Bilbo felt like death warmed up, if he was entirely honest. He had spent the night in a room all alone, in a smotheringly soft bed. He had come in and out of sleep, waking up at even the slightest noise or odd feeling, waking up feeling hot and sticky. His eyes burned and his limbs protested to any movement. Despite that, he got up and plodded to the kitchens, fixing himself a spot of breakfast. He had plans for the day, and he knew he would feel better with food in his stomach. Afterwards, he ambled through the halls, eyes peeled for a certain dwarf.
He was sitting in an archway, looking out over the valley, face peaceful but curious. There were times where he looked just like Thorin, and other times where there was something entirely unrecognizable. He was softer, more naïve. There were no frown lines or wrinkles, but a face that unmistakably smiled and laughed easily. At these times, Bilbo wondered what the Lady Dís looked like. He had heard so little about her. He had vague images of a stern looking woman, eerily similar to Thorin. He wondered if she had the same piercing blue eyes.
"Kíli," Bilbo said, causing the dwarf to jump and hastily move away from his perch.
"Mr. Boggins! I was just-" the young dwarf's expression was guilty, and Bilbo knew why. Kíli had shown less animosity towards elves than the average dwarf, that much was true, but it was the pining looks Bilbo had seen him send a certain red-haired elf from Mirkwood Last Time, that had really piqued his interest. Kíli was young and stubborn. He seemed to draw trouble like a magnet, unable to like or do things that were expected of him, but he meant well, always. It was something rare that Bilbo didn't see often in people. An innate goodness and an open mind. An open heart too, one could argue.
"I know what you were doing, Kíli," Bilbo said, pinning him with a knowing look. "Come with me." Kíli hesitated for a moment before following behind the hobbit. Bilbo finally stopped, after several sharp turns, at the archery range where Elladan and Elrohir, Lord Elrond's sons were very clearly making a show of their superior archery skills, having been forewarned of their arrival by Elrond the night before, at Bilbo's request. It was a large, spacious area. Racks of bows and arrows sat at one end with several targets at the other, in various sizes and heights. The twins turned to the new arrivals with identical calculating expressions.
"Bilbo Baggins, at your service," Bilbo said with a small bow, having reminded himself that in this reality, he had never met Elrond's children. They were exactly as tall and willowy, yet muscular as he remembered. They wore their hair differently from each other, a fact that Bilbo had always been grateful for. Elladan's hair was intricately braided. The thin braids started above his ears, and with several strands interwoven, falling loosely down his back. Elrohir, on the other hand, left his hair to flow free for the most part, with only a couple of small braids left loose in his silken mane. Kíli was eying the two dark haired twins with a mix of intrigue and uncertainty, a hand coming to fiddle unthinkingly at the tips of his own hair, short in comparison to the elves.
"Kíli," he said, without the usual bow and pledges of service.
"Elladan-"
"And Elrohir-"
"At yours," the elves said, surprisingly similar to how Fíli and Kíli introduced themselves at Bag End.
"So you're the dwarven archer," Elrohir said, not unkindly, giving Kíli a once over. Kíli adjusted his posture, standing as tall as he could, although still barely making it up to their collarbone.
"Not a choice I've seen many dwarves make," Elladan added with a raised eyebrow. Kíli huffed. "Who taught you?"
"I taught myself," Kíli said, shooting Bilbo a confused and irritated look, clearly wanting to know why Bilbo had put him in this situation. Bilbo felt a momentary twinge of guilt, but knew, or hoped, rather, that this would turn out the way he wanted it to.
"Why don't you show us?" Elrohir said with a calculating smile, gesturing to a rack of beautiful elven bows. "The smallest ones are for younglings, but they should fit well. They haven't been used in an age."
"I'm not showing you anything," Kíli said in an impressive imitation of his uncle.
"Why? Are you concerned that you will not compare to our skills?" Elladan said mockingly. Elrohir gave his brother a warning look, but the taunting words appeared to spur Kíli into action. He grabbed a bow and quiver of arrows and marched back over to face the targets, then shot several in quick succession, managing to hit a surprising amount dead centre.
"Not bad," Elrohir said, with an appraising look. "You've a keen eye."
"Your elbow should be higher," Elladan said unapologetically.
"What do you know?" Kíli spat, ears red. Elladan raised an eyebrow but turned to his brother. Wordlessly, they shot their first arrows at separate targets, hitting each dead centre, then switched targets, not only hitting their mark, but splitting the other's arrow in half with deadly precision. Kíli's mouth fell open and he did not bother hiding it.
"Good enough for you, dwarf?" Elladan said with a genuine laugh.
"They're showing off," Bilbo said under his breath, as Kíli kept his silence, jaw slack.
"Can you - can you show me how to do that?" Kíli asked after a moment.
"Of course we will," Elrohir said, clapping Kíli on the shoulder good naturedly. Bilbo smiled, relieved. He knew Kíli would get along with Elrond's sons, who, despite being entirely too old for it, still were quite mischievous, but he had been concerned about the deeply ingrained prejudices, on both sides. He smiled proudly at Kíli, who was doing better than Bilbo could have hoped. He took a seat on a stone bench at the edge of the field and watched as Kíli and the twins exchanged tips and tricks. Soon enough, laughter filled Bilbo's ears and he smiled, pulling out his pipe. He knew that the dwarves would not venture far from the place they had set up camp, and so he did not worry about Kíli being discovered.
Elladan and Elrohir worked quite well with Kíli. Elladan managed to keep Kíli on his toes, constantly challenging and teasing him. Elrohir was more cautious by nature, but was very curious about the way that Kíli held his bow- more horizontal, and low to the ground. He was also more inclined to give helpful pointers, whereas Elladan seemed to enjoy pushing Kíli to figure things out for himself. By the end of the day, the young dwarf had warmed up immensely to Elrond's sons, and had promised them he would meet them there the next day for further practice. He ran over to Bilbo with a smile and slung his arm around the hobbit's shoulders.
"I must admit, I did doubt your intentions, but I am grateful to you!" His smile was wide and Bilbo let out a happy chuckle.
"It was my pleasure. Fíli said you've never had the opportunity to practice with anyone else. There's no one that excels at archery quite like them. Dwarves and elves use their weapons quite differently, and I thought this could be a good way to learn from each other." Kíli looked thoughtful, then smiled.
"They're not so bad, those elves," Kíli said with a laugh. He fell silent after a moment. "Say, Bilbo, do you think maybe Ori could come with us tomorrow? Only, all he has to protect himself is his slingshot, and I worry for him." Kíli hung his head and spoke quietly. Bilbo smiled softly and reached up to pat his back.
"I think that's a very good idea, Kíli. And very thoughtful too." Kíli smiled at the praise and the two set off towards the dwarf camp for dinner. When they arrived, the dwarves had made a fire out of what looked like a broken chair from the high table at dinner several nights previous. Bilbo scowled as he noticed Dwalin and Nori breaking apart a table with their axes, exchanging smirks. Kíli's expression grew stony.
"Look, Kee!" Fíli called his brother over with a mischievous grin. "We had to cook our meat somehow and it is by the generosity of the elves that we've managed to start a fire."
"Are those the tables from dinner?" Kíli asked, eyeing the flames with an unreadable expression. Fíli walked over, looking concerned.
"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, looking Kíli up and down for anything that might be bothering him, hands coming to rest on his forearms. Bilbo looked around, only to discover that many of the dwarves had frozen, listening intently, though poorly pretending not to. The nosy bastards. Kíli shook his brothers hands off and took a step back.
"Are we not guests in their home?" Kíli said intently. "I somehow doubt they will be as gracious about our behaviour as our burglar was." Bilbo looked around anxiously. Despite the crackle of the fire, it appeared that the bulk of their conversation had been heard by nearly all, with the exception of Óin, who often waited for Glóin to catch him up on things he'd missed. Balin was giving Kíli a proud smile, but he was among the only ones. For the most part, the dwarves were closed off and hard to read. Dwalin's lips were pursed tightly, brows furrowed, eyes flicking between Fíli and Kíli. Thorin, to Dwalin's left, went through a myriad of emotions in a very small amount of time that Bilbo would not have noticed Last Time. Thorin's initial reaction was pride, oddly enough. He eyed his nephew with a pleasant surprise that morphed into anger and incredulity as he seemed to understand the implications of Kíli's statement. Bilbo could only imagine what might be going through his mind. He was certainly angered by any mention of elves, especially since Kíli was indirectly defending them. There was also the fact that in a way, Kíli was questioning Thorin's choices as a leader.
Kíli was not watching Thorin, Dwalin, or Balin, however, he was looking at Fíli. His blond brother was staring at Kíli with an incredulous expression. Bilbo looked away, feeling as though he were intruding on something incredibly personal. After a moment, of tense silence, Kíli set his face into a scowl and stalked off, joining Ori, who was sitting on the perimeter of the camp, leaving Bilbo all alone in the very centre, at the mercy of all of the dwarves' stares.
"Right, err…" he pointed vaguely towards Kíli and Ori, and promptly locked his gaze to the ground and walked away, face flaming. That went well. He scurried over to the young dwarves, not sure if it was wise for him to go to them, to pick sides, but also knowing that it was here that he was least likely to be assaulted by accusatory glares. Kíli and Ori were already muttering furiously between themselves, Kíli no doubt catching Ori up on what had happened that day. Bilbo sat with them for a short while, Kíli spent most of it trying to justify his behaviour to Ori and Bilbo, although Bilbo suspected that what Kíli really wanted was validation, which he and Ori were both keen to give.
"Mister Bilbo," Ori said, after being on the reciprocating end of another one of Dori's haughty, disdainful looks. "Could we maybe go sit in your room?" Bilbo glanced between Ori and Kíli and the rest of the Company, all of whom seeming to have an opinion on what had happened, with a grimace.
"Yes, Ori, I think that might be a good idea," he said. Ori stood and offered a hand to Bilbo, who used it to pull himself to his feet. Bilbo ignored the eyes boring into his back as he, Ori, and Kíli retreated. They walked in silence, Kíli with his hands shoved into his pockets and his hair falling over his fuming face, Ori keeping his gaze low, plodding next to Bilbo in silence.
"Where were you today?" Bilbo and Ori froze mid stride and Kíli tensed as Fíli's demanding voice echoed down the hallway. They turned to the blond dwarf who was staring at his brother expectantly. Bilbo opened his mouth, ready to cover for Kíli, but Kíli shook his head.
"I've been practicing my archery," Kíli said, eyes locked to Fíli's. Oh, this is not going to end well...
"But why? You're already skilled," Fíli said, a crease appearing between his brows.
"I've been consulting with some archers," Kíli said, back straight, shoulders tense.
"Who?" Fíli's eyes narrowed.
"E-elladan and Elrohir, Lord Elrond's sons." Kíli's fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
"Elves," Fíli spat. "Why would you do this?"
"They're actually not half bad," Kíli said. "And they're really skilled. I've learned much already." That much was true, even from one afternoon, and Bilbo knew next to nothing about archery.
"You could have done that somewhere else," said Fíli.
"Where, Fee?" Kíli gestured around them wildly. "In case you haven't noticed, We're the only dwarves here. Who exactly am I meant to learn from?"
"Anyone else," Fíli said coldly. "Have you not been paying attention to Uncle? Did you not listen when he spoke of the treachery of elves?"
"No, I listened," Kíli said. "But he's too stubborn to see sense. You should meet Elladan and Elrohir, Fee. I think you'd like them."
"No, I wouldn't," Fíli said, jaw jutted out in defiance. "Why can't you just be responsible for once? Is it impossible for you to think before you act?"
"I'm thinking just fine, it's you who's not thinking," Kíli all but shouted, then adopted a mocking manner. "Look at Fíli, the perfect heir. You're such a pawn. Have you ever had an original thought, or do they all have to be approved by Uncle and Balin first?" Kíli's words seemed to achieve exactly what he intended. Fíli fell back, shocked. Then his expression steeled.
"You're just angry because nobody trusts you to be anything but a reckless, stupid child," Fíli growled. "Maybe now you'll see why."
"That is not true," Kíli spat, eyes glistening with angry tears.
"Do what you want, Kíli, but when this bites you in the ass, you won't get any sympathy from me," Fíli said, full of malice. Bilbo, who had grown up without siblings, was left floundering. Was this normal? How badly had he messed up? Would this damage be irreparable? How could he have meddled in the brother's relationship this badly?
"Don't you act all high and mighty, Fíli," Kíli called, voice echoing through the halls, following the swiftly retreating elder brother. "We all know you're just as useless as you feel," Kíli said, face twisted into an angry grimace. If Fíli heard this, he did not show it, and soon rounded a corner and was lost to view.
"Fuck," Kíli swore, whirling around to face Ori and Bilbo, face etched with rage and unshed tears. "Mahal, he makes me crazy." Ori nodded sympathetically. Bilbo watched, at a loss for what to do, worrying about every possible situation that could arise from this, the rift between such an important duo. How could he have foreseen this? Had it been preventable? And what was he to do now to fix it? Ori nudged Bilbo subtly and Bilbo startled.
"Right, well that was rather unfortunate," Bilbo said, feeling distinctly awkward and fidgety. Kíli scoffed, but his face was sagging. "Shall we go back to our original plan and head to my room?"
"That's a good idea," Ori said, voice sounding quiet in comparison to the screaming match that had just occurred.
"Yes," Bilbo said, nodding once then continuing his walk, thinking furiously about what he was going to say once he could no longer escape the young dwarves. Kíli walked ahead of them, fists shoved into his pockets. "Ju-just in here," Bilbo called as Kíli stormed past Bilbo's room.
"Right," Kíli said, turning jerkily back around and walking through the door as Bilbo held it open for him. Ori perched on the spindly armchair in the corner and Kíli threw himself onto Bilbo's bed, burying his face in his hands. Bilbo took a moment to observe the rather morose looking boys before sitting next to Kíli with a heavy sigh.
"Kíli, I feel as though I must apologize," Bilbo said, hesitating before putting a hand on his shoulder. "If I hadn't meddled in your affairs, this whole thing wouldn't have happened."
"You're right," Kíli said, looking up at Bilbo with a curious expression. Bilbo tried to suppress his flinch. "But Bilbo, you needn't apologize." Kíli said.
"But now you and Fíli are at odds," Bilbo said.
"Yes, well it wasn't the first time we've fought, nor will it be the last," Kíli said bitterly, kicking his feet in the air.
"It did seem quite upsetting though," Bilbo pushed.
"You don't have any siblings, do you, Mister Boggins?" Kíli asked, with an impish twinkle.
"Well I- no, I can't say that I do."
"Trust me, that was nothing," Kíli said with a laugh that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Ori, tell Bilbo about when Nori came home," Kíli said, startling Ori out of some deep thought or other.
"Oh yes," Ori said, grimacing. "That was quite bad, even by their standards."
"Their standards?" Bilbo asked.
"Nori and Dori have fought like elves and dwarves their entire lives," Kíli supplied. "Go on, Ori, tell him!"
"This was just a few years ago, actually," Ori said, fiddling with a fluff on his gloves. "Nori often disappears. Sometimes for a few weeks or months, sometimes much longer. This time he was away for well over a year. Dori was convinced he was dead, but Dori tends to overreact, so that's unsurprising. And then out of nowhere, Nori walks in like he'd never left. Didn't even knock. But you should have seen Dori's face. I didn't know he could look so relieved, yet so murderous at the same time," Ori said with a snort. "And oh, they screamed and screamed at each other all night, and they did not go easy on each other either."
"And Ori, what did you do?" asked Kíli, holding back laughter. Ori flushed.
"Well, see," Ori said. "I was in the room with Dori when Nori came back, but once they started going after each other, I couldn't leave, so I just sat there all night. I don't think they even realized I was there."
"But that's not even the funny part," Kíli said. "Go on, Ori, tell Bilbo what happened next."
"I fell asleep," Ori said, shaking his head ruefully. "Right on the floor."
"You fell asleep on the floor," Bilbo repeated as Kíli burst into guffaws.
"Mhm. When I woke up, they were both gone." There was a shift in mood ever so slightly, and Bilbo knew that this was no longer funny. "Dori had kicked Nori out. They didn't speak to each other again until I told them I was going on this quest."
"What?" Bilbo asked. "But they're speaking now. Did they ever resolve it?"
"They're speaking, yes. But it's just like it was before. They're constantly arguing, doing petty things to get the other angry. They know each other too well, is the problem."
"And it's been how long?" Bilbo asked.
"Oh, a couple of years, I think. But these things have been happening on and off since before Nori was of age," said Ori.
"And what of your parents? Didn't they ever intervene?"
"Oh," Ori said, shifting in his seat with a grimace. "We all have different fathers, and none of them stuck around for long. And our mother, er, wasn't always well."
"I'm sorry," Bilbo said, unable to think of anything else as Kíli shot Ori a sympathetic look. "I didn't know."
"That's alright," Ori said. "Dori took it upon himself to raise us. He's always worked so hard. Nori works hard too, but not in the way that Dori wants. He wants things to be done the right way. The decent way, with no shortcuts or cheating… Nori has never concerned himself with such restrictions."
"I see," Bilbo said. Knowing the brothers individually, he could very well see how these conflicts had arisen. Dori was overbearing and quite righteous, whereas Nori was more lax. Bilbo couldn't speak on Nori's morality, as he was much more reserved about such things, but he knew that Nori had sticky fingers, and had heard that Nori and Dwalin had a strange sort of tension. Apparently before the quest, Dwalin had been searching for a reason to put Nori behind bars for years, but had never managed to catch him red-handed.
"See?" Kíli said, interrupting Bilbo's thoughts. "Brothers fight."
"I suppose so," said Bilbo, although he was still replaying Fíli and Kíli's angry words in his mind.
"Well what about you then?" Kíli asked. Bilbo raised an eyebrow at Kíli's abrupt topic change. "What was it like being the only child?"
"It was good," Bilbo said, hoping to leave it at that, only to be faced with two unimpressed dwarves. He cleared his throat, then nodded. "Right, well I was very close with my mother and father growing up. They were as different as can be. My father was cautious and protective and my mother was brash and adventurous. I suppose I ended up a strange mixture of the two. Mother would drag me along on mini adventures and father would tuck me into bed and tell me stories, and that was how it always was. As I got older, I grew more cautious. I was always much more inclined to stay at home and read or garden with father, than to go adventuring. That sort of thing simply doesn't happen in Hobbiton, you see, and the older I got, the more aware I was of that fact. I think my mother was disappointed," Bilbo said with a sad smile. "Of course, she never said anything. Always hoping I'd run off with her, she was." Bilbo chuckled. "She settled down a lot after Father died though, and fell ill shortly after. She started asking me to tell her stories, just like my father told me when I was young. I think it comforted her..." Bilbo trailed off.
"A sorry lot we are," Kíli said with a weak laugh. Bilbo hummed his agreement, while Ori simply nodded. "Right, let's move on. Tell us, Mister Boggins, what do hobbits do for fun?"
It was like a project, he told himself. To get to know the other dwarves. The dwarves he hadn't known as well Last Time. And truthfully, Elrond was right. Bilbo would accomplish nothing by being cool and distant. Besides, if he succeeded in dying for them, there would be no one to remember him fondly. He would just be the odd little hobbit who kept to himself until he died. What a dismal existence that would be. What would they do with his body? Leave it behind? Throw it in an unmarked grave? That was probably more than he deserved. Alright, enough of that, he told himself firmly. Do it now, or you never will. Steeling himself, he walked up to Bombur.
"Hello, Bombur," he said with what he hoped was a natural looking smile. Bombur was one of the only dwarves that hadn't seemed to feel too strongly about the events of last night, and so Bilbo figured he was as good a person as any to start with. And he knew just how to approach it. Bombur stared at Bilbo with a slightly panicked expression.
"Bombur, the lad said hi," Bofur called, from who even knew where. Bombur gave himself a shake, then smiled tentatively. Goodness, had Bombur always been this shy?
"Hello, Master Baggins," he said, hand twitching at his side as though going to wave but thinking better of it. "How are you today?"
"I'm quite well, thank you," Bilbo lied. "I was just going to go down to the kitchens for a spot of tea. Would you care to join me?"
"The e-elven kitchens?" Bombur asked with a nervous edge to his voice.
"Yes, those," Bilbo replied, tapping his big toe restlessly, smile still pasted onto his face. Bombur looked over his shoulder where Bofur seemed to materialize out of thin air, wordlessly asking his older brother a question.
"Sounds like fun, that does," Bofur grinned, tipping his hat in Bilbo's direction. Again, Bombur gave his brother a pointed look, and Bofur sighed. "Mind if I join you?" he asked. Bombur looked pleased.
"Of course not," said Bilbo. "The more the merrier, truly." The two dwarves followed Bilbo, Bofur chattering aimlessly, and Bombur silently watching as they wandered through the winding hallways.
"How did you know where the kitchens were?" Bombur asked, speaking for the first time in several minutes as they walked into the mercifully empty kitchen. Bilbo balked, nerves spiking suddenly, but he shook them off.
"Never underestimate a hobbit's ability to find food," he said cheerily.
"Mahal's balls, these elves have been holding out on us," Bofur said in awe, looking at several large pantries stocked with enough food to last several winters.
"To their defense, we have been using their furniture as kindling," Bilbo said pointedly. Bombur flushed and looked down, but Bofur let out a loud laugh.
"Aye, that's right, we have," Bofur said.
"So Bombur, what are you hungry for?" Bilbo asked, watching the dwarf who could no longer help the smile on his face.
"Could you- could you maybe show me how to cook your favourite food?" he asked, twiddling his thumbs.
"Oh, of course I could, Bombur," Bilbo said. "I didn't have all that much time to prepare for so many house guests, so it would be nice to show you true hobbit fare. It's far better than that unprepared nonsense I served you in Bag End."
"Now Bilbo," said Bofur, eyes raking across the kitchen. "I don't mean to ruin the moment, but I don't know how we're going to cook in here," he said, emphasizing his point by leaning his arms on one of the counters, that were all, in fact, the proper height for an elf, and as such, were at shoulder level for Bofur. Bilbo laughed.
"I'm sure we'll manage," he said, turning into one of the pantries and grabbing a wooden stool sitting in the corner.
Bilbo did a quick check of the pantries, pulling things out as he went, until eventually he had amassed a small pile on one of the elegant wood counters.
"Bofur, I need your height," Bilbo said, passing a bundle of herbs to Bofur, who was the tallest and had been placing ingredients onto the table for Bilbo. "Top shelf, there. I need the poppy seeds and then the mixing bowl from up top in the kitchen."
"Mister Baggins, sir," Bofur said with a salute, replacing Bilbo atop the stool and reaching onto his tiptoes for the missing ingredient. "Just as you ordered," he said. "Bombur, catch!" Bofur tossed the pouch of seeds to his brother, who nearly fumbled it, but ended up catching it again with a smile.
"What're we making, then?" Bofur asked, dragging the stool into the cooking area with ease.
"Does lemon poppyseed loaf sound good?" Bilbo asked.
"Yes," Bombur said quickly.
"What do you think, Bombur?" Bilbo asked as they surveyed several loaves cooling on the counter, next to where Bofur had chosen to perch himself, legs dangling over the edge right near Bombur's face, which was definitely not a coincidence, if Bofur's gleeful expression was anything to go by.
"They look really good, Bilbo," Bombur said with much more ease than he had at the beginning of the afternoon. "Time for glaze?" he asked, clutching a bowlful of it to his chest with an excited grin.
"Go right ahead," he replied. Bombur stood on his tiptoes atop a stool and started spreading the lemony glaze, swatting his brother's feet away from his face multiple times.
"Ooh, that smells excellent," Bofur said. "I for one, think we make a great team."
"You barely did anything," Bombur said, rolling his eyes. Indeed, Bofur's usefulness had been exhausted after he had gotten all the hard to reach supplies, and had instead sat and critiqued their cooking techniques, though it was clear that he had been making it up on the spot and obviously had no idea how to bake at all, and occasionally sticking his finger into the batter, or grabbing a pinch of poppyseeds to crunch on.
"Oh, but you'd have been desperately bored without me," Bofur said with a self-satisfied smirk.
"Yes, yes, your contributions were absolutely necessary to our success," Bilbo said with unmistakable sarcasm. Bombur laughed and Bofur hopped off the table.
"Aye, no need to thank me for it," he said. "Bombur, enough." Ha gave Bombur's hand a rap with a dishcloth as he reached for one of the loaves. "You've already had half the batter."
"Sorry," said Bombur, looking sheepish.
"That's quite alright, Bombur," Bilbo said sharply, eying Bofur who seemed like he wanted to give his brother more of a hard time. "There will be plenty for us once everyone else has some."
"Oh good," said Bombur, rubbing his hands on his pant legs absently.
The chilly air of Laketown nipped greedily at his exposed ears and toes and Bilbo pulled his cloak tighter around his neck in a bid to keep the chill away as he stepped into the cool fall air. The light from the house they were staying in was swallowed as the door shut and he paused in the darkness. He did not really want to be outside, but nor did he want to be inside. Inside was hot and humid and loud. Inside was laughter and smoke and ale. His friends, who seemed bolstered by their proximity to the mountain, enlivened at how far they had come and how little they had left. They had apparently forgotten about the dragon, something that both concerned and annoyed Bilbo, for it was him that would be dealing with the dragon first. Him who would be the one burnt to a crisp should something go wrong. He would allow them their fun though. He wouldn't be the one to spoil a mood so fine, so rare on their journey.
The only other person who seemed to feel the way he did was Thorin. Although brooding was not uncommon for the tall dwarf, he had been exceptionally somber since their arrival in Laketown. In all fairness, he had been kept in a cell separate from everyone else for weeks in an Elven jail, but Bilbo thought it was more than that. In fact, he had several guesses as to why Thorin was in such a mood, but he wouldn't dare mention it to the king, or anyone else for that matter. Bilbo's speculations and curiosity about the workings of Thorin Oakenshield's mind was something he did not want to broadcast to the rest of the Company.
Laketown at night was an unfriendly place. Everything was much too large, except the walkways, which were far too thin. Bilbo could not help morbidly wondering how often people fell in and drowned, never to be seen again. He shivered and looked away, concentrating on his footing. Winter had come early here, too, it would seem. There were chunks of ice floating in the still black lake and a slippery sheen of frost on the boardwalks, making Bilbo grateful for the grip his feet gave him. He could not help but be on edge, after all that he had seen in the recent months. He half expected something to jump out of the shadows at him, push him into the deadly water, or worse. He was very glad of his little blade strapped at his hip. A movement up ahead, on one of the farthest boardwalks startled Bilbo out of his thoughts, and his hand flew to his sword.
"At ease, Master Baggins," Thorin said, his voice alleviating Bilbo's nerves instantly. He let out a relieved sigh.
"Thorin," Bilbo said in a near whisper, approaching the king quickly. Thorin did not look at Bilbo, but adjusted his stance so that Bilbo could stand next to him, eyes cast to the mountain. Enormous and solitary, just barely illuminated by the moonlight, Erebor stood in all its might. An unattainable force of nature. Bilbo felt a chill run down his spine at the sight. Something drew his eyes to the dwarf standing just a little too close, staring almost unblinkingly to the North. Thorin was like the mountain. Lonesome, full of majesty, might, and mystery, his face silhouetted delicately in a silvery glow. Unattainable.
"Are you nervous?" Bilbo asked. Thorin's expression did not waver, but his eyes flicked momentarily to Bilbo, questioning.
"About what, Master Baggins?" Thorin asked, looking down at Bilbo now, face falling into shadow.
"Abou- about the dragon," Bilbo stuttered, looking away from the dwarf's gaze as though burned.
"Of course not." Thorin's voice was changed as his eyes found the Lonely Mountain again, as though in a trance. "Nothing will stand between me and my Kingdom." Bilbo looked at Thorin sharply, assessing. Something did not sit right with him. It was a simple matter of wording, surely an overreaction. Thorin always referred to Erebor as his home. He was looking for his home, fighting for his home. 'Kingdom' felt cold and empty, shallow.
"I see," Bilbo said, biting the inside of his lip.
"Worry not," Thorin said, voice odd and breathy. "You will see your books and your garden again."
"I- yes, I thank you for your assurances," Bilbo said, patting his legs absently, careful not to brush Thorin's furs with his bare fingers. "That's not all I worry about though, you do realize?"
"Of course," Thorin said, clenching his fists into the hem of his cloak. "The Company will miss you. Bofur, Fíli and Kíli especially."
"Yes, well," Bilbo said, clearing his throat of a lump that would not go away. "As I've said, tea is at four," Bilbo said firmly. He started fiddling with the ring in his pocket, suddenly inexplicably nervous. "I know that once you're King, you'll be quite busy, and I'm sure you'll have far more important things to do than to visit an old hobbit… But should you ever return to the Blue Mountains, do stop by." Bilbo cleared his throat again, not daring to look at his companion yet as silence stretched between them. "I've been told my lemon poppyseed loaf is fit for a king. I wouldn't mind putting that to the test."
Thorin still said nothing and Bilbo fidgeted nervously, warring with himself on what to do. With hesitation, he looked up. He needn't have worried. Thorin was gazing at him with what could only be described as fondness. The second their eyes locked, Bilbo swelled with a pleasant feeling and he could not help the bubble of nervous laughter that spilled out. Thorin's mouth lifted into a gentle smile, the tips of his teeth just showing under his lips, eyes on fire, even in the darkness, warming Bilbo from the inside out.
There was absolutely no reason Bilbo's hands should be shaking as he cut into the warm, moist loaf, the scent of citrus enveloping his senses. What was causing this tremor, when all he was doing was serving old friends, something with which any and all hobbits are familiar.
"Paws off, Kíli," Bilbo said distractedly, swatting him away as he spotted the youngest dwarf's hands in the corner of his eyes. "Sit down, you'll get some soon enough."
"Oh, come on Bilbo," Kíli said with his most pleading expression. "Don't you think you should serve the prince first?"
"Shut up, Kíli," Ori called from somewhere behind them, making Kíli look over his shoulder and mutter something to his friend.
"Manners, Ori," Bilbo said, pointing in the general direction of Ori's voice, still trying to fend Kíli off. "No, I won't be serving you first, this isn't a monarchy. And if it were, Thorin would be served first."
"Oh, but Uncle won't be having any," Kíli said.
"Sure he will," Bilbo replied, waving dismissively.
"No, he won't," Kíli insisted. "He doesn't like cakes." Kíli seemed so sure of himself and for a moment, Bilbo faltered. Had he misremembered that moment, all those years ago alone on the docks. Surely not…
"Well, that's just simply untrue," Bilbo said, more assertive than he felt. "I will serve him, and he will enjoy it," Bilbo said, muttering the last sentence under his breath. "I'll show him fit for a king." He swept up a plate with a large helping of the lemon loaf, and a dainty elvish fork, and marched towards Thorin, who was sitting, as usual, slightly apart from everyone else, staring off into the distance. Huffing, and already regretting his decision, he came to a dead stop, nearly losing his balance as the momentum caught up with him. Thorin raked his eyes over Bilbo, a questioning look on his face.
"Master Baggins?" Thorin said, when Bilbo failed to speak.
"Thorin," Bilbo said rigidly, then winced, waving his free hand as though he could simply wipe away his mistake. "Master Oakenshield," he corrected, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "I made a loaf."
"I can see that," Thorin said with a hint of amusement. "You've caused quite the excitement." He nodded back to the table with several trays of loaves, which had now been surrounded. Glóin had stepped in to help Bofur and Bombur serve the seemingly endless string of hungry dwarves.
"Er, yes," Bilbo said, turning back to face Thorin. "Sorry about that."
"There is nothing to apologize for," Thorin said. Bilbo paused again, not quite sure how to continue the conversation, nor if he wanted to.
"Right, er, thank you," he said, stepping back with one foot, ready to retreat if necessary. "I brought you a plate. That is, if you would like some. Kíli did say that you didn't care for cakes, but I figured I would bring you some anyways, just so you know that the offer is there." Bilbo cursed his mouth and its inability to say anything the way he wanted to say it. It was truly a Took curse, passed down from his mother, who had also never been able to hold her tongue. Thorin stood, instantly a rather intimidating figure, towering over Bilbo.
"I'd've thought you'd have learnt not to take anything Kíli says too seriously by now, Master Baggins," Thorin said with a small smirk. Bilbo's mouth fell open slightly and the fingers on his free hand twitched. Thorin looked at Bilbo expectantly. "I would very much like a piece, if you're still offering."
"I- right, of course," Bilbo said, all but thrusting the plate into a confused Thorin's hands. "Do enjoy," he said with a sharp nod. He turned on his heel and started to walk away, then realized that he still had the fork. With a grimace, he walked slowly back around.
"The fork," he said stupidly, holding the utensil out to the unmistakably amused dwarf, who took it with a nod. Bilbo all but fled back to the table where things seemed to have cleared up, feeling like a complete incompetent idiot, who couldn't even talk to an old friend without seeming like a complete dolt, only to find all the trays empty, with nothing left for him. His shoulder drooped and it was just then that his stomach took the opportune moment to rumble quite loudly at him, probably feeling quite betrayed at all the delicious aromas and sights, only to not receive any of it. Rather glum, he turned on his heel, hoping for a moment alone with his pipe, only for Bofur to call after him.
"Where do you think you're going?" Bofur asked. Bilbo sighed and looked back at his friend, who had a shifty expression. "You didn't think we'd leave nothing for you now, did you?"
"We saved you three whole pieces," Bombur said with a rosy grin, brandishing a full plate from behind his back.
"Oh Bombur, you shouldn't have," Bilbo said, feeling strangely overwhelmed.
"But we did," Bofur said simply, with an exaggerated bow.
"Have a seat, lad," Balin called from a spot on the floor, patting an empty pillow next to him. Bilbo took the plate being offered by Bombur tentatively.
"Thank you so much for your help," Bilbo said, feeling slightly awkward, shuffling his feet. "I wouldn't have been able to do all-"
"Oh hush with all your manners," Bofur interrupted. "Sit, relax!"
"Well," Bilbo said, unable to keep from smiling. "If you insist."
Bilbo was sitting on a stone wall at the edge of the terrace, overlooking the valley that had once been his home, drenched in the colours of sunset, puffing on his pipe, a pit of dread deep inside him. They intended to leave the next day and things were not looking good, the imminence of their departure making it impossible to ignore. Fíli and Kíli had yet to speak to each other, a fact that seemed to make Thorin especially angry. The king had also been very unhappy about the elven bows that Lord Elrond had gifted to Kíli and Ori at his sons' recommendation, but there was little Thorin could do to argue, as really, they had been done a great service. Nori and Dwalin too, seemed unhappy, muttering together and eyeing the bows with disgust. Dori, on the other hand, much to everyone, especially his brothers' surprise, had been grudgingly grateful to the elves, although most of his gratitude was given to Kíli.
Worse still than petty dwarven drama, Bilbo knew that as soon as they left, he would be counting the steps until he found the ring again, and that scared him to no end. He had nearly been able to dispel its presence from his mind while in their elven sanctuary, but as their departure loomed over him like a dark cloud, the hobbit found his mind muddled and heavy with thoughts of the little golden trinket. Heavy footfalls caught Bilbo's attention, and he was surprised to see Thorin approaching him slowly. He was tense, his face set in an uncomfortable grimace. He stopped several feet away from Bilbo and cleared his throat.
"Master Baggins," Thorin said with a nod. Bilbo's eyebrows rose and he turned to face Thorin.
"Master Oakenshield," Bilbo mimicked Thorin's formal behaviour with trepidation.
"I wanted to -" Thorin frowned, and Bilbo was torn between fear and amusement. "I could not help but notice how at ease you have been here."
"How at- at ease I've been?" Bilbo repeated. This was not what Bilbo was expecting to hear, and he was suddenly very nervous about what Thorin would say next. He wouldn't make him stay, would he? He couldn't! He tried to search for answers in Thorin's gaze, but the dwarf would not meet his eyes. "Forgive me, but I fail to see the relevance of my comfort," Bilbo said, finding his words sticky in his throat. Thorin growled under his breath, his hands twitching as though desperate to form fists.
"I need to know if you intend to continue with us for the rest of the quest," Thorin said, finally meeting Bilbo's eyes, with a carefully guarded expression. Thorin's face morphed into shock, and Bilbo realized that he had let out a rather derisive laugh at Thorin's words. He forced a neutral expression onto his face. Of course Thorin didn't trust him, why would he? Bilbo's stomach clenched uncomfortably. He wanted nothing more than to go to Thorin and pledge his undying allegiance to him. To tell him that he would stop at nothing to see him on the throne of Erebor. But he could do none of those things.
"Yes, I will come," Bilbo said quietly. Thorin stared at him for a moment, stormy blue eyes searching for something.
"Good," he said after a moment, then turned on his heel and walked away. Bilbo buried his face in his hands, pipe entirely forgotten on the stone beside him, and swore under his breath. He did not hear Thorin hesitate, pausing as if unsure of what to say, but when his voice rang out again, Bilbo startled, cursing himself for how jumpy he seemed to have become. "I did want to say," Thorin said haltingly, face hidden in shadows. "I enjoyed your lemon loaf." On that note, Thorin really was gone, leaving Bilbo shaking his head incredulously in his wake.
The next day dawned bright and warm. They left with the blessing of Lord Elrond this time, laden with food, weapons, and firewood that was not the legs of broken tables and chairs. Thorin had been grudgingly grateful to Lord Elrond, and Elrond, in turn, had been quite gracious, promising shelter at Imlardis if he or any of his people ever needed. Gandalf had, once again, remained behind, promising to meet up with them in the Misty Mountains with Bilbo's assurances that all would be well in his absence.
Bilbo's status in the group had changed dramatically in the two weeks they had spent at Rivendell, mostly by his own fault. He had gained shadows in Kíli and Ori respectively, after many afternoons at the archery range. Bofur had finally wormed his way into Bilbo's circle, as well, and they had spent many an afternoon smoking together, Bofur making commentary on Kíli's aim, or Ori's form as they practiced with the elves. Bofur held no love for the elves, but nor did he carry any animosity. They had housed and fed them and given them sanctuary, and Bofur was not one to take a gift for granted. Bilbo had even befriended the desperately shy, as Bilbo had recently discovered, Bombur. Even Dori seemed at the very least, to not openly dislike him. Balin, on the other hand, had noticed the very clear tension between Bilbo and his little group, and the rest of the dwarves, and seemed to opt out of taking any sides. While he was still friendly with Bilbo, he distanced himself. Whether that was because he saw that Bilbo was starting to open up on his own, or because he did not want to be involved in the drama, Bilbo wasn't sure. Bilbo still did not quite feel like he belonged, but after a month of isolating himself, these relationships that he had created, in such a different way to Last Time were good. He had been smiling and laughing in a way that he had thought he never would again. He hoped desperately that it would not come back to haunt him, as they made their way up the Misty Mountains. He tried to remind himself of Lord Elrond's advice every time he felt the urge to shut down. Closing his heart would not save them.
It started off easy enough. Walking into the Misty Mountains felt at first, like walking into a dense forest. Although the incline was there, it was not always unbearable. In fact, you could even carry out conversation without becoming out of breath, something they would take for granted no longer after their trek through the mountains. The forest would often open up to large creeks or rivers, and they took advantage of having fresh water to drink and bathe in.
"Alright lad, you've hidden well, but there's no escaping it," Bofur said, jogging to catch up to Bilbo on a particularly warm and humid day. Bilbo was drenched in sweat that turned cold instantly at Bofur's words.
"W-what?"
"It's your turn to grace us with a song," Bofur said cheerily. Bilbo let out a breath of relief, then sucked it back in. He did not want to sing one bit.
"I can't sing," Bilbo said.
"Anyone can sing," Bofur said.
"I don't know any songs," Bilbo lied. Bofur stared at him disbelievingly.
"Now I know that's not true."
"No, no it's true," Bilbo said, wagging his finger. Bofur looked around, with false confusion.
"Now if you don't know any songs, then what might this be?" Bofur asked, stopping in the middle of the path and opening his arms out wide. "There's an inn, there's an inn, there's a merry old inn," Bofur boomed with a wide smile, getting the tune absolutely and entirely wrong. Bilbo scoured his mind for when Bofur could have possibly heard the nonsense song Bilbo had made up well before any of the dreadful Ring business. Oh drat, he had been singing it in the kitchen, hadn't he? Bother!
"Nope. No, that is not how it goes," Bilbo said, shaking his head at Bofur ruefully.
"Oh, but I think it is," Bofur said. "Something something old grey hill…" he then mumbled several unintelligible words. "Beer so brown the Man in the Moon himself came down-"
"Alright, stop," Bilbo said. "Please stop."
"Well, you're sure picky about how this song comes across," Bofur said, looking incredibly pleased with himself.
"I should think so, I wrote it," Bilbo said with a huff.
"Ooh, you hear that, we've got a composer in our midst," Bofur crowed.
"No- Bofur, shush," Bilbo said, clapping a hand over his friend's mouth. Something warm, wet and slimy pressed itself flush against his palm and he shrieked, pulling back, shaking his hand off. "You are such a menace," Bilbo whined, wiping the slobber off on Bofur's jacket, then pointing an accusatory finger at his friend.
"The best looking menace around," Bofur said with a cheeky grin.
"Uh huh," Bilbo said, eyeing Bofur's hat skeptically. Bofur pouted.
"Keep up, the both of you," Thorin yelled from a surprisingly long distance away. Bilbo and Bofur caught each others' eyes, eyebrows raised, then burst into conspiratorial giggles. They picked up their pace then, speaking more quietly.
"Looks like somebody's unhappy," Bilbo muttered, as close to Bofur's ear as he could without getting hit by the overlarge wings on his hat. "Quite the surprise, that is," he said. Their laughter died as they approached the group, but Bofur was not through with his conquest.
"Oh come on, Bilbo, teach me that little ditty, won't you? I promise I'll sing the right words and everything." Bofur put his hand over his heart.
"Fine, but only if you keep quiet about it," Bilbo said.
"I swear it," Bofur said solemnly.
"Alright," Bilbo said, clearing his throat importantly. "There is an inn, a merry old inn
beneath an old grey hill-"
"What was that? Speak up, lad," Bofur said. Bilbo squinted at him, sure that Bofur was intentionally trying to get a rise out of him.
"And there they brew a beer so brown, that the Man in the Moon himself came down one night to drink his fill-"
"Sounds like he and I would get along," Bofur interjected.
"Are you going to keep interrupting me, or are you going to let me finish?"
The journey through the mountains was longer than Bilbo remembered. Before long, the lush green forest stopped abruptly. Balin's gasp was heard by the whole Company. Where there had surely once been thousands of tall trees, there was nothing but scorched stumps and blackened branches. Bilbo was unsurprised to see this, as it was no different from Last Time, but the devastation left in the wake of what had surely been a deadly forest fire was quite shocking.
"What happened?" asked Kíli, eyes wide.
"Forest fire," Óin said. He put a hand on one of the charred logs and stroked it absently with a calloused thumb. "Must have happened naught but a couple of years ago."
"How do you know?" Kíli asked.
"Look at the underbrush," Óin said. Bilbo followed Óin's gaze. "If you look closely, the plants have started to grow back." He was right in saying that. There was plenty of grass, wildflowers, and shrubbery, but none of it grew more than a couple of feet high. Mind you, this was quite tall enough for someone of Bilbo's stature, however, he knew that before long, he would be wishing for the shelter that the trees would have offered.
"Aye, I see that," Kíli said. "Most of it doesn't look very old. This has all grown fresh since the fire?"
"That's right, lad," Óin said with a smile. Bilbo heard a scoff, and looked just in time to see Fíli roll his eyes and turn away. His stomach sank. The boys had not yet reconciled, and Bilbo felt guilt gnaw away at him as Kíli got closer with Ori and Fíli looked on enviously. Luckily, Fíli did not seem to blame Bilbo for the rift between the brothers, and had even spoken to him amicably several times, but Kíli and Ori had taken to walking with him constantly. Bilbo had eventually decided to just keep his head down and hope for things to sort themselves out before Thorin thought it necessary to intervene.
"That's rather sad, don't you think?" asked Ori.
"That's life, boy," Nori said, cuffing Ori on the shoulder. Ori rolled his eyes, shifting away from his brother's touch.
"Right, enough of this," Bofur said, sauntering over. Bilbo groaned. He knew where this was going. Bofur had taken to teaching Bilbo's song to the whole Company, and when he was bored, he would start an impromptu performance of it, calling on individual members of the Company until someone either messed up, or refused to sing. Despite his promises, Bofur had changed some words in the song, and Bilbo was loath to admit that Bofur's version was actually more catchy, but alas! "There's an inn, there's an inn, there's a merry old inn- Nori!"
Nori snuck up behind Bilbo and threw an arm playfully around Bofur's shoulders. "Beneath an old grey hill-"
"Very good, Nori," Bofur cried. "Glóin!" Glóin puffed up, then sang as loud as he possibly could, in a deep, smooth bass.
"And there they brew a beer so brown the Man in the Moon himself came down one night to drink his fill!" Glóin's voice was loud and deep, with a vibrato that seemed to send ripples through the tall grass.
"Yes!" Bofur said, pumping his fist, singing the next few lines himself. "Oh, the ostler has a tipsy cat that plays a five string fiddle- Ori!"
"And up and down he saws his bow now squeaking high," Ori's voice cracked ever so slightly on the high note. "Now purring low." The dwarves all had a good chuckle, for Ori was so animated, yet so awkward. One couldn't help but smile watching the young dwarf sing.
"Now sawing in the middle," Bofur said, cutting in. "Óin!"
"So, the cat in the middle played hey fiddle-diddle, a jig that'll wake the dead," Óin sang, getting some of the words wrong, but making up for it in enthusiasm, clutching his ear horn tight to his ear with a crooked grin.
"Close enough! Thorin!" Bofur yelled, pointing at their leader, who stared at Bofur impassively, expression unmoving except for an ever so slight downward curl of the lip and downturned eyebrows. Several heads turned to Bofur, unsure of what to do now that the king had refused to sing. Bofur, on the other hand, was absolutely unshaken. He nodded his head to imaginary words, then took off his hat and bowed to their leader, acting impressed, as though Thorin had swept them all away with his rendition, when in reality, he had stayed stubbornly quiet, then turned away from the group, looking ahead with a grimace.
"Fantastic! Together!" Bofur yelled, waving his hands around in a wild impression of a conductor.
"'It's after three!' he said!" They all (or rather, most of them) sang together, hollering, their laughter echoing throughout the dips and crests of the mountains lying before them.
The energy only waned after that. Very soon, even Bofur no longer had the drive to sing. It was nearing the end of June, and the mountain no longer offered any shelter from the blistering heat of the sun. The entire day had been spent crossing over a rock slide from decades previous. An entire face of the mountain had just crumbled away, and there were leagues of fallen stone, some worn down to pebbles, some that required them to clamber over each other to reach the top. It was exhausting work that Bilbo remembered well, although not well enough to prepare himself for it. He was reminded not only of how little muscle he had in his arms, but also of the fact that hobbit feet were not actually made for journeys such as this.
While his feet were nimble and resilient, hobbits didn't often trek through treacherous mountain terrain. He had stubbed his toes, smashed his feet into jagged rocks, gotten slivers of sharp stone, and to top it off, the rocks seemed to trap the sun's heat and shoot it directly into the soles of his feet. By the time they stopped for the night, he was exhausted, grumpy, and could barely even wait to finish dinner before he laid in bed. Where the days were hot and sunny, the nights were freezing. This truly was one of the worst parts of their journey, both times. It was enough for Bilbo to want to give up, a feeling he thought he had left behind in the "Last Time".
"How're you holding up, laddie?" Óin asked, sidling up to the exhausted hobbit. Bilbo wanted desperately to be left alone, but managed to keep the dry sob that was threatening to come out at bay.
"I'm fine," Bilbo grumbled. Óin frowned and adjusted his ear horn.
"You're dying?" he asked, bushy brows furrowed. He looked the hobbit up and down. "What happened?"
"No, I'm-" Bilbo started, then reached over and adjusted Óin's ear horn for him. "I'm fine, thank you, Master Óin."
"Ah. That's better." Óin said, with a smile. "I can't help but notice that your feet look to be paining you a great deal."
"They'll heal," Bilbo said dismissively.
"Lad, your feet are bare," Óin said, prodding one of Bilbo's toes, making him wince. "I don't know much about hobbits, but they're certainly not made of steel. Let me have a quick look at them, then I'll leave you to rest."
"Really, master Óin, it's fine," Bilbo said through gritted teeth.
"I wasn't asking," Óin said. "Now lie back, there's a good lad. I won't be but a moment."
"Well, alright then, thank you Master Óin."
"Óin is just fine," Óin said, looking intently at Bilbo's feet. "My, these really are quite large."
"Yes, well that didn't exactly help me today," said Bilbo, wincing as the healer bent his ankles this way and that. "More surface to injure, it would seem."
"They've held up remarkably well," said Óin. "I've always wondered why you don't wear shoes, but I think I might begin to understand why."
"We hobbits take great pride in our feet," Bilbo said, wiggling his toes for emphasis. "You know, there were a few years, goodness, it must have twenty or thirty years ago now, where we actually had a judged competition for foot size. But then of course, it was decided that it was hardly a fair competition. You can't help the way that you were born now, can you? That, and the Proudfoots always won. You can imagine that plenty of people were unhappy with that. My, I think it was Lobelia's mother who put a stop to all that in the end. The apple really doesn't fall far from the tree in some cases."
"Aye," Óin said, pulling out various ointments and creams that he had made in preparation for the journey. "I'm going to slather some of this on. Might sting a wee bit, but after that, you get some rest and you'll be just fine in no time."
"Thank you, Óin, Bilbo said with a smile.
"Of course, lad," said Óin, as though it was the only course of action that could have ever been. "Now, I want you to check in with me again every so often. And you tell me if it starts bugging you again."
"I will," said Bilbo.
"Now get some sleep," Óin said, patting Bilbo's shin delicately. Bilbo did sleep, and oddly enough, that night he had rather pleasant dreams about prizewinning tomatoes and flourishing gardens. The smell of home as it had been when his parents had been alive.
The road had spiked quite suddenly, several days later, and they found themselves treacherously high up, looking down on valleys and forests below. The road was dangerous and the weather unpredictable. Some days, the heat was unbearable, the bright summer sun beating down on them with nothing to protect their skin. The dark rocks seemed to drink the heat up greedily and it radiated from every surface. Bilbo's poor feet, thick though they were, were blistered and sore from the hot ground, never truly healed from the damage done at the rock slide. The dwarves had no trouble sleeping in precarious passes, just metres away from a sheer drop off the mountain. Bilbo, however, lay sleepless night after night. It was not only the dizzying heights that kept his mind awake. His brain whirled with an aching want, a need to feel the ring's cool weight in his hands. He felt feverish with desire, and tried desperately to crush these feelings, scared of the implications. This body had never felt the effects of the ring, but his mind remembered it all too well. It was confusing and painful and he wondered on multiple occasions if this was what Dragon Sickness felt like.
It was with both a heavy heart, and a burning excitement that one hazy afternoon the weather took a turn for the worse, and they were suddenly drenched to the bone with rain. Thorin took the lead and they trudged on in the deluge for what felt like an eternity. Bilbo nearly jumped out of his skin as lightning struck, far too close for comfort. Thunder rolled violently just seconds after, and Bilbo was sure that the very mountain itself shook with it. They were pressed close against the mountain, rocks jabbing painfully into their backs, the pathway having become dangerously narrow. The wind whipped at them, pulling at their hair and clothes, making them stumble under the heavy weight of supplies and damp cloaks. Bilbo breathed deeply through his fear, making sure that his footing was secure.
"We must find shelter!" Bilbo could only just make out Thorin's voice from the front of the line.
"Look out!" Dwalin's voice was loud behind Bilbo, his eyes fixed in terror as a boulder was flung towards them. It shattered on the mountain above them, showering them with debris. Bilbo tried his best to cover his head with his arm.
"This is no thunderstorm! It's a thunder-battle! Look!" Balin's voice carried impressively, but was quickly drowned out as an enormous rock monster landed a punch on another. The resulting crack echoed, and this time, Bilbo was sure that the mountain shook. The mountain had come alive, giant craggy faces and jagged limbs, illuminated by the frequent flickers of lightning.
"Well bless me. The legends are true! Giants! Stone giants," Bofur said in awe, clambering to the edge to watch.
"Keep moving," Bilbo yelled, resisting the urge to push his friend on. Another crash echoed above them
"Take cover! you fool," Thorin yelled at Bofur, as another boulder sent shards as big as Bilbo's bedroom at Bag End flying all around them. Dwalin braced Bilbo and Ori against the mountain, as parts of the pathway broke away at their feet. Then, the ground started to shake and split apart, the mountain groaning with the effort of it. A crevice was growing rapidly, separating the group into two.
"Kíli! No!" Fíli's voice held a heartbreaking desperation, any thoughts of their fight gone in an instant. "Grab my hand!" Kíli reached as far as he could, but even as he reached, the gaping hole between them widened. Kíli's wide eyes stared at his brother, paralyzed with fear, unable to look away.
"Hold on," Dwalin yelled, arms still covering Bilbo and Ori protectively as they soared through the air at an alarming speed. They were atop the knees of a Stone Giant. The world was a blur as they held on for dear life, blinking rain and dust from their eyes. Bilbo's stomach felt detached, being thrown about listlessly inside him. For one confusing second, they whipped past the other half of the company, who had found their way back onto the path. All Bilbo saw was Thorin's terrified expression before he felt himself hurtling towards the mountain. Bilbo prayed they would once again survive this fall, as the giant's body crashed into the mountain. With a shuddering screech and a flurry of flying limbs and debris, Bilbo was launched harshly against a rock and felt a dizzying blow to his head as he bounced off, then skidded towards the abyss, fingers grasping desperately for a handhold. He caught the edge with his fingertips and clung to it, mind numbingly empty. He could not form words, could not call for help.
"Where's Bilbo? Where is he?" Bofur's panicked voice carried over the edge. Bilbo's arms were already shaking with the effort of supporting his weight, and he squeezed his eyes shut, hoping they would find him soon.
"Bilbo! Get him!" Thorin's yell was pained, fearful. Bofur and Ori's heads appeared above him and Bofur let out a choked yell.
"Grab my hand! Bilbo! Come on, take it!" Bilbo tried his very hardest, but the rain was slippery on his hands and they slid listlessly off of Bofur's.
"Move," Thorin yelled, launching himself off the edge, keeping one arm gripped against the edge. He met Bilbo's eyes, and Bilbo was shocked to see the panic there. He hoisted Bilbo up roughly and the hobbit scrambled up as best he could, with the help of Bofur and Ori.
"Thorin," Bilbo yelled, just as Thorin slipped. For a moment, Bilbo feared that Thorin would fall, be lost to oblivion, or that his yell would distract Dwalin, but Dwalin's hand shot out and grabbed Thorin's arm, hoisting him roughly up the side of the rock. Thorin brushed himself off angrily and stared Bilbo down.
"I thought we'd lost our burglar," said Dwalin, after assuring that Thorin was alright. Was that relief Bilbo heard in the warrior's voice?
"He's been lost ever since he left home. We should have left him in Rivendell. At least he had a place among the elves." Thorin's glare was cutting, and Bilbo felt very small in that moment. "Dwalin, with me," Thorin barked, turning towards the mouth of a dark cave.
"Bilbo," Kíli came up beside him and put his hands on the hobbit's shoulders. He looked him over thoroughly. "Are you injured?"
"No, I'm fine," he mumbled, not meeting his concerned eyes. Kíli's face fell.
"Don't listen to Uncle. He was worried about you, is all."
"He's right," Fíli said, coming from behind and grabbing Kíli's arm as though it were a lifeline. Clearly the brush with death was enough for the two to reconcile. Bilbo was glad one good thing came out of this.
"It's safe," Dwalin called, beckoning them all towards the cave. Bilbo found himself walking between the brothers.
"Did Kíli ever tell you of the time uncle took us hunting?" Fíli asked. Bilbo shook his head. "Well, Kíli thought it was a brilliant idea to try and cross a river on an old, slippery log. Naturally, being as clumsy as he is, he fell right in. And of course, I went after him. You can imagine Uncle's panic when both of his nephews disappeared into a river," Fíli said with a laugh. "He threw himself in after us."
"Except it really wasn't very deep," Kíli said with a chuckle. "Fee and I could both touch the bottom."
"And still, he dove in after us. But keep in mind that it was probably only up to his waist."
"You should have seen his face when he came up," Kíli said, eyes shining with mirth. "He was so angry. His hair was dripping all over his face. He looked a mess." Kíli said, with a muffled laugh. Fíli grinned, ruffling his brother's wet hair.
"Stop it," Kíli whined, swatting Fíli's hands away with an exasperated smile. Bilbo shook his head, a weight lifting off his chest at the sight.
"But once he was sure we were both fine, he tore into us," Fíli said grimly. "He told us we were fools that he was stupid to have trusted us to come along with him. And in his defense, he could have been seriously hurt diving in like that."
"That still seems rather harsh," Bilbo said, trying to imagine a young Fíli and Kíli. "You were just children."
"Uncle doesn't like to show fear, so it manifests as anger," Fíli said with an eye roll.
"Right then, let's get a fire started," Gloin said loudly, interrupting their conversation.
"No. No fires. Not in this place. Get some sleep, we start at first light,' Thorin said gruffly, starting to unpack his things.
"We were to wait in the mountains until Gandalf joined us. That was the plan," Balin said anxiously.
"Plans change. Bofur, take the first watch."
"Aye, that I'll do," Bofur said, tipping his hat and settling down on a rock. Everyone was quick to settle in for the night, likely exhausted and shaken from the last hour of pure chaos. Bilbo still had tremors running through his body, and he wasn't sure if it was from the fear of the rock battle, or the evil that he knew the night would bring. Likely a combination of both, come to think of it. Bilbo made no attempt to sleep. He sat with his back against a rock and squeezed his eyes shut tightly, trying to shut out the noise of the storm, and the hum that had been growing louder since they had left Rivendell. It was the ring, Bilbo was sure of that much. He could almost sense the very location of the ring within the mountain and he shook his head violently, trying to rid himself of these obsessive thoughts.
"Got water in your ear, do you?" Bofur was looking at Bilbo with fond amusement.
"I wouldn't be surprised, based on how wet it is out there," Bilbo said with a forced laugh. Bofur pierced him with a knowing look.
"Okay, now what's really bothering you?" he asked, lowering his voice. Bilbo considered telling him the truth. Well, part of it. He also considered lying again, telling Bofur that he was fine, nothing was the matter. He opened his mouth to speak, although still unsure of what he wanted to say, but nothing came out. Bofur gave him a sympathetic smile. "Don't mind Thorin," Bofur said.
"What about Thorin?" Bilbo snapped defensively, eyes flickering nervously to the sleeping king.
"Woah, steady now, I mean no offense," said Bofur, raising his hands in surrender. "Only that I know what you gave up to come with us. And I know it's not been easy for you neither. I won't ask why, but I do want you to know that if you ever need me to lend an ear, I've got two handy." With that, Bofur lifted his hat and pulled at his ears animatedly. Bilbo wanted to laugh, but he simply couldn't.
"Thank you, Bofur," Bilbo said with an attempt at a smile, though he was sure he looked quite dismal.
"Of course, Bilbo. You're one of us now," Bofur said, putting a large hand on Bilbo's shoulder. Bilbo felt a jolt in his stomach and looked around him at his sleeping friends.
"You're right," he said with growing conviction. "I am, aren't I?" Bilbo said, feeling slightly giddy. Bofur grinned, but then his eyeline changed, squinting.
"What's that, laddie?" Bofur asked, eyes trained near Bilbo's waist.
"Everyone wake up," Bilbo yelled, ice flooding his veins, not needing to look at his sword to know that it was glowing blue. "Orcs!"
"Get up!" Thorin roared, on his feet the second Bilbo opened his mouth. There was a flurry of activity as the dwarves scrambled with their bags. There was a hissing noise, as sand started falling through the cracks.
"Brace yourselves," Bilbo yelled, just before the cave floor dropped out from underneath them.