With every hour that passed, I could feel Bilbo's fear heighten. Oakenshield did not ask him to search, of course, didn't ask anyone but his dwarves to do it, and when Bilbo acted as if he were even considering offering his aid the dwarf king only settled a hand on his shoulder and shook his head, smiling faintly, saying that Bilbo had done enough for a hundred dwarves, that he needed to rest, and my hobbit only squirmed. I recognized the light in Oakenshield's eyes, wild and bright, recognized the coldness developing in the way he held himself. For his grandfather, the gold sickness had been a creeping thing, slowly overtaking him. For him, it seemed to have overtaken him as suddenly and swiftly as a tidal wave. Perhaps it was because the dragon had lain above it for so long, coveting and hoarding, I did not know and truly did not care. For myself, I'd never found much value in the pretty gems of the earth, beyond the fact that I could buy the things my kingdom needed with them. Bilbo himself seemed to care even less than that, eyes not even lingering for a moment on the piles of treasures.
Of course, from what I knew of hobbits, that was quite normal; many of them didn't even bother with gold, instead choosing to barter for what they needed or wanted. I always found it a bit funny, in a way; the men of Bree relied on their crops above all else, and they could've charged what they pleased for them, yet instead they chose to sell them for work or metal tools instead of coin. I could see the worry in Bilbo's eyes even still, however, and as little as I cared for Oakenshield myself, I knew that he was a dear friend to Bilbo, so truly I wished that I knew of anything to do.
Despite my wish, though, there was nothing that could be done for Oakenshield beyond either taking away the treasure or separating him from it, neither of which I thought truly possible, so I tried instead to distract Bilbo from him. More often than not he wouldn't have it, instead trying desperately to drag the dwarf from the treasury, which I suppose I ought to have expected, given how stubborn he'd proved himself to be. Late that evening, though, when a dwarf I'd come to know relatively well, called Bofur, led Bilbo from the room with promises of a good, hearty dinner, Oakenshield approached me, settling heavily beside me with shadows in his eyes. I thought for a moment that perhaps he would choose that moment to send me from the mountain, to seal Bilbo from me, but instead he only gazed deeply into the fire I was seated in front of and sighed.
"I would like to give you something," he said, very quietly. "For Bilbo, of course, not for you. I know that he will not stay here, and I would like nothing more than for him to… than to know that he is safe. Here, it's mithril; give it to him, and worry not over blade or arrow ever piercing him where it covers. I care little if you say that it is from me or from yourself. I've also found… there is a necklace here that I think was made for your people. It's rather pretty; perhaps you can give him that as well, if you like, and there are some loose stones with it still. I could make something else with them, perhaps; surely you've no proper crown for a consort such as him in your palace." The distance in his eyes then as he handed me an exceptionally light mail coat was not entirely the sort of sickness, but rather something a little fonder, a little more reminiscent of the Thorin Oakenshield I'd once known.
"You do not seem the sort to give up so valuable a treasure. I am under no illusions that you do not know the value of this mail, Oakenshield; you know as well as I that without Moria, you will never see this much mithril again. If the stones you speak of are the ones I believe, you will never find more like them again either." He laughed, faint and low, sounding almost as if it physically hurt him and still not looking me in the face.
"For one who claims to love him, you know little of his value. Mithril and stones, whether they be stones of starlight or not, are nothing in comparison. I do not wish him to leave, and I certainly do not wish him to leave with you, but I have seen that he will, and I will not feel well thinking him gone with nothing of me and no protection beyond your blade and your guards." I curled my hand around the mithril, thought of the stones I'd so long missed, and watched him with a sort of curiosity. If the gold sickness had taken him fully, he would not have been able to do this. There was still something of the Thorin Oakenshield Bilbo knew within him, and I only barely suppressed the urge to spit old curses I'd long ago thought forgotten.
I'd have to try something, then, for Bilbo; I would have been unable to live with myself if I acted as if all was lost when it was not, especially when I knew he cared so fiercely. I took a deep breath, nodded, and tried to will him into looking me in the face, but still he did not.
"I know clearly his value; the only living being I could not place him above is my son, and still they stand equal with one another, and there is nothing and no one without life that I would place above him, though I do still have love for things and for people who have gone. I had merely assumed that, now that you are in your mountain and his purpose is served, you had forgotten all he has done and all he meant to you. I wonder, do you hold him in higher esteem than your precious Arkenstone?" The dwarf clenched his jaw and his fists, nails surely digging welts into his hands. His brow furrowed; at least I had him confused, if nothing else, though I imagined the anger would come shortly.
"The two cannot be compared," he said at last, voice far more level than I expected it would be, though it nearly sang with tension.
"Oh? Perhaps, then, you are precisely the fool I thought you before I aided your quest. The Arkenstone is only a rock, Thorin Oakenshield; Bilbo is a hobbit of flesh and blood who would follow you to the edge of Middle Earth and back. If you cannot place one of those above the other, then you've no right to either." There it was; rage flickered in his eyes, melting the ice of them until they nearly matched the flames he stared into. A certain pleasure filled me; I was not his friend and would never be his friend, and so I could not draw him from his sickness with friendship as some others might've been able to do. I was, however, his enemy, his rival in a sense, and his equal; he did not want me to win in anything, and with that, perhaps, I could aid in breaking the thrall of the gold.
"You are as good as asking me if I would place him above my kingdom, elf." I nodded, crossing my arms and letting my mouth flicker into a small smirk.
"I am indeed. Would you not? There is not one who I would claim to care for that I would not throw away my own kingdom for, and for Bilbo, I would discard a million kingdoms and a million Arkenstones. If you love this treasure more than those who fought to get it back for you, then you are no king. Look at your company; they followed you on this quest believing that it was as good as suicide only because they believe you their king, because they respect you and care for you. It is not the Arkenstone they follow, nor is it the Arkenstone that inspired such loyalty." He sat in silence for a time, and would not meet my gaze no matter how I tried to force him into it. Finally, though, he spoke again, voice low and final.
"Twelve dwarves and a hobbit will not make my rule legitimate. I need the Arkenstone for that. Make certain that Bilbo wears that mail; I'll have someone fetch the necklace and the stones for you tomorrow." With that, he stood and swept away, and I could at least see something thoughtful in his eyes that made me believe he might yet be dragged from the sickness that had for so long plagued his family. I allowed myself a little smile when I knew none would see it; I had been able to do very little for Bilbo, so far, far less than he'd done for me in many ways. With this, perhaps I could at least start giving him all he deserved.
Bilbo returned quickly after he ate and settled beside me, speaking with me but very obviously not entirely with me; his mind wandered, and his fingers almost constantly trailed to the inner pocket of his vest, light and quick and unaware. I almost thought to ask what troubled him, but he gave me a look that quelled me into silence. Not even the mithril coat, which I even mentioned was from the dwarf, could fully hold his attention when I gave it to him and he put it on. That evening, though, when everyone else, even Oakenshield, finally fell into a fitful sleep, he led me to the silent hallway outside the treasury and began to ask me questions.
"Will having the Arkenstone bring Thorin back to the way he was?" he whispered, and I stared for a moment, until at last I shook my head.
"No. If anything, it will only make him worse. I have seen the Arkenstone before, Bilbo, and it's more than simply a pretty rock. It will corrupt his heart." He stiffened.
"That is what the dragon told me. I thought that perhaps he was lying but… Thranduil, is there any way to help him?" I took his hand, light and careful as I was able, hoping to calm him and succeeding at least a bit.
"I do not know. There is still something of him there, that I know, but I am not certain of how to bring that something back to the forefront. I do know, however, that he will struggle for as long as this cursed gold is here. Even still, I have been doing what I am able to help; if you and the others of the company would aid me, then perhaps his mind can be restored. I will not tell you that I know for certain when I do not, though. In any case, I do at least know that he must not be allowed to hold the Arkenstone." Slowly, shakily, Bilbo nodded, and with equally shaky hands, I watched him slip something from the pocket he'd been playing with all evening, and knew it immediately for the Arkenstone. My breath caught.
"I found it during my encounter with Smaug."
"Keep it hidden; show it to no others until we think of something to do with it." He hid it away again immediately, nerves blatant on his face, and I took him into a loose hold that he seemed to appreciate greatly if the tightness with which he squeezed me was any indication.
"Thank you," he murmured, "for everything. For the dragon, for helping Thorin, for… for caring so much for me." I laughed, the sound of it a bit weak even to my own ears.
"It was not the first time I faced a dragon, Bilbo, nor is it the first time I've done something that seems a bit foolish in hindsight for one I love. I am only glad that I have you; I have not been so happy in decades upon decades. I had thought that I would never feel this way again, and mere words are not enough to express my gratitude and my love to you." He looked up at me with soft, almost curious eyes, and for the first time in many moons, I let the glamor I wore slip from my face and show the scars that marred my face.
His hand was gentle upon them, so gentle that it felt like little more than the brush of a feather. I spoke quietly, almost without truly knowing what I was saying as I said it. "This is why I did not lead my elves to fight against Smaug. I had felt dragon fire before, knew that many of them would die in his wake, and I could not bring myself to kill them for the dwarves. I had grown… tired of war, tired of fighting, tired of death. I am still tired of it, yet again I find myself being drawn into it by necessity. I suppose I did receive something in compensation for this, though; I am blind in the eye that was burned and do not see particularly well out of the other, but I have learned well how to rely on my other senses so that none know of my weakness, even in the winter when the scars make me ache more fiercely. So too have I gained a certain talent to see through magic; that is how I was able to find you in my dungeons. I could only see something like your silhouette, your shadow, but still I could see more than anyone else."
He pressed his lips sweetly to my burned cheek, then to my lips, hand clutching mine in a grip I almost thought too tight to belong to a hobbit. A weight seemed to fall from my shoulders; no one had been told of this in a very, very long time, and most of the world thought me entirely unaffected by that battle so many years before. It was an odd thing, to trust someone in this way again, to trust them with knowing. I was glad of the opportunity, glad of the acceptance, glad of the love bright in Bilbo's eyes.
"Thank you for telling me this," he whispered, before he kissed me again and let me lead us back into the treasury again, where he curled into my side. I brought the glamor back quickly, for fear that someone might awaken and catch sight of me, and then felt my eyes drift closed as Bilbo settled his head upon my chest. "We will get through this, you know. We'll make it right somehow." The surety in his voice comforted me, and I couldn't help but agree. Not even Gandalf, who came the next morning with my son and the girl Tauriel in tow (and oh, but was I ready to consign the boy to his rooms for the next millennia when I saw them) bearing news of war with the orcs could seem to dampen my hopes with Bilbo so confident at my side. Which isn't to say that I didn't try to send Legolas home the moment I heard the news, of course, but I did at least feel better than I would have the month before. Admittedly, though, the army of elves I sent for that arrived late that night, and the army of dwarves that arrived shortly after Gandalf and my son, likely helped as well.
Bilbo flashed me a little smile as preparations began. Oakenshield left the treasury to aid in seeking armor and weapons. Yes, I couldn't help but expect that things would end up alright after all, and despite the strangeness of the feeling, I'd rarely had any more welcome.