Chapter 10

Svorlag was a tiny village on the southeastern bay of Spikeroog. Its size proved to be both a blessing and a curse for Thorin. It would be easy to find the man he was tracking among the inhabitants, but the small community also meant it would be difficult to do so inconspicuously.

For the time being, he was perched on a ridge above the town, searching for a yellow tunic as the people went about their business. It was possible that the man had already left the village, and by waiting here he was letting the trail grow cold. But venturing inside and asking questions could alert the thief to his presence and give him an opportunity to flee undetected. So he was stuck here, weighing his options.

Briefly, he wondered what Bilbo might have suggested they do. But the thought was too painful to entertain for long. He had made it this far in part due to the halfling's guidance, but none of that would have been worth the cost of his life.

Thorin glanced down at his hands. He had scrubbed them clean of Bilbo's blood in a stream nearby, and the freezing water had left his skin numb and raw.

He returned his attention to the town below, and tensed up as a flash of yellow caught his eye. The man walking through town matched Sirene's description exactly, from the color of his tunic to the bow slung over one shoulder. He entered one of the buildings, though not the one Thorin knew to be the inn.

There was no reason to delay, now that he had the man's location. He rose from his crouch and descended the ridge, staying near the trees to keep out of sight. None looked up as he crept towards the building in question.

Thankfully, it was on the edge of town, and Thorin was free to crouch near the back of the house. From its small size and the line of clothes strung along one side, he assumed it was someone's home. Perhaps it belonged to the thief, or an acquaintance of his.

He stood below the window and listened. The floorboards groaned as someone moved about the room. There was the creak of a door opening and closing.

Thorin sidled to the corner and peered around it, scanning the area. The house was in plain view, and there were too many people about. If he decided to enter and forcibly take the map, he'd have a whole village's worth of witnesses at his doorstep. If the people knew and favored this man, the odds would be stacked even greater against him.

In that case, he would have to wait either until night fell or the man left the town. The former, Thorin thought with a glance at the sky, would not be coming soon.

He settled in to wait.

Night fell, and the house did not stir once.

Thorin shifted, anxiety and suspicion growing in the back of his mind. Something wasn't right. The man should have left the house by now, or at least given some indication that he was moving around within. He had strained his hearing to its limits, but found nothing.

The village was dark now, and the streets mostly empty. Thorin crept to the front of the house and slipped inside.

The interior was dark, cold, and empty. Thorin climbed to the attic above, but found only a couple of small barrels and a broken worktable. A chill swept over him, and he clenched his jaw in frustration. How had the man left without his knowledge?

He slid down the ladder, then froze as a strange, hollow creak sounded from beneath his feet. Dropping to the ground, he tried to lift the pile of sacks next to the ladder, and found them attached to the floor. Further inspection revealed a loose section in the wooden boards—a trapdoor. The sacks, filled with nothing but straw, had been tied to the wood to conceal the door when it was pulled shut.

Blood roared through his ears. The man had slipped through his fingers hours ago.

Thorin threw open the door and leapt inside. Mud squelched beneath the bottom of his boots when he landed. The tunnel before him was cramped and crudely made. Even with his enhanced senses, he could barely see more than a few feet in. But there was no time to find a torch, and there was no need for caution, either. The man had likely passed this way several hours ago.

Keeping one hand on the muddy wall of the tunnel to guide his progress, Thorin set off at a jog down the tunnel.

Within the hour, mud turned to stone, and Thorin was able to get a better sense of his surroundings. The tunnel was connected to a naturally occurring cave. A few minutes later, moonlight illuminated the uneven walls.

The faint, dry scent of ash caught his attention. He knelt down at the mouth of the cave, eyes running over the smears of gray dust on the ground. The man had made camp here and tried to obscure evidence of his presence, though not well enough to escape the notice of a witcher. Still, the thief had left some time ago. He would have to hurry to catch up to him.

The cave opened up into another forest, and the soil was soft enough for Thorin to pick up the man's footprints. He set off at a swift pace, following the trail through the woods. Worry nagged him with each step—worry that he was too late, that his chance of finding the thief was gone forever, along with his way home. Irritation at his own mistake clouded his mind as well.

He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he almost missed the creak of a bowstring ahead of him. Thorin threw himself to the side just as an arrow flew past his head.

"Who are you? Why are you following me?" came a call from somewhere nearby, followed by the sound of another arrow being nocked.

He said nothing as he ducked behind a tree, breathing hard.

The brush rustled with advancing footsteps. Thorin put one hand on his sword and listened. The man was only a few yards away. He needed only to reach him without letting him loose another arrow.

"Whatever you want, you won't get it. You'll have to kill me first." The thief was nearly upon him.

"My thoughts exactly." Thorin drew his sword and lunged.

The man dodged his first swing with a cry of surprise, unintentionally firing his arrow somewhere into the brush. Before he could attack again, the man turned on his heel and fled.

Thorin broke into a sprint as well, but the man was fast, his light gear and long legs only aiding his flight. In addition to that, it was clear he knew this forest well, by the way he picked certain trails and leapt over fallen trees and boulders with practiced ease.

On the other hand, Thorin was beginning to fall behind. He pushed himself to go faster, then sheathed his sword so it wouldn't slow him down.

The man was not running in a straight line, but slowly maneuvering to double back the way he had come. Perhaps he thought he could escape through the cave.

Up ahead, the thief vaulted over a pair of boulders and disappeared into the trees. Thorin shoved aside a stray branch and made to follow him. A sharp tug to his ankle made him curse, then the world tilted upside down as his foot was dragged upwards.

The tree branch above him rustled, and Thorin gasped as blood rushed to his head. He'd been so focused on following the man's path, he hadn't noticed the snare until he'd stepped right into it.

The man hadn't been doubling back to the cave—he'd been leading Thorin straight into a trap.

Strung up like a rabbit twice in as many days. Spitting curses in Khuzdul, he drew his knife and cut through the cord holding him up. Thorin grunted as he hit the ground, then pushed himself to his feet. The trap had barely held him up, but those precious few seconds had been enough to give his quarry a considerable lead.

Thorin climbed up and over the boulders and scanned the forest. The trees had gone silent. He scanned the ground and eventually found the man's tracks. Following them instead of the man would slow him down more than he could afford. Now that the thief knew he was being pursued, he would take care not to leave a trail. It was all too possible he would flee the island and Thorin would lose the lead entirely.

With his heart nearly in his throat, he followed the trail as quickly as he could. As he'd predicted, the man had turned back before reaching the cave and headed north once more. He had retraced his steps, retrieved one of his arrows, and…

Thorin stopped dead, eyes racing over the sight before him. The man was sprawled motionless on the grass, one side of his forehead reddening with a rapidly growing bruise. Had he knocked himself out?

There were no low-hanging branches in the area. He scanned the trees, but found no one. Keeping his senses alert, he knelt down next to the thief and searched his tunic.

"Looking for this?"

Thorin stood and spun around in the same motion, and his heart jumped into his throat. Bilbo Baggins stood at the edge of the clearing, alive and well, with a folded piece of paper held in one hand and his walking stick in the other. His coat and shirt had been cleaned of blood, and even under the moonlight he could see the healthy glow of his skin, though a couple bandages were still visible just beneath his collar.

Trying to keep his breathing even, he reached out. "Give it to me."

At first, Bilbo hesitated as if he wanted to make a snarky comment, but something in Thorin's expression prompted him to hand it over wordlessly.

Thorin opened the map and looked it over, though not a single line truly registered in his vision. Bilbo must have been the one to knock the man out—but how had he found him in the first place? "Sirene told you where I was going," he guessed out loud.

"She refused to, actually. But I knew you were probably heading north, so I followed you the best I could. When I heard all those cracking branches and pounding footsteps, I knew I'd ended up in the right place."

The ire simmering beneath his skin flared up. "You should not have come."

Bilbo crossed his arms and stepped closer. "Really? So you'd rather have just let this man get away?"

His jaw clenched. Once again, he was in the halfling's debt. Once again, he never would have progressed without his help. And he had repaid him in nothing but injury.

The paper crumpled in his fist. "Why do you continue to follow me?" He met Bilbo's gaze and let his anger blaze freely in his voice. "Whatever you hoped to find was nothing but a false promise."

Bilbo frowned, but stood his ground. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"I am a witcher. I work alone. I told you at the beginning that there was a reason for this." Thorin took a step towards him. "And I'll tell it to you now. I knew you wouldn't be able to keep up with me, that you would only be a hindrance to my cause."

"What utter nonsense!" He planted his hands on his hips and moved closer. "A hindrance? Did you hit your head as well?"

"This is not your place," Thorin said, his voice growing taut with the anxiety and pain that had plagued him since the leshen attacked. He would rather Bilbo be gone than follow him into danger again, and if he had to push him away to make that happen—so be it. "Would that I had never taken that contract, we had never met, and you had never stepped foot outside your door to follow me to Novigrad."

Bilbo flinched at his words as if they'd been accompanied by a physical blow, and when he spoke next, his voice had lowered a fraction. "You say that as if he haven't been working together and helping each other this entire time."

"That is an exaggeration." Thorin stepped forward, making the halfling tilt his head back to maintain eye contact. "Every single time, it has been me drawing my sword for your protection, and for what?"

At this, his voice raised in volume and temper as he said, "Well, in case you haven't noticed, I was the one who stopped that fellow there from getting away. I got us onto the ship. I freed you from those bandits. When we faced that leshen, it was me who got injured, not you!"

"And that is precisely why you never should have come," Thorin said, raising his voice as well. "I cannot afford to work with someone so vulnerable. I refuse to let this continue. You will board the first ship back to the mainland, and I will not accept your partnership any longer."

Genuine hurt flashed on Bilbo's face, despite the stubborn set to his jaw. He took a deep breath through his nose, as if bracing himself for something. "If we're done working together, then there's no reason for me to listen to what you say anymore. I am going to get back what was stolen from me, with or without your help."

Now it was Thorin's turn to be dumbfounded. "What in Mahal's name are you talking about?"

"Not everything is about you, you know." Bilbo glared up at him, one finger reaching up to jab him in the chest. He was so close their noses were barely brushing. "I didn't do this because of you. I can work just fine on my own. And I don't need you."

"I don't need you either," Thorin said, his voice coming out as little more than a rasp.

"Good. Fine. That's fine."

"I don't need—"

And then, quick and unexpected, Bilbo's lips gave the barest brush against Thorin's. They stared at each other for a moment, wide-eyed and breathing hard, and Thorin felt a crescendo of burning longing surge through his veins. His hands moved forward of their own volition, cupping the sides of Bilbo's face and pulling him in for another kiss.

Bilbo stiffened for a second, then pushed against him, hands gripping his shoulders and pulling him closer. His mouth was soft, but pressed against Thorin's with an insistence that set his heartbeat at an even faster pace.

Thorin gripped him tighter but pulled back an inch, touching their foreheads lightly and letting out a ragged, "Bilbo," just before his lips were consumed again. Desire coursed through his veins as he let one hand travel up to his curly hair, fingers twining through the soft locks.

Again, they pulled apart, leaving only a breath's space between them. When Bilbo kissed him again, it was slow and gentle. Even so, Thorin felt heat flush all the way to the roots of his hair. This—a part of him buried deep inside had wanted this for quite some time. The sounds of the forest, the coolness of the night air, even the earth beneath his feet had fallen away as all of his senses converged on the halfling wrapped in his arms.

Bilbo pressed his lips to the corner of his mouth, his cheek, then leaned back to look at him with bright eyes. Fondness. Thorin had believed that to be the extent of Bilbo's feelings towards him. And once again, he had surprised him, proven him wrong.

The anger that had rushed through his veins a minute before crumbled. In its place was a startling fragility that made him clutch tighter at Bilbo. "I-I almost lost you."

"I know." His hand came up to cup his jaw, one thumb brushing over his cheek. "Now, what do you say we have a look at that map?"

The map. Thorin blinked as reality reasserted itself. There was still an unconscious man lying not two feet away. And his task was yet to be completed. He disentangled himself from Bilbo's arms and bent down to pick up the piece of paper, which must have fallen from his grip at some point.

The details on the paper were unfamiliar. The mainland was visible on the right side, but the island off its coast looked nothing like Skellige.

"Oh, give me that. You're holding it the wrong way." Bilbo took the paper from his hands and rotated it. He pointed to the landmass on the edge of the map. "This has to be part of Spikeroog, right?"

Thorin withdrew his map of the entire island and held it next to the new one.

"The coastlines match up right here," Bilbo said, indicating the area on the map. "See?"

He glanced between the two and frowned. The island in the center of the new map was not on the old one. Then realization dawned. "A hidden island." It was the perfect hideout for a group of thieves, much more so than an abandoned watchtower.

"It looks like the island is surrounded by rocks." Bilbo pointed again to the small shapes surrounding the landmass. "And there's a route marked here. A way through the rocks without crashing one's boat, I presume."

Thorin let out a sigh of relief. Finally, the way forward had become clear once more.

Bilbo locked eyes with him. "So, are we doing this together, or separately? Because I'm going to finish this no matter what."

His shoulders stiffened. He'd nearly forgotten the issue still clouding the air between them. He held his gaze and shook his head. "It's too dangerous. The leshen nearly killed you, back there."

"I know. I was the one bleeding out, remember? And yet, I'm still here."

"Why?"

"Because I want to do this. I told you, the day we boarded that ship, that I wasn't going to let other people solve my problems anymore."

At the mention of that day, barely two weeks ago, it occurred to Thorin just how much Bilbo had changed during that time. He was stronger now, more self-assured. The determination and fearlessness he had displayed since the first day they had met shone brighter than ever.

"It was never about you, Thorin, and what you were going to let me do."

"I never said it was."

"I know." A smile quirked on his lips. "But I would like to finish this with you, if you will have me."

His mind was still running over the events of the past few days, the conversations they had shared, everything the two of them had done—analyzing, wondering, doubting. But even as questions and reservations surfaced and multiplied, the answer had already found its way to his tongue.

"I would have you by my side, Bilbo Baggins, so that we may finish this together."