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 for your continued attention – I hope you still enjoy reading, even though the updates take time and I'm not very good at getting back to reviewers. That said, thank you very, very much for reading and reviewing!

Also, double update. I managed to get the update posted to ao3 from mobile while traveling, but not here, so enjoy!

The Price of Gold

Chapter XXV

At least five dwarves slipped out of the hall the moment Thorin's speech concluded. Nori purses his lips. The lords, advisors, generals and other nobility are still clustered on their perch near Dain, faces betraying nothing except a sense of concern. Whether for the turn of events or their own plans, Nori does not know.

He finds Bofur in the crowd and they share a short nod. Bofur will trail one of the five – likely the dwarf in wearing Fror's insignia, which leaves Nori with four to choose from. Two bear Kham's sigil, one is without any sort of identification at all, and the last one belongs to Himril's staff. As far as he knows both Himril and Kham are not involved in whatever plot is at large – they may not like what is happening in Erebor, but won't interfere.

So the one without insignia it is. With a surreptious nod toward Dwalin Nori turns to the left and slips into one of the corridors leading away from the hall. At its end he can see the silhouette of the dwarf turn to the right and silently follows. Nori pats the pocket of his coat – the alarm whistle was Gloin's idea, and he hopes it will work. A part of Nori fears whether Thorin's speech may have spurred their enemies to act hasty. What that may mean for Bilbo, he does not want to imagine. So whatever he will find, he may need to call in the others at once.

"Outrageous!" Lord Kham exclaims the moment he has set foot into the side chamber. Thorin wishes he could keep out the lords and generals, but he knows he needs to play along. So far they've all made righteous proclamations how self-justice is a terrible thing.

"Indeed," Dain adds, looking at the tittering nobles with barely hidden disdain, "One would think the hobbit's deeds do not mean anything to our kind."

"Well," and with that Janvi clears his throat and Thorin wants to murder him, "He is a traitor." The dwarf belatedly seems to notice Thorin's stare burning into his back. "I mean, of course, it is terrible that somebody saw the need to take the law into their own hands. His failings should have been judged by the right authorities."

"With all due respect," Balin interrupts quietly, "The hobbit you are speaking of is why we reclaimed Erebor. The King himself has just delivered an explanation of the events."

Janvi flushes, turns to Thorin, but finds no support there. However, Kham, still reeling from Thorin's announcement, is more than willing to take up the ball. "Yes, and pardon me, but what was that? Your majesty gave him the Arkenstone?"

The entire congregation breaks into a clamor. Thorin catches Dwalin roll his eyes. They'd all prefer to be elsewhere – out there, searching for their missing burglar. Thorin most of all; he cannot fathom how Bilbo has come to such harm in his company. And he knows it is his fault, and wishes he could undo it all, but now he must address the uproar before him.

"I did!" he states evenly, "As a sign of my thanks – of the thanks all dwarves owe him! He was the one who braved Smaug, who faced Azog! Without him, we would not have reclaimed this home."

Dain gives him a wry smile, while Fili nods along seriously. Some of the nobles shake their heads, though Himril purses his lips. "To see him trade away this gift must have broken your heart, your majesty," he suggests.

Thorin realizes what he's implying. So does everybody else in the room and Thorin knows it's a lie. Whatever there was between Bilbo and him never blossomed, was choked by his descent into madness before it had a chance. But this is not about truth or lies – this is about spinning a convincing narrative and Thorin wishes he could just let Ori do the talking.

"Yes," Thorin confirms and hopes this will not come back to haunt him, "Yes, it did." It's easier to blame the events on the parapet on a broken heart than to mention madness.

"Still, he's a Halfling," Janvi mutters, visibly unhappy. "He's not …"

A dwarf, and Thorin seethes. Bilbo is worth ten of you, he wants to tell Janvi, and Dwalin, too, shifts. To their surprise it's Kili who speaks up. "He has helped win Erebor, risked his life for us several times. If that does not make him a dwarf, we should not call ourselves dwarves either," Kili says, sharply, reminding the assembled lords of their dismissal of Thorin's plea, "And begging your pardon, I would rather go and search for a friend than dither here."

Himril sucks in a sharp breath, Janvi shifts and Balin grimaces. He'll apologize later, Thorin resolved, but Kili is right. They should not wait here. So he inclines his head. "I believe my nephew is correct. We can have this discussion later. Now I have a friend to find."

"Wait for him to be found," Fror counsels, "it's unbefitting for the King to -"

Thorin gives him a grim smile. "There are many things unbefitting for a King. I have done many when the need of my people was greatest. And I can tell you, going out to save a dear friend is everything but unbefitting!" And with that he turns and stalks out, Balin, Dwalin, Fili and Kili at his heels.

Bilbo wakes to shouting. His head throbs and dried blood clings to his eyelashes. They stick together when he tries to pry them apart, casting a red sheen over his tilted vision. He still lies on the floor where he fell, hands pulled behind his back and numb. His entire body feels exhausted, wearied, and he is just about to close his eyes again when the shouting returns.

"- is over!" somebody shouts from the next room. The door is opened a slit, allowing a sliver of light to emerge.

"I say we leave and shut up!" another voice returns, "Let Fror puzzle out this one. I don't want to have anything to do with it!"

"You think Fror won't gladly hand over our heads?!" the first voice yells back, "He'll sell us out at the first opportunity!"

"What if we still go through with the plan?" a third voice joins, "Kill him and be done with it?" Fear runs through Bilbo's body. Kill him? Now? He almost wishes he was asleep again - so that he'd at least not know.

"And what use will that be?" this voice is familiar. Haugar, Bilbo recalls, the dwarf was called. The one insane. "If we kill him now, either Fror will us have done in or Oakenshield will. Fror would like it - he could serve our heads and ingratiate himself. No, if we want to survive this, we need the hobbit."

Bilbo's heart skips a beat. Pleasepleaseplease, he thinks, please let me live. He'd beg, but his throat is parched and he doesn't think he could scream if he wanted to.

"What do you suggest?" The first voice inquiries, calmer now, and Bilbo has to strain to catch the words.

"We keep the hobbit. Fror knows we could tell on him, he'll try to be rid of us without calling his own actions to attention," Haugar explains. "That still doesn't tell me what we get out of it," number three protests. "Oh, a lot," Haugar laughs, sounding less than stable, "Oakenshield's all but declared himself in love. We simply name our price. Maybe with a finger added to make sure he knows we're serious."

Cold sweat builds up on Bilbo's back and his stomach rolls. Bile rises in his throat, he forces it down with difficulty. His entire body feels wrong, sick and he wishes he could close his eyes and pass out, but his pulse races.

"I don't like it," dwarf number one protests, "they'll hunt us down."

"Which is why we don't release our little hostage until we're far, far away from Erebor," Haugar explains and then his voice drops viciously, "They'll hunt us anyway. We can only pick if we're going to be wealthy or not on the run."

"No," dwarf number two who has been silent interrupts sharply, "no. Kill him and let's be done with it. Fror won't bail on us if we don't bail on him and I doubt there'll be much grief about one dead halfling."

Bilbo whimpers. Tries to curl up on himself, but the bonds don't allow much movement.

"Are you stupid?" Dwarf number one inquiries, "Do you want to get us killed?"

Haugar merely laughs in that sharp, high-pitched voice of his. It sends a shiver down Bilbo's spine.

"Watch me!" Dwarf two shouts abruptly and there is the sound of a chair being pulled back.

Bilbo flinches, the door to his prison flies open and hits the wall with a loud bang. Metal glints in the light, Bilbo tries to shuffle deeper into his corner, but the dwarf advances.

"You," he rasps, a long knife held aloft, "If only you didn't exist!"

"Stop this! Bendir, stop this! Oi!" a second dwarf appears in the doorway and Haugar continues to laugh, laugh, laugh. A shadow falls over Bilbo and only stone is behind his back. The dwarf's silhouette is dark, his eyes two madly glittering dots, and Bilbo's mind goes blank with despair. This can't be it, this can't be where it ends, this can't be happening. Pleasepleaseplease, Thorin, Gandalf, anybody - help!

"You die, maggot!" Bendir hisses, utterly disregarding his comrades screaming for him to "Stop you fool! Stop it he's our ticket out of this hell-hole! Bendir!"

The knife flies down. And an axe smashes down on Bendir's head.

Blood and tissue splatter, the knifes falls to the side. Bilbo's world explodes into an amalgam of red and white and grey and the sound - The sound alone twists his gut. Bone crushes under the axe's force, it cuts through the soft matter, blood drips to the ground, and then the body falls with a soft thud.

It comes to rest across Bilbo's legs. It's barely recognizable as a dwarf anymore.

Haugar laughs. Head thrown back in terrible exhilaration. "I told you," he giggles while Bilbo's vision fades to white, "You're an idiot!" His two remaining compatriots look on, pale and frightened, but Haugar ignores them. Instead he turns to Bilbo, his grin utterly twisted.

"Now, what do you say, little hobbit? Let's send our regards to Oakenshield, shall we?" Haugar crouches down and grabs Bilbo by the hair. Forces his head up, until Bilbo can't breathe for the pain and thinks his neck must snap. "What do you think would work best?" Haugar asks conversationally, reaching for the knife Bendir dropped. Blood drops from and a thick, sinew piece of red gore slides aside with a quelch.

Haugar waves the knife in front of Bilbo's face, exhilarated. "An eye perhaps? It's nicely prosaic, and you have very pretty eyes. I might just keep one for myself," Haugar contemplates, ignoring Bilbo's trembling or the tears silently streaming down the hobbit's face, "Or maybe an ear? Very recognizable. Yes -"

"Yes, I think that's it," the voice says and Bofur knows he cannot wait any longer.

He'd not expected to be led to his goal straight away when he followed the dwarf, would have called reinforcements earlier, had not thought the situation would end so dire - He doesn't want to think about what Bilbo must be going through.

Bofur blows the whistle as loud as he can. The shrill sound echoes through Erebor's corridors.

Nori stops cold at the sound. Curses loudly, turns around and breaks into a run.

"Is that Nori?" Kili exclaims the moment they hear the noise, "He's found -"

"No," Dwalin interrupts, "That's Bofur!"

And Thorin's blood goes cold.

"Stop this at once!" A new voice shouts, bursts through the door and Bilbo's heart thrills when he recognizes Bofur. The grip in his hair tightens.

"Oh no," Haugar says calm in face of Bofur brandishing a mace, "No, I don't think I will stop this."

He lifts the knife, sets it against Bilbo's cheek. And cuts. Bilbo's breath hitches in pain, hot blood wells up and Haugar keeps his eyes fixed on Bofur.

"In fact, it would be quite foolish of me to stop, would it not? The moment I let the little doll here go, you'll murder me. So no, I'm not going to stop!"

Bofur freezes where he stands and Bilbo wants to reach out, to fling himself forward. He's so close, almost close enough to touch - but Haugar smoothly shifts the knife so it sits against Bilbo's throat.

The corridors blur together. Thorin can't breathe. His body is on fire, though he doesn't feel it. His mind blank and terrified at once. He rushes forward. Up, up, up, three stair at once. Behind him Fili, Kili and Balin follow. Dwalin ahead of him.

Somebody shouts after them. Thorin knows the voice, but it does not penetrate the panicked haze.

Then they find the chamber. Thorin picks up the stench of sweat and blood, but then he's through the door - and freezes. The tableau sears itself onto the back of his retinas; Bofur standing with a sword drawn, but unable to advance, two unfamiliar dwarfs lingering defensively against the wall. And in a dark corner, stained in blood and tissue their hobbit is held aloft by a mad dwarf. A blade sits against Bilbo's throat, the hobbit's face stark white under the blood. His clothes are stained with it.

Thorin's heart drops. Is this his? Is Bilbo already so injured, is he bleeding - then Thorin catches sight of the half-crushed body lying across Bilbo's legs. Behind him somebody retches. And the dwarfs with the knife looks at Thorin with the most terrifying smile Thorin has ever seen.

"Ah, his majesty himself," he utters, sounding amused of all things, "the princes, too. What a fine congregation! Lovely speech, too, I must congratulate you for that. Fror must have been pissing himself."

One his comrades twitches, Fili starts, but the dwarf raises the knife and tuts.

"Oh, honestly, the old geezer deserves it. Would've sold us out anyway. So, your majesty, you see, we're not like him. We don't care who you take to your bed or not - we're here for business." Teeth gleam as his grin widens. "So I thought perhaps we might strike a deal?"

tbc