Bilbo's stomach was in his throat as he fell along the harsh, rocky surface. Stones tore his heels apart, and he tried desperately to keep his head up and away from the jagged chute below him, holding in screams of pain as dirt sunk into his open wounds. Before he knew it, they landed hard in a rickety wooden cage, balanced precariously on the edge of an abyss. The very ground below them shook, an army of goblins coming towards them as they tried to get to their feet, elbows and feet flying every which way. Bilbo shrunk down as low as he could, knowing that stealth was his best option, or at least it had been Last Time. His ears filled with guttural cheers and jeers. The shrieks of the goblins were more horrible than Bilbo remembered and a jolt of fear shot down his spine as they rushed towards the Company. Hard, scaly skin and jagged nails brushed against him, snagged on his clothes, and he did his best to hide Sting from the greedy claws of the goblins. He was so small, and the goblins, so big, that they seemed to rush past him, more interested in the dangerous looking dwarves. He felt a shiver of anger as the goblins pinched, nabbed, and grabbed at his friends, prodding them forward along the makeshift walkway. They put up a good fight, but they were disoriented and surrounded. He knew there was nothing they could do. Selfishly, Bilbo needed this to happen so he could get to the ring. It had to happen the same way, or he risked it not happening at all.

Stomach in knots, Bilbo stayed low and quiet, trying desperately to remember how he had gotten down to Gollum's cave Last Time. It had been such a blur, a rush of adrenaline and fear, that he couldn't be quite sure how to proceed. A lone goblin jolted him out of his thoughts, launching itself at Bilbo with a twisted smile. Instinctively, Bilbo embedded Sting into its belly, a swift death. But he knew this goblin. Bilbo's stomach sunk like a stone. The goblin now lying dead at his feet was supposed to have knocked him down, tumbled into the abyss with him. And now how was he to achieve that? Suddenly queasy, Bilbo approached the edge of the platform he was standing on, and looked out into the darkness at the sheer drop. How was he to get down there? A voice in his head told him to jump. To throw himself down towards the ring. His head swam, thoughts barraging him intrusively. The ring. Jump. Jump!

The sound of fighting, that had started to recede, started to make its way back to him, startling him. He fell away from the edge and turned around, only to see Bifur, fending off three goblins on his own. Looking between the chasm below him, and his outnumbered friend, Bilbo wondered what to do. Did he jump, go after what was so desperately calling to him, or did he help his friend? Had this happened last time? Would Bifur be fine if he did not help him, or was he risking the dwarf's life with his hesitation? No, that simply wouldn't do. With that thought, Bilbo hoisted Sting up above his head and charged. The fight was quick, and adrenaline mercifully took over. It took only moments for Bilbo to realize that they were nearing the edge again before he made his first mistake. It happened so quickly. He couldn't exactly pinpoint what made him lose his balance. He couldn't even be sure that it had truly been unintentional, but he slipped. Bifur's hand shot out, reaching for the falling hobbit, and Bilbo took it. His second mistake. For one terrifying moment, Bilbo was weightless. And then he was consumed by darkness.

He landed on something solid. Groaning, he looked around him. To his shock, he had landed on Bifur. Bilbo scrambled off the dwarf, who instantly started struggling to get to his feet, like a beetle stuck upside down.

"Bifur, what are you doing down here?" he hissed. Bifur grumbled something to Bilbo in Khuzdul, that Bilbo couldn't understand, eyes frighteningly wide. Bifur finally managed to get to his feet, turning to look up the ravine they had fallen down. He staggered back, then, before Bilbo could even think what to say or do, Bifur launched himself at the rock wall, trying desperately to climb up it, yelling with such ferocity that Bilbo wanted to cover his ears.

"Bifur!" Bilbo cried, launching himself towards the dwarf, who was sure to either bloody up his hands, or make enough noise for the goblins to find them. "Bifur, shush! Stop, it's too steep." True to Bilbo's warning, Bifur slid down the rock face, foot catching awkwardly on an outcropping of stone. With a sharp intake of breath, Bifur fell to the ground, clutching at his ankle with a wild look in his eyes.

Bifur's face was twisted in pain and he muttered something angrily under his breath.

"Oh, Bifur, whatever are we going to do?" Bilbo asked, more to himself than to the other dwarf. Bifur shook his head, eyes screwed shut. He then scrambled to his feet, using the wall to prop himself up.

"Be careful," Bilbo hissed, rushing to Bifur's side to offer his support. "We need to find a way out of here. There must be a tunnel that leads out," he said, mind racing. How was he to find the ring and confront Gollum if Bifur was there, watching his every move? Bifur grabbed ahold of Bilbo's shoulder, releasing the wall to point down one of the tunnels, a frantic look in his eye as he muttered in khuzdul, far too quick for Bilbo to even attempt to pick out the couple of words he knew.

"Alright, alright, slow down," he said as Bifur started tugging towards the tunnel to the right. "We must be smart about this." He paused to think. He tried desperately to remember which way would lead him to Gollum's cave, and which way would take them out of the mountain, if either would at all. He chewed on his lip nervously as Bifur watched in tense silence, still inching towards the right tunnel. For the life of him, Bilbo could not remember where to go. "Right, Bifur, you go down the tunnel to the right, and I'll go left. Go as far as you can. Surely one of these will take us out of here. If you find the way, turn around. We'll meet back here."

Bifur let out a string of words, certainly in disapproval, but Bilbo shook his head.

"There's no time. We have to find the others," he said. "And stay alert. There's no way of knowing what might lurk down here," he added, thinking of Gollum, and wondering, not for the first time, if it was truly wise to split up. To leave an already injured Bifur alone. But it was a risk he had to take. As Elrond had expressed, the fate of the world was at stake.

"Go, go," Bilbo said, shooing a disgruntled Bifur away.

Bilbo paused, waiting for Bifur's unsteady footfalls to recede, then swore, spinning on the spot. He had truly been a fool to assume that everything would happen exactly the same, when most things in life were complete chance. Of course he had let it go awry.

Alright, he had to think. How would he find the ring without knowing where he had initially found it? And on top of that, where was Gollum? There was no way he could predict the creature's actions without the goblin that had fallen down with Bilbo Last Time.

After several minutes of tense silence, Bilbo decided that the only thing he could do for now, was move forward and hope for the best. He edged his way along the dark tunnels slowly, feeling the surface of the ground with his feet, hoping they might come across the cool metal ring that, for some reason, seemed to have fallen silent in his mind. How very helpful. Bilbo kept Sting drawn and his ears peeled, unable to shake the feeling that he was being watched. He could barely see his own hands in the gloom. He felt so very small, and so powerless. What a foolish way this would be for him to die.

After what felt like days, but could really have been just hours, he finally stumbled across a large underground space. He could feel the shape of the room change in the way that his own breath and shuffling steps echoed back to him. He heard the drip of water, and smelled something mildewy and distinctly damp. He could not truly be sure that this was the cave in which he met Gollum Last Time, but he kept his back to the wall, sword in front of him protectively nevertheless. There was a whisper, a ripple, something so quiet that he couldn't be sure that he hadn't imagined it. But no! There it was again, he was sure of it this time. And then unmistakably, he heard the rattle of breath, the quietest of footfalls. And then large, pale eyes in the gloom, peering at him hungrily.

"What is it, precious?" Gollum's whisper echoed eerily around him, but the eyes had disappeared. Bilbo swung his sword around him in a half circle, trying to pinpoint the source of the voice. "It's not a goblins, no, but it's not a nasty little dwarfs either," said Gollum, eyes reappearing to Bilbo's right. Bilbo felt a chill run up his spine. Gollum hadn't gotten to Bifur, had he?

"What- what about dwarves?" Bilbo asked, heart thrumming. Gollum hissed, then approached Bilbo, walking on all fours.

"Or maybe it is a dwarfs," Gollum whispered, reaching a pale, long-fingered hand towards the hobbit. "We'd have to taste it to know, wouldn't we?"

"You won't be tasting anything," said Bilbo, hitting Gollum's hand away with the flat of his blade. Gollum fell as though burned, letting out an agonized, gulping shriek.

"It burns us, precious, burns!" Gollum said, cradling himself on the ground. Unbidden satisfaction rose up inside him as he thought of Frodo's mangled hand, of the stories he'd been told of his nephew's time in Mordor with this faithless rat. I should kill him, Bilbo thought. No, no he couldn't kill him. He needed to find the ring, and Gollum was his only lead.

"I- I need to get out of the mountain," Bilbo said, voice cracking nervously. He was not sure that leaving the mountain was his best bet, but, he decided, if he were to choose between splitting up from the Company, potentially never seeing them again, and not finding the ring, he knew where his choice would lie, despite hoping he wouldn't have to make it. He kept his eyes fixed on Gollum, an angry knot of anxiety churning in his stomach, forcing his breaths to be shallow and short. "I know you know the way."

"Do you hear that, precious? It's lost," Gollum said, picking himself up and peering at Bilbo with barely concealed sinister glee. He then gasped, expression changing. "We knows! We knows safe paths in the dark!" Gollum said, then shuddered, hunching in on himself again with a grimace. "Shut up!"

"I haven't said anything," Bilbo said instinctively, then winced, feeling like a fool to have fallen for that twice now.

"I wasn't talking to you," Gollum said with a sneer. His demeanour switched quickly with a shrug. "Well, yes we..we was precious, we was."

"I don't know what your game is, but I'm- I'm not lost," said Bilbo, trying to keep the tremor from making Sting shake in his hand.

"Games?" Gollum said with an eerily wide smile. Bilbo held a finger up to shush the creature.

"As I said, I'm not lost. I've simply forgotten the way. If you know it, I would be grateful if you could show me."

"Show it?" Gollum said, hunched in on himself, smile disappearing like a snuffed candle. "Show it the way? Well we could, precious, we could…"

"You like games, do you?" Bilbo asked, lowering his blade and ignoring Gollum's snarls. "How about we have a game?" Bilbo asked, attempting to sound natural.

"Games?! Oh, we love games, doesn't we, precious? Does it like games? Does it, does it? Does it like to play?" Gollum asked, leaping around with excitement. Bilbo's stomach clenched as he recognized the familiar words. He was putting things back on track, he had to be.

"Yes," Bilbo said, keeping on guard. "I want to play. I do. I'm certain you must be very good at this. So let's have a game of riddles? Just you and me."

"Yes," said Gollum, eyes wide. "Just...just... just us."

"Yes," Bilbo coaxed. "And if I win, you'll show me the way out." Bilbo said. Gollum's breath hitched, then he turned away and started muttering to himself.

"And if we win?" Gollum asked, pointing to himself, then at Bilbo. "And if it loses, what then?" Bilbo could tell that Gollum was not asking Bilbo, but rather himself. "Well, if it loses, precious, then we eats it!"

"If- if you win, you have my permission to eat me," Bilbo said with a shudder, not feeling bad at all about his lie, but rather concerned that he might soon have to act on it. "You first." Bilbo watched Gollum fall silent, eyes nearly rolling back into his head as he thought. Bilbo tensed, wondering if Gollum's riddles would stay the same, or change. Would he be able to answer them? What would happen if he couldn't?

What has roots as nobody sees,

Is taller than trees

Up, up, up it goes,

And yet never grows?

Relieved, Bilbo pretended to think for a moment. "The mountain," he said finally, relishing in Gollum's disappointed snarl.

"Very good, very good," Gollum muttered. "Your turn," he said, eyes fixed unblinking on Bilbo.

Bent easily like the will of kings,

For this they lust above all things

Its bitter hold runs deep in veins,

He who loses thinks he gains.

A rich man this takes,

A monster it makes.

Bilbo made up wildly, not even sure if this made sense. Last Time, Bilbo had drawn from his extensive knowledge of riddles from his father, but for some reason, his brain seemed to have a different plan for him this time around. Gollum screwed up his face, whispering furiously at himself. Time stretched longer and longer and Bilbo wondered if it really could be this easy.

"Is it gold, precious?" Gollum asked himself. Bilbo sighed. "Gold, it must be. Gold!"

"Yes, yes, it's gold," Bilbo said, nerves swelling again at Gollum's pleased expression.

"Our turn now, isn't it?" asked Gollum, voice low and rumbly, like the underused purr of an ill cat.

Voiceless it cries,

Wingless flutters,

Toothless bites,

Mouthless mutters.

"Wind," Bilbo said, hardly even pretending to think anymore. Gollum let out an angry yell that tapered off into a gargle. "The answer is wind." Bilbo tightened his fist around Sting as Gollum started pacing on all fours.

"It's very clever, precious, very clever," Gollum said, grimacing. "Nasty little thing."

"Alright," Bilbo said, eyes straining to keep Gollum in his sight through the darkness. "It's my turn."

Black where there once was colour

Alone where there once was another

A life, a friend,

A beginning and end

A sunshine paled,

A wound thinly veiled

Cursed to see in shades of grey,

Until the last and final day.

"Well?" Bilbo asked, as Gollum started to get agitated. He let out a whine, grabbing a rock and grinding it into the ground, filling the cavern with a nasty, gritty wail. He then brought both hands up to his face, pulling grotesquely at his pale skin with a dry sob.

"Give us time," Gollum said, turning his back on Bilbo and hunching in on himself, whispering furiously. He fell silent suddenly, turning around with a disturbing smile. "We know what this is," he said. "We've made them, haven't we, precious."

"Then what is it?" asked Bilbo.

"Widowses," said Gollum, eyes wide, lost to memory. Bilbo sighed.

"Right you are again."

Ever it shrinks

And sinks

And bends

It whispers and roars,

And weightless soars

Its icy grip both foe and friend.

Bilbo had never heard this one. It was new and unfamiliar, and he did not like not knowing the answer, being blindsided by Gollum of all things. But what could it be? Gollum watched on silently, predatory grin growing at a distracting speed. What was the answer? Silence stretched on and Gollum started to stalk forward.

"It looks tasty, doesn't it, precious? Plump and juicy!" Gollum hissed. And suddenly, Bilbo knew the answer.

"No no, wait," he said. "The answer is a-a river!" True enough, Bilbo could vividly remember his first and only trip down a river leaving the dungeons of the Elvenking, and he was quite, if not totally sure of his answer.

"Nasty," Gollum said with a sob, pointing an accusatory finger at Bilbo.

"Ah, ah," Bilbo said, shaking his finger at Gollum, feeling rather pleased with himself. "I think it's my turn now." And it was. He had a wicked idea. A perfectly wicked plan.

Four hands became two hands,

Two hands took the One

Silent and shadowless,

Long years without sun

Sightless pools where darkness cools,

Witless it duels and curses and fools.

Gollum's eyes widened almost comically, a flicker of recognition in them. Then he shook his head.

"Give us a moment," Gollum hissed, baring his few teeth. As time passed, Bilbo started to feel quite pleased with himself. Gollum's breathing was growing more and more erratic. "It can't. It can't be precious," he whined. "But it must," he said, voice changing to a snarl. "But how does it know? Yes, how does it know?"

"Know- know what?" Bilbo asked.

"It's us, precious," Gollum said. "It must be us."

"I- you're right," he said, face falling.

"Witless, it calls us," Gollum whispered, then laughed to himself, peering at Bilbo with an expression of absolute loathing. "We'll show it witless."

Walking on legs not its own,

Years it's lived,

Yet never grown

Thought without brain,

Mind's dark stain

Ageless it waits,

Wordless hates.

Gollum's whispers filled the cave, as he slunk around Bilbo, a sly smirk lighting his face up. Bilbo's mind raced. He cursed aloud as nerves got the better of him. His cold fingers shook, and he had the uncomfortable feeling of chasing after a thought, only for it to disappear, always out of reach. He could hardly even remember the riddle at this point. Why hadn't he been more prepared for this? If only he had the ring, he could slip away undetected, and leave this sorry business behind. But he hadn't found it, and he didn't know how he would find it, if he even would, or why he hadn't. He couldn't leave even if he wanted to. He needed to find the ring. He had to find it. Find the ring. The ring.

"The ring," Bilbo muttered aloud. Gollum fell silent and Bilbo froze, senses suddenly alert. He had made a horrible, horrible mistake.

"How can it know?" Gollum asked, glaring up at Bilbo murderously. He started shaking, then lunged at Bilbo, hands outstretched. Bilbo scrambled away, clumsy in the darkness, Gollum's shrieks following him. "How does it know?!" Gollum let out a roar, and Bilbo felt something whip past him, then heard a rock smash into the wall behind him. He turned around just in time for Gollum to lunge forward, and he brought Sting out, waving the blade around in a panic. Gollum hissed at the sight, then slowed.

"Nasty little thing knows about the precious," Gollum whispered with a grotesque smile. "We can't let it leave now, can we?"

To Bilbo's horror, Gollum reached into a hidden pocket in his loincloth. He has the ring. Bilbo realized with a shock so severe that he almost fell over, that he was going to die here, how could he not? He waited for Gollum to disappear. Imagined what it would feel like for the creature to wrap his clammy hands around his throat, or sink his teeth into Bilbo's flesh.

Only something very unexpected happened. Gollum did not disappear. Instead, he froze, watery eyes swivelling towards Bilbo with a chilling expression.

"He… stole it from us," Gollum whispered, inching towards Bilbo carefully, like an animal stalking its prey. Bilbo, gaining his wits rather slowly, stumbled backwards as Gollum launched himself towards the hobbit with a blood-curdling yell.

The wind was knocked out of Bilbo as Gollum slammed into his body, sending him flying back, splashing into the pool. He hit the ground hard, head smacking into the rock beneath him. He inhaled sharply at the pain, and felt his lungs filling with freezing liquid. He fought to bring his head above water and suck in a gulp of air. His mind didn't even register the icy water, but for the fact that the ground fell away quickly. His legs were on land, but his head was in open water. Disoriented and shocked, he tried to turn, flip himself over or get up, anything to get away from black depths of the pool, but Gollum was quicker. He straddled Bilbo's waist, and Bilbo felt clammy hands enclose around his neck. A shock went through his body, and Gollum took that moment to plunge Bilbo's head underwater. Bilbo's nose and lungs were burning like he had inhaled acid. His hands came to grapple with those around his neck, but Gollum was strong. The creature's cackles were distorted underwater, dark and grotesque. Evil.

Gollum's twisted grin loomed over Bilbo, almost glowing in the darkness, and he wondered if it was the last face would ever see. He should be able to fight, to save himself but his head was spinning, his lungs protesting. The only thing that seemed to be working properly was his heart, beating loud and fast, the throbbing sound seeming to take over his mind. He briefly wondered if this was one of his nightmares. If he would wake up whole and hale in some cave in the Misty Mountains.

Do something, his body screamed. He mustered the strength to lift his arms, to fight against Gollum's tight grip, but his hands came back, weak and stiff. An idea striking him, he felt for Gollum's pinky finger and, with both hands, pushed it backwards. He felt the bones crack in his grip, and suddenly he was free. He pushed Gollum away, scrambling onto all fours and gasping in air, desperate, head spinning, water burning his throat as he coughed it up. Gollum's wails of pain quickly morphed into anger and he knew time was up. He had to run, could not stop to find the ring. Nothing would protect him from Gollum this time. He had to be ready to kill him. He was ready.

"Curse it, precious! Give it back!" Gollum's scream ripped through his throat and he ran at Bilbo, who scrambled towards Sting, heart in his throat. "It's ours!"

Bilbo grabbed Sting and stumbled as quickly as he could through the tunnels, Gollum hot on his tail. He could not stop to think, to plan, he simply hoped to outrun the creature who had every advantage. It was a foolish endeavour, he knew, but some desperate, flickering flame inside him pushed on.

Bilbo's footsteps, normally so quiet and clever, seemed clumsy, slapping against the moist rock below him, sound ringing in his ears. Gollum was gaining on him, he knew it. The creature was fast, his footprints more of a slither as he galloped on all fours. Bilbo didn't dare look behind him. He knew Gollum was close. He could hear his laboured breaths. A chill ran down Bilbo's spine, feeling exposed and vulnerable

He swung around, skidding to a halt, to face Gollum, heart pounding loudly.

"I'm warning you," Bilbo said, raising Sting to point at Gollum with shaking hands. "Don't come any closer."

Gollum said nothing, glaring at Bilbo with a hate so severe that Bilbo once again wondered how he could possibly survive this.

"Thiefs," Gollum hissed, chest heaving. "Where has it hidden it?"

"S-stay back," Bilbo said, inching backwards while keeping his sword pointed at Gollum.

"Stay back," Gollum repeated with a half-wail, half-sob. "It steals from us and wants us to stay back."

"I haven't stolen anything," said Bilbo, bitter at his own honesty.

"It's lying, it must be."

"I'm not," Bilbo said breathlessly. "I promise you, I'm not. I wouldn't lie to you."

Gollum looked confused, watery eyes swivelling between Bilbo and the tunnel behind him, body poised, ready to leap into action.

"But how did it know?" Gollum said, confusion colouring his voice. "The precious is gone and it knew." He looked at Biblo, naked brow bones curving into a frown.

"No, I didn't," Bilbo said. Gollum twitched, leaning forward ever so slightly. Bilbo raised Sting a moment too late. For the second time that day, the air was knocked out of Bilbo's lungs as Gollum slammed into him. Sting was flung from his grasp and landed just out of his reach. Gollum's hands were hard against Bilbo's throat. Merciless and strong, unhindered by his broken finger. Bilbo did not even bother trying to remove Gollum's hands, instead inching his fingers towards his blade. Panic swelled in his chest, and his deprived lungs didn't seem to know whether they wanted to expand, or shrink in on themselves until they were shrivelled and dead. His fingers were so close. Black spots started dancing in his eyes and he was overtaken by sheer terror, everything in his mind screaming at him. A jolt ran through his arm at an odd sensation in his fingertips. Sting.

The sound of the hilt of his blade colliding with this side of Gollum's head was drowned out by his own breath. Each gasp rattled in his chest and his pulse pounded like an earthquake. He laid there for several moments, hardly even able to hope that Gollum would not wake up, his own physical needs taking over all mental capacity. When he could finally think about controlling his body, he slowly got to his feet, supporting himself against the wall of the cave as his limbs were weak and shaky.

Gollum had not moved but his chest was still rising and falling. Bilbo picked Sting up and walked towards Gollum as careful as he could be, and stared down at the unconscious creature. Bilbo would kill him. He had to. He didn't deserve to live. How could he leave him alive? How could Bilbo ever assure that Gollum wouldn't come after him? That he wouldn't send evil right towards his nephew. Bilbo wouldn't be there to warn him or protect him. But then, he hadn't told Gollum his name, or even what he was. There was no way the creature would ever be able to find him. Especially once the eagles took them to their eyrie.

No, Gollum was evil and he deserved to die. Bilbo poised Sting at the creature's throat. Clenching his jaw he drew back… and stopped a breath away from Gollum's neck.

"You coward, Bilbo Baggins," he said under his breath. He watched Gollum for another moment, then nodded. He sheathed his sword and walked away, wondering all the while if he was making a terrible mistake.

"Five, six, seven, eight. Bombur, Bofur, that's ten. Fíli, Kíli, that's twelve. And Bifur, good, there you are. That makes thirteen." He paused. "Where's Bilbo?" Gandalf said under his breath as Bifur hobbled painfully into the clearing. "Where is our hobbit? Where is our hobbit?!" his voice raised to a yell as he spun around in a circle. Thorin's stomach dropped, and he too spun around, sure he would see a messy head of copper ringlets among the Company.

"Curse that Halfling! Now he's lost! I thought he was with Dori!" Glóin said. Thorin whipped around to look at Glóin, whose brow furrowed, face blotchy and red from the run.

"Don't blame me, I haven't seen him since last night," Dori said. His voice was defensive, as it so often was, but he was frowning, eyes fixed on the mountain behind them.

Bifur stepped forward, expression shameful. He explained that the two of them had fallen deep down into the caves, and Bifur had agreed to split up to find an exit. It was there that he had stumbled upon the rest of the Company mostly by chance, leaving Bilbo behind in the caves.

"Where did this happen exactly? Tell me!" Gandalf boomed. Bifur sniffed wetly and clapped his hands over his ears. Thorin clenched his icy fingers into fists imagining the hobbit wandering through the tunnels all by himself. Small and defenseless. This was Thorin's fault. He was the leader, and he should have been looking after everyone in the company. He had not even noticed that Bifur had been missing in their panicked escape. He resisted the urge to hang his head in shame, and instead gritted his teeth. No, it had been Bilbo's idea to split up. It had been him that had gone off alone.

"I'll tell you what happened," said Thorin, an inexplicable and all-consuming rage coming to a sudden boil in his stomach. "Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it! He's likely gone back to Rivendell. We all saw how comfortable he was there. We will not be seeing our hobbit again, he is long gone back to the elves." Thorin ignored the glare sent his way by the wizard. Of course Bilbo had gone back to the elves. He had to have.

"And how do you suppose he got past the goblins?" Gandalf asked with a disdainful expression. "We must go back for him. I will not leave him there."

"We may not have a choice," said Dwalin. Thorin spun around as the howls of wargs in the distance grew. His blood froze.

"Run!" Thorin yelled. He did not wait to see if Gandalf followed him, but kept his eyes on the company, kept his focus on the ground ahead of him and the rhythm of his feet. The wargs were bearing down on them far too quickly, tearing across the pine needle-strewn ground with muscled legs. The orcs knew what they were doing. They had driven the Company to the edge of a cliff. Thorin slowed his pace, eyes scanning furiously for anything to do. Any way to escape.

"We must climb," came the voice of the wizard, who was hoisting himself up with surprising agility into the underlying branches of one of the large trees.

"Climb," Thorin reiterated, managing to pull himself up into a low branch, but keeping his eyes on his comrades, making sure they all made it into the trees. Once he was sure they were all safely in the branches, Thorin climbed higher, tingles running up his spine as the wargs burst into the clearing below them, snarling up at the figures in the trees, gnashing their sharp teeth menacingly. As soon as the cacophony started, it stopped, and the beasts slowed, turning to face a new presence. Thorin felt a wave of shock hit him, strong enough for him to sway on his branch.

"It cannot be," Thorin said, mind dangerously empty, unable to think of anything but the Pale Orc who had just strode into the clearing atop a large white warg. Azog pointed at Thorin with a gnarled smile and spoke, his voice carrying over the snarling wargs. A command, the beasts lunged at the branches again, with deadly force. Thorin climbed higher as wargs ripped the lowest hanging limbs easily. His stomach was in knots as the world swayed, tree starting to fall under the paws of the warg pack.

"We need to jump," Thorin yelled, hoping the others would hear him. He gathered his strength and launched himself at the closest tree in front of him. They could not stop there, however. As each tree fell, the next one followed. It was all Thorin could do to jump from tree to tree, landing hard among thin branches, and hope that they would not break. The breath rattled in his chest and his hands scrabbled against the rough bark. Pine needles whipped against his face but he barely noticed. Finally, there was nowhere else to flee. There was one tree left standing, growing precariously at the edge of the cliff. They were at a dizzying height, all thirteen dwarves and the wizard in one flimsy tree, their lives literally hanging in the balance.

Thorin heard Gandalf calling orders, saw the flicker of lights out of the corners of his eyes, but he could not tear them away from his enemy. Now that they had stopped, he was transfixed. He didn't dare look at his nephews, or Balin, his own failure stinging his eyes just as much as the smoke that started billowing up. The air was filled with angry yells and the yelps of wargs as their coats caught on fire. The flames grew, catching on the trees they had felled just moments before. The air was thick with smoke and heat and the smell of singed fur. As the flames grew higher, many of the wargs retreated, and the dwarves cheered. Their victory did not last long, as the tree they were in gave a sudden lurch. They were sinking over the edge of the abyss. Around him, Thorin heard the desperate sounds of his Company struggling to stay atop the branches, the fire roaring, and the branches cracking all around him. He saw his nephews, expressions desperate, drenched in sweat and dirt.

He had failed them. Failed them all. He had fooled himself into thinking he might right the wrongs of his grandfather, right his own wrongs. And they had all trusted him. He cursed himself for forsaking their home in the Blue Mountains, for dragging his friends away from that safety, and for dragging them here to their deaths.

Azog was watching, his teeth bared into a satisfied smile. He would watch Thorin fall to his death. He had promised to wipe out the line of Durin, and he would watch it happen without having to lift a finger. He was disgusting. Lazy.

No, Thorin would not let Azog win so easily. Not like this. If they were going to die, he would take the bastard with him. He would not have his last and final act be acceptance. He would fight to his death, and take as many orcs with him as he could.

He saw his chance. He pulled himself atop the fallen tree, and walked along it, staring Azog down. He sent a quick prayer to Mahal that somehow his nephews would be spared as he walked into the flames.

"Thorin, no!" Dwalin cried, desperately trying to pull himself up at Thorin's feet. Thorin ignored him, not wanting to see his oldest friend's face, and stalked towards the orc. Azog stared at Thorin atop his warg with a twisted smirk. Adrenaline surged through him as Azog's beast prepared to lunge. But then something very strange happened. Several wargs lurched forwards towards an enemy that Thorin could not see, until Bilbo Baggins's head became visible behind Azog, face twisted in rage. Before Thorin could process what he was seeing, Bilbo jabbed his little blade into the warg's thigh, and it toppled down with a pained snarl. Azog fell from his beast, landing hard on the ground in front of the rock he had been perched on. There was a moment of confused silence, then Bilbo yanked his blade out of the warg's leg and stabbed it viciously into its skull. It was then that all hell broke loose. Thorin ran at Azog, all thoughts leaving his mind as their weapons met.

Azog was strong but rigid, and Thorin used this to his advantage, leaping just out of reach of the Pale Orc at every opportunity. He fought hard. His muscles burned with each hit, already exhausted from fighting his way out of the goblin tunnels. He tried his best to stay one step ahead, but Azog was stronger, bigger. He knocked Thorin to the ground, and Thorin only just managed to block the strike with his shield.

"Thorin!" Bilbo's voice was muffled, but that did not hide the panic. For the second time that day, Bilbo charged to Thorin's defense, coming at Azog from behind. The orc pretended not to notice Bilbo's attack, but the smirk on his face said otherwise.

"Bilbo, no," Thorin grunted. Too late. At the last second, Azog spun around, hitting the hobbit's shoulder with his wicked looking mace. Bilbo cried out, falling to the ground, body limp. Satisfied, the Pale Orc turned back to Thorin, growling in his dark language. Thorin dragged himself to his feet with a cry. He would make Azog pay.

But he was too late. Large, scaly claws wrapped around Thorin's waist, pulling him weightless into the sky. Below him, Azog glared up into the now eagle-filled night sky, Bilbo's body lying near his feet. Lifeless. What had he done?

"He was already in a bad way before this." There was a hand on Bilbo's face, and voices whispering, surrounding him in a fuzzy hush. His eyes fluttered open to see Óin and Gandalf crouched over him, expressions grave.

"Well, what happened to him?" Gandalf was looking at a spot behind Bilbo, talking to someone out of his eyesight. He tried to sit up but hissed in pain as his chest protested. He looked down at his shoulder where it had been hastily bandaged. Blood was already seeping through the fabric, staining it a dark brown. He looked away quickly, stomach giving an uncomfortable lurch at the sight. The movement of his head was painful, his neck feeling tight and bruised.

"Don't sit up, lad," Óin said, putting a gentle hand on his bandage free shoulder. Bilbo groaned loudly, trying to sort out all the conflicting events and people in his head. His body ached and each breath hurt. He tried to swallow and winced at the sharp pain in his throat.

"I'm fine," Bilbo said with a feeble cough. "Wha- Thorin. Is he ok?" Despite Óin's protests, he staggered to his feet painfully, grabbing onto Gandalf's arm to steady himself as he swayed dangerously. They were atop the Carrock. The sun was rising quite brilliantly in the sky around them. Bilbo's fingers flew to his pocket, only to find it empty of the ring. Of course. They were so far away from the Misty Mountains now. Bilbo could not help the instant fog of defeat and hopelessness that washed over him at the thought of the ring lying abandoned in the caves. He barely even noticed the enormous eagle watching him with sharp golden eyes.

"Thorin is fine," Óin said. "Too stubborn for his own good, but his injuries are minor. They will heal over time." The healer was clearly unhappy, but gestured to the other side of the Carrock. Thorin was sitting rigidly between Fíli and Kíli, expression tense. Despite the fact that they had all made it out alive, Bilbo felt an overwhelming, debilitating failure. Kíli's eyes found Bilbo and his face lit up in a brilliant smile. He elbowed his uncle and said something quietly to him. Thorin got to his feet and stalked towards Bilbo, who could not help his sudden urge to throw up. He had not dared expect another happy reconciliation atop this rock, and somehow the expression on Thorin's face did not give him much hope of one.

"You! What were you doing? You could have gotten yourself killed! Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild, and you had no place amongst us?" Thorin's voice bit into Bilbo's already fragile soul, eating away at what little joy he had felt upon seeing them all alive. "That your place was with the elves, rather than us?"

"I'm sorry you still feel that way, Master Oakenshield," Bilbo said stiffly, desperately pushing down the sadness and loss that threatened to overcome him.

"No, Bilbo," Thorin said, face breaking out into a brilliant smile that seemed to forge Bilbo to the spot, all other thoughts leaving his mind. "I have never been so wrong in all my life." Thorin pulled the hobbit into his arms. It hurt like hell, if Bilbo was honest. His ribs protested, and his shoulder screamed, struggling to find air with his face against Thorin's chest, but he wouldn't change a thing. As he stood there, in Thorin's arms, he felt a feeling that had laid dormant for the larger part of a century. He didn't quite know what it was, but he felt safe and whole and happy, even. All of his worries and woes put ever so temporarily on hold. Thorin's scent was familiar. The smell of campfire and bitter tobacco, something earthy and distinctly Thorin lingered in his furs and his hair. "Are you alright?" Thorin asked, very quietly in Bilbo's ear, causing goosebumps to run down his neck.

"I will be," Bilbo said simply, wishing desperately that it were true. Thorin pulled back, but kept his hands on Bilbo's forearms, steadying Bilbo as much as he seemed to be steadying himself.

"I am sorry I doubted you," Thorin said. Bilbo could see remorse shining back at him through the dwarf's eyes, and his stomach gave a pleasant lurch. He held the dwarf's gaze, despite feeling the urgent need to look away.

"I would have doubted me also," Bilbo said, honestly. And I'm sorry I doubted you. Thorin smiled softly at him and stepped away. Bilbo's arms felt cold without Thorin's hands on them.

"Look, Bilbo," he said pointing off into the distance, eyes wide, vulnerable.

"Erebor," Bilbo whispered, glad that Thorin was not looking at him, and could not see the terror that shone on Bilbo's face as everything rushed back to him. A chilling and terrible feeling overcame him and he swayed on the spot.

"Our home," Thorin said, radiating warmth. And Bilbo tasted blood on his tongue as he bit back a sob.

"Gandalf, why is the eagle here?" Bilbo said quietly, hoping the said bird wouldn't hear him and take offense. Gandalf raised an eyebrow, meeting Bilbo's questioning gaze confidently.

"Well, my dear fellow, I wasn't about to let you die on my watch."

"I was hardly dying," Bilbo said.

"You can hardly fault me for taking precautions. I don't know exactly what, but I know enough to know that you play a part in something much larger. But if you're sure that you are quite well, I shall send Meneldor away," Gandalf said. Bilbo paused.

"I don't suppose Meneldor would be willing to go to Rivendell?" Bilbo asked with hesitance.

"Whatever for?" Gandalf asked.

"Something has gone terribly wrong," Bilbo said, looking away with a shaky breath.

"Well, let us go speak with him. Perhaps we can send a message to Lord Elrond?" Gandalf spoke with a smile, but Bilbo felt the pit of guilt deepen. Gandalf had trusted him. Elrond had trusted him. And unwittingly, all of Middle Earth had relied on him, and he had failed. What was he to do now other than tell Elrond of his failure. He knew better than to hope that Elrond would have some miraculous backup plan.

The climb down from the Carrock was excruciating. Fíli and Kíli had offered to carry Bilbo, but he had declined. The pain grounded him. It kept him from focusing on the ring, and Thorin, and the Arkenstone, and all the other problems that lay between them and the mountain. But mostly the ring. Knowledge was a heavy burden to bear alone, and the possibilities of the future were now chokingly endless. The departure of Meneldor with his message had done nothing to make him feel better.

They were moving quickly, sure that the orcs were on their tail. Bilbo sensed the hopelessness and panic in his companions, and wished he could assure them that they would find safety, and soon. As it was, all he could do was be be quick and silent, and carry his own burdens without complaint. To keep his head from swimming. To resist the urge to scream and rage, or collapse and never move again.

"We need a lookout," Thorin called. "Nori!" Bilbo recognized the rocky pass as the one that he had clambered up to keep an eye on the orcs, the one where he had first glimpsed Beorn.

"No, no, I can do it," he said, to immediate sounds of protest from the group as a whole. He huffed loudly. "No, really, I'm fine. Please let me do this."

"Master Baggins, you're injured and I-" Thorin began.

"Thank you for your concern, but I'm going," Bilbo said, already sneaking up the path, trying his hardest to not let his injuries hinder his movements, digging his nails into his palms. He would not have the Company thinking he's some child in need of protection after all he's done. Just as before, he spotted the orc pack easily, Beorn watching them from the ledge above. He made his way quietly back down the path, anxious faces waiting at the bottom.

"Well, how close is the pack?" Thorin asked, putting his arm out as though he wanted to sweep Bilbo forward with a hand on his back, but thought better of it.

"Too close, couple of leagues, no more. But there is something else," Bilbo said.

"Have the Orcs picked up our scent?" Dwalin growled, clutching his axe menacingly.

"Not yet, but they will, I'm sure. Gandalf d-"

"Did they see you? They saw you," Gandalf said, frowning.

"No! I- Gandalf!" Bilbo huffed, indignant.

"Good, what did I tell you? Quiet as a mouse. Excellent burglar material."

"Let him speak," Thorin growled. Bilbo shot him a grateful, yet surprised nod.

"There is another creature out there. A large black bear," Bilbo said, meeting Gandalf's eye and hoping to convey his meaning. The dwarves started muttering and swearing to themselves. Of all the luck, first orcs, now a giant bear.

"I say we double back," Bofur said.

"No, we can't, the orcs will catch us," Bilbo said, emphasizing his point by waving his hands around. "There must be somewhere we can take shelter." He once again looked at Gandalf, who seemed to catch his meaning.

"Quite right, Bilbo. There is a house, not far from here, where we might take refuge."

"Whose house? Are they friend or foe?" Thorin asked with a suspicious glance at the wizard.

"Neither. He will help us or he will kill us," Gandalf said gravely. Bilbo wondered if Gandalf really thought this, or if he just took pleasure in the dramatics. Beorn had, after all, taken them in with little fuss Last Time.

"Do we have a choice?" Thorin asked, grimacing.

"We do not," Gandalf said as howls split the air. "Run!" Bilbo had not thought this part through. The very first step Bilbo took sent pain jolting through his body. His aching muscles burned and his limbs protested. He could feel his wounds being torn open as he ran, and each breath ripped through his bruised chest and throat like a knife. He was sure he would pass out from the pain before they made it to Beorn's. He focused on his feet. On lifting his legs high enough that he didn't crumple on the spot. He was falling behind, he knew that, but he barrelled on. They tore through creeks, flowers, and a sparse forest. Finally, they came to the edge of the trees and saw a wide field with thick yellow grass, and a large house right on the edge. They were so close. Bilbo knew that the orcs had stopped chasing them, but if things were going the same, they still had a massive bear on their flanks. He risked a glance behind him, only for his heart rate to somehow pick up, despite already being so high he worried for his health. Beorn was gaining on them, and quickly.

"Bilbo, hurry," Gandalf cried, ushering Bilbo into Beorn's barn. His head swam as he staggered into the building. Little black dots danced in his vision and he sunk to his knees in a pile of straw.

"Bilbo?" Ori's voice was distorted, faint.

"I think I need to lie down," Bilbo said, collapsing into the straw as his vision went black.

"I say we should leave, sneak out the back way." Nori's voice swam on the edge of Bilbo's consciousness, the following clamour waking him fully.

"I'm not running from anyone, beast or no," Bilbo blinked blearily from his spot on the ground, watching as Dwalin and Nori invaded each other's personal space, tension high.

"There is no point in arguing," Gandalf said. "We cannot pass through the wilderland without Beorn's help. We'll be hunted down before we ever get to the forest- Ah, Bilbo!" Gandalf said, focusing his piercing blue eyes onto the hobbit. Bilbo shifted into as much of a sitting position as he could, aching body protesting. "I cannot say I am glad to see you awake, but nevertheless-"

"Let me talk to him," Bilbo said quietly. Gandalf had surely had something else in mind, but he gave the hobbit a strange look.

"Talk to who?," Gandalf asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Beorn," Bilbo said, slowly and painfully getting to his feet. "Let me talk to Beorn." Gandalf looked as though he wanted to protest, but Bilbo fixed him with as much of a pointed look as he could muster

"Very well, if you are sure," the wizard said. Bilbo nodded firmly in response and had to hide a wince as the movement sent pain shooting through him. "Our host, Beorn, holds no love for dwarves," Gandalf said loudly. The dwarves turned to look at him, expressions mixed. "We should send our burglar. A hobbit will interest him greatly. Master Baggins will send word to us when it is safe to come out."

"No," Thorin said immediately, to the approval of several of the dwarves. "I will not risk the life of our burglar for the comfort of our host." Thorin's glare was alarming, directed entirely at the wizard.

"Thorin." Bilbo looked Thorin in the eye and put his hand tentatively on the dwarf's arm. Thorin's face registered shock for only a moment, but he did not recoil. "Please trust me."

"Very well," Thorin choked out. "If there is any sign of danger…" Several members of the Company muttered their agreement, some muttering threats under their breath.

"I know," Bilbo said with a smile. He knew he was in no danger, so Thorin and the dwarves' worrying was both touching, and slightly suffocating. "If I run into any trouble, I'll hoot twice like a barn owl, once like a brown owl," he said, winking at Fíli and Kíli, who gave him confused looks. Right, that was Last Time, Bilbo reminded himself.

"What do we have here?"

Bilbo could not help freezing up at the sheer power of Beorn's voice as he approached the skin-changer. Beorn was standing shirtless in the warm summer air, chopping wood with an axe that seemed remarkably similar in size to Bilbo himself. Beorn was, according to Bilbo, far too tall. He kept a good distance away, as a precaution, but even still, he knew that should he stand next to Beorn, he would barely clear the top of the man's knee. Letting out a sigh, Bilbo stopped, planting his feet in an open stance, hands clasped behind his back.

"Good morning," Bilbo said as pleasantly as he could. Beorn's expression did not waver, his suspicious gaze rooting Bilbo to the spot. "I am Bilbo Baggins, at your service."

"What are you?" Beorn asked.

"I am a hobbit of the Shire," Bilbo said. He steeled himself, then continued. "And we have met before."

"No we haven't," said Beorn, hoisting his axe up with a menacing glare. "I would not forget one such as you."

"Quite right," Bilbo said, backing up a little, though still attempting to keep his expression pleasant. "Rather, I have met you, but you have not met me."

This got Beorn's attention, and the skin-changer eyed Bilbo with a mixture of mistrust and curiosity. Bilbo remembered Beorn's fondness for stories quite well.

"Explain yourself to me, halfling," Beorn said. "And do not dawdle, or you will find just how impatient a man I can be."

"Of course," Bilbo said with a tense smile. So far, things were going according to plan. All he had to do was capture Beorn's attention with his tale, and everything would be back on track. "It all started eighty years ago, on April 27th of this very year…"

"Very well, little bunny, you have convinced me. Do bring your friends out. All fourteen of them, that is," Beorn said, having listened quite intently to Bilbo's story, mostly in silence. Bilbo nodded and smiled. He had managed to explain his story quite well, if he did say so himself. Beorn had followed along with great interest, having never heard a story as good as Bilbo's. Despite his explanation, Beorn still was not entirely convinced by Bilbo's rather exceptional tale, vowing to check in on the Company again when the Battle of Five Armies was fated to happen, as, in Beorn's opinion, that was the only thing that Bilbo could not predict or lie to him about. Even so, Beorn had agreed to letting them stay there while needed, and Bilbo knew they had an ally in the overlarge man. Walking back to the giant door to Beorn's barn, he swung it open to see thirteen very concerned dwarves, and a rather bemused wizard.

"Ah, Bilbo," Gandalf said pleasantly. "I am ever so glad you have decided to join us again. Any longer and I fear that our dear dwarves would have kicked down the door for fear of your safety."

"No, no," Bilbo said, waving a hand. "No trouble here. Do come and meet our host." He ushered the dwarves outside where Beorn was waiting.

Thorin did not trust easily, he knew that. After years of hardship, scorn, guilt, and grief, he had grown hardened to others. He struggled especially with non-dwarves. Those who had not shared in the grief of losing Erebor, of their kingdom's fading might and glory. While Thorin still felt the pain and responsibility for the fate of his kind, he also knew that they had suffered similarly. He could understand them, felt a kinship with them that he could not share with others.

When Thorin had first stepped foot in the Shire, with its rolling hills, quaint little homes, and peaceful people, he was torn between disgust and anger. He took in the small people with their soft, clean skin, their rounded bellies and happy smiles and thought them weak. These were people who did not suffer. People who did not go without meals, who went their whole lives without once doing hard work. They knew nothing of pain or loss.

Upon meeting Bilbo Baggins, he hadn't bothered to hide his thoughts. Bilbo was exactly what he had expected from what little he had seen of the Shire. He was well fed, well groomed, and altogether too excitable. He had seemed so utterly helpless, and genuinely upset at the raucous the dwarves caused. Thorin had known instantly that he wanted nothing to do with the hobbit. He already worried for his sister's sons, young as they were, he did not need to now look after a helpless halfling as well.

Somehow, however, the hobbit had grown on him. He wasn't quite sure when his disdain and become, well, not that. He wasn't quite sure what he felt for the man. Responsible, and protective, certainly, but there was something else. Was it respect? Surely to some degree. Truthfully, he owed him a life debt, though Thorin was not sure how he felt about that. The hobbit was not living up to any of Thorin's expectations. A good thing, as none of them would have shown him in a positive light.

Things were quiet at Beorn's, which meant that Thorin had a lot of time to think. This was not particularly different from usual, however there was a distinct air of safety that the group had not truly felt since their night at Bag End, which meant that Thorin could think without having to keep his guard up. He wasn't sure if he appreciated this or not, having a tendency to get wrapped up in the "what if's" and the "should have's". He had taken a moment to sit on a bench outside of Beorn's place early in the morning, hoping to have a quick smoke before anyone else woke up, but he was shaken from his thoughts by the door opening.

"Oh, I'm so sorry to interrupt," Bilbo said hastily, pipe in hand, clearly intending to retreat back into the house.

"It's no trouble," Thorin said, gesturing to the empty space next to him on the bench. Bilbo hesitated for a moment before sitting down, as far from Thorin as possible. Bilbo lit his pipe and the two sat in silence for far longer than was comfortable. "I did not take you for an early riser when you have the opportunity to sleep in."

"I didn't use to be," Bilbo said. "I used to be able to sleep through anything. Not so much anymore." Bilbo said with a shrug. Thorin said nothing. He wished he could see Bilbo's face, but he dared not turn to look at his companion.

"Master Baggins?"

"Yes, Thorin?"

"I do not mean to pry," he said, not looking at the hobbit, suddenly nervous. "But I wish to know, why did you come back? In the goblin tunnels. Why did you come back? You could have gone back to Rivendell, but you did not." Bilbo was silent for a very long while, and Thorin was suddenly very concerned that he had crossed a line. He busied himself with his pipe, letting his hair hang over his face so the hobbit wouldn't see the discomfort there. After a good long while of painstaking silence, Bilbo spoke.

"After my parents died, I convinced myself that I was happy," Bilbo said, face empty of emotion. "Not that they had died, of course, but just in general, I suppose. And I was. Or, content, rather. I didn't know of any other way to be. But I was alone, and quite lonely, though I honestly didn't realize. But then I met someone." Bilbo looked very sad and very small in that moment. With Bilbo's eyes fixed on his own fumbling hands, Thorin took the opportunity to watch the hobbit. There was a deep grief there. Something that matched the downturn of his lips and the constant furrow in his brow. "I would have stayed with him," he admitted in a near whisper, and Thorin felt like he was intruding on something incredibly personal. The hobbit was leaning on his legs, staring at his pipe clenched in his fists. "I would have followed him to the end of the world, if he'd asked. But he died. He and his boys." Bilbo unclenched his hands and the grimace on his face was replaced with a twisted, sad smile. "It was a tragedy, really. They had become my family, and I'd like to think that I could have had a place in theirs."

"I'm sorry," Thorin said, words feeling hollow and wooden on his tongue. Bilbo jumped, as if just remembering Thorin was there.

"Nothing to be sorry for," Bilbo said, seeming to choke on the words. "Going back to Bag End, though, I realized that while it had all the comforts and memories of home, it couldn't truly be when I was alone in it. Home is where the heart is, or so they say," Bilbo said with a bitter smile. Thorin couldn't help but wonder if that meant that Bilbo's was buried. "Anyways, that is why I came back. I know what it is to wish desperately, even foolishly, for home. Now, that is not in the cards for me, but I would like to help you get yours back, if I can."

"I apologize for making assumptions about your character," Thorin said, meaning it with every fiber of his being.

"No need to be sorry," Bilbo said, although Thorin had the distinct impression that Bilbo appreciated the apology nonetheless. "I would have doubted me too, I should think. I do, in fact. Doubt myself, that is." Bilbo's voice trailed off quietly, leaving Thorin feeling strangely nervous. He said nothing, merely hummed and brought his pipe to his lips.

"May I ask," Thorin began tentatively. He did not know why he felt the need to ask this question, but it came up unbidden anyways. "What was the nature of your relationship?" Bilbo's mouth fell open in shock and he whipped around to look at Thorin, who tried not to get lost in Bilbo's wide hazel eyes.

"P-professional," Bilbo finally choked out, looking away from Thorin's gaze. That was a lie, and Thorin knew it. Although Thorin had never truly felt it himself, had never allowed himself to even consider the possibility, he saw it plainly in Bilbo's eyes. He could see it in the hobbit's face. In the sunken eyes that had haunted Thorin's thoughts since he had first woken Bilbo from a night terror all those months ago in his very own bed. It made Thorin's heart ache, and before he knew it, he was sharing something he hadn't spoken about in years.

"I lost my brother."

"You had a brother?" Bilbo asked, voice strained. He was frowning guiltily and started to chew on the tip of his pipe, which was already covered in what looked like fresh teeth marks.

"Frerin," Thorin said. "He died in battle when we were little more than children. Not long after Erebor fell. The same battle where Balin lost his husband," Thorin added.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't know," Bilbo said, looking distraught, turning towards Thorin so their knees almost touched. Thorin tried not to focus on their proximity.

"I didn't tell you," Thorin said. Bilbo's frown deepened. "He was younger than me, and much more-" he fumbled, unsure of what to say.

"Agreeable?" Bilbo suggested with the ghost of a smile.

"I am agreeable," Thorin grumbled, but as Bilbo let out a laugh, the first one Thorin had heard from him in a long time, he felt his own laughter spill from his lips. "Kíli reminds me so much of him sometimes," Thorin admitted. "He was kind and he laughed easily. But he favoured Fíli in looks."

"You must miss him a great deal," Bilbo said with a sad smile. Thorin did not answer. Did not want to admit that even still, his heart ached every day, wishing nothing more than to have taken his brother's place.

"He would have liked you," Thorin said unthinkingly but honestly. Bilbo's eyebrows rose a fraction.

"Oh?"

"He always liked nice things," Thorin said, wincing at his choice of words.

"You think I'm nice?" Bilbo asked with a hint of sarcasm.

"No. I mean, yes," Thorin said, unsure of why he was suddenly so hesitant, tripping over words like a child. "That is to say, you can be. When you wish to be."

"Thank you, I think," Bilbo said, leaning away from Thorin ever so slightly. Thorin watched their knees grow farther apart rather than look the hobbit in the eyes.

"Bilbo?"

"Yes, Thorin?"

"Thank you for saving my life."

"Yes, well, someone had to do it," Bilbo said, tone lightening slightly. Thorin felt the edges of his mouth lift as if of their own accord.

"I mean no offence, but I would like you to be taught to defend yourself properly. I will arrange lessons with Dwalin once you have recovered." Thorin expected Bilbo to be offended, or angry, even, but the hobbit just gave him a very calculating look, chewing on his pipe again.

"Yes, I think that would be a good idea. Something tells me the worst is yet to come." Bilbo's expression was pinched, just barely hiding a vast array of emotions that Thorin couldn't even begin to unpack. "It was never going to be easy, was it?"

"No. Things do not come easy for us." He had included Bilbo in the "us" unintentionally, but found that he meant it. Bilbo had irrevocably become part of the "us", and Thorin would not change that.