Day Two

Bilbo woke up with a start, shivering, huddled close to the carcasses for the warmth their fur provided. His dreams had been full of death, blood and evil and it was a relief to wake up, even if he was currently still lying on a pile of slayed wargs. With the anguish of the nightmares lingering in his mind, he sat up and looked around, blinking sleep from his eyes. He had slept through the night, it seemed, as the sun was now at its peak while it had barely began to set when he had first reached the wargs.

While he had slept, dwarves, elves and men had been busy working, carrying their fallen ones away from the silent battlefield, collecting weapons, piling up orcs and wargs, and so Bilbo's surroundings now looked somewhat different compared to the way they had been when he had last laid his eyes upon them. There were no fallen elves anywhere in sight and most of the fallen dwarves were gone too. In this particular area only a few men had been killed and they, as well, had been carried away at some point during the night, along with all the weapons. The pile of wargs was now larger, practically a small hill, but no-one had yet set it on fire, much to Bilbo's relief.

To his further relief, Bilbo was quick to note that the pain in his head had dulled and was nowhere near as sharp as it had been the evening before. Some of the pain in his temple still remained, but the freeze in the air was soothing the mild ache like a cold bandage. Touching his face, Bilbo could feel lumps of dried blood, but this didn't upset the gentlehobbit nearly as much as it once would have; every cloud had a silver lining – at least he wasn't bleeding anymore.

In the distance, Bilbo could see trails of smoke rising from the camps of men and elves, but their tents were too far away to make out as anything but a row of obscure spots. The camp of dwarves, on the other hand, was so close to him that he could hear noises coming from there and even smell the scent of dwarves and the food that was being prepared (though it was difficult to tell whether he would have smelt anything apart from the reeking wargs hadn't he been wearing the Ring – the Ring had a peculiar ability to improve his hearing and sense of smell, even if it also did steal the colours and made everything grey and shadowy).

With a sinking feeling Bilbo realized that he would have to approach the dwarven camp sooner or later. He hadn't had a drop of water since the beginning of the battle and so he was, naturally, terribly thirsty. Now that his nausea had passed, hunger was also gnawing at him, and while he knew that the elves would have most likely given him something to eat and drink, both the camp of men and the camp of elves were far too far for him to reach on foot in such cold temperatures.

Sniffling, Bilbo pushed himself up to his feet and wrapped the coat tighter around his shivering form. Standing on the wargs, hugging himself, he then gazed at the dwarven camp where the more or less bulky and hairy forms of hundreds of dwarves could be seen swarming around around the tents while doing their chores. Looking at the lively camp, Bilbo couldn't help but feel that it was actually he who had been betrayed: What he had done, he had done in friendship. It was due to him and his actions that many of those dwarves even were alive, wasn't it, and he certainly didn't deserve to be treated like a traitor, he certainly didn't deserve to get executed for protecting his friends!

Bilbo recalled the way Dain had tried to execute him by order of Thorin the evening before. He recalled the black axe and the feel of wooden block against his cheek. He recalled managing to escape, running away from Dain and Balin, seeing Dwalin and Gloin and Bifur, eventually ending up on a pile of wargs... Recalling all this, tears streamed down his face and he allowed himself to cry, for he was just one scared hobbit, abandoned by his friends, all alone and far, far away from his rolling green hills.

There were still dwarves looking for him. He could see many an armed warrior scouting around the battlefield. Bifur, Dwalin and Gloin he could no longer see, but Bofur and Bombur were there as was Dori, along with several dwarves Bilbo had never been introduced to. They were all walking very carefully, feeling around with their feet and long walking sticks as if looking for someone invisible that just might be laying right there on the ground. Bilbo scoffed at the dwarves, quelling down the bitterness and sadness that the sight of his friends searching for him created in him.

Naturally he was relieved to see that more of his friends had survived the battle. He could breathe a bit easier seeing Bofur, Bombur and Dori moving about, but the sight of them looking for him also broke his heart. Until now, he had cherished the hope that Bofur, at least, wasn't after him, that Bofur would still consider him a friend. Unfortunately it appeared that he had been wrong, as Bofur was looking for him, Bofur was after him – he wouldn't have believed it hadn't he seen it with his own eyes. Gold Lust had to be affecting Bofur's mind, otherwise the jovial dwarf would never have aided anyone in executing Bilbo, that Bilbo firmly believed.

The wind was rising and Bilbo shivered in his thin clothes. His coat had been torn during the battle and there were dark spots on it, but due to wearing the Ring, Bilbo couldn't tell whether it was blood or some other grime that had smeared the once fine fabric. His trousers were just as worn-looking as the coat, but the precious mithril shirt under his vest appeared to be clean and shining and almost mocking in its perfection. The shirt had been a gift from Thorin – "a small token of friendship, loyalty and appreciation," Thorin had proudly called it – and to see it now in its impeccable condition was like a blow to the gut – that a mere token had survived while their friendship had not...

Trying to gather himself, Bilbo dried his tears and patted his pockets, feeling for a handkerchief. Once he had managed to locate the said item, he drew it from his front pocket and blew his nose. The act felt familiar and soothing, even though he might have done it in a more noisy manner than was decent of any a gentlehobbit.

The noise of his blowing his nose drew the attention of one of the scouting dwarves, Bilbo noted to his alarm, and a young warrior with a short, fair beard came to stand at the foot of the warg hill. He pointed a finger up in Bilbo's direction and shouted something in Khuzdul, motioning for the other dwarves to come closer. While the other dwarves quickly gathered around the young lad, drawing their various weapons, Bilbo was frozen to the spot. Barely daring to breathe, he watched as frowns formed on Bofur and Bombur's familiar faces. He noted that both of them clenched a dagger, as their gazes swept around the small hill of wargs.

Bilbo swallowed hard and stuffed the handkerchief quickly back into his pocket. Surely they wouldn't find him now? Surely they wouldn't? He would not let them!

With his heart pounding in his chest, Bilbo scrambled on the other side of the warg hill and climbed down the slope in as quick and unnoticed a manner as he could. As soon as he reached the ground, he bolted and began to run towards the camp of dwarves, desperate to escape – and hopeful that he would find water, food, warmth – and another hiding place – in the camp.

Even though Bofur, Bombur, Dori and the other warriors apparently hadn't noticed his escape, for they hadn't come after him, Bilbo didn't stop running until he had almost reached the tents of dwarves. Coming to an eventual halt near the edge of the camp, he leant forward, panting and supporting himself with his hands on his knees. He was desperate for water, or for anything that would take his thirst away.

In his current position, his eyes fell on the magic band on his finger as if on their own accord. Breathing heavily from the exertion, he simply looked at the Ring for a while, studying it half-heartedly to give himself something – anything – to think about, something other than his thirst and the friends that were currently hunting him. It was a nice ring and no-one could deny its occasional usefulness, but for reasons he couldn't quite explain (or even come up with in the first place, truth to be told), Bilbo felt uncomfortable wearing it for any lengthier period of time. Now that he had been wearing the Ring throughout the night and well into the day, he couldn't shake the feeling that he should take it off immediately, right away, as fast as he could. The Ring made him feel... anxious... almost like he was being... stretched.

Bilbo would have taken the Ring off too hadn't he been hunted down by dwarves. There were still many dwarves looking for him, searching for him to take him to his executioners, and Bilbo was determined to avoid any fate that included execution axes and orders to be killed. If he took the Ring off now and became visible again, goodness only knew who might notice him, who might find him! Being visible was currently not an option, at least not a smart one.

It wasn't until now that Bilbo came to think of Gandalf. The thought of Gandalf struck him without warning, unexpectedly. There had been so many things in his mind that the wizard had somehow managed to evade his thoughts, but now that Gandalf had indeed crossed his mind, Bilbo's heart beat a bit faster: If anyone could – would – help him, it was Gandalf! Gandalf certainly wouldn't approve of his hobbit being executed and he would see Bilbo safely back home to the Shire. If Bilbo stayed close to Gandalf, no-one would dare try to harm him. If only Bilbo found Gandalf, he would be safe! Bilbo hastened to scold himself for not thinking about his wizard friend earlier.

With this new-found, Maiar-shaped hope, Bilbo decided to look for Gandalf to ask him for help.

Reluctantly but with determination borne out of desperation, Bilbo guided his steps towards the dwarven camp, as he suspected that Gandalf would be in one of the royal tents discussing pressing matters with Thorin. When he entered the camp, none of the guards even glanced at his direction, regardless of the way he walked right pass by them, almost close enough for them to touch. The lack of any acknowledgements didn't surprise Bilbo, as he wasn't only invisible but silent as well, as silent as only a hobbit could be. No dwarf could hear him if he didn't want to be heard, especially not during the day when the noises of hundreds of dwarves were covering those made by him.

Heading towards the centre of the camp where he knew the royal tents would be situated, Bilbo weaved his way through the crowd, managing not to collide with anyone, even though he did accidentally brush several dwarves that appeared unexpectedly on his path from behind tents and other obstacles. Apart from a few confused looks that were sent in his general direction, no-one acknowledged these quick encounters which allowed Bilbo to breathe more easily, even though being among dwarves still did make him tense and jumpy.

Wondering where Gandalf had been when Dain had tried to behead him, Bilbo came to the eventual conclusion that Gandalf's presence had most likely been wanted in more than one healing tent right after the battle. It was likely that Gandalf hadn't even been aware of the fact that an execution had been taking place – had Gandalf known, he would have stopped it, of that Bilbo was certain!

Perhaps Gandalf had been in the camp of men or elves when Thorin had given his orders to get Bilbo beheaded? Perhaps it was terribly presumptuous of Bilbo to assume that Gandalf had yet even been in the camp of dwarves, as there were wounded in other camps as well. Perhaps Gandalf was still so busy trying to save lives that he hadn't been able to think of his missing hobbit, let alone to look for him. Perhaps Gandalf had no idea what had become of Bilbo. If Gandalf couldn't be found in the camp of dwarves – if Gandalf was in the camp of elves or men, instead – things would become quite a lot more complicated for Bilbo.

Bilbo's musings – and he himself, too – came to a halt when he reached the clearing in the middle of the dwarven camp. The three royal tents were on the other side of the clearing, directly opposite of him, their decorative entrance flaps carefully closed, armed warriors standing at guard in front of them. The only notable difference between the tents reserved for the royalty and the tents of ordinary dwarves was indeed the presence of the guards. Otherwise all the tents looked pretty similar with their angular shapes, high roofs and the stove chimneys that peeked through the roofs. Due to wearing the Ring, Bilbo couldn't tell the colour of the tents, but he assumed that they were some shade of blue, as Thorin's people seemed to be particularly fond of that colour.

Between Bilbo and the royal tents there were two large water barrels and Bilbo could hazily recall hiding between them the evening before. A small but loud crowd had gathered around the water barrels and the dwarves were all holding various water skins, bottles and buckets with the obvious intent of filling them with water. While the crowd looked rather chaotic to an untrained eye, there was obviously some kind of a queue among it and the dwarves all clearly knew who had been there first and who should still wait for their turn.

The gurgling sounds of the water reminded Bilbo of his thirst and so he stepped cautiously closer to the barrels. The dwarves were bickering and jostling each other and – invisible as he was – it would have been impossible for him to have a turn to get water from the actual barrels. So, instead, he eventually ended up crouching down by the dwarf whose turn it was to fill his containers. One of the dwarf's several buckets was already full and Bilbo satisfied his thirst by drinking from that full bucket. He gulped down mouthful after mouthful of cool, refreshing water, and if anyone noticed how the water level in the bucket kept slowly sinking, no-one acknowledged it out loud.

Once his thirst was satisfied, Bilbo crawled quickly away from the stamping boots and all the unexpected saliva that kept dropping on him – the warriors had a habit of spitting on the ground and Bilbo, to his great exasperation, happened to get in the firing line more often than not.

Ordinary-looking tents though they may have been in reality, the three royal tents appeared ominous and threatening to Bilbo. He was painfully aware of the fact that one of these three tents belonged to Thorin and that it certainly wasn't a good idea to accidentally bump into the vengeful king. Wiggling his toes to keep his feet warm, Bilbo stood nervously and undecided in front of the tent in the middle and pondered whether he should just run for his life and avoid entering at all costs. After all, with all things considered, it would have been foolish – if not altogether suicidal – to try to enter Thorin's tent! If Gandalf was in one of these tents, he would eventually have to exit and if Bilbo simply waited outside for Gandalf to step out, he could then speak to the wizard without ever having to enter, without ever having to risk being in Thorin's currently rather unpredictable presence.

It would have indeed been foolish to try to enter Thorin's tent, that Bilbo certainly realized, but he couldn't help the way his Tookish side kept whispering to him insisting that he should take at least a peek at Thorin, that he should verify himself whether Thorin indeed was still under the Curse of Dragon before running away and leaving for good. Before leaving, he needed to see Thorin, he needed to know what had become of his friends – in one word, he needed closure.

The flap of the tent on Bilbo's right was suddenly swiped aside and a bulky dwarf, dressed in the simple robes of a healer, stepped outside, nodding curtly at the warrior standing at guard. As she stopped - by Bilbo, unknowingly - to gaze up at the sky, whispering something in Khuzdul, the sunlight reflected momentarily of the lenses of her glasses and of the metal clasps she had used to attach her dark beard to the one single, practical plait that hung down her back. As Bilbo watched, she sighed and began to walk across the clearing, her form slightly slumped.

Bilbo probably would have forgotten all about her, hadn't an unexpected, sudden shout caused both him and the healer to halt in place.

"Healer Giril, a moment of your time if you please!" called out a voice and a dwarf – Dain – walked briskly and with purpose towards them from the other side of the clearing.

At the sight of the dwarven lord, Bilbo reeled back, his heart suddenly in his throat. The image of the black axe forced itself in his mind and Bilbo had to cover his mouth and nose with his hands to stifle the loud wheezing sounds that kept escaping him. Where he had been nervous and hesitant before, he was now terrified, as seeing Dain made him truly think how close he had come to getting beheaded by the dwarven lord's hand the evening before.

By order of Thorin.

"You have been ignoring my orders," Dain said as soon as he reached them, addressing his words to the healer (who had let out a quiet, discontented grunt upon noticing Dain), oblivious to Bilbo's presence. "I have been waiting to get an update on the condition of the young princes for the past three hours, but so far no-one has bothered to come and tell me whether they even live or not! I have various duties and hundreds of warriors to feed – and far too many to bury – and I certainly cannot spare the time to run from one tent to another to ask things. All information concerning the condition of the heirs of Thorin Oakenshield is vital to me and you need to keep me informed at all times, no matter how inconvenient that might be for you."

"His lordship may have warriors to feed and bury," said Giril gruffly, her manner stiff, "but I have dwarves to heal, many lives to save. I admit that I may have been ignoring my duties when it comes to keeping his lordship informed, but if I'm forced to choose between stabilizing a patient and running after his lordship to tell him that someone has just collapsed, I will not choose the latter, regardless of the consequences - my duties lie with my patients, first and foremost."

"You are in no way obligated to keep me informed by yourself in person," said Dain, "but I do except you to send me regular updates on Oakenshield's heirs via servants. It will take quite a lot of time and effort to arrange a royal funeral – let alone two, if neither of the princes survive – and if I have to spare some of my advisers to do the necessary arrangements, I want to know beforehand, or as soon as possible, so that I can be prepared."

"The condition of both princes is currently stable," said Giril. "Tharkûn aided me in healing them. I estimate that they will regain consciousness in a few days or so, but it is obviously impossible to know beforehand for certain. In any case, I would assume that it is unnecessary to talk about their funeral arrangements just yet, for it appears that they will live. When it comes to my condition, on the other hand, I can safely say that I am terribly tired and hungry and in no mood to argue with anyone, for I haven't got a wink of sleep since the beginning of the battle, and so I would ask his lordship to get the grûck out of my way and let me get some rest. I will... try to keep him better informed in the future."

While Dain and Giril had talked, Bilbo had made his way, unnoticed, to the tent from which Giril had just stepped out. Now he lifted the flap slightly and slipped inside without anyone being the wiser.

It was somewhat darker inside the tent but not as much that a candle would have been required. After his eyes had adjusted to these darker surroundings, Bilbo could make out the two makeshift beds in the middle of the tent and a hunched figure sitting on a chair between the two beds. Stepping closer, he recognized the hunched figure and saw that it was, in fact, a snoozing Ori.

Ori had scratches on his face and his right arm on a sling, but otherwise he looked intact and relatively well. He had placed himself between Fili and Kili who both laid on their backs under several layers of blankets, silent and unmoving. Fili and Kili were both far too pale and Bilbo would have thought them dead if it wasn't for the steady, regular rising and falling of their chests.

Tears welled up in Bilbo's eyes as he looked at the three sleeping dwarves. Fili, Kili, Ori – they were far too young and full of dreams and hope and life to be involved in any of this. Dori had been saying that since the beginning of the Quest and unfortunately it seemed like he had been proved right. Bilbo reminded himself that it didn't really matter if Fili and Kili currently looked rather... ill, for Healer Giril had just told Dain that they would make it, that they would survive. Surely the healer wouldn't have lied, at least not to Dain!

Bilbo stroke Fili's fair hair, sniffling a bit.

"You will make it, Fili," he then whispered in the dwarf's ear. "You will make it. You will come back to Kili and Thorin, even if I won't be here to witness it. You will survive - you'll just wait and see."

He told Kili the same thing, petting the darker hair as well, and he would have undoubtedly said more to the both of them, hadn't Nori entered the tent just then, prompting Bilbo into freezing and snapping his mouth shut.

While it was nice to see that Nori, too, had survived the battle more or less unscathed, it wasn't nice at all to see the suspicious way the dwarf now looked around the tent. Nori's eyes were narrowed and his gaze flickered from Ori to Fili and Kili, only to come to a sudden halt as his eyes fell on Kili's hair, on the exact same spot where Bilbo had placed his hand. Something akin to triumph flashed in the thief's eyes then and, glancing quickly down at his hand, Bilbo realized to his horror that Kili's hair had to be standing up in such an odd angle that it was easy for Nori to conclude that an invisible hand was stroking it.

It was just then that Ori began to move. Yawning, he opened his eyes and blinked groggily at his brother.

"Nori?" he mumbled in a hoarse voice. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be watching the water barrels in case Bilbo turns up and reveals himself by drinking from them?"

Bilbo gave the scribe a sharp look. The water barrels had been watched? Well, of course they had been. The dwarves must have anticipated the way Bilbo eventually had to go and get himself something to drink. He cursed himself for being so careless. He really should have come to think that someone would be keeping an eye on the barrels – why hadn't he tried to find water from somewhere else, somewhere safer, like from the cooking areas, or a water skin from someone's tent!

Bilbo bit his lip, now it was too late for regrets. The damage had already been done if the glint in Nori's eyes was anything to go by. Now all Bilbo could do was to try and escape this new, unfortunate situation. Slowly he withdrew his hand, trying not to move a single hair on Kili's head. Unfortunately, his attempt failed and Kili's hair fell to his original place the moment Bilbo's fingers were no longer touching the locks. Nori's sharp gaze was focused on this movement, while a slow grin spread out on his face.

Ori was oblivious to any of this and simply let out a groan, rubbing his face in a worn manner.

"Please, don't tell me that you are here to check up on me on behalf of Dori," he pleaded, his voice low and pained. "I already told him - mere hours ago - that I have, indeed, been taking my potions and that I have, in fact, eaten today - four times so far, and very well on each occasion! As it happens, I am also wearing my mittens and a pair of woolly socks, and I even have a blanket."

Nori snorted.

"When have I ever done something 'on behalf of Dori'," he muttered. "From his point of view, I'm probably usually doing quite the opposite of that. No, Ori, I'm here strictly to help a friend: as it does happen, I think I've just managed to locate our burglar."

"You've... what?" Ori scratched his head, giving Nori a bleary, confused look, until a sudden understanding lit his face and he pointed a finger at Nori. "You don't mean... Do you mean... Bilbo is- Is Bilbo here? In this tent? As in right now?"

"Indeed he is," answered Nori, smirking and glancing around them. "I was keeping an eye on the water barrels as agreed when suddenly I noticed the water level sinking in one specific bucket. It was a new bucket, obviously of good dwarven quality and had only just been filled, so the water level sinking without any detectable reason naturally immediately drew my attention. There were many dwarves spitting around in that particular area and I also noticed how some of that spit simply disappeared midair long before hitting the ground. It wasn't difficult to conclude that our burglar had put his Ring on and was sneaking around, drinking water and getting spit at."

That was all true, Bilbo knew, trying not to think of all the drying spit that covered his coat.

"But how do you know he's here, in this tent?" demanded Ori, keeping his voice down most likely for Fili and Kili's sake, for he didn't look otherwise timid at all. He had risen up to his feet and was now looking wildly around, his blanket long forgotten on the ground.

"The tent flap," said Nori, smirking with such self-importance that Bilbo had to roll his eyes. "It moved on its own accord as if someone was pushing it aside in order to enter."

"Bombur will be delighted to hear that he anticipated Bilbo's moves this well, then," muttered Ori before clearing his throat and addressing the tent in general.

"Uh... Bilbo? Hello?" he said, his gaze going slowly around the tent. "You can become visible now. We won't hurt you, I give you my word. Just... let us talk for a bit, okay? You see, there has been a horrible misunderstanding!"

"Rather ridiculous misunderstanding if you asked me," muttered Nori. "Why don't we just get Dain to explain everything to Bilbo. It was Dain, after all, who started this all by failing to do what he was asked to do. It's he who should be-"

There was a current of air as an invisible form slammed against the entrance flap, moving it aside. Nori let out a curse in Khuzdul and even Ori said something about "the bottom of a shoe" – it was easy to detect that Bilbo had just left the tent, that Bilbo had just escaped.

Bilbo had surged right pass Nori and straight out of the tent, barely believing that Nori had just suggested calling for Dain. He did his best to quell the pain that he felt from finding out that all three Ri brothers - even sweet little Ori - were apparently assisting Thorin in his attempt at getting Bilbo executed. If Ori and Nori thought that he was foolish enough to stay and listen to explanations of "misunderstandings" while waiting for Dain to arrive - when there were orders to get him executed, orders that Dain had thankfully failed to fill - well, they were certainly mistaken!

Bilbo had to admit that if his friends had been putting guards near water barrels - and who knew where else - they had been more organized with trying to find him than he had initially assumed which was a rather worrying aspect. It was truly beginning to seem that if he wanted to survive this ordeal intact, he needed to find help, had to find help – he had to find Gandalf – as soon as possible.

Without further ado, Bilbo took a risk and bolted to the tent next to Fili and Kili's, entering as quickly as he could, wishing with all his heart that he would find Gandalf in that tent.

There was no Gandalf in that tent, to Bilbo's bitter disappointment. Instead, there was Dwalin who was sitting on a chair with a pile of parchments in his lap, reading them with a bored look on his face. When Bilbo entered the tent, he brought a breath of cold Autumn air with him, causing Dwalin's parchments to rustle. Dwalin looked up from the parchment he was reading, but Bilbo didn't notice this, nor did he notice the way Dwalin's eyes narrowed, nor the way the warrior put all the parchments slowly down onto the bedside table.

Had it only been Dwalin in the tent, Bilbo wouldn't have been as distracted as he was. No, he would have exited as quickly and quietly as he had entered. But as it happened, it wasn't only Dwalin and Bilbo there in the tent, no, no, certainly not, for there was a third person in the tent too, and the state of that third person was enough to halt all Bilbo's movements, enough to cease all his actions: next to Dwalin, laying on a makeshift bed, there was – Thorin.

The sight of Thorin drew all breath from Bilbo. With his eyes glued on the still form on the bed, he slumped forward until he was standing by Thorin, opposite of Dwalin. Untill now, Bilbo had imagined Thorin to have survived the battle with only minor wounds. He had imagined Thorin to have been in all his power by now, giving curt orders and seeing to the arrangements that needed to be done. In his mind, he had seen a mighty Thorin, a proud Thorin, Thorin waiting to be crowned, Thorin rebuilding his kingdom. Never had Bilbo even suspected that instead of all that, Thorin would lie silently in the shadows of a dark, cool tent, as still as his unconscious nephews, as white as the bandages that had been wrapped around his chest. Untill now, Bilbo had assumed that Thorin would be well in body, at least, if not in mind.

Bilbo's chin trembled, as he witnessed the misery of his dear, dear friend. After watching for a while, Bilbo forced his thoughts in some form of an order, for he had no choice but to do so, under current circumstances - he had no time to linger if he didn't want to get caught. He quickly came to the conclusion that Thorin must have been conscious at some point to have given Dain the orders to get him executed. If Thorin was giving execution orders in as bad a condition as this while his nephews were lying unconscious in the next tent, the situation had to be much more dire than Bilbo had initially assumed – the Gold Lust had to have very a tight hold of Thorin's mind, if not even the fact that his sister-sons were gravely injured had been enough to cure him.

Thorin couldn't be reasoned with when he was under the Curse of Dragon, that much Bilbo had learnt the hard way in the course of the past week. If Bilbo didn't want to get executed in the near future, he would have to leave immediately, he would have to escape while Thorin was still too weak to come after him. If he waited untill Thorin got better, the dwarf just might find a way to catch him. That was something Bilbo really shouldn't – couldn't, wouldn't – risk.

Bilbo didn't get any further with his thoughts, as Ori burst into the tent just then, causing Bilbo to give a start.

"Nori and I detected Bilbo not three minutes ago," Ori told Dwalin hastily, and it wasn't until now that Bilbo noticed – to his further fright – that while he had been focused on Thorin, the bald warrior had stood up and moved to stand closer to him, behind him, almost close enough to touch.

"Where?" grunted Dwalin, looking straight at – and through – Bilbo before moving his gaze slightly to the left.

"Nori noticed him near the water barrels earlier," said Ori, fingering the edge of his sling in a nervous manner. "From there, he followed him into Fili and Kili's tent. Bilbo ran off as soon as Dain was mentioned... Nori is already organizing new search parties, he sent me to tell you."

"Stay there at the entrance," Dwalin gave the command as well as a curt nod to acknowledge Ori's words. "Don't move from there. Block it, don't let anyone pass you. I think Baggins just might be here with us."

As if Ori's eyes hadn't been large before, now they widened even more.

"H-here?" he said in a low voice. "Bilbo ran here? Into Thorin's tent?"

"It appears so," Dwalin said gruffly, waving his arms about, feeling the air around him with his hands. "I thought I noticed him coming in and your words have now confirmed that I truly did. He is here. I know it."

"Uh, well, then," said Ori, swallowing hard, glancing around. "Perhaps we should then explain the situation to him. Uh, Bilbo, why don't we-"

Ori let out a squawk, taken off guard, when Bilbo bumped into him and pushed him aside with force, muttering his sincere apologies as he did so. Bilbo was out of the tent and running away before Ori had managed to scramble back to his feet.

"I told you to block the entrance!" Dwalin's voice echoed in the peaceful afternoon, but Bilbo didn't stick around to find out if Ori answered.

Bilbo never had the chance to see whether Gandalf was in the third royal tent or not, for there were now too many dwarves standing in front that tent and so he simply couldn't risk entering. Instead, he chose to run as fast as he could, heading towards the outermost circle of the camp so that the dwarves wouldn't get a chance to surround him and to block his path. While he ran, he made a firm decision not to venture further into the dwarven camp again – if Gandalf was indeed in the camp, Bilbo would have to survive without his help, difficult though as that would be. He simply couldn't risk trying to find the wizard with all the vengeful dwarves running around.

Doing his best not to run into anyone, Bilbo sneaked pass various tents until he reached the tents that belonged to guards and the warriors of the lower ranks – the outermost circle, that was. Once there, he crouched down onto the ground, spent, exhausted and quite shaken.

Ever the practical Baggins of Bag End, Bilbo soon forced himself to focus on forming survival plans instead of allowing himself to dwell in emotions. His first course of action was to dig into his pocket, for he had a loaf of rye bread there, leftover of the last meal he had had in Erebor with the Company. Eating never failed to calm him down and so he nibbled at the loaf (trying to convince himself that the meagre piece of bread was enough to take his gnawing hunger away).

While nibbling, Bilbo decided that he should start his escape – his journey back to the Shire – by getting a bag and by filling that bag with necessary items, with everything that he would need in the wilderness, such as water and food. Warmer clothes he would need as well, judging from the rapidly dropping temperatures. Sting he still had with him and so he wouldn't need any more weapons, or so he at least hoped.

It might have been surprising, or unexpected at least, but now that Bilbo had something to focus on, something other than his fear, anguish and sadness, he found his situation more manageable. It was now easier to Think and he swore to himself to do his best to keep himself alive – Eru Ilúvatar helped those who helped themselves, after all, or so his mother had used to tell him. As long as Bilbo did one thing at a time and spent more time actually doing things rather than worrying about them, his chances of survival were rather high.

Well, not exactly "high", but hopefully not that low either.

He had now seen most of his friends, excluding Oin and Gandalf, and while seeing Thorin, Fili and Kili lying still and deathly pale wasn't exactly the closure he had been hoping to get, it was all that he would get. If he wanted to survive, if he wanted to keep on living – which he certainly did, thank you very much – he had no other option but to adapt to the situation.

Bilbo gazed at the Ring again, considering - in passing - taking it off. It was truly making him anxious and he felt that he had been wearing it for far too long already. Still, it was pretty obvious that before he could give up his sheltering invisibility, he would have to get so far from Erebor that he wouldn't risk running to any dwarves. Eager to take the Ring off his finger as soon as possible, as his shadowy surroundings felt very oppressive and suffocating and he didn't like them at all, Bilbo made a mental list of all the things he would need to escape.

Then, in his desperation, he lived up to his title, Burglar, for the several following hours and sneaked into various tents to steal everything that he assumed he would later need. As he had no intention of venturing further into the camp, it was a great relief to him that the tents in the outermost circle contained several items that were of interest to him. He had a few coins in his pockets, picked up absent-mindedly from the treasury of Erebor just a few days earlier, and – to ease his conscience – Bilbo was careful to leave a coin in exchange for the more expensive items he stole. Some of these more expensive items were a pair of warm trousers, a winter coat and a bag from a dwarf that was obviously fond of embroidery, but he also stole food, two water skins and several smaller items.

By the time Bilbo had managed to acquire himself all that he could think of needing in the wilderness – among other things: warm clothes, a flint pouch, rope, some ointments and bandages, food and the water skins - the night had fallen and the only source of light were the torches and the lanterns here and there in the camp. Recognizing the need to rest, Bilbo slipped cautiously into a tent whose occupants were already deep asleep, judging from the loud snores, and curled up in one of the corners as close to the stove as he dared to go. In the warmth of the stove and his new winter coat, he hugged the stolen bag close to his chest and prayed - begged - Ilúvatar to heal Thorin, Fili and Kili and to protect him and all of his friends.


Day Three

Bilbo woke up to a landscape full of snow. Despite of all his wishes, it kept snowing most of the day and he had to admit that it would have been foolish of him to try to walk away from the camp - he might as well allowed Thorin to execute him, so certain a death it would have been to now leave the camp on foot. Luck didn't abandon him completely, however, for he found out that some of the engineers were preparing to go to Lake-town that same evening to see whether they could be of help in the evacuations.

It took Bilbo the whole day, but eventually he did manage to find the cart that was supposed to take the engineers to Lake-town and by then it had thankfully stopped snowing. After only a little bit of hesitation, Bilbo climbed onto the cart and hid as well as he could, considering there was nothing behind which he could have hidden. Still, when the three engineers followed his suit and climbed up onto the cart a couple of hours later and the ponies finally began to pull the cart towards Lake-town, no-one noticed the invisible hobbit huddled in one of the corners.

As the cart passed by the royal tents, Bilbo saw dwarves singing cheerfully by campfires and guards in their chain mails pacing in front of Thorin, Fili and Kili's tents. Bilbo didn't know that Thorin had awakened, nor did he know that Thorin and Dwalin were just sitting in a comfortable silence in Thorin's tent, both of them completely oblivious of Bilbo's proximity.

Somewhere in the distance a dog was barking.