A/N: I must thank you all for your patience! It has taken me ages to update. I would have probably abandoned this fic a long time ago if it wasn't for all the lovely people writing me reviews and encouraging private messages. So even though I'm a terrible person and haven't even answered to you lovely people, I want to let you know that all the feedback means much to me - it's great at motivating me. So to summarize, sorry and thank you. You're awesome.
Day Seven
Now Bilbo could actually see his pursuers. For the first time since the battle, he came face to face with the dwarves he had once – not so long ago – been allowed to call his friends, who had but days before been proud to be his friends and of whom he still deeply cared, despite of everything.
Dwalin and Balin were there, as were Bofur, Bifur, Nori, Gloin and a warrior Bilbo only knew by name, Gidiur. Dwalin and Balin were both sitting on their ponies in front of the wagon. Dwalin was pointing his sword at Dain – the blade glimmered in the sunlight – but he was staring at Bilbo over Dain's shoulder and there was a look of pure astonishment on his face. Balin wasn't faring much better, his eyebrows had shot up to his hairline and he looked just as dumbfounded as his brother.
Looking around, Bilbo soon saw that all dwarves were gaping at him openly as if they were, for some reason, surprised to see him standing there, even though they must have known that he was there on the wagon – that's why they had followed the wagon, wasn't it: to save Dain from him.
On Bilbo's left, Gloin was opening and closing his mouth slowly as if his mouth was trying to form words even though his brain hadn't yet quite caught up with his mouth. Next to Gloin, there was Bofur whose mouth was open as well, and his eyes were wide and filled with something that Bilbo could only describe as shock. On Bilbo's right, Bifur was looking at Bilbo, frowning, with his head slightly tilted as if it was difficult for him to process what he was seeing. Next to Bifur there were Nori – who was furrowing his brows in a curious manner – and the confused-looking male guard, Gidiur. Bofur, Gloin, Nori and Gidiur were holding the unsheathed daggers they had just used to cut the canvas off the wagon. Bofur was still holding one edge of the canvas in his hand, but the rest of the fair fabric lay there in a heap at the feet of his pony, crumpled and forgotten.
The sight of his former friends, now so hostile and hateful, was like a knife to Bilbo's very soul and thus he did nothing to stop tears from falling down his cheeks. He let himself cry, he allowed himself that – he still had a heart and he was not ashamed to let it show. He was just one hobbit far away from home and he had endured more hardship in the last half a year than he had ever before in his life. All that hardship, all the pain, all the struggles had culminated in the battle, in the aftermath of the battle, in this very moment and it was becoming all too much for him to handle.
If Bilbo hadn't been as scared and hurt as he was, he probably would have given more thought to the obvious surprise and shock on the dwarves' faces, but now Bilbo simply wondered, desperately, how far the elves were. It was as if the sound of the hooves of the horses had suddenly been silenced by magic itself, but Bilbo didn't dare to take his gaze off the dwarves to look around for the elves – he needed to stay sharp and focused now, or the dwarves could – would – be upon him in a heartbeat. One mistake and he would lose his head.
Bilbo didn't want to lose his head.
Swallowing hard, Bilbo straightened his back and stood up from his crouching position. Several pairs of eyes followed the slow motion as if enchanted. With his heartbeat loud and clear in his ears, Bilbo tightened his hold on the dagger as well as on Dain's hair as if that could have kept him grounded, kept him safe. He felt dizzy and faint, and with foreboding certainty he knew that he wouldn't be able to remain standing for long. Now his only hope was with the elves, wherever they were.
"Durin's buttocks, Bilbo!" Gloin blurted out loud, still staring at Bilbo with wide eyes. "Elven balls and hairless nostrils..."
While those were somewhat crude things for Gloin to say – he was usually quite careful to mind his language, especially so when in the presence of Fili, Kili, and Ori whom he considered impressionable due to their relatively young age – his words seemed to now shake the dwarves back to their senses, or at least several of them blinked.
"Uh," Bofur cleared his throat, moving his face muscles curiously as if he couldn't quite decide whether to give Bilbo a hesitant grin or to give in and keep on gaping, "er- um... Yes. Um, hello. Yes, hello, Bilbo. Hello, my favourite hobbit of all the hobbits that I have ever met."
"Bofur," Bilbo greeted the dwarf. His voice was hoarse with emotion and he coughed once to clear it.
"Fancy seeing you here," said Bofur, still looking befuddled. "How are you, my friend?"
"Fine," snapped Bilbo, sniffling, though he immediately remembered his manners and added politely (but not entirely sincerely), "thank you for asking."
Rather poignantly, he didn't call Bofur his friend and Bofur's hesitant grin turned into a slow frown.
"Fine my arse," muttered Dwalin who was looking Bilbo up and down, apparently assessing Bilbo's condition, much to Bilbo's displeasure – Bilbo couldn't afford for the dwarves to realize how bad his condition really was, if he wanted to survive this whole ordeal, and so he shifted on his feet uncomfortably, trying to glare at Dwalin through his tears (which, unsurprisingly, wasn't enough to scare Dwalin off).
Dwalin moved his gaze from Bilbo to the dagger Bilbo was holding in his hand. Finally the dwarf's gaze landed on Dain who, by now, was beat red.
Dain seemed to notice Dwalin's look, for his muscles tensed and he let out a strangled noise.
"Well, Dwalin?" Dain demanded even though his voice wavered and was far from steady. "What are you waiting for sitting there like an elf? Now that you can see that I have done nothing to Thorin's precious hobbit, do your duty as my kinsdwarf and help me. I understand that you are somewhat upset with me, but if you simply choose to watch on while he cuts my hair off – and perhaps even slits my throat – it is you who will deserve to get your beard cut off. May Mahal curse you if you let the halfling harm me, cousin."
"I haven't yet had a proper breakfast," Dwalin said, irritation audible in his voice, "I'm hungry, so you better believe that I am in no mood to deal with your shit right now, cousin. I'm growing tired of this 'misunderstanding' as some people keep calling all this crap you've gotten us into, and Baggins looks sick as if he were about to get married to an orc; he should be resting under Oin's care. So if ever has there been a moment when you should hold your tongue, Dain, that moment is now – for once in your lifetime, keep your mouth shut and let Balin do the talking, if you can't find anything of worth to say. Or better yet, confess everything to Baggins and be done with it."
"I already tried to explain it all to the halfling!" cried Dain, sounding all of a sudden a bit hysteric. "I tried to explain, Dwalin, but he wouldn't listen. He abducted me from the camp while I was following Thorin's orders by taking firewood to the cooking areas, and he is still threatening my hair with a blade – while none of you are doing anything to help me – and he said that he ate his own beard and threatened to eat my beard too. He is no simpleton, Dwalin. Oh, Balin, the halfling is no simpleton – he is a barbarian and completely and utterly mad!"
"I beg your pardon!" cried Bilbo, highly offended, for he was a proper Baggins of Bag End and certainly not in the least bit barbaric.
"You don't need to beg for forgiveness, Bilbo," Balin spoke, raising one of his hands in a conciliating gesture while holding the reins of his pony with the other. "You have been pardoned by Thorin days ago. Thorin came back to himself – the sickness left him – the moment I told him of Fili and Kili's injuries, which were grave but are now healing well. Thorin has been regretful and feeling more than a little guilty for his deeds, for what he did to you. He blames you for nothing and wishes to make amends. He would still count you among his friends, if you would allow him to do so. He most certainly does not wish to see any harm to come to you, laddie, we are not here to see you executed but to help you. Please believe that."
More than anything in that moment, Bilbo wished that he could have believed Balin. He would have given a lot – so much – if Balin's words had been truthful, if Thorin had come back to his senses, if the dwarves would still want to consider Bilbo one of their friends. Balin did appear earnest, but it was Bilbo's life that was now on the line and he couldn't, simply couldn't take the risk that Balin was lying to him.
Dwarrows could not be trusted – was that not something Thranduil had tried to tell him? If Balin wasn't speaking the truth, it would only take Bilbo one mistake – one dratted mistake, one slip – for the dwarves to overpower him and take him back to their camp for the execution. One mistake and Bilbo's fate would be sealed. It could well be that Balin was now simply trying to fool Bilbo into trusting the dwarves. Balin might have well been coaxing Bilbo into lowering his defences, into putting the dagger away so that the dwarves would be able to overpower him with no further damage done to Dain's hair.
Try as he might, Bilbo could see no deceit in Balin's eyes. If Balin was now lying to him, if Balin could look him in the eye and speak deceitful words of friendship without any visible signs of remorse... just the possibility of that was enough to clench Bilbo's heart in a painful manner. A small part of his mind insisted that he should listen to Balin's words and give the old dwarf the benefit of doubt – did Balin not deserve it after all they had been through together? – but under the current circumstances – with him being surrounded by the dwarves, with Dwalin pointing the sword in his direction, and with several of the dwarves still holding unsheathed daggers – Bilbo simply couldn't allow himself to be distracted. One mistake and his fate could be sealed.
"I'm no barbarian," he said softly, drained, tightening his hold on the dagger. "And I'm not mad either."
Only just then did Bofur seem to note the tears that still kept on running down Bilbo's cheeks. The toy maker's face blanched.
"Oh, lad..." Bofur gasped, letting go off the edge of the canvas in his hand, reaching out towards Bilbo. He made a movement as if to get off his pony, as if to get closer to Bilbo by foot and Bilbo reacted instinctively, instantly.
"Stay where you are!" he cried, startled, and his shout was so sudden and unexpected that it gave the dwarves, too, a bit of a start and caused Bofur to freeze in place. "Stay back, or I will cut Lord Dain's hair off!"
"Don't antagonize the halfling," ordered Dain immediately. "Can't you see that my hair is in danger? Take no chances with my hair."
Slowly, with visible hesitation, Bofur eased himself back onto the saddle, while the other dwarves exchanged looks. Dwalin opened his mouth as if to say something, but then snapped it shut and settled for clenching his jaw.
Bilbo swallowed down yet another wave of nausea, feeling fainter by the moment. The smell of vomit was pungent, especially so as Dain's vomit-stained sleeve was right there under his nose.
"Well," mused Nori who was regarding the dagger Bilbo was holding to Dain's neck, "this certainly isn't the scene I was expecting to find, I give you that."
"I'm not sorry to disappoint," said Bilbo. He didn't know if his words made any sense, but he commended himself for having said something, at least. His father might have been a Baggins, but his mother had been a Took and Tooks rarely lost their tongue.
Unlike Tooks, the dwarves now certainly looked lost for words, though Nori managed, "Didn't say I was disappointed per se, did I," before falling silent. Yet again looks were exchanged between the dwarves and their mouths opened and closed as if they were desperate to say something but couldn't quite find the words.
With the dwarves seemingly otherwise occupied, Bilbo hastened to take a glance around to see how far the elves were. To his great disappointment he still couldn't see the elven riders anywhere, but the wagon had come to a halt in a small clearing, which was surrounded by high snowdrifts, so it was possible that the snowdrifts were simply blocking Bilbo's view of the riders. It was also possible that the snowdrifts were deadening the sounds of the horses' hooves like a velvet canvas would muffle the sound of domestic life on the wall of a smial, but Bilbo couldn't help but feel trepidation over the possibility that the elves had noticed the dwarves and had, for some reason, simply turned back to their camp and left Bilbo to his own devices.
Balin cleared his throat and Bilbo snapped his attention back to the dwarves. As soon as their eyes met, Balin gave Bilbo what was probably intended to be a kind smile even though the final outcome looked rather pinched.
"It is good to see that you are..." Balin seemed to struggle with finding a suitable word but settled eventually with, "relatively well, Bilbo. We feared that we might find you in a worse condition – and yes, I am saying this as sincerely as is possible, for I mean every word: I assure you, laddie, that we are not trying to get you executed, we pose you no danger. There was a misunderstanding between Thorin and Dain that has led us to this unpleasant situation – Dain misinterpreted Thorin's order to 'take care of you' – but I assure you that we mean you no harm. You are safe with us, I swear that on my beard."
"I don't know if I believe you," admitted Bilbo.
"Understandable," said Balin, looking at the other dwarves. "Perhaps we should demonstrate to Bilbo that we pose him no danger. Why don't you, Dwalin, sheath your sword? And the rest of you, put those daggers away already. Let us show to Bilbo that he is, indeed, among friends, that we mean him no harm."
Bilbo saw Dwalin blink, and the dwarf looked down at the sword in his hand as if he had forgotten that he was still pointing the tip of it at Dain's chest. Grunting, Dwalin withdrew the weapon and did as his brother had suggested, as did Bofur, Gloin, Nori, and Gidiur. Soon there were no unsheathed blades anywhere but in Bilbo's hand.
"Baggins," Dwalin said once his sword was sheathed, raising his hands to show that they were, indeed, empty. Bilbo really did not know what he should have made of this unexpected turn of events.
"Dwalin," his voice betrayed all the wariness he was feeling.
In all truthfulness, Bilbo had expected the dwarves to attack him as soon as they saw him. Now their behaviour, their calm yet nervous manner bewildered him and the bewilderment increased his level of wariness, his fear.
Could it be that there was at least some truth in Balin's words? Or were the dwarves really just so reluctant to put Dain's hair into any further danger that they were now trying to coax Bilbo into lowering his defences, into releasing Dain so that they could then overpower Bilbo without the fear of Dain's hair getting harmed?
It was rather ridiculous how much dwarves seemed to care for one's hair, but Bilbo certainly wasn't complaining, if it was to keep him alive.
"Put the dagger down, Baggins."
"I won't."
"You won't be needing it."
"I'll decide that for myself, Dwalin, thank you."
"No need for gratitude," the warrior spoke gruffly and lowered his hand to grasp the reins as his pony began to prance a bit.
"Just put the dagger down," Dwalin added as soon as he had the pony under control once more. "You won't be needing it."
They were both silent for a moment, studying each other, while the other dwarves shifted on their saddles in a more or less uncomfortable, awkward manner. Against the back of his hand, Bilbo could feel Dain swallowing hard, but apart from that, the dwarf was as stiff and still as a plank. He seemed to be doing his best not to "antagonize" Bilbo in any way. Instead of trying to be proactive, Dain was apparently waiting for the other dwarves to save him and his hair which wasn't senseless of him at all under the circumstances.
"You were on your way to the camp of elves, laddie, were you not," said Balin unexpectedly.
Unexpected though the question might have been, the answer was so obvious that Bilbo only raised his chin in a mutinous manner, choosing to remain silent.
"Perhaps," mused Balin, clearing his throat once again, "perhaps we could all go to the elven camp together."
Bilbo – and the dwarves – all looked at Balin with various degrees of surprise. They were all taken off guard by the suggestion, or so it seemed, at least.
"Have you lost yer mind, brother?" demanded Dwalin, sounding startled, repulsed, and worried for his brother's mental health, all at once.
Balin ignored Dwalin and the other grumbling dwarves in order to look Bilbo in the eye.
"You would feel safe amongst the elves, wouldn't you, laddie," he said kindly. "You would feel save, and we could send for Gandalf. You do not trust us to tell you the truth, but surely you would believe Gandalf's words, would you not?"
"Of course," the words left Bilbo's lips without his even really needing to consider the matter.
"Indeed you do," Balin nodded his head thoughtfully. "While Thranduil's elves would look after you, Gandalf could go to our camp to talk with Thorin on your behalf. Upon his return, he could then tell you whether or not we are telling you the truth, Gandalf could clear this confusion for once and for all."
"Have you gone mad, Balin?" demanded Dwalin again, with disbelief written all over his face, before Bilbo had a change to say anything. "You would lead Baggins – in that condition – to the greenlings and trust the wizard to solve the situation? Baggins is under Thorin's protection, and I won't just sit idly by and let you take him to Thranduil. Have you forgotten what those elves did to us? Have you forgotten our stay in their dungeons?"
"I have not," said Balin. "How could I? It gives me no pleasure to suggest this, but what other options do we have?"
"We could just grasp Bilbo and take him to see Thorin," suggested Nori. "Bilbo wouldn't like it, but once he saw that we really mean him no harm, he and Thorin could talk things through and we could be done with this."
"I won't let anyone dwarfhandle Bilbo," cried Bofur, slapping his knee to emphasize his words. "No-one touches him! I don't want to get elves involved, but if Bilbo wants to come back to our camp, he will do so of his own free will, not because we made him do so. He's scared enough as it is."
Bilbo was, indeed, more scared than he would have willingly admitted. His vision was swimming and he really, really, really didn't know what he should have thought of Balin's suggestion and Bofur's words. Would the dwarves allow him to go to the camp of elves, to safety? Could it be true, after all, that Thorin had forgiven him, that Balin had been speaking the truth?
Could it be that he still did have friends among dwarves?
"I'm not putting Baggins' safety in any an elf's hands," grumbled Dwalin.
Bifur, visibly just as unsettled by Balin's suggestion as Dwalin was, spoke in Khuzdul then, and soon all the dwarves were shouting at each other in their dwarven language, making wild hand gestures.
It would have been impossible to say how long that could have went on – perhaps the dwarves would have yelled at each other until Bilbo would have collapsed – hadn't a group of elven riders burst into the small clearing from behind the high snowdrifts just then. Their appearance was so sudden that even Bilbo gave a bit of a start even though new-found hope began to pour into his pores immediately at the mere sight of the elves. He was relieved to see that the elves hadn't went back to their camp, that the elves were now there with him. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps he would survive this ordeal after all regardless of whether Balin was speaking the truth, perhaps the elves would agree to help him, perhaps they would save him from dwarves.
The dwarves didn't seem pleased at all to suddenly find themselves in the presence of elves. Unlike Bilbo and Dain, the others hadn't apparently been aware of the approaching group of elves – which, now that Bilbo thought of it, was no wonder, really, as the snowdrifts had kept the elves well out of the dwarves' sight, just as they had kept them momentarily out of Bilbo's sight, and the snow had softened the sound of their horses' hooves just enough to make the sound undetectable – and thus the dwarves looked now more than a little taken aback.
Dwalin, clearly on guard, was muttering curses under his breath, while his gaze followed the movements of the elves in an intent, watchful manner. He was grasping the hilt of his sheathed sword, as were Nori, Bifur, and Gidiur, while Gloin held his axe with both of his hands and Bofur fingered the pommel of his dagger.
While the dwarves exchanged wary glances and signed to each other subtly in Iglishmek, the elves were quick to surround the wagon – or rather, the dwarves (who were surrounding the wagon). Their horses moved so fast that Bilbo couldn't count the elves until they all came to an eventual halt. When the elves finally brought their horses to a stop, it turned out that there were five elves, in total, each one of them fair, tall, lean and just as pleasant to look upon as all elves were.
The elves were all wearing Thranduil's colours, green and brown. The two males had situated themselves behind Dwalin and Balin and were thus closest to Bilbo and Dain. The slightly shorter one of the male elves had somewhat rounder features than elves usually did which made him look very young even though he must have been centuries older than Bilbo. The other male had high cheekbones and sharp features, and he, like the four other elves, was now regarding the dwarves with a blank expression on his face, even though the look in his green eyes was sharp.
On Bilbo's right, behind Nori, Bifur and Gidiur, there were two female elves who – judging from their similar ethereal appearances – had to be close relatives, possibly siblings or cousins. On Bilbo's left behind Gloin and Bofur, the oldest-looking elf, a female as well, had the kind of arching eyebrows that gave her a rather sharp-minded, intelligent look. Her hair was darker than the other elves' and she seemed to be the leader of the elven group, or at least her bearing was authoritative and commanded respect. Her blue eyes were quick to take in the beings in front of her and, for a moment, her gaze lingered on Bilbo, a flushed Dain, and the gleaming dagger between them. She raised one inquisitive eyebrow before focusing his gaze on Balin who she seemed to recognize, Bilbo could only assume that the two had met at some point during their long lives.
"Master Balin," the elf said, tilting her head in greeting.
"Rambesiel," answered Balin.
Now that the elves had come to a halt, the dwarves were glowering at them openly. Even though dwarves and elves had recently joined forces to fight a common enemy, it didn't look like the relations between the two races had become much warmer in the past few days. Bilbo, for one, had had more than enough of their mutual hostility, but there was little he could do about it, especially now when he had to focus on surviving instead of mediating between dwarves and elves.
Dwalin had turned on his saddle to look up at the two elves that had come to a halt behind him and Balin. The elves were now looming over Dwalin and Balin on their horses which Dwalin didn't seem to like one bit, judging by his snarl.
"What is the meaning of this?" asked Balin of Rambesiel in a quite calm, diplomatic manner, even though Bilbo could detect a hint of annoyance and wariness in the dwarf's furrowed brow.
Rambesiel gave Balin a cool look and seemed to ignore the way Bofur placed himself between her and Bilbo – to keep her from coming to Bilbo's aid, or to protect Bilbo from any threat she might pose, that Bilbo couldn't tell.
"This wagon," Rambesiel spoke, gesturing to the wagon in question, "was detected by our guards and we were sent to investigate. Why were you approaching our camp?"
"It concerns you not," said Dwalin as haughtily as Thorin might have done, never taking his eyes off the two elves behind him and Balin. Once again Thorin and Dwalin's familial resemblance was quite clear and the reminder of Thorin made Bilbo's heart ache.
"As my brother meant to say, daughter of Rambes," said Balin, "there is nothing here to cause concern to elves. We were simply on our way to your camp because we wish to consult Gandalf the Grey on a personal matter. My sources tell me that he still remains with Thranduil."
Bilbo sniffled and blinked tears from his eyes. He could tell that his condition was worsening by the moment. It already felt like a great effort to even remain standing, but he forced himself to stood tall – the presence of elves and the mention of Gandalf had given him hope as well as mental strength.
"Mithrandil has, indeed, been kind enough to offer us his aid upon our king's request," said Rambesiel, looking from Balin to Bilbo. "Might I inquire why you are threatening Lord Dain with a dagger, Master Halfling?"
"No, you might not," snapped Dain before Bilbo could answer. "It doesn't concern you."
"But I am required to give a report of this encounter," insisted Rambesiel. "To give a thorough report, I must have answers to certain questions, such as why this wagon was approaching our camp and why Master Halfling is threatening his lordship with a blade."
"None of your business, elf," said Dwalin, echoing Dain's words, "so why don't you leave us be and ride your bony little arses back to that flower ring you call your 'camp'."
"Vâi-êtkaa," Balin said to Dwalin and Dain in a sharp tone of voice. Dwalin and Dain grumbled something in Khuzdul and then fell silent, at least for the time being.
Offering the elven leader an apologetic smile as if he regretting causing her some inconvenience, Balin spoke, "I apologize for those rude words. As for the matter with Master Baggins and Lord Dain, there has been a bit of a misunderstanding between my kin – that is why we are in need of Gandalf's consultation, truth to be told."
Bilbo could no longer see clearly, the world around him was blurry, the dwarves and the elves and the animals they rode were nothing but colourful shapes against white background. He felt like he was floating and he was so, so cold, freezing, even though he was sweating and his clothes felt sweltering. Soon his survival would be out of his own hands and then it would only be a question of whether the dwarves or the elves would reach him first, whether the elves would try to help him, or whether they would leave him in the dwarves' mercy.
It was time for Bilbo to find his voice, now that he still got it.
"Good day!" he greeted the elves as politely as he was able to, managing to draw the attention of both the dwarves and the elves to him at once. He could tell that he was slurring his words and could only imagine what he looked like to the elves: with his face smeared with tears, sweat, snot, and vomit while he swayed on his feet and held a dagger to a dwarven lord's hair.
"Afternoon greetings to you too, Master Halfling."
Rambesiel tilting her head was the last thing Bilbo saw before colour and shape quickly faded away, and Bilbo knew then that he was about to collapse. He withdrew the dagger from Dain's hair, as he didn't want to accidentally cut the dwarf with it when he would unavoidably collapse. The weapon slipped out of his grasp as if on its own accord and hit the planks of the wagon with a rapping sound that echoed in Bilbo's feverish mind.
"Please help me, my lady," Bilbo said, or at least tried to say, just as a sensation of falling hit him. The next rapping sound he heard was caused by his own body hitting the floor of the wagon. He laid there, shivering but too exhausted to move as a cacophony of startled voices suddenly filled the air all around him.
"Bilbo! Bilbo!" was the last thing he heard before unconsciousness claimed him and he knew no more.
