Chapter 6

Bilbo was doing the dishes one afternoon when he found himself humming a familiar tune. He shook his head and smiled to himself. To this day, it was still a wonder to him that the dwarves, who were hardly known for being graceful creatures, had managed to toss his dishware around without cracking a single plate.

"What's that song you're humming?"

In his surprise, Bilbo nearly dropped the mug he was washing. He still wasn't quite used to Thorin moving so stealthily around his house—it seemed ghosts did not tend to create footsteps.

"My apologies." Thorin wrapped his arms around Bilbo's waist and placed a light kiss on the side of his neck. "I did not mean to startle you."

"That's quite all right," Bilbo said, momentarily distracted by Thorin's solid presence pressed against his back. "And as for that song, it's the one the dwarves were singing in my house just before you arrived. Did no one tell you about that?" He dried the mug in his hands and turned around so he could give Thorin his full attention.

"No." Thorin shifted his grip so Bilbo could wrap his arms loosely around him as well. The corners of his lips tilted up. "Only that you were quite distressed to have so many unexpected guests in your home."

"Distressed is one way to put it," Bilbo said with a wry smirk as he thought back to the utter chaos that he and Bag End had been thrown into that quiet night.

He recounted for Thorin the antics that had taken place before his arrival, from the moving of his furniture to the plundering of his pantry. When he described how the dwarves had thrown his dishes around and the silly song they had sung, Thorin threw back his head and laughed. Bilbo found himself grinning along with him. Laughter from Thorin was rare, even with his new relaxed demeanor, and Bilbo treasured every moment of it.

"That explains quite a bit," Thorin said. "There was a popular tavern song in the Blue Mountains called That's What Binar Blockfoot Hates, about a stuffy dwarf whose house was invaded by mischievous children. They must have changed the name to tease you."

That did explain quite a bit. "Well, they were certainly all acting like mischievous children, tossing my mother's Westfarthing crockery around like that."

"And I'm sure you played the part of the uptight homeowner quite well," Thorin said, humor still sparkling in his eyes.

Bilbo scowled, though there was no real heat behind it. "I had every right to fear for the safety of my dishes."

"Any self-respecting dwarf would never treat a piece of craftsmanship so carelessly, whether it be a gold chalice or a simple dish," Thorin said, most of the teasing gone from his voice. "They would not have done it had there been any risk of breaking your belongings."

"Ah." It seemed, even after spending so much time with dwarves, there was always something new to learn about them. The thought brought a slight pang to his heart—happy as he was to have Thorin with him, he still missed the rest of his friends back in Erebor. "You know, I was thinking about writing to them. The rest of the Company."

"You should." Thorin released him and stepped back, allowing Bilbo to continue with the dishes. "They'll want to know that you made it home safely."

"Of course. And I should like to know how they are faring in Erebor." Bilbo paused in the middle of drying a plate. "Do you think I should tell them about...you know." He turned to send a pointed look in Thorin's direction.

"No." He went to stand beside the wash basin, arms crossed. "They'll think you've gone mad."

"Right." Bilbo busied himself with his plate, going over a few spots that had definitely been dried by now and ignoring the chill that settled in his gut at Thorin's blunt words. There were still moments when he questioned himself on that very topic. "I suppose that will still have to be our little secret."

"I'll be interested to know how Dáin is faring as king," Thorin said, changing the subject.

"Oh?" He looked up, trying to keep any trace of bitterness out of his expression. That had been one of the hardest things to watch in the days after the battle—another dwarf being crowned ruler and taking charge of everything Thorin had worked so hard to reclaim. "Do you think he will be a good king?"

"He is a great warrior, and wise beyond his years. He can be a bit hot headed at times, but I believe he will do right by our people."

Thorin's expression was neutral, but Bilbo could see from the slight hitch in his breath as he spoke that it pained him too to think of someone else on the throne of Erebor.

"I would have liked to see it rebuilt," he continued, his voice growing softer. "I am immeasurably glad to know my people have a place where they can thrive in safety. But I would have liked to see it for myself."

Bilbo felt a cavernous ache echo in his chest. The sorrow in Thorin's eyes was clear, but he knew he was only revealing the surface of his grief. He set down the dishcloth and gripped one of the dwarf's hands in both of his own, wishing there was something he could do to take his pain away.

"I realize now that my actions in the battle were reckless. I was too focused on my own remorse and shame, at neglecting my people, acting dishonorably…" Thorin's voice dropped to a near-whisper as he said, "What I nearly did to you."

"You have already apologized for that," Bilbo said, caught between heartache and exasperation. It seemed Thorin's stubbornness extended to his self-deprecation. "And I have forgiven you. I will forgive you a thousand more times if I have to. A-And Balin told me himself that you will be remembered as a hero. There is no need for shame, Thorin."

"I should still be there for them," he said, the raw edge of frustration in his voice. He was staring at the opposite wall with such intensity that Bilbo knew he was not seeing it at all. "Even now, as I stand in the world of the living, it is all beyond my grasp. I can do nothing for my people while I am here."

Guilt unfurled bitterly at the back of his throat, and Bilbo had to swallow past it to get his next words out. "Then I owe you an apology as well. I was the one who called you here, but I never meant for you to experience such pain at being...being back."

At this, something in Thorin's gaze shifted. He met Bilbo's eyes and lifted one hand to rest in his curls, warmth overtaking pain. "There is nothing to be done for it. I am glad to be here. Your company has brought me a great deal of joy, and I am grateful to have you listen when I express my troubles."

Bilbo gave him a smile that was only half-forced. He knew Thorin's words were genuine, but that did not completely relieve his own uneasiness. It broke his heart to know that regret and longing still plagued the dwarf, and that these feelings had been made worse by his return to Middle-earth. He would have traveled to the very ends of the earth if it meant there was a way for him to fix this.

But it was as Thorin said—there was nothing to be done for it, and it was clear he did not wish to discuss it further.

"I think a change of scenery would do us both some good," Bilbo said, grasping Thorin's arm and pulling him out of the kitchen. Hopefully a walk would help clear his head and rid his body of guilty tension. The letter to his friends could wait.

He did not want to think of Erebor at the moment.

They chose one of Bilbo's favorite paths, heading west down the Waymeet Track. The weather had cooled somewhat, though the sun in the cloudless sky offered them some warmth as they walked.

To their left stretched out a wheat field, the stalks still mostly green and waving gently in the breeze. It was one of the things Bilbo hadn't known he'd missed about the Shire until he'd returned—there was a certain brightness to the green of Shire plants that he hadn't seen anywhere else in the world.

"Should be a good harvest this year," he said, reaching over to interlock his fingers with Thorin's. "It's one of my favorite things about the fall. I love seeing the fresh apples and squash set up in the market." He was rambling, mostly to try and fill the silence and keep the conversation away from heavier topics, but since Thorin seemed perfectly content to listen, he continued. "I suppose my birthday will be coming up in the fall as well."

"Your birthday?" Thorin turned to him, his eyes widening a fraction. "When is it?"

"The twenty-second of September. Still a few months away," Bilbo replied.

"That was…" He tilted his head in thought. "That was in the midst of our quest last year. Why did you not tell us?"

"I believe it was the day we arrived in Lake-town," he answered with a smile. "There wasn't much of an opportunity for a celebration." It had been difficult to do anything of that sort during the quest. Kíli, Balin, and Bifur all had turned a year older turning their travels, and they'd done their best to make merry with a flask of wine stolen from Rivendell or a quiet song beneath the trees of Mirkwood. "Besides, I didn't have anything to give you lot anyway."

"Why would you have given us anything?"

"Well, because it was my birthday. And you are all my friends." Bilbo thought that was rather obvious, but then he realized he was being presumptuous. "Do dwarves do things differently?"

"Usually they will receive presents from their family and friends," Thorin said. "It seems hobbits have the opposite tradition."

"Ah." That cleared things up. "I suppose that would have complicated things a bit." He smiled to himself, imagining a scenario in which he and the Company had both been trying to give gifts to each other for the same occasion.

Thorin's grip on his hand suddenly tightened, and when he slowed his pace, Bilbo found himself slowing down as well. "What is it?" He followed his gaze to the side of the road, where a dark shape was half-hidden in the stalks of wheat.

As they moved closer, Bilbo realized it was a bird. A scattering of dust had been blown onto the feathers of its outstretched wings.

"A crow," Thorin said, kneeling down to inspect it.

Bilbo copied his movement. The bird appeared to have fallen mid-flight, given the position of its wings, and one glassy black eye gazed unseeingly at the cloudless sky.

An uncomfortable prickle appeared on the back of his neck. It had been horrifying to see the rows and piles of dead bodies in Dale after the battle, and something about seeing the stiff form of the crow drew him back to that dreadful feeling.

He looked up to see Thorin staring at him, and could see in his eyes that he understood.

"Come." The dwarf clasped his shoulder and together they stood again. "Let us continue."

They began walking again in silence. Bilbo did his best to shake his memories of the battle from his mind, but the chill remained.

And, as if his inability to forget had manifested physically, they found another bird farther down the road. This one was smaller, and nut-brown in color, but its wings were spread in the same way.

He glanced up at the sky, as if there were some airborne stone-throwing menace that was responsible for this. Of course, he found nothing, and now the emptiness of the blue expanse disturbed him.

"Bilbo." Thorin was standing a little ways off, at the edge of the field. A small meadow was spread out just beyond, and as Bilbo looked closer he realized the green surface was dotted here and there with dark shapes. He didn't have to examine them to know what they were.

A light breeze drifted across the path as he went to stand next to Thorin, and the coolness of it made him shiver.

There was no need to speak—they were both thinking the same thing. Something was terribly wrong, and whatever force had caused this had moved from rotting gardens to felling birds from the sky.

"Mister Baggins!"

Bilbo nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of a new voice, and turned to see Hanna, the healer who had helped him during his illness, heading towards him. She waved and adjusted the braid of dark hair draped over one shoulder.

He straightened and pushed a smile onto his face. "Good afternoon, Hanna. How are you today?"

"I'm well, thank you. And yourself? Feeling better, I hope."

"Yes, I am fully recovered. I appreciate everything you did for me while I was sick."

Hanna smiled, causing her eyes to crinkle at the corners. "Well, it's nice to know that I'm doing my job correctly." Her eyebrows lifted, as though she had just remembered something, and she asked, "Have you seen a large brown dog around these parts, by any chance? May Goodbody's lost hers and she asked me to ask around for it."

"No, I haven't seen any dog." Bilbo looked to Thorin for confirmation, and received a shake of his head in response. "But, um, speaking of animals…" He half-turned and gestured to the field behind him, unsure of how to breach the subject of what he had discovered.

Hanna's brow furrowed as she stepped closer to the field. "More birds? I saw a couple down the road earlier."

"So did we—I. So did I. Ahem. Do you have any idea what might have caused this?"

She twisted her lips in thought. "Well, I'm no healer for animals. Though I did help Rory when his mare gave birth." She shook her head slightly, as though refocusing her train of thought. "Perhaps they all ate something poisonous. Must have been some sort of sickness. I've not seen a wound from teeth nor claw on any of them."

A sickness, and an unidentifiable one. That wasn't much help, but it did draw another similarity between this and what had happened in Hamfast's garden.

"Shouldn't we tell someone?" Bilbo asked.

"Word will spread soon enough, as it always does," Hanna said. "I'm sure the farmers will be glad to have a few less crows feedin' on their crops." She looked wholly unconcerned with the situation, so much so that Bilbo began to question his own misgivings. "Well, I have to go deliver a tonic to Fastolph Brown. Lad's been complaining of headaches. Good day to you, Mister Baggins."

Bilbo bid her farewell, and as soon as she was out of earshot, he turned back to Thorin. "Something isn't right," he said, as if to confirm it for himself. "Something's not right at all."

"She was bothered by it too," Thorin said, glancing at Hanna's retreating figure. "That's why she was so quick to dismiss it."

Bilbo frowned as he realized that he, too, had a trace of the same sentiment. As much as the past goings-on bothered him, the Baggins in him was quite content with turning away and letting the problem resolve itself. He had only just resumed his peaceful life in the Shire, after all, and he had little desire to go running off again in search of another (proverbial) dragon to slay.

He turned to Thorin. "What can we do about this?" The dwarf's assessment, at least, would provide some clarity.

"Not much, at the moment." His gaze turned to the horizon, as it often did when he was in deep thought. "But we must be vigilant. If whatever is causing this is dangerous, then we cannot allow it to harm anyone else."

And there it was: a plan, a way forward. Thorin had a remarkable talent for making the future seem laid out and straightforward, and it was one of the many qualities that made him such a good leader.

The path beneath their feet called his attention once more, and he took Thorin by the arm as they began walking again. Wherever this road led them, he knew he would not be facing it alone.

For the next few weeks, they kept watch over the Shire, listening in on conversations and subtly inspecting the sky and the crops and the water to check for any changes. Bilbo even caught hold of one of the Rangers passing through and asked her if she had seen anything strange.

Their inspections were, for the most part, uneventful. The Ranger reported nothing out of the ordinary, but promised she would keep a lookout for any strange occurrences involving plants or animals.

After a while, Bilbo found his vigilance waning. The strange occurrences from the past month seemed more and more like simple aberrations. The thought even occurred to him that his experiences with real danger and darkness had skewed his judgement, the same way a loud noise or getting too close to an open fire made him more nervous than it should have.

This was the Shire, after all, and its citizens were nothing if not resilient when it came to the strange and the unexpected.

In the last week of July, May Goodbody's lost dog was finally found. Its body was nearly unrecognizable, given the blackened rot that covered it from head to toe, and it was only by the woven green collar around what remained of its neck that the dog was identified at all.

Y'all know when a dog dies, things are getting real...

I'd still love to hear your theories on why you think this is happening. Next chapter we'll be taking a break from the creepy stuff and having some good old-fashioned Hobbit Drama, but the reveal will come a couple chapters after that. Now that I'm further into writing this I'd say we're about halfway through the story at this point.

I hope you guys liked my little "explanation" as to why the dwarves just waltzed into Bilbo's house with a fully written song about him. That's something I've always wondered about and this seemed to be a pretty plausible reason.

Quick shoutout to darkshire dot net for the awesome list that has helped me come up with all the names for the hobbits. For the rest of you writers, it's a great resource and I highly recommend it.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and thanks so much for reading. Huge thanks to Yana5 and Anno1701 for the nice comments. Welcome to all new followers as well. Feel free to leave a comment about any theories you have, or what you liked/disliked. Until next time!