Chapter 8: Rescue party
Maybe half an hour was a bit of a tight time-limit, Kíli thought as he fidgeted in the meeting place and all the others had yet to arrive. Maybe he should have given them a hour at least. It wouldn't do to rush. Or maybe they had decided to not listen to him after all? He wasn't Thorin Oakenshield. He was not their king, nor heir apparent. The owed him nothing. But surely they wouldn't leave Bilbo to his fate?
His fingers tabbed out an odd rhythm on the box of supplies he was currently using as his seat. He barely resisted the urge to wring his hands in an oddly hobbitish way. Bilbo was such a fussy creature, but his habits seemed to be rubbing off. The dwarfs hand's stilled at that thought, shying away from the image of what could have become of their burglar.
He wouldn't believe it until he saw it with his own eyes. Whatever 'it' implied.
Kíli wiped a sweaty palm against his trouser and huffed, his eyes trailing over his pack and weapons to check over his gear again. Just making sure everything was in order and he hadn't missed anything.
The sound of the tent-flap moving made him straighten and breath out in relief as one after another his team – half of the company really – trailed in with their own gear. They seemed battle-ready, despite the numerous wounds from their most recent fight. They were not in too bad a shape but Kíli would have liked them to have some rest before heading out into the unknown again. Regaining Erebor should have been the end. They should now be concentrating on building a home, not... not whatever was happening, with elves and humans sitting on their doorstep, Dain's army causing trouble and Bilbo missing.
Clearing his throat he gained the attention of his group and felt oddly nervous. He had fought with them, bleed with them, laughed with them. They had shared food and warmth and stories. Yet, leading them? Horrifying.
"Let's go." Kíli really hoped nobody heard his voice crack a little, as he quickly cleared his throat again. He busied himself by picking up his stuff, made more difficult due to still only having one functioning arm.
Despite that he slung his bow and quiver onto his back, before shouldering his bag. He had to be a little creative to fix the bag so that wouldn't interfere with his injury, but a strap across his chest – below his armpits – held the backpack in place quite nicely. It would do, even if it wasn't exactly ideal.
Turning back he noticed that a few of his comrades looked a little amused – well, amused was Nori's default expression more often than not – and felt a little embarrassment colour his cheeks.
Stubbornly he jutted out his chin and continued on as if nothing had happened.
"Let's see what we can find in Bilbo's camp."
。・゜゜・ ✿ ・゜゜・。
The trek to the small make-shift camp didn't take long. It was pretty close, probably as close as Bilbo had dared to come without risking the guards feeling threatened by his proximity.
More threatened, Kíli amended as he eyed the guards at Erebor's entrance.
His team was standing just at the edge of the small space that Bilbo had claimed for himself. Kíli looked around the place with heavy heart, noting every single detail without actually touching anything, or disturbing the scene too much.
"Definitely a warg." Bifur sighed, while Bofur pulled at his hat-flaps in distress.
Kíli swallowed, eyes trailing over the picture that presented itself to them. Deep gouges in the ground and even some in the stones that sheltered the place. Ripped pieces of clothing and a completely destroyed, almost shredded sleeping-bag, torn to pieces by powerful and sharp claws. Warg fur on the ground and even a little bit of blood. Sting way lying carelessly on the ground, half out of it's sheath with tiny speckles of blood on it's blade. A tiny lamp lay on it's side on the ground, the candle had rolled out and into a puddle of soft mud.
Kíli raised a hand to hold the others back, while he hesitatingly stepped into the destroyed camp, letting his eyes roam over the scene again and again. He knelt down to inspect the par prints, picked up the warg hair – slightly reddish, almost a coppery colour which was unusual for wargs that had usually more of a muddy brown coat – trailed his fingers over the gouges in stone and inspected the things that were strewn about the place. All the while his companions impatiently waited for him to finish.
Finally he turned around, having made himself as much of a picture as he could.
"I don't think Bilbo was here. At least, not where the warg could have seen him." a collective sigh of relief went through the rest and Kíli had to fight a smile at their reaction. He felt much the same.
"Well?" Nori said as he stepped up to Kíli, picking up Sting on the way and rubbing as the dried blood until it flaked away. "What made ya think that? Are ye sure?"
Kíli nodded. After seeing it for himself? He was entirely sure that Bilbo had not died. At least not here.
"Several things. First, and most important, there is simply not enough blood. If a warg had r-ripped Bilbo apart here, there would be loads. And a body too, if I had to guess." swallowing he pointed at the scratches in the stone "There is no blood in those either. If the warg had taken a swipe at Bilbo, I'm sure there would be some left-over blood in these too. Or blood splatters."
Looking around the camp Kíli shrugged his shoulders "And I don't see most of his gear. I mean, he must have had a bag, even if his old one is sitting back in... back in Erebor." Bilbo had not had the time to get his stuff when Thorin had thrown him out as a traitor "But he collected fire-wood. There is no flint here though and I'm sure he wouldn't have bothered to get wood if he had no way to make a fire."
Finally he nodded at the paw prints that were trailing all over the small camp.
"And these? From a warg. Fur is copper-coloured. I think it was only one warg, and it paced the camp up and down." Kíli followed the prints until he reached the ones that were leading away.
"And it ran off in that direction. And – since Bilbo is not here... I think it's probably trailing after him." Why else had Bilbo not returned, if not for the fact that he was hiding from the warg, or still running. How Bilbo had managed to evade it at all was a mystery to him. Outrunning a warg on foot? Impossible. Not for long and not without a huge amount of luck. Or a wizard distracting them most of the time.
And there was another mystery that Kíli had as of yet no answers to.
For all that there were warg prints all over the place... there was only one trail leading away. But no second trail arriving.
And that's why, while the other dwarrows now carefully stepped into the camp to look around themselves, Kíli's gaze was attracted to a small, glinting object that lay nestled in parts of Bilbo's destroyed clothes. Curious he bend down and picked it up. It was a ring. A bland ring of gold, heavy in his hand. And yet Kíli felt it important. Precious. A family heirloom maybe? Or something out of Erebor's treasury?
"Trail leads south-east!" Nori called as he hopped down a boulder "If we wanna follow it, we should set out now, while there's still light."
Kíli blinked, startled out of a daze and slipped the ring into his pocket. They had a hobbit to find after all.
Notes:
Well... nobody thought what ripped clothes would also mean! Bilbo always carried the ring close to his body after all :)
Oh Kíli, what are you doing...
