Bilbo hid his head under his cloak, trying to keep warmer by nestling into Dwalin's coat. Rain beat down over them, rendering their cloaks nearly useless.
"Of all the days we could have left, the weather couldn't have been favorable?" Bilbo muttered.
"Seems not," Balin tutted, "but rain is rain and dreary though it is, we won't let it stop us."
"It seems determined to stop me at least, then."
They docked on land and mounted their ponies.
Bilbo was reluctant to leave the nest of Dwalin's warmth, and Dwalin just as reluctant to release him, but he kept a steady eye on him and Balin as they lead the pony bearing their provisions.
Another cold and dreary day passed when they finally arrived in the ruins of Dale.
They paused there, as night was closing in around them again. They took shelter in an abandoned house when another drop of rain bore the warning of another shower.
Crows flapped and cawed ominously outside.
Bilbo drove his own lack of spirit away by reviewing the maps Thorin had brought. He found some comfort in them, judging from the small smile playing on his lips despite how much he shook from the cold.
Dwalin kept a wary watch on Bilbo as he did so.
Thorin smoked his pipe in the corner, hunched against the wall. Dwalin approached him. "You look ill."
"Too many memories," Thorin answered. "I am back and yet I am afraid to go back into the mountain. What will happen when I do?"
"I cannot say."
Thorin looked at him. "Do you think I'll go mad like my grandfather? That madness is in me. It's in my whole line and I've never been more frightened of it than I was before this moment."
"I think that is on you, Thorin. That sort of madness cannot be inheritable. If it takes you, it is because you let it take you."
"Then I must not let it take me."
"For now, I think it wiser to worry about the dragon. Not dragon-fever."
#
It was three more days until they reached the mountain.
Fili, Kili, and Bilbo went in search of the door. Bilbo led the way. He returned to beckon the others with them, though Bofur and Bombur were left to guard the ponies.
They waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Dwalin was beginning to despair as much as the others and Bilbo kept examining the stones, frowning. He dared not to ask what had caught his husband's attention, not able to bring himself to care.
"Perhaps we should try the front," he suggested to Bilbo. "You're small enough to enter."
"No," Bilbo said. "We will find a way in. If I'm not mistaken, Durin's Day has not yet passed."
"No, it hasn't, but at this rate..."
"If we have truly missed the day, then I will try the front gate, but even if I am small enough, I am not very keen on it. And if you haven't noticed," he crossed his arms. "I have become the company's temporary wizard and even then, my efforts are little appreciated—"
Crack! Crack! Crack!
They turned to the door.
A large thrush, black with a yellow speckled chest beat a snail against the rock.
The sun dipped lower.
"Get Thorin," Bilbo said.
Dwalin did so, waving at them to come.
Thorin took the key out, ready to find the lock. When the last glimpse of sunlight shone over the keyhole, he jammed the key into the slot. The door snapped open, scraping into the passage when they pushed against it.
The entrance was darker than any cave they have yet been in, and what lay within was more dangerous than any goblin they have faced.
Bilbo stepped inside. "I'll be back soon," he said, entering the dark cave.
Balin and Dwalin kept watch while the others waited.
Bilbo returned after a good half an hour with a gold chalice in his hands. It passed from hand to hand. "Now what?" he asked, shaking slightly. "I would like to sleep a little, personally."
"As you should," Balin said, clapping his back. "You've earned it, Brother."
The cup passed its inspection by Dwalin before he passed it to Bofur, enveloping Bilbo in his arms. The mountain rumbled beneath their feet. "What was that?" Bilbo asked.
"Dragon!" Gloin shouted.
"Bofur! Bombur!" Bifur shouted.
"Get them up," Thorin shouted, "And get into the tunnel! Now!"
Once everyone was inside, they hid there, mourning the loss of their ponies (again). "Now what?" Bilbo asked.
"We have no choice but to wait out his wrath."
"And whose fault is that?" Gloin asked, giving Bilbo a scathing look.
Dwalin gnashed his teeth.
Bilbo narrowed his eyes. "I did what I had been hired to do. So keep your griping to yourself, Mr. Gloin. I'm only one and I'm hardly able to slay a dragon, but I'm sure a number of warriors here are quite capable to do the deed." Rightly reprimanded, Gloin bowed his head.
"Now what?" Thorin asked Bilbo.
"I've no idea, but I can perhaps check to see if there's a way to get rid of Smaug. Though I don't think there will be much other use I can do as there's no possible way for me to smuggle the rest of the treasure out."
The others agreed to this plan for the time being. Dwalin glanced at the end of the tunnel leading into the treasury. "I'm not sure I like that plan of yours, Bilbo."
"I don't like it any more than you. But if you've any suggestions, feel free to speak them," Bilbo said, kissing his cheek. "I'll be careful. Promise."
#
Bilbo returned, sprinting out the door, covered in sweat and his legs shook beneath him. A few burns covered his legs and arms.
"Are you all right?"
"Remind me never to end any kind of interrogation with a dragon by laughing at them."
Dwalin fought down his relieved laugh, though he knew he should be furious. He should have guessed the adrenaline rush that would have overcome Bilbo down there would have led to something not smart.
A few minutes passed, as they waited for Smaug to leave again and attack. When he did, they trapped themselves in the tunnel. They rested there, beginning to despair again as their new stash of rations dwindled.
Bilbo stood, while the others despaired. "I'm going down again. I think you should come with me this time, gentlemen." Dwalin arched an eyebrow at Bilbo, but they followed one by one, guided only by the Hobbit. The passage was completely dark. A few minutes of walking passed until Bilbo slipped, gasping.
"Bilbo?" Dwalin whispered.
"Careful!" Bilbo grunted. "Watch your step. I think we're here. Can anyone make a light?"
A few more minutes passed. Dwalin and the others stepped carefully down into the treasury. When light finally lit the hall, glittering on the gold, Dwalin felt his breath stolen away at the vast treasure.
Had there really been this much before?
Dwalin caught Bilbo pocketing something, but then he went of deeper into the catacombs and winding passages. He decided to ask him what he found later. Thorin seemed to have a glimmer in his eye which left Dwalin uneasy as Thorin dove into a pile, scraping away at it with his hands. "Thorin?"
"I'm fine," he said, sounding far from assuring. "I'm home. I'm—" Dwalin seized his arm, a chainmail shirt clutched in Thorin's hand. It wouldn't fit either of them. Thorin examined it and handed it to Dwalin. "For your husband. It'll fit him better than the rest of us here."
"Are you sure you're all right?"
"Huh? Yes! Yes, I'm fine."