"I'm so sorry!" Bilbo gasped. He was mortified. It was beyond rude to tumble over someone who was resting in the fields (though more often than not it couldn't be avoided as hobbit's did love their sun naps). Honestly, he shouldn't have come running out here without any notice or warning of his coming anyway. He was just too upset and it showed in his manners.

Bilbo tried to push himself up again, off the chest of the person that he had so rudely landed upon, but his hand slipped in something sticky and wet and he fell again with a splat. "I'm so sorry!" He said again. Without a thought (and because he was so utterly mortified) Bilbo rolled right off the poor dwarf he had landed on and straight into the mud beside him. What a strange place to decide to sleep, Bilbo thought (though he had known some strange people in his life who had such preferences) as he I ally was able to dig his toes into some solid enough that he could stand.

As he stood, there was a tumble and crash behind him and then Frerin's voice. "Bilbo," he said cautiously, "come here."

But Bilbo was done be treating like a child and he refused to be corralled as such. He stood, fully intending to march to the gates of Moria (or any other person that he met on his way (since the person he fell on was so clearly such a deep sleeper that they didn't even react to Bilbo's rude cur furling) and show them all that he could very well take care of himself.

Only, the sight before him was not the one that he was expecting to see. He was sure that he should have seen rocks filled with bits of green here and there (as he had seen in one of his older books on dwarves), but he saw not one single rock before the mountain. Nothing was visible through all the blood except bodies of dwarf and Orc alike. Their faces were forever frozen in pain or anger. Their eyes wide and mouths open in a breathless cry. They did not sleep. They were not at rest and Bilbo could almost imagine them screaming their agony even in the afterlife.

Although most would like to believe that a hobbit such as Bilbo had never before seen such a horrible sight (the massacre of the dragon did not count for he left no bodies to witness), such was not the case for Bilbo Baggins. In fact, Bilbo had watched hidden in a cupboard as his mother and father fought side by side against orcs during the Fell Winter and had heard their screams as one and then the other fell to them. That did not, however, mean that Bilbo was immune to the sight. It was, in fact, the exact opposite. He screams of his mother and father melded along with the rest of the cries and it all rose in a cacophony that rushed through Bilbo's ears and froze him in place.

"Bilbo!" Frerin shouted, though it sounded like it was so far away. As though Bilbo was sinking to the bottom of a muddy lake and Frerin stood at the surface calling after him.

Suddenly, Bilbo remembered the mud that he had slipped in earlier and the dwarf that he had fallen on top of earlier (who Bilbo now realized was not breathing). Slowly, he looked down at himself. It was all red. Everything. From his hands down to his toes were practically covered in red. Even his Sunday best waistcoat had not survived no the emerald green contrasted so starkly with the red that it just stood out even more.

Bilbo screamed.

Long arms came around Bilbo as a broad chest blocked his view of the land before him. He didn't even have time to look up at the person before he was practically swaddled in furs and lifted onto someone's hip as though he were nothing more than a babe in his mother's arms (though he was quite a lot bigger even in proportion with a dwarf).

"We need to leave," he heard Vili say above him. "Now." And then he was being whisked awayback into the trees. But the copper tang never left his nose and he could almost imagine the taste of it on his tongue. If he closed his eyes, the faces returned to him. The screams wouldn't leave him alone, only growing louder when they returned back to the group (who had been told to stay behind just in case). Despite the warmth and comfort of the furs around him, Bilbo felt stifled as he hadn't done since he fell sick with The Fever during Fell Winter. He struggled to free his hands and cover his poor sensitive ears, but they were locked in place and a panic started to grow within him.

Vili yelled something that Bilbo couldn't quite make out (mainly because it was not in English) and then there was suddenly silence. Blissful, lovely silence.

"It's okay," Vili said. "Everything's okay. You're safe now. Evverything's going to be okay. Look. Here is Myrtle." Bilbo shook his head. If he looked up now, he was sure that he would see that battlefield again. He was more than content enough to keep his face buried in Vili's shoulder (though how in the world he got that way, he still wasn't quite sure). "Don't you want to say hi to Myrtle? She looks quite worried."

Myrtle nipped at Bilbo's hair and shoved at his shoulder and Blibo was torn. H didn't want to look up and be confronted once more with the battlefield, but if there was one thing that Bilbo would not stand for (besides of course the starving of children), it was making people worry about him. Bilbo turned his head just enough to peak out of his hiding place and Myrtle's nose was immediately in his face. She licked his cheek with her scratchy tongue (so much so that Bilbo briefly wondered if he he grass on his face) and snuffled at him. Her breath didn't smell very good (if Bilbo was being perfectly honest), but at least it washed away the copper from his senses for a time.

"You were right," Frerin was saying, "we should never have one here."

"It was worth the risk." Vili said.

"How is this worth it?"

"It is not the outcome we would have hoped, but at least now we know that the dwarves did come here."

"Yes. They all came here to die."

"Not all of them. There were some survivors."

"How do you know?"

"We would not have risked the children in such a way."

"Right. Of course, you're right."

There was a moment of silence and Bilbo was lulled by it. The screams had been soothed away by the monotonous voices in the background (despite the direness of the conversation) and Bilbo could almost imagine birdsong though he knew no bird would be so close to such a place. Birds had always calmed Bilbo when he was younger. Their sweet tones whistling outside his window in the rising morning light woke him from even the worst of nightmares. His mother had loved birds too. She particularly loved to watch them as they flit about freely in the sky, unperturbed by the troubles of the world.

"Perhaps you should lead us," Frerin said, cutting in on Bilbo's thoughts. "If you had led us, we never would have come to this place."

"You are wrong brother," said Vili. "I would have come here just as you have. It is only my duty as a captain of the guard to suspect. Do not doubt your own decisions. You are only doing what you feel is best for our people. Ou are our prince and I will follow you to whatever end."

Frerin laughed bitterly. It sounded so wrong on his lips. Although times were harsh and troubles many, Frerin seemed the type to smile often and laugh plentifully. Bilbo had long since thought that he should very much like to see the dwarf smile more and this only accentuated his desire. Had he been in a more pleasing mood (one not so so there'd by death and grief) he may have leapt from Vili's arms in that very moment t do something or other to make the dwarf laugh (though Bilbo was not a very funny hobbit to be sure). But, as it were, he remained bundled in fur, sniffling and sobbing, unable to calm the shaking of his hands against Vili's chest.

"I was never very good at the princing," he said. ""That was always Thorin's thing. Iwasn't even able to help the halfling just now. How am I supposed to help all these dwarves?"

"Not a halfling," Bilbo mumbled, more out of reflex than anything. Ten only thing that had been keeping him from commenting on the dwarves' constant use of 'halfling' were the manners that his father had ingrained in him, but now those were smothered by his treipdation and fear so there was nothing to keep it slipping. He would later be mortified (by this whole situation if he was honest) to have let himself go in such a way, but in his current state, the comfort of someone holding him as his mother once had was too good to pass up.

"Hey," said Frerin as Bilbo turned his head to look at the dwarf. "How are you feeling Bilbo?"

Bilbo didn't respond. The tears, he believed, were answer enough anyway and he was too lost in thought to make any real conversation.

This whole mess was his fault. He had lead the dwarves to this place and then in his arrogance he had tried to take them right to the battlefield. What was he thinking chasing the danger all the way to this point. It was one thing to take himself after his soulmate when the other was in danger, but to lead an entire group that even included children to such a danger when a horrible sin. And he hadn't even bothered to mention to them that the situation could have been dangerous (of course there is no nevermind to the fact that he couldn't have without giving away their hobbit secret). And now Frerin was doubting his leadership skills. All because Bilbo had selfishly wanted to meet his soul mate despite the danger.

He had to make it up to them. But how in the world was he supposed to do that? He had nothing to offer (besides his cooking, but how could that make up for this terrible mess). He didn't even have a direction to give.

Well, actually, perhaps he could.