A/N: Hello my lovelies. Yes, I'm aware this is late, and that I'm really horrible at keeping a schedule. Sorry, have been really busy and time is a major constraint. My results have been shit and I have A-levels this year, not to mention my other commitments, so this has really been pushed down my list of priorities :/ Fret not though, I will definitely complete this, although it may take quite a fair bit of time.

Thank you all for your support! It means a lot :) To dyane966, LovesDragons, goddess bubbles, Mystic Myra 8, madnessdownunder2, claire 1663, Salinia, Julien Caeg, Pietersielie, Zyenna, Yueres de leo, CastDownWarrior, Classified, LostInASeaOfPeople, and Its your Uncle bourbon, thank you for the reviews :)

Actually, I spent like a month procrastinating and working on the POV of the young dragons under Azog until i realised that 1) that writing is crap 2) that's more OCs that are probably unwanted, and 3) are you guys even interested in that? Plus, maybe it's ore fun to keep you guessing ;) Thus it was scrapped. Do tell me if you're keen on that idea though!

Unbeta-ed for now, sorry! Hope this chapter is alright - really enjoyed writing Bofur, sorry if it's OOC to you; this is my take on his character. May have taken certain liberties as usual, but please tell me if anything is unbelievable (and stupid) or OOC!

DISCLAIMER: of course i own the hobbit etc. I also happen to be a dead famous writer, rising from my grave to write crappy fanfiction for my own universe. (the more you know, right?)

Chapter 18

Bilbo nestled deeper into his thin sleeping bag. The sharp edges of pebbles dug through the sleeping bag and into his back and he shifted uncomfortably. Finally, after what felt like hours, the sound of water slapping against the rocks lulled him into an uneasy sleep.

When he opened his eyes again, Smaug was looming down on him, sprawled over sea of gold artifacts that covered covered half the Great Hall. He blinked. How did he get here? Last time he checked, he was in a forest - somewhere.

"Bilbo," Smaug crooned, "how kind of you to join me."

He reached for a sword that was not there. "Why - how did I get here?"

"We came to a mutual understanding, once we realised our goal was the same: the gold." Smaug swept a claw over his majestic hoard.

A sickening feeling filled his heart. "I never said that. I don't want the gold."

"Don't want it?" Smaug drawled out slowly, dangerously.

"No."

"Don't want the riches, or the power? All the power in the world, Bilbo. All yours to take." Smaug uncoiled himself, the metal around him chinking.

The gold was alluring, Bilbo conceded. It glimmered, whispering sweet nothings to him and enticing him to bury himself in—

"No," he said instead, voice hollow.

Smaug fixed a single red eye on him. "You'll want it soon enough." It lunged, maws wide opened and spewing fire. Bilbo flung his hand up. He tensed, bracing himself for the inevitable pain. But the flames never reached him.

He lifted his head up in confusion. Both fire and dragon had vanished. Haunting, mocking laughter rumbled through the ground. The Great Hall was devoid of life, just the cold, glittering gold around him. The laughter died down to an echo; a slow, grinding noise took its place instead.

He looked up. Little pieces of the walls chipped off and crumbled into dust before it even hit the ground. The pillars groaned under the weight of the ceiling. The ground shook and cracked, splitting into two right at the middle.

Then everything was falling.

As Bilbo turned and ran, he could still hear the laughter echoing after him.

Then the landscape melted away and there were dark, murky shapes reaching towards him, twisting and twisting and engulfing everything in its way. And he was running, running and running and running away from those sinister hands, but his feet were stones and refused to move.

The darkness was gaining behind him. He pushed himself forward, but it was like wading through sludge. He stumbled and fell, scrambling backwards on his rear when his legs failed him. The long shadows were nipping at his feet, finally retracting when he was all but cornered.

Slowly, a figure emerged from the dark mess - first the outline of a hand crawling its way out of the darkness, followed by an entire shadow that detached itself from the darkness. It lifted its head in Bilbo's direction.

The figure was staring at him, a figure with one eye much like a cyclops. A red eye that throbbed. It extended one boney fist in his direction. The hand unclenched to reveal a golden ring.

"Take it. Take it."

Everything was dark except for its one glowing eye. It was entrancing. Unconsciously, his hand reached out slowly towards the golden ring. He could see a red eye, a single red eye and it was staring and staring and burning through him —

Bilbo jerked awake. He gasped, pulling himself upright. The dwarves barely stirred. The crashing of waves rolling over rocks filled the eerie silence that blanketed over the forest. Panting, he dragged the back of his hand across his sweat matted forehead. There was no evil red eye in sight, nor were there any shadow figures as far as he could tell. His hand went into the pocket in his waistcoat, and the tension drained out of his shoulders when his fingers brushed against the bundle of cloth still there. The ring was safe. Briefly considering wearing the ring and checking if he would spot anything different with the odd monochrome vision the ring provided, he dismissed it and withdrew his hand instead.

Exhaling slowly, he eased back down and forced his heartbeat to slow down. There was no cause of caution here, besides the forest playing with their minds again. It was just a nightmare, that was all.

Carrying Bombur slowed them down immensely. The dwarves grumbled the entire way as they took turns lugging the plus-sized dwarf on their backs. When he did finally wake up, confused and bewildered as to why his head was sporting more than a few bumps, a mighty cheer rose through the forest and the dwarves' burden was immediately lightened. Literally.

Their good spirits, however, did not last. A strange mist wafted around them, thick and strange-smelling and promising trouble. Everyone moved lethargically, their only motivation being Thorin's wrath if they even suggested taking a break. They trudged on and on, Bilbo noting the confusion on Dwalin's face and the muttered counsel between the dwarves few. Uneasiness rose through the ranks when it became apparent that they were lost.

Finally, when they circled back to a trunk Bilbo was sure they had walked past at least thrice, he decided that enough was enough.

"Thorin, let's stop. I'm going to climb a tree," he said, "and see if I can spot our location."

Thorin consented, and after a few considerations, Bilbo was scaling up a tree with ease. The climb seem to go forever before he reached the leaves. Pulling himself up, he broke through the foliage. He gasped.

For as far as he could see stretched the endless green forest, leaves of a multitude of shades. A kaleidoscope of luminescent blue butterflies danced in the air. He threw his head back and laughed, delight bubbling in his chest. The sky, the first clear sight of the sky he had in days, was streaked with hues of oranges and reds and pink, the colour of sunset intermingling with the original hues of blues.

The wind swirled through the leaves, and oh, how he missed the breeze in the stifling forest below. This was almost as good as flying. He breathed in deeply. Fresh, clean air filled his lungs as he inhaled deeply, his mind clearer than it had been for days.

"I can see a lake! And a river. And the Lonely Mountain. We're almost there!"

He almost did not want to go down to the muted, lying world below. But duty called and he must answer, so it was a reluctant Bilbo that finally scrambled down the tree. There was a grin on his face and his heart was much lighter than it had been before. They do not have far to go - a few more days of travel and they would be out of this cursed forest.

But instead of coming back to his Company of disgruntled dwarves, he was met with packs. Bags strewn all over the floor, without his dwarves. Floor with traces of web and fighting all over, with the heavy, musky, discernible scent of spiders.

He narrowed his eyes dangerously.

How dare they.

The spiders were not difficult to track.

They felt before they saw him; the intense pressure of the presence of a major, pissed-off predator that had come to play.

Eyes with slitted pupils unbidden with fury, canines bared in a silent snarl, fire dancing in one hand while the other held a dagger in its grip. They immediately tried to scuttle away, but it was too late. Oh, they were going to burn, forest be damned. The wrath of a dragon was a fearsome thing.

He bore them down mercilessly.

The spiders did not stand a chance.

BOFUR

When Bofur opened his eyes, the first thing that hit him was the smell of fried flesh, damp wood on fire, and basically fried things and smokes and things on fire. There was the underlining stench of rotting carcasses as well, and a slight buzz of background noise. That was, of course, a cause of concern, but it was not a major one. Not yet, in light of what he was facing. Or "in dark", since he could not see very well in the almost non-existent light.

The second thing he realised not long after regaining conscious was that he could not move his limbs, even though he was lying on his back.

Now, that — that was definitely a major cause of concern. Also, he did not know where his other friends were, but that was no problem - he would simply have to find them somehow. After he worked himself free.

He was wrapped in some form of sticky web, wrapped so tightly that he almost could not breathe. He could not even turn his head, goodness. Whenever trapped him here didn't seem to have the time to finish their job - he was still lying on the ground, as if forgotten. There was also another wriggling white form above him, right in his line of view. It was tied firmly to a tree branch. Whoever or whatever it was, it seemed as stuck as he was, although at least he was not tied to a branch, thank Mahal.

He struggled and squirmed and generally felt like a gigantic caterpillar in a cocoon. The difference was that an average caterpillar wants to be in a cocoon, while he? He did not. It was never on his list of Things Bofur Wants To Experience Before He Kicks It. Never had been, never would be. But alas, sometimes you get things you never asked for and certainly didn't want, but that was how life rolled, and he just sort of learnt to roll with it.

With this new epiphany, Bofur decided that he should fully embrace his inner caterpillar-in-a-cocoon (what was the right word? Pupae?) self. To do that, he mused, he could roll. Roll away as far as he could from this Dangerous Yet Unknown Area.

So he did. Maybe doing so would get him away from whatever was holding him captive. Which was probably a spider, since Bofur had brains and he could put two and two together.

The creepy giant-ass thing that attacked had eight legs. Eight legs plus webs meant creepy giant-ass spiders that attacked peaceful passer-by without warning. Rude. Creepy, giant-ass, rude, and hungry spiders, if those watery gooey thing that felt like saliva on his face was any indication.

Ugh, spider-drool. Also not on his list of Bofur Things. While he was processing all these, Bofur was still rolling away, channeling his inner caterpillar-cocoon-pupae very nicely, and attempting to work his way out of this white, suppressive prison. He did not know where his jailers were, but their lack of presence was very convenient and he was not about to speculate or question this stroke of dumb, well-needed and well-appreciated luck. Thank you, Mahal. Thank you, amad, for making him pray and worship to Mahal when he was a wee kid.

He thought he had it all under control.

Then, the third thing hit him. Was that shrill noises - those slight background buzzing noises - he heard the screams of spiders? Also, who was the one laughing manically among all that?

STILL BOFUR

Bofur finally managed to tear himself free from the mess after another stroke of dumb luck blessed him and some twigs and branches snagged his cocoon. Not long after, he had wiggled enough to have some space in his cocoon. His hands could finally reach the emergency knife strapped on his thigh, and after much struggling, he tore through the spiderwebs and - yes! He was free!

With some difficulty, he climbed ip the tree to the dwarf-sized white mess hanging above ground. It wiggled a little, soft furious curses emitting from its inside. Without hesitation, he ripped through the webs with his trusty emergency knife. Oin's furious red face instantly morphed into a relieved expression.

"Bofur!"

They exchanged boisterous greetings as he freed Oin. While Oin struggled to rid himself of the remnants of the webs, Bofur decided that he should scout ahead first.

Armed with nothing but his wits and his trusty emergency knife, Bofur ventured apprehensively towards the screaming and hysterical laughter, resolved to find his companions and brutally maim, if not kill, anything in his way.

What he did not expect to find was Bilbo. Bilbo, bathed in blood that Bofur fervently hoped was neither his nor any dwarves', with a dagger in hand and fire in another, with a cowering, screaming spider at his feet.

Sweet Bilbo, who was still smiling sweetly as he pressed his ball of flames onto the incapacitated spider and watching it convulse and shudder and scream shrilly.

Kind Bilbo, who was currently not very kind as he laughed and plunged his dagger into one of the spider's eyes - not deep enough to kill, just enough to inflict pain. The spider's legs were bent in odd angles under it, and it died a slow, cruel death, its yellow bulbous eyes blown wide and darting everywhere as its body gave minute jerks of pain. The spider gave one last shudder before it fell still.

His breath hitched. O Sweet Merciful Mahal, what was he witnessing?

Bofur tried to stop himself, he really did, but the sight was so, so disturbing and on so many levels of wrong. The smell of overcooked spider husk did nothing to help him. He turned around and heaved and retched.

Bilbo did not even notice him. Bofur noticed that, wow, there was already an impressive and yet still growing pile of spider carcasses of varying degrees of causes of death. He never knew Bilbo had it in him. This was a side of his friend he wished he never stumbled upon.

Another spider launched itself out of the forest and onto Bilbo, hissing wildly. Bilbo almost looked bored as he side-stepped, then cleanly slashed off one of its hind legs. The spider stumbled, head-down, and momentum caused it to flip, landing on its back. Bilbo wasted no time at all in incapacitating another two legs before setting it on fire. The licks of flame spread slowly, very slowly - almost unnaturally slowly. The spider was kicking and trying get up but with no avail. It squirmed and twisted, the spider's legs flailing wildly in midair.

Okay, Bofur thought, now Bilbo's going to end the poor creature's sorry existence quickly and move on.

But the hobbit did no such thing. Instead, still giggling and coated with that layer of vile spider blood, he sat on his haunches and watched, with a wide-stretched smile that looked quite mad, really, as the spider struggled and bled and shrivelled as it was burnt alive.

Bofur was convinced his Bilbo was possessed. For how could his sweet, kind, friend behave in such a cruel and sadistic manner?

Oh, he could stand it no more.

"Bilbo," Bofur said. There was no response. "Bilbo!" He repeated more sharply. This time, his friend's head jerked up and unfocused eyes met his.

Unfocused eyes glazed with bloodlust and madness and the desire to hurt and protect, with pointy teeth bared. Bofur ached at the sight. "Bilbo! Stop it this instant!"

When the hobbit did not reply, Bofur ended the spider's misery with a well-aimed flick of his knife. After the sizzling died out and the forest was silent once more, the cloudy look in Bilbo's eyes lessened. "Bofur?" He asked hazily.

Bofur grinned forcefully. "Hello, Bilbo. Come on, lad, stop this. You're scaring me."

Bilbo's stare was still blank. Bofur barely took a step towards the hobbit when the bushes shifted a little behind Bilbo. Even faster than he could track, Bilbo threw one dagger through the bushes, already armed with one more.

There was a startled 'eep' and more cursing before Oin's head warily peeked out from the bushes. His eyes widened. "Wha-"

Bilbo blinked. "Oin?" He shook his head, as of waking from a trance. "I don't-" oh, how Bofur was glad to see that spark of intelligence once more. The feral look was gone. "I don't understand?" Bilbo looked down on his sticky, blood-matted self, to Bofur's shaky smile, to the piles of still spiders around them, then back to the blood-soaked dagger in his hand.

The dagger clattered to the ground.

"What have I done?" Bilbo whispered.

Bofur tried to smile cheerfully, he really did, but it ended up looking more like a grimace. "Don't worry about it, Bilbo lad! You go what you gotta do - just with, with a lot more enthusiasm than one would expect from you, eh?"

Bilbo barely reacted and instead turned towards the other dwarf. "Oin, did I hurt you? Tell me, did I hurt you?" Bilbo asked, urgently and desperately.

Oin tried for a reassuring grin even as he shifted a half step away. "Nay, hobbit you did not. Dagger din even scrape me. But good reflexes, you've got." He clapped Bilbo on the shoulder, then grimaced once more when his hand came back sticky and red. "Fret not, lad. C'mon, let's find the others first, aye?"

Bilbo let them lead the way.

Bilbo was not sure what exactly transpired. He was furious at the spiders and he wanted to make them pay. He knew he had the urge to protect, to ruin those who dared hurt the ones under his protection, to hurt those creatures and make them suffer. Then the desire clouded his vision and throbbed and he needed to hear them scream, needed them to acknowledge him as the superior one, needed to watch them bleed and beg and die. He was their predator, he was the most powerful one among them, and they would regret not respecting that.

The next thing he knew, Bofur was standing before him, an ill expression on his face, and he had almost injured Oin. The scent of blood and burnt carcasses was pungent and heavy in the air, and he was covered in blood. He was dripping in blood - the blood of his prey.

He felt revolted. What had he done?

Bofur was scared (for him? of him? Of what he could do? Of what he witnessed? Bilbo did not know.) and unsettled, even though he tried to hide it behind his smiles and general cheer. Oin - Oin was definitely afraid of him, he could smell the fear off him. Then again, he had tried to kill him, although purely by accident.

He had no idea how he lost control. It had never happened before. This bloodlust, this mad desire to destroy, this hunger for power and acknowledgement - what was he thinking?

He truly did not know. All he hoped was that it never happened again.

BOFUR AGAIN

He was shocked and aghast, Bofur was. But maybe Bilbo was merely driven by fear and bloodlust and it went to his head. Regardless, Bofur would stand by him, because Bilbo had proven himself as trustworthy. Indeed, was this not a prove that Bilbo cared, albeit a more bloody one?

If it was truly Bilbo being possessed, or some form of mind-sickness that had overtaken Bilbo without anyone noticing, Bofur would do his best to help Bilbo fight it. No way was his friend going to struggle alone.

But if it was merely Bilbo being Bilbo, Bofur was fine with that as well. (Maybe - not really. He would have a chat with the lad to make sure everything was fine. Then maybe he would try to make the lad more merciful and less - bloodthirsty, but he was not going to shun the lad. Nope, Bilbo was stuck with him, like it or not.)

He knew that Bilbo was hiding things from the Company. It was obvious in his shifty glances and the hushed, quiet conversations he had with the wizard. Bilbo claimed that fire-control was a Hobbit Thing, but he really doubted the flickers of flames that danced docilely in his palms to be a natural hobbit thing. Weren't hobbits all about earth and plants? Maybe it was a presumption, but were fire and earth not a wee bit contradicting?

Whatever it was, he believed Bilbo had his reasons to keep his secrets as, ah, secrets. If the wizard knew of the secrets but did not feel inclined to enlighten the rest of the dwarves - well, it must be really personal, or not pertaining to the quest, or both, or something.

The wizard trusts Bilbo. He trusts the wizard. So he trusts Bilbo. (Plus Bilbo never did anything to betray his trust thus far.)

Bilbo seemed more high-strung lately, and he wished his friend would tell him whatever was bothering him. Bofur did not pry though, for his secrets were his to keep and his to share as he deemed fit. As long as it was not detrimental to the quest or to the Company. (Then again, if it was kept as a secret, it was not like Bofur would know if it was harmful until it was too late.)

Even if Bilbo was secretly a ninja from a hidden village, or a fire-breathing purple dinosaur, it did not matter to him. All it mattered was that Bilbo was his friend, and Bilbo would not hurt Bofur. He was sure of it. (The day that happened - well, something must really be terribly wrong.)

Till then, Bofur would return the favour and place his trust in him.

They found the other dwarves nearby. Bofur saw one or two carcasses nearby; it seemed they had managed to take down a few of their enemies and cut themselves free. Those who managed to set themselves free were was working the others out of their own webs. Many were still brushing off the remnants of the webs or searching for their friends. Dwalin seemed to be the one in charge, knife in hand as he cut Ori loose while barking orders to the other dwarves. The other spiders had mysteriously, or not-mysteriously, vanished from sight.

The dwarves belted a warm and delighted welcome when they saw them. There were Dwalin, Bombur, Bifur, Gloin, Dori, and Ori. The royal family were nowhere in sight.

"We thought you were goners!" Gloin had the gall to exclaim.

When they caught a sight of Bilbo, they did a collective double-take that would had been funny had Bilbo not been so shaken. Dwalin had shook his head in awe and clasped his shoulder in approval. "You fight bravely, little wolf. It is not unusual to be caught in the heat of the moment. We'll make a warrior out of you yet!"

If anyone noticed the uneasiness mirrored on both Bofur and Oin's faces, they said nothing.

The Company waited a bit more as they retrieved their weapons, but mutterings began to broke out when no Thorin made a dramatic and glorious entrance with the remaining dwarves trailing after him.

"Are they not coming?"

"Maybe they need our help!"

"But-"

"Afraid? You call yourself a warrior, Dori?"

"No, but perchance it is a safer bet to remain together—"

"Oh, perchance it would have been safer had you remained at Blue Mountains, you incompetent fool. By Durin's beard, we're all doomed."

"Enough!" Dwalin bellowed. He glowered at everyone until they fell silent. "We will search for the rest of our Company. Split into two groups." He glared some more when none reacted. "What are yer lazy fellas waiting for? Get moving!"

He barked out something that, judging by the expressions of some, was a sharp retort in Khuzdul. Dwalin herded Ori, Bombur and Bifur together and declared all four of them to be a team. Naturally, the other three grouped together. Their backs were stiff and their expressions were grim but determined as they appraised the forest.

Dwalin turned to face Bilbo awkwardly. "Now, hobbit…"

He gave a reassuring smile. "I'll stay here with Bofur, just in case-" He paused mid-sentence. Tensing, his head snapped toward the forest. His hand flew up, halting them. Dwalin already had his axe halfway drawn out of its strap.

He pressed an index finger onto his lips. Narrowed eyes were trained at the trees, at nothing the dwarves could see, but still they obeyed. Bilbo's lips twisted into a taunting smile.

Slowly, mockingly, his voice slid through the silence. "I know you're there, elves. Don't you know it's rude to spy?"

He had barely finished his sentence when the first elf appeared. Before Dwalin could fully draw out his axe, he felt a cold, sharp tip pressed against his neck.

"Move even an inch and you'll find this arrow through your throat," a soft voice hissed venomously. Wisely, Dwalin did not move. They were surrounded by twice as many elves as they were, arrows pointing directly in their faces. Their expressions were cold and stony.

Bilbo eyes widened as he stared up a very familiar dark ochre bow. Its owner had sharp, aristocratic features and blond hair that reached mid-back.

"State your name and your business," he said flatly.

Bilbo stared some more. "Legolas? Is that you?" he asked incredulously.

"How do you know me?" was the terse response. Bilbo stifled a laugh.

"Don't you recognise me? I know I've changed my appearance, but really, don't you recognise me at all?" He said, the melodic elven language flowing from his lips.

Legolas eyes widened. His stance shifted and immediately, his bow relaxed.

"Cyadhon? I thought - oh, it's been years!" Laughing, his arrow disappeared and the bow was slung onto his back. "Apologies for the rude welcome, friend. I did not recognise you." A sharp command, and the elves around dwarves mirrored their prince's actions, although their faces were pinched and wary. In the background, he heard Dwalin grumble, "does he know every single tree-hugger we meet?"

Legolas sat on his heels and squinted at him. "What in the world is that form you're wearing?"

Bilbo snorted. Need Legolas sound so disbelieving? "It's a hobbit. Long story." He wrinkled his nose. "Really, are hobbits so bad? Also, before you ask, yes the dwarves are with me."

"No, no, of course not," he demurred politely, although Bilbo could see the hint of a smile toying at the corner of his lip. All humour fled his face when he studied the dwarves at the corner of his eyes. "Then that means those dwarves we captured, they are with you as well."

Bilbo grimaced. "Ah. Captured? That's - ah, that's bad. Can you take me to your father, friend? I'll tell you while we get there."

As they hiked towards the Elves' Kingdom, Bilbo walked with the Elven Prince at the back as the rest of the dwarves marched on in front, under the supervision of the rest of the unhappy elves.

"You were watching us for days?" He pouted, faux-petulantly. "You could have helped with the spiders."

Legolas snorted. "You didn't seem to need our help. And," he smirked as he mimed clumsily dropping an axe, "it was entertaining to see the short, loud dwarves bumbling and fumbling around like fools."

Bilbo cleared his throat meaningfully. The elf straightened and hastily added, "except you, of course."

Their conversation lapsed as Legolas darted under a particularly low tree branch. Bilbo had no such problems.

"Tell me, how's Elladan and Elrohir? And little Ryadher, she's still following them around like a lost puppy?"

He gave a low chuckle. "Elladan and Elrohir are busy as usual, with the Dúnedain and the Rangers of the North. Ryad's all grown up, she's a scout now. She's, ah, planning to follow their footsteps."

Legolas hummed. "It's been almost a few decades since I've been to Rivendell."

"Far too long since we've met. We miss you, too."

"And I to you." The elf hesitated. "Things been tough at Mirkwood. Darkness - and the spiders, they're growing bolder, multiplying. They're bidding their time, but we know not what. Ada has been more paranoid than usual." His stare was piercing. "He has never liked you, and I know the feeling's mutual, but now... When you do speak to him, tread very carefully, Bilbo."

End of Chap 18

How is it? :) Comments/speculations and constructive criticism please! ending a bit abrupt, sorryyy.

have a good day, peeps! sorry, will try to be more prompt but really, really no guarantee.

-littlesparrowkeet