NOTE: Hi everyone! First and foremost, "Atlantis" by Seafret helped inspire this chapter. I recommend giving it a listen if you get the chance.
Second, but more importantly: possible TRIGGER WARNING, this chapter's title is both figurative and literal, its dark; you'll get a peak at Thorin's increasing possessiveness and unhealthy (gold-sicky) view of Bilbo. I've also got claustrophobia, shock, and some subsequent trauma.
I love this story, but most of all, I love all of you who've been reading and commenting, its really kept me driven to write. I 100% understand if you need to skip the next couple chapters since I plan on getting a little darker. Your mental health matters. I will post similar warnings at the beginning of future chapters if I think it needs it. If you choose to skip but want a summary, DM me and I'll be happy to give you a summary!
Chapter 14: Darkness
Thorin moved quickly through the hallway back to the rest of the group, leaving his One to decide for himself if he would risk his life. It had taken all his strength to turn from Bilbo's lips, leaving him there in the darkened corridor. Every fiber of his being told him to turn around, grab up the Hobbit and take him far from any danger. But they all had a job to do, and he knew that Bilbo would be fine; he'd find the Arkenstone and slip quietly past the dragon. Thorin had seen his skills firsthand and had no doubt that he'd see him again soon. Then Thorin and his company would be able to persuade their kin to attach the dragon and regain their home.
"So he's off then?" Balin asked, meeting him halfway.
"Aye, and the sooner he's back the better." Dwalin gave him a knowing look; His guilt over sending Bilbo down there alone was eating him, and Dwalin had always been good at reading his moods. Shaking off his melancholy, he turned to his nephews who were whispering off to the side. "Kili, what is that Bilbo gave you?"
He could see paper crumpled in his nephew's hand. They both looked guiltily back at him. "Well, he told me not to read it unless something bad happens..."
"But you already opened it so you might aswell share, what does it say?" The boys exchanged a hesitant look before passing the note to Thorin. The others crowded around him as he read the elegant script aloud.
"Kili, at this point the dragon has awoken. I will do my best to keep it distracted. Above the chamber where Smug has made his nest there are passageways to alcoves with small windows carved so that they look into the chamber. This area will be the safest, and will protect everyone from any stray flames. Smaug is missing one of his protective scales; a white spot sits over his heart. Aim true, or I might not survive this one."
The note crumpled in Thorin's fist as he wondered yet again if he'd just sent his love to his death. Dwalin cursed under his breath, while Balin grabbed the paper from him to reread it again.
"How does he know this information?" Bofur tugged on his beard, "only those of you who've lived in the mountain could have told him about its structure. And how would he know about the scale?"
"It doesn't matter, we need to move up to where he instructed." He eyed the passageway they were in, trying to remember how to get up to the landing Bilbo had described.
"But we don't even know if the dragon will awaken. We should wait like the note says." Dori pipped in.
"We can wait up there," Thorin growled, turning to face down anyone who would question him. Dori shrunk back, clearly fearful of his visage. It didn't matter, he had to make sure Bilbo was safe. "Balin, lead them up to there, I'll make my way down to the chamber to secure Bilbo and the Arkenstone if anything goes wrong."
"No, your safety comes first; I'll go." Dwalin butted in. Receiving an answering glare. "Don't worry my king," Dwalin patted him on the shoulder, "he'll be safe with me." Thorin thought it over for a minute before finally conceding, joining the group headed up the stairs. It took a few minutes to reach the hallways, but they were lucky enough not to get lost. Sneaking up to a window, Thorin glanced down into the cavern below.
What he saw made his heart stop. Bilbo stood calmly, as if discussing the weather, while being stared down by the large red eye of Smaug. While still mostly covered by gold, the head and neck of the beast was exposed. Like an ant to a bird in size, the hobbit stood his ground. Thorin could see them speaking but couldn't hear what they were saying.
Suddenly, Smaug burst forth, sending Bilbo flying several meters away crashing to the floor as gold rained down from the monster's body. "I-am not-SMALL!" The roar reverberated through the mountain, shaking the stone as the dragon stood, spreading its wings wide.
"Now! Kili!" He cried out, pulling his own bow to notch one arrow aiming at the chest, watching in horror as Bilbo scrambled back. He could see the fear in his face as the dragon bent a claw tip down as if to squish a bug… but then he saw the fear change to a grin as his lips moved, giving the dragon pause. It was enough time.
"Fire!" He shouted, loosing his arrow on the beast. One after another he reset and fired down. Smaug thrashed as the others joined in, shooting arrows, hurling rocks, anything they could do to keep its attention away from the hobbit. Fire erupted from his throat aimed up at them, but as Bilbo had predicted, it never breached the windows. Thorin lost sight of his hobbit, but continued to shoot even knowing it would never pierce the dragon's hide.
"Kili, come!" Thorin heard Dwalin shout, his blood running cold. Where is Bilbo, why are you not with Bilbo? His mind began to panic. He did not move, did not lose his concentration from his task, praying that it was enough to keep the dragon off of Bilbo. Seconds felt like hours, as Smaug tried to pinpoint where the attacks were coming from, the dwarves only stopping long enough to change window's or gather ammunition. Bomber, Dori, and Ori kept them well stocked, moving rocks and raiding the nearby rooms for anything that could be tossed through the holes. As Thorin nocked his last arrow, the slick warmth of blood smeared his fingertips, grounding him in the chaos. Then, he saw Bilbo—
Not fleeing, not cowering, but standing exposed in the open, shouting defiantly at the dragon!
A roar rose in his chest, louder than the beast's. Red flooded his vision, and the world shrank to the fragile, maddeningly reckless figure before him. His heart twisted, a violent, suffocating ache. How dare he risk himself like this? Didn't he understand he wasn't allowed to break, to be hurt, to leave? The thought of losing him—no, of anyone taking Bilbo away—was unbearable, an iron weight in his chest. His grip tightened on the bow as if he could chain the hobbit to him through sheer force of will. Protect him. Possess him.
Bilbo wasn't his to lose because he was already his. His and no one else's. And Thorin would destroy anyone, anything—even Bilbo himself—before he let that change.
Turning, rushing past the windows, his boots barely touching the stone as he practically flew down the stairs. The yells of the others followed him. The scream of rage and fear echoed through the tunnels as did the familiar shaking. Something every dwarf knew to fear. Cave in.
Reaching the bottom Dwalin tried to stop him, prevent him from seeing, but as he pushed through the dwarf his worst fear was confirmed. Where his fearless hobbit had stood, a large cave-in with stone piled to the ceiling, from underneath it lay the body of a motionless dragon with its head and neck crushed beneath the rubble. Slain at last.
Kili had collapsed to his knees a few paces away, tears streaming from his eyes. "He's been eaten. Smaug swallowed him. I did as he asked, I hit my mark, but to late." He whispered to no one in particular.
Thorin felt the weight of a hand on his shoulder, the familiar comfort an unwelcome touch. He turned with teeth bared, "You didn't protect him!"
Bilbo gasped for air, the acrid stench of decay and bile burning his lungs as the dragon's throat tightened around him, squeezing like a living vice. His thoughts spiraled, a frantic mantra looping in his mind: I was swallowed headfirst. I was swallowed headfirst. The words felt like the only tether to his sanity.
The slick, pulsing walls rippled around him, forcing him further down the creature's gullet. Sword in hand, he twisted and pushed, the blade slipping against ridges of fleshy tissue. Warm, viscous fluid seeped into every crevice, stinging his skin and choking the air with its sour reek. His movements were frantic, each backward shove rewarded with a sickening squelch as the dragon's throat fought to drag him deeper.
Darkness consumed him entirely, a suffocating void that stole all sense of direction. The heat was unbearable, a furnace pressing against every inch of his body. His own heartbeat thundered in his ears, louder even than the monstrous roars reverberating from above. He could feel the beast's life pulsing around him—inhuman, primal, and unyielding.
I won't die like this. The thought pierced the haze of panic. He forced his eyes open, though the darkness was absolute. Sliding his sword forward, he stabbed blindly, the vibrations of his strikes echoing through the dragon's flesh. He had no idea if he was doing damage, no way to tell if escape was even possible.
But he kept pushing. Kept stabbing. Kept moving, fighting against the beast and the overwhelming tide of despair. Because if he stopped, even for a second, the darkness would win.
Bilbo could feel the change in texture, as his knees came in contact with the rough tongue, slipping on the sticky, congealed fluids pooling beneath him. Eyes still closed tightly; he could feel a cool breeze at his back. Turning, trembling fingers found the jagged edge of a tooth, slick with blood and bile. He pulled himself forward, his body screaming in protest with every movement. The dragon's maw was slack now, its death loosening the once-crushing grip of its throat, but the stench of decay and scorched flesh was overwhelming. He gagged, bile rising in his throat, yet he kept crawling. He had to get out. Finally, his hand found open air, and he clawed his way free, collapsing in a heap on the blood-soaked ground outside.
Opening his eyes, the world spun wildly, colors too vivid, sounds too sharp. His chest heaved, but his breaths came shallow and fast, each one a desperate gulp that seemed to bring no relief. His skin was cold, clammy, despite the heat radiating from the dragon's massive corpse. His fingers twitched uncontrollably, unable to let go of the sword still clenched in his hand.
Bilbo's vision blurred as he stared at the room around him, the cold stone of a collapsed doorway pinned Smaug's body beneath it. His mind refused to process it. He was out—he had escaped—but the reality of what he had endured was too much. His limbs felt disconnected, distant, as if they belonged to someone else.
A high-pitched ringing filled his ears. His lips moved, forming words he couldn't hear, a broken whisper of his earlier mantra: Swallowed headfirst. Swallowed headfirst.
His stomach churned violently, and he doubled over, retching until there was nothing left. Tears streamed unchecked down his face, though he couldn't remember when he'd started crying. His heart pounded erratically, a wild drumbeat that refused to slow. He tried to stand but collapsed immediately, his legs crumpling beneath him like wet paper.
For a moment, he lay there, trembling and motionless, his cheek pressed against the ground bespeckled with blood and gold. He wanted to move, to run, to scream—but all he could do was shiver, the cold of shock sinking deeper into his bones. He was alive, but his body felt like it was betraying him, holding him hostage to the storm of fear and exhaustion raging inside.
He could have laid there for minutes or days, but eventually the shivering subsided. Pulling himself into a sitting position, his mind began to tick off what he could see, which wasn't much in the near darkness, the only light being some bioluminescent fungi growing in a V-shaped coat down the side of one of the walls. Likely from where a water source seeped into the room. Around him he could see the dragon, a cave-in, three walls, a table, and gold… no door. He was trapped. Worse still, he was trapped with the ring, which had started laughing at him the minute he'd escaped Smaug's mouth. Glutton, they will not look for you, they are dead. It seemed to whisper in his mind.
Shaking his head he moved to his feet, unsticking himself from the floor as the coagulating blood coating him head to toe began to harden. Nothing changed from this viewpoint, still a single table sat off to the side of the room long forgotten. Gold and jewels littered the floor all around him. Great carvings of drinking dwarves were etched into the walls, telling long forgotten stories. I'll have to ask Balin about them, he mused trying to keep his head on straight.
He stared at the carving for a while, imagining each etched figure as one of his dwarves. Some sat around a table, ale in hand. He thought of these ones as Balin, Dwalin, Nori and Dori. Others seemed to dance in merriment, whom he equated to Bofur, Fili and Kili. Others lay passed out on the floor, and still one remained, standing off to the side from the rest… Bilbo shivered, realizing how much time had passed as the room began to chill. It had no fireplace or blankets to warm him. One plus side to living in a mountain was that the temperature always remained constant as long as you weren't near a living dragon. The negative? That constant was chilly.
Rubbing his arms for warmth, he decided to climb atop the table to try and get some sleep. He felt the exhaustion weighing on his limbs, but despite knowing he needed to rest sleep eluded him. No snores soothed him into dreamless peace, just a teasing voice in his head plucking at his worst fears. After several hours, he awoke drenched in sweat, his voice horse from screaming as a nightmare drove him to consciousness.
"They will come for me," He whispered into the darkness, tears streaming down his face.
Knock...
Knock...
knock...
The muffled sound broke through the oppressive silence, faint but undeniable. Bilbo's cracked lips parted, but no sound escaped. Was it real? His head swam, heavy with hunger and the unrelenting weight of the darkness that had become his world. His bag of mushrooms had lasted a day. He'd tried to hack off pieces of Smaug's flesh, but the meat had tasted like a noxious poison, sickening him and making him weaker. So he'd waited patiently for his friends to find him, slowly losing his strength and will to fight.
Then came the thunderous crash of stone, a sound that made him flinch and curl tighter into himself. The sudden burst of light seared his vision, piercing through eyelids. A low whimper escaped him as he pressed his hands to his ears, every noise amplified, unbearable after so long of suffocating quiet.
"Bilbo!" A voice broke through the chaos, raw and desperate. The sound cut through the haze of fear like a lifeline, pulling him back from the abyss.
Bilbo tried to speak, to reach out, but his body refused. His muscles trembled, too weak to lift even a hand. He felt himself being gathered up, arms cradling him as though he might shatter with the slightest pressure.
"Oh Aulë, you're alive!" Thorin's voice cracked, thick with emotion. His fingers brushed a bloody lock from the hobbit's face, trembling as he checked for injuries. "I've got you. You're safe now."
Bilbo blinked sluggishly, his eyes finally adjusting to the light. Thorin's face swam into focus, streaked with dirt and sweat, eyes rimmed red from exhaustion and unshed tears. He tried to smile, but his lips quivered instead, the effort too much.
"Stay with me," Thorin whispered, his tone as tender as his hands were firm, supporting Bilbo's fragile frame. From behind him, Kili came forward to drape a cloak over Bilbo, while Balin pulled a water flask from his belt.
"Here lad, drink. Just a little."
The cool water touched Bilbo's cracked lips, and he drank greedily, coughing as his throat protested the sudden relief. Thorin held him steady, murmuring soft reassurances with every sputtered gasp.
"I thought I lost you," He confessed, his voice breaking as he rested his forehead against Bilbo's matted hair. "Three days, ghivashel. Three days of digging. I would've torn the whole mountain apart if I had to."
Bilbo managed a faint, rasping whisper. "You… you found me."
Thorin choked on a laugh that was more sob than joy. "Of course, I found you. I'll always find you." His arms tightened around Bilbo, as if holding him close could erase the horror of the last three days.
For a long moment, they stayed like that—Thorin's hands stroking Bilbo's hair, his whispered promises filling the air, and the hobbit clinging to the warmth of dwarf's presence, his fragile body too weak to do more. The fear and isolation of the tomb lingered in Bilbo's mind, but Thorin's steady heartbeat against his cheek was the anchor he desperately needed.
They were together again, and for now that was enough.