Author's Note: Well, well, well. It's only taken me four years to update. And I've made it a double-update no less.
I know it's been far too long and to those of you who've been following this fic, I am so sorry. Please know that I thought of it every day and it was never my intention to take this long.
I went through a couple of versions of this chapter, swapping out who Laura would run into during the battle and how. I hope you enjoy the final version.
This chapter is the end of Laura/the Hobbit's tale. The next is meant as an epilogue of sorts. I know that it might seem abrupt and originally, when I was able to churn out 7k words every two weeks, I had a plan to extend past the Hobbit. But given that it's taken me a decade to finish this much, I've abandoned that original plan. I hope how I've wrapped this up in this chapter and the epilogue is still satisfying.
Thank you all for reading. Thank you for all your follows, favorites, reviews, and feedback. You're the reason I was able to finish this at all.
The stunned looks on Bard and Thranduil's faces was a poor consolation considering the mess they'd made for me. Under different circumstances it would've even been a little funny. Thranduil rallied quickly, urging his elk into a gallop shouting in elvish to his troops as they moved forward. Bard turned to me with wide eyes.
"Master Baggins," Bard said quickly, leaning down from the back of his horse, his hand outstretched to me.
I glared up at him. Absolutely not.
Bard, to his credit, accepted my refusal with a tired nod, retracting his arm. He moved his horse at a fast walk, pushing through the soldiers. By the time Bard had reached his people – who, I realized with a pang, were more of a gathering and less of an army, most of them weren't even wearing armor and many of them were using fishing tools as weapons – I could see, thanks to the slope of the hill they'd come down on, that the dwarf that I could only assume was the army's general or leader, had stopped on an outcrop. On a boar. That was wearing armor. The dwarf himself was intimidating on his own, never mind the army he brought with him. He was dressed richly in fur and armor, his helmet with its feathers made him look taller.
Oh, I realized suddenly. This must be – Dair? Daim? What was his name? Balin had called him kin, hadn't he?
"Good morning," Thorin's kin called out, startlingly loud across the silent elves and men. His demeanor was cheerful as he asked, "How are we all?"
This was not what I was expecting. Given how wary, if not at times outright abrasive, to strangers the dwarves had been since we met, I was expecting more sternness, if not aggression. But this dwarf looked pleased to see us. He didn't seem to need an answer as he continued, still cheerful, "I have a wee proposition for you."
Thranduil and Bard were still silent.
"Would you consider," Thorin's kin called out to us all voice still pleasant, only for his tone to change abruptly, suddenly furious and impatient, "Just sodding off."
Ah. There it was. That was more like it.
I could hear Bard attempting to de-escalate, which I commended him for even if it was very much too late now that they had brought armies to the gates of Erebor. Thranduil, however, seemed keen on the opposite.
"Another one of you," Thranduil said frostily, "How quickly you all flock to the spoils of your dead kingdom now that the wyrm is gone. Where have you been all this time?"
Oh. My. God.
"Aye," said Thorin's kin, unbothered. And wasn't that interesting? Thorin would be seething. "We have been awaiting this day a very long time. And when our kin calls for aid, we answer. Not that I expect," Thorin's kin said, tone turning suddenly sharp again, "for a faithless woodland sprite such as you to understand that."
Thranduil's face was terrifyingly blank. I could only hope he wouldn't make things even worse. It wasn't looking good, given his track record.
"We have no quarrel with you," Bard insisted, sounding plaintive.
"Oh, but it seems you do," Thorin's kin replied, unimpressed, and then shouted as if wanting to make certain every soldier could hear, "If you choose to stand between me and my kin, we'll water the ground with your blood!"
Above me, I could hear the Company cheering. The elves were unsheathing their weapons, gleaming in the morning light, and the Lake-people were bracing themselves. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath and counted backward from twenty, a droning buzz loud in my ears. I decided then and there to take back every assumption I'd made that Thorin's kin would do any better than Thorin at diplomacy. He was quickly making Thorin look even-tempered in comparison.
When I opened my eyes, though, it wasn't to find the elves drawing their bows or the dwarven army marching forward with their shields at the ready. Instead, what I found was the elves and men parted, like the red sea, making a clear path to Erebor's gate.
They were going to let them through.
I inhaled sharply, shocked. Above me, the dwarves' confused murmuring barely reached me. And then, across the field of gleaming golden elves, Thranduil's eyes met mine over his shoulder. It was for only an instant, so quick that I wasn't sure I hadn't imagined it before he turned back to face Thorin's kin.
If this was his version of an apology – or maybe a thank you for his gems?- I would gladly take it.
Thorin's kin almost disappointed, I could see even from a distance, like his fun had been ruined. But he raised his warhammer high, shouted in dwarvish, and the army behind him began to fall into formation: rows of six or so, with their shields held at each side of their line, keeping a barrier between them and the men and elves.
They only got a dozen or so rows in through the men and elves when another horn blew in the distance.
We all turned to look and my blood ran cold. They were here. Orcs were cresting over another hill across the valley, chanting, and unlike the dwarves and elves, whose armor shone in the morning light, theirs was dark, almost dull. They looked more like a shadow, especially after moving down the slope, shielded from the weak light of the sun behind the clouds. There were so many of them already, and more continued to come into view, a number already larger than the elves and men and dwarves combined. And they were still shouting a single word as one, every few seconds. I didn't have to know it's meaning to understand it's purpose: to scare us.
All the men and elves and dwarves pushed forward. It was smart, I thought, not that I knew anything about battle strategy, to keep space between us and the gate to prevent us from being cornered.
The dwarves went first, a battle cry from Thorin's kin echoed back by his soldiers, as they all ran to form a long line together, spanning across the valley. They were building a wall, I realized, out of their shields and spears, to try and keep the orcs from flooding through to the others. The elves came next, never breaking ranks, bows drawn in sync, and arrows knocked. The men remained between the regiments of elves, wicker shields raised and weapons ready. I moved hurriedly to join them. I knew I would be of very little help but it wouldn't matter soon.
As I joined the Lake-people, I heard a few of the dwarves from above crying out, but it was so faint through my heart beating in my ears that it took me a few long moments- during which the orcs were wasting no time in advancing – to realize they were calling my name.
I could hear Thorin roaring at the others but it didn't really matter. Not now. Not when I could hear the first line of orcs come close, and I watched over the heads of the taller men and elves as the first volley of arrows from the elves arched into the sky.
I knew immediately when the orcs reached the line dwarves, even if I couldn't see them. The clang of metal on metal, the war cries from both sides. They seemed to hold firm though, as while the soldiers around me were tense they didn't seem to be bracing themselves, not yet. Instead, we waited.
It was a strange thing, war, now that the battle was really here. It felt almost like a sinking ship, a startlingly calm despite the growing tension. You knew something terrible was coming, but you had nowhere to go. Nowhere would be safe. The sounds of the battle came closer, until finally it was our turn.
It was like a dam breaking: suddenly the fighting was everywhere. I could hear the roars of the orcs and the battle cries of the men, weapons clashing. With every inhale the metallic smell of blood was gaining strength, followed by the sound of falling bodies. And then it was my turn. An orc twice my size was bearing down on me, crude sword raised high above its head before striking Sting harshly. Its strength hurt, pain shooting up my arms as I struggled not to let it break my attempt at a block. But it was so strong and they were everywhere around me now and I felt myself fall. I landed badly on my shoulder and only barely managed to scramble to a better angle, pull my free arm back, and slash Sting clumsily at the small gap between the orc's leg armor and their metal boots.
It worked, and the orc came shrieking to the ground beside me. I managed to push myself to me feet only for a new orc to appear as if waiting.
After that, it was a blur.
I was immeasurably thankful for my size. Once the second orc was taken care of, I was harder to spot among the bodies which meant I rarely had a one-on-one encounter with the orcs. Instead, I did what I could to help those around me: if an orc was swinging at one of the Lake-people, I would dig the point of my sword into its side, giving them an opening to gain the upper hand while the orc screamed. If an orc knocked someone to the ground, I would swing Sting down on its sword arm to try to disarm them. But every once and awhile, an orc would notice me and grin maliciously as they advanced on me. That was the most terrifying of all. I felt smaller than ever and I was, in comparison, weak. I'd used my sword exactly four times before that day. I knew what I was: easy pickings. But I couldn't let that happen. I needed to see this through – I needed to get Bilbo home.
Of course, that mantra was knocked out of me literally, as the most recent orc to notice me kicked me square in the chest, sending me flying. I was barely able to hang onto Sting on impact, my vision going dark and spotty, my chest convulsing as I tried to draw breath.
I let out a soft groan as I pushed an elbow underneath me and leveraged my torso off the ground, trying to get my knees in a position to push myself up to stand again. But everything hurt and it was still difficult to breathe.
The orc's boots came into view, and it was as if time had stopped. There wasn't anything I could do. I was too small. Too slow. I hurt too much.
There was a cry above me and then suddenly the boots were gone. I stared, mind working. This was my chance, I knew, I had to get up. If I stayed on the ground I would no doubt be trampled. But breathing was still painful.
Suddenly, there were hands on me, tugging at my coat, "Master Baggins!"
I was being pulled to my feet by someone. Not an orc, it couldn't be, they knew my name. I did my best to help whoever it was, struggling to catch my feet beneath me and then, once I was upright, my balance. Finally, I raised my eyes up, and found a boy.
A boy?
I blinked, trying to clear the last of the spots from my vision. And then I clocked his features: brown disheveled hair, dark solemn eyes that were wide with fear, and a familiar coat. In his hands was a sword that seemed just a little too big for him, blotched with black blood.
Oh my God. No, no it couldn't be- but it was. I knew him.
This was Bard's boy. Bain.
"No," I said, horrified, "Bain, no. Does your father know you're here?"
Bain scowled, but the fear still lingered. "I can fight just as well as anyone."
As if to prove his point, another orc bore down on us. Both of us flinched in surprise. But Bain was quick, far quicker than me, and already had his sword up to block the blow. Bain pushed the orc back, making them stumble, and I took my opportunity to use what was probably as close to a signature move as I could get: running Sting across the back of the orc's knees where there was no armor, making it topple over shrieking. A nearby dwarf did us the favor of landing the killing blow, not even turning to look at us before pushing back into the fray.
Bain turned to me, flushed and triumphant. "See, Master Baggins?"
Rather than scolding him, because honestly that was luck at play at best, like I wanted, I offered instead, "Let's stick together?"
Bain's face brightened, though much like his father only very little, and he nodded quickly. I felt a pang of pity for him. If having me around was something to be happy about, then we were in more trouble than I thought.
But it turned out, we were an effective team. Bain was a tall boy, and probably still growing, and was able to notice almost immediately when an orc's attention turned to us. When they did, he was quick to raise his sword to take a blow one-handed – his other hand clutching tightly to my coat at my shoulder- allowing me to take the opening to slash at an available arm or leg. Then, one or both of us would take the finishing blow. I tried to take most of them, even if it made me sick, stomach roiling each time. Bain was a child, despite how big he seemed. If I could take any of the dirty work to spare him, I would do it gladly.
We fought for so long it felt like years. I was growing tired. We were growing tired. All of us. We found ourselves being pushed back, with men and elves and dwarves alike, towards the mountain. I didn't notice at first, too focused on Bain and keeping him as out of harm's way as much as I could in the middle of a very bloody battle, not until I heard a horn that I realized belatedly was from one of the elves.
Dwarves were pushing through now, trying desperately to reform a line of shields but there were so many orcs all around us. None of the elves had their bows drawn like before, instead they were focused on the orcs they could reach. I could hear the orcs chanting again, further away, and was hit with the fact that this wasn't even the full army. Not even close. There were more coming.
The fighting grew tighter and tighter, bodies pressing closer together. So many more of us were falling now, the orcs taking advantage. I could feel Bain pushed close against my back. He was shaking, even as his sword was still drawn ready, and I found that I was too. Our strength was waning, all of us. We'd be completely overtaken soon.
Just like when the battle had started, a cold dread, almost calm, washed over me. I was breathing harshly, my heart pounding, my body shaking, but my mind was quiet.
Behind us, the mountain began to shake and with it a horn blasting. It wasn't an orc or an elven horn, not like before. It was deep and loud and long. So much so I could feel it reverberating through me, and my shaking stopped. Then there was a blast, loud like thunder or like dynamite, and I could feel Bain twisting behind me to look. I risked a glance too, and could see all of us – men, elves, dwarves, and orcs- watching.
The mountain was open. Great stones blasted from the cobbled together gate were falling, not far thankfully, but into the moat that lined the gate. A great cloud of dust and debris rushed out over us, but when it settled, I heard a loud cry in many voices echoing through the gate and out across the now-quiet battlefield.
I recognized it immediately, even if I didn't know its meaning. It was dwarvish.
Bain and I allowed ourselves to be pushed through the crowd as the dwarven soldiers rallied, all heading to what looked like the very middle of the fighting, a straight shot out from the now broken gate. They were all shouting together, the same loud word that was clearly a rallying cry.
Bain, bless him, bent down and said in my ear, "It's your dwarves! They've come out of the mountain- they're all behind the dwarf king!"
My heart leapt. Thorin? Could it really be?
We didn't have time to dwell any longer because the orcs responded to the Company's appearance with viciousness. Bain and I found ourselves each with a new opponent and it wasn't until I had pushed my orc successfully back into the throng of bodies and turned and cut into the elbow of Bain's orc causing it to drop its weapon, that I found that just as quickly, the battle had turned again.
I wasn't surprised to find that the dwarves, even with their numbers smaller now, were more than enough to push back the new wave of orcs. I remembered the Company's tenacity against the spiders, against the orcs on the mountainside, even against the trolls, and there were only thirteen of them at the time. Their renewed strength gave the rest of us the breathing room we needed and once again the fighting began to spill again over the entire valley.
Despite the tentative hope that the battle was turning in our favor, Bain and I stuck close together, never more than an arm's length apart. It wasn't until Bain stumbled for the first time, actually knocked off his feet, that I clocked that exhaustion was taking its toll on him. We'd been fighting for hours, I realized, given the position of the sun which had now dipped down halfway into the sky again. Bain was doing admirably, better than I had, better than I ever could even with my real body. But he was still a boy. A boy who, I hazarded to guess, had touched a sword as few times as I had before today.
I threw myself at the orc that had knocked Bain over, surprising the both of us. I was too small to knock them off balance, and the orc seemed more annoyed than anything at my attempt. My own exhaustion was at the forefront now and my parry was knocked away easily twice, pain shooting up my arm both times making it shake. Then the orc raised its blade, and it arched toward me, connecting.
I didn't recognize what had happened at first, flinching and then desperately trying to keep my feet under me so as not to fall. It was like cutting yourself with a kitchen knife - I felt the blade but there wasn't a sting, not right away. It wasn't until a few seconds later, that a line of pain began to burn down the length of my neck, at the corner of my jaw until stopping just at my collarbone. That was where it hurt the most, where the sword's blade must've cut deepest.
Instead of raising Sting – either to strike back or to block I had no idea which would be better – I brought my hand to my neck. The blood, my blood, was hot and sticky. I wondered if this would kill me.
The orc was grinning, so obviously pleased it made me sick, and then it wasn't. It was knocked forward with such a force it was sent flying. It clipped my shoulder as it went down, causing me to lose my balance, landing on my back so hard it knocked the breath out of me. I heard rather than saw the orc body land next to me. It didn't move.
"Master Baggins," I heard Bain call for me desperately, but it was faint, like I was underwater. It wasn't until Bain's hand was back on my shoulder, pulling me up and shaking me just a little, not to hurt but to get my attention, like Hayley would when her excitement bubbled over.
I took a deep breath and gasped out, "Bain," to try and reassure him I was fine. It was all I could manage to get out.
"You're bleeding," Bain said urgently, one hand on my shoulder the other with his sword limp at his side as he crouched next to me. I wanted to remind him that we were still in the middle of the battle but it felt like the effort to do so would be too much.
Instead, I nodded in acknowledgement and insisted, though faintly, "I'm fine."
The look on Bain's face made it clear how little he believed me. Bain pulled me to my feet, easily even despite his exhaustion. As I steadied myself, his eyes roamed over me before, in an instinct I found impressive, scanning the fighting around us for any orcs that – correctly - decided we were easy targets.
Bain's face drained of color, his grip tightening. It got my attention immediately. I followed his gaze, looking over my shoulder. But there was no orc, not within striking range and it took me a moment or two to find the cause.
A pale orc. Tall as an elf and broad as a dwarf. For a terrifying moment all I could think of was Azog. The way it grinned at me when our eyes met certainly called Azog to the forefront of my mind. It made my stomach drop the same. But its head was rounder, its limbs thicker and longer than what I remembered Azog's were. And its armor, I could see even with the distance between us, while dull and black like Azog's had been, seemed instead to be buried into its body, jutting out from its chest and arms. It even looked like it was embedded into its head.
I was going to be sick.
"Master Baggins," Bain said, voice shaking, as the pale orc began to push through the fighting in our direction. I watched just long enough to see it bring up its terrible bladed mace in a strike down on one of us – an elf, a dwarf, a man, I couldn't see- and its mace gleamed with blood as it raised it again to cut through another fighter.
I turned and met Bain's eyes, knowing I couldn't hide my own fear, "Run, Bain. Now."
Bain did. But not before he took a firm grasp of my coat and pulled me with him. It took several of his long strides as we weaved through the fighting for my feet to find ground and a few more stumbling steps of my own to match his pace.
I wasn't sure how far we had made it, though I knew it wasn't far enough, when an orc brought us to a halt. It struck so suddenly that neither Bain or I had time to react. Its sword arched out towards us through the fighting, slicing through the arm Bain's coat and making us both stumble in surprise. Bain let go of me to counter its next swing and before I could throw myself into the fray, I felt myself being torn backwards by my collar, clean off the ground, and tossed several yards.
It was a miracle that I landed on my feet, though really, it was only thanks to the outcrop of the mountain that I had been thrown into that I managed it. I looked up to find the pale orc only a dozen or two feet away and already closing the distance between the two of us.
It was strange, but I felt more relief than terror, though there was plenty of that too. The pale orc's target was only me, not Bain. It'd turned its back completely on Bain and the orc he was fighting.
The pale orc stared down at me as it moved closer, mace spinning once in its hand before it reached me. I could see now that its weapon was as long as I was tall, heavy looking with serrated blades and its armor had them too. I was frozen, unable to force my body to move, to run. Then the pale orc began to speak, low and guttural in what I figured was the same language that Azog had used in the mountains.
It was on instinct that I moved. The blur of the pale orc's mace came at me from the left and I could feel the force of its swing ruffle my hair as I ducked. I wasn't able to catch myself as I hit the ground, too startled by the sound of metal on rock and the feeling of stone shards falling on my head and neck. But I was on my feet again quickly, just in time to flinch back as a second swing came so quickly after the first it made my mind spin.
The fighting around us had moved away, whether it was on purpose to avoid the pale orc's wrath or some battle instinct, I couldn't say but I was grateful. When the third came, it came from above, arching down far above my head. It was only thanks to a well-time stumble on my part that the mace hit earth instead, sending pieces flying on impact.
That would have to be my strategy, to dodge. There was no way I could parry blows as strong as these. It took two more swings, both terrifyingly close enough to knock the breath out of me even if they didn't land, before I found my opening. The pale orc had to reel its arm back again, due to weight of the mace, and when it had pulled back far enough that I was reasonably sure it wouldn't be able to react in time I made my first offensive strike.
It was a terrible swing; I knew it instantly. It made contact, sure, but I could see it wasn't deep, barely a graze. I glanced up and my heart stopped when I found the pale orc baring its teeth meanly down at me.
I was in a bad position now, I knew that much. I'd lost my balance trying to put as much force into my attack as possible. I gasped in pain when like a vice the pale orc's free hand clamped down on my shoulder, the tips of its fingers digging into my neck. I tried futilely to shake off its grip but it was no use. The pale orc shook me, as if to reposition me, and I glanced up just in time to see its mace above on a downward swing.
I gasped out, but the pain never came. Instead, there was a roar and the pale orc and I were moving again, but this time it was because it had lost balance. It was stumbling towards me, jostling me, and on instinct I tore myself away from its loosened grip. I was able to take a few steps far back enough to see the cause.
Bain's face was triumphant over the pale orc's shoulder, though fear was warring for dominance still. Bain quickly shifted back into a defensive stance with his too-big sword held in front of him even as it gleamed with fresh black blood.
The pale orc lashed out so fast I was only able to take a half step back as its mace blurred towards me. It was barely enough, though its blades caught into the folds of my coat, pulling me partially with its swing before ripping completely through. I hit the cold ground with another groan, one of my knees taking the brunt of the fall and shooting pain up my leg. I collapsed from shock of it before desperately pushing myself up.
The pale orc moved dizzyingly fast, advancing on Bain in a few strides. Bain, to his credit was able to parry the first swing but only barely. Bain stumbled too, under the pale orc's strength. And that was where Bain's luck ran out. I heard just as much as I saw the pale orc land a successful swing across Bain's chest. It was as if Bain weighed no more than I did, and he went flying, sword clattering to the ground where he'd stood. Horrified, I watched Bain land hard on his back. He didn't move.
The pale orc did though. It advanced swiftly towards Bain's crumpled form.
In a panic, I scrambled to my feet and lunged at the pale orc, thrusting out Sting with all my strength. The pale orc's armor, while absolutely off-putting given how it was literally imbedded in its muscles, left it with several openings. Somehow, despite striking without any real aim, Sting sliced deeply through its thick leg, black blood streaming, and the pale orc dropping to its knee, losing its grip of its mace and causing it to fall to the ground with a dull thump. The next thing I knew was that there was a roar, the pale orc turning at its waist towards me hand extended and then, suddenly, a crack of pain against the side of my head and my vision went dark.
I didn't feel the impact when I hit the ground, which was probably for the best. I opened my eyes, my vision was dark around the edges, and sparks seemed to appear sporadically. My head was in agony and my body wasn't responding.
Bain, I thought dazedly. The pain was overwhelming and my vision was refusing to sharpen. I had to get to Bain.
But it was taken out of my hands. I felt a rough pull, my coat and shirts cutting into my neck as I was hauled into the air. I blinked, trying to focus on anything, and could see the white and black blur of the pale orc's face above me.
I struggled as best I could, tried to make any sound at all, but it only made the pale orc laugh, guttural and wretched above me. I realized that I no longer had Sting in my hand. A wave of terror, so strong and cold that I froze, washed over me. It spoke again in the orc language, pleased and vicious, before it stopped abruptly. There was a sharp noise, almost like a whistle, very close and then the pale orc dropped me.
To my surprise, a cry left my throat as I hit the ground but luckily landed on my hip and shoulder. The fall hadn't worsened the aching in my head or blurred my vision further even if there was another bolt of pain where I had hit the ground. I could see the pale orc's boots moving back a few steps. The sound came again, this time from above me. I pushed to my knees, relieved to feel the smooth cool steel of Sting when my fingers searched for it. My hand closed so tight around the hilt that my knuckles ached.
Glancing up, it took me a few moments to work out what had happened. But when I did, I was gobsmacked. An arrow. No, arrows. One in the pale orc's shoulder, the second square in the middle of its chest.
The pale orc roared again, mace swinging through the air, seemingly unaffected by the arrows. There was a blur of gold and red suddenly between us and the pale orc was pushed farther away.
It was over before I was able to finish comprehending what was happening. There was the sound of metal on metal almost constantly. The pale orc kept roaring. The two figures moving so quickly in their fight that it made me nauseous to watch until the pale orc fell and didn't get back up. The gold and red figure stood over them, two swords black with blood at their side.
I was being hauled to my feet again, this time by hands that were gentle, wrapped around my upper arms before one moved to my least-aching shoulder and the other holding the side of my head gently, fingers tangled in my hair, as if to keep my head from lolling back. They probably had the right idea. I blinked up at them. It was an elven soldier, I realized, the gold had been their armor, the red their hair which I could now see was long and streaming over their back. It all clicked.
"Tauriel," I gasped out, and even that felt like a monumental effort.
"Bilbo Baggins," Tauriel replied, "Are you well?"
I nodded without thinking and instantly regretted it. The point of pain in my head where the pale orc had struck me spiked sharply and my head began to swim again. Nausea joined in and for a perilous moment all I could focus on was willing my stomach to not rebel.
But then, like a bolt of lightning it hit me and I felt sick all over again, though for an entirely different reason. Bain. Where was Bain.
I leaned around Tauriel, even as she protested, eyes landing on where I had seen Bain fall after the pale orc's blow.
Bain was still on the ground. I pushed to my feet- though not without Tauriel's help, one hand at my elbow- and broke away from Tauriel into a run, though really it was more like a hopeful stumble. I could hear Bain gasping for breath even halfway to him. The only consolation was that fighting hadn't closed back in around us from when the pale orc had started swinging.
"Bain," I called desperately, a wave of nausea rolling over me as my head flared again but I ignored it, moving as quickly as I could, "Bain?"
Bain groaned in answer, which shouldn't have been enough to make my heart leap hopefully but it did. Once I reached him, I noticed that Tauriel was with me and when I dropped to my knees next to him, she mirrored me on his other side.
"Bain," I said again, letting Sting clatter to the ground and placing one hand on his shoulder. A moment later Tauriel pulled him up and halfway into her arms. She looked as horrified as I felt.
It was then that I saw it. Bain's coat and shirt had both been shredded through by the pale orc's mace. There was a large dark spot forming on his shirt, spreading slowly over his chest. Through the slashes in his shirt, I could see the shining red of a wound. Blood. It was blood.
I took in a deep shuddering breath and pressed a hand to Bain's neck. His eyes fluttered open, and I was surprised to see how clear they still were despite his injury. I could feel his pulse flutter beneath my fingertips.
"Hurts to breathe," Bain wheezed out as Tauriel used her free hand to get a closer look at his chest. Bain let out a soft noise of pain that Tauriel and I shushed quietly. My heart squeezed painfully.
I turned to Tauriel, desperate. "He can't stay here."
"No," Tauriel agreed easily. "Wounds left by orcs fester quickly. And I cannot say for certain here if there isn't more damage underneath."
I nodded, remembering Oin's words by the river. God, that felt like a lifetime ago. "Can you get him out of here? Away from the fighting, I mean?"
Tauriel's brow furrowed. She seemed untouched by the battle around us, her hair shimmering in the sunlight made more stark by her gold armor, her face unmarred by sweat or blood or dirt. The only evidence I could see of the fighting were the black streaks across her chest plate and gauntlets. She didn't answer right away, though her eyes moved up as if to look at something in the distance, then back towards where the gate had been.
"The mountain," Tauriel decided, though she didn't sound completely confident, "We would never make it to Dale."
I made a noise in agreement. It had been a long walk for me the night before, even on the way back with no treasure behind me. The fighting had stayed out in the valley, from what I could tell, spread out now. Thanks to the dwarves' rally we were no longer cornered.
"Bain," I said softly, turning back to him. To my relief, he was still conscious. "This is Tauriel, a friend."
Bain's eyelids fluttered, his gaze slipping between the two of us before it settled on me.
I pressed on, "She's going to take you somewhere safe."
Neither Bain not Tauriel seemed to like that. Bain lifted his hand to grasp at my arm and Tauriel's frown turned much deeper.
"I will not leave you," Tauriel insisted, glancing up and away towards the battle to our right. I wondered what she was seeing.
We didn't have time for this. It was my turn now, to glance between the two of them. Tauriel's expression turned mulish in a way that reminded me of the dwarves. The deep red on Bain's shirt was still growing and his shirt was now more dark than white. I wanted to scream.
"You and I both know I can't keep up," I argued, my desperation and pain building together. My head was spinning still and I knew that couldn't be good.
"No, Master Baggins," Bain gasped out stubbornly, even as he struggled to breathe.
I ignored Bain and told Tauriel, as if she didn't realize already, "He can't fight, I wouldn't trust my strength to stay with you, and you can't protect us both. He needs to get to safety. Please."
Tauriel's eyes again flitted to the battle around us, in the same direction as before, before settling on Bain again. I watched as her expression changed. I knew I had her.
Tauriel took a deep breath, turned back to me one last time, eyes solemn, and said, "I will come back for you."
Victory was supposed to be sweet. But there was nothing good to be found here, not even this.
"I won't go far," I promised, meeting Tauriel's eyes squarely.
"Master Baggins," Bain gasped out, but that seemed to be all he could say.
"You were so brave, Bain," I told him, keeping my voice gentle, despite my frustration and fear. I met Tauriel's eyes and nodded before addressing them both, "I'll be alright."
Tauriel hesitated again before her expression finally shifted to one of resolve. She nodded back and pulled Bain to his feet with an ease I envied as I struggled to do the same. Then, with her arm looped around Bain, they were gone, lost in the crowd that was rapidly growing closer again.
I don't know how long I stood there, mind blank and body hurting, but it was a surprise when I lost my balance thanks to a shove at my back that could have been from anyone. The battle had closed back in around me without me noticing. I did my best to rally, managing to get one good strike in on an orc's back, giving the Lake-man who was its opponent the opening to finish it off.
I was breathing hard now and trying to ignore the ache in my arms when I was shoved again. I took a few stumbling steps, letting my shoulder knock into the very outcrop the pale orc had thrown me into. Everything hurt, but my head was eclipsing it all. Before I could push myself to rejoin the fighting, a sudden movement in front of my eyes made me jerk back, startled. I blinked and it was still there. A fluttering blur. I watched it, head swimming and stomach turning from my sudden movement, as it darted back and forth in front of me. It took longer than I'd like to admit for me to figure out what it was.
A moth. It was a moth. I resisted the urge to shake my head. It didn't matter though, as my headache flared again, from a dull thrum to a cutting pain. Behind the moth I could see them: a dozen dark shapes against the grey sky. They were moving quickly in our direction. I couldn't believe it. They were – they were-
Eagles, I thought, as my vision began to tunnel again. Vertigo hit me like a tidal wave and I barely felt it when I dropped to my knees. The eagles had come.
Everything went black.
It was very dark, dreamless, quiet. There was no pain, no exhaustion, and my head was clear. I didn't feel particularly warm or particularly cold. Then, all at once, there was light everywhere, brilliant and white. I fought the instinct to flinch. I knew what this meant.
"There you are," said a voice through the light. It was deep, like distant thunder, steady and sure. "I have been most eager to meet you, child. And you do not disappoint."
There it was – another one.
"I," I started, then stopped. I didn't even know what to say. Well, that wasn't true. I had so much to say but I couldn't settle on what to start with. "You."
The voice didn't seem to mind.
"Ah, I have many names, many titles," the voice said amicably, as if we had just happened to bump into each other, "Mahal by my children. The First Crafter. But you may call me Aule."
"Aule," I repeated faintly.
There was a soft noise. A laugh. "And you are Laura. You have done so well."
My mind turned over those words, trying to determine why I was here. Why Aule was here. What could be left for the Valar to ask of me? Gandalf had gone himself to address the darkness. Smaug was dead, the mountain reclaimed. The eagles had come to turn the tide of the battle. The elves and men and dwarves had fought together. There couldn't be anything left for me. You have done so well, Aule said. Which only meant one thing.
"This is," I realized, my words hesitant. "This is the end, isn't it?"
"No, my child," Aule said, sounding so certain, "This is only the beginning. You have given my children a new song to sing. Durin's line will endure now, and so too will the others follow, unto the breaking of the world."
My heart fluttered. Durin? Did he mean the Company?
Aule continued on, "You have begun the world down a new path, one that, perhaps, will not lead to so dark of places. Your task is complete. You may return home."
Home, I thought. Home. It was finally – I could finally –
No. Bilbo - what about Bilbo? What had I done?
"Bilbo," I said insistently. "He's hurt." Because of me. "What does he get?"
Aule hummed, "This is not his end either. He, too, will return home."
I wanted to believe him. I did. But I had to demand, "Safe. He'll get home safe, won't he?"
Safe and sound, back to Bag End. Tucked away in the rolling green hills of the Shire, behind his front gate and his front door. I couldn't go home if Bilbo wasn't being given the same. He was the reason I could be here.
"Yes, yes, but of course," Aule agreed, as if I was a child needing soothing. I supposed I was, given how Aule addressed me, though it still made annoyance shoot through me.
Then, as if they were waiting their turn, I thought of Thorin. Of Fili and Kili. Of the Company. Of Gandalf. It hurt, the idea of leaving them. Of never getting to say goodbye. To not be able to tell them how sorry I was.
I couldn't believe I was still protesting. Home, Laura. I could go home.
"I understand," Aule assured me, even though I didn't voice any of it. It suddenly hit me why. The first light had been able to read my mind. Clearly, Aule wasn't any different. My unease vanished as I felt my hair ruffle, like a hand running through it, in a way that made me ache for Gandalf, and a soft sigh reverberated around me, through me. I could feel it in my own chest. I shivered. The other two had never touched me. This was different. Aule was different.
"If it will ease your heart, then go," Aule said warmly. "When you dream again, we will carry you home."
Then, like a flame going out, the light dimmed until it was gone. And when I opened my eyes again it was dark again.
No, not dark, I realized after my eyes adjusted, just night. I could see the moon, barely a sliver now but so bright that it hurt to look at it, and the stars gleaming more softly around it. There were no clouds. No smoke.
It was quiet.
I felt the unmistakable urge to be sick. Instinctually, I rolled over trying desperately to push myself away from the ground. After a few agonizing moments, the feeling passed but what replaced it was exhaustion. Exhaustion that was so deep, so heavy, it made my arms give out and I felt the cold ground beneath my cheek. And then I breathed. Slowly, trying to breathe as deeply as I could until my chest seized and I exhaled again. It took me a few tries to stop it from seizing, to gather myself to feel not better, exactly, but ready. Ready to move. To get up.
And then I tried. Three times. The first try, my arms shook so strongly they gave out before I could get a knee underneath for leverage. The second, I was a little more successful, managing to actually lift both knees for a wavering second before falling back down on them, hard, catching myself with one arm thrust out, bracing. The third time, though, I stumbled to my feet, took a deep steadying breath, and then began to walk. It was incredibly difficult, it felt like the most difficult task I'd had since coming to Middle Earth and that was saying something. I was so tired that it felt like I was wading through wet cement and my head was still pounding. But I couldn't stay here, not a moment longer. The battle may have been ended but the evidence was everywhere: in sight, in smell, in a way I couldn't explain other than an oppressive, choking feeling.
There was a croak, cutting through the silent darkness. My heart began to race, glancing around at the bodies still left behind. And then I saw it. A black shape, sitting atop a longsword that was sticking out of the ground. It was a dozen or so feet away if I were to guess with my blurry vision, so with a few trepidatious steps I moved closer.
A crow. Or a raven, maybe, I wasn't really sure which was which. It was large, though, and its feathers an inky black. Its eyes gleamed in the low light, and I knew at once it was watching me.
I stopped after what felt like an eternity later, close enough that if I wanted to, I could reach out and touch it. I was swaying dangerously and automatically adjusted my footing, waiting for my balance to return. Once I was sure I was steady and wouldn't throw up, I settled my eyes on the bird and stared.
The bird stared back. Then, it spoke, croaking but enunciating clearly, "Bilbo Baggins."
My mouth fell open. I knew I must look ridiculous. I wondered if this was a hallucination. I kept staring, mind trying desperately to come up with anything but staying stubbornly blank. I blamed my -very obvious now- concussion.
The bird waited patiently as I opened and closed my mouth a few times before finally I managed a, "yes."
The bird bobbed its head- a nod? – then spread its wings and flew away.
I stared at the now-empty place where the bird had been for longer than was probably wise. Yeah, I thought, definitely a hallucination. But I'd take it over the fire I saw in my dreams any day. Or cryptic ghostly powers that stayed just long enough to turn me completely around before abandoning me again.
It'd taken almost all my energy to reach the bird and I was suddenly hit with a wave of exhaustion and nausea. I wanted to double over. I wanted to lie down. But I knew if I did, I wouldn't get back up without help.
So, I did what my dad had always reminded me whenever I felt overwhelmed - but particularly during my brief stint at college before my complete and total crash and burn – which was to take it one step at a time. I found it to be a boon, only focusing on keeping upright, keeping moving. I knew I was moving in the direction of the shattered gate, where I could see out of the corner of my eye- since staring at it directly made my headache flare painfully- had been surrounded by flames. Braziers or lanterns or bonfires, I wasn't sure. But it was an unmistakable beacon in the cold winter night.
I don't know for how long I shuffled towards my goal, stopping every now and again to regain my balance. I knew I was moving slow, so slow that my only goal was to make it to the gate before dawn.
And then I heard it. My name being called.
I inhaled sharply, lifting my head slowly as to not trigger another wave of nausea. It took every bit of effort I had left to glance up at the gate and its harsh light to try and figure out why.
"Bilbo!" A voice carried across the battlefield, and I was able to focus my gaze on a lone figure moving quickly to me. If I wasn't mistaken, they were sprinting.
It was a dwarf, was my first observation. No longer in armor, though, was my second. My third was that their hair and beard was a deep red, apparent even in the light of the moon and stars and far away fires. The fourth was that it was-
"Gloin," I gasped out, unable to bring my voice much higher than a murmur. It took so much to even speak. But I could move still. I had to.
Gloin did most of the work, closing the gap between us, never slowing until he was suddenly right in front of me, arms wrapping around me and lifting me into the air. My vision blurred and I was hit with the horrible combination of vertigo and nausea.
It took me a few moments before I could squeak out, "Gloin."
I was set back on my feet immediately but Gloin shifted his grip so that while his arms were no longer around me, he kept one large hand on my shoulder, steadying me. The other roamed gently, so gently I barely felt it, over my hair and along my neck. I realized after a few moments that he was checking my injuries. Gloin seemed content to wait as I regained my footing and fought back the urge to be sick.
Finally, once we were both confident that I could remain upright, Gloin said, beaming. "Now you are sight to see, make no mistake."
"Likewise," I told him, shakily. A sweet flood of relief washed over me. He had survived. Which led me into, "The others?" Then I paused, struck with a bolt of fear, "Have you seen Bard's boy, Bain?"
"Alive, all alive," Gloin assured me with a laugh and really that was all I needed to hear. "Let's get you back with the rest of the Company, eh?"
I made a noise of agreement. Golin must've been satisfied, since he turned, pulled me onto his back, situating my arms to make sure I could hold on, hooked his elbows beneath my knees and then began to walk.
I wondered if I should be annoyed. Dori and now Gloin. It was like second nature to them, to sling me over their shoulders like it was nothing. But I didn't feel annoyed. Maybe it was the concussion. Maybe it was the fact that Gloin was here, very alive, and taking me back to the mountain. Somewhere safe. Somewhere, against all odds, that I was wanted.
My head was beginning to hurt again. I resolved to stop thinking about it, hooking my chin over Gloin's shoulder, and focusing my attention on the ground before us. Every once and a while, my headache would subside enough for me to glance up to see the blur of orange getting closer and closer before the pain would flare again and I would look back down.
If Gloin was bothered by my silence, he didn't show it. He said nothing as he made quick work of crossing the battlefield back to the mountain.
When we got close to the gate, and my eyes finally adjusted to the lights blazing, I could see that it wasn't just fires, but a makeshift camp. Several dozen tents were lined up in neat rows, braziers and lanterns casting so much light it felt closer to afternoon than night. Around us as we passed, elves and dwarves and men were all milling about despite the late hour.
Gloin strode confidently through the makeshift path the tents had laid out, leading to Erebor's gate. I could see a group of elves had stopped to stare, most in golden armor, but one dressed in greens and browns.
"Bilbo Baggins?" One of them called out.
Gloin didn't slow. Instead, he shouted over his shoulder, "Aye, we've found him. Alive and well no less! Make sure the wizard knows, eh? There's a good lad, cheers!"
The elves didn't answer, or at least I didn't hear one, as Gloin continued in a lower voice clearly meant for only me, "He's been relentless about finding you, that wizard. Wouldn't have pegged him for it. Even sent Beorn out looking until he had to rest himself but not a trace of you was found, lad. The ravenfolk have been keeping watch for you since."
I felt cold wash over me. I wondered if that had been on purpose, by Aule, to make sure we could speak. I wasn't sure how to feel.
The inside of the mountain, once we passed through the gate, was just as well-lit as the camp outside yet only a small reprieve from the cold. There were at least a dozen large braziers, all the size of bonfires, scattered through the hall. Above us, at the top of the staircase, I could see the same orange-gold glow, and I could hear voices, low and echoing off the arching ceilings.
When we got halfway to the staircase, Gloin bent his knees, letting my feet brush the stone floor below us. I took the hint and slid off. Gloin caught me as I listed to the side, before I even noticed it myself, and settled me on my feet. There was no one else around, which I was incredibly grateful for.
"There we are, Bilbo," Gloin said warmly as I sighed. I was shivering now that I didn't have Gloin to keep me warm, and Gloin didn't miss it. "Aye, the forges haven't been lit, we're trying to keep warm how we can. Especially the men. Their constitutions are worse than the sodding elves. Dain's men think they'll have the forges going by morning but until then they'll have to make do."
Dain. It clicked in my mind. That was Thorin's kin's name. The one who'd led the army.
"I'm glad to hear it," I told him, unable to keep my exhaustion out of my voice.
My mind turned over how I could ask about Thorin. I couldn't decide how Gloin, or any of them really, would react if I asked to speak with him. I didn't know if it would be better or worse to ask if Gloin could just relay the message. But then – what could I even say? Sorry didn't even begin to cover it.
A soft noise was all the answer I got from Gloin but I didn't need much else. The fires' flickering light were worsening my headache, and nausea was rolling over me in slow waves again, making me give up my train of thought.
"Now, Bilbo," Gloin said after a moment, and it struck me even through my haze that he sounded almost hesitant. I couldn't imagine what for.
"Yes, Gloin?" I answered, hoping my words were more encouraging than they sounded.
Gloin paused again, but it was much shorter than before. "Your wizard hasn't been the only one asking for you."
I didn't have more than a second to puzzle over his words before Gloin continued, "Thorin has refused rest until you were found. He would," Gloin paused again, this time his eyes roamed over me as if searching for something, "very much like to speak with you again. If you're amiable."
Oh. It struck me that Gloin and I were worrying over the same thing, though, it seemed, for different reasons. I wondered what his could be. Surely the dwarves could agree with me that I was in the wrong. Gloin's behavior, though, wasn't lining up with that theory.
"I'd," I stuttered out, "I'd like that. If that's alright."
Gloin's expression turned unmistakably fond, knocking the breath out of me. "It would, in fact, be most welcome."
Welcome. I couldn't wrap my mind around that idea.
Something most have shown on my face, trepidation, or maybe outright fear - which I felt ridiculous for, after all, hadn't this been what I wanted? - because Gloin's expression turned very soft. He raised a hand to gently squeeze my shoulder once. It was gentle even compared to how Gandalf had touched me much less the other dwarves.
"It will all be well, Bilbo," Gloin said, voice soft. I wondered if this was how he was with his son, too. "I swear it."
And, really, that was enough for me. I exhaled, letting some of the tension bleed out of me with it. I knew Gloin wouldn't lie. I gave the tiniest nod I could get away with without triggering another wave of nausea to show I'd agreed.
Gloin squeezed my shoulder again, a little more tightly this time, but I didn't mind even if it made my shoulder flare painfully. It was an affectionate gesture, I knew.
"Wait here, lad," Gloin told me, "Won't take long. He'll be dropping everything, I expect."
I wanted to believe that was a good thing. Gloin sounded amused almost, and I couldn't hear any worry in his words. No uncertainty. But I remembered the way Thorin had looked at me on the gate before sending me away. Thorin's expression had been one of agony, with that darkness underneath that had been ever-present since we had reclaimed Erebor.
"I won't go far," I promised Gloin when it belatedly occurred to me that he was waiting for an answer. I blinked as a sense of déjà vu washed over me.
Gloin left me after that, making quick work of the stairs. I didn't bother to crane my head to watch him leave, so he was out of sight halfway up.
Now that I was alone, I could feel my anxiety and uncertainty bubble up, stronger than ever. I quickly turned to anger instead. I was furious with myself, with these feelings. This had been a gift from Aule, to say goodbye. I couldn't let the threat of Thorin's anger or the reality of our fractured friendship stop me.
It turned out, my concussion was what really kept those thoughts away. Vertigo and nausea made their rounds again, sometimes together, sometimes alone. And there was a ringing in my ears that I wasn't sure whether it was new or if I'd only just noticed it.
I spotted Thorin in my peripheral first, and I didn't recognize him immediately. It was only his movement, his figure coming down the stairs that caught my attention.
My vision was still more blurred than I would have liked, but it occurred to me that there was a solution to the problem, even one that I could take. One foot in front of the other, I was relieved to find that my vertigo had receded enough to walk mostly in a straight line, though my legs hardly wanted to do more than shuffle. I would take it.
Thorin drew closer, strides hurried and long, even with a very obvious limp, to close more than his fair share of the distance between us. His crown was gone, as was his golden armor and cloak. He was wearing chainmail and leather, shockingly bare in comparison to how I'd last seen him.
Truthfully, Thorin looked terrible. And wonderful. By the time Thorin was only a few steps away, I could see a long wound that seemed to follow his hairline, wrapping from his forehead down to his jaw, still raw looking even if his face was clean of blood. His face was half blue - a mess of bruises worse than even what the white warg had done to him. But Thorin's eyes were clear, his skin flushed and no longer so drawn. There was an openness to his face that had been missing since our arrival to Erebor, even if, like before, you had to be looking for it.
He looked healthy, despite his obvious injuries. Lucid. Whole again.
Hopeful sparks ignited in my chest. This was the real Thorin. He was – better. He was back.
We both stopped at the same time, just out of reach from each other. Well, Thorin's reach. And then we stared. It didn't feel awkward, surprisingly, even as it continued to stretch out, but more companionable. Like we were both equally lost on how to begin. It was more than I could have hoped for.
"Bilbo, forgive me," Thorin said so suddenly and so urgently it was as if he couldn't contain the words any longer. His eyes were bright and intense, and I was shocked to hear a plea in in his voice, "For my words and deeds on the gate. They were cruel, and undeserved – least of all to you."
I was stunned. I'd been the one to keep the Arkenstone from Thorin. I'd been the one to sneak away and strike a deal behind the dwarves' back. I hadn't foreseen Bard and Thranduil marching straight up to Erebor's gates, armies right behind.
"Of course I forgive you, Thorin," I told him sincerely, easily, "That wasn't you, I knew it even then."
I hadn't noticed how tense Thorin's shoulders were until they dropped. The lines in his face smoothed out, too. Thorin nodded, the corners of his mouth turning up. I was glad to see it even as I was dreading my turn.
"I'm the one who should be apologizing," I said, and it took every effort for me to maintain eye contact with him. Even more so when Thorin's expression fell, the ghost of his smile disappearing entirely. It didn't bode well for what was coming next.
"You were right about one thing, back then. You told me one of us was false, do you remember?" Thorin flinched as if I had struck him. I resisted the urge to mirror him and pushed on. "It was me. I was the false one and I'm so sorry for it. For everything I did."
Thorin frowned, shaking his head, "There is nothing false about you. You have always acted out of loyalty, out of care, not malice. I knew this before, I knew it then, I know this now. You have been a better friend than I deserve."
My eyes welled with tears at his words. They were so kind, so unexpected, given how many mistakes I'd made. I couldn't shake the feeling that I hadn't earned them.
When the words came tumbling out, I couldn't stop them. I didn't even really realize I was saying them until they were said, "There's everything false about me, Thorin. There has been since the beginning."
Oh my God. I felt sick again, sudden and intense, but this time it had nothing to do with my concussion. What was I doing? What was I saying? Shut up, Laura.
Thorin looked lost. I couldn't blame him. "How do you mean, Bilbo?"
It was too late to take them back now.
"That," I said before I could think it through, my heart hammering loudly in my ears, "that's precisely it. I'm not Bilbo Baggins." I took a deep shuddering breath and admitted, "My name is Laura. Laura Aldine."
"Laura," Thorin repeated slowly and it felt so strange to hear my name - my real name - come from him.
"Yes. You've seen me," I said very carefully, watching Thorin's face and hoping he'd understand, "twice before."
Thorin sucked in a wheezing breath and for a panicked moment I thought he would double over. But he didn't, instead he stared, an echo of how he looked back at the Carrock, but this time the pieces were slotting into place. Well, Thorin had definitely picked up on my meaning.
"How," Thorin breathed out. To my surprise, he didn't look angry but I couldn't pin his expression. After a long, stunned moment he asked, "What are you?"
Now that was the million-dollar question. Or maybe the dragon-hoard question? Gandalf called me chosen. Beorn, kinsman. Radagast, an oddity. None of those felt quite right.
I opened and closed my mouth several times. Nothing came out. Of course not.
"It matters not," Thorin finally told me after a long awkward stretch of silence, though he still seemed to be working over everything in his mind so I took it with a grain of salt. But, of course, I was desperate enough to find it comforting nonetheless, especially when he added, "You are as you have always been, to me."
I didn't know what to say to that. Thank you felt so insufficient it would be borderline insulting. But I couldn't think of anything else and my body's betrayal kicked back into gear and I again found myself on the verge of tears.
"The wounded have been kept here in the mountain," Thorin added, as if this was the next logical thing to say. Even without my concussion, I knew I'd still be confused. I stared, processing this comment that felt very out of left field. Thorin's eyes never left mine as he continued, voice low, "There is a room waiting for you if you wish. For as long as you wish. Oin would see to you personally."
Oh. I took a sharp breath in, my chest squeezing tight.
"I," I started, a sob bubbling up so suddenly from my chest it made me pause. After a moment, when I was sure it wouldn't make its way out, I said, "Thank you. But I – I don't think I can."
Thorin's disappointment was palpable, even without a matching expression. His eyes were bright, still focused on me. He waited.
"It's time," My eyes were stinging, tears welling. I pressed on hurriedly, barely managing to get the rest out before I felt them fall, hot over my face, down my neck. The wound that I had almost forgotten about started to sting with them. "I have to go home, now. I'm done."
Thorin looked away, frowning, his face pale now, gaze towards the floor. I watched his hands flex, his mouth tightening, his shoulders rise and fall from what most have been his own deep breath.
It was only a few minutes, but it felt like hours before Thorin replied, his words should have felt like a balm to my aching chest, but they only made my tears fall faster, "You are welcome here now and always," Thorin's face serious and eyes shining as they met mine once more, "Must you truly leave?"
"I don't think I have a say," I admitted, voice cracking.
Thorin seemed to accept that, even if he looked even more troubled His eyes squeezed shut, so quick I almost missed it, in a way that made me think he was in pain.
God, I really couldn't do anything right, could I? I had botched this up from start to finish, for both of us.
It was on instinct that I moved forward. The impulse to fix this was overwhelming, all-encompassing, eclipsing how much my body hurt and the maelstrom of emotion in my chest- affection and sorrow the heaviest of them all- but I was at a loss at how to do so in a way that mattered. It only took a step or two, and then my arms moved up, winding themselves around Thorin's torso and grasping desperately at his leather-clad back. Thorin's response was immediate, his arms were around me, already squeezing. As I buried my face in his shoulder, I felt the answering pressure of Thorin doing the same, one of his hands curled at the base of my neck, the other wrapped completely around my back, his fingers splayed wide across my side.
My tears didn't stop. If anything, they came harder. My throat was hot and closed, my head splitting again. I could barely breathe. My shoulders were shaking with the effort to contain my sobbing and that hurt too. But Thorin was warm and all around me, steady and strong and solid. Like in the dungeons, he didn't make any move to pull away, didn't give any sign that he wanted to end it, so I took the opportunity and held on tight, letting my tears flow freely. I felt a pang of guilt at how much of a mess I was probably making of Thorin's clothes, but it wasn't nearly enough to stop me. I doubted anything could have convinced me to pull away, then. We stood there together until my tears finally began to recede, though I couldn't tell you how long it took only that it was long enough for my fingers to start aching with how tightly I was holding on. I breathed in, deep and shuddering, before finally letting my grip loosen.
Thorin took that as his cue, his grip loosening too to pull away, but not before murmuring quietly, no more than a rumble in his chest that reverberated through mine where we were pressed together, "Farewell then, dear friend."
I swallowed painfully, then sniffed, embarrassed at how loud it was, as we pulled away. When Thorin released me and stepped back, I was cold again. I brought my good arm up and scrubbed at my face, though it felt useless. I could only imagine how disastrous I looked. My skin was still wet, despite my attempt to clean up, my nose was still clogged, and my face still felt hot.
I chanced a glance back up at Thorin and my heart lurched painfully when our eyes met again. Thorin's were damp too, the blue of his eyes stark because of it. I sighed shakily, my thoughts coming back together again.
Taking advantage of the reprieve from crying, I gasped out, "The others. Please, could you tell them-"
"Yes," Thorin said hoarsely. He didn't seem to need me to finish and I found that I believed he really did know what I wanted to ask of him, what I'd want to tell them.
I gave a shallow nod in thanks, in an effort not to worsen my headache. I took a few more moments to try, with little success honestly, to compose myself. When I was mostly sure I would manage to make my last request without having to stop and cry some more, I said, "There's one more thing."
Before I lost my nerve, I dug my hand into my coat and pulled out the Arkenstone. It shimmered between us, glowing. I thrust it in Thorin's direction who held out his own hand for a split-second before pulling back. Shock flitted across his face before it smoothed out again. His eyes were still warm, still clear.
"Bilbo," Thorin said after a beat, gentle and slow. His gaze flickered from me to the Arkenstone before settling back on me. Then, "Laura."
My throat was closing up again, my tears coming in a second wave. I didn't have much time. Still, I had to try.
"Please," I insisted, voice cracking.
To his credit, Thorin visibly wavered. Slowly though, he reached out, hand open, and let me drop the Arkenstone into his palm.
Done. It was done. I was done.
I had to believe that Thorin would be alright. That the sickness was really gone.
I stared at the Arkenstone, watching the prismatic light within it absently, and found myself unable to look at Thorin again when I said, "Goodbye, Thorin."
I turned, tears flowing freely once more, and walked away. It was painful, more painful than I could have ever imagined it would be, resisting the urge to look back, to have one last look at Thorin. But I couldn't take the risk. I would run back to him if I did, I knew it in my heart. I would want to stay.
It was a blur, my final exit from the mountain and I barely registered that I made it over the makeshift bridge that had been placed at the gate's entrance. My chest was seizing with the effort not to sob, even though it was a lost cause.
Why did it hurt so much? I was going home. Home. I'd been wishing for it every day since I arrived. And yet there wasn't any joy when I thought of leaving. It felt like my heart had been ripped out.
"Bilbo Baggins," a soft voice came from above me.
I jumped, then tilted my head up to find the source. Even through my tears I knew at once it was an elf. They were too tall, slender, and a blur of green. My tears had stopped out of surprise, thankfully, and after a moment of blinking away the last of them away I could even make out their pointed ears.
And then I got a good look at him. It wasn't either Tauriel or Thrandruil - admittedly the only elves I knew by name- but he still seemed familiar. His hair was blond, long, and spilled loose over his shoulders. His clothes were like those that Tauriel wore back in Mirkwood: plain and practical in greens and browns. But there was something around the eyes that made me think of Thranduil, even if his seemed young and soft in comparison to the ice that Thranduil's gaze always had.
I got straight to the point and croaked out, "Radagast."
The elf nodded, his face impassive, which from what I could tell was often a default response from his kind. Then he confirmed, "He has been looking for you."
The elf placed his hand just below the back of my neck, almost between my shoulders. It made me feel small and childish, being steered around that way, but I figured that was probably exactly what I was to an elf. I couldn't hold it against him.
It was hard for me to tell exactly where we were going, exhaustion and pain and sorrow now overwhelming, and I suspected the elf could tell, even he didn't show it. He silently took to the task of guiding me through the tents, occasionally gently pressing his fingers into my back when we needed to turn, until we were at the edge of camp. We had reached the mountain's outcrop, I realized, to the bottom of the stairs that Dori had carried me up to the watchtower. It was dark, which was worth the cold. I frowned, confused, until there was a sudden movement on the stairs, a figure I hadn't noticed.
Radagast- it couldn't be anyone else. He stepped forward and I could see even in the low light of the stars and far-away fires that he looked just the same as I had last seen him in Dale, which felt like years ago. Had it really only been a day?
"Thank you," Radagast said to the elf. The elf took that as a dismissal, his hand leaving my back. With one last glance down at me, he turned back to camp.
We waited together, Radagast's eyes roaming over me, wringing his hands, before he made the first move, perhaps now certain that the elf had moved out of range: letting out a soft sad noise and beckoning me closer.
I went, hiccupping on a sob, tears falling freely again. I was astonished that I had any left, I couldn't ever remember cry so much. I let him run a careful hand along the side of my face, then through my hair. It surprised me, if only because Radagast didn't seem the type, but I'd take the comfort anyway.
Radagast let his hand fall, turning back to the stairs to sit. Once settled, he offered hesitantly, "You did very well, little friend."
I dropped inelegantly next to him, shuddering. Radagast raised an arm behind me, unsure.
"You are ready then," Radagast said lowly, and I could feel his fingers resting gently on my back, "To return home."
Yes. No. I didn't know anymore.
"Does it matter?" I asked him wetly, "Has that ever really mattered?"
Radagast made another soft noise, but didn't answer. And that, in a way, was answer enough.
I leaned against him and Radagast tensed in surprise before relaxing again a moment later. I could feel my eyes growing heavy, and I knew my time was running out. But I still had to ask.
"You'll make sure Bilbo gets home?" I asked him, glancing up, willing myself to stay awake, to be sure.
Radagast nodded, attention on the pipe he was turning over in his hand, before meeting my eyes. His gaze was solemn, focused, and I knew at once he meant it when he replied, "Of course, my dear. I'll see to it myself, take him right to his door."
My shoulders dropped in relief. But I still had one more request, "And Gandalf," Radagast turned to look down at me again and I closed my eyes, unable to keep them open any longer, "You'll tell him goodbye for me, won't you?"
Radagast was quiet for so long, I was afraid I wouldn't be awake long enough to hear his answer.
Then, in a soft voice that followed me into sleep, Radagast said, "Yes, when I see him again next."
I hummed, grateful. "Thank you."
Then, like before, everything went dark, and then, suddenly, very bright.
And when I opened my eyes again, I was home.