Day Seven

Bilbo and Dain drove in silence for what felt like hours but only could have been one hour, at most. Had it not been as snowy as it was, they would have reached the camp of elves by now, but since there were high snowdrifts between the camp of dwarves and the camp of elves, Bilbo and Dain had to weave their way towards their destination which wasn't an easy task at all as one of them was driving the wagon by dagger point and the other was feverish and barely able to stand on the moving wagon.

"Master Badger," Dain tried to begin a conversation for the fifth time, clearing his throat. "You have misunderstood me. I am not the monster you believe me to be."

Bilbo, dizzy and uncomfortable as he was, didn't feel like talking.

When he didn't answer, Dain sighed and tried once more, "In all truthfulness, I am rather fond of your kind."

"Are you?" Bilbo couldn't help but ask in a rather doubtful manner, for he hadn't known that Dain had met other hobbits before him.

"Yes, indeed I am," said Dain, encouraged by the way Bilbo had finally answered to him. "Your kind is treasured in the Iron Hills."

"I don't think there are any hobbits living in the Iron Hills. I would have heard of it if there were. Someone would have told me."

"Oh no, no, Master Badger," Dain said and Bilbo could hear the way he licked his lips in a nervous manner. "You misunderstood me again – I didn't mean halflings when I spoke of your kind. I meant your kind, beings similar to you."

"My kind," Bilbo repeated slowly. "What other kind am I but a hobbit?"

"A simpleton," said Dain matter-of-factly, "of course."

A simpleton. The word echoed in Bilbo's feverish mind. A simpleton. Dain thought that he was a... simpleton?

"But worry not," continued Dain. "I accept you and your kind just the way you are. You will not be scorned by me, quite the opposite. Tell you what, Master Badger, if you let me go, I shall give you an entire bag full of buttons."

"Er, buttons?"

Dain seemed to mistake Bilbo's bewilderment for disbelief, for he assured, "Yes, Master Badger, an entire bag full of buttons, all just for you. You could have them all, they would be yours to keep."

"And why would I want a bag full of... buttons?"

"I know that your kind likes buttons," said Dain. "Many a time I have seen simpletons just as yourself occupied for hours by buttons. You find them fascinating, do you not. The round shape, the holes in the middle... I promise you, Master Badger, if you let me go now, I shall give you all the buttons you can dream of."

It did seem, in all actuality, that Dain really thought that Bilbo was a simpleton. The idea was as insulting as it was ridiculous, but Bilbo couldn't help but be also somewhat amused. No-one had ever before considered his mind anything but quick and sharp. Simpleton was something he had never before been called. It was oddly refreshing, unflattering though it also may have been.

"My name is Baggins, Lord Dain," Bilbo said, "and if you think that I'm a simpleton, what does it tell of you dwarves that I have managed to escape from you twice by now, that I'm currently holding one of you hostage and that you haven't yet managed to take my life despite of your efforts to do just that?"

The question seemed to caught Dain off guard, for it took quite a bit of stuttering for the dwarf to form an answer.

"You wear no shoes," the dwarf eventually said with emphasis as if that would have explained everything. "You ran into the battle without any shoes on. What else could you be but a simpleton?"

"A hobbit," came Bilbo's answer. "I am a hobbit and we hobbits don't need shoes. Our feet are not as tiny as yours and our toes are not so delicate that they would have to be protected with footwear."

Bilbo had rarely ever spoken to anyone in such a rude manner and had his face not already been flushed with the fever, it would have now reddened from shame: Dain had tried to execute him, yes, and Bilbo might have been scared and ill, but that didn't give Bilbo the justification to be mean to the person he had kidnapped – it was bad enough for Dain that he would never have proper feet, there really had been no need for Bilbo to remind the dwarf of that fact, not even under the circumstances.

"I'm sorry," Bilbo said softly, for it would have bothered him had he not said it. "That was uncalled for. I shouldn't have said that about your feet."

Dain didn't seem to know what to say to that and so silence fell over them.

Their progress was slow and a couple of times one of the wheels of the wagon got stuck in the snow, but the sturdy pony was young and strong and she always managed to pull them free. Onwards they drove, onwards, towards the elven tents that could be seen in the distance as a colourful patch on the otherwise white landscape.

Bilbo expected to hear noises of a pursue – approaching hooves, angry shouts, orders for them to stop – from behind the wagon at any given moment, but none came, no-one shouted, no-one called for them to stop. So far it had looked like no-one was yet after him. It looked like the dwarves hadn't yet found the tracks of the wagon, although Bilbo was quite certain that his disappearance must have been noticed by now.

The dwarves had to be looking for him already and it was only a matter of time till they would put one and one together and conclude that Bilbo must have taken Dain his hostage since they both had gone missing around the same time. Once they would realize that Bilbo had kidnapped Dain, they would come to think of Dain's wagon and, after that, it would be easy for them to find the wagon tracks at the edge of the camp and to follow them. Now – Bilbo thought anxiously – it was only a question of whether he would reach the safety of the elven camp before the dwarves would catch up with him.

The snow shined in the sunlight and Bilbo had to squint and eventually close his eyes for the brightness of it all hurt them. He could keep his eyes closed for a bit, he reasoned, because Dain wouldn't be able to tell that he had closed them and would thus naturally assume that Bilbo was keeping a close eye on him and their surroundings.

"How fare Fili and Kili?" Bilbo heard himself asking. "Do they still live?"

"They do," answered Dain after a moment of silence. "The younger one seemed well enough when I... spoke to him yesterday."

"And Fili?"

"The older one hadn't yet woken up."

Bilbo inhaled shakily, trying to assure himself that Fili and Kili were getting steadily better, that both princes would yet live to reach old age.

"What about the others? What about the other members of Th- the Company?"

"All survived the Battle. All of them are fine."

Bilbo didn't know if Dain was speaking the truth, but so desperately he wanted for the members of the Company to fare well that he was willing to believe Dain's word this once, as little as he trusted the dwarf himself.

"We could always turn back," Dain suggested, clearing his throat. "We could turn back and you could see your friends yourself."

"I no longer consider any a dwarf my friend," lied Bilbo because he was not going to go back to the dwarven camp, he would not place himself willingly in the mercy of dwarves ever again.

Anger and sadness found their way to the surface and for a moment all Bilbo's thoughts were of the way his friends had abandoned him, of the way they had turned their backs on him, of the way Thorin wanted him dead. He had only ever tried to protect his friends – it was wrong of Thorin to want him executed for that. It was unfair, it was injustice.

Perhaps, Bilbo thought sadly, perhaps if he hadn't done what he had, Fili and Kili would have both perished. Perhaps more people would have been killed if he hadn't done his best to mediate between dwarves, elves and men. Losing the friendship of dwarves had been the price he had had to pay to keep his friends alive, and while it hurt – oh, how it hurt – Bilbo knew that under similar circumstances, he would have done it all again.

Tears prickled his closed eyes and Bilbo had to sniff. He sniffed as quietly as he could to prevent Dain from hearing it.

Bilbo grew steadily dizzier as time went by, untill he eventually felt like he was standing by will power alone. Thankfully though, Dain couldn't see him and thus he couldn't tell how bad Bilbo's condition actually was. Had Dain known any of that, he might have used the situation to his advantage – he could have overpowered Bilbo and taken him back to the camp of dwarves, Bilbo thought tiredly, tightening his hold on Dain's hair once more, causing the dwarf to wince.

Unexpectedly, after the umpteenth time the pony had pulled them free from a particularly deep pothole, Dain swore.

"By my hairy toes," he muttered. "Must they send an envoy to welcome us? Must they draw even more attention to me? This is humiliating enough as it is."

Bilbo blinked to clear his blurry vision and tried to focus his gaze. After a bit of squinting and peeking from between the flaps in the front, he managed to see what had prompted Dain's words.

There was a group of riders coming towards them from the direction of the camp of elves. The group consisted of big folk, most likely of elves, although the riders were still too far for Bilbo to study their features more carefully and so he couldn't be quite certain of whether they were elves or men. The clothes of the riders were dark and Bilbo thought he could detect the colours of Thranduil's elves – shades of green, brown and grey.

In any case, Bilbo felt a glimmer of hope – the elves must have noticed the approaching wagon and had then decided to come to see what business was bringing a wagon from the dwarven camp towards their camp. The group was now riding towards Bilbo and Dain with such determination that the snow around the horses was whirling about like a cloud or an approaching avalanche. The sight made Bilbo's heart beat fast with nervous excitement, while Dain's shoulders slumped and the dwarf began to curse in Khuzdul, quietly but with feeling, most likely overcome with humiliation for the likely possibility that elves would soon stand witness to the way a "halfling" was holding him hostage by dagger point.

"Could you please drive faster," Bilbo urged Dain.

"We're going as fast as we can as it is," Dain claimed, sounding quite sour. "Durin's axe, this is humiliating..."

Though Bilbo couldn't yet make out the features of the riders, it didn't matter, not really – with new found energy, he realized that it wouldn't be long now till he was among elves, that he would soon be safe, and relief flooded into his heart, filling his soul.

Just as Bilbo came to these conclusions, a distant voice could be heard coming from behind them.

"Stop where you are!" a shout rang in the peaceful afternoon.

The shout was so unexpected that Bilbo and Dain both gave a bit of a start.

"In the name of Thorin Oakenshield," the same voice called again and Bilbo groaned out loud as he recognized the voice as Dwalin's, "stop where you are, now!"

Foreboding, Bilbo realized that the dwarves were now truly after him and, worse than that, quickly catching up with him. It looked like the dwarves had ridden after him after all, following the tracks of the wagon, and since Dwalin's dwarves were most likely riding on ponies and didn't have to worry about the wheels getting stuck in snow, their pace was faster than Bilbo and Dain's had been.

Bilbo's heart fell to his stomach. Whatever relief he had felt upon noticing the elven riders escaped him, leaving behind only a strange, empty feeling, not unlike one he would have in a nightmare. The safety was so close, surely the dwarves wouldn't reach him now, not before he would be saved by the approaching elves?

"Drive faster," Bilbo told Dain, getting more frightened by the second. His muscles were tense, blood was rushing through him, his heart beat so fast it almost hurt.

"We're going as fast as we can as it is," Dain repeated his previous words. "I would suggest that we should stop and listen to whatever it is that the younger son of Fundin wants to say, but you probably wouldn't take kindly to any of my suggestions so I assume that I would be wasting my breath if I tried to convince you to stop."

The dwarf was clenching his jaw as well as the reins, and his skin looked flushed as if he was extremely embarrassed – Bilbo could understand that it had to be pretty humiliating for the dwarven lord to be held by dagger point by an ill hobbit. Dain had probably been hoping that there wouldn't be witnesses to his ordeal, that Bilbo would let him go before anyone would witness the situation, but now there were witnesses approaching from the front and from behind alike. It looked like both Bilbo and Dain were in an uncomfortable situation, Bilbo because his life was in danger, Dain because he feared for his dignity.

"Hobbits have no beards," Bilbo began the first threat that came to his mind, becoming more desperate by the moment. "Do you know why that is, Lord Dain?"

"Uh, no."

"It's because we hobbits eat beards", lied Bilbo, even though in all truthfulness, he had no idea why some beings grew hair on their chin while hobbits didn't, not that he had ever really given the matter much thought anyway.

"You eat beards?"

Ridiculous as Bilbo's claim might have been, it made Dain gasp. The dwarf lord obviously knew very little of hobbits if he thought that any a hobbit would have willingly eaten one single hair.

"Indeed we do," said Bilbo, while his pursuers were getting closer and closer, by the sounds of it – the dwarves were catching up with them fast. "I ate my own beard as soon as I grew one, and if you don't get this wagon to move any faster, I'm going to eat your beard too."

The mere idea of biting into Dain's beard was making Bilbo nauseous, but that was the least of his worries, hunted by dwarves as he currently was. If he didn't reach the elves before the dwarves reached him, his life could well come to an untimely end in a matter of moments.

Dain was shivering and not due to the cold.

"You would eat my beard?"

"I would indeed," Bilbo lied. "Beards are- uh, delicious."

"Beards should not be eaten," said Dain hoarsely as if the mere thought was making him sick. "Beards are- beards are to be grown and groomed. A beard is a dwarf's pride. I cannot believe hobbits could eat them."

"Nevertheless," said Bilbo, "we do, and I will eat your 'dwarven pride' if you don't focus on driving – drive faster."

And on driving faster Dain did focus.

Unfortunately, only a moment later, there was a bit of a bump on the ground and the wagon came to such a sudden halt that Bilbo reeled forward and almost broke the skin on Dain's neck with the dagger by accident. As luck would have it, it now appeared that one of the wheels had gone stuck in a pothole in the ground, and even though the stubborn pony tried to pull the wagon free, they weren't moving anywhere. Cheering could be heard coming from behind them – the dwarves had noticed their sudden stop and were now expressing their triumph over it.

A sob escaped Bilbo then, so tired he was despite of his adrenaline rush: the dwarves had been his friends, they had faced orcs, goblins and a dratted dragon together, but now his former friends considered him the enemy – it made Bilbo feel sick.

And then Bilbo really was sick. He managed to turn his head to the side just so before he threw up. He emptied what little he had in his stomach onto Dain's left sleeve, ruining the fine velvet, causing the dwarf to swear and wince in visible disgust. Dain tried to pull away, but Bilbo's fingers were still holding him in place, the dagger was still threatening his hair, and so Dain quickly changed his mind and settled for gagging and sitting still.

The sound of hooves of the dwarves' ponies was now so close that Bilbo knew that there was no escape for him. The dwarves would catch up with him before he would meet the elves, there was no question about it anymore. Now it was only a question of whether or not the elves would still help him even if the dwarves would capture him, whether they would still come to his aid if he called for them.

Desperate, Bilbo peeked from between the flaps in the front and tried to locate the elven group. Try as he might, he could no longer see the elves, since there were snowdrifts between him and the riders, but he could already hear the sounds of hooves of their horses. He knew that the elves couldn't be too far away, either.

Briefly, Bilbo considered leaving the wagon, breaking into a run, but he had to dismiss the idea – he wouldn't be able to run in the deep snow in his current condition, he was barely able to remain standing as it was. It turned out that it would have been too late for him to try and break into a run anyway, because just then the dwarves reached them. Dwarves quickly surrounded the wagon on their ponies and curses were thrown in Bilbo's way from all sides.

"Coward!" Bilbo heard Gloin spitting.

"Perunanenä," came Nori's voice, his tone was scornful and angry.

"Ai durugnul," Bifur cried.

Bilbo caught sight of Balin and Dwalin coming to a halt in front of the wagon, almost close enough for Bilbo to touch them. They were both sitting astride on their ponies, looking menacing and authoritative, but before either one managed to notice Bilbo, he quickly stooped down behind Dain's from, hiding from the view of his former friends. He never once released the hold he had on Dain's hair – perhaps, if it came down to it, the threat of one of their lords losing his hair would be enough to keep the dwarves at bay until the elves would reach them and Bilbo could ask for elven protection?

"You pathetic creature," spoke Dwalin then and there was the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn. "You coward can't face the consequences of your actions and so you choose to abduct someone under Thorin's protection. Did you really think that we would let you get away with this?"

Bilbo was breathing hard, too terrified to answer to Dwalin. His mind was numb and he didn't even question how Dwalin knew that he was there behind Dain – he could only focus on the fact that dwarves had already reached him while the elves were still somewhat further away, on the fact that Dwalin – whom Bilbo had considered a dear friend but a week before – was speaking of consequences and calling him a pathetic creature, a coward.

Bilbo felt faint and nauseous. The world was spinning around him fast, his breathing was shallow. Now that the Doom was almost upon him, Bilbo found that he no longer had the strength to fight. He was unable to move, unable to think, unable to do anything but to wait for the dwarves to make their next move. He crouched there, holding the dagger to Dain's hair, all his limbs far too heavy for him to move them.

He had never missed home as much.

Dain cleared his throat.

"Could you perhaps not point that thing at me, younger son of Fundin?"

"Where is Baggins, Ironfoot?" asked Dwalin and his voice was so cold, so unforgiving, that a sob escaped Bilbo's lips. Instinctively, he tightened his hand around Dain's hair, causing the dwarf to swallow hard.

"I, uh... I..." stuttered Dain. "Well, the thing is that I- I don't- I assure you that I have not-"

"Hand him over, you coward," spoke Bofur for the first time, and hearing that even Bofur – Bofur, the first dwarf that had declared himself Bilbo's friend – had come after him broke something in Bilbo. He could no longer hold his tears, and so, when a few tears ran down his cheeks, Bilbo didn't wipe them away – if the dwarves killed him, at least they would see that his heart hadn't become as hard as stone in the recent days, perhaps his tears would even affect them, in some way.

"Let our friend go!" cried Gloin. "You are not getting away with this."

"Kûrdu-hûm," Bilbo heard Bifur muttering ominously. "Azad hu-gûrundûm."

Bifur's words caused Bilbo's former friends to cheer and several sentences were shouted in Khuzdul in a threatening manner. Dain was shivering in front of Bilbo and Bilbo could hear him letting out small noises, not unlike whimpers, but he was too afraid himself to wonder about that.

Eventually Balin's sharp voice cut through all the shouts and yells. Balin said something in Khuzdul which silenced the other dwarves effectively.

"Let us not come to any conclusions before we have all the facts," he then continued, thankfully in Westron, making it possible for Bilbo to understand what was being said. "There have been enough misunderstandings as it is."

"We have no time for politics, brother," muttered Dwalin, but his words were ignored by Balin who simply continued, apparently addressing Dain.

"I ask you to excuse us for the crude insults that were just thrown at you, Dain Ironfoot," Balin spoke. "They were said thoughtlessly in a state of emotion. We merely want to ask you a few question on behalf of Thorin in his absence. For instance, why did you leave the camp? And what, may I ask, do you have in the wagon as your cargo?"

"Or rather, whom," Bilbo heard Bofur muttering in a foreboding manner.

Dwalin apparently didn't have the patience to listen to Dain's answer – he seemed to have no patience for "politics" in their current situation – for he gave the simple order,

"Cut the canvas off. Then we'll have the answers in front of our eyes."

There was a sound of weapons being drawn, and before Bilbo had time to do anything but become ever more panicked, several sharp blades had been poked through the canvas that covered the wagon, and so the dwarves cut the canvas off the wagon. The canvas was quickly pulled away, off the wagon, and sooner than Bilbo would have thought possible, sunlight hit his face, his form, embracing both him and Dain and the dagger between them. Time seemed to slow down then as Bilbo saw the canvas fell in a heap onto the snow in slow motion. Then, suddenly, everything was back to normal speed and he was crouching there in the sunlight, visible to everyone, surrounded by hostile dwarves who were all armed and much, much bigger than him.


A/N: It was nice to wrote Bilbo's POV again. I hope you liked the chapter, somewhat shorter though it was than how I originally intended it.

Thank you for the reviews! I would have given this fic up already if it wasn't for you who took the time to let me know that you're reading the story.