Chapter 3: Turned
Shocked Bilbo watched as fur sprouted from his arms and legs, honey-to-rust-coloured coarse hair that had no business on any of his limps, as far as Bilbo was concerned. He could feel bones grinding together, shifting beneath his skin, leaving him sick from the sensation and the sight.
He had paws. Paws! Honest to Yavanna paws, with scary looking claws that dug deep into the ground, not caring if it was stone or soft earth. He fell over, kneeling on the ground and panting, panicked small gasps as the world tilted and turned. Rust coloured coarse hair had spouted all over his body the more Bilbo had fell into a panic and then there was the strange almost-painful-but-not-really sensation of his bones shifting and-
Bilbo let out a high whine, his eyes rolled back and he collapsed in a dead faint.
。・゜゜・ ✿ ・゜゜・。
Bilbo couldn't have slept long. He felt sore and as he lazily blinked his eyes open he wondered what had happened. Gingerly he picked himself up from the ground and wondered at the strange dream.
Right until he tried to stand up and lost his balance, tangling his four legs and landing face first on the ground again.
With a growl he sat up once more and looked down. His clothes lay in tatters around him, but that wasn't something Bilbo was able to concentrate on right now.
Paws, Bilbo noted with a slightly hysterical edge to his thoughts. There were still paws. In a Panic he tried to pad himself down, only managing to claw at himself, leaving stinging scratches on his front legs. Whining pitifully he turned in a circle, managing to catch sight of a tail that was almost distracting enough, making him snap his fangs playfully before his thoughts returned to the matter at hand- paw. Whatever.
Okay. So, he was... what was he? Why was he whatever he was?
Taking a few deep breaths Bilbo tried to calm his racing heart down. He had to be able to think!
It took him several tries, low whimpers escaping him without him consciously thinking about it.
Gandalf. He needed that damn wizard. There had to be some strange sort of magic that had turned him into... an... animal?
Bilbo let out a groan that sounded more than a deep rumble as another possibility entered his mind. Shire Stories. The valar-damn tales that he had repeated countless times to tiny fauntlings. Getting bitten by an animal, in his case a morgoth-spawn of a warg.
Bilbo whimpered again as he flopped down on the ground and put his paws over his muzzle in misery. Of all the luck to have. Couldn't it have been a... a cat? Or a, you know, mouse? Something small and normal and not hated by the entirety of middle earth?
If Bilbo could, he would have cried. Could wargs cry?
Okay. A warg. Right now those fairy-tales that apparently held more truth than anyone in the Shire believed anymore were his only lead to what might be happening to him. Or maybe all those wargs he had seen had been some sentient being that had been bitten, who knew? Bilbo certainly didn't know a lot of wargs, but it was more of an explanation than, say, a bad wizard casting a spell on him.
Though he wouldn't put it past Gandalf to play a prank, but Gandalf wouldn't be cruel enough to leave him to his own devices during something like that.
So. Either he was infected, or he was a Shapeshifter. Agitated Bilbo jumped to his feet once more and begun to pace, growling at his unfortunate situation. He felt dizzy just thinking about it and his heart was pumping desperately in fright. He had to return to his hobbit form, if he even could? Did the stories tell him something about that? Hobbits getting bitten and loosing ther hobbit way, but did they return?
What if he was stuck as a warg?
Bilbo froze at the line of thought, an icy cold settling in his belly and breathing hitching in renewed panic.
Footsteps made his head snap up and his body going still, a growl escaped his throat as he instinctively scented the air. Enemies? Coming to his den? Bilbo slowly bared his teeth, the growl rumbling through his whole body at the thought of intruders.
Maul them.
Rip. Defend. Tear-
Then the hobbit-nature took back the reigns and he scrambled back, whining against the violent surges and trying to listen if the footsteps were still coming closer. They were. Oh bother, they were coming, more than a few. Bilbo was a warg and there were people coming.
"-hear that? Sou- like a-"
In blind panic he turned around and pawed at his sleeping place in a desperate attempt to pack his stuff, realizing the futility of his efforts when all he managed was rip the linen apart. That brought him out of his panic a little, enough to hear part of the words and actually comprehend them.
"Damn scavengers. Think the thief is still there?"
Bilbo suppressed a whine and tried to carefully close his teeth around his half packed backpack. He picked it up, internally crying at the holes he was tearing into the soft fabric – well worn leather – then he turned around and ran.
He could hear alarmed shouts behind him. The familiar clanking noise of dwarven armour as they started to run, all the while drawing their weapons.
Bilbo ran. Fast as the wind, just like in his dream. He ran and let instinct take over and left the camps of dwarrows, humans and elves behind.
Notes:
Fuck me sideways. This story is a menace. 3 days old and 3 chapters, even if this one is tiny :/
