The morning dawned crisp and chilly, a thin blanket of fog enveloping the rolling hills and quaint homes of Hobbiton. The town was still asleep, and a pang of nostalgia and loss hit Bilbo, giving him a funny feeling in his stomach. He watched his home disappear, the large hill looming behind him for a painfully long time. Bag End held both bitter and sweet memories, and he sent a silent goodbye to his beautiful green door, his garden, his maps, and his bed. His thoughts drifted to his cousin Drogo, who would hopefully now have the chance to grow old with his wife and son, with the carefully worded warning Bilbo had left in a letter addressed to Drogo alone. Bilbo wished nothing more than for Frodo to not experience the pain of losing a family and losing a home the way they both had Last Time. He let out a gentle sigh and reached for his handkerchief to dab at his runny nose, aggravated from sweet Myrtle's fur. Now, which pocket had he put it in? It wasn't where it usually was… He checked his other pockets, and knew without checking his bag that he had forgotten the damn thing again. Fate, it seemed, had a funny sense of humour.
The Company rode in near silence. Most were still half asleep, or at least unwilling to hold a conversation so early in the morning. Bilbo knew that the vast majority of the dwarves handled early mornings better than he himself had done as a younger hobbit, but he had now adopted the sleeping habits that he had so mercilessly teased his grandma Baggins about before she'd passed. He slept with the sun and rose with the dawn, which suited him perfectly well, as he was none too fond of the dark, and all that came with it anymore.
Near the front of the line of ponies, Thorin, Gandalf, and Balin were muttering quietly between themselves. Thorin had been avoiding Bilbo thoroughly since his waking that morning, and Bilbo was quite glad for it. In fact, he was grateful for the silence and the solitude he found riding atop Myrtle. No one spoke to him or asked him questions. There were no bets made for or against his participation this time, he was as of yet undoubted.
He was quite concerned, however, about what he would do when his old friends started to wake up. He knew of at least a couple of them who would be bold enough to try and get to know the final member of their party, despite the obvious tension between him and their leader. Bofur, he knew, would be one of them, and Bilbo was not quite sure how he would avoid such a thing. Fíli and Kíli, too, would be a problem, seeing as Bilbo had yet to face them without being sent into a spiral of panic and grief. As a solution, Bilbo kept his head down and hoped that no one would disturb him.
His suspicions about Bofur proved to be correct far sooner than Bilbo would have liked. By the end of the day, Bofur had tried to talk to him in increasingly drastic ways, culminating in a rather unfortunate incident where Bofur had followed him into the forest and surprised him when he was trying to pee.
"Evening," Bofur said casually, coming to a dead stop on the other side of the tree that Bilbo was currently relieving himself on. The forest was suddenly filled with the jangling of a belt being undone and Bilbo found himself looking to the sky, wishing desperately to be anywhere but there at that very moment.
"Eru above," Bilbo swore, doing up his own belt as quickly as possible. "You can't honestly think that this is a good way to make someone's acquaintance, Bofur," Bilbo said, rolling his eyes but keeping them well above eye-level.
"I thought I'd try my hand at it," the dwarf said with a shrug and a lazy grin. "You're not the easiest man to catch alone."
"So naturally the next step was to ambush him while he pisses," Bilbo said dryly.
"Naturally," Bofur grinned, doing his belt buckle back up again. He paused, looking at Bilbo expectantly.
"If you're expecting me to carry on the conversation, you're sorely mistaken," Bilbo said, turning towards the camp.
"Ah, but you've just continued it now," Bofur said, following Bilbo jauntily.
"Piss off."
"Afraid I'm rather dry at the moment, but we could try for later." Bofur's eyes danced with mirth and it took Bilbo a second to understand his meaning.
"You're disgusting," Bilbo replied without any true bite.
"Part of the charm," said Bofur with a wink so quick that Bilbo nearly missed it. He clearly took Bilbo's words as approval to continue the conversation, and Bilbo braced himself for a full onslaught of Bofur. "So I must admit, I'm a little disappointed you were so easily convinced to join us. Was hoping I could make some money off of it."
"My apologies."
"Guess how I would have bet," Bofur said, clasping his hands tightly behind his back, a spring in his step. Bilbo said nothing, hoping Bofur would take his silence as a dismissal. "I would have bet in your favour."
"Thank you, I think," Bilbo said, touched, but still annoyed. Bofur smiled and maintained eye contact quite impressively, given that they were climbing through the underbrush.
"So tell me a little bit about yourself. What's a little fellow like you doing on a quest like this?"
"I ask myself the same question every day," Bilbo said.
"Oh ho! We've got a joker with us," Bofur said, letting out a booming laugh. "That was a good one."
"It wasn't supposed to be, but I'm glad you find my suffering amusing."
"Ooh, a little testy tonight, are we?" Bofur teased good naturedly.
"What- what do you want from me?" Bilbo asked, coming to a stop, facing Bofur who was still grinning easily.
"Just a bit of company, nothing serious," Bofur said, smile falling almost imperceptibly. Bilbo had to remind himself that this was not Bofur's fault. That the pain and anguish he felt each time he looked in someone's eyes had absolutely nothing to do with his companions, and everything to do with himself.
"I'm sorry, Bofur," Bilbo said, dropping his head in shame. "I'm afraid I've made quite an ass of myself."
"Oh, nonsense," said Bofur, perking up instantly. "I think we'll get along just swimmingly." Bilbo forced a smile. This was what he had been afraid of. Oh my dear Bofur, Bilbo thought sadly. Not this time, if I can help it.
A clear, dark night, what seemed like an eternity after their departure from Bag End, but was really mere weeks, the Company stopped for the night at a place that was all too familiar to Bilbo. It had been the first time he had well and truly seen the king, the true leader that Thorin had always been. They set up camp on the side of a cliff, which, in Bilbo's opinion, was not the smartest place to be, but he held his tongue, as he was getting used to doing. He was unsurprised as the cry of the orcs in the distance echoed in his ears, causing a shiver to run through his body. The sounds shattered in his mind and mixed with the cries of war, the screams of death and destruction. The smell of blood, metallic and tangy, mixing with sweat, the bodies coated with mud and dirt. Just weeks ago, these memories had seemed a lifetime ago, a ghost of the hobbit who had once dreamed of staying by the side of the King Under the Mountain. Now, however, they raised the hairs on his arms and made his stomach churn uncomfortably. This was all too real, and all too imminent, and there was nothing slowing him down as he barrelled head first into a choking uncertainty.
"Do you know what that is, Mister Boggins," Kíli called across the fire, a familiar conspiratorial look on his face. Bilbo jumped, turning around to stare at the youngest Durin.
"Orcs," Bilbo replied, as coolly as he could, swallowing the lump in his throat.
"Yes, orcs," Fíli continued, hiding a smirk. "Throat cutters. There'll be dozens of them out there. The lowlands are crawling with them."
"They strike, in the wee small hours, when everyone's asleep. Quick and quiet, no screams. Just lots of blood," Kíli said, eyes swimming with mirth. Fíli elbowed him subtly, and Kili tried harder to hide his amusement.
"I hardly think a night raid by orcs is something to laugh about," Bilbo said, squaring his shoulders. Fíli and Kíli looked like they were about to roll their eyes when Thorin sauntered over. He shot Bilbo a look that very clearly stated that he had overstepped his bounds. The young princes were his responsibility.
"The halfling is right," Thorin ground out, seemingly pained to admit it. "This is no joke, and it will do us no good to send the hobbit running before the first sign of trouble." Veiled or not, Bilbo knew an insult when he heard one.
"I beg your pardon?!" There was no way Thorin could know that Bilbo was made of sterner stuff than most hobbits. The familiar insults no longer made him cower, rather put him on the defensive. Thorin ignored Bilbo, still focused on his nephews, and Bilbo took a moment to curse the lost sense of faith, so painfully earned.
"We meant nothing by it," Kíli said defensively.
"We're sorry, uncle," Fíli said, lowering his voice and speaking as slowly and maturely as possible. Bilbo's lips twitched as Kíli shot Fíli a betrayed look.
"No, you didn't. You're too young. You know nothing of the world. I should never have brought you," Thorin said, glaring at his nephews, who looked stricken. Thorin stalked off, a heavy silence lingering over the camp. Fíli and Kíli huddled together but said nothing. Fíli was doing his very best to look unshaken. His chin was jutted out defiantly, and his eyes were daggers, daring anyone to say anything, betrayed only by the flush on his ears and cheeks. Kíli had never been one to hide his emotions, and his face was set into an all familiar pout as he angrily ripped at a patch of grass near his feet.
"Don't mind him, lads. Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs," Balin said kindly. Knowing the story that was to come, his own memories feeling like a punch to the gut, Bilbo stalked over to his sleeping pad and pulled the covers up over his head, hoping to drown it all out.
"You might want to hear this, laddie," Balin said in a tone that told Bilbo quite plainly that he was being rude.
"I know very well why the King hates orcs, I have picked up a book before," Bilbo said, cursing himself instantly for his troublesome pride, and sitting up again. He knew the tale that Balin was about to tell, yes. Knew it better than most, actually. Something in him found comfort in Thorin's story. Something that reminded him that the path that lay before him was the right one, no matter how much he was bound to lose. Thorin had suffered enough in any lifetime.
"What book might that be?" Balin asked kindly, although Bilbo could see the confusion in the old dwarf's eyes. Bilbo knew how secretive dwarves were about their histories, so how in Eru's name was he to explain this away?
"The Red Book of Westmarch," Bilbo said, as casually as he could manage. This was not a lie, in fact, despite the book not existing yet, as he had written as much of Thorin's personal history into it as he could. And he had indeed read it there, although it was not where he had first heard it.
"And what is it exactly that the Red Book of Westmarch told you?" asked Balin with poorly veiled suspicion. Bilbo felt several eyes on him then and cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Well, I'm sure you know it better than I," Bilbo conceded.
"Don't be shy, lad. I'm curious to hear what you know," Balin said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Right," Bilbo said with a huff. "Well, after Smaug took Erebor, Thrór decided to reclaim Moria," Bilbo said, trying to keep it simple and straightforward. "Moria was taken over by orcs, led by Azog, who had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin. He beheaded Thrór, then Thráin went mad with grief and disappeared, and Thorin fought Azog, using the oaken branch as his shield, and severed his arm… Then the battle was won and that's that," Bilbo said, fighting off a shake in his voice. He was normally a very good story teller, but something about this situation made his tongue feel heavy and clumsy, the air in his lungs running out before he could finish a sentence.
"Well, that's the gist of it, yes," said Balin, looking affronted. Around him, Bilbo saw many eyes on him, some confused, some sad, some angry. Was it really that bad that he knew such a thing?
"Excuse me," Bilbo said, standing up abruptly, and walking away from the fire, clenching his shaking hands together. He kept his pace even, despite every nerve in his body telling him to run away from there. He knew he had crossed some invisible line, but he didn't know what that line was. Finally, he reached Myrtle and stood in front of her awkwardly. He was still rather uncomfortable around such a large creature, but she had become the only being with whom he could be honest. The only one he would allow himself to crack in front of.
"Well," he said in a hushed voice, tangling his fingers in her mane. "I seem to have messed up again, though I know not how." Bilbo squeezed his heavy eyelids shut and took a deep breath. The cold air stung his nostrils and the smell of campfire was all at once inviting and alienating. He listened to the mosquitoes, and the telling flutter of bats going after them. He took a moment to remind himself that this was real, for even still, there were times where it felt like a dream. That one day he would wake to a life where he had already gone through the terrible first weeks with the Company. A life where he had loved his friends and they had loved him back. And then lost them. Bilbo shook himself firmly. He had to keep the old memories separate. Not for the first time, nor for the last, Bilbo wished that his memory had not been recovered upon his... Well, what would he call it? Rebirth? In any case, he had been old, and his mind had reflected that quite honestly. Bilbo could recall the fog that had encased his withered mind with a surprising ease. He knew that most days, he had felt the pain that had lingered around like an old wound, but could not recall why it hurt. At times like these, Bilbo prayed to all the Valar that he did not have to look over and see the curious unfamiliarity in Fíli and Kíli, the calculating, reserved looks coming from Balin, Bofur's playful but sometimes hesitant smiles… What he would not give to not have those hateful blue eyes, that should be kind and forgiving, following his every move with disdain and mistrust. Bilbo sighed once again and Myrtle snorted gently, nuzzling his hand with her nose.
"Burglar." Despite having heard Thorin's approaching footfalls, Bilbo jumped as his voice rang out, cold and accusatory. "Have you no self control?"
"I beg your pardon?" Bilbo asked, stomach in knots.
"You speak so simply of matters which you know nothing about. You would do better in the future to hold your tongue," Thorin said. His voice was carefully controlled - Thorin was holding something back.
"I-I'm sorry if I-"
"You know nothing of the losses we suffered. You know nothing of the pain that was inflicted on my people that day." Bilbo's heart hammered in his chest, but he could do nothing but listen in horror. "Every single one of those dwarves have been affected by it," Thorin continued, eyes blazing. "It was there that Bifur took an axe to his head, there that Balin and Dwalin lost their father and Balin, his husband, th-"
"Thorin." Thorin froze instantly, a look of unmistakable guilt marring his features. Balin was standing behind them, watching Thorin with a look of piercing disappointment.
"Balin," Thorin said in a detached voice. Balin was frowning and seemed to be thinking deeply about what to say next. He turned to Bilbo with a slight grimace.
"Bilbo, what you must understand is that dwarves are very secretive and very particular about their histories. Telling them in such a way can be likened to speaking ill of the dead." Bilbo felt his face sag. He thought he now understood the furious light in Thorin's eyes, knowing that it was at that battle that he had watched his grandfather be killed, and where his father had gone missing.
"Oh, Balin, I'm so sorry," Bilbo said as sincerely as possible. Despite counting Balin as one of his oldest friends, he had never known about his husband, and the guilt ate away at him sharply. "That was never my intention."
"I know, lad," Balin said with a tight smile. "You couldn't have known." He looked at Thorin quite pointedly as he said this. "Now, if you'll excuse us, I need to have a word with our leader." Bilbo nodded and walked slowly back to where the group was huddled around the campfire, regret swirling like an angered wasp in his mind.
"Thorin." Bilbo heard Balin say. He should not listen to their conversation, he knew that, but somehow he couldn't quite tune it out. He paused just outside of the firelight, frozen in his tracks. "He couldn't have known." Thorin grumbled something unintelligible and Balin sighed. "I understand your reservations, but I would hope that given all that you've faced, you would be more understanding."
"There is nothing to understand," Thorin growled. "The halfling knows nothing of pain or loss. He doesn't belong here. The wizard was mistaken in his choice."
"We have yet to experience anything to truly test him," Balin said reasonably. "We cannot judge him based on the small glimpse we had into his life. What has he done to disapprove himself to you?"
"Just look at him, Balin," Thorin said, voice raising. "He does not need to be tested for me to know what he is made of." Balin sighed, sound nearly drowned out by Bilbo's own shaky breaths. He squeezed his eyes shut against the sting of tears.
"I see you will not be swayed tonight at any rate. But Thorin, Orian's death has caused enough pain as is. I would ask that you not use my husband as a weapon again."
Balin was the first to return to the group and went to sleep very quickly. Bilbo lay sleepless for quite some time until he heard the rustle of underbrush. Bilbo's eyes shot open. Thorin had returned to the fire, face set in a bitter scowl. The flickering orange flames illuminated the king's face. There was a hush where each crackle from the fire, each leaf blowing in the wind was heard. Bilbo felt a chill run up his spine that had nothing to do with the cold. Seeming to feel Bilbo's eyes on him, Thorin's gaze flickered to the hobbit, expression carefully schooled into an unreadable mask. Bilbo held the dwarf king's gaze from across the fire, feeling suddenly quite hot. He balled his fists and tried to scowl, but his guilty conscience would not let him. He looked away bitterly and rolled over, knowing that he was about to experience another sleepless night. As he settled himself into his blankets, he noticed Gandalf, who was eyeing him thoughtfully over his pipe, one eyebrow raised. Bilbo would have to be more careful, or Gandalf would know something was afoot.
Balin was not a young dwarf. He had seen kingdoms rise and fall, rulers building themselves up from the ashes. He had faced many hardships, and seen great joy. Above all, Balin understood people. His role as advisor, though changed from the days of Thror's rule - rife with politics and fevered minds, had given him the helpful ability to read people. Understanding the motives of those around him came with great ease, their Company being no exception.
The group was an odd one, and Balin had spent a great deal of time analyzing the motivation behind each dwarf, such was his responsibility as advisor. Thorin needed to know if he could trust his fellows, and Balin had done his best to prove that he could. Some were there out of loyalty and devotion either to Thorin himself, or to another family member who had volunteered, among them being Dwalin, Bombur, Dori, Óin, and Glóin. Some were in it for the adventure, the chance to make a difference. Fíli, Kíli, Bofur, and Ori were young and excitable, and seemed to fit that bill perfectly. Bifur and Nori were slightly harder to pinpoint. Nori quite loudly proclaimed that he was doing it for the gold, and the gold alone, but there was something else. Balin suspected it was protectiveness over Ori, but he sensed that there was another factor that he was missing and had yet to discover. Bifur too, seemed to counteract himself, but Balin also knew that Bifur himself didn't always understand his own motivations and decisions since the accident.
Thorin was perhaps the most interesting. He had been working tirelessly for the majority of his life to fix the wrongs of his grandfather, to build a new home for his people, to take care of his family, and finally, to regain the home of his childhood. Balin could not help but wonder what it was Thorin thought he was fighting for, because truly, he already had a home. The Blue Mountains were more than the dwarves of Erebor could have ever hoped for, and Balin, and Dís made no secret of assuring Thorin as such. Thorin said he was searching for his home but Balin wondered if he was instead searching for somewhere to belong. Whatever was going on in the king's head, even he himself did not know, and Balin was not sure what it would take to get Thorin to admit this to himself. He could only naïvely hope that they would retake Erebor and Thorin would find himself satisfied after a lifetime of restlessness, rather than find himself disappointed, never satiated.
His eyes wandered, as they had done several times since their initial meeting, upon Bilbo Baggins, who was riding several paces ahead of him, slouched deep in his saddle. The young hobbit was something of a mystery to Balin. He had not thought highly of him, when he had been ushered into the hobbit's home at Bag End. Bilbo had seemed materialistic and a bit prone to worry. Entirely unremarkable. A liability, if anything. The next morning, Bilbo had been cold and distant, hardened into something entirely unrelated to the scurrying figure he had been the night before. Balin had equated it to fear, however, the hobbit's attitude never wavered. As the days wore on, the bags under Bilbo's eyes had become more and more prominent, but they displayed none of the panic or fear, or trivial discomfort that Balin had been expecting. There was a deeper set worry, a concern that flitted unwittingly across Bilbo's face when he looked at other members of the group. As a general rule, Bilbo seemed to avoid looking or interacting with all of them, but he avoided Thorin and his nephews with extreme fervour. Balin would have thought it a strong dislike, had he not witnessed the single time that Bilbo had let his gaze fall upon the Durins one evening over supper. It had been the strangest thing, for the pain in Bilbo's face, the rigidity in his entire body was unmistakable. Balin, of course, understood concern for the younger dwarves, but Bilbo's reaction was unexpected. Balin couldn't quite understand it, for whenever Fíli and Kíli tried to talk to Bilbo, the hobbit all but ignored them, and Balin wasn't sure if he had seen Bilbo and Thorin interact at all since the very first night in Bag End. They should mean nothing to the hobbit, truly none of them, but there was a strange familiarity with which he moved about the entire Company. He seemed to react to things before they happened or look for someone's specific reaction to an event, or even a joke, as though he knew each dwarf individually. It was just the slightest of things. He would turn to someone before they began to speak, and he seemed to know how to dodge Fíli and Kíli's trickery, impervious to Bofur's loose lips. He even gave the impression of understanding, or at least guessing some of what Bifur was trying to communicate, where even some of the dwarves struggled with it. And even more strangely, was the hobbit's inexplicable knowledge of the Battle of Azanulbizar. Although it was not an uncommon tale among dwarves, Balin was pressed to think of a hobbit historian who would have known such details. Master Baggins was a riddle wrapped up in a mystery, and Balin resolved to keep a close eye on him.
"You alright, lad?" He asked, coming up beside the hobbit, who jolted as though being woken from a deep slumber, though he was awake. "Have you been sleeping well?"
"I haven't been sleeping at all," Bilbo said waspishly, fists clenching around his reins with a grimace.
"I meant no harm last night," Balin said kindly. "Nor did Fíli or Kíli. Nor even Thorin, although it may not seem that way This is a harsh difference from your life in the Shire. We should have been more conscientious of the fact."
"I hardly think it's you who needs to apologize," Bilbo said shortly, avoiding eye contact. "I overstepped. I never meant to belittle your pain." Balin raised his eyebrows.
"Is that what's troubling you?" He asked slowly, tone similar to one he would use when facing a frightened animal about to bolt. From the corner of his eye, Balin noticed Gandalf in front of them, and was sure the wizard was listening in.
"Well yes, but I also suffer from night terrors," Bilbo admitted, then pursed his lips. "I told Master Oakenshield it wouldn't be a problem and I don't intend to go back on my word." This was not an answer that Balin had anticipated and he thought he finally understood the sunken look in the hobbit's eyes. He recognized it easily, for anyone that had lived past the battle of Azanulbizar had become acquainted with such a thing. Balin gave the hobbit an understanding look. This was not something he would push. He would let the burglar keep his secrets. For now. He decided to watch the hobbit more keenly, for what could a peace loving Shire-dweller like mister Baggins have experienced that caused such a haunted look?
"I understand," he said after a moment, patting Bilbo on the shoulder. "I won't pry." Bilbo looked like he wanted to say something, but seemed to think better of it, giving Balin a clearly shakey nod.
Thorin stood off by himself, smoking his pipe when Balin made his way over to his king. Thorin fixed his gaze on him expectantly.
"I spoke with mister Baggins today," Balin began tentatively. Thorin did not react. "He mentioned that he suffers from night terrors."
"Yes, I witnessed one of his episodes," Thorin said coolly. "He assured me it would not be a problem."
"Yes, he told me much of the same. Only the lad hasn't been sleeping," Balin said, watching Thorin for his reaction. "He will not do us any good if when he should be fighting an enemy, he is fighting sleep."
"It also won't do to have him screaming out in the middle of the night, drawing orcs upon us as we sleep," Thorin argued.
"While that may be true, the boy still needs rest." Thorin turned to look at Bilbo, who was sitting in front of the fire, unblinking. Balin knew that Thorin would see what he saw. Even from a distance, the bags under the halfling's eyes were prominent, and he seemed to be barely holding himself upright.
"Fine," Thorin said. "Do what you must, but do not put yourself at a disadvantage. He knew what he was signing up for." Balin nodded his understanding. He walked up to Bilbo and sat down next to him. The hobbit seemed barely aware of Balin's presence next to him.
"You need to get some rest, lad," he said softly, not wanting to make the entire company aware of Bilbo's issue.
"I already told you that I -"
"You'll have to sleep at some point, or you'll drop dead." Bilbo's eyes snapped to Balin's. "Now, here's what we'll do. I will take the first watch, while you sleep. If you show any signs of causing a disturbance, I'll wake you."
"I can't ask you to sacrifice your own rest for me," Bilbo said, a stubborn glint in his eye, doubtlessly trying to appear strong. His words came out as more of a whine, and Balin found himself wondering how young the hobbit really was.
"You aren't asking," Balin said, placing his hand comfortingly on Bilbo's shoulder. Bilbo took a moment before giving a sharp nod.
"Thank you," he said with a tentative smile. Balin felt his heart go out to their mystery of a burglar. Maybe he didn't need to understand Bilbo to accept him. "And Balin, about the other night. I really would like to apolo-"
"It is forgiven, laddie."
Days started to bleed together, the only thing that changed was the landscape. They had long since left the rolling hills and welcoming homes of the Shire behind them. Ahead of them, an endless expanse of hills, climbing steadily onward, dotted with dark trees and ruinous castles. The spring weather was unpredictable. Some days were overcast and muggy, some warm, and some were wet and cold. The only constants were the cottonwood that had started falling in early May and now coated the ground in white tufts that caused Bilbo's allergies to act up, and the chill at night. The company huddled under their blankets as best as they could, but the damp air permeated every surface, leaving them soggy and cold until the mid morning sun was warm enough to dry them.
They hit a very unlucky string of days where the rain simply would not let up. On one of these days, they stopped for the night, and the camp was relatively quiet, pierced only by the occasional grumble or groan. Everyone had been soaked entirely through their clothes, and they had stripped themselves of their outer layers and hung them as close to their weak fire as possible in an attempt to dry them. Bilbo didn't see the point. He knew that the rain wouldn't let up for days, and that they would be laden down by wet clothes and the smell of damp pony until then. He also knew that the next night, the company would come across three stupid but hungry trolls.
Despite this knowledge, and the miserable weather, Bilbo felt well rested, for the first time in a long time. He had made it through the entire day without being overtaken by exhaustion, something that he had not managed since they left Bag End. Balin had stubbornly made sure that Bilbo got enough sleep each night, and after several days, Balin's nearby presence alone was enough. This Balin would never understand, but Last Time, on the first of his many visits to Bag End after this very quest, the two of them had run into a very similar situation. The months following Bilbo's own return to Bag End had seen his nightmares occur more and more frequently, and become so vivid that he would wake screaming, sure he was in the thick of battle. He would spend endless days and endless nights huddled on his bed with more candles than anyone would deem necessary, wrapped in blankets with a large mug of either coffee or spirits. Balin had been alarmed at first, but understanding, and he had explained that he used to experience them too. Bilbo had never fully shaken the dreams, but it had helped immensely.
Bilbo watched the flames flickering with a deep envy. The rain had mercifully lessened to a light drizzle, and the dwarves had settled around the fire after a late supper, though Bilbo didn't dare join their ranks. He sat and watched them from afar, face set in a deep frown that had become his resting expression. It seemed that Bilbo had always been destined to die with frown lines. When did I become such a sorry excuse of a hobbit?
Bilbo found his eyes drawn to Thorin, as they so often were. Despite his internal protests, Bilbo longed for the camaraderie that the pair had shared near the end of their journey Last Time. The smiles of approval, so readily given, the warm comfort in the simplicity of sitting side by side in silence. He craved the soft rumble of laughter, and the way that Thorin's eyes seemed to blaze with meaning as their eyes met across the fire. Private. Theirs alone. Strong and grounding hands on his shoulders. He felt the despair eat away at his stomach, an ache that would not be quenched by any amount of food or drink. If all went the way he planned this time around, these were things that the king and the hobbit would never share.
"Best be getting some food in you,' Bofur said, with a pitying smile, brandishing a bowl of hot stew. Bilbo couldn't distinguish the meaty chunks, and opted not to ask what animal it came from.
"Thank you," Bilbo said with a sniff, avoiding Bofur's eyes. The dwarf had been growing on Bilbo against his better judgement. There was just something light and good about Bofur. They had become close on the journey Last Time, and Bofur had always proved to have a solid head on his shoulders, and a heart that was unmistakably in the right place. He was one of the dwarves who had come and spent time with Bilbo at Bag End on multiple occasions, and he had been the first one to get Bilbo to laugh, drink, and sing again after Erebor. While this was not the same Bofur, whom he had come to think of as one of his closest friends, he had the same easy nature and loud laughter, the same forgiving smiles and wordless support. It ate away at his conscience to not show Bofur the same kindness that he gave, but he couldn't risk it. Bofur hid his emotions well behind a mask of humour, but Bilbo knew that the dwarf protected and lost fiercely. He would not put his friend through any unnecessary pain. This burden was his and his alone.
That being said, Bilbo needed to come up with a plan. As of now, they had not experienced anything major, and as such, no great details had changed. When Bilbo thought of making any monumental changes, he would then spend several minutes weighing out the consequences and was often overwhelmed by how awry things could go. He thought of the trolls as an opportunity. This would be his chance to alter a rather insignificant event, to see the ripples the change brought. Needless to say, Bilbo was not looking forward to facing the three mountain trolls again. Once was enough for one hobbit, thank you very much. He also knew that the company needed to get to the troll hoard and reclaim the elvish blades. A pang of excitement went through him at the thought of his blade, Sting, in his young, capable hands once more. Try as he might though, Bilbo had no idea how to go about besting the trolls, remembering how easily it had gone awry last time. Bilbo only hoped that he wouldn't end up squashed beneath William the troll's enormous left buttock, and promptly diced and cooked.
The next day was no better. As they made camp, Bilbo kept a close watch on Gandalf. If he could prevent it, he would keep the wizard from leaving the dwarves, as a precaution. He watched Gandalf survey the wreckage of the old barn with a grim look, the overcast sky giving everything an ominous feeling.
"I think it would be wiser to move on," Gandalf said to Thorin. Bilbo, who had been waiting for this argument, scurried to his side. "Let us make for the hidden valley." Thorin shot the wizard a disdainful look
"I will not go near that place, Gandalf."
"Whyever not? The elves could provide help. Food, rest, advice."
"I do not seek their advice," Thorin said, crossing his arms over his chest. Bilbo took this moment to interrupt.
"Actually, I think Gandalf is right." Both Gandalf and Thorin threw him surprised looks. "If the elves can provide us with food and shelter, who are we to decline?"
"I will not ally myself with elves to satisfy the whims of a halfling who is missing his hearth and kitchen," Thorin spat. Bilbo felt Gandalf's eyes watch him, waiting for his response.
"Then you are putting us all at risk for the sake of your foolish pride," Bilbo said, more calmly than he felt. He had felt Thorin's wrath firsthand, and was not looking forward to being on the receiving end again.
"Yes, and we have a map that we cannot read. Lord Elrond would help us," Gandalf said quickly, eyes still on Bilbo, as Thorin looked like he was going to argue further.
"Help? A dragon attacks Erebor. What help came from the Elves? Orcs plunder Moria, desecrate our sacred halls, the Elves looked on and did nothing! You ask me to seek out the very people who betrayed my grandfather, who betrayed my father." Thorin's eyes were blazing with fury.
"These are not the same elves," Bilbo said, stamping his foot angrily. "And you are not your father, nor are you your grandfather. If you refuse Lord Elrond's help, you are dooming us all. I suppose it's too much for you to have noticed, but our rations are slim. We need food or we will starve."
"This is not for you to say, halfling," Thorin said, turning on Bilbo. "You are only here because the wizard chose you. If it were up to me, you would have never left the Shire."
"I'd rather stay in the Shire than serve a bitter old dwarf who refuses to see reason." Bilbo turned on his heel and stalked off angrily, not looking back. "I've had enough of dwarves for one day." He knew the eyes of the company followed him as he went. The shocked silence rang in his ears louder than the merry laughter of a previous life he so desperately wished to forget.
"Just where do you think you're going, Bilbo Baggins?" Gandalf called after him.
"Leave him." Thorin's voice was cold, carried back to Bilbo on the breeze. Bilbo's stomach, which seemed to be perpetually in knots, gave an uncomfortable jolt at the words thrown so callously after him. No matter, he had the trolls to deal with anyhow, he could dwell on his own sadness once everyone was safe. Night was falling quickly, so he made his way to where he knew the trolls would have set up their fire. He very quickly became aware of footsteps following him, and rounded angrily on two dwarves.
"I thought I said I'd had enough of you lot," Bilbo said, careful to keep his voice quiet lest he alert the trolls to their presence.
"Well," said Fíli reasonably, "when you said you'd had enough of dwarves-"
"We knew you didn't mean us," said Kíli brightly. The brother's linked an arm in each of Bilbo's and sandwiched him between them. Bilbo's blood froze in his veins at the contact and little blind spots swam in his vision. He was helpless as they frogmarched him forwards. "And besides, we noticed you left before finishing your dinner."
"Well, we finished it, of course, but we figured we would let you know," Fíli said jauntily.
"It is the thought that counts, after all," Kíli said. "So where are we going?"
"We are not going anywhere," said Bilbo, regaining use of his limbs. "I am going to sit alone and have a smoke." He tried to wrestle his arms from their grasps, but it was like trying to bend iron. He fought to keep his breaths even.
"Good thing I brought my pipe," Fíli said, brandishing an elegant wooden pipe in his free hand.
"Fine," Bilbo said. He would have to get over his fears eventually. And besides, there was plenty of time to spare, and going well before dawn would do him no good. He would have to wait around anyways. "Just one bowl." Kíli pulled out a pouch that Bilbo recognized instantly as tobacco from the Blue Mountains.
"Oh, none of that Blue Mountain pocket lint, put it away," Bilbo said, pulling out his own prized pouch of Longbottom Leaf and stuffing a pinch into each of their pipes.
"What is this?" Kíli asked throatily after his first puff, trying and failing to hide his coughs.
"Pipeweed," Bilbo said exasperatedly as the young dwarves puff eagerly on their pipes.
"This isn't like any pipeweed I've ever had," said Fíli.
"That's because you dwarves have terrible taste in pipeweed," Bilbo said haughtily.
"Who's sharing their weed with you?" Kíli asked tactlessly.
"Bet it's Bofur," Fíli muttered under his breath to Kíli, who snorted.
"Never you mind," Bilbo said, though it would have made more sense to agree with Fíli. "So if you didn't bring me dinner, what are you doing here?" The boys shot each other a shifty look. They seemed to carry an entire discussion in just a glance. Finally, Kíli seemed to cave.
"Well, we were just wondering what you did to make uncle hate you so much."
"If we could make him avoid us the way he avoids you, our lives would be much easier," Fíli added, always the voice of reason.
"If I spent all my time trying to figure out what I've done to upset your uncle, my hair would turn grey."
"Aren't you already greying, old man?" Kíli teased.
"I'll have you know that I'm younger than you, so if you're calling anyone 'old man', it should be yourself," Bilbo retorted.
"That can't be true," Fíli objected, smacking his lips together experimentally. "Does anyone have any water?"
"But then how old are you?" Kíli asked.
"One hu- fifty," Bilbo said, nearly giving them the age at which he had died, rather than the age he wore on his body.
"I thought you said you were younger than us. Still, one-fifty is a good age," Fíli said. "Not nearly as good as eighty-two, mind you." Fíli tipped his pipe in Bilbo's direction with a grin.
"No, no, you misheard me," Bilbo said, shaking his head. "Fifty."
"But," Kíli said, mouth agape. "But you're younger than Gimli."
"Yes, by more than a decade, unless I misheard Glóin," Bilbo said stuffily. "And close your mouth, you'll catch flies," he added, trying to divert attention from his slip up. Kíli stared blankly for a moment, then snapped his mouth shut.
"Why would uncle let you come but not cousin Gimli?" Kíli demanded, looking affronted.
"Well, hobbits age differently than dwarves, you see," Bilbo explained with a hint of impatience. "So don't you go thinking for one second that I'm some helpless child. I may be younger than you, but I'm much more mature."
"Yeah, but you're far shorter," Fíli said seriously. Beside him, Kíli let out a rush of air from his nostrils as he was overtaken by a fit of laughter. Bilbo chuckled softly and shook his head.
"Alright, that's quite enough," Bilbo said, suddenly very uneasy with his own comfort. "You two had best head back to camp. Thorin will worry."
"Think there's any leftover dinner?" Kíli asked, seemingly chewing on air.
"Bofur always has snacks," Fíli said with a dopey grin. Kíli's face broke into a luminous smile.
"You're right. I bet if we ask nicely, he'll share."
"Good night, boys," Bilbo said, shooing them away. Kíli walked away instantly but Fíli lingered for a moment, putting his hand on Bilbo's shoulder.
"I'm glad that this went well," he said gently. "I didn't think you wanted anything to do with us." Bilbo's stomach lurched painfully and he had to force himself to hold the eye contact.
"I- I- Yes I'm glad also," Bilbo choked out with an unnatural smile. Fíli squeezed Bilbo's shoulder and turned away. As their footsteps got farther away, Bilbo held back a dry sob, digging his fingernails into his palms. The boys' faces swam in his blurry vision and he knotted his fingers into his curls. "Pull yourself together," he muttered aloud, emphasizing each word by stamping his foot.
When his heart finally settled, he made his way to where he knew the trolls to be. He told himself firmly that it was a good thing the boys distracted him, for if he had gotten captured by trolls as early as he had planned to search them out, he could have easily had the time to be fully skinned, or cooked alive and eaten. Shivering, he crouched down, just on the edge of where the fire touched, and stayed there until his legs were cramping and he struggled to keep his balance. The longer he watched the trolls, the less frightened he became. They were far from intelligent. Their only real threat was their brute strength, but even then, Bilbo knew they would have to catch him first. He had escaped a dragon, what were a couple of trolls? His small size and relative speediness compared to them, coupled with not needing to watch after thirteen dwarves made him believe that this would be easy.
"What's that over there?" called the largest troll, Bert, he had learned in his time hiding in the bushes.
"What?" replied Tom, another troll, squinting. Bert was pointing towards where Daisy and Bongo had broken away from the other ponies, and were grazing peacefully.
"Is it goat?" William asked with a grimace and a wet sniff. Goat did not agree with him.
"Well, go on then," Tom said, rapping Bert across the thigh with a stick. Bert grumbled, but stood up and lumbered towards the ponies. Bilbo shuffled in the bushes, wincing as Daisy cried out in shock when the troll's massive, meaty hand encircled her flank. He would not let the trolls eat their ponies. They will be fine, he thought over and over again as Bert lugged the animals into a little enclosure.
"Mutton yesterday, mutton today, and blimey, if it don't look like mutton again tomorrer," William lamented. Mutton was much too similar to goat for his liking.
"Bill you booby, these ain't mutton. That's a pony, that is," Tom said smartly.
"Well I don't like horse any more 'an mutton," Bill grumbled.
"It's yer own fault for bringin' us here," Bert said. "Never a stinking bit o' man-flesh in these parts." At Bert's words, William got to his feet with an angry cry and lumbered towards his companion. Bert was much bigger than William, but William was lighter on his feet. As light as a troll could be, anyway. Bilbo watched as Bill and Bert threw punches and Tom rapped them with his stick with a gleeful smile. A plan started to form in Bilbo's head.
A good deal later, with Bilbo doing his best to keep track of time, he decided that it was time to act.
"Shut it, you lot." Bert, the loser of the aforementioned fight said, still unhappy about his humiliation. "We best be gettin' inside soon, unless yer fancy turning to stone." That shut Bill and Tom up quickly. They started to pack their stuff up and Bilbo knew it was time for him to act.
"Hello," he said cheerfully, standing on the edges of the firelight, just out of reach of their large, meaty hands.
"What is it?" Bill was eying Bilbo with a suspicious look.
"I dunno, do I?" Bert said with a shrug.
"Can we eat it?" asked Tom.
"Oh, I'm sure you could," Bilbo said, still smiling. "Wouldn't be much more than a mouthful though."
"I reckon 'e's right," Bill said, eyeing the hobbit with disinterest.
"Now, what I could do, is cook you up some pony," Bilbo said, shooting Daisy and Bongo a mental apology, and hoping they couldn't understand what he was about to say. "See the trick to ponies is that you have to cook them just right, otherwise they end up tasting like goat," he said innocently. Bill looked intrigued.
"And yer can do that?" He asked, licking his lips.
"I can most certainly do that," Bilbo said with a self-assured nod.
"'Ang on then, what are you?" Bert asked, brandishing his filleting knife at Bilbo, who tried his best not to flinch
"I am a cook," Bilbo said, clasping his hands behind his back.
"I say we kill 'im and cook 'im up with the ponies," said Tom hungrily.
"But he says he can make it taste better 'an goat," Bill said, turning on Tom instantly.
"Neither of us has a problem with goat. You're the picky one."
"Maybe he'll finally shut up if this 'ere cook can show us the right way to do it," Bert said fairly.
"Really Bert," Tom said in rage. "Weren't you just sayin' how it's his fault we've not had nothing good to eat in ages?"
"Oh yeah," Bert said stupidly, rounding on Bill again.
"See here," Bill said. "If you hadn't made such a mess of that farmer, maybe more folks'd be by and we'd have more to eat."
"You mean to tell me it was 'im who ate the farmer?" Tom yelled. "You said 'e was already dead. Did your fat arse eat 'im yerself?"
"You said you wouldn't tell 'im," Bert said, shooting Bill a glare. Bilbo stood back and watched the trolls argue with a self satisfied smirk. With any luck, the sun would be rising shortly, and all he had to do was watch.
Back at camp, most of the company was fast asleep, with the exception of Thorin, Balin, and Gandalf. At the wizard's insistence, the group had stuck close together that night, no one was to leave the camp for anything. The exception was Bilbo, who had stormed off hours earlier, and had not since returned. Fíli and Kíli had followed him, but they had come back recently, in quite a funny mood, giggling about how Bilbo wanted some time to his thoughts. Thorin shot another look towards the forest that the hobbit had disappeared into. He wouldn't admit it, but he was concerned. The halfling was far too stubborn for his own good, though more capable than he had initially seemed. Still, Thorin couldn't help but think that their burglar had gotten himself into trouble, and it would be Thorin's fault because he'd been the reason the hobbit had left in the first place. Thorin had already had to deal with an angry wizard first hand that night, and he had been avoiding his cold gaze and petty remarks with growing weariness. He could only imagine how Gandalf would react if the halfling had gotten himself killed or injured on Thorin's watch.
"Go find him," Balin said as the king turned to look to the forest for the tenth time. "He's not had it easy. I think it would be good of you to extend some kindness to the poor lad." Thorin did not reply, but turned to Gandalf.
"Is he alright?" He asked, not expecting a straight answer, but trying his luck anyways.
"Perhaps," Gandalf said, expression stony. "But perhaps not. Are you going to neglect my burglar so, Thorin Oakenshield? I would have expected an heir of Durin to have more honour than that."
"Fine," Thorin said with a huff. He stood up and stalked off towards the forest, muttering about meddling wizards and grumpy halflings. He walked for just a couple minutes before realizing that he had absolutely no idea where the hobbit had gotten off to. He felt a prickle down his spine and instantly had one hand ready on his sword. He sped up, but it was so dark that it was nearly pointless. He cursed under his breath and kept walking. Before long, the unmistakable presence of a fire made itself known ahead of him. He crept towards the light, sword drawn.
What he saw around the fire made his blood grow cold. Three full sized trolls were gathered around it, arguing loudly, and Bilbo stood off to the side, completely out in the open. Thorin took one more step and Bilbo's eyes snapped onto the dwarf, panic flooding his face. Seeing that fear, Thorin sprung into action, charging into the clearing and yelling as loudly as he could, brandishing his sword menacingly. The trolls turned to look at Thorin with interest. He took their surprise as an opportunity, running up to the closest troll and making a deep gash in its calf. He rolled to avoid another's grasp and stuck it in the behind.
"Thorin, n-no," Bilbo cried, seemingly paralyzed on the spot. "Oh, blast it," he said then, scrunching his face up angrily. With a great sigh, Bilbo launched himself at the nearest troll, trying to wrestle a knife about as big as the hobbit himself, from the troll's clutches.
"I thought you was going to cook us supper," whined one of the trolls. Thorin stuck his sword into its foot, causing the troll to howl in pain, knocking Bilbo to the side. The troll, however, was not as hindered by the injury as Thorin had hoped and grabbed Thorin around the waist, dangling him over the fire.
"N-no, stop! Please stop!" Bilbo yelled, colour draining from his face, scrambling out of reach of the largest, nastiest looking troll. "P-put him down." Thorin wanted to yell at Bilbo. Run, get the others!, but Bilbo seemed frozen, eyes fixed on Thorin with an expression that made the dwarf deeply uncomfortable. There was a depth there that did not belong.
"See, I told you Bill, we'll make a good stew out of 'im yet," said one of the trolls, eyeing Bilbo with a sinister gleam in his eye.
"Are there any more of yer?" Asked Bill.
"N-no, nope," Bilbo stuttered, eyes locked on Thorin. "It's just us." Thorin met Bilbo's eyes and tried desperately to convey the direness of the situation. The need for backup. Why wasn't the hobbit doing anything?
"Are you sure?" said the biggest one. "I quite like dwarf." Thorin let out an enraged cry and bit into the hand of his captor, in a mad attempt at escape. He barely had time to register the foul taste on his tongue before he plummeted towards the roaring flames, heat licking his feet painfully. Bilbo let out an anguished cry, launching himself foolishly towards the king. In one heart stopping moment, enormous hands reached out in mid air and both dwarf and hobbit were caught in iron grasps.
"'ere Bert, you take 'em." Bert, who was already holding Bilbo, took Thorin from the whiny troll and threw one of them over each of his shoulders, his grip painful on their feet. From this angle, Thorin could see his abandoned weapons lying on the ground, far out of reach, and cursed quietly. Thorin turned to face Bilbo. The colour had flooded rapidly back to his face, whether that be from anger or from the blood rushing towards his head, Thorin did not know. He did know that the hobbit looked completely livid.
"You absolute fucking napsack," Bilbo said in a harsh whisper. "I had it under control."
"You call that under control?" Thorin asked, taken aback. "You were about to become their meal," Thorin argued.
"No, I wasn't," Bilbo said harshly. "I had a plan, and it was about to work until you burst in like an utter moron." Thorin had the sudden urge to punch something. Couldn't this idiot halfling see that he had been this close to becoming an appetizer? He should count himself lucky that Thorin had bothered at all.
"I was trying to keep them from eating you!"
"Would you shut up, I'm trying to think," Bilbo said, shutting his eyes firmly.
"What are you doing?" Thorin asked, completely taken aback by the absurdity of the situation.
"I just told you, I'm trying to come up with a plan. Someone's got to, and I don't trust it to be you." Thorin was too confused and angry to reply.
"Now what should we do wi' these two?"
"I say we squash 'em and dice 'em and add 'em to a stew," Bert said excitedly. Thorin could feel the vibrations of the troll's voice throughout his body.
"I've 'ad enough of stew," said Bill.
"What would you 'ave me do then, Bill," said the last troll, voice dripping with sarcasm. The clearing was silent for a moment. "That's what I thought." There were several loud footsteps and Thorin was ripped from Bert's shoulder and promptly had his hands and feet bound. Bilbo swiftly followed, being thrown roughly to the ground. He let out a little wheeze before struggling into a standing position.
"I really wouldn't eat him, if I were you," Bilbo said with disgust, looking contemptuously at Thorin. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "He's got worms. Nasty business, it is. If you eat him, you'll have worms coming out your behind for months." Despite the ridiculous situation, Thorin felt heat rise to his ears and tried to keep himself from glaring. This was juvenile, but Thorin did not have a better idea.
"I don't like worms," said Bill with a grimace.
"William Huggins, you don't like anything," said Bert with a roar.
"Do too," Bill replied, anger colouring his face.
"It's true, it is," said Tom. "You never like anything I cook. I'd like to see you try an' make anything better."
"I don't think you'd make a very fine cook, Bill," said Bilbo apologetically. "It takes sterner stuff. A true man of the people. A leader. Tom is the perfect fit." Thorin tried to keep his expression neutral. Bilbo's bullshit might occupy the trolls for some time, but they would need a solid escape plan… If only he could think of one.
"Now look 'ere," said Bill, stricken. "I could make a stew finer 'an Tom's."
"A man of the people? Tom ain't the leader, I am," Bert cried. Tom let out a cruel bark of laughter.
"It takes more 'an size to be a leader," Tom crowed. Thorin looked at the hobbit. Bilbo's face was one again ashen, and his eyes were flickering between the trolls, and a spot in the distance, barely hidden anticipation written on his face. He had positioned himself ever so slightly ahead of Thorin, and was leaning towards him subtly. It seemed innocent enough, except for the fact that Thorin had done this so many times with Fíli and Kíli. Positioned himself between the boys and danger. Why would Bilbo do this?
"More 'an a brute, too," Bill said with a glare. "You need brains, an' neither of you idiots have none." Thorin could not tell who threw the first punch, but the trolls were suddenly engaged in an all out vicious brawl. Thorin turned to Bilbo with urgency.
"Halfling," he whispered. This was the distraction they needed to escape. Bilbo did not seem to hear him, his eyes still focused on a spot above the trolls' heads. "Bilbo," he hissed, furious.
"Dawn take you all, and be stone to you," came a booming voice on the horizon. There was a loud crash, and light came pouring into the clearing as a large boulder cracked in half. Thorin thought he heard Bilbo let out a relieved laugh, but when he turned to the hobbit, his face was twisted into a frown.
"Took you long enough," Bilbo said waspishly.
"Expecting me, were you?" Gandalf called down from his perch on the rock.
"Hoping, is all," said Bilbo with a sarcastic laugh. Thorin felt like he was missing out on some twisted joke. "Care to untie us?" Gandalf's booming laughter did nothing to ease Thorin's nerves. The king flung the ropes from himself and grabbed his sword with as much dignity as he could manage when Gandalf finally untied him.
"My dear fellow, however did this happen?" Gandalf asked gently. Bilbo let out an annoyed huff.
"It's complicated," Bilbo said, stretching his wrists as Gandalf loosened the bindings. "If you don't mind, I'd very much like a bit of food first, as I didn't get any supper." Thorin felt guilt gnaw at him once again, but pushed it down as Gandalf set off to release the ponies. Thorin's mind was racing. He still could not make sense of what Bilbo had been doing talking to the trolls before his botched rescue attempt. But he could also acknowledge that without Bilbo, Thorin probably would have been eaten. On the other hand, if the halfling hadn't wandered off on his own, Thorin would never have left camp in the first place. He let out an angry sigh and rubbed a hand down his face.
"Are you alright?" Bilbo asked, snapping his eyes to the dwarf with unbridled concern.
"I'm fine," Thorin said with a huff. Bilbo's worry set him on edge. Something in his eyes made the dwarf distinctly uncomfortable. "You should have been more careful out there." Bilbo's face twisted into a grimace.
"Excuse me? I saved your sorry ass."
"You almost got us both killed, that's what you did," Thorin said with a snarl. "You got lucky this time."
"Got lucky," Bilbo muttered under his breath with a bitter laugh, kicking at a leafy green plant. "That's a new one." Thorin grimaced. He hadn't meant to be so harsh, and in all honesty, he should have given the hobbit more credit. Bilbo was not a fighter. He did not even have a weapon. The way he dealt with the trolls was smart. Thorin would not have thought to buy for time in the way the hobbit had. Where Thorin was rage and an eagerness to fight, Bilbo was all sharp wit. He was more comfortable talking his way out of things than fighting. There was something to be admired in that, although it did not agree with the exiled king. Thorin knew that that would not always be an option and felt the icy claws of fear grasp him harder than any troll could. This had been much too close. Thorin did not like being helpless, but above that, his biggest fear was having a member of the company die and not be able to do anything about it. They were his responsibility. As their king, and as the one who had asked them to put their own lives at risk to reclaim their homeland. Even though he held no love for the halfling, Thorin felt the rumblings of responsibility, and something in him knew that he was not getting rid of the hobbit any time soon. Perhaps he should follow Balin's advice and show the hobbit a little less animosity.
"Gandalf," Bilbo called to the wizard. "If they can't be out in the light, do you think they have a cave nearby?" Gandalf looked at Bilbo with barely concealed delight.
"My dear boy, I should very much hope so." Gandalf said.
"Shouldn't we wake the others?" asked Bilbo as Gandalf started walking deeper into the forest.
"Let us find the hoard first," said Gandalf with a mysterious look that seemed to only make sense to Bilbo, who paled in response. "Allow them to rest. Something tells me they will need it." The wizard's pace was quick, but Thorin had a much easier time navigating the forest with the bright rays of dawn peeking through the foliage. They walked in silence, Bilbo slightly in front of Thorin and Gandalf. He didn't seem to be paying much attention to where he was going. His steps were small and uneven, his eyes downcast. Thorin did not need to see his face to know that the dark circles the hobbit had recently evaded, were once again, sunken deeply into his face.
"Could this be it?" Bilbo asked, turning around to face Thorin and Gandalf. Thorin blinked sluggishly. How Bilbo had seen the enormous stone door while in the state he had been, would remain a mystery to Thorin. While large, it blended in quite well with the side of the hill within which it resided.
"I do think you are right, Master Burglar," Gandalf said with satisfaction.
"How do we open it?" Thorin asked, putting a hand against the thick door and pushing against it.
"Ah, I think I might be able to help with that," said Bilbo, one hand fiddling with his pocket nervously. With his other hand, he brandished a large, crude key. Gandalf shot Bilbo an appraising look. "I nicked it from Bert when he had us over his shoulders." Thorin looked at the hobbit incredulously. How had he managed to do that? They hadn't exactly been free to move around, but then again, Bilbo's movements were much more subtle than Thorin's own.
"We'll make a fine burglar of you yet, Bilbo Baggins," said Gandalf fondly. Bilbo did not seem to appreciate the praise, and grimaced, avoiding Gandalf's eyes. He opened the doors to the cave and started coughing uncontrollably. Once he had regained his composure, he walked into the darkness confidently. Thorin shook his head and followed behind Bilbo, keeping his sword drawn. He grimaced but carefully schooled his features to show indifference to the foul stench. The air was thick with dust and decay. There were half eaten corpses crawling with insects, skeletons that looked like they'd been there longer than Bilbo had lived. There was food there too, and the three of them set about trying to find any that hadn't turned. Bilbo continued into the cave with unexpected ease.
"Gandalf, Master Oakenshield," Bilbo cried, voice echoing loudly. "Down this way." Thorin picked his way over skeletons and jagged rocks. Bilbo was standing among treasure, the light from Gandalf's staff bouncing off the pieces of gold and dancing on the hobbit's face, lighting up his bronzed hair. Bilbo stepped to the side and Thorin's gaze zeroed in on three blades, delicate, yet deadly in their make. He picked one up and looked at it with awe.
"These blades were not made by any troll," he breathed. Gandalf picked another up with interest.
"Nor were they made by any smith among men," the wizard said, squinting at the sword. He unsheathed it and read the inscription. "These were forged in Gondolin, by the High Elves, of the First Age. You could not wish for a finer blade." Thorin's gut churned unpleasantly, but he resisted the urge to drop it, grudgingly placing the blade at his hip, where it dangled, light and balanced. He could not help but appreciate the expert make of the sword, despite its unsavory origins. His eyes fell onto the last blade, small in size, but also undoubtedly elvish. He felt the hobbit watching him as he picked it up and examined it. Bilbo's eyes lingered on it with an indistinguishable expression.
"You take it," Thorin said gruffly, thrusting the blade at Bilbo, whose face morphed into confusion.
"I - thank you," Bilbo said, gripping it tightly. He handled it with an unexpected ease, and Thorin couldn't help but think that he had made the right choice in handing it over to their burglar. It was perfect in size for the rather small hobbit, and it seemed to fit right into his small, delicate hands. It would be much too small for any of the others, Thorin reasoned with himself.
"Your wit won't get you everywhere," Thorin said. "You need to be able to defend yourself."
"I will wear it with honour," said Bilbo with an underused smile. Thorin felt a pleased bubble in his stomach and fought off a smile.
"Let's hope you know how to use it when the time comes."
"I think I'll manage," said Bilbo with a chuckle. Somehow, Thorin did not doubt him.
Bilbo, Thorin, and Gandalf wasted no further time in waking their comrades. After feasting themselves on the remaining edible food in the troll hoard, they quickly set about burying the treasure.
"For later," Bofur said with a wink, arms full of assorted goodies.
"Aye, a long term deposit," Glóin said with a cackle, filling a chest to the brim with coin.
The company's spirits were light, packs and bellies full for the first time in days, but a dark cloud followed Bilbo like a plague. His experiment with changing the timeline had not gone well, to say the least. For one, he had severely miscalculated when the sun would rise, allowing him and Thorin to be easily captured. Additionally, having Thorin involved had not only been one of the only things he hadn't wanted to do, but there were so many risks that had been involved. None of the others had known where they were. Who knows what could have happened before they came looking. Their bones could have easily joined those rotting in the hoard, never to see the light of day again. Bilbo felt a chill down his spine at the thought.
Above all, Bilbo's mind kept replaying Thorin handing him Sting. Something untouched in him had purred with satisfaction, and a small and greedy part of him had coiled up inside, refusing to go away. Why should he forsake his friendship with the king, he thought selfishly. I should be able to spend my last months with friends. Have I not earned that much? No, no he had not earned that. And it did not matter, for if Bilbo were to act on his selfish whims, Thorin would end up dead again, and Bilbo would rather die than live another broken life.
"Something's coming," Thorin's urgent voice broke through Bilbo's haze and he cursed himself for his oversight. He ran to the edge of the forest, praying that the ponies hadn't bolted yet, but they were gone.
"You accursed idiot of a hobbit," he swore under his breath. He ran back to the group, who were all stock still, weapons at the ready. Thorin glared, clearly demanding to know where he had gone, and Fíli's eyes followed his movements observantly. Bilbo ignored them and waited for the arrival of Radagast.
"Thieves! Fire! Murder!" Radagast yelled, bursting into the clearing on a sleigh pulled by several extremely large and muscular rabbits. The dwarves were poised to fight, but Radagast seemed oblivious to their weapons, his eyes fixed on Gandalf.
"Radagast. It's Radagast the Brown!" Gandalf said, expression lightening. He put his sword away and most of the dwarves hesitantly followed his lead. "What on earth are you doing here?"
"I was looking for you, Gandalf. Something's wrong. Something's terribly wrong."
"Yes?" Gandalf's voice was urgent, but Bilbo, who couldn't possibly bring himself to care about whatever wizard problem was afoot, hardly paid attention, concerned about the upcoming warg hunt, in which they were the prize.
"Just give me a minute. Um…Oh! I had a thought and now I've lost it. It was…it was right there, on the tip of my tongue! Oh! It's not a thought at all! It's a silly old… stick insect." Radagast opened his mouth in an off, disjointed fashion, uncovering a full-sized stick insect sitting on his tongue. Gandalf gave his friend a patient smile and removed the insect from his mouth. Radagast clicked his tongue a couple of times, then nodded, smiling at the bug as Gandalf set it down on a tree. He then turned abruptly to Gandalf, expression morphing into panic.
"The Greenwood is sick, Gandalf. A darkness has fallen over it, nothing grows anymore. At least nothing good. The air is foul decay, but worse are the webs."
Bilbo did not bother listening. He kept Sting drawn and eyed their surroundings, ready for the warg scouts to break through at any moment. He did not feel Thorin's eyes on him, nor did he see the king's thoughtful expression as he pulled Orcrist out of his own belt, mirroring the hobbit's defensive stance. Then the air was split by several nightmarish howls.
"Warg scouts," Bilbo said, ignoring Gandalf's calculating look. "A pack will be upon us in minutes." The wizard knew that something was afoot with their burglar, and Bilbo could no longer hide it. He had been all too aware of the wizard's eyes following him, far more than he had Last Time. It had started off curious but suspicious. Now, there was only confusion, and a quite obvious hint of annoyance. Bilbo had not covered his tracks well enough for the meddling wizard.
The dwarves scrambled to arm themselves, some with more ease than others. Bilbo realized that for some of them, this was their first brush with real danger. He had no more time to think as the first warg launched itself right on top of Bilbo. The familiar bloody, animalistic scent filled Bilbo's nostrils and he felt the beast's crusty, matted fur against his skin. Sting had been knocked from his hands at the impact, and it lay mere inches from his fingers. He fought to keep the warg's mashing teeth from his face, its breath warm and deadly on the palm of his left hand. His other hand scrabbling for his sword. Finally, his fingers came into contact with the cool metal of Sting, and he grasped it hard, plunging it into the warg's side. It recoiled at the impact, then let out another yelp as one of Kíli's arrows sunk into its skull. Bilbo sprung shakily to his feet and felt all eyes on him.
"Are you alright, lad?" asked Óin, the healer's eyes scanning Bilbo for injuries.
"I'm fine," Bilbo said, fighting to keep the tremor from his voice. He had not come this close to death so early Last Time, and he wished he knew why that had happened. More immediately, he wished his pulse would slow and his hands would stop sweating. He rubbed them on his pants and took a deep breath, hoping his nerves were obvious only to himself.
"Who did you tell about your quest, beyond your kin?" Gandalf asked, turning harshly on Thorin, who stood over another dead warg that he had just killed, wiping his blade on the beast's fur.
"No one," Thorin said defensively.
"Who did you tell?!"
"No one, I swear," Thorin said, more firmly. "What in Durin's name is going on?"
"You are being hunted."
"We have to get out of here," Dwalin said, grabbing Ori gruffly by the arm, as if he were a misbehaving child. He wriggled out of Dwalin's grasp quickly, and Nori stepped forward, angry eyes fixed on Dwalin.
"Small problem with that," Bilbo said with a grimace, interrupting Nori, who was clearly about to give Dwalin a piece of his mind. "The ponies have escaped." Thorin cursed under his breath.
"I'll draw them off," said Radagast, as firmly as the little wizard could manage.
"These are Gundabad wargs. They will outrun you," Gandalf said urgently.
"These are Rhosgobel rabbits," said Radagast, a steely glint in his eyes. "I'd like to see them try." With that, he sped off with surprising grace, the rabbits moving fast, even for Bilbo, who had seen them do so before.
"What are we waiting for," Glóin asked. "Let's go!"