Day Five
By now, most of Lake-town had burnt down beyond repair and the only buildings that still could be more or less perceived were the ones that had collapsed into the lake and thus had been spared from the hottest of flames. Even those buildings were now nothing but smoking ruins, black but for the snow that covered the parts above the water. Many men were breaking the ice around the fallen buildings with shovels while others were diving into the freezing cold water to save what little could be saved from the belongings below the surface.
Bilbo was walking in the midst of men, doing his best not to collide with anyone or to fall into the icy lake. He had tried to keep his wounds clean and bandaged, but despite of all his efforts the wound on his temple had got inflamed as had several of the gashes on his legs and feet. He was well aware of the fact that he was running a fever due to the infections, but there was currently very little he could do about that. Eru, he couldn't even take the Ring off his finger and ask if anyone would help him, as Dwalin had arrived in Lake-town a few hours after him and Bilbo couldn't risk running into the dwarf while visible. The people of Lake-town hadn't been particularly welcoming to the arriving dwarves, but neither had they yet asked them to leave, much to Bilbo's disappointment. Now, at noon, Bilbo could still see Dwalin and several of his dwarves in a well-organized search of something, or – more likely – someone with that "someone" probably being Bilbo himself. Even the engineers with whom Bilbo had come to the town had been ordered to "keep their eyes open", that much Bilbo had heard of the short exchange Dwalin had had with them that morning.
If Thorin had ordered Dwalin, of all people, to come after Bilbo, the dwarves had to be quite determined to get Bilbo back to Erebor. It hurt and perplexed Bilbo to see to what kind of great lengths his former friends were prepared to go to get him killed. Did they truly hate him so much that they couldn't just let him leave? For all they knew, Bilbo might never even reach the Shire, he might well die in the wilderness! One might have assumed that this kind of a banishment would have been a punishment enough, but it did seem like the dwarves were resolute in making sure that Bilbo would truly die before they would relent and give up the pursuit.
Chewing his bottom lip worriedly, Bilbo wondered how far Dwalin would be ready to follow him. To the edge of the Mirkwood? To the Misty Mountains? To Bree? On Bilbo's doorstep?
Well, if Dwalin wanted to follow him, it was Dwalin's loss, not Bilbo's, Bilbo decided with a flash of temper. Straightening his back, he reminded himself that he was not only a Baggins of Bag End but also a Took, which was an excellent combination as far as he was concerned. Unfortunately for the dwarves, he wasn't planning on dying any time soon, he was determined to stay alive, to live. Bilbo certainly wouldn't give up without a fight, thank you very much!
A Took and a Baggins of Bag End though he may have been, Bilbo was still above all else just a simple hobbit, and as his simple hobbit feet were unfortunately distinct in these parts of the world, he tried not to leave any clear footprints for the dwarves to find – it certainly wouldn't do for Dwalin to spot a trail of hobbit footprints in the snow now, would it! So, as he walked around the remains of Lake-town, Bilbo stayed on the stamped paths and avoided carefully stepping on newly fallen snow. This naturally restricted the area where he could walk, which, in turn, made it easier for the dwarves to come close to him every once in a while as he couldn't really move further away to avoid them. Dwalin had unknowingly come uncomfortably close to finding Bilbo four times already in less than two hours and only luck had prevented him for stepping on the hobbit who was, by now, only half-awake and stumbling around the ruins of Lake-town cold and scared and sick.
Thirsty Bilbo was too, as the water in both of his water skins had frozen overnight. Whenever he wanted to drink, he had to hammer the water skins against the hard ground until a piece of ice would split. He would then put that piece of ice into his mouth and suck it until it melted and he could finally satisfy his thirst. Now that there were several dwarves around, however, he didn't dare to make any noise by trying to split the ice and so he had to go thirsty for the time being.
Bilbo wished that the dwarves would soon come to a conclusion that there were no hobbits to be found in Lake-town. He hoped against all hope that Dwalin would soon take his warriors back to the dwarven camp and stop looking for hiding hobbits.
As if summoned by Bilbo's thoughts, Dwalin appeared suddenly and unexpectedly from behind the fluttering flag someone had erected in the middle of all the desolation for reasons unknown to Bilbo. The path on which Bilbo was currently standing was narrow, and while he had been walking forward, a few conversing men had come to walk behind him, unaware of him, and now Bilbo was stuck there between the men and a rapidly approaching Dwalin. As he couldn't well step away from the path, as the last thing he needed right now was for Dwalin to see his footprints appearing on the snow as if on their own accord, Bilbo clambered onto a half-burnt wharf that flanked the path partially on one side and wished that he could balance himself there until Dwalin - and the men - had walked pass by.
There wasn't much room there on the wooden wharf and several wild ducks were already occupying most of the surface, their feathers ruffled against the cold, but thankfully they didn't pay Bilbo any mind nor did they draw Dwalin's attention by making a ruckus over Bilbo's appearance. Panting slightly, Bilbo turned his back on the apathetic ducks and focused his attention on Dwalin, hoping that the dwarf would just walk pass by and not to decide to come and feel around the wharf in case of any invisible hobbits. Fortunately Dwalin did just what Bilbo hoped he would do, walking simply pass by, his face grim and tired, his beard full of small icicles that clinked prettily as they hit against each other in the rhythm of the dwarf's steps.
Well, Dwalin walked right pass by Bilbo, but the three men that had walked after Bilbo did not. Instead, they came to a halt right there in front of Bilbo, blocking his way back to the path, completely unaware of the fact that they were doing so. They weren't even looking in Bilbo's direction, as they were all staring after Dwalin who had just went around them and pass by Bilbo. The men had fallen silent upon noticing the dwarf and now their gazes were following Dwalin's every move. Bilbo saw that many a bitter look were sent in the warrior's way.
"One might think," the tallest of the men said loudly, "that there would be so much room for dwarves in that blasted mountain now that the dragon isn't there anymore that they needn't to come here to bother us. That's the least they could do after all they have caused: to stay away from here!"
"Yes!" agreed another men. "Stay away from us!"
"Go back to your mountain, dwarf!" the third man shouted, kicking a piece of ice towards Dwalin.
Dwalin came to a halt when the ice hit him in the back. Slowly he turned to look at the three men. Bilbo cursed to himself, as the warrior narrowed his eyes and marched right back to the men, coming to a stand but a few feet from where Bilbo was crouching down on the wharf.
"So short is the memory of men," Dwalin then declared in his gruff manner, looking at the men with disdain. "Only just we fought together, Gustav, and now you're already assaulting me – and you didn't even have the balls to do it when I was still facing you but waited like a coward for me to turn my back to you."
"Well, dwarf," snorted the man who had kicked the piece of ice at Dwalin, the one Dwalin had called Gustav, "you should know better than to turn your back to people."
"Am I not among comrades, among brothers-in-arms?"
"You are not, dwarf," said Gustav, his voice cold. "You are not welcome in this town anymore, certainly not after all you lot did to us! We should have listened to Bard when he warned us not to allow you to go to the mountain – the only reason why we haven't yet chased you away from here is the way we are now listening to Bard."
"He has told us not to fight with dwarves," said the tallest of the men, spitting on the ground, glowering at Dwalin.
"We might have shorter memory than dwarves," continued Gustav, "but we surely learn from our mistakes better than you do. From now on, we will listen to those who have fair warnings to give and never again will we be blinded by greed. Can you say the same of your own people, dwarf? Can you say the same of that ball of hair you call your king?"
Dwalin and the three men glared at each other, while Bilbo scarcely dared to breathe in a fear of getting overheard. The atmosphere was tense, but Dwalin refused to look away from the three tall forms looming over him. Instead, he clicked his knuckles and gave the men such a menacing look that Bilbo saw all three of them swallowing hard and taking several more or less hasty steps backwards.
"For the way you've just insulted my king," said Dwalin, his heavy breathing clearly visible due to the freezing temperature, "for that, I am most tempted to give you 'a fair warning'. However, as I am not in a habit of fighting against those with whom I've only just faced an army of orcs – and as we dwarrows may have indeed brought some shit upon you in the recent days – I'm going to be merciful and not inflict any pain on you. But let it be known that if you ever again offer insult to my kin and king, I will break one of your frail bones for every syllable you dare to utter."
The three men studied Dwalin in a calculating manner while Dwalin did the same to them.
"Why are you here, dwarf?" Gustav was the one to eventually break the silence. "Why have you left your camp, your mountain? What is your business among us?"
"My business doesn't concern you," said Dwalin in such a haughty manner that he suddenly looked almost painfully similar to Thorin and Bilbo could for once catch a glimpse of the familial resemblance between the two warriors, Thorin and Dwalin were not only best friends, after all, but cousins as well.
"It does concern us when your 'business' is happening in our town!" cried Gustav, his words uttered in such a fierce manner that Dwalin was momentarily engulfed in the resulting cloud of breath that his speech created when the moisture of his breathing hit the cold air.
"Do not waste your breath on a dwarf, brother," said the tallest man, placing a hand on Gustav's arm. "We will give him till the nightfall to finish his 'business' here in our town. If the dwarf hasn't left by then and taken his kin with him, we will make them all leave, no matter what Bard says. Any an armed dwarrow is no longer welcome in Esgaroth."
"Not welcome!" agreed the third man, the youngest looking, the one that had barely said a word while Gustav and the tall man had talked with Dwalin. "We've had enough of dwarves!"
"That we certainly have, Björn," mused the tall man, giving Dwalin a scathing look.
With that, the three men turned their backs to Dwalin and marched away.
Dwalin glared after them, looking more tired and annoyed than anything else. He let out a sigh, shaking his head, and turned back to the way he had been heading to when Gustav had kicked the piece of ice at him. He hadn't taken one step, however, when he came to a yet another halt. Narrowing his eyes, he looked in Bilbo's direction, not quite at the hobbit, but more at the area around Bilbo's head.
Cautiously, Bilbo glanced behind himself to see what it was that Dwalin was looking. There was nothing of interest there, just the lake and the dozing ducks. Feeling suddenly shaky and even more wary than before, Bilbo swallowed hard. Surely the dwarf couldn't be detecting him? He was still invisible, wasn't he.
Silently, Bilbo stood up from his crouching position and took a calming breath, exhaling slowly, willing for his heart to pound in a more quiet manner. Bilbo watched as Dwalin's gaze shifted a bit to follow the small cloud that formed between the two of them, but it still took a few more breaths for Bilbo to realize what exactly it was that Dwalin was looking at. When he finally came to the inevitable realization, his world stopped.
Due to the cold temperature, Dwalin's breathing was visible, as had been the breathing of the three men. Now that the men were gone, Dwalin should have only really been able to see his own breaths, but that obviously wasn't the case, no, no: feeling faint and more than a little bit horrified, Bilbo came to realize that Dwalin was seeing clouds of breath coming out of thin air, breaths that weren't his own, breaths that were forming right there in front of him without any visible source.
Which, under the current circumstances, could only really lead to one conclusion.
Before Bilbo could react, Dwalin had reached out a hand and grasped blindly at the air, managing to take a hold of Bilbo's left sleeve.
"Hah!" the warrior grunted as his fingers wrapped around Bilbo's arm and tightened their hold into a firm grip.
It wasn't until now that Bilbo unfroze from his temporary state of shock. He tried to wrench himself free and kicked Dwalin in the stomach, in the groin, anywhere he could reach, but the skilfully made armor protected the warrior from Bilbo's kicks. Dwalin, on his part, had dropped his axe onto the ground and was now waving his free hand about apparently trying to find some other part of Bilbo to grasp while Bilbo did his best to avoid that waving hand. Eventually Dwalin did manage to locate Bilbo's right shoulder and hold on to that tightly.
"Let me go!"
"Calm down, Baggins," Dwalin answered Bilbo's plea, giving Bilbo a bit of a shake now that his hold was firm and unrelenting.
Due to his inflamed head wound, the shaking made black spots appear in Bilbo's line of vision, and had Dwalin shaken him just for a heartbeat longer, he would have been sick all over the warrior's front. As it now happened, though, Dwalin stopped shaking him just in time for Bilbo to still be able to gather himself and so Dwalin's coat was spared from the vomit.
"Stop struggling," said Dwalin impatiently when Bilbo showed no signs of calming down and his attempts to break free were only intensifying. "I don't want to hurt you, but if ya keep on struggling like that, you're bound to get injured."
Threats of that kind were certainly not needed, as Bilbo was already as terrified as a hobbit could be.
Even in his terror Bilbo knew that he wouldn't be able to escape Dwalin by struggling, the warrior was simply too strong for him. So, while Dwalin said something about "wanting to just talk" and Dain being "a miserable git", Bilbo tried to come up with a plan to free himself. Eventually he did come up with one quite desperate plan and as soon as he had thought of it, he put it in action: Letting out a (mostly) fake cry of pain, Bilbo willed himself to go limp in Dwalin's arms, pretending that he had just lost consciousness. Dwalin let out a surprised curse as he suddenly had to support Bilbo's full weight. He then did – unknowlingly – follow Bilbo's plan by lowering Bilbo down onto the ground in a slow and surprisingly gentle manner, calling Bilbo's name as he did so. Bilbo hoped that Dwalin would, at some point, let go off him for just long enough for him to have time to roll away and escape.
"Baggins? Come on now, Baggins," Dwalin was saying. "You better not be dying on me, you hear."
As Dwalin couldn't see him, Bilbo kept his eyes open and watched cautiously as the dwarf tried to fumble for his throat, covered by a scarf, to feel the pulse. It soon became apparent that Dwalin couldn't find Bilbo's heartbeat, probably due to the cold and the numbness of his fingers. To Bilbo's surprise, this made the dwarf look almost... nervous, scared, even?
"Well, of course your heart is still beating," Dwalin soon muttered, his gaze flickering from his hands on Bilbo's invisible neck to the clouds of breath around them. "Of course you're still alive! If yer heart wasn't beating, you wouldn't be breathing and I can clearly see that you're still breathing."
They could both see the clouds of breath that formed when the moisture of their breathing hit the cold air.
"You simply fainted," Dwalin concluded. "That happens. Nothing to worry about."
The dwarf then lifted both of his hands from Bilbo's form to open the clasps of his coat with the apparent intention of taking the coat off to cover Bilbo with it. This was a mistake, he should have instead reached for the Ring to make Bilbo visible again; as soon as Dwalin's hands were no longer touching him, Bilbo rolled away from the warrior as quickly and quietly as he could, holding his breath to hide his whereabouts.
He probably would have managed to escape hadn't it been for the inflamed wound on his head. As it now happened, the sudden twirling movement was too much for his head, and Bilbo spent the next few terrible moments by screaming as there was nothing but all-consuming stabbing pain in his skull, in his world.
Then everything in his world went dark and silent.
A/N: Slightly shorter chapter, but I hope you don't mind.
Thanks for the reviews! If I were a donkey, they'd be my carrots.
(Uh, wait, did I just call myself an ass..?!)
