A/N Sorry for the shorter chapter this week! I'll try to make up for it with a longer one next week!
Atop the mountain, I found pile upon pile of rubble; the sky was still dismal, any light that might've existed covered by layers of smoke and clouds. I let my eyes drift over the devastation, and finally saw movement near one pile of rocks. I scarcely remember moving there, but the next moment I was aware, I was crouched by the stones, breath caught in my throat as I saw a flash of honey curls. Bilbo looked up at me slowly, face dirty and skin scraped and bruised but otherwise unharmed, and I could not resist the urge to hold him then.
My heart could not decide if it wished to sing or weep; my hands shook like never before, my eyes closing, and the hobbit's own small hand patted my upper arm lightly, a little smile curling his lips as he moved to return my embrace. It had been some time since such light filled my mind; hope felt a strange thing, now that I'd been so very long without it that I hadn't even realized I'd lost it.
"You see, Thranduil? I told you I'd be alright," he murmured, voice low and perhaps a bit scratchy, but he still had it, he was alright, and still I could barely believe that it was true, that it was even possible.
"Thank you," I whispered back, not entirely sure myself who I was thanking, and Bilbo laughed.
"I'm glad you're alright as well. Come, let's find the dwarves and your guards. They headed for the mountain not long ago, but I wanted to wait for you; I assumed you'd have quite the fit if you didn't see me here when you returned." When, not if; had he truly been so confident? I wondered if I ought to have been flattered or if I ought to have informed him that I was not, in fact, immune to death by way of dragon and ultimately decided to do neither. Bilbo, after all, seemed to have his own reasons for doing and saying what he did, and I supposed it was not my place to treat him as if he did not.
In any case, when he stood and started walking towards the mountain's entrance again, I found myself unable to totally let him go; I held his hand like a lifeline, like a child, and brushed my thumb compulsively over his skin. Bard and my remaining guard, who apparently had followed, trailed along after us, and I could almost feel Bard's smile against my back.
When we stepped into the mountain, a sudden chill permeated my bones and the musty smell of dragon filled the air. I edged closer to Bilbo and for once let another lead me; in regards to regular sight, I was nearer to fully blind than was usual in the pitch darkness, and the close quarters brought me discomfort as I was so used to being in open wood. Bilbo, I think, tried to offer me a comforting smile, but I could barely see the shift of his lips, much less any fine detail.
Eventually, however, we came into a wider cavern that was lit by old torches on the walls and filled with gold and treasures. The dwarves and my elves were scattered among it, chatting softly, fingers shifting slowly through the coins and filling the air with their quiet clink. A certain wildness lingered around Oakenshield's eyes as we entered, his fists clenched, white-knuckled, around handfuls of coins and gems. No one else seemed to notice, and for myself, I tensed; I'd seen gold sickness before, in his grandfather. It was not a pretty sight, and not one I wished to revisit. I wondered if he knew how dangerous it was to keep treasure so long warmed beneath a dragon's belly and imagined he scarcely even cared.
The dwarves cheered at the sight of Bilbo, and, I suppose, myself, for my presence marked the dragon slain. My guard rejoined the rest, while Bard stood, stiff-backed, beside Bilbo and myself, eyes searching the room as if it held the secrets to all the world. The hobbit tugged my hand lightly, leading me to sit with him beside a dwarf with a rather odd hat, a particularly heavy dwarf, and a dwarf who speared to have an axe lodged in his head. I did not deem it appropriate to ask questions. Still, at least, all but the one with the axe were pleasant enough conversation, and I did at least manage to decipher some of what the axe-dwarf was attempting to say based upon some sort of crude sign language. Oddly, it was actually a rather pleasant night, which I surely never would've expected in the company of dwarves; perhaps the young princes had spread the word that my intentions towards their burglar were honest.
I smiled a little to myself, pressing a kiss to Bilbo's lips and feeling oddly pleased with myself when he did the same. Still I could not really bring myself to let him go, now instead only pulling him so he lay with his head over my lap, where he could rest. My hand settled in his hair, stroking through the matted curls and wishing for a tub of water so that I might get some of the dirt out, but knowing that I should've only been counting myself lucky that all had turned out as well as it had.
Bilbo drifted easily into sleep, just as my elves, Bard, and all the dwarves but Oakenshield, who stood and began pacing through the treasury, did. For my part, worry nagged me into continued wakefulness, though my body made its need for rest well-known. I knew it was founded when, the next morning, Oakenshield had his dwarves begin their search for the Arkenstone in the mess of lesser treasures.