It would be just like me to skewer myself on my own damn sword while running from orcs, Bilbo thought as he narrowly avoided stumbling over a rock, sword held tightly in his right hand. His breath was coming fast and hard, and he cursed (not for the first time) his first fifty years of inactivity in Bag End. It seemed at every turn, they came across the tail end of the orcs, who, sure enough, had not yet caught up to Radagast. Bilbo was grateful for the boulders that they ran between, offering them shelter from the eyes of the orcs. It was an agonizingly challenging process with fifteen of them. Each second felt like one closer to death, and Bilbo tried his absolute hardest to remember which of these Valar forsaken rocks was the one that sheltered the winding pathway to Rivendell. He had only taken it the one time, as he had been escorted in by Gandalf, or even Elrond himself every other time he had found himself at the valley of Imladris.
Suddenly, he was sure he had spotted it. The rock was not too far from where they were currently sheltering, not looking out of the ordinary at all, except for a rather unusual shadow at the base where Bilbo knew he would find the passageway. He saw Gandalf eyeing it too, and felt relief wash over him. He was about to dart towards it, but a hand on his arm stopped him. Fíli put his finger to his lips quietly and pointed towards the top of the boulder. Bilbo's stomach dropped. How could he have forgotten this orc. The very reason they had had such a close brush Last Time. An ugly, brutish orc, riding a snarling, panting warg stalked the length of the boulder above them, and the Company pressed close to the rock face. Before he could stop himself, Bilbo's hand launched onto Kíli's bow just before the youngest Durin released an arrow towards the orc. He suddenly felt himself at the mercy of several angry glares, but to his relief, the dwarves stayed quiet, though the tension was palpable. After several moments, the warg turned away, and they could hear its heavy footfalls disappearing. He let out a shaky breath and avoided everyone's eyes. He had bought them the time they needed, and he would not be made to feel guilty for it. He remembered the disaster Last Time. Loud cries from the warg and orc respectively, refusing to die without a fight, and the panic as throngs of orcs had descended upon them, drawn by the wails of their slain comrades. Yes, Bilbo had made a change for the better this time, but what would now change because of it?
A familiar horn sounded in the distance and Bilbo felt relief flood him. Elrond. The dwarves stayed flat against the rock as the sounds of battle echoed around them. An arrow whizzed by and Thorin pried it from the dirt, his face twisting into a grimace.
"Elves," He spat, throwing the arrow down as though burned. "Was this your plan all along, Tharkûn?" Thorin demanded, glaring at Gandalf reproachfully.
"I can honestly say that this was not," said Gandalf. Bilbo would have rolled his eyes if he could focus on anything other than regulating his raging gasps for breath. He knew that Gandalf had always intended to guide them to Rivendell, he only meant that this was not the way with which he had intended it to happen. Wizards.
The sounds of fighting died down, and the dwarves stuck stubbornly behind the rock. Bilbo wondered if they hoped to hide there from elves. As if they could escape the sharp eyes and ears of Elrond's people. Fools, the lot of them, Bilbo thought. Sure enough, the sound of hoofbeats grew steadily louder until the company was surrounded at all sides by elves, a row of deadly spears pointed at their faces. Bilbo, who had never truly been on the opposite end of an elf's weapon, felt sweat begin to pool on his lower back. But the dwarves were no easy prey. Their weapons were drawn and ready, their faces hard and unforgiving.
"Gandalf!" Bilbo recognized Elrond's voice before he broke free of the line of soldiers
"Lord Elrond," Gandalf said fondly. "Mae govannen, mellon nîn. What brings you here?"
Lord Elrond replied to Gandalf in Sindarin, and Bilbo felt a smug satisfaction at understanding, where Thorin and the Company did not. Elrond explained that they had been hunting the orc pack that had been after "something".
"Ah, that may have been us," said Gandalf, glancing pointedly at Thorin. Elrond, who had focused entirely on Gandalf, now turned to the dwarves with a raised brow.
"Ah, Thorin, son of Thràin," Elrond said without a hint of animosity. He then turned to his warriors. "At ease." They lowered their spears immediately, though they did not break rank.
"I do not believe we have met," Thorin said tersely, looking Elrond up and down scathingly.
"You have your Grandfather's bearing," Elrond said, eyes fixed on Thorin's. "I knew Thròr when he ruled under the mountain."
"Indeed? He made no mention of you," Thorin said, no longer hiding his disdain.
"Thorin," Bilbo said sharply, before he could stop himself. Thorin's glare was inescapable, and Bilbo felt himself wither under it. Elrond's eyes flicked to Bilbo with curiosity.
"And what business does a halfling have with the King Under the Mountain?" he asked.
"Lord Elrond," Bilbo said, bowing low. He heard the hisses of his dwarven companions, but ignored their fury. Lord Elrond had been something akin to a friend, in Bilbo's later years, and he would not forget that. "I am but a travel companion," Bilbo said, not wanting to be the one to betray their quest to the elves, despite knowing the help Elrond would provide.
"Very well," Elrond said, turning back to Gandalf, switching back to Sindarin. "Am I correct in assuming that your dwarves will not take kindly to an offer of food and shelter?" Gandalf chortled, eyeing the dwarves with fond exasperation. The Company bristled each time the language switched and Bilbo felt a grim satisfaction, knowing full well how frustrating it was to not understand a damn word and have no one take any pity on you.
"What is he saying? Does he offer us insult?" asked Glóin, brandishing his axe menacingly. The others rallied under his anger, and Gandalf held a steadying hand out, exasperation written clearly on his face.
"No, Master Glóin, he's offering you hospitality," Gandalf said.
Bilbo watched as the dwarves turned in towards each other, muttering rapidly in Khuzdul. Bilbo tried his very hardest to ignore the irritation stirring in his gut. He never had learned more than a couple of crude insults in Khuzdul, and he did not appreciate their willingness to leave him out of discussions.
"Very well," Thorin spat, clearly unhappy. Elrond yelled a couple quick instructions to his men in Sindarin, telling them to ride ahead and make necessary preparations. He handed the reins of his horse off to a familiar elf whose name that, for the life of him, Bilbo could not remember, though he knew he should. The elves rode off, leaving Elrond to walk with the Company, joining Gandalf at the front. Thorin glared mutinously at the wizard's back, stomping along in silence.
"Gandalf will not betray your trust," Bilbo said quietly, torn between wanting to reassure his old friend, or smack him atop the head. The pride of dwarves indeed. Why could he not show faith in his non-dwarven companions? Or at the very least not be so damn rude all the time.
"I did not ask for your assurances, halfling," Thorin said angrily, storming past him, cloak billowing in the dry, cooling breeze. Bilbo gritted his teeth and looked down, trying to hide the fact that his face was turning an angry red.
"Ignore him, lad," said Bofur, coming up from behind him. "Weight o' the world on his shoulders, that one."
"I was only trying to help," Bilbo muttered.
"'He's a grumpy old sod, that's all," Bofur said, clapping his hand on Bilbo's shoulder. They walked in silence for an agonizingly long time. Eventually, some of them managed to fall into quiet conversation, but the rest remained overly alert and rather sour the whole walk. Bilbo found himself increasingly bitter, and walked alone, wondering if he could glare hard enough for Thorin to feel it on his dark, silver-streaked curls. After a while though, it was hard to continue with his petty behaviour. The heat was fading and he felt the blissful relief from the scorching sun of the plains they had run across all day. His muscles ached and his lungs burned but he knew what awaited them in Rivendell. A good meal and a soft bed. It was more than he could even imagine.
With that pleasant thought, Bilbo let his mind wander. His eyes lingered on the wildflowers; pink, white, purple, and blue, hiding among tall grass, at some points nearly up to Bilbo's armpits. His nose picked up the scent of moisture, of clean fresh air before his ears heard the waterfalls, before he saw the sun's dwindling rays peeking through the mountains and lighting up the Last Homely House perfectly, as though the mountains themselves had parted solely to cast Rivendell into light. It was a lovely thought, that. The mountains were so vast and he suddenly felt so very small, miniscule in comparison to the ancient rock towering over him. It was a comforting feeling. It was so very easy to feel like the world rested on his shoulders, it was good to remind himself that there were immovable forces, bigger than he could ever imagine rooted into the very earth.
His companions were in awe, despite their hatred of elven culture. Bilbo knew them well enough to read it in their faces. In their posture and in their silence. It was hard not to admire the beauty of Rivendell. The valley seemed, in itself, alive. The trees were bountiful and green, the cliff faces crawled with moss and plants, and trickling waterfalls fell down as far as the eye could see. The buildings were arching and graceful, and there was something distinctly Elven in the light open spaces. Bilbo's heart fluttered. After weeks of travel, this was comfort. A place he knew, people he trusted, perhaps some solitude...
"Thorin," Gandalf called over everyone's heads once they made it into one of the many courtyards. "Might we trouble you for a word?" Thorin grumbled under his breath but made his way towards Gandalf and Elrond. Lindir, an elf Bilbo remembered from his days living in Rivendell, led the rest of them to a separate courtyard with a beautiful view of the valley, some parts cast in a deep shadow, where others illuminated in brilliant light. The tables were already prepared, whereas last time they had had to wait. Another more positive outcome of Bilbo's change.
"We were woefully unprepared, but we managed to make some accommodations thanks to the early warning from our riders," said Lindir, looking down his thin nose at the dwarves. "Please, set down your weapons, the meal will arrive shortly." The dwarves looked rather unwilling to part with their weapons. Some placed their heaviest ones against a tree in the center of the courtyard, keeping their smaller and less bulky ones at the ready. As Lindir promised, two long and wide, but short tables with thick, cushy pillows for seats took up most of the square, with another round, tall table in the corner where Bilbo knew Elrond, Gandalf, and Thorin would sit. The dwarves piled onto the pillows, lacking any manner of grace entirely, while several elvish musicians milled about with long, elegant instruments, playing soft tunes that made Bilbo's heart swell. He found himself squished between Balin and Fíli at one of the tables, his ears subject to a loud cacophony of delicate elvish music, and dwarves on their very worst behaviour.
"What d'you suppose elves eat?" Fíli wondered aloud, leaning his elbows heavily on the table. Fíli looked terrible. His hair was matted, and rendered nearly grey from dirt. For the life of him, Bilbo could not recall why the young dwarf was so soiled. He tried to hide his discomfort. After spending so much time "retired", as he liked to call it, in Rivendell, he knew that they valued manners and decorum. Perhaps the dwarves knew that too, for everywhere he looked, they were taking as many liberties as possible. There were weapons and elbows and feet on every surface. The dwarves were having yelled conversations between the tables, and wondering loudly and rudely about the elves and their "odd" manners. Bilbo buried his face in his hands in embarrassment.
"A right sorry sight we are," said Balin, shaking his head reproachfully. "I don't fancy elves anymore than the next dwarf, but there's something to be said about Lord Elrond offering his hospitality up to dwarves."
"Are you always this rude when taking supper at other's houses?" Bilbo, who had felt much more at ease with Balin recently, had a hard time restraining himself from speaking as freely as he had with the dwarf he remembered from Last Time. He caught himself then and smiled apologetically. "Only, you gave me quite a fright when you burst into my home unannounced. Made quite the mess of my smial," Bilbo said without animosity.
"Aye, my apologies for that, lad," said Balin. "We tend to get a mite carried away. We haven't had a frightful lot to celebrate in far too many years."
"I understand," Bilbo said solemnly.
"Although I do admit, there's a method to it. You see, we present ourselves at our very worst. Only when we are accepted at that, do we show anything more."
"Like a test?" Bilbo asked, surprised that he was only just hearing of this.
"Precisely."
"Did I… That is to say, did I pass?" Bilbo asked nervously, hand flying to the pocket he used to keep the ring in (a nasty habit that he could not quite shake).
"You're here, aren't you?" Balin said with an encouraging smile. "I should think you passed with flying colours."
"I fear you might be the only one who thinks that," Bilbo said sadly, eyes falling on the empty seat reserved for Thorin.
"Now, I mean no offence, but you can be a touch- oh, uninviting, say," Balin said. "Acceptance will come with time."
"You could give uncle a run for his money, with those icy glares of yours" said Fíli with a teasing expression. Bilbo didn't know how long Fíli had been listening, but for some reason, the annoyance and fear he usually felt was absent. The safety of Rivendell coupled with the near high of making a large change and having no negative repercussions (yet) had Bilbo feeling quite at ease.
"Surely not," he said jokingly. Fíli chuckled.
"Oh, aye," Fíli replied with mock seriousness. "Half afraid you'd turn me to stone, that first night, I was."
"You hush," Bilbo said, unable to conceal his smile. He bumped his shoulder into Fíli's and he felt the dwarf's quiet laughter shaking his frame. In the comfort and safety of what he considered a second home, Bilbo could not help but let down his guard. He felt good. Healthy. The sun was hanging low over the valley, basking them in a warm, late spring glow, and he marvelled at the fact the sun still had not disappeared behind the mountains. It was little things like this that made Bilbo wonder about the presence of elven magic in the valley of Imladris. His stomach grumbled loudly, and Fíli's bark of laughter startled him out of his thoughts.
"Where's the food?" Fíli asked loudly. "I half expect our burglar to start eating his waistcoat before these elves deem us fit to eat!" To Bilbo's surprise, Glóin, who was sitting across the table from Balin, let out a loud snort. Bofur and Kíli made noises of agreement from the other table. Bilbo blushed violently, though he couldn't help being pleased at his inclusion.
"They're here," Dori said quietly, eyes fixed on a spot behind Bilbo's head. He turned around to watch Elrond, Gandalf, and Thorin sit down at the tall table. Thorin's feet didn't reach the ground and Bilbo watched them dangle, choking down a laugh, despite a strange pit opening up in his stomach at the sight. "I suspect they'll serve us now," Dori continued importantly, nodding to himself. Sure enough, not seconds later, several elves bore down on them, laden with trays of food. There was a wide assortment of leafy greens and baked goods alike, along with fruity wine and tea. Ori picked up a large leaf with trepidation, eyeing it mistrustfully. Dori, who had wasted no time in loading his plate with greens, gave his brother a stern look.
"Try it," Dori said firmly. "Just a mouthful."
"I don't like green food," Ori mumbled, twirling the leaf in his fingers. "Think they have any chips?" He asked hopefully.
"Try the roll," Bilbo said, handing Ori one of his favourite elven appetizers. The young dwarf eyed it with suspicion, but tried it anyway. He did not grimace, and Bilbo thought that was a victory in itself. He took this moment to observe his travelling companions. The first time he had visited Rivendell, he had been so taken by the sweeping architecture, glowing landscape, and mysterious residents, that he had all but ignored the dwarves.
This time, he watched his friends, drinking them in greedily. Bombur was picking at his food with interest and a hidden smile. Balin ate his food with little ceremony. Bilbo could tell he was not enjoying the elven fare, but he would not pass up a meal. On the other side of the table, Dori eyed his little brother over his wine glass, making sure Ori ate his fill and Glóin glared at his plate with his arms folded across his chest, clearly trying to make a point. The only acknowledgement he got was a weary sigh from Balin.
At the next table, Bofur was laughing uproariously at Óin, who was stuffing his ear horn with a napkin, eyeing the elven musicians with distaste. Kíli, on the other hand, could not seem to look away from a beautiful elf maid on a large golden harp. Not for the first time, Bilbo was grateful for his keen ears. The youngest dwarf's gaze shifted to Dwalin, his dazed expression switching rapidly into one of feigned disinterest.
"Can't say I fancy elf maids myself," he said, sloppily covering his tracks. "Too thin."
"Oh, too thin, aye?" Dwalin said, mockingly.
"All high cheekbones and creamy skin," Kíli continued with false bravado, though his ears were tinged red. Bofur nodded along with a poorly concealed grin, and Bilbo noticed that most of their company was watching the procession with interest. "Not enough facial hair for me. Though, that one there is not bad." He nodded towards another tall, slender elf, who was undoubtedly beautiful. Bilbo let out a snicker, recognizing that particular elf from his days living there. He knew for a fact that this elf would not appreciate the attention in the slightest.
"That's not an elf maid," Dwalin said smugly as Kíli's eyes slid to Dwalin in dismay. The older dwarf laughed loudly, slamming his hand on the table.
"Oh, don't start," Kíli whined, burying his face in his hands. The dwarves burst into laughter and Bilbo, who had not been paying attention last time and had been lost on the joke, cringed from second hand embarrassment.
"Does he know how good an elf's hearing is?" he asked Balin with a grimace. Balin laughed loudly and caught Fíli's attention.
"Say, Fíli, I don't suppose your brother knows that elves have superior hearing, now does he?" Fíli looked at his brother with pity and shook his head.
"Just like him," Fíli said, much to the amusement of everyone at their table.
"Has a thing for elves, your brother?" Bilbo asked Fíli with a laugh.
"Has a thing for anything that he's not allowed to have," Fíli drawled. "But he knows where to stop. You should've seen uncle Thorin when Kíli took up the bow. More of an elvish weapon than not," Fíli said quietly. "But of course, that only made Kíli practice harder. He's damn good with it too."
"That he is," Bilbo said, glancing again at Kíli who was looking disgruntled as Bofur, Nori, and Dwalin relentlessly poked fun at him. Bilbo felt a sense of contentment wash over him as he watched his dwarves make complete and total asses of themselves in front of Elrond and the elves of Rivendell, whom Bilbo had a deep respect for, and yet, he did not care.
"Balin," Bilbo asked, uneasy but desperate to quench his curiosity. Something Thorin had said weeks before had been scratching at him, like getting to the last piece of a puzzle, only to discover it missing. Something that he should know, and was embarrassed to ask about, but even more embarrassed to not know. "I can't help but wonder... Thorin mentioned that you were married." How could he have not known Balin was married. Balin, whom he had considered a very dear friend, had never shared this information with him… and he had never asked.
"Aye, that I was," Balin said with a sad smile. "Orian was his name."
"Is- is that common?" He asked, voice at a near whisper. He felt inexplicably hot and looked around to make sure no eyes were on him. "For two dwarrow to marry?" Balin's eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"As common as anything else. Perhaps more so. Is that not the way in the Shire?"
"No." Bilbo breathed. "No, it isn't. I- that is to say that hobbits are driven to procreate. I…" he trailed off, unsure of what more to say.
"I see," Balin said, turning to face Bilbo fully, expression unreadable. "I didn't realize."
"So why is it then that Dwalin is teasing Kíli about Gadirion?" Bilbo asked, feeling quite lost. Balin chuckled.
"Ah, you see, Kíli is rather abnormal, in that he is almost only attracted to the more womanly sort." Balin's words were met with laughter from many of the dwarves around them. There was a quiet commotion, and Bilbo turned to watch Thorin stomp away from the high table, expression thunderous, only to stop in front of the tree, facing Bilbo's side of the table, nursing a drink. Bofur seemed to take Thorin's departure from the high table as a sign that they could now switch seats, and he walked over both tables to come and sit on the edge of Bilbo's right, perched on the edge of the table next to Fíli.
"And it's really common for a man to be attracted to another man in that way?" Bilbo kept his eyes down, not wanting to look up and feel cool blue eyes on him. Hoping that the heat that seemed to be emanating off his body in waves was not visible to the king.
"Oh aye," Fíli said, putting an arm around Bilbo. "It doesn't matter one bit to most dwarves."
"Half the time when I get down to it, so to speak-" Bofur punctuated this with an exaggerated wink, "-it's a surprise!" he said. Fíli let out a bark of laughter, slapping his hand on the table. After a moment, the two dwarves did a ridiculously complicated hand gesture, ending in a rough forehead smash and Bilbo shook his head vacantly.
"I see," Bilbo said, knowing his face was flushed scarlet, pointedly angling his body away from Thorin and hoping that his curls hid most of his face. "Well, I suppose that makes sense coming from you, Bofur." He tried to bring the light teasing tone back to his voice, but found it slightly hoarse.
"Too true," said Fíli, food spraying from his mouth. "Bofur is definitely the sort to be surprised by that, not that I haven't experienced the same thing, mind you..."
Bilbo should have been able to sleep. He should have felt comfortable, sleepy, and safe in one of the guest rooms the elves had so graciously provided. Should have taken this opportunity while he had it. The room was private and clean and the bed was soft and comfortable, a familiar, yet hazy feeling accompanying it, a relic from another life. But no, Bilbo had to go and make things harder for himself, of course he did. He dragged his belongings into the courtyard where the dwarves were still very loudly and very pointedly not sleeping, having turned down the offer of room and bed. They had not wanted to separate, not trusted the elves enough to do so, out of pride or genuine fear, Bilbo could not say.
It had turned out to be a good decision on Bilbo's part though. Bofur had very loudly celebrated Bilbo's arrival, and they had actually had a rather pleasant night, although Bilbo learned much more about Bofur, Fíli and a couple others' past conquests than he had ever wished to know. Most dwarves were still uneasy around him, but it was good enough to sit quietly and be with his friends, puffing on his pipe and watching them laugh. He found he could not begrudge himself this small comfort.
The next day, Gandalf, Thorin, and Balin went for a private meeting after a late breakfast, and to the rousing pleas of Bofur, Fíli, and Kíli, the Company decided to explore the area. They made the short hike down to the bottom of the valley where they followed a bubbling little creek that eventually widened into a good sized swimming hole. There was a fallen log on one side, and the water was a creamy aqua, the sun illuminating thousands of tiny particles in its depths. The dwarves wasted no time in getting undressed and jumping into the water, some using the fallen tree to jump off of. The clearing was soon filled with good natured yelling, laughter, and splashing. Bilbo stuck to the shore, far enough to not get splashed, and scanned the rocky ground for flat stones.
"What are you looking for?" asked Ori, who had yet to enter the water, still clothed head to toe, and sporting many handmade knit items.
"Skippers," Bilbo answered, eyes not leaving the ground. "Aha!" he bent over abruptly and scooped up a flat stone.
"Skippers?" asked Ori, eyeing Bilbo warily.
"Yes," Bilbo replied with a smile. "Watch this." He recoiled his arm and then shot it forward, launching the rock across the surface of the water away from the dwarves. It skimmed the water and bounced several times before eventually sinking with a splash.
"How did you do that?" Kíli yelled from the water, looking excited.
"Come here, I'll show you," Bilbo said to the young dwarf, who bounded eagerly from the depths. Bilbo had gotten mostly used to dwarven nudity while bathing, not that this was his chief achievement, but at least he knew enough to keep his eyes up at all times. "Find yourself a thin, flat stone."
"Like this?" asked Ori.
"Perfect. And Kíli? Yes, that one will do just fine," Bilbo said. He did his best to explain the movements. Ori got it quite quickly, though he didn't manage more than a couple of skips at a time. Kíli, on the other hand, was growing increasingly frustrated.
"How are you so good?" Kíli whined. Bilbo laughed.
"It's one of the only things us hobbits are good at around water," he said. "We don't swim if we can avoid it, but there are plenty of activities you can do safely from the shore."
The afternoon passed much the same. Ori stayed mostly on dry land, practicing his skipping, but Kíli's impatience eventually won out, and he returned to the cool waters of the creek. Bilbo was quite content to sit on the bank, occasionally dipping his toes in, but Fíli and Kíli had been bugging him about joining them the whole time.
"Come on, Mister Baggins," Fíli said, squeezing water from his moustache braid. "Join us!"
"I'd much prefer to sit and sun myself, thank you," Bilbo replied.
"It's hardly deep at all," Kíli said.
"You may have noticed that you're all a good deal taller than me."
"But look at those feet!" Fíli exclaimed, swimming over and prodding one of Bilbo's large toes. "They're like built in flippers."
"Boys, please," Bilbo said, rolling his eyes.
"The water is wonderful," Kíli said with a pleading smile.
"Oh, well alright," Bilbo huffed. How could he say no to them. "Just this once. But if I drown, I'll be holding you two personally responsible…"
Not an hour later, Thorin and Balin joined the group. Dwalin got out of the water, instantly at their sides, flexing his muscles importantly. Bilbo saw Nori roll his eyes and scoff, sinking lower into the water.
"Curse those elves to Mahal's halls and back," Bilbo heard Thorin swear. He had the distinct impression that the fun would soon be over, with the mood that their leader was in. He crept out of the water, hoping to avoid being seen, avoid any misdirected anger or mistrust.
Bilbo was a shivering mess on the shore once again. The wind had picked up and shadows were creeping in, and his wet trousers stubbornly refused to dry out, clinging unwelcomed to his skin. His pleasant mood had been thoroughly spoiled and he watched enviously from the outside once again. At least the object of his displeasure seemed just as uncomfortable as himself. Thorin was standing to the side, smoking and watching the Company silently. As if he could feel Bilbo's eyes on him, Thorin turned his head. Bilbo looked away instantly, staring violently at the ground and trying to fight the nerves in his stomach. Eventually, Bilbo managed to convince himself that Thorin hadn't noticed, or hadn't cared, only for his ears to pick up on a hesitant shuffle. And then the dwarf sat down, several feet away from Bilbo. He said nothing, did not even look at the hobbit, who was suddenly very aware of every breath, the goosebumps on his bare arms, and the fact that he was actually very uncomfortable, but he was now too nervous to shift his position. He tried to catch a glimpse of the king out of the corner of his eye, but was unsuccessful.
"You're cold." It was a statement. Not worried, nor comforting, nor even derisive. Bilbo finally turned to Thorin, whose eyes were trained fixedly on his nephews, who were wrestling with each other, throwing water and rather dirty swear words alike.
"Your boys are a bad influence on me," Bilbo said after a moment, smiling nervously.
"I hardly think you need influencing, Master Baggins," Thorin said with the ghost of laughter that Bilbo hadn't heard since Last Time. "It would seem nobody but yourself can make you do things you do not wish to do." Thorin's head tilted in Bilbo's direction ever so slightly, and Bilbo forced his eyes away from the lines around Thorin's eyes.
"Yes, well," Bilbo said, clearing his throat. "I do take after my mother in that respect."
"Hmm." Thorin's voice was a distant rumble, but it shook Bilbo like thunder. Bilbo knew he did not need to continue, but he kept speaking anyway.
"She was quite a force to be reckoned with, my mother. Always doing the unexpected." He stared at the ripples on the water with uncertainty.
"A bit like you then." Thorin said, nodding in Bilbo's direction.
"Not at all, actually," Bilbo replied, lost in the memory of parents whose faces he found could now picture clearly. "Before you came around- that is to say before you all came around, I was perfectly respectable."
"Were you?"
"I should think so," Bilbo said. "You know, I still ask myself every day what came over me, parading off with a band of dwarves. What will the neighbours think?" Bilbo asked with a laugh. "I'm sure Lobelia is having the time of her life, starting rumours about Mad Baggins, or something of the like."
"Lobelia?"
"Oh yes, one of my many cousins," Bilbo said, waving his hand importantly. "Nasty woman, that." Bilbo could have sworn that Thorin just laughed.
"Bilbo," Bofur yelled, ambling out of the water sloppily, shaking water out of his hair. He stopped shamelessly right in front of Bilbo, dripping water all over his finally dry legs.
"Ugh, Bofur," Bilbo grimaced, bending his neck uncomfortably far back to keep his eyes above Bofur's naked waistline. "Must you always be so averse to wearing trousers around me? One might think you're trying to coax me into bed," Bilbo said, wincing at how easily he had fallen into the banter he and Bofur had shared Last Time.
"Is it working?" Bofur asked with a wink, not missing a beat.
"Oh hush, you," Bilbo chuckled. Thorin stood up suddenly, fists clenched to his side.
"Alright everyone, we're leaving." Bilbo's jaw dropped and he scrambled to his feet instinctively. Thorin turned and stalked away, barking impatiently as his nephews complained. Bilbo looked to Bofur, who shrugged.
"Ah well, there's nothing for it," Bofur said. His eyes lit up with an impish smile. "Now where did I put my trousers?"
Bilbo could no longer avoid the wizard, whose eyes Bilbo had felt far too many times since the trolls. He felt like a minnow trapped in a small pool with nowhere to hide. No matter how well Bilbo knew the layout of Rivendell, Gandalf seemed to know it better, to always be one step ahead, smoking his pipe leaning against a wall. He knew that it was time to tell him the truth, for if he did not, Gandalf would figure it out himself. If Bilbo was honest with himself, he was surprised he had kept it from Gandalf for so long at all. Gandalf stood in a long hallway with Elrond, talking in hushed whispers, a sense of urgency on his lined face. Elrond nodded along seriously.
"Ah, Gandalf, if I am not mistaken, someone awaits your presence," Elrond said, catching Bilbo's eye with a smile. Gandalf turned around and stared at Bilbo with an expression of near smug satisfaction. The cheeky bastard.
"Yes, I do suppose you're right," Gandalf said. "Do you have somewhere I could meet with Mr Baggins away from prying ears?" He asked, as graciously as possible.
"Indeed," said Elrond, the smallest of frowns gracing his features. "Do follow me." He led them down several wide, open hallways. Bilbo did not pay attention to where Elrond was taking them. Gone were the days in which Bilbo would get lost and confused trying to navigate Rivendell. He had an admirable sense of elvish floorplans, for a hobbit, what with his stay in Rivendell, and his month of navigating the kingdom of the Elvenking in Mirkwood. They stopped in front of a simple door.
"This is where I leave you," Elrond said with a smile.
"I thank you, Lord Elrond," Gandalf said with a graceful bow. He then opened the door and held it open for Bilbo. The room inside was quite sparse. Bilbo had surely never been in this room when he had lived here. Most of the rooms were elegant, but comfortable. This was quite bare. It held a table and two chairs, and that was it. He found himself wondering about the room, its purpose, when it was last used, instead of speaking with Gandalf. Suddenly nervous, Bilbo took a seat and started fiddling with his pocket. Gandalf sat across from him. He did not speak, but rather looked at the hobbit with a quiet expectancy.
"Right," Bilbo said, clearing his throat loudly. "Where to begin… Well, at the beginning, I suppose." The air felt tight in his lungs and his words struggled to form properly.
"My dear fellow, you may start wherever you wish," Gandalf said, reaching a hand across the table to rest on Bilbo's shoulder comfortingly.
"Yes, well," Bilbo said, regaining his confidence. "One day I was minding my own business when thirteen dwarves and a wizard came barging into my smial unannounced, ruining my plumbing, and eating me out of house and home. As a respectable hobbit, you can imagine I was quite shocked.
"Well, the next day, I decided to join them against my better judgement." Bilbo laughed quietly. Gandalf frowned at this, for Bilbo had decided to join them the very night they had arrived, not the day after. "We weren't exactly quick friends. I missed Bag End and I complained a lot. I don't think they had all that much faith in me, and rightly so. And then we ran into the trolls." Bilbo paused and thought about how best to word this. "They got us. They got all of us. All thirteen dwarves, and me, anyways. A - and I stalled with the stupid tube worms, and you split open the boulder and they turned to stone." Gandalf sat back in his chair and brought a hand to his chin, expression thoughtful, but he did not interrupt. "We found the troll hoard, and then Radagast came, followed quickly by wargs that Kíli and Thorin killed, not I.
"And then we ran. We almost didn't make it. Kíli shot the warg instead of the orc on the boulder. It fell down in front of us and didn't go down without a fight. Every orc heard it and came after us. We were surrounded. That's when you beckoned us all into the hidden pass that led to Rivendell." Bilbo's hand had not stopped fidgeting with his pocket, and he was unwilling to meet the wizard's eyes. "A-and I think I should maybe stop here for now."
"You are wise to do so," Gandalf said, eyebrows high. "I must say, while I was not expecting this, I am not entirely surprised. There was always something about you, Bilbo Baggins." Bilbo shook his head ruefully.
"Yes, well," Bilbo stammered. "I must say, I am rather surprised I kept it from you for this long, old friend."
"Now, when you say 'old friend'...?" Gandalf said, trailing off into a question.
"Eighty years," Bilbo said fondly. "You are my oldest friend, as a matter of fact."
"Dear Bilbo," Gandalf said, a smile breaking out across his face. "I am sorry to say that I have frightfully many a question, although I do not know how wise it is to ask them."
"Go right ahead, ask away," Bilbo said, waving his hand in the air dismissively. "I dare say that if there is anything too sensitive, we can avoid it altogether."
"Yes, I suppose we can," Gandalf said thoughtfully. "Am I correct in assuming that this is your second time living through these events then?"
"You would be, yes. It's rather funny, actually," Bilbo said, weight lifting off his shoulders as he spoke. "I was with you and my nephew, Frodo when I died, and then I was back at Bag End where you showed up, just as you had eighty years before. I thought I was truly dead and you were just there to bother me, much like you did in life. I didn't even doubt it for a second," Bilbo said, cracking up. Gandalf let out a booming laugh.
"Well, I daresay that explains your odd behavior that morning," Gandalf said. "If I may, what happened the first time I came calling?"
"Gave me quite a fright, is what you did," Bilbo said sternly. "But it was much the same, although I was far less prepared. I- I did doubt that this was real for quite some time, you know. I thought it was some cruel afterlife prank, or other. Seeing my old friends traipsing through my house again, as though nothing had ever happened was-" Bilbo choked on his words, as unbidden emotion flooded him. Gandalf's eyes showed a sad understanding.
"Who did we lose?" Gandalf asked solemnly. Bilbo paused, unsure if he should share this information. But, he supposed that he wouldn't tell Gandalf how. Besides, if all went well, this would never be a problem.
"Fíli and Kíli," Bilbo said shakily. "A-and Th-Thorin." He felt a wave of grief wash over him and he screwed his eyes shut.
"I see," Gandalf said. Bilbo opened his eyes to see remorse on the wizard's face. "I am dearly sorry to have involved you in this, Bilbo."
"No," Bilbo said, clenching his fists. He would wallow in regret no more. "I am glad to have shared in their adventure. And even more glad to now have the chance to make things right."
"Bilbo, I fear I must warn you that some things may be destined to come to pass. There could be little you can do to change them."
"No!" Bilbo said, slamming his palm on the table. "No, I must change things. No matter what, I will see a Durin on the throne of Erebor." Another promise lingered unsaid on the air. Even if it kills me. "And Gandalf, I fear I must also warn you. This quest is just the beginning. An inescapable evil is coming, and I worry that I will be the one to bring it to light." Bilbo hung his head in shame as Gandalf scrutinized him harshly.
"Bilbo Baggins," he said finally, though he looked pained to change the subject. "Let us not dwell on the past," he paused and let out a dark laugh. "Or the future, rather."
"But Gandalf, suppose I don't make it, what then? My knowledge could change everything!" Bilbo was desperate. He knew he could not survive. He could feel it in his bones. Without him, what would happen to the ring? Would it ever find its way to Frodo? Or would it fall into enemy hands? "We can't risk that!" Gandalf thought for a moment.
"Would you entrust Lord Elrond with this information? I fear what I would do with so much knowledge of what is yet to pass. Lord Elrond, however, is far more tempered. He is a far better secret keeper than I."
"Yes, I suppose you're right," Bilbo said with a sigh. He held immense respect and trust for the elf, and he did not doubt that Elrond was the best choice, but he could not help feeling disappointed. The ring was weighing on him so harshly. He could feel it. It was so close, calling to him, urging him towards the Misty Mountains every moment. He ached to share that burden and Gandalf seemed to sense his urgency.
"Lord Elrond plans to meet with Thorin this evening."
"I know," Bilbo interrupted before he could stop himself. "Apologies," he stuttered, flushing in embarrassment.
"How foolish of me," said Gandalf with a chuckle.. "In any case, accompany me to the meeting. You can meet with Lord Elrond after." Bilbo nodded minutely. He knew Thorin would not be happy to see him.
"What is the halfling doing here?" Thorin asked as Bilbo and Gandalf arrived. Bilbo winced and stuck close to the wizard's side. Thorin's voice was biting and cold, more menacing than Bilbo remembered it to be, though he could not fathom why. It ate at his heart like a frost, infecting his veins, his lungs. At Thorin's side, Balin pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.
"I hope you have not forgotten that Bilbo is here at my behest. I would have thought that you of all people would know by now how sharp his wit is," Gandalf gave Thorin a piercing look. "He is here because I believe he will provide insight that some may overlook."
"Very well," Thorin said, not looking at Bilbo. "But you would do well to remember that I am the leader of this mission, wizard."
"Thorin," said Balin nervously, putting a restraining hand on the king's arm. "Gandalf has proven himself to be invaluable to the company. As has Bilbo." Balin did not look at the hobbit, but rather at his king, giving him a look that clearly served to remind him that Thorin all but owed Bilbo his life. Bilbo felt himself swell with gratitude. Balin had not stood up for him Last Time. Thorin looked ready to argue, but at that moment, Lord Elrond walked in.
"Good evening," Elrond said, opening his arms out to them in welcome. "I trust you have been well taken care of?" Thorin snorted and muttered something in Khuzdul. Balin's smile was tense as he spoke.
"Your generosity is appreciated." Elrond gave a nod of his head in response.
"Now what, may I ask, are thirteen dwarves and a hobbit doing travelling down the Great East Road?"
"Our business is no concern of elves, as I have said countless times," Thorin spat. Bilbo rolled his eyes but resisted the urge to call Thorin out on his behaviour.
"For goodness' sake. Thorin, show him the map!" Gandalf sounded as fed up as Bilbo felt.
"It is the legacy of my people. It's mine to protect! As are its secrets." Thorin crossed his arms over his chest and seemed to plant himself into the ground, an unshakable force.
"Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves. Your pride will be your downfall. You stand here in the presence of one of the few in Middle-Earth who can read that map. Show it to Lord Elrond!" Bilbo barely managed to suppress his approving smile as Thorin grudgingly pulled the map out and handed it to Elrond. He looked down on it, hair falling in a curtain around him.
"Erebor. What is your interest in this map?" The elf asked, eyes staring holes into the dwarven king.
"It's mainly academic," Gandalf interjected, drawing all eyes on him. "As you know, this sort of artifact sometimes contains hidden text." The lie fell from Gandalf's lips easily and Thorin and Balin looked pleased that he had not given their quest away. Bilbo, however, knew how perceptive Lord Elrond was, and was not convinced that the elf hadn't already guessed the purpose of their journey. "You still read ancient dwarvish, do you not?" Gandalf asked pleasantly, as though asking how Elrond took his tea. The elf nodded, inspecting the map again.
"Cirth ithil'," Elrond said thoughtfully.
"Moon runes. Of course. An easy thing to miss," Gandalf looked largely pleased at Elrond's quick success.
"Well in this case, that is true. Moon runes can only be read by the light of the moon of the same shape and season as the day on which they were written." Thorin let out an impatient huff.
"Can you read them?" he growled.
"These runes were written on a mid-summer's eve by the light of a crescent moon nearly two hundred years ago. It would seem you were meant to come to Rivendell. Fate is with you, Thorin Oakenshield. The same moon shines upon us tonight." Fate indeed. Perhaps this was one of those unchangeable facts of which Gandalf spoke. The fact that they managed to meet on the exact right night two times had to be beyond luck. Elrond took the map and placed it on an ornate crystal slab, in full moonlight. As the light shone down, runes appeared in thin, shining letters. "Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole," Elrond translated. They were all silent for a moment.
"This is ill news. Summer is passing, Durin's Day will soon be upon us," Thorin said finally, frowning deeply.
"We still have time to find the entrance," Balin said. "We will have to be standing at exactly the right spot, at exactly the right time. Then, and only then, can the door be opened."
"So this is your purpose, to enter the mountain?" The dwarves seemed to have forgotten that Elrond was there. They stared at him for a moment.
"What of it?" Thorin asked.
"There are some who would not deem it wise."
"I daresay they're right," said Bilbo, breaking his silence for the first time. "But I don't believe that there is any point in trying to stop us. In fact, I'd rather like to see you try." Thorin stared openly at Bilbo as Gandalf placed a restraining hand on the hobbit's arm. Elrond, however, seemed to find it quite amusing.
"Indeed," he laughed quietly to himself for a moment. "You are an interesting creature, Master Baggins. If that is all, Master Oakenshield, I wish to seek an audience with the halfling." Thorin's face fell into a scowl once again.
"Master Baggins is a part of my company. Anything you need to say can be said in front of all of us," Thorin said, Balin nodding behind him. Bilbo wasn't quite sure how to feel. Did Thorin not trust him to give away their secrets? Did he worry for him?
"It's fine, Master Oakenshield," Bilbo said, drawing all eyes to him. He felt a shiver run down his spine, suddenly nauseous. "I asked to see him." The dwarves did not look pleased. Bilbo could tell that Thorin wanted to argue, but Balin gave a subtle shake of his head and Thorin stormed off. Part of Bilbo wanted to go after him, to flee and never return. He dug his toes into the stone at his feet and imagined himself growing roots, planting himself in place. He took several deep breaths as he watched Thorin disappear, an odd grace about him, even in his anger.
"Thank you for your aid, Lord Elrond," Balin said stiffly, bowing. When he righted himself, his eyes ran over Bilbo, searching for something, a question that Bilbo could not decipher in his eyes. And then he followed after Thorin. Gandalf, too, gave Bilbo a comforting smile, then swept away. Once they were alone, Elrond motioned for Bilbo to follow him, to tear up the roots he had planted and light them on fire.
Elrond showed Bilbo to his own private rooms, where they sat at a very tall table. Bilbo had never been in Elrond's rooms, but unlike his conversation with Gandalf, Bilbo could not focus on one thing. The room was too beautiful, too personal. He stared at the table, feet dangling mournfully, longing for their usual connection to the ground. Longing for anything to tether him to the present, and to reality.
It was an agonizingly long couple of hours. Quite possibly the longest in either of his lives. Bilbo explained in painstaking detail everything about their quest, then moved on to all that Frodo had told him about his own journey. Elrond had many questions, and Bilbo had quite a few of his own to counter them, although neither of them managed to answer many of them at all. As evening crept steadily on, Bilbo felt a heaviness in his heart. It was not sharp or urgent, but deep, weighted, making him sluggish and tired. Elrond seemed to sense this, seemed to know that this was all Bilbo could handle.
"I think it is wise for us to retire for the evening," the elf said, unsmiling. "Before we do, I wish to caution you."
"You have my attention," Bilbo said, tongue heavy.
"Firstly, I would like to impress upon you the danger of continuing the quest as is. Should things change, and you were to fall unexpectedly, the ring could be lost, plunging Middle Earth into a crippling uncertainty. It is dangerous to bear such a burden alone. While I think it wise for you to have trusted me with this information, once you leave this valley, there is little I can do. Are you sure you wish to risk this?"
"I-" Bilbo swallowed thickly, headache throbbing in his temples. "I must- I must risk it," he said, flashes of the horrors of Last Time synchronized with the throb of his head.
"I understand," Elrond said, although the crease between his eyebrows was prominent. "I have heard that hobbits are very resilient," he said. Bilbo snorted.
"When necessary."
"I have also heard they are fond of the comforts of home. These dwarves must mean quite a lot for you to forsake this."
"I don't have a home," Bilbo said. "I haven't for quite some time." He did not want to think about the dwarves. Not now, and not in the way Elrond seemed to suggest. There was too much truth there, and far too much of his past.
"I wish not to add to your burden," Elrond said. "But I ask that you remember that the fate of Middle Earth rests upon your success."
"Right," Bilbo muttered, rubbing his hands over his face. "No pressure." Elrond smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. Pitying.
"Do not think you must sacrifice yourself to do this," Elrond said knowingly. "Do not close your heart. I can see the scars this is creating. You gain nothing in doing so." Bilbo's stomach churned unpleasantly and his fingers twitched towards his pocket, wishing for solitude, to hide from this feeling of being stripped bare and thrown from a cliff. There would be no eagles, no ring to save him from this. "Though I think I know your answer, I feel I must offer regardless. You are welcome to stay here, if that is your wish."
"No," Bilbo said, feeling more certain of himself than he had in a long while. "No, I must stay with Thorin."
"Very well," Elrond said. "Be well, Bilbo Baggins." Bilbo nodded grimly, and slid from the chair, feeling dizzy and weak, like a young fawn taking its first steps.
"Thank you, Lord Elrond." He made his way to the door, and then paused. "Before I leave, might I ask a favour?"
When Bilbo finally left Elrond's quarters, he was exhausted. Completely and entirely emotionally drained. He did not feel all that much better, if he was honest with himself. The ring still called to him, and he felt no more reassured about the Company's future than he had been when he showed up at Bag End not-dead. Bilbo had assured Elrond that he knew his way around Rivendell, and thus, did not need an escort to where the dwarves were sleeping. When he finally came to their makeshift group bedroom, his eyes fell upon his sleeping roll with a desperate longing. He slouched over, wanting nothing more than to sleep, sure he would be out in seconds, when a rustling sound caught his ears. He looked up, only to meet Thorin's eyes as he walked towards him. He motioned for Bilbo to follow him, and after a moment's hesitation, he followed him outside to the terrace.
"What did the elf want?" Thorin asked, not looking at Bilbo, but rather leaning on a railing and looking out over the valley. It was dark and Bilbo could only just make out the king's profile.
"He did not want anything. Rather it was I who was seeking his counsel," Bilbo replied warily.
"I do not trust the elves. Tell me, of what did you speak?" Thorin asked, turning to face Bilbo angrily.
"You do not trust me, you mean?" Bilbo replied, cursing himself as his right hand immediately started fumbling with his pocket as his nerves spiked.
"That is not what I said," Thorin growled. "Elves are self-serving, conniving bastards, and I would not have a member of my company consorting with them."
"But it is what you meant! You don't trust me to not give away our secrets to them. You still don't trust that I will not betray you." The accusation hung heavy in the air and Thorin growled.
"It is not about you, halfling, it is about the elves. My secrets are my own." The words Thorin left unsaid felt heavy in the space between them.
"Right," Bilbo said shortly, running his sweaty palms on his pant legs. "Well I do not share your prejudice. And at the very least, the elves treat me with respect, which is more than I can say for you, king under the mountain." Bilbo's voice was cold as ice and Thorin's expression matched.
"Very well," the dwarf said before stalking away. Bilbo suddenly felt so weary that he sunk to the ground right where he stood and let out a shuddering breath. Why was this happening to him? He had never wished for the easy escape of death more. Why did he have to endure all this pain a second time? Why?
The ring was cold on his finger but his mind was on fire. His bones were char under his skin, barely able to stand upright, threatening to crumble and snap under his weight. The black and white world was blurry and confusing, and panic swelled painfully under his chest. He was burning up, hot like dragonfire and he let out an agonized scream. He shuddered and moaned as the scent of his own burning flesh stung his nose. A great big fiery eye, an enormous, evil sun in the sky, stared fixedly at the hobbit, burning holes in his skin as though it were paper. There was a cold, hard pressure around his throat and his blistered fingers wrestled with the ring as it slowly shrunk around his neck, crushing his trachea, all air leaving him. As he gasped desperately for air and fumbled with the ring around his neck, he looked again at the fiery eye, only to see it morph into the glassy eye of Smaug, who let out a great blast of fire. Bilbo closed his eyes firmly against the onslaught of blistering, endless pain, wishing for the end. When he opened his eyes again, he was looking into Thorin's cruel glare. The ring around his neck had been replaced by the dwarf's strong hands, merciless and painful. Tears stung at his eyes as he gasped and scrabbled desperately at Thorin's tight grip. Then, Thorin laughed and let go. The relief Bilbo felt as air rushed into his deprived lungs was soon replaced by dread as he plummeted off the ramparts into oblivion.
Thorin returned to his sleeping pad and threw himself down onto it, running his hands aggressively through his hair. Why did the halfling have to be so damn stubborn? He had seemed so at ease in the halls of Rivendell, and unless Thorin was entirely mistaken, and he did not think he was, the hobbit understood the elven language. His hazel eyes followed the elves easily as they spoke, without a hint of confusion. The furrowed brow that Bilbo wore so often when the Company spoke Khuzdul was noticeably absent. Furthermore, the hobbit did not seem intrigued by the elves, but rather at ease. He showed no surprise at their customs, or a longing to learn more. The badly hidden interest that irritated Thorin to no end when the dwarves discussed their customs was nowhere to be seen. He felt a surge of inexplicable anger as he thought about Bilbo plodding down the halls of Rivendell with an ease that he did not have- could never have among the dwarves.
Thorin sighed loudly and tried to rid his mind of these thoughts. What did he care about the habits of one odd hobbit? It's not like he could picture him walking through the halls of Erebor. Thorin was so wrapped up in his thoughts that when he remembered that they actually needed Bilbo for their quest's success, he swore aloud. Here he was all but pushing the halfling at the elves, would it really be a surprise if he stayed with them? He hesitated a moment before staggering to his feet stiffly. He tried to think of what to say to the hobbit, but could not come up with anything, so he hoped the right words would find him when the time came. As he approached the terrace where he had left him, his ears picked up a strange noise. A rattling, gasping whine. He picked up his pace immediately, wishing he had thought to bring his sword. His mind raced, wondering if the elves had taken advantage of the tiny being's solitude. When he reached the terrace, it at first appeared to be empty, but as his eyes adjusted to the low light, he saw the hobbit curled in on himself on the cold ground, shaking violently.
"I-I don't w-want it," Bilbo choked out. Thorin threw himself to the ground by the hobbit's side. He was clutching at his throat and gasping as though he could not bring air into his lungs. An agonizing scream ripped from Bilbo's throat and Thorin was seized with panic. What had happened? Had he been poisoned?
"Gandalf," Thorin yelled loudly, not caring that it was the wee hours of the morning and he was likely waking everyone in this godforsaken valley. Bilbo froze for a moment at Thorin's yell, and then he started grasping at something invisible around his throat, trying to push something away. His lips were blue.
"T-Thorin I'm s-sorry, p-please d-on't," Bilbo's words were faint and painful. "Please, l-let me g-go." The hobbit's face was screwed up in agony and Thorin realized that Bilbo was locked in a nightmare. Thorin fell back onto his hands, now very aware that he had caused this change, this added terror. He wanted to put space between himself and the small, broken body.
"What's going on? Is he alright?" Ori had always been a light sleeper, and was now anxiously looking between the hobbit and his king. Was that fear? Confusion? Accusation in his gaze?
"Get Gandalf," Thorin choked out. Ori's eyes were wide as he set off in a sprint. Thorin did not know what to do. Why was Thorin in Bilbo's nightmares? Why did he sound so afraid? Had he really been so cruel, unfair?
"How long has he been in this state?" Elrond's voice carried loudly as he and Gandalf walked right up to the halfling. Thorin stood up and backed away immediately, wiping dust and rocks from his hands absently.
"I don't know," he said helplessly. "I came upon him not a minute ago." Elrond nodded and placed his hand gently on the hobbit's forehead. He started muttering in elvish and Thorin was torn between disgust and desperation. He did not notice that they had amassed an audience until Balin came up beside him.
"I should have known something like this would happen," he said, shaking his head sadly. "I shouldn't have left him alone tonight."
"How could you have known?" Thorin asked. Behind him, the rest of the company's muttered questions and concerns washed over him.
"He was afraid," Balin said quietly. "When we left him with Lord Elrond. Did you not see?"
"I did not," Thorin said guiltily.
"What did you say to him?" Balin's face was calm but there was an accusatory glint in his eyes.
"More than I should have." Thorin hung his head and said no more.
It was still dark when Bilbo came to with tears in his eyes and blood on his tongue. There was a frightening moment, where he did not know where he was. He was laying on cold, hard stone and there were faces swimming above him that he could not quite discern. His hands flew to his throat as panic filled him. He gasped painfully as air filled his lungs, it seemed to burn as it slid down his throat.
"-ilbo." Bilbo realized that he was being addressed and looked around for the source of the voice, blinking furiously. It was Lord Elrond, who was gazing at him with a look of pity and understanding.
"What?" he rasped, then stopped abruptly as his throat seemed to throb and ache with the exertion.
"Move slowly." Fear seared through Bilbo's veins as he struggled to draw breath. "May I?" Elrond asked, hands hovering near Bilbo's shoulders. The hobbit nodded and Elrond helped guide Bilbo into a sitting position. Bilbo did not ask what happened, for he was all too familiar with this feeling, although normally without such a large audience. His cheeks burned and kept his eyes down, not wanting to see pity or embarrassment in the dwarves faces.
"Alright now, that's quite enough, leave him be," he heard Balin say. There was some muttering, but then the unmistakable sound of a dozen dwarves retreating. Three remained; Balin, Elrond, and Gandalf, who was looking at him with a deep, regretful sadness.
"Oh enough of that," Bilbo said, recognizing the look all too well. "This is hardly your fault, Gandalf."
"Perhaps, but that does not undo what has been done." The wizard said.
"Come now, Gandalf," said Bilbo, who had watched his friend's problem solving skills reduce entirely and apologetically to relying on hobbits to save Middle Earth. "We both know that you would not undo anything. It was for the good of all. And while I have regrets, it is not something I regret as a whole."