Chapter 12

Bilbo tried to sit up, chasing after the voice that had long since faded into silence, but his body was sluggish and didn't respond properly. He managed to open his eyes a bit, and the first thing he saw was a dark-haired figure leaning over him.

"I-I'm here," he said, though his voice came out as nothing more than a whisper, raspy from lack of use.

"Indeed," replied a feminine voice, and Bilbo blinked in confusion. His vision began to clear, and he realized it was Hanna standing over him. "And you've recovered remarkably quickly."

"What…" He sat up, ignoring the way his head swam with the sudden motion, and looked around. He was sitting in a bed in a small room he didn't recognize. His forearm and chest were wrapped in clean white bandages. "Where's Thorin?"

"Who?" Hanna asked, walking over to a small table and pouring water into a cup.

Silently scolding himself, Bilbo leaned back and said nothing. He winced as he tried to put his weight on his right arm and pain shot all the way up to his shoulder.

With a jolt, it came back to him—Hamfast knocking on his door, running through the snow with Sting, the wolf's teeth around his arm. And then, with an undercurrent of dread, Bilbo remembered why all of this had happened in the first place.

"Take it easy," Hanna said. "You've been out for a day and a half." Although her voice was calm, a crease appeared in her brow, and there was a slight tremor in her hand as she gave him the cup. "I-I did what I could to patch you up, but most likely there'll be some scarring. The bones in your right arm are only bruised, fortunately."

No doubt she was still shaken up about it. Healers in the Shire were mostly used to head colds or the occasional scraped knee, after all.

Bilbo felt something like kinship towards her in that moment. She had been out there in the field as well, had seen the violence inflicted firsthand. It was a connecting thread he hadn't thought he would find in any of the other hobbits.

"Thank you," he said. "For helping me."

"You're quite welcome," she said as she began rummaging through the bag on the table. "And I should thank you for risking your life out there. Gave me enough time to help the farmers who were injured. Even Hugo Burrows…" She paused, a frown twitching on her face. "He's holding on by a thread. But he wouldn't have stood a chance if you hadn't been there."

Bilbo took a sip of the water, unsure how to respond. He hadn't charged into that field expecting any sort of thanks afterward. But it was still nice to know that he hadn't gotten his arm torn up for nothing.

Hanna found what she was looking for and withdrew a small bottle filled with dark green liquid. She returned to the bed and handed it to him. "This should help with the pain. It'll also make you a bit drowsy, but you could use the extra rest."

"I appreciate it." Bilbo downed the medicine and handed the empty bottle back to her. He lay back, a fog of sleep already creeping from the corners of his mind, and closed his eyes.

When Bilbo woke again, he was delighted to discover that his dwarf had returned to him. Thorin had one of Bilbo's hands clasped in both of his and was staring out the window above the bed, his gaze pensive. He gave Thorin's hand a light squeeze, prompting the dwarf to look down.

"Bilbo." His shoulders sagged with relief, and he reached out to help him sit up. One hand brushed over the bandage on his arm. "Are you well?"

"For the most part," he replied with a half-forced smile. "Still breathing and all that."

Thorin reached up and cupped his cheek with one hand, his gaze solemn. "Ónar."

"Sorry, what?"

"He is an armourer in the Blue Mountains. His pieces are well-made and extraordinarily lightweight. They'll come at a high price, but—"

"Thorin." Bilbo held a hand up, stopping him. "I appreciate the thought, but I'm not going to make wolf-slaying my profession."

"I do not ever want to see you like that again. To see you in pain, bleeding out while I could only stand there and do nothing." His brow furrowed and he bowed his head, but not before Bilbo caught a glimpse of the tears that had filled his eyes.

He reached forward and wrapped his arms around Thorin's shoulders, holding him close as if that would stem the flood of guilt welling in his own eyes. He hated how helpless Thorin felt, and hated even more the fact that he knew how to put an end to it.

"It's all right," he whispered. "I survived. And i-if it will make you feel better, I will get the armor from that fellow in the Blue Mountains."

Thorin took a deep, shuddering breath. "When I am gone—" He stopped, feeling Bilbo stiffen in his arms. He drew back so he could look him in the eye.

"Don't start talking like that, now." Bilbo brushed away the tears from the dwarf's cheeks. "Please."

"Let me say what I must." He reached up and grasped Bilbo's hands in his own, bringing them down to his lap. "We cannot keep avoiding this." When he received no protest, Thorin said, "The situation in the Shire has grown dangerous. We let this continue, and several people were injured, including you. I've been listening to the conversations between the people of this town. Their crops are dying. And I fear this is only the beginning."

Bilbo stared at him, his jaw tense. Everything Thorin had said was true, except for one small word. It was only him that had let this continue. It was his selfishness that had caused yesterday's bloodshed, and that fact weighed on him along with everything else.

"I do not want to see harm come to you, or anyone else."

"So you're saying," Bilbo said, his voice quiet and unsteady, "that you want me to…"

"I believe it would be for the best." Thorin leaned forward, gently resting his forehead against Bilbo's. "But it is your decision. And I trust your judgement."

He closed his eyes as more tears welled up. His judgement was one thing, of course.

His heart, however, would not be so easily persuaded.

After the fight with the wolves, Bilbo had been brought to a spare room in the Green Dragon, which had apparently been the closest place to tend to him before he bled out. Due to the horrible weather, Bilbo had assumed that the place would be near-empty, and had planned to slip out quietly and return home.

His escape plans were thwarted, however, as he stepped out into the hallway and heard a chorus of voices sounding from the main room. He crept closer and almost winced at what he saw.

The large room, which normally functioned as a tavern, was filled with hobbits. They were all clamoring among themselves, but upon hearing a powerful voice from the front of the room, they all quieted down.

"Now, now, I know this is quite the dire situation, but we mustn't panic. That'll do us no good in the end."

Bilbo crept closer to the room. He'd recognized his cousin's voice immediately. If the Thain was here in Hobbiton, then the situation must have been desperate indeed.

"My crops are all dead," Milo Cotton called out from the crowd. "Killed by the frost. We'll have no food for the winter, and it's only September. What are we supposed to do?"

This was followed by another burst of overlapping voices, which again had to be quieted by the Thain.

"This isn't the first tough winter we've weathered. Not twenty years ago, wolves and orcs crossed into our land and attacked. Our food was short then, but we made it through. We'll send word to the rangers in the north, and—"

"What of the strange happenings that have been going on for months now?" another hobbit asked. "Hamfast Gamgee's garden, May Goodbody's dog, and whoever knows what else." Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd. "It's not natural, none of it."

"Have we been cursed?" someone else called out.

Unease fluttered through the room.

"Well…" The Thain shuffled his feet uncertainly. "Well, I can't say I know for sure what's been causing that. But—"

"I think we all know who is to blame."

Lobelia's voice cut through the crowd, making them all turn towards her. And then, as their gazes gradually shifted in the opposite direction, Bilbo realized she was glaring at him.

Thorin grasped his arm, the gentleness of his touch in sharp contrast with the way he was glowering at Lobelia. "Come. We don't need this right now."

Bilbo certainly did not need or want a confrontation with his cousin after the week he'd had. But two dozen gazes had pinned him to the spot, and he could do nothing but listen as his cousin continued.

"None of this started happening until Bilbo Baggins came back and started stirring things up. We all know it's not natural for a Baggins to go running off. And now he's come back and brought with him all the wrong sorts of things that don't belong in the Shire."

For a minute, no one said anything, and Bilbo was willing to let it stay that way. He hadn't the slightest drop of anger left to formulate a reply to Lobelia's words. If the others wanted to believe her, he would let them. All he wanted to do at the moment was return to Bag End and curl up with Thorin and try to sleep off the pain in his arm and his chest.

A hobbit Bilbo didn't recognize stepped forward, putting his weight on a cane. "Mister Baggins saved my life yesterday. One of those wolves was prowling towards me, and my leg had gotten all twisted up in the snow, but he came charging in and distracted the beast. Killed the wolf and bought me time to get away."

"Mister Bilbo helped me clear out my garden, too." Hamfast stepped into view. "Spent the whole afternoon bringing the rot down to the gully, so it wouldn't spread anywhere else."

"He saved quite a few lives yesterday." Hanna faced Lobelia, her arms crossed. "Seems he's done a lot more than you to help people with these strange happenings."

Everyone watched as Lobelia searched the crowd, her face slowly reddening as no one spoke up in her favor. After a minute, she muttered something under her breath and pushed her way towards the door.

Bilbo could feel his own face reddening as he realized everyone was looking at him again, but this time with something a little closer to respect. It dawned on him that the others were looking to him for a clue as to what they should do next.

It took him a moment to find his voice. "Well, Fortinbras is right," he said with a nod towards the Thain. "We'll get through this." He took a deep breath and, feeling Thorin's hand sliding down to grasp his own, spoke in a louder voice. "But we need to pull together. We can't be throwing accusations or turning away from one another because that's...that's how we fail."

A couple hobbits nodded. The nervous energy in the room began to shift. His heart was pounding, and he wasn't sure why until his next words left his lips.

"I-It's all right to be afraid. But we can't let that fear stop us. This isn't going to be easy, but the only way to go is forward."

Silence filled the room. Then, from somewhere in the crowd, a voice called out, "Bilbo is right." His cousin Drogo stepped into view. "We'll make it through together, won't we, folks?"

A murmur of agreement passed through the crowd, punctuated by a few louder voices.

Fortinbras cleared his throat and said, "Right, then. Let's see what we can all do for each other."

The other hobbits turned and listened as the Thain began assigning tasks, and Bilbo let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He realized he was shaking, but it wasn't from nerves. He hadn't been speaking just to the others—he'd been reassuring himself, and confirming the truth he'd spent weeks denying.

As terrified as he was, he knew what he had to do now.

Bilbo stepped into the room, and Thorin let go of his hand. As he moved through the crowd, the noise and the people all seemed very distant, a buzzing echo of something far away. It was only when he had reached his destination that some semblance of feeling returned to his limbs.

"Hamfast," he said quietly, tapping the gardner on the shoulder to get his attention. "I need to borrow your axe."

It was snowing again. The wind had picked up into a howling gale, and was blowing the white flakes at such an angle that they stuck to his hair and the back of his cloak.

Bilbo barely felt any of it. He was grasping the handle of the axe, the other end resting on the ground. The oak tree was standing a few feet away, its still-green leaves peppered with snow.

He had never felt more afraid in his life.

"Bilbo." Thorin stepped in front of him, placing both hands on his shoulders.

It hit him then, the trembling magnitude of what this moment was. In the hours since the wolf attack, he had done his best to hold it all back, but now a wave of grief flooded through his body and threatened to crumple him like paper in a fire.

"I…" What was he supposed to say? The last time he had been forced to say goodbye to Thorin, it had all been rushed, things had been left unsaid, and afterwards he had been wholly of the mind that there had not been enough time.

Even now, it seemed as though the moment was slipping away like blood from a wound—inevitable, and fading with each second that hurtled closer towards the end.

"I wish we had more time."

"As do I." Pain was beginning to seep through the mask Thorin had carefully erected since Gandalf had told them the truth. The sight of it made Bilbo shake, and he forced himself to keep his grip on the axe.

Gently, Thorin moved his hands to Bilbo's face, cupping it gently as he pressed their foreheads together one last time.

"You are one of the most incredible people I have ever met. It was a true blessing to have someone with your bravery, your heart, and your selflessness in my life. And I would not trade anything for the time we had together."

The wind was biting against his face, stinging his skin as burning tears trailed down unimpeded. Bilbo reached up and wrapped his arms around Thorin's neck, pulling him closer and praying the warmth from the other would thaw the ragged chill spreading through his chest.

The moments spent holding him seemed altogether too short, and before he knew it, Bilbo was pulling away again, trying to find room in his lungs for the words he wanted to say.

"You changed my life, Thorin. You made me happier than I have ever been. And losing you...was one of the hardest things I have ever done."

Thorin brushed a tear away with his thumb, pride and grief mingling in his eyes. He leaned forward, pressing a gentle, tear-stained kiss to his lips. "May we meet again, amrâlimê."

He stepped away, and Bilbo watched with blurred vision as he walked down the hill, until his tall, proud figure was obscured by the storm.

Biting back the tempest swelling within, he hefted the axe and stepped closer to the tree. The first swing nearly caused him to drop the axe, both from the pain that shot up his right arm and the horror at the sight of the wound he had caused.

Half of him expected blood to pour from the slashing opening he'd created in the bark, but there was only the pale wood that lay beneath.

Ignoring the pain in his arm and the deeper burning that had spread from his chest all the way up his throat, Bilbo lifted the axe and tried again.

Minutes later saw his fingers numb from the cold, his palms sore and bleeding, and sweat and tears mingling as they dripped from his chin. Just as he thought he could not lift the axe another time, another gale blew across the hill, and a low creaking sounded from the base of the trunk.

With an air of terrible finality, the tree tipped over, and its slow arc towards the ground drained the last bit of resolve from Bilbo's heart.

The tree fell, and just before touching the earth, burst into ash.

And Bilbo finally sank to the ground, the falling snow and swirling wind howling out his grief upon the hill.

After I finished writing this chapter, I watched some sad Bagginshield fan videos and cried and then fell into a depressive episode. If any of you want to join in, The Hobbit Trilogy Trailer #1 - Home by Medley Weaver on Youtube is a good one to cry to.

Thanks a bunch to 11celle and Anno1701 for the kind reviews. Hopefully you all don't hate me too much after this chapter... Please feel free to leave a comment letting me know what you thought. The epilogue will hopefully be up next week.