Quiet as a mouse, Bilbo slipped into the prison. The darkness enveloped him as he listened for the telltale snores to guide him. Dinner had wrapped up at its usual time, not a word on the story or in way of farewell was spoken by the king as he had dismissed Bilbo from the dining room. Headed back to his room, he had wondered if he had made the right choice telling his tale to the elf. Not that he had used any names, or any specific details. He had instead shaped the story between a human female and an elven male, but the similarities would be there if Thranduil looked closely enough.
Gathering his belongings, Bilbo had slipped the notebook with the king's stories into another of his coat pockets, donned his own clothes and slipped into the hallway to find Elros's sleeping quarters. It hadn't taken long, as he found the closest guard and began the conversation with "I was looking to tell Elros something important about hobbit toe hair grooming methods and..."
The elf had quickly jumped into the conversation to aid in directing him to the guard's rooms, because ofcourse "That sounds very important indeed, don't let me keep you."
Anything to silence the incessant hobbit.
Bilbo had found the room without passing any other elves. Most of them were out partying and dancing at the celebration above, where wine was flowing, and music could be heard echoing the halls. This made slipping into the room easy, where he found Elros asleep in his bed with hands entwined over his heart. Not a sound escaped him which had disturbed Bilbo reminding him of the dead, and he quietly made away with the guard's set of keys.
Now he slipped the key into the door of the tower cell, the groaning chime of moving metal waking Thorin from his sleep.
"Your early," he rose quickly, slipping from the cell as the two of them made their way back to the group.
"My plans changed. The weapons and packs are in that room there." He motioned to a small storeroom off to the side as he unlocked the closest cell, the one holding Kili, Oin, Gloin and Ori. Jostled snores and grunts quickly shifted to whispered questions in the dark.
"Jailbreak, grab your things." Bilbo whispered, moving on to the next cell.
Quietly they gathered their belongings as Thorin attempted to guide them up the stairs into the keep above.
"No not that way, down here," He pointed to a second set of stairs, swiftly running into the dark with the dwarves following. Bilbo waved them into a vaulted wine cellar, the keeper already well into his cups and passed out on the floor.
"We're in the cellar?"
"What are we doing here?"
"You're supposed to be leading us out, not deeper in?" Bofur frowned, the dwarves ganging up on Bilbo.
"Silence," Thorin's voice cut the complaints," He knows what he's doing." He nodded at Bilbo to lead on.
Bilbo motions to the empty barrels, "Quickly, climb in."
Thorin doesn't even blink as he pulled himself into an empty cask, Dwalin following suit. The others exchanged puzzled looks but didn't question him again.
"What now?" Bofur watched as Bilbo made his way over to the large wooden lever, the sounds of guards gathering above.
"Hold your breath," Bilbo pulled the lever with all his might, causing the dwarves to cry out as the cellar floor disappeared and they were left plummeting into the rushing river below. Bilbo rushed forward, slipping through the closing floor to freefall into the water after his friends.
The icy liquid hit him like a hammer, rushing into his lungs as Bilbo gasped from the shock. His arms waved frantically in search of something solid to grab onto. Hands grabbed hold of each wrist, hoisting him up to the surface.
"Bilbo! We've got you!" Bofur had one arm, Bifur with the other, a sputtering hobbit pinned between two barrels. The cavern was dark, the group holding on to each other's barrels and the rocky walls as they waited for Bilbo to catch his breath. At his nod, they began rowing themselves through the wet maze as he clung to Bifur's barrel, the wood scrapping against the stone as their wood vessels bounced side to side through the narrow passage. It didn't take long before they saw the pink morning light shining around the corner as they neared the cavern's mouth. Exiting the cave, their barrels hitting the small waterfall that had them all soaked as the rapids drove them down the river in the predawn.
"Get down!" Bilbo shouted, remembering the guards along the bridge were ahead. No bellowing of horns warned their approach, so either Tauriel hadn't yet figured out that they had left their cells or hadn't figured out where they had escaped too yet. Either way, the gates were open as they approached the bridge, and despite the hurried shouts to close it when they spotted the dwarves tucked into each barrel, all thirteen casks slipped under the bridge and down the river.
"Very good, we might just make it out of this in one piece!" Thorin shouted from his barrel as he popped his head out only to catch sight of the rapids. Bilbo gasped as the chilled water rushed over his face with Bifur's barrel plunged below the liquid. One after another the rapids dunked him, the stinging chill seeping into his bones. Was it this cold last time? His thoughts were fuzzy as his body began to shake.
His thoughts shifted to the Orcs who had ambushed them along this river, with so many dead elves and an injured dwarf by the end. He needed to warn them to keep an eye out, but couldn't catch his breath. He couldn't feel his hands, and water kept rushing into his nose and mouth. He tried to call out to his friends, tried to tighten his grasp on the barrel, but he knew he was lost as his fingers slipped from the wood.
As the waters stilled, the group began paddling their way to shore. The slowed waters cut a semicircle into the dark rocks and the wind had picked up, the winter air causing goose flesh to prickle their damp skin. Thorin crawled out from his barrel, standing to help Balin from his. The others were attempting to pull out Bomber from his cask as Dwalin began scouting ahead. Thorin began to count one, two, three... Twelve?
"Where's Bilbo!? Who has the Hobbit?" Thorin looked around at his soaking companions; one, two, three…no halfling in sight. Rushing to the water's edge, his heart pounding out of his chest, his gaze scanned the empty barrels which bobbed together in the shallows. He couldn't breathe, panic infusing his thoughts.
"There he is!" Ori pointed from the rocks to where the rapids met the slower water, creating a rip. A flash of red bobbed as the water boiled up, causing Thorin's heart to seize.
No, No, No- his only thought on repeat. Diving into the water, Dwalin and Bofur followed after him, arms pumping against the current. Using all his strength he surged forward towards the red which flashed in and out of his sight. Just out of reach, his arms scrambled through the nothingness of the water before his fingers came away with something solid. A red sleeve. Shifting the unmoving body in his arms until the face broke the surface, he glimpsed eyes closed and lips blue.
"I've got him," Thorin breath heaved from his body as he put all his strength into back paddling towards the shore. With Dwalin taking the other arm, and Bofur his legs, together they haul Bilbo onto the sandy bank. "Bilbo! Bilbo stay with me!" He shook him, turning him to his side to pound his back.
"Quickly, turn him to his back!" Oin ordered," press down on his chest as hard as it will give, that's it," Thorin did as he was told, his hand shaking as he applied pressure until he was sure Bilbo's ribs might crack, "again, again, now pinch his nose, you need breath life back into him." He didn't hesitate, grasping the hobbit's face to tilt his head back before bringing his lips down to meet cold soft flesh. Breathing out deeply, he felt Bilbo's chest rise from the force. He repeated.
Seconds felt like hours. Nothing. No movement, no cough, no sign of life. "Don't leave me," Thorin growled out, forehead pressed against Bilbo's cold skin. "You don't even know..."
Then, a weak, rattling cough. He jerked back as Bilbo's chest heaved, water spilling from his lips and arms flailing as he turned to sputter and puke up water. Bilbo's eyes, wide and dazed, snagged on to Thorin as he struggled to breathe.
Thorin let out a broken laugh, tears blending in with the water on his damp skin. "You're okay, you're okay…" He whispered. Without thinking, he pulled the hobbit into a crushing embrace, his body shaking with relief.
"Is Kili safe?" Bilbo murmured, his voice faint but alive.
"What? Yes, everyone's fine. You scared the hell out of us- out of me, and you can't even focus on yourself for a second?" Thorin shook his head in disbelief, voice gruff as he brushed wet hair from Bilbo's face. For a moment, it was just the two of them, hearts beating wildly for different reasons but somehow perfectly in sync.
A light cough sounded causing Thorin to look up to see every member of the party looking in any direction other than theirs. Smiles were being hidden behind idle tasks. Fili and Kili were exchanging coin in the background. Clearing his own throat of any wayward emotion, he stood pulling the hobbit to his feet. Concern continued to eat at him as he watched Bilbo's unsteady frame shiver hard in his damp clothes.
"Fili, Kili; grab some wood and start a fire to dry our things. Dwalin, Bifur; scout out some trees. We'll need to build a raft to make it the rest of the way to Lake Town." He met Oin's eyes, who gave a small nod of understanding.
"Come here lad, let me make sure those bastard leaf eaters didn't damage our burglar." Oin took Bilbo by the arm, guiding him to sit on an outcropping of rocks. Thorin scanned the horizon for enemies as he tried to figure out a plan.
A small cough caught his attention as he turned to find Ori behind him with Dori hovering off to the side," I have an idea for the raft."
Minutes later they were standing on a man-made dock, sturdy, with extra rope neatly coiled to the side. He had to admit, it was a good idea. He nodded to Dwalin and Bifur who set to work directing the others on how to transform the structure into a vessel for them. They began by steadying it, adding timber secured along the middle and on either edge to prevent it from bending. Bomber and Bofur collected their supplies on the shore, and Thorin and Dwalin took axes to the pilings that were securing it into the ground. After a few hours they had a functional raft floating in the water.
Returning to where he'd left Oin and Bilbo, concern was quickly replaced by rage as he did not see his nephews nor a fire. Bilbo lay in the sand covered by Balin's coat, his eyes closed as his body continued to be racked by cold chills.
"Where are they?"
"I know not. They haven't been back since you sent them to find firewood. Bilbo laid down only some minutes after my examination, and hasn't roused…" The healer's eyes flicked towards his patient before staring up at Thorin with worry," He is not well Thorin. He is practically skin and bones beneath his shirt, and there is a wound on his side that hasn't fully healed. With what happened today I'm surprised he survived. The tremors now are caused by fever, and his breathing sounds rattled. I can't tell you if it's by sickness or left over water."
"We need to get him under shelter," Thorin deduced, kneeling to run the pad of his thumb over Bilbo's flushed cheek. While he had appreciated the lean muscles of the halfling during their bath, he had noticed the night before the gauntness of his cheeks. He wasn't sure what had brought on such a harsh change, but that wasn't his concern right now.
Lifting Bilbo into his arm, he frowned at his lightness and the lack of response. Carrying the unconscious hobbit to the raft, he laid him down in the center while the others readied to get underway. Making sure Dwalin had everything under control, Thorin marched into the wooded area looking for the soon to be dead princes.
It didn't take him long to find them as they were standing just out of sight of camp, their heads brought together in hushed whispers. Completely oblivious to their surroundings, Thorin was able to walk up, grabbing each by an ear before banging their heads together.
"Ayy! What did you do that for!" Fili gripped, Thorin releasing them to cross his arms over his chest. His rage was palpable at this point as he stared them down. He had never raised a hand to either of them, but he felt nearly driven to do so in his current state.
"You both are fools; where have you been?"
"Relax uncle, were fine." Kili pipped up, still rubbing his head.
"Our burglar isn't, I told you to start a fire, that was over two hours ago. We are nearly ready to leave, and everything is still damp! Now tell me, what kept you?"
"We, uhh, got lost." They exchanged a look before changing the subject." Whats wrong with Bilbo?"
"I don't know, I only know that he has risked his own hide for you both on more than one occasion. His only thought after nearly drowning was concern for you, and you cannot even do a simple task that would have helped everyone… I'm disappointed." He heaved out a sigh, the rage nestling into his chest like smoking embers as he turned from them to head back to the raft. Over his shoulder he called, "We're leaving. Now."
They made their way back together in silence, joining the rest of the company on the raft. Bomber and Dwalin took up large spindles of wood to propel the vessel along and prevent it from colliding with the shore or any rocks. After about an hour they came across a ship propelled by a man in a similar fashion. He was tall with long dark hair and beard, clothed in well-worn leathers. Thorin would have once considered him handsome; now his thoughts were consumed with blonde curls. The man came to attention at the sight of their group, his hand going to the long bow across his back.
"Hello there!" Balin, ever the diplomate, called out in greeting.
"Good'ay," The man eyed them warily, scanning over the group while noting weapons.
"We are headed for Lake Town, are we very far? One of our companions is sick and we are seeking shelter."
"Dwarves are not likely to expect a warm greeting from the town. The Master will not be welcoming to your kind, and he decides who can stay."
"Aye I wager not many here care for Dwarven folk, but that doesn't change our need to enter the town."
"With such a large group, it would be costly indeed. You are but two hours from Lake Town and moving with the river will shorten the trip."
"I figured as much but thank you for your time." Balin performed a small bow before signaling to Dwalin to continue forward. Thorin mentally cringed at the timeline, worrying over the state of their hobbit. While the river remained calm and steady, the trip did end up taking several hours and they arrived near dusk. Bilbo had remained unconscious the entire time, occasionally grunting or muttering in his fever dream.
Landing their vessel near the bridge, Thorin lifted Bilbo into his arms. He could feel the fever radiating through his cloths, and he wished he knew more about medicines and hobbits. Stepping forward, Kili reached down from the bridge.
"Here Uncle, let us help." In an instant, a sickening feeling flooded his mind, as if Kili would take Bilbo and he would do anything to keep that from happening… But just as quickly as the thought came, it passed as he looked down at the being in his arms, sickly and frail. His company were the only people in the world he could trust and despite the boys' carelessness they wouldn't do anything to actively harm the hobbit. With a nod, he passed Bilbo up to Kili, pulling himself onto the rickety dock to survey their surroundings.
The mist had already moved in from the lake giving the buildings an eerie feeling. The town itself had seen better days, days before dragons when wealth flowed through this town from Erabor and its allies. Now windows were boarded shut with the buildings in need of repair. The occasional resident scurried from one shelter to the other in the night, but no one stayed out after dark. The occasional lantern swung in the breeze with dull muted luminescence.
"This is nothing like when I visited it last," Balin peered into the town.
"Yes, one hundred and seventy years will do that," Dwalin elbowed his brother.
"Stay together,' Thorin took the lead, navigating his way through the quite town. It was like Balin said, except all the buildings were the same, a pantomime of the town that he once enjoyed visiting with his sister. Dis had found the town fascinating, and at the time no one would have blinked an eye at the pair of dwarves window shipping. Turning a corner, they could see the large house of the Master. It screamed extravagance, brightly lit all around, he could see that it was freshly painted and had a guard lounging at the entrance.
"We've come to see your Master," Thorin approached the steps, shocking the guard from his nap. The blurry eyed man stumbled to his feet, aiming his spear at the group while attempting to regain his faculties.
"What was that? Who are you?"
"This is the company of Thorin Oakensheild, Dwarven king of Erebor and all Durin's Folk. We've come to see your Master of Lake Town on urgent business."
"Eh?"
"Enough of this, you buffoon," Dwalin neatly removed the spear from the man's grasp, causing him to bolt in fear into the house. Thorin rolled his eyes at Dwalin who only shrugged before pushing his way into the house, the company quick to follow. His hope for a peaceful reprieve from travel was getting slimmer and slimmer.
Inside the house was much the same as the outside, luxuries that the suffering town was obviously not sharing in. Hard wood furnishings with silken upholstery, gold and silver decorations, paintings hanging over beautiful, wallpapered walls next to large taxidermized animals. The air smelled rich with beeswax candles. Above them at the banister appeared a burley grotesque man. His orange hair was combed over is balding head, with a twisty mustache sulking over his lip. His rotund form was clothed in elegant clothing that appeared to be several seasons worn and quite out of fashion. At his side slunk a creepy slimy type of fellow with greasy black hair, as well as the guard at his other side.
"What are you doing in my home," the Master stared down at them with a look of contempt that Thorin equally matched. This disgusting wad of flesh was a means to an end, and he would see its mission accomplished.
"As we introduced ourselves to your man, and he was so gracious to invite us in. This is the King of Erebor. Thorin, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror. We have matters to discuss with you." Balin introduced. Thorin could see the gold being counted behind the man's eyes at the mention of Erebor. The man on the boat was right, it would be costly indeed.
After being invited into the Master's study, Balin, Dwalin and Thorin had secured them lodgings at a local inn as well as the supplies needed for the rest of the journey. While not as fine or excessive as what Bilbo had garnered from the shifter, the supplies would provide them with some comforts in the coming weeks. With Durin's day drawing ever nearer, Thorin could feel a pit growing in his stomach with anxiety. He didn't know what he would do if he failed again.
Their lodgings were spacious; A large center room held a long table with six chairs and two couches that were riddled with mothy holes. Three large rooms took up the eastern, northern and western walls, each with two large beds separated by a thing foldable paper and wood divider. The rooms were separated from the main living space with curtains that could be opened for more light. Two ancient looking fireplaces were lit on the final southern wall next to the door. While not the best place they had ever stayed, the company was happy to find that there were no bed bugs and had an all-night kitchen in the tavern below.
The rest of the company had left Thorin and Bilbo to find their dinner. Looking down at his side, he made sure Bilbo was covered to the neck by the blanket covering them both. The healer they had negotiated for had arrived promptly but had had a similar diagnosis to Oin; Recommending rest and to keep Bilbo warm until the fever broke. They had resorted to moving one of the beds closer to the fire, and with everyone paired up anyway it was only logical that he share with the hobbit.
At least that's what he'd told himself as he'd slid under the blanket.
His thoughts ate at him, images of how their last true conversation had gone, the hurt in Bilbo's eyes at his viscous words. Pulling him closer, he whispered apologies and promises into soft blond curls as he slipped into a troubled sleep.
.
.
.
Several hours earlier: Bard stared, unsure if he was somehow hallucinating. He could see his pickup, thirteen barrels sat on the sandy embankment. He could see the trees and rocks, the sun midday in the sky, a normal time for his arrival. He could see the eight wooden pillars that once held a dock now chopped off at the waterline. "Who the fuck stole my dock?"
