A/N:

Þú hálfviti Dvergur:You idiot Dwarf

Thank you to Amazing-Thalia-Grace, TheWhisperingWarrior, Antex-The Legendary Zoroark, randomplotbunny, Britt30, Final Syai Lunar Generation, Moonpie, Irishmadhatter3, Anonymous Noob the 2nd, Mystical-Elf-of-Sorrow, and lasserni for all reviewing.

Chapter Six: Of Mad Kings and of Sad Kings

The sound of howling rose over the hills and rocks in which they rested on. Bilbo shook from his light doze; screeching noises assailing his ears with no mercy. His grip tightened on his bed roll as he slowly sat up, a displeased look crossing his face.

They're quite close. He thought, looking out into the cold dark night. If only I had my night vision. It would be quite a handy tool right now.

"That'd be Orcs." A voice piped up from behind him.

Bilbo swiveled his head to see Kili and Fili looking out in the same direction as he was.

"Orcs?" He echoed, wondering if they thought he was really that ignorant.

"Oh yes, there'd be tons of them out there." Fili affirmed, nodding his head.

The Hobbit almost smirked, they did think he was that dim. "Orcs? Out there, really?" He peeped facetiously.

"They strike in the wee hours of the night," Kili murmured. "They leave very little trace of their attack…just lots of blood."

Idiots. I wonder if these two have actually seen any real Orc in their life. He opened his mouth to comment, but a deep furious voice interrupted him.

"You think a night raid by Orcs is naught but a joke?"

The three of them looked up to Thorin's silent rage. The two young Dwarves had the humility to look ashamed in their actions. They bowed their heads slightly as the allowed their uncle to glower down at them. Bilbo waited for Thorin's eyes to soften, for his tight jaw to slacken a bit.

He was met with much disappointment.

Thorin scowled and snarled at his nephews. "You know nothing of the world."

The Halfling watched slightly annoyed as the oldest Dwarf stalked away. His shoulders pressed forward and his hair billowing behind him dramatically. Bilbo actually rolled his eyes.

"Þú hálfviti Dvergur, stop being so melodramatic." He shouted out at the raven head.

Thorin snapped around his bright blue eyes burning angrily.

Gandalf sat up, his eyes wide as he watched Bilbo stand up and march right up to the larger Dwarf.

"Fili and Kili are but children compared to your age and I bet they've never seen a real Orc in their life. The only thing they've anything to work off of is old warrior's tales and their Dwarrowdam's horror stories. Be gentler to them. Like you said—they don't know."

"And what, Master Baggins," Thorin growled, "would you know about Orcs?"

That took the Hobbit aback.

In his mind, he could hear the screams of all the Hobbits in the Shire. Children dashed through the snow trying to find their way into any smial that would open their doors with welcoming safety. Belladonna and Bungo flashed before his eyes, speeding through the dark, jumping from place to place to draw away the Wargs and Orcs. He could hear his own voice screaming their names as his stomach burned with fire. The juicy liquid heat boiled through his esophagus, escaping his throat and out of his maw. The flames dancing about, stealing prey wherever they could. But it had been too late.

As his eyes cleared from the daze, and the swell of tears began to form in the corners of his eyes, Thorin stomped off away from the others. The exile Dwarven king furious with the words of a Hobbit. Such a peace loving creature could never know the horrors of what he'd seen. And still Bilbo had dared to rebuff him? Insolent ingrate.

Bilbo balled his fists as he watched the raven head go. This is not the Thorin I know.

"You'll have to forgive him, lad."

The Halfling looked down to see Balin resting against the stump of a tree.

"Thorin has more reason than most to hate Orcs."

"Oh?" Bilbo tried very hard not to scoff.

"Ah lad." Balin nodded solemnly. "It began several years after we had been driven out of Erebor. To find a home for our people, we tried to reclaim our mountain of Moria."

"The Battle of Anzanulbizar."

"Indeed."

Bilbo listened to the tale of the battle. He'd read about it in what books Gandalf had scavenged for him. The battle had always been watered down though. Never in full depth with the tragedy of the war. He'd knew many Dwarves had died that doomed day, but never to the numbers of Balin's recollection. Bilbo's sorrow for his own kin melded with Balin as the old Dwarf continued his story. How many dragons had died the days that they tried to escape Smaug? A bitter king could only be despaired knowing that he was the last of his kind.

But a furious king could only be further enraged at watching his grandfather be killed before his very eyes. His father disappearing in the haze of bloody battle. The number of fallen comrades being accounted for as the survivors walk across a sea of bodies.

In the darkness of Bilbo's mind, the fires roared to life and the Orc's blades met with Hobbit necks.

So maybe the two kings had more in common than Thorin knew.

Bilbo looked up as said-Dwarf turned around from his brooding position on the outcropping of the ledge. The other Dwarves—his kin, his battle-mates, his people—stood up, watching him with a sense of awe. The Hobbit looked at him with sympathy before turning back to Balin.

"And what of the pale Orc?"

Balin opened his mouth, but was interrupted.

"He died of his wounds long ago." Thorin rumbled. "It would be best if that scum were never mentioned."

Balin looked from Bilbo to Gandalf. Bilbo quirked his brow and looked to the Wizard. The grey clothed Man seemed to deflate a bit as he looked into the darkness where the sounding cry of Orcs challenged the would-be silence of the night.

"Get some sleep, Master Burglar, tomorrow is another day of travel." Thorin grumbled, settling down against his prior position.

The Hobbit nodded.

One by one the Dwarves drooped off to sleep. Such a story no doubt would give them dark dreams, but they did not mind. They knew that in the company of their fearless leader, no Orcs would be a threat.

Bilbo watched them all begin to rest. His doe-like eyes watching them with wariness. These people were so forsaken. He wanted nothing more to help them. He looked to Thorin whose eyes watched the landscape intently.

I want to help him too. Bilbo sighed in thought. A hundred plus years can do things to a person. Thorin is very different from the Dwarf I had once known. He so dark and mournful. I see very little hope of any light bringing him from the hollow place within his mind. It is like a dragon-void.

He shivered at the thought of a dragon-void.

Most dragons were fortunate enough to have the ability to move on after the death of a family member of their unit. But sometimes, an entire unit minus would be eradicated. Such a sorrow and pain would overflow the dragon's heart and soul and cause them to despair. Bit by bit they would begin to internally decay while still alive. Then the outside such as skin, scales, claws and horns would rot away. These event would continue to happen until the dragon was nothing left but a living skeleton. The dragon-voids would roam the land, looking for some relief from the agony of the loss. The only kind way to release them from their restlessness was through destruction. That was the worst part of being Dragon King was the destruction of the dragon-voids.

Whatever you do, Bilbo's mind murmured as he slowly began to drift to sleep. Don't become a dragon-void, Thorin. I cannot face such creatures again.

~0oo0~

The wind keened through the trees and past the burrows. Bilbo looked up with concern as he paused from knocking on the door. He felt a disturbance that he couldn't quite place. His thickly gloved hand tightened. Shaking his head, he turned back to his task and set a few solid knocks on the wooden door before him. He waited a few seconds, hopping from foot to foot in the frigid cold.

Come on, come on, open the cursed door. He growled, tightening his warm armed grip on his precious bundle.

As if responding to his thoughts, the door slowly creaked open and a young face looked up at him. Bright blue eyes looked at him in relief, and the door opened wider. A young Hobbit lady held out her arms welcomingly. Bilbo plopped the bushel of lumber into her arms before turning around without little other word.

"Wait!" the Hobbit-woman cried out.

He turned around with his brow cocked. "What is it?"

"Yavanna bless you, Bilbo. You're doing a great risk for the rest of us to be safe."

"You lot are too cowardly to do otherwise." He said with a jesting grin but a bitterness in his heart.

The woman instantly quieted and he sprinted off. His large bare feet trudged through the snow as he bounded. He damned whoever thought it'd be some joke to force the Shirefolk into a three month winter, and continued his struggling journey through the powder. His ears caught the sound of other voices and he gave a shout. Belladonna and Bungo Baggins came up from the other side, making a quick pace through the snow—they had as much trouble as Bilbo was having.

"I do believe that's the last of it." Belladonna said when they finally met up with one another.

"Good." Bilbo nodded stiffly. "Think we can head indoors now?"

"D-d-d-don't be s-s-s-such a f-f-f-fauntling!" Bungo chattered, his hands moving up and down his forearms.

"Cold much?" Bilbo teased.

Belladonna rolled her eyes. "Both of you stop being such pathetic faunts. Come on, let's go get a cuppa."

Bilbo hummed and followed the she-Hobbit. He watched with a slight bit of envy as Bungo clutched the hand of his wife. The Hobbit couldn't help but wonder if circumstances were different, if he would have a mate of his own by now. It didn't seem very likely, but he enjoyed to entertain the idea.

The trek through the annoying snow was an arduous one. By the time the three arrived to the doorstep of Bag End, Bilbo's calves burned and ached. Bungo and Belladonna stomped their feet off at the mat before continuing on into the smial. Bilbo dragged his feet—large and hair—across the itchy welcoming mat before walking in to the warm home.

A fire crackled to life, warmly greeting them.

Bilbo immediately shucked his wet clothes and left them by the door. He walked across the hall into the common room where the fire sang to him. With a wistful look he stood as close to the popping flames before lying down in front of them, curling up.

"Bilbo!" A voice called from the kitchen.

"Yes?" He answered, slowly closing his eyes.

"Did you leave your wet stuff at the doorstep again?"

His left eye creaked open sleepily. "Um…"

Belladonna walked into the room her hands on her hips, a spatula held in one of them. "Erhm, mister, go pick up your stuff and put it by the wash basket."

"But I just lied down." He whined.

She smacked his bottom with the spatula. "Get to it."

"Do you have any idea of who I am? How dare you smack my bottom!" He shouted indignantly, shooting up.

She smirked. "Got you up, didn't it?"

The Hobbit grumbled but went to the hall to get the wet things. Afterwards, he was rewarded with a piping cup of hot tea and his spot by the fire place. Bungo had retired to his chair where he was smoking his pipe and Belladonna was curled up on the sofa, reading a book that Bungo had bought her for her birthday.

"Hey, Bilbo," she murmured.

The Hobbit didn't bother to open his eyes this time. "Yes, Belladonna?"

"Why…why aren't you allowed to transform?"

Bungo looked from his wife to the dragon-made-Hobbit on the floor nervously.

It was quite and the two natural Hobbits didn't think that he would answer. This had always been a tender question. Gandalf had warned the two to tread with tender hooks when it came to Bilbo's—Bryngeir's—past. It was a delicate, fragile topic.

"It's not safe." Bilbo mumbled.

"I live for danger." Belladonna argued, not pleased with his answer.

Bilbo was quite for a very long time after that.

Bungo felt as though his wife ahd crossed the line, but Belladonna felt no inclination whatsoever. She was about to chuck her book at the Hobbit on the floor before he spoke very softly.

"There is another dragon…one who is very, very powerful." He whispered. "The moment I transform, he will smell me out like a hound. This dragon would not hesitate to kill every Hobbit in the Shire."

The other two sucked in their breath. They'd knew that Bilbo had been involved in a great dragon war, but neither of them expected him to be hiding. They knew that he was severely injured, but not the cause of it. Belladonna looked to her husband and he nodded her—a signal for her to stop her questioning.

They'd already asked the other too much.

Bilbo felt the fire's warmth upon his face and that was all he needed to forget the pain of everything else. The Hobbit-dragon fell asleep.

A howl interrupted his slumber. It was loud and very, very hollow. Not like a normal wolf's howling but another creature's. He knew this one very well. It was a Warg.

He shot up, just like that. He spun around to see that the smial was empty. Bilbo jumped up and ran through the halls, his heart pounding.

"Belladonna! Bungo!" He screamed.

He ran back into the common room and then into the kitchen. A note had been delicately placed by the kettle.

Dear Bilbo,

We went to go get more fire wood for the others. Wait here until we get back.

B&B

He panicked. Not even bothering to pull on warmer clothes, he ran to the door, threw it open and rushed outside in his trousers and blouse.

All around him, he could hear screaming. There were Hobbit being pulled out of their smial by, large ugly creatures that he knew immediately to be Orcs. Warg bounded rampantly through Hobbiton. Their large paws leaving devastating tracks while some of them held Hobbits between their jaws. There was nothing but chaos.

Bilbo panicked, he rushed forward, dodging the predators. He kept running, the faint smell of his two Hobbits in the wind. He followed his senses, struggling through the powder. When he got to where the scents, led him to, he was repulsed. There laying in front of a circle of younglings were two bodies. A woman's with a sword resting in her limp hand, and a man's with a large piece of wood in his. The children were backed against the tree as a few mounted Wargs surged in slowly, while a few left to tear at the dead bodies.

Tears formed in the dragon's eyes. He roared. He roared and roared and roared.

The Hobbit children seemed more afraid of him now, than the Orcs and Wargs. Said Orcs and Wargs looked confused at the strange Hobbit in no winter wear, with hazel eyes burning with tears. Bilbo snarled at them.

"You killed them!" He howled.

The Wargs and Orcs came forward.

Heat built up in his belly, it was putrid and burning—it felt as though his insides were cooking. But it didn't matter. The fire crawled up his throat and he didn't not regret the blood building along the skin that the liquid made.

A conflagration of bright orange burst from his jaws and onto the Wargs and Orcs before him.

Screams sang through the night as dragonfire razed through Hobbiton.

~0oo0~

Bilbo shot up, a scream tearing through his mouth. Well, a scream would've had there not been a hand, promptly clamping his mouth shut. He grabbed the arm with panic, ready to burn anyone who dare attack him.

"Master Baggins."

And then he remembered. He remembered where he was and the company that he kept. It was only Thorin.

Slowly, he pulled the Dwarf's hand off. "Thank you. Sorry, was I loud?"

"You were crying in your sleep." The raven-haired Dwarf hissed. "You almost woke up the entire camp with your scream had I not stopped you."

"Then thank you." Bilbo whispered quietly, in no mood to deal with Thorin's snark. He's so different.

He got up from where he was sleeping, stretching his limbs. Ignoring Thorin, he walked away and to the outcropping. He sat down, his feet dangling over the edge. He breathed in the cold night. Bilbo wanted to forget. He wanted to forget everything.

"Is there something wrong, Master Baggins?" Thorin asked, sitting down next to the Hobbit.

Bilbo almost growled. "No." He answered brusquely.

Thorin nodded, looking out across the land, his pipe in his mouth. This all felt strangely familiar. It felt very akin to the time when he and Bryngeir would meet and talk. For whatever reason, Bilbo had the dragon's gentle aura.

"Do wish to speak of it?" The Dwarf asked. "I find it very puzzling on thinking of what things could make a Hobbit cry. Perhaps someone stole your favorite arm chair?"

The Hobbit laughed bitterly. "Oh no, that's not it trust me. I'm sure quite a few Hobbits though, have spilled a few tears over an arm chair."

Thorin huffed a bit of amusement. "I'm sure. A peaceloving people like you would only cry about such things."

That silenced the Hobbit.

Thorin waited for some sort of snide remark or come back. It never came. Instead, Bilbo looked out to the night sky. His eyes hazy and wistful. The Dwarf king felt bad, as if he'd spoken out of place. Perhaps he had.

"The Hobbits have not always lived in peace." Bilbo murmured. "They have reason to hate Orcs as well."

"I doubt it is not as bad as Anzanulbizar." Thorin growled, feeling agitated that the Halfling would dare compare his strife to his own.

"It was their own Anzanulbizar in a sense." The Hobbit continued. "It is called the Fell Winter."

"The Fell Winter?" The Dwarf echoed. I remember of merchants who had bypassed Hobbiton to Ered Lûin speaking of this.

"Yes. It was a time when the Brandywine River—our safety border—froze over. It was free kill from there. Orcs and Wargs came into our town unwarranted and laid waste to everything. The Hobbits were nearly exterminated for that factor."

Thorin blinked. Why hadn't his people heard of such calamity? Perhaps they would've been able to help.

"And where were you in all of this? Were alive during this incident?"

"Quite. I was the one setting fire to everything that I could. I knew that the Orcs and Wargs would burn—so I made sure they would suffer."

"That is quite battle-prone for a Hobbit." Thorin bemused.

Bilbo gave him a rueful grin. "I'm no ordinary Hobbit."

The Dwarf rolled his blue eyes. For once in a very long time, he felt as though he and Bryngeir were sneaking out again. Enjoying their evening and speaking of the troubles of their people. But when he looked again, there was no dragon; just a Hobbit. His heart sunk and he shook his head. Instead of brooding again though, he merely shook his head with a tired chuckle.

"Of that I have no doubt, Bilbo Baggins."