Day Three
One lonely tear ran down Thorin's cheek even though Dwalin could tell that his friends had already fallen asleep. It was easy for Dwalin to understand the tear, for it had had to be a great relief for Thorin to hear that Fili and Kili were both faring far better than could be expected. Against all odds, it did look like all three Durins would survive, that they would keep on living, and if Dwalin had shed a few tears of relief himself after having realized that, it was no-one's business but his own. Life without Thorin and his lads would have been dull and empty, to put it mildly, and Dwalin was immensely grateful for the way he wouldn't have to face a future without his best friend.
In a rather awkward but gentle manner, Dwalin wiped the tear from Thorin's cheek and then casted a quick glance around the tent to make sure that there had been no-one to witness his momentary display of affection. It was one thing to be (occasionally) soft of heart and another to let others know of it. He cared little of what people thought of him, but it wouldn't do for anyone outside his circle of Trusted Ones to get the impression that he was anything but a package of brawn ready to terminate any a threat aimed at the Durins.
With a sigh, Dwalin smoothed down Thorin's blanket and then reached out and took one of the reports from under the cot, eyeing the parchment with frustration. He had told Thorin that it was Balin who was in charge of all the things mentioned in the reports, but in reality he had his own share of work to do in the addition of finding Bilbo and protecting Thorin. All his duties were pulling him in different directions – here by Thorin's side to guard his king and best friend, outside in the cold to look for Bilbo, into the Mountain to do the tasks Balin had had to delegate to him – and as he could only be in one place at a time, Dwalin felt helpless and useless and found himself wanting.
Settling (reluctantly) for focusing on one duty at a time, Dwalin sat there by Thorin's bed for several hours, well prepared to fight anyone who would dare to enter the tent with ill intentions, though – apart from Oin who popped in regularly to check on Thorin – there were no visitors due to the late hour, nor were there any potential assassins. By the fourth time Oin left the tent after making sure that Thorin's condition was still improving, Dwalin had shoved all the reports further under Thorin's cot, as he couldn't read them in the darkness and didn't dare to light a candle in the fear that the sudden light would rouse Thorin who truly did need his rest.
If Dwalin hadn't learnt to appreciate peaceful moments through the hard way in his long years – the rare moments when nothing pressing happened – he would have soon grown bored by simply sitting in the darkness. Fili and Kili were still young and naive enough to call these moments of peace "dull", and whenever a peaceful moment occurred, they grew quickly bored. Fili and Kili welcomed action and adventure, and Dwalin remembered that he, too, had once eagerly awaited for his first battles, but decades of trying to survive in the wilderness had hardened him and nowadays he welcomed any form of peace and silence as eagerly as he had once welcomed any an opportunity to prove his worth.
Unfortunately, Dwalin's rare moment of peace was cut short (as his peaceful moments always were), when Rea Copperbeard, daughter of Gilea, the head of Dain's guards, entered Thorin's tent and informed Dwalin that someone had apparently stolen Sacred Gold Coins from Erebor's treasury, as several of them had just been found in the outermost circle. Dwalin was a bit taken aback by these news, as he couldn't think of a single dwarf who would dare to take Sacred Coins out of the Mountain – the coins belonged to the Mountain, after all.
"I would have dealt with the situation myself, sir, as I know that you're reluctant to leave this tent," Rea said apologetically, glancing at Thorin, "but since only the members of Thorin Oakenshield's Company have been in the treasury so far, I thought you might like to confront whoever it is that took those coins yourself..."
Dwalin would have indeed prefered to stay with Thorin in case the wounded dwarf woke up and was in need of something, but he had to admit that if one of his friends had been leaving Hagûr-fur-sûm lying around, he needed be there to question their motives himself – while Thorin was unable to do his part as their leader and while Fili and Kili were unable to take his place, it was Dwalin's duty as Thorin's Most Trusted Warrior to be in charge of the Company, for a company he still considered them to be, no matter that the Quest was already over.
Grudgingly, Dwalin trusted Thorin's protection in Rea's hands and went to question his prime suspect.
While Dwalin had been sitting in Thorin's tent, it had stopped snowing. The moon was now peeking from behind the heavy clouds and the whole camp looked calm and serene in an almost ominous manner. Newly fallen snow had covered most of the stamped paths dwarves had made during the day and Dwalin had to now plough his way towards the area where he new he would find the thief he was looking for.
And yes, on the cooking area number three, there stood a shivering Nori who was just preparing to leave to search for Bilbo, blowing on a hot mug of warm juice, warming his face on the steam that floated from the mug.
"You've got to be kidding me!" was Nori's immediate, indignant answer to Dwalin's demands. "You seriously think that it was I who stole the Sacred Gold? Come on, Dwalin, I've always known that out of the two sons of Fundin it's Balin who's the sharp end of the sword, but really, you're not as stupid as this."
With his arms folded across his chest, Dwalin glowered at the scowling thief from under his brows. In the course of the Quest, the two of them had surprised each other and themselves by becoming friends, but the mutual annoyance was still there, as was the knowledge that the other shouldn't be underestimated.
Back in Ered Luin, Dwalin had often had the unthankful task to try and catch Nori after the red-haired dwarf had committed one crime or another. While Nori's crimes had never been particularly serious, they had been all the more numerous, and so, while Dwalin and Nori hadn't exactly been on friendly terms before the Quest, they had been forced to see each other often enough to get to reluctantly know one another. It was because of this dubiously gained knowledge that Dwalin could now tell that Nori was speaking the truth when he claimed to be innocent.
"Believe me, mate," Nori said, taking a sip from his mug, "for once in your life time it's not me that you're looking for."
After Nori had pointed out that he was now one of the wealthiest beings in existence due to having reclaimed Erebor with Thorin and that he thus had no longer any need whatsoever to steal anything (and that had he wanted to steal the coins for sport, he would have hidden them afterwards and not just abandoned them in some tent or another in such a blatant manner), Dwalin had to sigh in resignation and rub his face.
Now that he believed Nori innocent of this particular crime, it was easy enough for him to draw conclusion that it was their hobbit burglar who had taken the Gold Coins and left them in the outermost circle: None but a member of the Company could have taken the coins from the treasury, as only the members of the Company had yet been there. Due to the current circumstances, Bilbo was really the only member of the Company with any kind of a believable reason to go around stealing and so it did look likely that it had been Bilbo who had taken the coins. As he thought all of this, Dwalin felt like strangling Dain for causing so much trouble.
Dwalin offered Nori his earnest apologies as was honourable to do after accusing someone of a crime they had not committed. Then, after making sure that at least one member of the Company would be by Thorin's side at all times while he was gone, Dwalin went to investigate the unexpected appearance of Sacred Gold – and to look for their burglar, hoping that this new lead would take him to the missing hobbit.
After having made a list of all the items that Bilbo had taken from the outermost circle in exchange of the Gold Coins, it didn't take that long at all for Dwalin to conclude that Bilbo had been equipping himself for leaving the shelter of the camp. It was impossible to say whether the hobbit had yet managed to leave or whether he was still hiding somewhere in the camp, but the mere chance that Bilbo had already left and gone to the wilderness on his own was reason enough for Dwalin to upgrade the situation status from jûd to dulvûd-ezum, which meant that the situation had just turned from dire to critical indeed.
On his way back from the outermost circle Dwalin pondered how to best approach the situation. He re-organized the search in his mind and decided to place Nori's dwarves at the edge of the camp instead of allowing them to go to the Eastern parts of the battlefield where they had originally been headed to to continue the search. Dain's dwarves he would take with him wherever he himself would go, Dwalin decided, as he didn't trust all of those warriors and wanted to keep an eye on them.
As the unwelcome thought of Dain grazed his mind, Dwalin's contemplative expression turned murderous. The few dwarves that were still up and about hurried to scatter out of his way after one glance at his face, but he paid them no mind, focused on the grave situation as he was.
Dwalin was just passing by the section four, the area reserved for ponies and wagons, when the sight of certain footprints on the snowy ground drew his attention. He immediately came to a halt and went to crouch down by the footprints, lighting them with the torch he was carrying. As he looked closer, his heart began to pound with excitement, as he could easily confirm the fact that they weren't just any footprints but distinct footprints of a hobbit. And as there was to his ken only one hobbit in this part of the world, it was easy enough to conclude who had left these footprints.
Silently, Dwalin thanked Mahal for not allowing the snow to cover Bilbo's tracks. As if by a miracle, Bilbo had left such a clear trail of his footprints on the snow that an experienced tracker like Dwalin had now no trouble at all to follow it. The footprints went here and there, the trail winding between wagons and carts and ponies, until Bilbo's footprints crossed paths with a cart rut, disappearing. Standing on the cart rut, Dwalin frowned at the evidence before him – it didn't take much power of deduction to draw the conclusion that Bilbo had climbed onto the cart that had once stood there. Hopeful, Dwalin allowed himself a small smile: after finding out where the cart had gone off to, finding Bilbo might be that much closer.
"You!" Dwalin called out to one of the dwarves that were in charge of the ponies. "There was a cart here not too long ago. Do you know where it is now?"
Continuing to feed carrots to a skittish pony, the old dwarf spared Dwalin but a glance.
"It's the cart of our engineers," the dwarf knew to tell. "Three of the engineers left to Lake-town a few hours ago, so I suppose the cart is in Lake-town, or on its way there."
Half an hour later, Dwalin and a bunch of Dain's warriors were also on their way to Lake-town.
Day Five
Dwalin and Dain's warriors had been searching Lake-town for over a day now and there still had been no signs of Bilbo, apart from the occasional, barely visible footprints that always faded away after Dwalin had followed them but for a few yards. It was as if Bilbo was doing his best to avoid leaving any footprints for dwarves to find, but even though his attempts to locate Bilbo had so far been in vain, Dwalin was all the more determined to find Bilbo Baggins not only for Thorin's but for Bilbo's own sake as well.
Still, Dwalin felt quite torn between his duties. If something irreversible happened to Bilbo because he hadn't found the hobbit in time, he would never forgive himself; if something irreversible was to happen to Thorin while he was away, he would never forgive himself. He worried for both of his friends and their well-being weighed heavily on his mind. Where was Bilbo? Surely Thorin's condition was still improving? How had Thorin reacted when Dwalin hadn't come to see him in more than a day?
Out of necessity, Dwalin had allowed Dain's warriors a few hours of sleep, but he knew that he himself wouldn't be able to rest, not now when there was a chance of Bilbo slipping through his fingers for good at any given moment: If they couldn't find Bilbo in Lake-town, if Bilbo managed to cross the lake and escape to the wilderness, it became so much less likely that the dwarves would find him. Yes, they could always go to the Shire to wait for the hobbit to make an appearance, but that was assuming that Bilbo wouldn't die in the wilderness and Dwalin wasn't confident at all that a lone hobbit would survive in the wilderness by himself for that long, no matter if the hobbit happened to be someone as capable as Bilbo Baggins.
Even though Dwalin was determined to find Bilbo, he felt uncomfortable disturbing the mourning people of Lake-town with his presence, as he knew all too well what it was like to lose one's home. It didn't matter that the town had looked, to Dwalin's eye, almost as dismal and unwelcoming as its ruins now did, nor did it matter that the stench of tar and fish guts could both still be detected in the sharp frost from under the lingering smell of smoke, for the people of Lake-town called this place their home and this bleak area was as dear to them as Erebor's grand halls were to Dwalin. Mahal, these people had cared about their wooden, rickety wharves enough to give them names!
Dwalin was now marching along the blackened, icy planks, a peculiar type of a road the people of Lake-town still insisted on calling Perch Lane. Due to having spent so many hours outside in the bitter cold, his beard was heavy with icicles, but otherwise Dwalin felt hot and sweaty after being on the move for so long. Women and men gave him suspicious looks as he passed by them, and even though he wasn't in a habit of harming children, the adults now pulled their bairns into their arms to keep the little ones out of his way. Unlike the first time they had met the Company, the people of Lake-town now considered dwarves dangerous, they seemed to think that dwarves were trouble and danger, the Premonitions of Destruction.
As was the tradition, a red flag had been erected in the honour of those who had died in the flames and the following, bloody battle. The flag now fluttered in the wind, its red colour vivid and a startling contrast to the mix of snow and soot – all shades of white, black and grey – that surrounded it. When Dwalin shifted his gaze from the fluttering flag to look forward, he saw three men walking towards him along the narrow Perch Lane. The men were all tall and tanned, having likely spent the majority of their life outside, and related they were too, judging from their similar features, their narrow faces, long noses and big brown eyes. Dwalin could recall that he had fought alongside these three men during the battle, that he had even managed to save their lives a few times, but it still took him a moment to put names to their faces – Gustav, Kevin and...something, Bör, perhaps?
Gustav, Kevin and Bör fell silent as they noticed him and he gave them an acknowledging nod. Brothers-in-arms though they may have been, but this didn't mean that Dwalin currently had the time to stop to chatter, keeping a close eye on his surroundings in case of Bilbo as he was, and so he didn't pay the men too much mind. Instead, he allowed his gaze to take in the untouched snow and the half-burnt wharf that flanked the path partially on one side. Dwalin considered – in passing – searching the wharf in a closer manner, but disregarded this idea as soon as he noticed that there were birds on the wharf. He didn't know much of birds, but surely the creatures would have looked more disturbed if an invisible being had been hiding in their midst, and so he considered it unlikely that Bilbo was there on the wharf.
Dwalin marched right pass the wharf and the three men, even though he was aware of the way the men came to a halt in a rather expectant manner as if wishing to exchange a few words with him. Had Dwalin been more considered and polite, he might have given the men his midday greetings or something alike, but as it happened, he wasn't bothered with such niceties, especially not now when he was becoming more and more desperate to find his missing (hiding) friend.
The men, it seemed, weren't as content with staying silent: Dwalin had managed to take but a few steps when Kevin was already speaking, his tone of voice dark and slightly mocking.
"One might think," Kevin was saying, "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!" Dwalin heard the young Bör agreeing in his high-pitched voice. "Stay away from us!"
"Go back to your mountain, dwarf!" shouted Gustav whose life Dwalin had saved at least four times during the battle.
Grunting with annoyance, Dwalin resigned himself to the fact that humans were a quick-tempered race with extremely poor memory, or at least it looked like that if this was the way they would treat a brother-in-arms. Though, really, what else could be expected of creatures who were considered to be adults at the age of twenty-five – twenty-five-year-old dwarflings still liked to be tucked in, for Eru's sake! (Or at least Fili and Kili had at that age, according to Thorin. Dwalin himself had little experience when it came to children.)
Choosing to ignore the men, Dwalin walked forward with brisk strides. He would have left the scene and continued his search for Bilbo hadn't something blunt unexpectedly hit him in the back. Feeling the impact, Dwalin came to a halt.
Slowly he turned around, taking in the block of ice that lay at his feet before raising his gaze to the three defiant-looking men who stood firmly in place by the blackened wharf. It was obvious that one of his brothers-in-arms had just either thrown or kicked the ice at him – judging from their positions, the most likely suspect was Gustav – and that was such a cowardly offence that Dwalin simply couldn't walk away from it without some kind of a retort. Narrowing his eyes, Dwalin made his mind up and walked right back to the men, coming to a stand but a few feet from them.
"So short is the memory of men," he said gruffly, looking from one man to the another 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 Gustav, clearly meaning "dwarf" as an insult, though it hardly was that, "you should know better than to turn your back to people."
"Am I not among comrades, among brothers-in-arms?" Dwalin asked pointedly, recalling the way his blade had cut through the orcs that had tried to slay these three men and their kin.
"You are not, dwarf," Gustav's voice was cold, but his eyes flickered to the ruins of his hometown with something akin to pain. "You are not welcome in this town anymore, certainly not after all you lot did to us!"
Ah. Understanding dawned on Dwalin. The three men had lost their homes and many of their friends, and it was, admittedly, all due to the actions of dwarves that the destruction had been brought upon Lake-town. It was no wonder if these men were bitter and angry towards dwarves. In a similar situation dwarves would have surely blamed the men with equal passion, if not even more fiercely.
Weariness spread in Dwalin's bones as guilt and all his long years fell on his shoulders like a bag full of iron, while Gustav continued speaking.
"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 Kevin, spitting on the ground, glowering at Dwalin.
"We might have shorter memory than dwarves," continued Gustav, his gaze full of pain and bitter anger, "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?"
Upon hearing Gustav's words, Dwalin's first instinct was to reach for his knife and cut the man's hair off for the way he had spoken of Thorin. He would have done that too, hadn't guilt and pity halted the movement of his hand and so Dwalin hesitated, glaring at the men. His gaze took in the black bands around the arms of the three men. It was clear that they were either just coming or just going to a funeral and so it was no wonder if the atmosphere was emotionally charged. Could he truly give such a harsh punishment for something that had been said in an upset state? Wasn't some of the anger the men felt towards dwarves deserved? Without the Company, Lake-town wouldn't have burnt, at least not in a few years (eventually it would have, Dwalin was certain of that, as Smaug would have woken up hungry sooner or later, but the race of men was too short-sighted to understand that).
Still, no matter how much Dwalin pitied these men, he couldn't let an insult towards Thorin slide, and so clicked his knuckles and intensified his glare, causing Gustav, Kevin and Bör to swallow hard. The men took several more or less hasty steps backwards before they even seemed to realize they were doing so.
"For the way you've just insulted my king," said Dwalin, "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 while Dwalin did the same to them, making sure to fiddle with the wedge of his axe in a warning manner – mercy was given only once; if another insult was aimed at his king, there would be consequences.
"Why are you here, dwarf?" Gustav was the one to eventually break the tense silence. "Why have you left your camp, your mountain? What is your business among us?"
"My business doesn't concern you."
"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 the man's speech created when the moisture of his breathing hit the cold air.
"Do not waste your breath on a dwarf, brother," said Kevin, 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 Bör who had barely said a word while Gustav and Kevin had talked with Dwalin. "We've had enough of dwarves!"
"That we certainly have, Björn," mused Kevin, giving Dwalin a scathing look.
With that, Gustav, Kevin and... Björn... turned their backs to Dwalin and marched away.
Dwalin glared after them, feeling weary and guilty and annoyed. He let out a sigh, shaking his head, and turned back to the way he had been heading to before the men had assaulted him.
Before he had managed to take one step, however, unexpected movement in the corner of his eye drew his attention and he came to a halt. Looking towards the movement – towards the wharf and the birds – the most peculiar sight greeted him: there, but a few feet from him, small clouds formed as if out of thin air, as if the breathing of an invisible being was becoming visible when the moisture in the breaths hit the cold air.
Under the current circumstances, this could only really lead to one conclusion.
Reacting with the speed the years of fighting had taught him, Dwalin quickly reached out and grasped at the area where he estimated the body of this invisible, breathing being to be. To his delight, his palm touched something coarse and firm and – with a grunt of triumph – he wrapped his fingers around what he could recognize as an arm, tightening his hold into a firm grip to prevent the invisible being – the invincible hobbit, Bilbo – from running away yet again.
Not at all unexpectedly, Bilbo began to wriggle and tried to wrench himself free from Dwalin's grasp. Hadn't it been for Dwalin's armor, the hobbit's kicks would have surely caused pain in several parts of Dwalin's body, and Dwalin dropped his axe onto the ground to try and get a better hold of the desperately struggling hobbit. He managed to locate Bilbo's shoulder and hold on to that tightly.
"Let me go!" Bilbo cried, fear and desperation quite audible in his voice and the sound of it all was almost enough for Dwalin to let go off him by reflex. Instead of loosening his grip, however, Dwalin asked Bilbo to calm down and gave him a bit of a shake which he hoped – in vain – would be enough to still the hobbit so that the two of them could actually talk.
"Stop struggling," said Dwalin impatiently when Bilbo showed no signs of calming down and his attempts to break free only intensified. "I don't want to hurt you, but if ya keep on struggling like that, you're bound to get injured."
His words didn't appear to have any effect on the scared hobbit and so Dwalin tried to calm him down by explaining the situation to him without further ado. He hadn't managed to utter but a few sentences, though, when suddenly Bilbo let out a cry and went limp in Dwalin's arms. Startled, Dwalin cursed and did his best to catch the invisible hobbit and lowered the limp body down onto the ground as gently and carefully as he could.
The sudden turn of events put Dwalin in the battle mode – his senses became sharper, his heart pounded faster, adrenaline poured in his veins. Now that he was no longer focused on preventing Bilbo from running away, Dwalin could smell the stench of an inflamed wound. With trepidation, he tried to rouse Bilbo, swallowing hard as he thought that Bilbo hadn't probably been to see any a healer after the battle. What kind of wounds had the orcs and wargs inflicted on the hobbit during the battle? What kind of wounds had been left untreated for so long?
"Baggins?" he called Bilbo's name. "Come on now, Baggins. You better not be dying on me, you hear."
Bilbo didn't answer and his body remained still and limp. Such was Dwalin's shock to find his friend for only for the said friend to lose consciousness that his first reaction was to hurry to feel Bilbo's pulse, even though his fingers were numb from the cold and the act was thus foolish and unnecessary. He managed to locate Bilbo's throat from under the scarf, but there was no heartbeat, not at least one that Dwalin could feel and Dwalin's mouth went dry as he realized that.
Fortunately his training soon kicked in.
"Well, of course your heart is still beating," he told Bilbo, looking 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. You simply fainted. That happens. Nothing to worry about."
Dwalin let go off Bilbo and began to open the clasps of his coat in order to cover the hobbit with the warm article of clothing. He had just managed to take the said item of clothing off, when Bilbo let out another, even more piercing scream that startled Dwalin into dropping the coat.
It appeared that Bilbo had either come to while Dwalin had been unclasping his coat and had then tried to escape yet again, or had simply pretended to faint in order to escape, as Dwalin now found him lying a few feet further away, a few feet from the spot Dwalin had initially lowered him down to.
Cursing himself for not doing it as soon as he had first got the chance, Dwalin fumbled for the Ring he knew Bilbo was wearing. It didn't take that long at all for him to locate the warm band of metal. He slipped the Ring off of Bilbo's finger and the hobbit immediately appeared in front of him, becoming visible once more – it was a small consolation, though, as Dwalin only had to take one look at his friend to know that Bilbo's condition was even more serious than he had assumed.
Bilbo was sprawled on his belly, clearly unconscious. The side of his face that wasn't pressed against the snowy ground was caked with dried blood and Dwalin could see an angry wound on his temple. This head wound as well as several of the gashes on Bilbo's legs and feet were red and puffy with yellow, foul-smelling pus, and Bilbo's skin had a sickly, grey-ish shade. With his swallow breathing moving his thin chest, Bilbo looked gravely ill.
"Mahal," Dwalin swore with feeling. He slipped the golden ring into his pocket for safekeeping and gathered Bilbo's limp body in his arms, mindful of the infected wounds.
The hobbit was wearing the winter clothes that had been reported stolen in the outermost circle back in the camp, but Dwalin still wrapped his warm coat around his friend to give Bilbo one more layer to insulate him from the surrounding cold. The coat was far too big for the hobbit's smaller frame and with his soft, beardless features Bilbo almost looked like a dwarfling barely out of his tweens. The sight clenched something in Dwalin's heart, though he also felt rage building up in him: if Dwalin had his way, Dain Ironfoot would be dead before dawn.
There was only one healer (alive) in Lake-town and he refused to help dwarves, saying that he was low on supplies as it was, but as soon as Dwalin promised the man two thousand gold coins in exchange of his help, the healer did find them some hot water, ointment and herbs that would help fight infection. Now that he was wealthy, Dwalin could – and would – have paid the man ten times that if only it would have meant that Bilbo would survive and get better.
Unfortunately, nothing the healer did seem to have any effect on the hobbit whatsoever, though at least the man cleansed the wounds to the best of his abilities.
Once the healer had done what little he could do, Dwalin lifted the still unconscious Bilbo onto the cart of the engineers and ordered all dwarves to leave Lake-town as was the wish of the men. His order was obeyed and so their small convoy left the town.
The three engineers discussed the importance of cranks and pillars with creaking, monotonous voices the whole way back to the camp, while Dwalin tried to bring Bilbo's fever down with cold bandages made out of his spare clothes and snow. Bilbo woke up several times, but in his fevered state he wasn't lucid enough to even recognize Dwalin, believing the warrior sometimes to be his father, sometimes another one of his hobbit relatives.
Instead of the relief Dwalin had assumed he would feel upon finding Bilbo, his concern only grew by the moment.
By the time they reached the camp, night had fallen and most of the dwarves were deep asleep. The three engineers offered to take Dwalin and Bilbo to their destination with their cart, but Dwalin knew that he could move faster by foot in the cramped camp and so he refused the offer, waving Dain's warriors off as well. The night sky was almost black with all the clouds, but the main road was lighted with torches and so Dwalin could easily make his way to the centre of the camp where he knew he would find Oin and the third, currently empty royal tent that had been pitched there to wait for Bilbo on Dain's orders. Dwalin was thankful for the night, as he didn't want to draw attention and could now carry Bilbo under cover of darkness.
The clearing in the middle of the camp was just as peaceful as the rest of the camp. The water barrels stood there in the centre of it all in torch light like two burly guards and Dwalin went around them, hurrying his steps to reach Oin faster.
He wasn't expecting to see Thorin standing there outside Fili and Kili's tent, but there his friend still was, wrapped in blankets, swaying on his feet, holding on to Balin and Ori who were both clearly doing their best to steady him between them. Upon noticing Dwalin, a tired smile appeared on Thorin's face, but he must have seen something in Dwalin's expression, for the smile slipped off his face and was quickly replaced by bewilderment.
Bilbo let out a quiet whimper and Dwalin hugged him instinctively closer to his chest, clenching his jaw and looking at Balin with disbelief. He wanted to shout at his brother to take Thorin inside immediately, for Thorin clearly wasn't in any condition to be walking around, but he didn't want to startle Bilbo – nor Thorin – by crying out loud. And why had Balin allowed Thorin to leave the tent in the first place!
Now, it was only a matter of moments before Thorin would realize who it actually was that Dwalin was carrying, as both Balin and Ori - seeing Bilbo's state - appeared too shocked to move and to take him inside. They had both gone pale and were now staring at Bilbo in Dwalin's arm as if fearing for the worst.
"Bilbo!" a voice cut through the air and Dwalin saw Bofur bursting out of a nearby tent. The toymaker wasn't wearing any footwear and his night garments were far too thin for the cold temperatures, but he didn't seem to notice this, as he ran straight to Dwalin, looking down at Bilbo as soon as he reached them.
"Oh, Eru, Bilbo..." Bofur said, his voice as thin as his night garments. "How did everything go this far? How did- well, now isn't the time for that, I suppose. You just focus on breathing, Bilbo, okay? We're almost in your tent, it'll be warm inside and Oin will help you to get better. You're going to be fine, you'll see!"
Dwalin didn't listen to Bofur's words, though he did hope that they offered the restlessly sleeping hobbit some kind of comfort. He was focused on getting Bilbo into his tent as soon as possible, as well as studying Thorin. It was easy to see the exact moment when Thorin realized who it was that Dwalin was carrying, as his knees gave up underneath him and he would have fallen down onto the ground hadn't it been for Balin and Ori keeping him upright.
"What has happened?" Thorin demanded in a coarse voice, looking from Bilbo to Dwalin with such wide eyes that he briefly reminded Dwalin of Kili.
Instead of answering, Dwalin glanced at Bofur, unable to meet Thorin's gaze.
"Go get Oin."
The toymaker did as he was asked, while Dwalin headed for the unoccupied royal tent, telling Balin and Ori to take Thorin inside, for Mahal's sake.
"I'll come by later, Thorin," he promised when his friend tried to put up some resistance and follow after him and Bilbo. "Go to your tent, or you'll fall down and then Oin will have to help both you and Bilbo and that will hinder his efforts to focus on helping Bilbo."
Dwalin didn't wait around to see whether Thorin listened to his words or not. He simply took Bilbo into the third royal tent, entering back first so that the tent flaps didn't hit Bilbo. He had barely managed to lay his friend down onto the cot when Oin entered the tent with Bofur right at his feet, followed soon after by Balin, Ori and the stubborn-as-ever Thorin, because of course Thorin wouldn't listen to reasonable advice in such a situation and had somehow managed to force both Balin and Ori into bringing him to see Bilbo.
The next few hours were spent by caring for Bilbo. Dwalin's duties consisted mostly of adding firewood into the stove and fetching water and other supplies, while Oin treated the wounds and mixed foul-smelling salves that he then rubbed on Bilbo's skin. Bilbo wake up every now and then, but he was hardly coherent and didn't seem to understand anything that was happening around him, even though Bofur and Ori called his name and tried to talk to him. Thorin looked aghast and appeared unable to look away from Bilbo, but he didn't utter a word, and neither did either one of the sons of Fundin.
"Thorin will want explanations," Balin signed in Iglishmêk to Dwalin from behind Thorin's back.
"He will never forgive us for this," was Dwalin's curt answer which ended the conversation quite abruptly.
At about midnight, Thorin collapsed, exhausted after having been up and about for so long. Dwalin and Balin carried him into his own tent and tucked him in carefully, both of them feeling sick with guilt and regret over everything that had happened, even though not all of it was their fault.
Thorin looked up at them, and even though he was visibly drawn, his eyes were full of determination, as well as fear and worry.
And that was when the questions began.
"I've been quite busy with arranging the rebuilding, laddie," Balin answered Thorin's insistent inquiries, rubbing the back of his neck and looking anywhere but at Thorin. "I don't really know that much of anything concerning this situation, to be honest. Dwalin knows the situation better than I do. Perhaps he can explain it all..."
Folding his arms across his chest, Dwalin scowled at his brother – the coward. Balin had the good sense to flush and look ashamed, at the very least, when Dwalin became the sole focus of Thorin's attention.
"Dwalin?" demanded Thorin, looking at Dwalin in an expectant manner. "What is going on? Do you know what has happened to Bilbo?"
"Aye," Dwalin had to reluctantly admit, "and I'll tell you what I know as soon as Dain Ironfoot has first told you his side of the story."
Because Dwalin sure as grûck wasn't the one who deserved to bear the blunt of Thorin's initial reaction.
A/N: The next chapter, Thorin's POV.
Thanks for all the carrot-reviews! They're turning me yellow with delight. XD
