Chapter 12
While wishing their moment in the dark alley would never end, what little strength Bilbo had gained from his day in bed soon waned to the point that Thorin had to carry him back to the inn. The walk was quick and silent, with his face buried between Thorin's neck and collarbone in embarrassment at his weakness. By the time they reached the room he was starting to feel drowsy, and he was quickly devested of his cloak and shoved beneath the covers of his bed.
The fire had burned down to embers, leaving the room dark and warm. The others continued to softly snore, aside from Dwalin who was sitting at the table when they entered the room. He gave a little wave to the stoic dwarf before letting out a squeak of surprise as Thorin climbed in alongside him.
"What are you doing?" Bilbo whispered as the larger male wrapped an arm around his middle to pull him close into a spoon.
"Sleeping," Thorin mumbled into his hair. His hand traveled up to Bilbo's chest, where it came to rest on the bag under his shirt. "Whats this?" he plucked it through the shirt.
"Elevenses," Bilbo rolled his eyes as he batted the wandering hand away.
"Eh?" He propped his head up one arm, turning Bilbo slightly so that they were face to face.
"You know, snacks?" Pulling the bag from under his shirt, he opened it up to pull a mushroom from within. This was one of his favorites, the bright red cap gave it a spiciness that increased in heat as they dried. Despite the dim light, it was unmistakable in its species, the bell an odd jellyfish shape over the thick stem. A frown tightened over Thorin's face as he stared at the fungus in in front of him.
"You don't eat that."
"Ofcourse I do, it's delicious," He popped it into his mouth before Thorin could blink, and then watched as the dwarf quickly began to panicked.
"Spit that out! It's not what you think!" The dwarf sat up in bed looking down with fear in his eyes as Bilbo promptly swallowed it whole. "That one is poison, it will kill you!" He shook Bilbo's shoulders in emphasis, turning to order Dwalin to find the doctor.
"No, stop, both of you. I'm fine, I've been snacking on these since I could toddle into a forest to pick them myself. Sit down Dwalin." He ordered as he sat up in the bed as well. "There is no mushroom in the whole of middle earth that will harm a hobbit." He could see the doubt in their eyes and couldn't help but laugh at the mirrored expression between King and Captain of the Guard.
"Truly? This could be the reason you've gotten so sickly of late. Ori told us this afternoon that you've been supplementing your diet with wild things through this journey, you could have miss identified something." Dwalin stated, sitting back down at the table.
"No… That isn't why." Bilbo looked down into his lap. He knew why he'd sickened, "The last weeks in the forest, my mind was so foggy I often forgot to eat. Then with the elves, I saved most of my food to bring to the dungeons." He didn't mention that every time he'd picked up a piece of food, the Ring had whispered to him of his gluttony and selfishness, how his friends were starving in their cells while he sat in luxury. The Ring had been relatively muted through their travels up until that point, where he was able to shut it out with the warmth of his friends. But alone, surrounded by strangers and his own mind, it had picked apart all of his worst fears to put on display in his head.
Shaking himself from the thought, he looked up to find both dwarves frowning at him. "What?"
They exchanged a look, Thorin shaking his head slightly before laying down and pulling Bilbo back down into bed. "Don't do that again, if the company gets hungry Bomber always has food."
Bilbo rolled his eyes at the order, knowing he would do it again a thousand times over if needed. Staring into the embers in the fireplace, he couldn't keep his mind from running rampant over what had occurred this night between the plans made with Bard and the kiss. He wasn't wholly convinced that he wasn't dreaming of being wrapped in Thorin's arms. Despite all this, another plan began to take form. Whether it was his own, or one prompted by the Ring sequestered between mushrooms in a small leather bag, he wasn't sure. But it was a good plan non the less. A small smile played on his lips as he quickly succumbed to sleep.
The next morning was filled with bustling as the company were in and out of the room like ants in an ant hive. He was ordered bedrest by Thorin, Dwalin, Balin and Oin, and it was Bofur's turn to babysit as the princes had been disinclined to volunteer this round. Bilbo had snickered at their red faces.
Bofur had taken the job very seriously, sitting in bed next to Bilbo while carving a small wooden animal and telling him about dwarven legends and fairytales. After lunch Bilbo had fallen asleep in the middle of one of the stories, only to be awoken by the sharp bark of Khuzdul followed by Bofur moving from the bed.
"Whats wrong?" He mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"Nothing, go back to sleep," Thorin answered, sweeping an errant lock from his face. He did as he was told, slipping back to sleep for a few more hours before awakening to find thirteen dwarves surrounding his bed.
Sitting up, he eyed them all warily, "Whats going on?"
"It might not be poison flavored, but hopefully you'll like it anyway," Bomber joked, placing a large cake onto the center of the bed before he and the rest of the company climbed on. The man-sized bed surprisingly could fit all of them, though it was a tight squeeze as he was pinned between Thorin and Kili. It did creak with the added weight of Bomber but held fast as he began dishing out pieces of cake to everyone.
"What is all this for?" Bilbo asked as he was handed a large slice of the vanilla and cream filled cake.
"Your birthday, ofcourse." Fili winked," You told us yesterday it was on the twenty-second; do you not know what day it is?"
"Well, I can guess now, can't I?" Bilbo laughed, touched that they had gone through the trouble.
"Well you'd be guessing wrong, tomorrow is your birthday," Balin chuckled.
"Aye, we are leaving tomorrow so we didn't want to eat cake on the boat the Master has lent us." Dwalin shrugged between bites of cake, emphasizing his point with the crumbs littering the bed. Bilbo was happy to oblige, eating two slices while the company spoke of birthdays past among their kin. The tradition of drinking a tanker of ale for every year you've been alive seemed like an amusing one, but he doubted it was one he could accomplish. Would I go with one hundred and twenty-eight as I was, he wondered, or the fifty years I am now?
While they visited, Thorin sat at his side messing with his hair. After a while, the others moved to the table and couches, drinking heavily and becoming more rambunctious. Bilbo heard a small tink as Thorin rose to join them; feeling his hair he found two small braids with small metal cuffs securing the ends.
"Happy birthday," was all Thorin said as he went to take his seat at the head of the table.
Later that night, with his companions asleep, Bilbo once again slipped from their room. It had been a bit harder this time, with Thorin's arm wrapped snuggly around his middle. When Thorin had mumbled, Bilbo was sure he'd been caught; but the dwarf had simply rolled onto his other side.
Cloak wrapped securely around him, he peered out into the darkened hallway. Like yesterday he made his way out into the streets quietly, passing the tavern full of men in the lower portion of the inn which had been empty the night before. This time he traveled in the opposite direction from Bard's home, to where the 'nicer' building were located in the middle of the town. Everything was still shabby and rundown, but not in the way that they were falling apart on the outskirts. Within minutes he had found his target.
Before him stood the grand house of the Master, the one guard posted out front sleeping at his post. This would have made it easy for Bilbo to slip inside the darkened dwelling to creep through the halls and up the stairs. Had it not been for the light jingle of his new hair ornaments that had the guard snorting awake to peer around him in search of the noise. Bilbo froze in the shadow of the house and remained unmoving until the man lost interest and closed his eyes once again. Waiting several more minutes to make sure he was truly asleep, Bilbo finally pushed one of his braids to the side to prevent it from making any more noise before entering the house and heading to the second floor. He peeked into several different rooms before finding the Master asleep in his silken sheets. On a cot on the floor lay the weasel-man that Bilbo couldn't quite remember the name of. It didn't matter anyway.
Tiptoeing closer, he came up to view the grotesque face of the Master. The man breathed great bursts of noxious air out through his mouth and Bilbo barely kept from gagging at the smell. Rotten teeth and blackened tongue visible, Bilbo pulled open his leather bag, pinching a dry fungus from its hiding spot. Quietly, Bilbo rubbed the mushroom between his hands, creating a fine powder which he then sprinkled into the open maw before him.
The Master smacked his lips several times before gasping, his hands coming to his throat as he gasped for air. His eyes flew open, wild and frantic, to see the dark form standing over his bed. The size of a child, gaunt frame; a blonde-haired angel of death sending him to the next world. He reached out as if to touch the being before his hand fell limp, hanging just out over the edge of the bed as the last breath left the Master's lips. Bilbo didn't bat an eye.
The weasel followed soon after. Though he convulsed longer than his employer; foaming at the mouth as he swung at the light-haired demon, fighting for his life. It did nothing to prevent his end and he was soon quiet once again. Pushing this one back into his bed, Bilbo wiped the bloody foam from the man's mouth. Adrenaline pounding though his veins he quickly quenched the fire and opened the window, letting in the chilly air. In the morning when the servants found the body, they would blame the cold for their deaths, none the wiser. After taking his time to make sure nothing else had been disturbed by his presence, he rushed down the stairs and out past the still sleeping guard.
With no dwarf to ambush him the time around, he made it back to the inn with only the slightest shaking as the adrenaline wore off. And if he was being honest with himself, some of it was caused by what he'd just done. Ogres were one thing, inherently bad and an active threat to the company at the time. To murder men in cold blood, who had provided them with shelter and supplies...
But to protect the ones he loved from the future…
Nausea racked his small frame just outside the inn, causing him to heave up the wonderful cake into the grimy street front. In his mind he could feel the Ring's laughter, calling him weak, murderer, glutton. Wiping his mouth of his sickness, he stumbled back up the stairs to their room, his breathing ragged as he leaned his forehead against the door frame. Inside, he could hear the dwarves stripping the paint from the walls with their snores. Despite sounding like the roar of a beast on the other side of the door, he gave a small smile as they calmed his nerves. His breathing became even once again, and his stomach settled. He wouldn't regret anything that kept them safe, even if it ended up consuming his soul.
Stepping into the dimly lit room, his eye immediately met with Dwalin's. The dwarf was sitting at the table the same as the night before, sharpening a blade which he then used to point to the chair across from him. Bilbo meekly took a seat, unsure of the stoic dwarf, the silence drawing out between them.
"You're bleeding," Dwalin gestured to Bilbo's face. Reaching up he found a throbbing spot on his cheekbone where the weasel had probably cut him with his swing. While he hadn't noticed it at the time, he could now feel it throbbing. Hard dried blood mixed with coagulating new blood, and his fingers came away red. Pulling up the edge of his shirt, he gently rubbed at it to try and clean up the evidence, though he'd probably have a shiner in the morning. His eyes never left Dwalin's face as the dwarf waited patiently for Bilbo to clean up.
"Did the man from last night do that?" The question surprised him, though it was reasonable that Thorin had told his second in command about the night before.
"No." He didn't explain further.
"Whomever did, are they dead?" He felt a pause in the air, not sure if he should reveal the truth. His crimes were his own burden which could come back to hurt the others if they knew. Dwalin had always had two sides; the being who was willing to bring hell fired down to meet his goals, and the law-abiding captain of the dwarvish guard. He wasn't sure which side sat across from him tonight.
He held his breath as he nodded, "Yes."
"Good. Get some sleep, we need to be up early tomorrow." The dismissal was abrupt as Dwalin stood to make his way back to the bed he and Balin were sharing, leaving Bilbo staring after him.
The next morning, they awoke to the tolling of the bells announcing the death of the Master. The group broke their fast in the tavern below and were able to garner from the gossip that he had been found in his house dead and that the doctor believed it to be a murder suicide via poisoning. The word on the street was that the weasel-man, whom Bilbo learned was named Alfrid Lickspittle, was set to be replaced which motivated him to take such drastic measures. Bilbo caught Dwalin's frowning stare from across the room.
Upon noticing the large purple bruise under his eye, Bofur had teased him about falling out of bed in his sleep. He'd nodded along, letting the others come to their own conclusions. Thorin had made his way over to sit next to him on the bench, slipping more breads and cheeses onto Bilbo's plate despite his protest. He never asked about the bruise.
Once fed they made their way to their boat, clad in the gifted armor from the late Master. Unlike last time, there was no fan fair. No mob of citizens to see them off as they packed their supplies into the tiny vessel. Only Bard stood off in the distance, watching their departure. Bilbo almost thought he'd imagined the small nod from the Man who knew the future and would not shrink from it, an understanding held between just them
It pleased Bilbo to no end that Kili was with them instead of dieing from an infection caused by an Orc arrow. In total, four additional party members would be facing down Smaug this time around. He hoped this would better their odds at keeping the beast at bay if he was unsuccessful at sneaking once again. At this point he felt as if his backup plans had backup plans.
That being said, the boat was cramped. Throughout the day they all took turns alternating between sitting and standing until eventually they docked to make camp. Night was just beginning to fall, the Lonely Mountain a beacon of light in the shadowy dusk. The wind was blowing hard, chilling everyone and making a fire difficult to contain. Nori and Dori decided to dig a small pit to build a fire in which protected it from the elements while the group huddled together for warmth. After about an hour they were warming themselves by the embers while Bomber took to making dinner. The weather was brutal on Bilbo. His teeth chattered despite the fire and two additional cloaks wrapped around him. Nori had come to sit next to him, engulfing them both in his cloak. This was short lived as Nori was soon snapped at by Thorin in Khuzdul, causing Bilbo's heater to excuse himself from Bilbo's company to search for more firewood.
Thorin took his place and the group ate in silence, unable to converse well with the howling wind around them. After their meal Thorin and Dwalin disappeared, letting Bilbo quench his curiosity on Balin.
"What did it mean, what Thorin ordered Nori?" It had been the same several mornings ago when he'd been napping with Bofur. He'd only now remembered it, but didn't recognize it as one of the three phrases he knew in the language. The group rarely spoke in Khuzdul, but Bilbo recognized the call for dinner time as one that had been repeated almost every night by Bomber. He also knew 'Jack-ass', one of Bofur's favorite words, and 'saddle the horses' which was randomly picked up within the first week of their travels.
"It essentially means 'he's spoken for' and 'hands off' in the same word's, but in a way that doesn't translate very well." Bilbo frowned at this information.
"I didn't know Nori was spoken for; I hope I didn't get him in trouble." This caused Balin to laugh heartily as he patted the hobbit on the head.
"He'll be fine lad." Bilbo wasn't so sure, but trusted Balin's judgment in the matter. He was now curious as to who had caught Nori's heart, but didn't ask as Thorin returned and they readied for bed. The company ended up crowding together in a pile with tangled limbs to bed down for the night. This kept everyone warm, and Bilbo soon found himself sleeping wrapped in three cloaks and Thorin's long limbs.
Excerpt of Dwalin because my sister asked for it:
Yesterday Dwalin had been thrilled; Thorin had finally made a move on their burglar, and it hadn't ended in violence. When Thorin had stomped out into the night after the mischievous hobbit, he had figured someone would end up bleeding. After he had learned about the trolls months ago, as well as Thorin's fat lip last month… Dwalin's money was on the king's blood coating that pesky toothpick of a sword. Hence why he'd stayed awake; but it had made his heart swell with happiness over his best friend walking in holding the male of his dreams in his arms.
But that was yesterday; Today Dwalin waited patiently for the conniving halfling to appear and explain himself. Thorin had told him that he had found Bilbo inside a man's house, and though he couldn't see well inside he had been fearful and jealous with how close they had been acting. He'd said Bilbo had told him it wasn't anything romantic. He wasn't sure how the hobbit could have even met a man after being sequestered within the inn after his sickness. But waking up to find him gone again… Dwalin had stated sharpening his knife just in case.
As the minutes ticked by, only plans of breaking the news to Thorin about how the hobbit lost his manhood filled his thoughts. That is until Bilbo walked in, looking strained, as if he'd just escaped a battle with his life and was coping with the consequences. Shadows haunted Bilbo's eyes similar to what he'd seen in the male the first week of their travels, when he had inquired about his battle skills. The same shadow's he'd seen countless times in the mirror. A cut marred his cheek, blood painting the side of his face. Dwalin motioned for him to take a seat, milling over how he should go about this. If it was the man from the previous night, perhaps the hobbit had tried to break it off and things had gotten rough? There was only one way to find out.
"You're bleeding," Bilbo seemed to not have noticed, wincing as he touched his cheek before wiping away the blood. "Did the man from last night do that?" Dwalin watched the hobbit's reaction carefully, studying his body language for anything that might give away a lie. The question seemed to surprise him, and he was quick to deny it. Luckily for the hobbit's anatomy, Dwalin believed him. But this begged the question.
"Whomever did, are they dead?" He saw him stiffen slightly, the shadows in his eyes darkening as Bilbo contemplated his answer. He knew he could be intimidating, but he would take care of his own. And as far as he was concerned Bilbo was apart of this fucked up family whether he wanted to be or not.
He nodded with a whispered "Yes". He almost seemed to flinch in his skin, waiting for a punishment that would never come. Atleast Dwalin didn't have to go man hunting this eve.
"Good. Get some sleep, we need to be up early tomorrow."