Chapter 2: Triggered
The wind whistled past his ears, ruffling his hair. He was running, simply for the enjoyment of the movement, to feel the earth fly past below him as he rapidly approached his destination. He was fast as the wind, and he felt invincible! If someone had followed him, Bilbo was sure he could have easily outrun them now, but there were no predators stalking him right now.
He could smell something, that reminded him of the Shire during the winter markets, cinnamon and dry hay and the fruity smell of something sweet, scents that drifted through the cold air. He felt free and unbound and even the darkness wasn't all that scary, the moon lightened up the world around him in a silvery glow that let him see shapes and beauty as he ran past. In a way, the rhythmic motion was soothing, and the scents provided comfort as memories of joyful times resurfaced.
A branch breaking sounded like a gunshot in the still nightair and-
Bilbo sat up, flailing his arms as something tangled around his body. Finally the sleeping bag slipped down and Bilbo realized he must have nearly buried himself in the warm linen. They smelled good. Now his breath was fogging in the cool air of his resting place but his senses were going high-wire. He could smell the battlefield still, the scent almost overpowering strong now. Bilbo spared a second to wonder about that, since the cool night air should have slowed the rot and he would have thought the smell would be stronger during the day.
The hobbit jumped as another branch broke, his fingers fumbling for his sword as he sought to arm himself while he quickly struggled out of his sleeping bag. It took him a second longer than he would have liked to get free, seconds that could easily cost him his life as no one else was watching his camp. His heart pounded loudly in his chest, so loud and strong that Bilbo was sure whatever it was must be able to hear it too. Kneeling in the dirt he held one hand pressed to the earth, as if seeking reassurance from the ground itself while his other hand raised the sword a little bit higher, seeking to protect himself from a sudden assault while making himself as small a target as possible. Maybe whatever was out there would pass by without seeing him. Anxiously he held his breath, straining his ears instead to pick up what hat originally ripped him out of his dreams.
There. Footsteps. Heavy stomps on loose and soggy earth. Slowly he rose to his feet, using the boulders that hid him from sight to steady himself in the darkness. Bilbo pressed himself against the stones and tried to take courage in the fact that his blade remained dark. There was no blue glow that heralded the arrival of enemies, but Bilbo was not sure if his sword would protect him from scavengers and predators as well. He rather doubted it.
Then again, those footsteps did sound rather familiar. Some tension in Bilbo's shoulders lessened but he didn't dare lower his weapon in case he was wrong.
It took longer than Bilbo thought it should for the glow of a lantern to flicker to life. Then a pair of dwarrows rounded the corner and visibly startled at seeing him with his weapon at hand glowering at them.
Lowering Sting a little to show he meant no harm, but not enough to be completely harmless in case the dwarrows were seeking to 'avenge' their king or whatever bullheaded reason had led them over to his place, he raised an eyebrow and croaked out with a sleep-dry voice that dared them to explain their presence.
"Good evening." from the way he held himself as well as his dark frown, as he blinked into their light, the dwarrows exchanged looks that reminded him too much of Kíli and Fíli whenever they had been caught doing something they shouldn't. It literally screamed 'busted'.
"Mighty sorry to have woken you." one of the dwarrows finally forced out while eyeing Bilbo's sword. Hesitatingly he lowered it all the way and finally sheathed Sting, deeming them no threat. For now. Not that he would have been able to overpower two battle-worn dwarrows but they could harldy know that, right?
"Just looking." the other dwarrow said "Thought we would see if everything is all right over here." translate? Looking if Bilbo was still where he was supposed to be, since there was no fire. Otherwise Bilbo was sure they would have combed through Erebor just to be sure that he wasn't inside.
It was a possibility with his ring, after all, even though Bilbo doubted they knew about that.
"Done looking then?" he asked instead, and really, he was too tired to care for how rude he sounded. He felt defensive, a little threatened, exhausted and they had just scared him for practically no reason at all.
The dwarrow on the left nodded, then they both turned. For whatever reason the second dwarrow hesitated, then he put the lantern on the ground.
"It's not much but a little light might offer you some comfort." The dwarrow shrugged at Bilbos suspicious look, turned around and followed after his companion.
Bilbo turned to look at the small lantern, not sure if he should be relieved to have light, suspicious if they just wanted to draw unnecessary attention to his spot, or suspicious if they simply wanted to confirm where he was, based on the light.
Whatever it was, for not Bilbo decided to be thankful and warm his cold hands on the little light, before crawling back into his make-shift bed. He decided to put he tiny flame out. He didn't want to take any risks, and it wouldn't do to waste the small candle that was standing inside the lantern.
When Bilbo fell back to sleep again, his dreams were restless and dark, filled with screams and the smell of blood and wet earth.
。・゜゜・ ✿ ・゜゜・。
The next day Bilbo rose with the sun. His limps felt stiff, as the cold had seeped through his sleeping gear and now seemed to have settled in his bones. Tired, despite having slept for the whole night in spite of the interruption, Bilbo settled for a quick breakfast, before he set out to find some wood. He wanted to be warm again and a small fire would go far to reach that goal. And the movement helped relax his stiff muscles, warming them with exercise.
Wood was scarce. The desolation was barren and Bilbo only found a few sticks and branches, mostly small and wet with morning dew. Discouraged and his mood sinking by the second Bilbo returned to 'his camp' and tried to make do with what he had. Pressing his lips together he stubbornly hit the flints together, creating sparks and trying to light a fire with the damp wood and some dry leaves he had been able to find.
"Come. On...!" finally and with sore hands a spark landed on a dry-enough leaf and a tiny plume of smoke rose. Quickly Bilbo fell on his knees and tried to encourage the little spark to become a flame, gently blowing on it, making the glow flare and recede.
Then it flickered out.
"Fusak!" lashing out the branches scattered, the flints struck the opposite boulder and Bilbo sprang to his feet, punching the boulder behind him in a fit of anger that nearly clouded his vision in read.
Breathing heavily Bilbo closed his eyes and hung his head, taking several deep breaths to calm himself down. He was a little startled at his behaviour. If he knew himself well, he was usually a very controlled and polite, if not soft spoken person. Unless he was angered, then he gladly sharpened his tongue, but politeness had been ingrained into him from his mothers lap.
Then again, this was hardly normal. Extenuating circumstances might lead to some abnormal behaviour.
With a sigh Bilbo gathered the scattered sticks and put them on a pile. He hoped they would be able to dry until evening, so maybe he could make a small fire later on. Maybe he could sneak into one of the camps and get a bit of dry firewood too. Even the humans wouldn't let him freeze to death, he hoped.
His fingers were sore, but it was only now that Bilbo remembered that the arm, which he had used to punch a stone, was the same arm that had been mauled by a warg on the previous day. In that case the hit should have hurt a lot more than it actually did. Right now his knuckles were sore, but the rest of the arm seemed to be fine.
Bemused Bilbo settled on his sleeping-bag and slowly unwrapped the bandages. When they fell away Bilbo was left staring at the slightly reddened, yet completely healed skin. There was a scar, that would probably fade a little over time but never truly disappear, but the wound itself …
Ripping a small piece from the hem of his shirt he used a little water and carefully cleaned the bite wound. Astonished he raised his arm for better light. It was healed.
"Huh." Bilbo muttered to himself and scratched his head in bemused wonder "I guess elves know their stuff when it comes to healing."
。・゜゜・ ✿ ・゜゜・。
Plan made Bilbo ambled over to the human camp. He didn't want to overstay his welcome with the elvish camp, so he decided to try his luck with the other race for this day.
It was loud. Humans were bustling back and forth and Bilbo felt uncomfortably aware how he drew attention. Not only that but the humans didn't even seem to bother hiding their opinions from him all that much. Either that or they didn't realize that Bilbo's hearing was slightly better than that of a human, even if it was not on par with the elves.
It rankled to hear their doubts that they would get the promised gold – which wasn't even truly his fault but the dwarrows, if they refused to give over his portion of the reward. There were loud whispers that he was a thief and betrayer, couldn't be trusted. Truthful, Bilbo thought that is it was even a nuance louder, the humans could as well say it to his face. He ducked his head and prevailed until he reached the part of the camp where the supplies had been gathered, what little the humans of the destroyed laketown had been able to gather and bring to the ruin of Dale. Bilbo felt selfish for even asking what little he needed, but if the humans had one thing in large quantities right now, it was wood.
He was stopped by a scowling human, who had obviously been left as a guard.
"What's ya business here, Halfling?" the human asked, hand resting on a shabby sword that had seen better days.
"I'm sorry to trouble you. I wanted to ask if you could spare some dry wood for me?" Bilbo had to crane his head to look up to the man, an experience he had already abhorred in Bree, whenever he had visited.
The human, if possible, looked even more hostile than before. Bilbo noted that he had dark circles under his eyes and an almost feverish glaze in his eyes that scared Bilbo, not only for himself but for the man too.
Feeling threatened he took a small step back.
"I meant no harm." Bilbo quietly replied, raising his hands in a what he hoped soothing gesture of peace.
"No harm." The man grunted and repeated in a raised voice "No harm! Tell that to ma family!"
Bilbo retreated further away as the man took an advancing step forward, grip on his sword tightening.
"Yer brought the dragon upon us, and what, promised gold in return? Where's it then, huh?"
Bilbo stumbled another step back, now getting scared. He could feel his heart-rate pick up, blood rushing in his ears.
"Malcom!"
Another human appeared and gripped the man by the arm.
"Com'on man. Yer due for a break, I'll take over fer ya." For a moment it seemed like Malcom didn't want to listen, his gaze searing into Bilbo who felt like a cornered animal, teetering on the edge of fight or flight, his hands balled into fists. Finally he turned away and ripped his arm out of the newcomer's grip.
"Fine." he grunted and with a last, burning gaze he turned around and limped away.
Cautiously Bilbo eyed the new guard. He was younger but his face was tired and haggard looking.
"I'm sorry fer him." the young man said with a small sigh "He lost his Maddy and it hit him hard. She was all he had left. I'm Linhart, by the way."
Linhart reached out and Bilbo hesitatingly shook his hand, wondering if this human was using his friendly approach to lull Bilbo into a false sense of security. He felt shaken from this encounter. His hands hurt from balling them into fists. Finally he reached out and blinked as he saw the blood on his fingernails. Turning his hands he could see several crescent shaped cuts in his palm where he had dug his fingernails into the flesh of his own palms without realizing. Wiping the blood away quickly he cautiously shook the offered hand.
"Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins." he said and then, because he had nothing much to loose anyways he continued "I was wondering if you had some spare wood, dry, for a fire? Anything I found was... well. Wet."
Linhart nodded and gestured Bilbo to follow.
"We can't spare much." the young man admitted with an apologetic gaze "We are running low on pretty much anything, and we need most of the wood to reinforce the buildings in Dale, or barricade the windows for winter." Bilbo could feel his shoulders slump. He hadn't even thought about that.
"Don't look so down. I know yer didn't intend to wake the dragon." Linhart continued "And yer at least tried ter help in whatever way yer could. It's only fair we help you out a little too, even if it's not much."
And that was how Bilbo gained an armful of dry wood, which he profoundly thanked Linhart for before he made the track back to his one-hobbit-camp. Once there he dropped the wood with a relieved sigh and settled down for a quick break. Using another stripe of his shirt and some of his water he carefully dappled it over his palms where the cuts...
… had been.
"What..." Bilbo ran a finger over the unblemished skin of his palms. Then, almost frantically he cleaned his other hand.
It was healed. The cuts, while not deep, were gone. Not even a mark left behind.
"What... what's going on?" staring at his hands he felt a little as if he was going mad. A wound healing due to elvish interference he could accept. Wounds disappearing without a trace without a reason not so much.
With shaking hands he grabbed Sting and unsheathed it slowly, swallowing thickly. Then, taking a deep breath, he very carefully nicked his finger on the sharp blade, then watched his finger intently.
Swallowing he watched as the skin slowly knit itself back together. Slowly, but way, way, way too fast for normal hobbit healing for sure.
The shaking seemed to invade his whole body as he came to the terrible conclusion that something must be horribly wrong with him, and he had no idea what. His breathing quickened to shallow gasps as he saw the nails on his hands slowly darken and lengthen into terrifying looking claws.
"Yavanna's Grace... what's happening to me?"
Notes:
... I had not planned to update this story so soon. But I dreamt about it and it was stuck in my head all day during work so yes, I gave in and let my muse take over to do as she pleases.
If you have any thoughts to share, I appreciate it. I'm curious if you would prefer to have a paring (and if yes, which one) or if you would prefer to leave it as friendships only. I'm still not entirely sure where I will go in that regard :)
I hope you liked my introduction of how Bilbo slowly comes to the conclusion that something about him is different ;)
Translation:
Khuzdul:
Fusak = Shit (Freely invented that word and thought Bilbo might have picked it up without meaning to...)
