Chapter 8

Consciousness came back to him abruptly. Thorin suppressed a wince. The back of his head throbbed, his shoulders ached, and his arms were so numb they hurt.

He opened his eyes just barely, so he could take an inconspicuous look at his surroundings. The brightness of a fire immediately seared into his vision. Next came a halo of white stone illuminated by the flames.

The watchtower. Thorin turned his head slightly, surveying the room. It was nighttime, and the forest outside was almost pitch black. Three men, lit orange by the fire, stood around the room. The fourth, the one who must have delivered the blow to his head, was nowhere to be seen.

A rope bound his wrists above his head, and the other end was likely tied to one of the branches of the tree sheltering the watchtower. The men had strung him up so his feet barely touched the floor.

Thorin restrained a growl of frustration. His lack of planning and his carelessness had led to this—had put him at the mercy of thieves, though perhaps that was a poor choice of words. These men had no honor or mercy, and would likely kill him once they uncovered whatever they wanted to know. If they hadn't wanted something from him, they would have slit his throat after he'd been knocked out.

One of the thieves approached him. Thorin decided there was no use in pretending to be unconscious anymore and opened his eyes fully, glaring at the man.

"Oh, he's awake." The thief turned back to his companions. "Might as well get this over with now."

"Where is Phineas Ward?" Thorin asked as the man turned back to him.

His response was a fist in his gut. Thorin grunted, though mainly because the blow jostled his strained arms. The man would have to hit harder than that if he wanted to hurt a dwarf-witcher wearing armor.

"We'll be asking the questions, here." A second man stepped beside the first.

Thorin pressed his toes against the ground to steady himself. They'd have to hit very hard indeed if they wanted to get anything from him.

"Ward knew you were coming as soon as you set foot on Ard Skellig. He has eyes all over the islands. He's long since moved from this watchtower, but he sent a group of us to wait for you here."

His thoughts raced back to everyone they'd interacted with on the island—Captain Carter and his crew, the woman in the tavern, the shopkeeper. Which one of them had contacted the thieves?

His thoughts briefly strayed to Bilbo, but he dismissed any suspicions. The halfling had his trust. He only hoped he was not stupid enough to risk confronting the thieves. The man hadn't mentioned him at all, and Thorin hoped that was because the spy had deemed Bilbo too insignificant to acknowledge. Between a witcher and a halfling, it wasn't hard to decide who posed the greater threat.

"What we want to know," the man stepped closer, "is who ratted us out in the first place. Who told you Ward was hiding out in this watchtower?"

They likely wanted to find the merchant who had told him and cut his throat, to further cover their tracks. Thorin eyed the dagger at the man's hip. He cared not about concealing the identity of the man, but as soon as they learned he was dead, his use would expire and they would cut his throat.

"Have you not eyes on the mainland?" Thorin eyed both men, trying to gauge how much they knew.

The first man's fist cracked across his jaw, though he suspected from his barely-concealed wince that the blow had hurt him more than it hurt Thorin. He withdrew his hand and growled, "Made of stone, these dwarvish bastards." He withdrew his knife, but instead of using it, he walked over to the fire and placed it between the logs. The blade shone red with the reflected light of the flames.

"Who gave us up?" asked the second man. "Was it Omal? Son of a bitch disappeared after we left Velen."

Thorin scanned the room. He needed to figure out how to free himself, and quickly. The branch above was too sturdy to pull down, and the knots too thick to tear apart. He hadn't the maneuverability required to use a Sign, either.

"Answer the question, dwarf, or we'll have to see if you're immune to fire as well."

He eyed the knife, which was beginning to glow with heat. They'd find that answer to be in the negative.

His pulse picked up, pounding hard against his throat. There was no way out of this that he could see. But he could not forsake his kin back in his homeworld. Defeat was not an option for a son of Durin.

"It was a merchant who told me of the watchtower." Feeding them just enough information to prolong their patience would buy him time to figure out a way to escape.

"A merchant?" The three thieves exchanged glances, as though trying to calculate which of their old companions would fit the description. "Give us his name."

A slight rustle just outside the watchtower caught his attention, and as he focused his hearing, he could hear the faint sounds of a heartbeat and light breathing.

Bilbo. Thorin silently cursed and focused his attention back on his captors, though none of them showed any sign of hearing anything out of the ordinary. It seemed it was too much for him to hope that the halfling would have the common sense to run. He scanned the shadows outside of the room, searching for Bilbo so he could signal for him to flee.

An intense heat forced him to refocus. One of the men had retrieved the knife and was holding the hot blade next to his face. Touch my beard, thief, and I'll tear you in half.

"What was his name?"

Thorin met his gaze and said, "He gave me none."

"Did he have long auburn hair, like an elf?" one asked.

"I spoke to a man, not an elf."

"That's not what he asked." The blade pressed closer, and Thorin fought back a wince as pain sizzled on his cheek.

A cry sounded from outside the watchtower, making everyone turn. The sounds of a scuffle followed, and a moment later, the fourth man entered the room, dragging Bilbo behind him and tossing him onto the floor.

On one side of the man's face, a black eye was rapidly forming, and he brandished Bilbo's walking stick with his other hand. "This little rat jumped me when I was coming back."

Despite his growing sense of panic and exasperation, Thorin felt a small measure of pride as well. Bilbo had not been caught without a fight, it seemed.

The man with the knife turned back to Thorin. "Is he with you?"

He spared a moment to look over the halfling. Bilbo had picked himself up and was kneeling on the ground, shaking badly. The last thing he wanted was to reveal any connection the two of them had. He could handle any sort of torture they inflicted on him, but to think they would harm Bilbo was nearly unbearable.

"I've never seen him before," he said, hoping Bilbo would play along.

That was the opposite of what he did. "But I have seen you before," Bilbo said, pushing himself to his feet. The three men near him tensed up, hands hovering about their weapons. "And i-it has taken me a good long while to finally catch up to you."

What on earth are you doing? Thorin's jaw clenched. Bilbo could not be that stupid.

"Gentlemen, have you no idea who this is?" The halfling glanced around at the men.

"Some dwarf we stole from a while back," one said, though it was clear Bilbo had caught his attention.

"N-Not just any dwarf. He is a witcher as well. Didn't you get a good look at his swords?"

The man with the knife left his side and walked out of sight. Metal clanked, and he returned with Thorin's swords clasped in one fist. "These?" He held them up and studied them. "What about them?"

Thorin eyed the blades. They were so close, mere inches from where he was, yet he had no way of reaching them.

"Well, there's two, as you can see." As he spoke, Bilbo's voice became steadier. "And everyone knows only witchers carry two swords."

"So he hunts monsters," the man who had dragged him in said. "What of it?"

Bilbo eyed the mace hanging at the man's hip and subconsciously took a tiny step back. "Well, this is n-no ordinary dwarf, or witcher, or any combination of the two." He glanced at Thorin, and the firelight reflected in his eyes revealed just how afraid he was. "This is Thorin o-of Erebor, and he's got a rather large bounty on his head."

At this, all four men perked up. "Bounty?"

"How much?"

"Who's giving it?"

"Well, I just so happen to have the placard with all the details." Bilbo reached a shaking hand towards his coat. "Gentlemen, if I may…"

Thorin knew exactly what was underneath his coat, and knew as well that Bilbo would die for what he was about to attempt. "Stop this," he said, unable to keep silent any longer.

"Quiet, witcher," the man with the knife said, then turned greedy eyes back to Bilbo. "How much is it?"

"I've got all the details right here." Bilbo slid one hand inside his coat.

Thorin was so tense his muscles ached. Bilbo, you fool, don't you dare.

Out came the flash of his last knife. To Thorin's surprise, this was followed by a sudden release of the tension holding him up. The blade clanged against the wall behind him as he landed on his feet.

Instead of wielding it himself, Bilbo had used the knife to free Thorin.

The three men next to him shouted in alarm and drew their weapons. Bilbo hit the ground, barely dodging the mace that swung towards his head.

Thorin's arms were too numb to use at first, so he rammed his shoulder into the man next to him, sending him to the ground. The hot blade flew from his grip, and the two swords clattered to the ground. A well-aimed kick ensured the man stayed down, then Thorin bent and grabbed his steel sword, drawing it and tossing away the sheath.

He charged towards the others. His arms were still numb, enough to make his first few strikes clumsy, but as he fought, feeling and precision returned like warmth after stepping inside from a cold day. He spared a glance to ensure Bilbo had safely slipped out of the watchtower as the thieves focused on the more immediate threat, then pressed his attack with swift and powerful blows.

The first man to fall landed in a heap on the floor, choking on his own blood. The second, Thorin knocked into the fire, and the man screamed as the flames ate at his back. He sunk his sword into his stomach, then turned to face the third.

Even with his heavy mace in hand, he had chosen to retreat. The underbrush rustled as the man sprinted into the forest. Thorin ran after him, and began closing the distance between them.

"Face me, you coward!"

The man seemed to realize that, even with his longer legs, he could not outrun a witcher. He turned and swung his mace about in a powerful horizontal blow. It was the same move that had brought him down the first time. Thorin ducked under the weapon and buried his sword in the man's chest.

The thief fell, and the quiet sounds of the forest at night returned to the air, though the stench of blood remained. Thorin took a deep breath to calm himself. That had been too close. Perhaps he would not have survived at all, had it not been for—

"Bilbo?" Thorin swiveled, searching for the halfling. He'd lost track of him in his pursuit of the last thief.

"I'm here," came the call from the watchtower. Thorin let out a bone-deep sigh of relief and headed back up the hill.

Bilbo was waiting for him outside, clutching his walking stick as though afraid he would have to use it again.

"It's done. I finished off the last one." He nodded for him to lower the weapon and picked up his stride.

He put aside the branch, but remained tense as Thorin did not slow his advance. "Look, I-I know you said I should wait behind, but after a few hours I started to get worried, and if you were in danger, I couldn't just stand by and do nothing, and—" Bilbo stopped as Thorin reached him and wrapped both arms around his shoulders, pulling him close. He stiffened in shock for a moment, then relaxed and returned the embrace.

Thorin held him in silence for a while, listening to the beat of his heart. How close he had come to seeing him hurt. And how terrified he was of ever letting that happen.

He pulled back and checked him over for injuries. "I am sorry I doubted you. You saved my life tonight."

"You had good reason to doubt me." Bilbo smiled up at him. "But I'm very glad I was able to save you. I-I sort of came up with the whole bounty thing on the spot."

"Your quick thinking has proved more valuable than I could have imagined." He returned the smile and reached up to squeeze his shoulders. "And you have incredible aim."

Even in the dim light he could see the red coloring his cheeks. Then Bilbo looked down and frowned. "Ah, I won't say I didn't appreciate you hugging me, but you've just gotten blood all over my coat."

"It'll wash off. Better theirs than yours." Thorin released him and stepped into the watchtower. His relief began to fade as he realized they had reached a dead end. Phineas Ward had not been at the watchtower after all, and he had no idea where he had gone instead.

He walked over to the first man he had attacked and checked his pulse—nothing. The blow to the head had killed him.

A strangled groan sounded from behind. Thorin stood and turned around. The man laying over the dying fire twitched, and a weak, shuddering breath racked his body. He walked over and pulled him from the fire, then grimaced as the smell of burning flesh clouded the air.

Bilbo, who had followed him into the room, coughed and held one hand over his mouth. "I-I'll be waiting outside."

Thorin nodded at him and turned back to the man. His eyes were glassy with pain, and he gave him a quick shake to try and rouse him. "Where is Phineas Ward? Tell me, and I'll give you a quick death."

Bloodied lips moved soundlessly for a moment, then he managed, "Island. Near...Spik'roog…"

"Where? Which island?" Thorin consulted his memory of the map. There were a couple tiny isles to the north and west, but without a direction, it was too risky and time-consuming to search each one.

"A-A m—" A blood-soaked cough made his chest jerk violently. "Map. Need a map."

"Where is this map?" Thorin shook him again, but the man's head lolled to the side with one last rasping breath.

A quick search of the room yielded nothing. The map, wherever it was, lay in the possession of another thief, someone who had not stayed at the watchtower. The information was but a scrap, and ultimately useless. Thorin retrieved his other sword and growled out a curse in Khuzdul.

"Did he tell you anything?" Bilbo asked as he walked outside.

Thorin handed him his knife, having retrieved it during his search. "Ward has moved his men and his stash to a smaller island. Supposedly, there is a map revealing its location, but…"

"We don't know where the map is," he finished, reading the rest on Thorin's face.

"Aye." He stalked down the hillside, frustration coiling his muscles into tense knots. The situation was vexing enough, but he was angry at himself as well. If he had been more restrained in his attacks against the men, he might have kept one of them alive long enough to learn the location of this map.

"Well, I suppose our next step is to start looking at the smaller islands, right?" Bilbo asked, hurrying to match his stride.

"They'd see us coming before we ever reached the shore."

"What other option do we have?"

None. Giving up at his point was unthinkable. Thorin turned to glance at him. Just as it had been at the docks, they were presented with a blocked path. Bilbo had found a way through then, and with any luck, they would find one this time as well.

Neither of them would have been able to come this far alone. But perhaps together, they would make it to the end.

They walked along the path in subdued silence. The forest was quiet but for the sounds of animals and the rustling of trees, though Thorin kept an eye out for spies. It was unlikely there would be any more thieves in this area, but it was vigilance that would save them as they neared the island.

Thorin rolled his shoulders, which were still sore from hanging from a tree for several hours. He'd been fortunate not to sustain any serious injuries, and the burn on his cheek was already healing. Bilbo was unharmed as well, though he seemed shaken up by the events at the watchtower.

"Are you all right?"

Bilbo looked up sharply, as though surprised by the question. "I-I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

Back at the watchtower had been the first time Bilbo had directly seen him kill other people. Thorin suspected that, rather than the threat of the bandits, had been the cause for his tense silence. Others had been filled with disgust and fear of him for less than that.

"Those men would have killed us if I hadn't killed them first. I said it before and I mean it now more than ever—the men we are facing are dangerous, and they would afford us no mercy."

"I know," Bilbo said softly. "But we beat them, didn't we?"

We. There was his answer. He still considered the two of them to be a team.

A flutter of air near his ear made him turn. A tiny brown bird had alighted on his shoulder. Instinctively, Thorin reached up to swat it away, but the bird merely flapped out of his reach and settled on his other shoulder.

"I think it likes you," Bilbo said, laughter lighting up his gaze.

The bird chirped and hopped onto his still-outstretched forearm. Thorin studied the small animal. It looked, smelled, and sounded like a normal bird. But as he looked into its tiny black eyes, he found an unusually acute intelligence gazing back at him.

He drew in a breath. "Sirene?"

The bird chirped once in affirmation, then flew towards the trees.

"Um." Bilbo blinked. "Do you know this bird?"

"No. But I do know who's controlling it." He set off after it and gestured for Bilbo to follow. "Come. I think we may have found someone who can help us."

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please review, it would mean the world to me!