himself – currently they all are relying heavily on the elderly advisor to keep things running. And for all his experience, Balin might need somebody to support him as well.

"He remains asleep – Oin has judged it for the better," Balin tells him, "He might awaken tonight or tomorrow, so we might get some news then."

"That's great," Kili replies, "I still don't know what happened, though. Nobody will tell me anything. And yesterday one of Dain's dwarves visited Fili and asked questions…"

Balin swallows. "That is… well, I suppose that was bound to happen. Dain's advisors dislike taking my work on anything that is not going in their favor."

"But that's … I mean everybody knows you speak for uncle," Kili protests, and for the moment doesn't care that he sounds very young and naïve when he says it.

"But I am not King, and I don't command an army, either," Balin says.

Kili frowns. "Would it help if Fili or I went with you? I mean, we're not skilled at negotiations, but perhaps they'd listen?"

"That idea has some merit," Balin tells him, "But it also holds some dangers. Though if Thorin does not recover, we ought to give it serious thought. For now, I have to be on my way."

Kili nods, and then realizes where Balin is headed. "Why are you going to Bilbo?"

And Balin's face grows weary once more. "He will actively participate in negotiations from now on."

"But it's…." not good for their hobbit, Kili wants to say. With Bilbo's tent so close to Fili's and his, they can hear the nightmares. They now their hobbit is often awake rather than asleep.

"I know," Balin replies over his shoulder, "But it is … inevitable, really."

And then Kili is left standing alone as Balin disappears into the tent. He feels strangely lost. Powerless and impotent. He is a prince, but it seems that others are fighting the battle over his kingdom for him. And Kili would rather do it himself – Erebor is his responsibility, too. But he does not know how.

He only knows that relying on the kindness and goodwill of friends to the point that these sacrifice their own well-being can't be the right answer.

Council is worse than Bilbo has anticipated. Introductions take a small eternity, and many of Dain's advisors refuse to even acknowledge him before their king does. The whispers of "traitor", "betrayer" and "thief" make even Bard look uncomfortable, and Bilbo feels his smile slipping.

In the back of his head, dark memories arise.

Then Dain ends it by warmly welcoming Bilbo to their round, expressing how glad he is Bilbo could join them and inquiring with much concern over his well-being. Bilbo does not know what to make of it, but his mother's etiquette lessons help him to survive.

Once they start to discuss reconstruction efforts, the air becomes tense.

"Concerning my share," is all Bilbo manages to say before one of Dain's advisors is on his feet.

"Objection!" the dwarf shouts, "With all respect, Master Baggins, you are safekeeping the Arkenstone – your share of the treasure has been forfeited by your own actions!"

"That judgment has been revoked," Balin interrupt sharply.

"That does not change the deed!" the dwarf protests, and Bilbo starts to feel faint. His heart is pounding the way it did up on the battlements when Thorin's wrath first descended upon him.

"I do rather believe it does," Balin calmly states, "As it proves that neither betrayal nor thievery were intended. And Master Baggins was indeed free to use his share at that point."

Dain clears his throat – and, being a king, the two advisors fall silent. "Well, I see no sense in arguing the point when we can just ask Master Baggins himself. Could you perhaps give us an outline of your motivations? As you can see, these may be rather central to our discussion."

Bilbo wants to protest that they shouldn't be, but all eyes are fixed on him. The advisors, even Thranduil and Bard are watching him closely.

So he swallows and pushes down the nausea. "It is as Master Balin suggested. I sought to resolve the conflict without weapons – by providing my own share to compensate for the damages at Laketown and the support provided by King Thranduil. I took the Arkenstone as an object for trade – I never meant for it to serve as payment."

"And were you aware of the value placed upon the Arkenstone by my people?" Dain inquires.

Bilbo hesitates. "Not precisely. It had been spoken of and I recognized it to be especially valuable, but I believe I did not understand the depth of its importance."

He still does not, if he is honest. To him the Arkenstone is a cursed, shiny rock that has caused far too much grief – the rage in Thorin's eyes then makes him shudder to this day. Whatever the Arkenstone may be, Bilbo does not believe its worth justified the battle that was so nearly avoided.

And neither does it justify what Thorin did to him.

"Thank you very much," Dain says, kindly, "That was all I wanted to know – I apologize for recalling any bad memories."

Bilbo nods. Dain sounds honest, but he can't help if the room feels very distant right now. A part of his mind is slipping away – darkness beckons and the edges of his vision and his heart pounds loudly.

He takes a deep breath. And speaks up before any of the other beings present can do.

"What I wanted to say," Bilbo states, and even though he is dizzy, his voice comes out sharp, "Winter is almost upon us. There are three hosts to feed, Laketown is destroyed and Erebor in ruins. We need supplies before the roads close – and while we negotiate the details, I will offer to pay for all needed supplies out of my share."

And the room erupts in chaos.

tbc