A/N: This is probably one of the most important chapters of this story; one that was planned from the very start. (What, no, I don't make up the details of this story as I go . . .)
Thanks for all the (wonderful!) comments, (440!) favorites, (WTF, almost 600!) follows, (WTH, almost 500) bookmarks and (over 2000!) kudos! (Where are you guys coming from? O.O). I really appreciate them all ^_^
❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤
Dwalin punched Thorin in the shoulder, dislodging dwarf king's grasp on the hobbit's forearm. Thorin turned to his best friend, puzzled beyond measure. Bilbo looked in alarm.
"I had faith in ye," Dwalin hissed, a fierce scowl upon his face. "I put a lot of trust in ye!"
". . . What in Mahal's name . . ?"
Bofur finally stopped snickering to say, "So much faith."
Dwalin growled and turned his glare to the miner.
"What's going on?" Bilbo blinked confusedly at Bofur and Dwalin.
"Dwalin 'ere." Bofur delightfully pointed a thumb at the said dwarf. "Just lost big money, tha's what!"
"Money?" Comprehension brightened Thorin's features. He cocked an unimpressed brow. "I see. And just what is this bet all about and who else is involved?"
"Bet?" Bilbo was even more befuddled.
"'Tis about when the two of ye – " Bofur gestured at the hobbit and the dwarf king. " – will exchange first names, and who will offer first. The rest of the Company is involved, 'course," he gleefully informed them. "Dwalin bet that it'll be in half-a-year and it'll be Bilbo who'll make the first move because 'Thorin's too stubborn ta give in first'."
Dwalin's glare intensified. Bofur didn't even flinch.
Instead, the miner grinned and pressed a palm over his chest. "I, 'course, knew the stubbornness of our king 'ere will surrender to Bilbo's charms. I said Thorin will offer first. Although I did bet it'll be another month." Bofur rubbed his chin, thoughtful. "If I remember correctly . . . hmm . . . aye, 'tis Ori's prediction that panned out . . ."
"That's what you dwarrows bet about?" The incredulity in the hobbit's tone was comical.
Bofur shrugged. "What else? Ye two are the only drama occurring in the Company."
The twin looks of offended indignation the hobbit and dwarf king shot him were precious. Bofur couldn't help but giggle. Dwalin himself failed to stifle a huff of laughter.
Thorin rubbed his temples. "I don't know why I even bother."
Bilbo let out a huff, pulling the flaps of Bofur's hat closer to his ears as if it would drown out the miner's silly laughter.
❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤
After a few minutes, Bilbo had quickly fallen into deep slumber once more. The hobbit had valiantly tried to stay awake, insisting that he had slept enough, but eventually nodded off. Dwalin laid him back down and assured he was comfortable enough. Then, the three dwarrows guarded him, silent and counting the minutes until they needed to move again.
Thorin sat by the entrance while Dwalin guarded the back of the cave. Bofur sat beside the sleeping hobbit, using a finger to tap a soundless rhythm on his knee.
Then, the comfortable silence was broken by curiously spoken words.
"So, how'd ye predict Bilbo's sickness?" Thorin's and Dwalin's attention sharply snapped to Bofur. The dwarf cocked a brow in turn. "I've not forgotten what ye said earlier. Ye'll leave Bilbo when he shows signs of illness?" The miner's eyes narrowed. "Ye two knew this was going to happen. Possibly made plans for it." The accusation in Bofur's tone was unmistakable. "I want to know what's going on." It wasn't a request.
Thorin sighed quietly. He had hoped Bofur had thrown it out of his mind.
Dwalin looked at Thorin, deferring to his judgment. The dwarf king contemplated for several moments, deciding what plan of action was best.
There was no going around it; they had already clued the miner in. Although some would be fooled by Bofur's easy demeanor, Thorin knew that the miner was as astute as Balin and wouldn't let a subject matter rest if he deemed it important enough. And clearly, matters concerning their burglar were at the top of Bofur's concern.
The miner would believe no other explanation but the truth. And . . . he had the right to know, hadn't he? Wasn't he one of the hobbit's closest friends in the Company?
Still, it should be Bilbo himself who should be divulging this if he wanted them to know.
"It is a private affair of Master – of Bilbo," Thorin started, hoping to discourage the dwarf from prying.
"If it affects his well-bein', then it is my business as well," Bofur answered, unhesitant.
"You might not be able to do anything about it anyway," Thorin warned.
Bofur met the king's gaze and cocked a brow. "How about ye let me be the judge of that?"
Thorin sighed once more. Sometimes, he wished stubbornness didn't run in every dwarrows' veins. He conceded with a "Very well."
He proceeded to tell Bofur everything – from the moment Dwalin overheard the conversation between Lord Elrond and Bilbo to the dwarrows' discussions about the hobbit's predicament. He spoke of their assumptions and conclusions; how the hobbit having a terminal illness answered most of the questions about his unusual behavior. Dwalin chipped in once in a while, adding his own insights and part of the whole thing. Bofur listened carefully, never interrupting and eyes never wavering in their gaze on both dwarrows.
"We believed that the onset of fever was a sign of his sickness getting worse," Thorin finished, glancing at the hobbit.
It seemed a bit rude to be talking about Bilbo when he was right there but the hobbit never even stirred throughout their conversation. Thorin wished it would stay that way.
Bofur's gaze went to the hobbit's face. "It's just a normal fever," he said flatly.
Dwalin shrugged. "We realize that now."
The miner turned to them, face eerily blank. A prickle of dread ran across the back of Thorin's neck. He recalled the last time the miner looked that emotionless; Bifur had laid unconsciousness on the bed, axe upon his head, and Bofur had been told the chances of survival were slim. Thorin didn't know what that look entailed now.
"Lord Elrond . . . He didn't mention anything about the sickness being of the body." Bofur's tone was that of a statement than a question. "And ye said Oin didn't find anythin' unusual about him, physically."
Thorin raised a brow. "But what else could it be?" Even as the words escaped his lips, the answer dawned on the dwarf king.
There was a madness that ran along Durin's line, one Thorin refused to acknowledge but knew all too well. His grandfather was perfectly healthy in body but not sound in mind for many many years. His father had nearly fallen off the same edge. It was a sickness Thorin feared would grip him when the time came, and he tried to deny its existence in the hopes that it would not.
No, not all illnesses were of the body.
"An illness of the mind?" Dwalin looked at the unconscious hobbit like he was seeing the creature for the first time. "But – But, he has given no indication – He acts perfectly normal!"
Bofur's lips pursed in a stern line. He crossed his arms, huddling more into his coat. A hint of anguish slipped into his features, marring his blank mask.
He opened his mouth and quietly muttered the damning words, "He let go, ye know. Up there, on that cliff." The dwarf drew in a shaky breath. "He didn't fall by mere accident." Thorin's and Dwalin's eyes widened. "It was dark; I reckon my eyes was just deceivin' me at first. I mean, why would he . . . ?"
A miner's eyes were trained to be sharper than any other dwarf's. No matter how dark it was, Bofur would rarely be mistaken of what he saw.
"I should have let go sooner." were the careless words that slipped past the hobbit's lips, fever making him less careful and coherent. There was no doubt about it. Bilbo had planned to fall all along.
But why? The question once again haunted Thorin's mind. What kind of sickness of the mind had supposedly afflicted their burglar that he would . . . The answer hit Thorin like a mace in the chest. It can't be . . .
"But now, ye're tellin' me about this sickness." Bofur continued, shaking his head. He couldn't seem to look at the hobbit by his side. "I've been suspecting it for a while, what with the way he handled the trolls." The miner let out a humorless laugh. "Got to be observant on these kinds of things after . . . after what happened to Bifur."
"Bifur?" Dwalin frowned, thoughtful.
"Depression," Thorin said monotonously. The dwarrows' attention snapped to him. "Bifur had experienced severe bouts of depression after he received his wound." Thorin crossed his arms. He met Bofur's eyes, expression grim. "You believe our burglar is afflicted with the same illness."
"Aye." Bofur sighed. He rubbed his face with his good arm. "It's all speculation, mind. But now that I look back on it, he's been displayin' symptoms. The lack of appetite, the constant tiredness . . ." The dwarf paused, eyes finally straying to the hobbit. He leaned down and fixed the cloak on Bilbo so that it wrapped more snugly around him. " . . . and the suicide attempts."
Dwalin's eyes almost bulged out of its socket. "Th-The what?"
If depression truly ailed the hobbit, then it was not so farfetched to think that the not-so-accidental fall had been an attempt to end his own life. This sordid fact, Thorin had already deduced.
After Smaug's desolation upon their home, Thorin was not inexperienced when it came to such matters. However, depressed dwarrows rarely reached the stage wherein they preferred death over life – communities often helping them recover – which made it all the more devastating if they did. Bilbo might be no dwarf but Thorin found the blow of the realization did not lessen.
The dwarf's stomach rolled unpleasantly at the notion, although Thorin knew not why he was so heavily affected. He and the hobbit might have become friends but that was quite a recent thing.
"Attempts?" Thorin asked, catching on to Bofur's wording. "You believe there has been more than one."
Bofur nodded, smoothing the flap of the hat over the hobbit's ear. "The incident with the trolls, for one. And up there on the mountain ledge, while we were crossing. He nearly fell about five times before this one."
"Wait, wait, ye mean . . ." Mounting horror painted Dwalin's expression. "When he was bein' clumsy and kept slippin', he actually . . ." Dwalin vehemently shook his head. "Look, we're gettin' 'head of ourselves here. We've no proof that the burglar truly has depression!" Dwalin gestured at the said hobbit and reasoned, "He's cheerful at times and acts like a proper – hobbit or somethin' like that. He may tire easily because he is unused to life on the road. And he does eat quite heartily sometimes."
Dwalin just couldn't believe that a soft creature such as Master Baggins, seemingly untouched by the atrocities of the world, could have such morbid intentions.
"Perhaps," Thorin conceded. "However . . . He said something, while I was carrying him." The dwarf king closed his eyes, trying to recall the words and the way they had been spoken. "He told me that when he dies, Nori will be a good replacement for him as a burglar." He opened his eyes and met Dwalin's startled gaze. "He spoke with surety, as if it is inevitable. He is very assured he will find his death on this journey. And if he is physically hale, then the only way he knows with such certainty is because he will ensure it."
Brooding silence followed Thorin's remarks. Dwalin swallowed audibly, glancing once more at the burglar as if he could discover the answer to their question by looking alone.
"Ye never really know about these things," Bofur said, releasing another tired and resigned sigh. "But we need to make sure. I don't want to spend the rest of this journey worrying whether one of my friends wants to off himself." The miner's eyes softened as they landed on the hobbit. "We're goin' to have to talk to him about it. The matter has to be broached delicately lest he just laughs it off or evades it."
Thorin's lips quirked up. So Bofur had too noticed the hobbit's tendency to skillfully avoid unwanted topics in conversations.
"And how do you prop –" Thorin cut himself off as he registered a skittering noise.
Before he could begin to process what he heard, Dwalin whipped around to look behind him with his axe raised.
That was as far as the warrior got before he got smacked by something hard, halting all thought process. Pain erupted at the back of his head, axe falling from his loose grip. His vision blackened within seconds and he went down in a crumpled heap. Before he fell into full unconsciousness, he felt bony hands grab onto his legs and haul him back.
"Dwalin!" Both Bofur and Thorin roared, getting to their feet and swiftly pulling out their weapons.
Bilbo sat up with a start. "Huh? What's . . . What . . ."
Dwalin was dragged deeper into the cave in astonishing speed. Thorin and Bofur dashed inside without thinking, losing the little moonlight they had.
Then, Thorin halted and pushed Bofur back. Bofur hissed, injured arm jostled, but Thorin had no time to apologize.
"Stay with Bilbo," he ordered. "There may be more of them."
Bofur looked reluctant but eventually nodded, thinking of their vulnerable member. "Aye. Be careful." He said before turning back to the mouth of the cave.
Thorin wasted no time. He ran like he had wargs upon his heels, following the winding paths of the tunnel.
It was dark and his eyes were useless. It mattered not; stone-sense guided his way, making him aware of every crevice and every jutting rock. Thorin placed a hand over the stone walls, feeling the cave's vibrations at the smallest of movements.
There was something hissing and gurgling. A slimy croaky voice spoke, startling Thorin. "Yes, yes, yesss. Gollum, Gollum!" it choked out. "Is it goblinses, preciousss? Goblinses nasssty, nasssty. Better than old bonesss, preciouss. Better than nothing." It murmured in a continuous stream.
What was it planning to do? What had it already done? Thorin stamped the anxiousness building in his throat at the thought of his friend's fate.
He could not hear anymore footsteps nor any more voices, leading him to the conclusion that there was only perpetrator. However, judging by the continuous sound of a body being lugged, the enemy's strength shouldn't be underestimated.
The noises grew nearer and Thorin knew he was close. He brandished his sword, preparing to lunge at whoever dared attack one of his own.
He stealthily drew towards their location, his steps quiet. He might not be able to see anything but he knew Dwalin was only a few feet away now.
Then, a most unfortunate thing happened; Thorin's next step caused him to accidentally kick a loose rock on the ground. The stone skittered noisily across the floor, sound echoing in the empty space.
The sudden silence that followed was deafening.
The mutterings of the perpetrator abruptly ceased. Dwalin was no longer being moved.
Thorin tensed, whipping his sword in front and by his sides, knowing he lost whatever advantage he had. He could feel no vibration from the rocks nor hear any further noises.
The enemy acted too slyly, movements becoming mere whispers in the air. It also could probably see in the dark, unlike Thorin.
Therefore, there really was no warning at all.
A sharp rock hit the dwarf's temple with brutal force. He stumbled back and instinctively lashed out at the direction of the attack. He caught nothing; the enemy must have thrown at quite a distance.
He felt blood slowly trickling down the side of his cheek, sticky and uncomfortable. The wound let out a dull throb but Thorin ignored it, trying hard to shake the dizziness starting to cloud his mind. He lifted his sword, alert for any sound or wisp of movement.
"Are you such a coward that you would fight in a distance?" Thorin taunted, hoping to make the enemy reveal itself.
"What isss it? Another goblinses? Gollum, Gollum!" it hissed, giving away its location.
Thorin charged without hesitation, swiping his sword. His sword hit flesh and sliced it easily. Absently, he registered a soft tinkling sound upon the rocks but it was drowned out by his enemy's cry of pain. The dwarf didn't stop his assault, hacking and slashing but the enemy seemed to predict his movements. Other than Thorin's first attack, it dodged each and every one.
Then, strangely thin hands grabbed onto the dwarf's tunic and pulled him down. He overbalanced, head wound contributing to his uncharacteristic clumsiness. His head spun but he continued grappling with the unseen enemy, hoping to get ahold of it.
He felt clammy slippery skin but wasn't successful.
The back of his head exploded with agony as another stone made its way to it. He landed flat on the ground, unconsciousness clawing at the edges of his mind. He attempted to shake it away. He couldn't afford to fail! Dwalin was . . .
The enemy cackled, lifting the rock again and hitting Thorin's skull with unforgiving force.
"Another meaty mouthful, preciousss," were the last words the dwarf heard before he succumbed to the darkness of a more blissful kind.
❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤
A/N:
Poor Dwalin and Thorin . . .
Man, I felt like this chapter was quite a rollercoaster; started from humor, then angst, then action and suspense. Well . . . I don't know what came over me because that last part with Gollum certainly wasn't part of the plan! But then I started writing it, watching and enjoying Thorin suffer and I said, "This could work." Hope it could, brain, hope it could.
Constructive criticisms are welcome! Help me improve my writing, guys!
Have a fantastic day!
~ Vividpast