The weather had been cold, but not miserably so, the sky overcast and the wind constant but not harsh. The path so far had been easy, leading them over gentle hills littered with large boulders and covered in dry winter grass. Trouble of any kind had thus far left them alone, actually. Always Gandalf was vigilant, as he knew others were as well, but there was yet to be seen any sign of spies at all, nor any whisper of fell voices on the breeze.
Amongst the nine walkers there was mostly peace as well, for which the wizard was grateful. Between Legolas and Gimli there was little love, and if they conversed at all it wasn't pleasant, but they hadn't come to blows yet so Gandalf was content to leave it at that. In his experience, elves and dwarves could only stand each other's company so long before the situation became hostile. Boromir was still stern and somewhat grim, but remained silent for his part, though he seemed to be fond of the younger hobbits, often smiling a little at their silly antics and odd conversations, so long as they did not become overly foolish.
On the evening of their fifth day, as they preparing to continue their journey, Legolas pointed out black clouds gathering in the west. They blotted out the last light of the day and seemed to hasten the night, and no one in the company could recall having seen clouds that dark or ominous before.
"Gandalf?" Aragorn asked softly, his hand shifting slowly to his sword.
"We shall keep moving. There's nothing to be gained by stopping. Stay wary though, this weather seemed to be of an unnatural and unfriendly sort."
Heeding the wizard's advice, the Fellowship made haste to continue, subdued by the strange clouds in the sky. Near midnight, the western sky was lit by flashes of lightning of great size and frequency. Thunder boomed across the plain, shaking the ground and filling the air with a cacophony of sound, like giants battling each other with great hammers.
Sam had a trying time with Bill, for the pony found the change in weather a most disagreeable turn of events and did not hesitate to voice his complaints. The wind had fallen completely silent and still, a sharp contrast to the thunderstorm that dominated the night. The bolts all began to fall in the same area, striking so near to each other that they appeared as one; a narrow tower of pulsating light that stretched from the ground to the boiling black clouds above.
Gandalf directed the Fellowship behind the shelter of one of the boulders, since the storm was drawing perilously close to their position. From his vantage point, the wizard watched as swirling bands of fog rose from the ground and began to circle around the pillar of light until they had almost obscured its brightness from noise was deafening now, and most of the group had covered their ears, their faces contorted in expressions of agony. Crackling and buzzing filled the air as blue sparks zipped through the grass and zapped along the edges of the rocks.
When the storm reached its most violent point, a great tearing rent the night. As if two great hands had simply ripped the world from its foundations, everything trembled and shook. The pain and shock buried itself deep into the minds of the Fellowship, scattering thoughts into oblivion and confusion. For the length of a second they were aware of nothing but agony, and in that brief moment their memories, their pasts, the lives they'd led all changed. The threads of their minds were plucked out, the seams torn. Patches were torn away and new ones sewn in, leaving bleeding wounds behind. As silence fell, the wounds healed, becoming mere scars.
Reeling from the shock, the nine walkers were unaware of how their memories had changed. There was a second of momentary confusion; as though the mind had been unmoored and set adrift on a dark sea and then all was washed away and memories became sharp and clear again.
Frodo forgot the cousin who had taken him in when he was just in his tweens, and instead remembered Bilbo as the peculiar hobbit who had abandoned respectability and had run off on an adventure and was foolish enough to never come back from it.
Bilbo was nothing more than the hobbit who had left his home and possessions to Frodo, including the troublesome gold ring that hung around the hobbit's neck. Frodo was not inclined to think of Bilbo very kindly. Why couldn't the cursed ring have vanished with him?
Gimli's memories were much changed. For now, Erebor had never been reclaimed and his people still lived in Ered Luin. The grief of sixty years of mourning his father rolled upon him in waves, and a strange bitterness crept into his heart like a thief. Thorin Oakenshield, and all those with him, had mysteriously vanished on the outskirts of Mirkwood, leaving behind nothing but a few packs and the ponies that Beorn had lent to them.
For Gandalf, it was regret that weaved itself uninvited into his thoughts. It was shortly after he had left them that the dwarves had vanished, and he had been shocked when Beorn's messenger had brought him the distressing news. The wizard felt especially guilty over Bilbo's fate, for he had set the hobbit out on that path and therefore had felt very responsible for him.
Long had he searched for the missing travelers, but to no avail. They were gone, and had not a left a single clue as to where. Sorrowful and confused, Gandalf had gathered what few possessions they had left behind and returned them to their families.
Though seemingly little had changed for some, there was not a being in Middle Earth that was unaffected. Confused and frightened, the Fellowship turned to Gandalf for answers. But the wizard could only shake his head, eyes dark with worry.
"Let us leave this place." He suggested quietly.
No one argued with him.
/
Everything was still and black. The blackness was eternal, the silence never ending. The world lay outside the darkness, Bilbo knew, but he could neither hear nor touch it. This thick, suffocating cloud blinded him, cutting him off from air and light and sound.
Was this death? Was the afterlife a void wherein one could not breathe or move or hardly think, where one did not properly possess their body? Floating forever in nothingness seemed a bloody boring way to spend eternity, Bilbo decided in irritation.
Each thought slipped away from his grasp as soon as he could think it, and he struggled to remember the seconds that had come before. Or were they years? They seemed like the same thing. Though I suppose they are the same thing in eternity. Perhaps that's what "forever" was: everything happening in a single second that only seemed long.
At last, a feeling like waking came over the hobbit. The confusion slowly drained from his body, the disorientation of the choking shadow slowly abandoning him. Memory returned, and he longed for more than just the darkness. He remembered trees, sunlight, and wind and felt homesick for them.
A dull roar suddenly sounded from within—or perhaps outside of—the void; a sound like the wind blowing through leafless trees, accompanied by ripping wood. Bilbo struggled to get away from it, for it was a terrifying sound, but he could not move.
Light touched the darkness, rays slowly cutting through the thick darkness like silver blades. Pale stars streaked across the night, leaving sparkling trails of dust behind them. The black turned to blinding white in a sudden flash and the roaring faded away. The world flickered back into existence, and Bilbo breathed in the air he had been so long denied.
The world was still black around him though, and the hobbit panicked, fearing himself still stuck in that place. As the breeze caressed his face with a cool hand, he realized that night had merely fallen. Which was a curious phenomenon, since it had been morning not two minutes ago. Dark as it was, Bilbo was also certain that the landscape was different than before. Yes, Mirkwood appeared to have vanished. Never mind that an entire forest disappearing was a completely ridiculous thing to have happen. The thoroughly exasperated hobbit supposed that you couldn't even expect a forest to act sensibly on an adventure.
What is going on here?
Breath and movement restored at once, Thorin stumbled forward and almost fell on his face. The other dwarves blinked owlishly and looked around them.
"Where'd the forest go?" Dwalin shouted, sounding personally offended by its sudden disappearance.
"Why is it night? It wasn't night before!" Oin chimed in, upset and confused. Bifur shouted something that might have been Khuzdul, angrier and more incomprehensible than ever before.
Gripping his sword and levering it into a defensive stance, Thorin turned himself about slowly, eyes taking in every detail. The company was physically unharmed—shaken and confused—but without injury. Like his king, Dwalin had his axe at the ready and was looking for any foe that could spring from behind one of the large boulders around them.
Fíli and Kíli were standing next to each other, making sure that they were both fine. Likewise, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur had huddled together, and Dori and Nori were helping Ori back to his feet, the young dwarf having lost his balance after the storm had released them. Oin and Gloin were standing back to back, studying their new surroundings suspiciously.
Bilbo had made his way over to Balin and was quietly asking him what had happened. Balin could only shake his head and look to Thorin, his eyes wide and questioning. The younger dwarf shrugged in response. He had never heard of a thing like this happening before.
"Where are we?" Kíli asked loud enough for everyone to hear, though his question was directed at no one in particular.
"Not where we were five seconds ago, to be sure." Bofur replied, his eternal good cheer only slightly affected by the recent turn of events.
"What happened to us?" Ori asked Dori.
"Well, I don't know." The older dwarf responded waspishly, shaken by all that had transpired.
All of them still felt a little foggy, as one feels when they are woken suddenly from deep sleep. Each had the strange feeling that years had passed, yet left them behind. But that couldn't be right, they'd only been in the dark storm for a few seconds. And no one had changed a bit.
Bilbo had never felt so weary. Exhaustion clung like a weight to his bones, making his movements sluggish and pained. Looking at the others, he realized he wasn't the only one. Every one of his companions was moving stiffly. A great strain seemed to have been placed on them, as if they had been buried deeply in the ground and had to fight their way back to the light.
"Everyone stay together. If that happens again, I don't want anyone separated from the group." Thorin commanded, lowering his sword. The dwarves came together as quickly as they could, seeking stability from the one familiar thing that remained: each other.
"What are we going to do now, Thorin?" Balin asked quietly.
"There is little we can do, other than figure out where we are."
Fíli overheard his uncle and leaned forward. "Does this area look familiar at all?"
'I cannot be sure, the darkness is too deep."
"What do we do, Thorin?" Dwalin asked, still eying the looming blackness around them with a suspicious eye.
"There's nothing we can do, not till the sun rises, anyway. Best if we stay put and reconnoiter." Balin interjected.
The company muttered in agreement, but Bilbo, who was still shaking from their recent encounter, stepped forward and made a suggestion. "Perhaps we should move just a little ways, just so we aren't in the same place in case whatever that was happens again."
"I believe Mister Baggins is right. We'll find somewhere to sleep tonight out of the wind. Hopefully the morning will bring some answers. Have we any supplies left?" Thorin sheathed his sword, and peered into the darkness, trying to see any of their packs.
The dwarves were pleased to discover that they still had most of the supplies that Beorn had given them. Gathering said supplies and relocating themselves became a surprisingly tricky task. They didn't discover it until they started moving, but they all soon realized that they were very dizzy and disoriented, and attempting to move caused a terrible throbbing in their temples. Not being able to see in the dark was also a minor handicap.
When they had at last gathered their things, (Ori becoming sick all over Dori's boots after leaning over to pick up his pack almost caused a chain reaction amongst the others, but they were able to suppress the urge), they arranged themselves into a crooked line and followed Thorin into the dark, swaying drunkenly. It would have been a most humorous sight, if anyone had been there to see it.
Certain things soon came to light about their location: one, it was a hilly place with short, dry grass; two, there were a considerable number of large rocks scattered about carelessly, and three, it had apparently become winter. This raised a great many questions about what exactly had just happened to them; how much time had they lost?
"How long do you think we were in that... whatever it was?" Bilbo asked from his place in the back of the line. The hobbit tried not to vomit all over Balin, whose sleeve he was hanging onto. Afraid that someone might wander from the group and become lost, disoriented as they were, Thorin had dictated that they should walk in a straight line and hold on to whoever was in front of them. This also prevented anyone from getting left behind in the event of a collapse. Bilbo had somehow found himself in the back, though in the end he was happy with his lot since it meant that no one could step on him.
"Hard to say, lad. It felt like it lasted years though, didn't it? Perhaps we've only lost a little time, a few days at the most. Or at least that's what we can hope for, anyway." Balin replied, trying not to sound too grim. If either of them thought it odd that winter should have fallen in so short a time, they said nothing of it.
Satisfied that they had walked far enough, Thorin called for a halt. Having no firewood, and unable to find any, the dwarves settled themselves along the bottom edge of a boulder and used their packs as a shield against the wind. Dwalin and Thorin sat on the ends, declaring they would keep watch while the others slept. Bofur took it upon himself to make sure that Bilbo was situated between him and Bombur so that the wind wouldn't chill the little hobbit.
"Are you sure you don't want me and Kíli to take a watch, Thorin? We don't feel quite so tired." Fíli asked quietly.
"No, the dawn may not be far off and I'll need the two of you well rested in the morning." Thorin replied, his voice a gentle rumble in the night. As consciousness left the hobbit, he heard Thorin humming the tune they had sung in Bag End so long ago and found himself longing for the comfort of his little hobbit hole.