Of Braids & Belt Buckles (Part three)
Bilbo stumbled down the slope over rocks and tree roots, away from the screams of the creature.
"Bagginses! We hates it! We hates it forever!" The voice rang, following him as he ran. Bilbo stopped to breathe, heart pounding in his ears as he gulped down air. Hobbits were definitely not designed for running, he thought. Turning his head, Bilbo listened for noise, any sign of Thorin or the company. When he could no longer hear his heart beating, and his labored breathing had calmed down, the hobbit caught the faint sound of voices on the breeze. Bilbo crept towards the noise until he could make out the shapes of the company below, Gandalf included. Someone inquired as to Bilbo's whereabouts.
"We will not be seeing any more of mister Baggins, I should think," said one of the voices, unmistakably Thorin's.
"Why not?" asked one of the dwarves, maybe Bofur, Bilbo couldn't see. He moved closer, and immediately wished that he hadn't. The expression on Thorin's face was one of pure disgust.
"He's left." Thorin said. "He went back to the shire like he wanted, we'll continue without him."
Bilbo frowned. When had this hatred set in? Of course, the hobbit knew that he was to blame, he was the one who had let it get this far, but he'd never expected this. Bilbo had to set things straight. He pulled off the ring and walked into the clearing, praying that his voice wouldn't fail him.
"Actually, you won't." He said, ignoring the incredulous look on the faces of the company.
"But ho- why?" Stuttered Thorin, relief and anger fighting for dominance as he tried to make sense of the situation. Why was the hobbit still here? Gandalf stepped forward, his expression infuriatingly placid, as always.
"Well, why does it matter? He's back." Reasoned the wizard.
"It matters. I want to know, why did you come back?" Thorin demanded. He was looking to Bilbo now, and though his face was still set in a stoic, unmoving frown, Thorin's eyes were pleading. Bilbo did his best to hold the king's gaze.
"Look, I know you doubt me, I know you always have. And you're right - I often think of Bag End, I miss my books, and my armchair, and my garden. See, that's where I belong, that's home. That's why I came back - 'cause you don't have one. A home. It was taken from you, but I will help you take it back if I can."
Bilbo stopped himself there. This was neither the time nor place for declarations of love. His ears caught the sounds of howling, too near for his comfort. Gandalf affirmed his fears.
"Orcs." One word, and the hope spurred by their escape froze and crumbled, so much dust in the wind. The company stood there, unsure, until someone pointed out the blurry outline of a warg further up the mountain. "Run!" Yelled Gandalf, and tense muscles sprang into action as the dwarves scrambled to widen the gap between themselves and danger. Snapping teeth and snarling mouths tailed them as they sprinted, and they were soon overtaken, wargs and orcs blocking every path. The dwarves drew their blades with bloodlust on their faces and began hacking their way through, unhindered by the impressive odds against them.
Bilbo drew sting as he ran, and did his best to turn the terrified screams pouring out of his mouth into something a bit more battle worthy. He ran, if you could call it that, as swiftly as a hobbit could, and still found himself being left behind. As he struggled to keep up, one of the wargs turned, vicious eyes meeting Bilbo's terrified ones. The creature moved towards him, long strides quickly morphing into a full out run as the hobbit backed up, slamming against a tree as panic washed over him. Bilbo couldn't move, his muscles were frozen under the onslaught of horror and adrenaline. He could see the warg running, closer, closer, and as it leapt, the feet between them turning to inches, his sword arm rose of its own accord. Bilbo felt the blade pierce flesh, and he stared, amazed, at the creature on the ground beside him. He, Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, had slain a warg. After pulling his sword out, the hobbit looked up to find that he was the only member of the company still on the ground. Behind him, the wargs were grinding their teeth together in anticipation, and the noise was all the inspiration Bilbo needed. He ran towards the company and flung himself onto a branch, scrambling awkwardly up a tree as the wargs growled below.
The pack closed in, and through the darkness a white warg strode, carrying an orc with scars etched deep into his chest. Bilbo recalled the story that Balin had told him earlier, about Azog the defiler. Bilbo shivered at the thought. Perhaps his feelings blinded him to the dwarf's faults, but the idea of an enemy that Thorin could not destroy terrified him. He looked over at the dwarf, high up in another of the trees. Fury was written across every feature, mixed with a kind of defeat that burrowed into Bilbo's mind and seated itself there. He would never live to forget that expression. Beneath the trees, the pale orc's lips curled into an icy sneer, and he barked commands at his compatriots. The wargs rose up, shaking the trees with their enormous paws as they clawed their way up the gnarled trunks. One by one, the sturdy pines began to topple, and the dwarves were forced from one tree to the next, the branches that supported them getting progressively less sturdy. As the beasts pushed forward, the single remaining tree shaking under their efforts, Bilbo saw something bright fly by him. Fili caught the object, a fiery pinecone, immediately lit another and handed it to the hobbit. Looking around, Bilbo saw that top to bottom, the great pine was aglow with firelight. Gandalf threw his pinecone at the ground, and the dry grass caught fire, the blaze moving quickly towards the wargs. The company followed suit, and soon the ground was flaming, burning bright in the darkness. The flames had managed to hold the creatures back, but a few harsh words from the pale orc sent the beasts springing at the tree once more, this time with greater purpose. The great trunk began to crack, threatening to dangle them out over the precipice, yet the dwarves kept throwing. As the pine fell, they abandoned their makeshift weapons and clung helplessly to the branches. The wargs circled, examining their prey, and Bilbo could see flecks of yellowed foam dripping from their open mouths. Flames engulfed the cliff, and as they crawled onto the tree trunk, Thorin Oakenshield rose from the midst of the disaster and began to walk.
Down off the tree trunk he strode, towards Azog, and in his face was the rage and agony of his memories. Thorin had lost his home, his family, and his title, yet he was still pushing through, stumbling through life in the dark after a tiny prick of light. The dwarf walked, then ran towards his foe, roaring something in Khuzdul. As he sprinted, the white warg sprung, its claw catching the dwarf kings face and throwing him violently to the ground. He recovered from the blow quickly, rising to face Azog. He swung his blade, but the attempt was in vain, the pale orc's mace knocked the wind out of him, and Thorin's limp body hit the ground with a sickening thud. Bilbo watched in horror as an orc stepped up to his king, raising his blade to behead Thorin. The dwarf made a pitiful grab for Orcrist, but the sword was out of his reach, so all he could do was lay uselessly on the ground awaiting death. The sight of Thorin on the brink of oblivion, the thought of the king dying before he could reclaim his throne, made Bilbo feel… savage. He wouldn't let those foul creatures have Thorin.
He ran. Ran for Erebor, a kingdom far too long without its king; he ran for the dwarves who had decided to face innumerable odds for the dreams of one man; ran for Thorin, the arrogant, insufferable, exasperating dwarf that he had fallen for. Bilbo ran for love, and it was Thorin's image in his mind as he tackled the orc to the ground. They tumbled together, and Bilbo pinned the creature to the ground and sheathed his sword in its ribcage, twisting the blade for good measure. In different circumstances, the hobbit would have been appalled at his lack of remorse, but he was too far gone with anger to care. Bilbo was alone in a circle of wargs and orcs, standing protectively in front of Thorin's unconscious body. Fili and Kili scrambled up to join the hobbit, and together they took on the wargs. The events of the world dwindled down to kill or be killed, and Bilbo finally understood the primal rush of battle, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he hacked through the thick fur of a warg. He had never felt so alive. Bilbo was so engrossed that he took no notice of the eagles soaring overhead, swooping down to carry the dwarves to safety. Only when one of the birds swooped down to take Thorin and bear him away into the skies did the hobbit still his blade. Eyes on the dwarf, Bilbo felt himself being lifted, and he grew limp as the eagle carried him away through the night.
When they reached the Carrock, an eagle placed Thorin gently on the stone and flew off. As the company was set down, they rushed to their king's side. Gandalf had a hand placed on the dwarf's eyes, and he was muttering something under his breath. Thorin's eyes moved under closed lids, and fluttered open to look around through dark lashes.
"The Halfling," he breathed, sitting up. Gandalf smiled knowingly.
"Mister Baggins is with us, and he is unharmed." The wizard said. Thorin relaxed visibly, and when he saw Bilbo slide off the back of an eagle, he stood to face the hobbit. The company watched the two fondly, expecting the happy reunion they'd been waiting for.
"You!" Thorin yelled, "What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed! Did I not say that you would be a burden, that you would not survive in the wild and that you have no place amongst us?" The dwarves tensed, and Fili had to place a hand on his brother's chest to restrain him. Thorin smiled. "I've never been more wrong." With that, he pulled Bilbo into a tight embrace, and the hobbit buried his face in Thorin's shoulder. The king pulled back at the sound of a choked off sob, and saw that Bilbo was crying. "What's wrong my love?" Thorin asked, and the hobbit looked up at the endearment, confused.
"You… I thought you…" Bilbo said, tripping over his words as he looked for an explanation.
"Oh but surely you knew how I felt? That is why you'd been avoiding me, no?" Thorin asked. Bilbo moved to speak, but the dwarf continued. "I realize that my affections are one-sided, but if you remain with me on this quest I will conceal them, you have my word."
"You don't have to," Bilbo heard himself say. Thorin looked at him, unsure of what the hobbit was saying. "Conceal them, I mean. You don't… because I feel the same way."
"Why did you not tell me?"
"I didn't think you would react this way." Behind him, Bilbo could hear Bofur whispering something, and the surprised gasps of the company. Thorin paid no mind, only looked at the hobbit, then down towards his boots.
"I… had intended to propose." Came the whisper, and Bilbo could not hold back the laughter that bubbled up inside him. Thorin drew back, hurt, and the hobbit realized what it had looked like, him laughing at the idea of a proposal.
"Thorin," he began, "we're already wed." The dwarf's eyebrows lifted, searching for an explanation, and as Bilbo spoke, he began to smile, and he stopped the hobbit.
"This will not do. I wanted a proper wedding, and I've gone and fouled things up." He took Bilbo's small hand in his. "Would you do me the honor of marrying me?" Bilbo looked up at him.
"As many times as you want me to."
Thorin could no longer hold out. He clasped the hobbits face in both hands and unceremoniously smashed their faces together. The reaction he received from the hobbit was completely unexpected, but not at all unfavorable. Bilbo leaned into the kiss, locking his arms around Thorin's neck, opening his mouth and making a noise that he would deny later. Thorin pulled away, gesturing to Bilbo that there were still people present. The members of the company were looking at them smugly, marveling at the absurdity of the scene: a dwarf king and a hobbit in each other's arms. Ori sighed longingly, and Dwalin made a series of rude gestures at Thorin, who smirked at him fondly. Bilbo, still held in the dwarf's embrace, looked up at Thorin, squirming.
"Your belt buckle is poking me again Thorin. It was doing that earlier on the ponies too." The dwarf only laughed and leaned down to whisper in Bilbo's ear.
"'Tis no belt buckle."