Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Everyone in the Shire knew there was something strange about one Mister Bilbo Baggins. They knew this the way they knew every Took child had a bit of mischief in them, how every Chubb would be a bit wider around the middle than most hobbits, and how every Brandybuck was a bit odd if well-meaning. These were just common facts and most hobbits accepted them as such.

The first characteristic of Mister Baggins’ oddity was that no one was entirely sure how long he’d been living in the Shire or even how old he truly was. Even the Old Took who lived longer than anyone one hobbit, could not recall a time when he hadn’t been around. In the end the residents of the Shire had decided with some amount of certainty that Bilbo had been around since the very beginning of the Shire and would stay around until its end.

The second oddity was that Baggins wasn’t his true last name. “Who’s to say if Bilbo is even really his first?” Lobelia Sackville-Baggins would say with a sniff. The family name Baggins had been graciously gifted to him by one Belladonna Baggins née Took.

Belladonna had been a mischievous child and with a handful of siblings young and old she’d easily snuck away from her overwhelmed mother. At first she’d only adventured around to the streams nearby and climbing tall trees but eventually she’d found out about the mysterious Bilbo and to put it in the plainest sense had stalked the man for days until at last they were closer than anyone else you did see. Everyone knew that there was no one Bilbo viewed more fondly then dear Belladonna and after her husband died she’d gifted the home he’d built her to her sweet friend and had also given him a last name. Despite what everyone told her, possibly in spite of what everyone told her, she knew it was the right decision and knew her Bungo would approve.

That is not to say Bilbo was unkind to other hobbits, merely reserved though he always smiles politely at most and smiled kindly on the resident hobbitlings, who were possibly the most taken in with the hobbit-like man. The only exception that anyone could remember was Lobelia Sackville-Baggins née Bracegirdle who’d taken one look at him as a fauntling and (loudly) declared him no good.

The last most damning characteristic is that despite looking like a hobbit with small size, curly hair, and large feet, and acting like a hobbit, Bilbo most certainly isn't. For sometimes his eyes looked almost gold in the light, and during the winter when you could hear the wolves howl Mister Baggins would only cock his head and frown. No one but the Thain was entirely sure what he was and when pressed for answer the Thain would start muttering about gossipmongers and strangely enough wizards.

There are many more traits that made up Bilbo’s eccentricities, as any hobbit lass or lad could and would eagerly tell you, for instance, his smial is always unreasonably warm, even in winter, but to do so would take all day and night and no hobbit with common sense had the time to waste for that.

In the end the hobbits had decided to accept Bilbo as one of their own and never thought otherwise.

Bilbo in general, seems amused by the way the hobbits treated him but has no other reaction. He is content enough with his slate in life; he eats comfortably, lives comfortably, and collects a strange matter of things ranging from books to maps to trinkets the children of the Shire made him.

Despite all of his strangeness, for the most part, Bilbo Baggins acts wholly like a hobbit and you would not be surprised to stroll past Bag End and find him sitting on his bench, reading a good book or smoking Old Toby or entertaining a group of shirelings with grand tales of adventure.

That was in fact exactly where he is on the morning Gandalf the Grey arrives. He sits on his bench, a book in hand as a sullen hobbit sits at his feet, occasionally pulling up clumps of grass. “Are you going to tell Prim?”

Bilbo glances down and Paladin Took’s anxious face greets him, no longer scowling. “That depends, are you going to do it again?” Paladin Took had snuck into Bilbo’s study and had inadvertently destroyed two maps, three books, and a golden necklace he’d been given by Belladonna. Bilbo still isn't entirely sure how it happened but he knew the young lad hadn’t been intentionally malicious merely curious.

Paladin considers this and then quickly shakes his head. “I swear I won’t!”

“Won’t what?” A new familiar voice cutS in and both turn to see Primula Brandybuck strolling up the path; Paladin’s younger sister Esmeralda held snuggly to her hip. Paladin’s other sister, Ruby looks at them in suspicion.

“You did something.” Ruby accuses and Paladin flushes bright red and shakes his head. “I did not, you liar!”

Prim rolls her eyes as the two starts arguing and she smiles at Bilbo. “Thanks again Mister Baggins, I hope he wasn’t too much trouble. Pal means well but he just always gets into trouble.” That very reason was why she’d left him in Mister Baggins care but allowed Ruby to go with her to run errands.

Bilbo smiles widely back at her. “It was no trouble at all my dear. He was a perfect guest.” Not entirely true but he’d suffered worse hobbits under his care, Belladonna for instance.

“See! Mister Bilbo says I was perfect!” Paladin says and then sticks out his tongue.

“Mister Baggins is being polite.” Ruby says with all the air of an older sibling.

Primula sighs, “I better get them going before they start throwing fists again. Thanks once more for watching him, Old Missus Proudfoot isn’t too keen on Pal being anywhere near her pumpkins after last time.”

Bilbo only smiles again and starts going back to his book as Primula calls them back into order. With Paladin gone he had no other plans for the day and he ponders the thought of smoking some Old Toby before supper.

“Come along cousins! I’ll never hear the end of it if we’re late again.” Primula says and the little pitter-patter of tiny feet followed as they step out the gate.

“Prim, aren’t you going to tell him about the funny man?” Ruby hisses, trying to be quiet and failing, as is the way of children.

“What funny man?” Paladin asks confused.

“Mister Baggins?” Primula says coming to stand back by his gate, a look of concern on her face. At that point, Bilbo has already put down his book and he’s halfway to the gate himself when he stops, staring at her anxiously.

He has to remind himself to remain calm. There could be plenty of funny men, it didn’t have to be that specific man. The last he’d heard that ‘man’ had been off somewhere near the mountains.

“Yes Prim?”

“Ruby, Esmeralda and I were at the markets and when we left we came upon this man.” Primula’s tone is hesitant and Ruby eagerly takes the chance to cut in. “He looked really funny!”

“What funny man?” Paladin repeats growing irritated at being ignored.

“You shouldn’t call someone funny just because they dress a bit strange.” Prim scolds and Ruby’s pointy ears flush but she doesn’t look too abashed.

“Oh?” Bilbo says, and he had the sense that his hopes were going to be dashed because while Big Folk came to the shire, rarely were they dressed ‘funny’ enough for even someone as insensible as Prim to take notice.

Ruby nods quickly. “He wore long grey robes! And had a strange hat! Can you imagine?”

Bilbo closes his eyes and fights off the urge to scream. That still could have been anyone.

“Then he stopped us and asked us if a mister Bilbo still lives at Bag End and we said yes he did and he said thank you and went on his way.” Ruby looks considerate for a moment. “He’ll probably be here soon, he was old but he wasn’t slow like my gram.”

“Ruby!” Primula snaps exasperated but there is a slight grin on her face and the corner of her eyes crinkle.

“Thank you my dears.” Bilbo said, stunned and with dread filling the center of his stomach. “I think the funny man you saw happens to be an old friend of mine.”

Paladin looks up, staring at him with wide eyes. “Is he like you then?” Ruby stares up at him curiously and even Prim looks unashamedly interested.

“No, I should think not.” Bilbo grins then, all for show because inwardly he was panicking. “There’s no one quite like me anywhere. I’m entirely unique.”

The children ooed at his words and leaned in eagerly for more as Prim laughs loudly. “Oh really?”

“Unfortunately that’s a tale for another time.” He says with some regret and starts backing away from the gate. The shirelings look disappointed but within minutes they were heading back down the path, Paladin turning to look curiously at him every now and then. When he could see them no more his façade of calm broke and Bilbo darts inside and slams the door shut with a bang.

“Of course it has to be Gandalf.” Bilbo mutters, “I couldn’t just have some other wizard visit me.”

Not that he’d be happier with any of the other wizards visiting him at all. If Saruman had appeared on his doorstep he’d die of fright. In the shire a saying had become popular after Belladonna Took had run off with the wizard and returned three days late for her wedding some months later: Where Gandalf went there would be trouble.

Bilbo supported the saying wholeheartedly.

He paces and paces and then when he realizes he was pacing went sat down in his armchair, only when he realizes he also didn’t feel like sitting did he stand up and go to the kitchen and start making some tea hoping it would calm his nerves.

“Damn wizards, I know what he’ll want too. Some inane scheme like he always has.” Bilbo says, only stopping to realize that he was essentially talking to his kitchen. He didn’t care much. Gandalf on the best of days could be considered one of his closest and dearest friends, on the worst he feared him like the plague and if he could he would have the Thain try to ban him from the Shire. Good or bad it was always tinged with exasperation. He’d long grown used to the wizard’s scheming.

A loud knock on the door interrupts his thoughts and though it almost physically pains him to answer, he could not ignore the wizard like some foolish child.

“Gandalf.” He greets and his tone must have sounded so resigned because the wizard’s bushy eyebrows rose right up, a smile quirked on his face. “Whatever it is, I’m not interested.”

“Interested in what?” Gandalf says with a touch of knowing in his voice and Bilbo scowls, uncaring that more than one hobbit is looking at them with interest.

“Whatever adventure you’re cooking up.” Bilbo says exasperated. “and don’t say you aren’t because I know you, there’s always an adventure with you.”

Gandalf laughs, not unkindly. “To think I lived to see the day that one of your kind refuses an adventure.” He said adventure but Bilbo was almost positive he meant ‘death’ and quite possibly ‘gold’ which in his opinion might be even worse than death.

Bilbo’s scowl deepens.

“What would you have me do then? Pilfer villages? Kidnap princesses? Maybe go after a kingdom or two?” He demands to know, speaking low enough so that only the wizard in front of him could hear.

“I would have you live to do more than babysit Paladin Took!” Gandalf says and his voice deepens as he rises to his full height, without a doubt proclaiming his mere presence as one of the fearsome and powerful maiar, to any other person it would have been the most intimidating thing they would have ever experienced without a doubt. Bilbo merely shakes his head. “I have a task that requires some skills--”

“No, no adventures. No tasks. No nothing. I am staying at Bag End where I belong and that is final!” He says and with only a small amount of hesitation closes the door. Years before he’d learned that when it came to the maiar, having a strong and often repeated answer worked best.

Bilbo lets his head hit the door with a thud and sighs.

On the other side of the door Gandalf doesn’t look offended in the least, he only smiles and bent down to burn a peculiar rune into the green door before straightening up and rising to his full height. Bilbo may be stubborn but wasn’t that the nature of dragons.

“This will do you some good and provide me with some amusement.” Gandalf chuckles and then starts back down the path, there were still many preparations left. He can only hope the dwarves didn’t terrify Bilbo too much before he arrived.

By the time evening rolls around Bilbo’s ire has mostly faded and he deems it safe enough to venture back outside. Still somewhat cautious Bilbo walks around to the edge of Hobbiton and back, uncaring when he heard some hobbits say knowingly that something was bothering Mister Baggins, for everyone knew he only checked the barrier when he was ‘in a mood.’

“Damn wizards.” Bilbo repeats with a shake of his head and then went and began to prepare dinner for himself.

The first dwarf, an impressively large fellow named Dwalin that made even Bilbo slightly intimidated, had been met with shock. By the time the last of them had fallen onto his floor in a pile, it was still somewhat of a surprise though anger was quickly overtaking it.

“Dwarves.” Bilbo mutters pacing back and forth as the dwarves made a mess of his home and ate his food, ate all of his food by the looks of it. To think he had an entire pack of them at Bag End! If anyone knew they’d laugh themselves to death. Occasionally he would stop his pacing, peek in, grimace at what he sees and go back to pacing.

Gandalf in fact did laugh at him, looking content and at that Bilbo stops pacing and wheels around to glare at the wizard. “I cannot believe you brought an entire company of dwarves into my home! Dwarves!” He hisses out and winces when he caught sight of the dining room again.

“What makes you think they won’t try to kill me where I stand?” Bilbo says frustrated because even he knew that dwarves hated dragons, even more than they hated elves which is an impressive feat in itself. He did not think Gandalf would let them but he knew how far hatred could carry.

“They know nothing of your status.” Gandalf assures him hastily. “Only that you are quick-footed and small, capable of being unseen and essential to this Company.”

“Why have you brought them here?” Bilbo says and feels a bit like young Paladin Took for how much he has to keep repeating himself. “Why me?”

, At last, the wizard sighs and they move into a room farther away. “It’s hard to think that once the races of men and elves alike feared you so greatly.” Gandalf ponders and Bilbo’s irritation lessens and he sits down in his armchair and tries to ignore the dwarves lingering in his kitchen. How anyone could completely ignore them he was unsure.

“And you would have me go back to that then?” Bilbo says wryly. “To being feared and terrible?”

Gandalf looks at him and his eyes seem too blue and though he’d never seen the maiar to truly look that age at that moment his friend looked very old and weighed down by the problems of the world. Perhaps that was what made his anger fade away completely. “I would have you live for more than the words in your books and your maps, to travel beyond the ends of your Shire.”

He laughs quietly. “Wasn’t that the point? To stay at the Shire?”

“Perhaps once.” Gandalf acquiesces, voice grave. “But that has been a very long time since.”

Bilbo remains silent, and for a moment the silence stretches and then Gandalf sighs again.

“Are you asking me this as a favor?” Bilbo says with an air of seriousness that made the wizard pause for in their entire time of knowing each other, one single favor, a debt that could not be repaid by anything less than the biggest of oaths, had existed between them.

Both of them knew that if Gandalf asks him to do this as the favor, to go on whatever insane adventure involving dwarves this was, then Bilbo would do it without a second thought or protest. To do otherwise would sully the unthinkable act Gandalf had done so long ago.

He holds his breath and waits, at last, the wizard stood up. “I cannot ask this of you as a favor. All I can ask is that as your friend, you listen and prove to be less stubborn than your kin.”

“Alright, I can do that.” Bilbo says uncomfortable but relieved and they went back to join the dwarves. Even Bilbo’s grim spirits were lightened as he spends more time with the dwarves though he scowled whenever Gandalf looked over at him with a knowing smirk, eventually however they were all silenced by a loud pounding at the door.

“Another one?” Bilbo groans and Gandalf stands and went to the door, a troop of suddenly silent dwarves and a reluctant ‘hobbit’ following him.

Bilbo is almost stunned at the sight of the new dwarf. There should be nothing entirely special about him, his dark hair is intricately braided as is his shorn beard, he stands taller than most dwarves and dresses more finely than the others Bilbo has seen, altogether he cut a rather intimidating figure. But it is nothing truly special and yet still something in Bilbo lurches at the sight of him.

Get a grip he thinks anxiously, his eyes never leaving the new dwarf’s form. He’d seen vast treasures and wonders that men could only dream about, had flown to faraway places that existed only in myths, had meet beings more beautiful then he could provide a description for. He could not, should not, be stunned at the sight of some dwarf no matter how nice looking.

His admiration is somewhat lessened when the dwarf turns to look at him and practically drips arrogance as he said with an evident amount of dismissal, “Who is this?” He isn't even looking at Bilbo anymore but at Gandalf with a hint of accusation.

Bilbo resists scowling for what feels like the tenth time that day. Gandalf gestures over at him. “Bilbo, allow me to introduce you to the leader of our company Thorin Oakenshield.”

When Thorin calls him a grocer for a second Bilbo almost wished he could breathe fire again.

The dwarves follow Thorin into the dining room and when Gandalf follows them Bilbo had no choice but to as well. At this point underneath the layers of grumbling and protesting and being dismissed by some dwarf-child, even he is curious about what this so-called adventure might be.

When he realizes it was about a dragon, about a treasure, Bilbo could not help but look over at Gandalf with accusing eyes, barely containing his fury. What did the meddling wizard think he could do about a dragon? Especially like this.

As they keep talking Bilbo feels something twist and turns in his stomach and he pleads weakness, heading outside and sitting down on his bench, running a hand through his hair and trying to let the clean smell of the air and the bright stars calm him down. Sometime later, when the sky had grown even darker Bilbo looks up at the sound of footsteps, expecting Gandalf and almost curses at the sight of Thorin. For all his damned admiration of the dwarf, Bilbo still feels like snarling at him and then feels ashamed of himself for letting some youngling get to him with a few haughty words.

“I would like to apologize for my words. I should not have been so rude to someone who’s provided shelter and food for me and my kin, not without prompting.” Thorin says in his deep voice, sitting down on the bench next to him. Bilbo looks him over and almost rolls his eyes. This is no doubt Gandalf’s doing, trying to appease his pride.

The words are sincere enough and he doubts he’d hear better, especially if any of the company found out what he is. “Apology accepted.” He says shortly and then sighs. “I cannot go with you and your company. I don’t know what Gandalf has told you but I’m not much fond of adventures.”

Thorin frowns but does not look entirely surprised. Clearly, despite his apology, he still thought less of the smaller man. Bilbo couldn’t blame him, looking like this he wasn’t such an impressive sight and he didn’t act much like a burglar, though he is still somewhat offended. “You care not for adventures but what of Gold? Erebor is filled with the finest treasures, one-fourteenth of it would be yours.”

Bilbo’s stomach drops and his hands tighten into fists. “No, I desire not for gold, Master Dwarf.” Not anymore. Never anymore.

It became silent then and he thought the dwarf would leave or be angry but he isn't. He merely stays where he was as Bilbo looks around fondly at his Shire . He’d disliked it at first, hated it even. To go from the skies and the battlefields to a place so green and cozy but now he could not imagine himself remaining anywhere else. This was his home now.

“What do you desire then?” Thorin says suddenly and Bilbo almost jumps at the sound of his rough voice.

His smile is rueful as he speaks. “Things I can no longer have.”

Though he desires for his lost kin and his lost form, the thing he missed most is flying. To someone who’d never been flying they wouldn’t understand the loss. But it is a loss and a great one. He mourns being grounded, mourns the thought of never soaring in the skies again though he’d accepted it long ago.

Bilbo stands up and cracks out the sore muscles in his back, trying to ignore the sudden itching he felt in the place his wings had once been. “I wish you all the luck in the world Master Dwarf and I hope you can reclaim your home.” If the dwarf had something to say Bilbo left him no chance to speak it for he quickly walks back into Bag End, overtly aware of the intense gaze on his back.

Later he lays in bed, twisting and turning restlessly as the dwarves' strangely haunting song lingers in his ears even as some of Gandalf’s previous words echo in his head.

No adventures he thinks but it is only a half-hearted thought at best and it could not stand up to the possibilities of adventure or the strange way Bilbo felt when looking at Thorin Oakenshield. By the time he has finally closed his eyes, he’s already accepted that he would be going on an adventure.

“Conniving wizards.” He grumbles and then falls asleep, his dreams filled with dwarves and mountains and though he’d never admit it, though he feared it, in his dreams, there is also piles upon piles of gold and treasure.

Chapter Text

The first thing Bilbo does when he wakes up to an empty house is to creep outside and head for the Thain’s. The dwarves have only left a little bit before and if he knows Gandalf half as well as he believes he does then the wizard will have them on a steady pace a hobbit could easily catch up to.

Lalia greets him at the door with a less than pleased expression though the Took matriarch had never liked him much and likes him even less when he's standing on her doorstep when the sun has barely risen. “Bilbo Baggins,” she says the way you might say a particularly rotten curse word.

“My lady.” He says with a smile. “Is Fortinbras home?”

She rolls her eyes but moves out of the way to let him step in. “Mister Baggins at this time everyone is home but you .” The Thain’s office is down the hall as it always was but he hesitates for a moment. The last time he’d been inside had been during the height of the Fell Winter and things had ended…explosively between him and the Thain. That nasty business though had been with Fortinbras’ father, the previous Thain and really he had no reason to linger except for his own reservations about doing this.

Though last night he’d somehow talked himself into actually going on this ‘adventure’ with Thorin’s company, in the morning it seems reason has returned to him and he had struggled the entire way to the Thain’s house on whether he should go or not.

“Well, aren’t you going in?” Lalia says irritated and he looks back at the Mistress Took and quickly hurries inside. He’d take dwarves and whatever else lay on this adventure over Lalia Took’s temper any day.

“Bilbo.” The Thain greeted. “What brings you here? Nothing troubling I hope?” There is a knowing gleam in the hobbit’s eyes and Bilbo almost flushes when he realizes he is talking about the dwarves. No wonder they need someone quiet to help them reclaim Erebor.

“Troubling? No, no. Nothing of the sort.” Bilbo says shaking his head and managing to bring forth a weak smile. “I just needed to inform you that I’m--” What is he even doing exactly? How did you best explain going on a madcap quest to a hobbit of all creatures?

Fortinbras frowns, “You’re what?”

Bilbo struggles for something to say and then blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind. “I’m escorting Gandalf the Grey on important wizard business.” Most hobbits would have shied away but Fortinbras looks almost exasperated.

“Of course you are.” The Thain shakes his head, “I suppose there’s nothing to it then. You’ll be back?”

Bilbo smiles at him. “Where else would I go?” Once it might have been said with bitterness but now there was nothing but fondness when he speaks of the Shire. It is his home now as much as anything else had been.

Fortinbras hums in reply, already turning his attention back to a pile of important looking papers on his desk and Bilbo stands up feeling almost surprised at how easy it is to leave. He shouldn’t have been, hobbits were easier going than most folks and he’d been around for a long time. Whether he knew it or not Bilbo Baggins had obtained a strange sort of respectability.

“Bilbo?” The Thain says when he is about to leave and Bilbo stops because this is it isn't it? This is the catch, obviously, there has to be a catch for him to leave so easily. “Good luck on your journey.”

That's it then. For the first time in centuries, Bilbo Baggins is free to go where he pleases, free to leave his Shire. There is nothing that could stop him now. Nothing but himself anyway.

“I’m free,” Bilbo says in wonderment because sometimes there are thoughts and words so hard to understand that if you didn’t say them out loud you would never imagine they were real at all. He feels a smile break over his face and he breaks into a run, feeling younger than he had in years. “I’m free!”

It took him longer than he thought to catch up with the dwarves, unused to the feel of a heavy pack resting against his spine but within no time he could see them---a trail of ponies made recognizable by the wizard with his wide brim hat sitting in the middle, and he yelled out for them to wait, holding the signed contract in his hand.

“I signed it.” He says somewhat out of breath and staring up at the still impressive sight of Thorin Oakenshield. The dwarf looks him over and almost scoffs before saying to get him a pony.

Bilbo pauses and then shakes his head uncomfortable. “No, no I’ll be fine walking really.” Animals didn’t like him much. He never knew if it was because he didn’t like them or if they just sensed that there was something off about him if he still had the air of predator. The animals of the shire, long domesticated, had grown used to his presence over the years. But the ones outside from even the most docile of mares had always reacted badly to him. The whites of their eyes would show, they’d stamp nervously and usually rear up and try to get as far away as possible from him.

The feeling was entirely mutual.

Before he can protest any further he’s lifted up into the air and onto a pony. The pony neighs nervously and he leans a hand down to calm her. The next thing he knew he’s lying on the ground, back stinging painfully.

“Are ye alright, lad?” The dwarf in the strange hat says to him and Bilbo thinks his name might have started with a ‘B’ which didn’t exactly narrow it down. Bilbo smiles up at him and is about to reassure him when he’s cut off by Thorin.

“He’s fine.” The dwarf king says briskly. “And if he’s not then he better get used to it. This company will not wait for no man, least of all a halfling.”

Bilbo glowers at him as Thorin speeds up, moving his pony along to the front of the company. “Don’t mind him, he’s in a mood.” The dwarf who Bilbo remembers as being Bofur says as he struggles to get back onto his pony, only succeeding when Gandalf helps him up. He looks at him expectantly but when the other says nothing else he sighs.

“Gandalf.” He greets his spirits somewhat lessened though really it shouldn’t have been. Thorin Oakenshield has been rude and arrogant from the first second they’d met, he should have expected no less from a dwarf who thought so little of him.

“What are they doing?” Bilbo says watching as some of the dwarves threw bags of money at each other.

The wizard hides a smirk, looking at him fondly. “I believe they had bets on whether or not you’d join us.”

Bilbo raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? And what’d you think?” He thinks he already knew the answer. When one of the maiar wanted something to happen it is almost inevitable that it would indeed happen.

An old wizened hand darts up into the air suddenly and Gandalf puts his newly earned money away, smirk showing freely now. “I never doubted you for a second.”

“Of course you didn’t.” He mutters and yet still touched. If nothing else at least Gandalf had faith in him.

The day drags on, long and hot under the sweltering sun and Bilbo is the most relieved he’d ever been when they settle in for camp that night. Most of the others fall asleep quickly but Bilbo cannot. The only ones still awake are Balin, the two princes, and Thorin himself.

After he’d spent some time twisting and turning and trying to ignore all the unfamiliar sounds and smells he stands up and wanders over to where Gandalf sits knowing the wizard slept rarely. “What troubles you, my friend?”

Bilbo settles in next to him, looking up at the dark sky and trying to find some familiarity in the stars. He hadn’t expected to feel so homesick. “I’m concerned for my Shire,” he admits in a low voice mostly because if anyone knew how much he’d disliked the Shire at first then it would be Gandalf the Grey.

“They’ve fared well without you in the past, one small adventure will not do any harm.” Gandalf reasons.

Bilbo does not point out, even though he would have liked to, that in the past it had always been guaranteed he would return safely. This was different than traveling to Imladris to visit a few elves with Belladonna. This was dangerous.

A strange shrill sound fills the air and his head snaps up in alarm, eyes widening slightly as it rings throughout the night sky. “What was that?”

“Orcs,” Kili says knowingly from his place by the fire.

Bilbo frowns, still staring at him in concern.

He remembers orcs vaguely--dragons were interested in beautiful things, treasure things, and orcs? Orcs were as far from a treasure as anything he could think of, so his kin rarely took notice of them or goblins. Did they really sound like that so shrill and high-pitched? He couldn’t remember that far back. Unfortunately, he still remembered their taste. Vile creatures. Ugh.

Fili and Kili spin a tale of the horrors of orcs and Bilbo listens almost entranced, only to have it broken up by Thorin’s gruff rebuttal. Balin has wandered back over to the company then and tells his own tale of the forsaken dwarven kingdom of Moria.

This time Bilbo is entranced for though dragons valued treasure they valued riddles and stories just as much and he’d clung to that trait in this new life. He feels true terror at hearing of the pale orc, Azog, and his oath to wipe out the line of Durin. Something warm coils in his stomach as Balin told of Thorin’s great victory with nothing but a branch as a shield. For the first time Bilbo almost views Thorin as a king instead of an unruly dwarf.

He glances over at the dwarf king, unsurprised to see that the rest of the company had woken up sometime during the story and clearly they had been just as drawn in as he had. Though Thorin has shown him nothing but scorn and clearly doubted him Bilbo’s admiration grew at the knowledge of his bravery. He might even have to admit there was more to Thorin then what he seemed. At that very moment spurned on by some strange desire Bilbo Baggins swears that he’d prove his worth. Whether this would actually come to pass remains to be seen.

Of course, this is when the business with the trolls occurs. He shouldn’t have been roped into it. He is a very old and very responsible dragon and he shouldn’t have fallen so easily to a few pleading looks and words from some younglings. But Gandalf has left and he is still trying to find his ground, to see where he belonged in this company of dwarven warriors.

It has been going fine really. He’s gotten to the ponies and has started trying to burn the ropes away (as slowly as that took) when Kili has run in to rescue the ponies and apparently him.

Bilbo feels almost exasperated as the rest of the dwarves come charging in. As it is he just takes the time to quickly free the ponies and does his best to stay out of the way. A few burns wouldn’t do a thing to troll skin, thick as rocks as they were. He’d been feeling proud of himself when a large hand picks him up by the leg and let him hang upside down.

If anyone had told him he’d be dying because of becoming a snack for a bloody troll then he would have laughed himself to death. As it is Bilbo feels more than a little embarrassment when that seems to be in his future.

“Excuse me!” Bilbo says, hobbling to his feet mind frantically cooking up a plan. It isn’t one of his bests, even he can admit that but he’s short on time and it looks like the company would be breakfast soon. “Can I give you some advice?”

The troll who is doing the actual cooking looks over at him with its beady eyes. “What?” he says as the others huff in annoyance.

Bilbo moves closer, trying to see the sun on the horizon. “You’re making a horrible mistake, really. You can’t use sage to season a bunch of dwarves! Have you smelt them?”

“What do you know about cooking dwarves?” A different one says and Bilbo is pretty sure it’s the one who had threatened to rip off his arms from earlier.

He resists rolling his eyes. “I’ve cooked plenty of dwarves actually, there’s a lot of skill and secret to it if you want them to turn out right.”

“Yeah? What’s the secret then?” The cooking troll says and Bilbo smiles thinly. “You’ve got to skin them first, makes them tender.” He says with an air of experience even as the dwarves start to loudly protest.

“Fetch me fillet.” the cooking troll instructs.

“I’m not sure how much good it’d do with this lot though.” Bilbo continues on. He looks around and then leans into the troll as if to whisper, though he makes sure his voice carries over to the company. “They’ve got worms--parasites in their tubes, nasty business.”

“Parasites!” The trolls rear back and Bilbo glances over at the protesting dwarves and scowls at them.

A large hand jerks down and picks him up for the second time that evening until Bilbo Baggins was face to face with the troll. The experience is scarring really. “ I think he’s trying to take us as fools. What should we eat then?” From the new height, Bilbo notices a flash of grey robes darting through the trees.

“Eat me.” He says suddenly. “I’m not infested at all.” The troll looks considerate and then shrugs and opens his mouth to eat him when Gandalf finally appears. Bilbo drops to the ground as the trolls turn to stone.

“You have the worst timing in the world,” Bilbo tells him as the company resituates itself. Gandalf merely smiles which infuriates him to no end and goes off to speak with Thorin.

“Were you really going to let him eat you?” Fili says after he and Kili had apologized for letting the ‘hobbit’ deal with the trolls on his own. Unlike Thorin, their apologies seemed to be completely sincere and without the prompting of a wizard.

Bilbo shrugs, trying to work his sore muscles back into place. “If it came down to it? I was hoping it wouldn’t.” If it came down to it, he’d try to free his hands and burn the bloody things, effective or not. Sometimes even he can admit Gandalf, despite his lateness, is useful.

They look at him appraisingly and when they find whatever they are searching for they nod together, strangely in sync. “You’re alright Mister Boggins.” Kili declares and it startles a laugh out of him.

“I’m glad I meet the standards of dwarven royalty,” he says wryly though secretly touched.

Ori comes over to them after he’s escaped from his older brothers’ mother-henning. “They think there’s a troll hoard nearby!” He says excitedly, becoming a bit shyer when he notices Bilbo.

Fili and Kili grin and they head for the cave as Bilbo sits down.

“Yer not going in then?” Bofur says coming to a stop. “Could be treasure.” His voice is sing-song at that and Bilbo smiles slightly but shakes his head, the dwarf shrugs and goes to follow his kin.

A dragon always knew where gold lay and he could feel this particular treasure only a little bit away, in a nearby cavern. It’d been easy to ignore at first what with the troll business and nearly being eaten but now there was nothing to distract him from the promise of gold and his skin tingled irritably in return. He fears to step inside, fearing the loss of control it might bring to be surrounded by so much. He would not lose himself to greed the way his kin was accustomed. Bilbo Baggins is for all intents and purposes more respectable than that. More human than such a thing.

He does not escape it entirely, the smell of gold clings to the dwarves, and Gandalf gifts him a sword. “I can’t take this.” He says trying to give it back but stopping at the firm look the wizard gives him.

“You are smaller now then you were before, weaker now. You cannot rely on your own power to protect you much longer.” Gandalf says in a tone of grave seriousness. “If you will not take it for your own good, then take it to ease my mind.”

Without another word he takes the damn sword, even he can grudgingly admit it is still impressive despite its small size.

Radagast the Brown appears then causing panic throughout the company though Bilbo did not remember his name at first. He’d seen the wizard once but long ago, at the very counsel that had decided his fate. He looks at the wizard with suspicion and moves closer to Bifur. He’s had enough of wizards, thank you very much.

Howls fill the air then and there is no mistaking them this time. He sees the way the company reacts with fear and feels a shudder go down his spine.

“They’re all crazy,” Bilbo mutters to himself as Radagast volunteers to lure a pack of orcs away on a sled pulled by rabbits of all things. “Of course they are.”

“Bilbo, come on!” Bofur calls as the company breaks into a run led by Gandalf. Bilbo shakes himself out of his stupor and quickly catches up, heart pounding in fear. The howls are closer now as they ventured into an open area and not for the first time he wonders what he’s doing here.

They hide pressed up against a rock, a scout standing above it and Bilbo watches as Kili let loose an arrow so quickly he thinks he feels the sky itself shift. The warg and its rider fall down in front of them but neither were dead and their howls and screeches fill the air until the company kills it. By then it’s too late and the orc pack has started back in their direction.

They run again, farther and farther into the valley until at last they could go no further surrounded by the pack. Bilbo searches anxiously for Gandalf but the wizard has disappeared and the pack draws closer.

“This way you fools.” Gandalf cries out and Bilbo doesn’t think, doesn’t do anything but follow the sound of his comforting voice and slides down into a pit. The line of Durin is the last to join them and Bilbo thinks they are still going to die when he hears the sound of a familiar horn.

Elves he thinks relief spreading through him even as sounds of the fighting continue from above them. Thank Yavanna for Elves!

Though the dwarves do not know which way the path ahead of them leads Bilbo does and he can barely contain his excitement.

“Was this your plan along?” He murmurs quietly to Gandalf as the company starts walking forward. The wizard laughs, “ My dear boy, I have no idea what you mean.”

The unforgettable, irreplaceable sight of Rivendell bathing in sunlight greets them and the pure beauty of it almost takes Bilbo’s breath away as he stares at it like a dying man. He’d grown fond of it whenever Gandalf dragged him on his ‘adventures’ and to see it now after such an ordeal lightened his heart and his step.

Bilbo glances back at Gandalf to see him and Thorin arguing, a frown on Gandalf’s face and a look of pure distaste on the dwarf king’s. He hesitates and then shakes his head, the matter didn’t concern him.

A pretty elf with dark hair named Lindir greets them and Bilbo tries his best to pretend he can’t understand the words they exchanged, though his Sindarin had admittedly become pretty shoddy. He wasn’t sure how well you would explain a hobbit knowing Sindarin, though he was sure between them he and Gandalf could come up with something if need be.

The elfin horn sounds again and the company turns as riders of Rivendell appear heading straight toward them. The dwarves react with predictable unfavorableness at that and Bilbo finds himself being pulled into the center of the company by Bofur as they ready themselves for battle.

Dwarves he thinks with some exasperation. To be fair, having ‘their sworn enemies’ close in around them, dressed for battle, and on tall fierce mounts didn’t help much.

It is easy to spot Lord Elrond among them for even among elves he is considered lovely and looks intimidating astride his dark horse. He greets Gandalf like a friend and Bilbo hopes that would relax the dwarves though they shift uncomfortably at the Sindarin that passes between the two.

Thorin steps away from the closed-in company, a stormy look on his face. “Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain.” Elrond greets. Within seconds the tension increases as Thorin insults the elf.

“What does he say?” Gloin growls stepping forward. “Does he offer us insult?” The dwarves seem rallied by that and Bilbo half-heartedly wonders if it will come to blows.

Gandalf steps in between them. “No, Master Gloin, he offers you food.”

The dwarves react to the elvish food about as well as Bilbo expected. He himself eats with a fierce abandon. He’s gone from eating six meals a day to two and though he would not complain about the downsize he’d stock up as much as he could while at Rivendell. Dragons were sporadic eaters at best. When their hoards were safe they’d often sleep for long stretches of time, rarely waking for food. Once he’d been used to a lifestyle like this, though not in many years.

“So it is true. When I heard them speaking of a hobbit in Rivendell I knew there was only one it could be.” a feminine voice, almost like bells says and the dwarves are suddenly deathly silent.

The lovely lady Arwen greets him with a sweet smile. “My lady.” He says with delight and surprise, he hasn’t seen her in at least thirty or forty years. “It’s been a long time.”

He can feel every single eye of the company staring at him as the dark-haired elf sits down next to him, a human child with dark hair and serious eyes following her lead.

Chapter Text

“Indeed it has been a long time and it almost would have been longer too.” She agrees and then leans in towards him, a look of mischief in her eyes. “I was to leave for Lothlorien three days ago. I’m glad however that I did not.”

He blushes slightly at her words and then startles when he realizes that more than one member of the company is staring at them with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. “Oh! I suppose I should introduce you--this fair lady is Arwen Undómiel , Lord Elrond’s daughter.” he pauses and glances down at the little boy sitting next to her, surprised to find that he’s staring at the dwarves with evident distrust.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he says pleasantly and the little boy looks at him and some of the discomfort fades from his eyes.

The boy breaks out into a grin. “I am Estel.” He pauses and then glances at Arwen once before saying somewhat quietly so that the dwarves could not hear. “Arwen’s told me all about you.”

Bilbo raises an eyebrow at her but the elf-maiden simply stares back. He can still feel the company staring at him, tension thick in the air though he doubts that will fade anytime soon, introductions or not, and quickly introduces all the company members.

“Mister Boggins, how do you know an elf?” Kili hisses trying to be quiet and failing horribly. Arwen’s mouth twitched in mirth, and even serious Estel looks close to laughing, and he sighs. “We’ve been friends for a very long time.”

Arwen smiles at him and her keen eyes glanced down at the dwarves and their mostly untouched plates and she hides a frown. For whatever disputes there are between her kind and theirs, she has no desire for anyone to starve in her own home. “I can see that you are uncomfortable here, Master Dwarves. If you’d like I can find you a private place to eat, away from all this noise, where you may rest and eat food more to your liking?”

They look at her in surprise and Gloin speaks up for the group as he is prone to do in matters involving the stomach. “That’d be fine, Mistress Arwen.”

Arwen nods and stands up, her tall slender frame impressive compared to theirs. Estel looks back at Bilbo and the dwarves and then quickly stands up himself, sticking close to her side. “Bilbo, would you like to join us? You can tell me how you and the Shire have been.”

“Go on lad, catch up with yer friend.” Bofur says pleasantly, the dwarves in better spirits at the prospect of a place away from the elves and ‘real’ food. Bilbo glances at them once last time and then catches up to Arwen and Estel.

“I thought they had fangs,” Estel says sourly.

Bilbo almost stumbles and Arwen reaches out a hand to steady him before asking, “Why would they have fangs?”

The little boy looks uncomfortable and at last, he shrugs, avoiding both their eyes and looking resolutely at the floor. Her eyes narrow in return. “Did Elladan and Elrohir tell you a story again? Estel you know you cannot always believe what they say.”

He remembers Arwen’s older brothers; twins with hair darker than night and slate grey eyes. They had grim personalities which only became worse after their mother, Celebrian was attacked and tortured by orcs, she left for the west within the year and they still bore an understandable grudge against the creatures.

Clearly they’d lightened up since the last time he saw if they were telling little Estel such tall tales.

Estel still looks embarrassed and Arwen almost exasperated, so Bilbo quickly steps in, attempting to spare the poor lad more of her scolding. “Estel, those dwarves out there are probably some of the friendliest, nicest, fangless people I’ve ever met,” Bilbo says with such an air of absolute conviction that even Arwen looked at him with interest.

“Yeah?” Estel says with wide eyes though still distrusting, his foster brothers’ story running through his mind.

He nods, a smirk coming over his face. “I’ve seen tougher rabbits then that lot out there. Faster too.”

Estel looks at him with complete curiosity then. “Really?”

“Oh, completely. They have the best stories too. I bet better than even Elladan and Elrohir.” Estel looks even more interested at that and he looks up at Arwen with pleading eyes.

She laughs, the sound of tingling bells and prettier than any he’d ever heard. “Go on then. I can see there will be no stopping you.” Estel crows in joy and leans over to hug her before running back down the hall.

“He’s new.” The boy looks little more than ten though he often had trouble guessing the ages of anything bigger than a hobbit. He didn’t dare try to guess how old the dwarves were.

She hums in reply as they wander closer to the kitchen. “My father’s ward. He’s sweet though entirely too trusting of any word my brothers say.”

Bilbo laughs at that. “Take it as a compliment to how great stories tellers you and your kin are.” They came to the kitchens then and Arwen slips inside and he can hear hushed Sindarin and he waits patiently, watching as various elves walk back and forth, only a few glancing at him.

“Your dwarves will have their food shortly,” Arwen says the instant she came out and he frowns, looking her over.

“That’s very kind of you, and I’m sure they’ll appreciate it, but we both know you wanted more than company when you asked me down here,” Bilbo says knowingly and the elf-maiden did not so much as blush or look guilty.

“I felt there was something important I needed to inform you of.” She says lightly and then her expression looks concerned. “Curunir is here, along with my Grandmother, they seek counsel with Mithrandir and my father.”

He feels something in him freeze at her words, kindly spoken as they were, and it takes everything he has to shrug it off. “Where Saruman the White goes and for what purpose doesn’t concern me.”

Arwen’s hand, smooth as silk, reaches down to touch his shoulder gently and he cannot contain the flinch. “I know you are afraid of him, my friend.” She says quietly, no judgment in her voice. “I know you always have been.”

“Can you blame me?” Bilbo says wryly and then shakes his head, leaning closer into her touch, trying to let it calm him down. “What do you suggest I do?”

“I suggest doing nothing. Your company seems ready to leave and I do not think Thorin Oakenshield will want to remain around long after he’s gotten whatever he needs.” Arwen’s hand tightens on his shoulder for a moment and then the touch is gone and he still feels icy-cold. “I was concerned and I thought you needed to know. I don’t believe they’re aware of your arrival.”

He tries to smile at her but it is strained. “Thank you, my lady.”

Arwen allows him one more moment of silence to calm his visible nerves and then suggests gently that they should head back. “Besides, if we leave Estel to it then he’ll drive your company mad.”

The company is already in a different seating area then the elves and true to her word Estel is there as well, listening eagerly as Fili and Kili told him story after story, cutting in occasionally to ask a question with wide eyes and open ears.

“I feel that may be worse than him listening to Elladan and Elrohir,” Bilbo tells her dryly and she laughs. “I have business to attend to. If it pleases you, do you think you could bring Estel back when he’s done?”

Bilbo swears he will and when she has left sits down by Bofur figuring the friendly dwarf would be the least judgmental. “So, you know a lot of elves then?” Bofur says a few moments after he’d sat down.

“Only a few,” Bilbo says and though he isn’t much in the mood for questions, not after what Arwen had told him, he’s glad the dwarves seem more relaxed. “I met them through Gandalf of course.”

Bofur laughs at that. “Aye, I bet you meet a lot of strange folks through wizards.” He frowns suddenly, looking over at the hobbit and noticing how pale his skin looks, how he glances around every now and then. “Ye alright, lad?” He’d been fine earlier, happier than he’d been on any other part of the journey so far the second he saw that elf.

His head snaps up startled and his eyes widen for a moment before a small smile comes over his face and he shakes it off by saying he’s just tired. “I’m still not entirely used to this.” He admits quietly and Bofur relaxes, smiling back at him.

“Don’t worry. Ye’ll get better at it, ye’ve been improving since the start.”

His smile turns wry at that and he laughs. “I doubt you speak the truth but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

Some time passes and Bilbo starts to relax, drawn into the conversation slowly by Bofur and the others. Thorin and Balin were still not back yet but since the rest of the company didn’t appear concerned he decided he wouldn’t be either.

“Bilbo?” Estel appears in front of the hobbit, looking dead on his feet, swaying slightly.

“Are you ready to go?” At his nod, he stands and tells the dwarves he’d be back shortly. Bilbo is mostly supporting Estel throughout the slow walk to Arwen’s chambers, the little boy leaning on his shoulder, and Bilbo tries not to be offended that he’s almost taller than him.

“Arwen told me about you, you know,” Estel says quietly and then lets out a yawn, blinking his eyes in a vain effort to appear more awake.

“Did she now?”

Estel nods. “Mhmm, well--Elladan and Elrohir told me first but I didn’t believe them but Arwen said that this time it was true.” His words start to slur together but are mostly understandable. “Can you fly still? Do you have a cave full of treasure? Elladan said you lived in a cave. Can you breathe fire still? Can you turn into a dragon still?”

Bilbo laughs suddenly and loudly, his voice echoing through the empty hall. Though he would not usually be in the mood for such personal questions he’s glad of it now when the thought of Saruman the White still hangs so presently in his mind. “I can’t fly, not anymore. I don’t have a cave full of treasure, I don’t even live in a cave. And I suppose I can still ‘breath’ fire though it’s not so much breathing anymore.”

Estel looks at him through half-open eyes. “Really? What is it then?”

Bilbo looks around the hallway and seeing that it is completely empty, he gently moves the boy away. “Perhaps it’s easier if I show you?” Estel’s eyes open fully at his words and he looks at him eagerly.

With one last check to see that the coast is clear Bilbo holds out his palms and pulls as much heat as he could forward until there are two tiny flames in the center of them. It isn’t much, especially in contrast to what he’d once been able to do but Estel watches him excitedly, overjoyed.

He wasn’t sure why some traits remained while others had left. He could no longer fly, no longer looked like he once was but still, he felt the call of greed and gold, still, he could pull flames, however small, from his skin. It wasn’t the same but often on the loneliest of nights at the worst of it, it brought him comfort knowing that some things from his past were still with him.

“That’s amazing!” Estel says loudly and then his eyes widen and he looks around hurriedly. “Can you do anything else?”

Bilbo smiles at him. “That’s for another time, my small friend. I believe our lady is waiting for us.”

Estel nods, face serious again though Bilbo has a feeling most of the seriousness he’d seen was simply an attempt at being seen as more mature. “Right. We shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

Arwen looks at them fondly when they arrive and Estel steps into her room, almost swaying on his feet. “Stay safe, dear Bilbo. The world is becoming more dangerous and I fear where this journey may lead you.” She says in a hushed tone as he leaves and Bilbo takes her words to heart, swearing to her that he’d be fine and he would visit on his return home to prove it.

He is heading back when something touches his shoulder and Bilbo yelps in surprise, turning around to find Thorin of all people. “What is the matter with you?” He hisses out. “Is this a thing with you? Skulking about and scaring people?”

Thorin looks almost apologetic. “I meant you no harm hobbit. I only came to tell you the company is leaving.”

“Good,” Bilbo mutters quietly, his mind once again focused on Saruman. Though he loves Rivendell and its inhabitants, he knew it would be best if they left quickly.

Thorin raises an eyebrow. “You don’t wish to stay with your elf friends any longer?” The word ‘elf’ is said with an especially vicious tone and Bilbo resists rolling his eyes.

“Do you have a problem in my friendship with them?” He asks instead, trying to keep his tone polite. The elves of Rivendell are among his closest friends. They had sheltered him after his changing, fed him, clothed him, gave him a name when he’d refused his old one.

“I have a problem with elves, ” Thorin says shortly and at that understatement, Bilbo does laugh, quiet as it was.

Thorin stares at him with such fierce heat in his eyes that Bilbo can do nothing but wince and hope that he has not made the leader of their company dismiss him even further with such a careless action. “I meant no offense Master Dwarf, I know of your feud with the elves, especially those of the woodland realm.”

“But?”

Bilbo hesitates and then decides he would not lie, not even to save himself from Thorin’s wrath or dislike. “Your expectation of this journey is to reclaim Erebor and you will be its King. Your city will be weak and your people weary, especially at the beginning. I don’t think it’d harm you to be nicer to the elves who live so close to your borders.”

It’s the wrong choice of words and he knows it the second he says it but he cannot take it back and the dark look on Thorin’s face deepens and he scowls, “Those elves abandoned my people the day Smaug attacked, they watched our city burn and then left without a word. I will not show kindness to those who have betrayed us and if you think I should then you are more of a fool then I thought.”

He flinches at the words but stands his ground.

“Then Erebor will fail.” He says simply. “You cannot survive alone, not at the beginning.”

Thorin scoffs, “What would you know of such things? A halfling who’s never worked a day in his life has never suffered and endured horrors beyond what you can imagine, safe with your books and a soft bed.” His voice is rough and full of scorn and it makes something in Bilbo’s blood burn with dragon fire, he means to hold his tongue but instead, he lets go of politeness.

Bilbo frowns at the slur and then shakes his head, starting to walk back down the hallway. “I’m no king, your majesty, as such I’m sure I’d have no insight in your pressing matters, but at least I’m not fool enough to presume I know people from the glimpses they show. I didn’t have to come here. I have no ties to you or your kin. There is nothing I desire at the end of this quest.”

He almost wishes he could take it back. He’d said the words in anger but that didn’t make them less true. Thorin Oakenshield is stubborn and clings to his opinions and he fears that his pride would harm him one day, maybe even get him killed.

Thorin brushes past him, hands balled into fists and anger evident from the tip of his tightly held head to his stance. Bilbo lets him and follow after at a slower pace, little desire to be close to the dwarf after that. The company is already packed up and waiting and surprisingly Bofur had packed up his things.

Bilbo takes them with a small smile though it falls away quickly. “Thank you.”

Bofur waves a hand, “It’s fine, lad. Are ye alright? Ye look troubled.”

He is unable to help his glance at the front of the company, where he knows Thorin would be. The dwarf king does not so much as look back in his direction once. Bilbo grits his teeth and pushes away the weird feeling in his stomach, an almost anxiety that he could not fathom the reason for. What did he care what Thorin Oakenshield thought of him?

“I’m perfectly fine.” He says at last and then they slip out of the Last Homely House without another word.

Stone Giants he thinks with some degree of disbelief and the vague thought of mentioning it to Estel on his trip back. The harsh rain is beating down on them, making the ground slick and he struggles with keeping on the path. Of course, there would be moving rocks.

Bilbo’s foot slips, his grip looser than usual as he is the only member of the company who did not wear thick boots, and he’s only saved from falling by Dwalin’s quick grab. Bilbo sends him a grateful look and the dwarf nods, opening his mouth to speak when they are cut off by half of their party is separated.

The giant moves and Bilbo clings to it as tightly as possible, unable to even scream as they move. Every second he expects them to fall and yet somehow they all hang on until at last they are sent crashing into the side of the mountain. Luck is with them for they all land on the rock and he thinks he could hear someone screaming over the rain and thunder.

It is only when the stone giant falls away that he realizes he isn’t on the path at all but hanging precariously off of. The company rushes past them and he wants to say something but he was once again frozen by fear. He expects to die, falling from the sky for a second time when he hears someone ask where he was.

They can’t reach him and he closes his eyes, heart still and painful--until someone’s hand wraps around his and heat blooms through his skin and he looks up to find Thorin. He hoists the hobbit up and Bilbo gets happily acquainted with the blessed ground.

“I thought we lost our burglar,” Dwalin admits, half out of breath from pulling Thorin up.

Thorin frowns, turning to stare at him and despite the rain, the thunder, and everyone’s questions happening all at once, he hears his words clearly. He hears Thorin say he was lost, says he should have never come, says he had no place among them.

The words have chilled him more than the rain and he gladly goes into the caves, feeling for what he thought was the first time a completely human cold, prodded along by Bofur. The rest of the company, tired and exhausted, fell asleep with an ease Bilbo envied as no sleep came for him. His mind was haunted by Thorin’s words and his own doubts, pushed along by the thought of Saruman.

He’d had his doubts from the very moment he left the Shire. He wasn’t fit for this that much had been proven already and Thorin had only confirmed it.

Bilbo packs quickly, still feeling numb and cold, and he creeps quietly with a skill of his own, almost away until Bofur notices him.

“Where do ye think yer going?” Bofur says in alarm and he pauses, a regretful look on his face. If he couldn’t be thankful of much of what this adventure had provided then he was thankful he’d gotten to know Bofur. The dwarf had been nothing but kind and helpful, cheering him up with his terrible jokes and positive demeanor.

“Back to Rivendell and then the Shire,” Bilbo says in just as quiet a voice.

Bofur shakes his head, getting up from his perch. “No, no. you can’t go--you’re a part of the company now. You’re one of us.”

He shrugs. “Thorin said I should have never come and he was right. I don’t belong here.”

“You’re homesick, I understand--” Bofur says somewhat desperately but Bilbo cuts him off. “No, you don’t. You’re dwarves! You’re used to this, used to this life. Never belonging anywhere.”

If there were any words he could have taken back then those would have been his choice. He’d said it badly without thought and he regretted them instantly. At the time he thought it hadn’t been the same kind of homesickness and he’d reacted badly, stressed, and anxious as he was. He’d foolishly thought that they wouldn’t understand. He’d lost his home and he’d been forced to find a new one. How could they understand that? Seeing the look of hurt and resigned acceptance cross over his friend’s face had made him realize how wrong he was.

Bilbo tries to apologize and Bofur brushes it off before asking about the strange glow on his sword. He looks down at it and tries to remember what Gandalf had said as a strange noise echoes through the cavern.

“Wake up!” Thorin barks out and that’s all he has time to say as the ground disappears and the company falls with it. Somehow the goblins don’t notice him as they swarm around the dwarves and Bilbo crouches down watching them with wide eyes. A goblin jumps down from somewhere as he tries to follow after and Bilbo fights, swinging the sword with all his might and hoping that he actually hit something. Then they fall, both of them tumbling down and down into the darkness.

Chapter Text

He wakes up in darkness with a fierce ache in his back and a strange hissing sound in his ears. When he can focus long enough he thinks he can smell blood in the air; sharp and fresh. With no small amount of effort, he tries to get up, getting shakily to his knees and almost falling down.

That task finished he tried to remember what had happened. He had fallen, he could remember that much, could remember the long agonizing trip into blackness. But what had happened before that? Where were the others-- “Thorin!” Bilbo breathes out in horrified realization, everything rushing back to him. Thorin and the others had been captured. He needs to get out of here, needs to figure out a way to rescue them from those disgusting creatures.

The strange hissing grows louder and Bilbo realizes that it was actually very close to him, quickly he hides, trying to stay as quiet as possible as it only gets louder and nearer. The gaunt looking creature is unlike any he’d ever seen in his long life. It looks like a mix between a man, a hobbit, and death itself, and instantly he is revolted by it, wanting to be as far away from it as possible. His disgust only grows as he realizes it was dragging something vaguely human-like along with it, a trail of blood following. The creature pulls the body over a tall pile of rubble and in the process, something falls away from the scrap of cloth he wore. Bilbo wouldn’t have even noticed if it hadn’t made a strange ting sound as it fell, landing a few feet away from where he was hiding.

Later he would often think about why he hadn’t realized it was treasure from the second it fell even though in the past he’d been able to find gold without a thought. Later he would wonder if it had been the ring itself preventing him from realizing what it was until he stepped in to see.

Until it had been too late.

Now though Bilbo creeps slowly out of his hiding place, a dragon’s curiosity aiding him as he moves closer until at last, he found it; it wasn’t the most impressive jewel he’d found. It is only a ring, faded gold. But it is somehow special, isn’t it? He could see that now, looking at it again. The gold shines brighter like the light of fire and a hoard of treasure, the light of the Shire’s bonfires. It is a light in the darkness of the cave, a calming presence, and he knows he had to have it.

It didn’t matter that he didn’t like treasure, didn’t matter that he stayed away from gold. What would one little trinket hurt? One little ring? He deserved it. Trapped for years in that crummy little place with simple people, trapped in this tiny little form. He deserved it. It was his. Why shouldn’t he keep it?

It was special, his treasure, his precious.

His.

He curls his hands around it and the warmth of the precious thing reminds him of dragon fire, the heat of his kin and surely that is a sign it was meant for him. All his.

He could be powerful with his. He didn’t know how he knew that but the instant he thought it he knew it was the only truth. If he put it on he could be powerful again, strong once more, could show those brutes of dwarves his worth, show them who was their better. Could show that smug dwarf king what it meant to be in control, he could make him bleed, make him scream--

Wait.

Bilbo frowns, staring down at the ring. When had he picked it up? Why had he picked it up? A strange feeling comes over him even as he looks on with hazy eyes, eyes that were as gold as the precious thing in his hand. The scent of gold and greed comes over him, a dark rush of power and strength, and the way the air feels before first blood is struck.

It had never felt like this before. There is nothing in all the realms that had ever felt this right.

Wait.

Suddenly he knew what the strange feeling is then, the one he had been barely able to notice under the siren call of gold.

Fear.

No. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want power or gold. He loved the shire, loved its hills and streams and the people he protected. He didn’t feel trapped. Why had he thought such horrible things about the company? Oh, why had he thought such horrible terrible things about Thorin?

Why had he picked it up? Why was he still holding it? Why hadn’t he let it go already? “No,” Bilbo says out loud, trying to will his hand to drop the ring. All he had to do is open his hand and it would fall and this would be over.

Let it go he thinks desperately, why couldn’t he let it go?

Let go. Let go. Let go!

The precious drops from his hand and he jumps back like he’d been burned. Sweat drips down his face and he gasps for air, feeling weaker then he had in years.

“No,” Bilbo repeats hollowly, throat parched and broken, and he has to find his way out of here. He has to find the company and leave, get as far away from that vile thing--that beautiful treasure.

He can still feel the fear, could feel that he was shaking now with his heart beating too fast and too loud and he clung to that. Fear was good.

Carefully because he did not want to get too close to that evil precious thing he dug a shallow hole, moving away as many rocks as he could. Bilbo draws his sword and nudges it into the hole and then with a mind blank of anything but fear he buries that horrible thing, with the smell of blood in the air. With one last effort, he holds out his hands and pulls as much heat as he could, trying to melt the rocks or at least harden them, had his flames always been that bright, that hot? Or was this the ring’s doing?

It wasn’t enough.

He can still feel it trying to pull him in, and he knows it wasn’t just the call of gold that had made him lose control. It was the ring. It was bad, it wanted him to pick it up, it wanted to leave and it wanted him and he didn’t know why but it scared him and he knew he had to leave now or he’d dig it up.

It felt agonizing walking away from the precious thing, it felt like swords stabbing into him and he can hear it calling for him, thinks he hears it whisper his name. Not Bilbo, but his old one, his first one, his true one.

Bilbo breaks into a run and thinks only of the company, of Gandalf and the shire, thought of Thorin--

He hears a hiss and he freezes and then as if out of nowhere the creature from before appears.

“What is it, precious? What is it?” It says, staring at him with its large eyes.

The creature, Gollum, seems to know the way out. Unfortunately, they were at an impasse of Bilbo not wanting to be dinner and Gollum wanting a meal. Somehow Bilbo had bargained himself a game of riddles and though he had not meant to, it was certainly better than being eaten and though he had not meant to he could barely hide his smug smirk When dragons did not harvest gold or gems, they treasured riddles and games and stories. He felt victory was certain.

Gollum surprisingly is good at riddles for such a pitiful creature and Bilbo is at a loss trying to think of his last question as he eyes him with increasing interest.

“Well?” It hisses out, looking about for a rock no doubt to bash his head in with and Bilbo pauses a riddle coming to him quickly, a riddle he knew Gollum could not solve.

“I fear no flame or open sky, I sleep in gold, from my hand elves and men come to die.” Bilbo Baggins grins, teeth sharp and menacing. “What am I?”

Gollum protests, demands a different question and Bilbo even allows him three guesses. When he gets them all wrong, he demands that the creature show him the way out, he is getting worried now, his mind focusing only on the horrible possibilities that he could see. Gollum shrieks and screams, and then screams more when he tries to grab something and it isn’t there.

“Where is it? Where is it precious?” Gollum screeches, moving rocks, searching in the shallow water and Bilbo starts to move away. He would be of no help now.

“You took it, Baggins took it!”

It chases him then or at least tried to; Bilbo is faster and clever and he ends up hiding out of sight and when the creature passes he follows after it, hoping it would lead him to the exit. A strange smell fills the air and it takes him a minute to realize that it almost smelt familiar like earth and stone, right as the company runs past with none other than Gandalf leading.

Bilbo can barely believe it. He’d feared the worst and it seemed that luck was with them, Gandalf had saved them again and he took back every remotely negative thing he’d ever thought about the wizard (at least for now.) With a grin on his face, Bilbo moves back and then with a running leap jumped over Gollum so quickly that the gaunt creature didn’t even realize what happened.

Then he is out and the feel of the cool air on his too-hot skin calms him, fear fading away into a relief so strong it almost struck him down. From what he’d seen all of the company is alive, Gandalf is back, and he’d gotten away from that poisonous ring. It would be alright now. It had to be.

“Where is our hobbit?” Gandalf says, voice grave. “Where is Bilbo?”

“Master Baggins sees his chance and he takes it.” Thorin’s voice sounds odd and he tries to figure it out but he figures it must have been the leftover adrenaline or maybe the bits of greed still rattling around in his head that had made him hear such strange things. “We will not be seeing our hobbit again.”

“Actually,” Bilbo says stepping out from behind the tree-line, limping slowly. The pain in his back had increased but he didn’t dare mention it at a time like this. Not when they were still at risk of harm. “I’m right here.”

“Bilbo Baggins, I have never been so glad to see someone in all my life.” An overjoyed look passes over Gandalf’s face though his eyes linger on the signs of duress he could easily see. Something had changed about him and the wizard knew they would have a conversation later.

Bilbo smiles at him. “Funny, I was about to say the same thing.”

“Why did you return?”

Gandalf frowns. “Is now the time for such things?” Bilbo looks half ready to fall over and the rest of the company fare little better, some had left the goblins unscathed though most had not.

Thorin steps forward and Bilbo finds himself staring into piercing eyes though for once there is no dislike that he could see, no sign of what Thorin thought of him. “Because I shouldn’t have tried to leave in the first place. I know you doubt me and I don’t blame you for it. I’m not a warrior or a fighter. Certainly not a hero. But I made a promise to help you reclaim Erebor. I do often think of the shire because it’s my home, a place to call my own, and that’s why I want to help.”

He shrugs looking away from those eyes before he finds himself caught in them again. “Your home was taken from you, by a monster and I’d like to help you take it back. If I can.”

Bilbo doesn’t know where the words had come from, didn’t even know he was going to say them until they had been said. He didn’t know if it came up from the guilt of what one of his kin had done or because of his feelings for Thorin. All he knew was that he meant them.

The look on Thorin’s face changes and he looks more different than Bilbo had ever seen him, no longer a fierce king or an arrogant dwarf but just a person.

Warg howls cut through the air and the company startles into action. “Run!” Gandalf commands in that wizarding voice of his and for once Bilbo listens, running as fast as he can but being delays by the pain in his back and he stumbles, barely catching himself.

By then a warg appears right in front of him and on instinct Bilbo flinches and holds out his hands as it charges at him, surprised to see it fall to the ground with burn marks on its head. He looks at it for a moment longer and then follows the others to the trees. He nearly doesn’t make it because of his leg but a hand reaches down to roughly pull him up. Thorin almost rolls his eyes at him and he smiles in thanks.

“Do we have a plan for this?” He can hear someone--Bofur say from a different branch, the panic evident in his voice.

Thorin makes a sound low and hissed out that might have been a word and Bilbo looks at him in concern but the dwarf king’s wide eyes are on some distant point. “Thorin?”

“It cannot be.” Thorin sounds as if he’d seen a ghost, voice stuck in some agonizing pain and Bilbo wants to say more, wants to ask what is wrong but the wargs swarmed the tree threatening to knock it over and Bilbo has to jump to the next one or risk falling. He hisses in pain but it can’t be helped, they have to keep moving until the dwarves are all in one tree. All trapped.

Salvation comes in the form of a small ball of light being hurled to the ground and catching it on fire, temporarily scaring the wargs away. It took him a moment to realize they weren’t balls of light but pinecones being light on fire and he almost smiled at the genius of it. That crazy old wizard.

Bilbo doesn’t look, doesn’t care as he grabs pinecones and lit them quickly, throwing as many to the ground as he could, watching the wargs move away yelping in fright. At that moment he doesn’t notice someone observing him. At that moment there is nothing but the fire and the wargs.

The tree cracks under the strain of their combined weight and with a shudder it falls, barely hanging off the side of the cliff. He can hear screaming below him but it is the sounds above him that catch his attention and he looks up in time to see Thorin launch himself off the branch and towards what could only be the source of Thorin’s discomfort, Azog the defiler.

“You fool.” Bilbo breathes out in one horrifying moment, unable to take his eyes off the fight. Thorin charges and the white warg pounces, tackling him to the ground like he was nothing. For one moment Bilbo thinks Thorin won’t get up at all but he struggles to his feet and the awful fight continues on.

The Pale orc strikes and the moment of it hitting Thorin, the moment of Thorin falling and not getting back up lasts for centuries or it seems to. “No!” He can hear someone screech and he thinks it is Dwalin or maybe Balin but it is dim and distant and he can barely hear it over the roar in his ears, the burn in his veins.

Bilbo didn’t think, some strange instinct overtaking his mind and he let it, he pulled himself up all the way and charges, his sight red, fire-red. The warg bites Thorin, snuck its terrible fangs into him and pulled and he could hear more screaming.

It flings Thorin away like he is nothing like he isn’t Thorin Oakenshield but some piece of trash or dirt.

He pulls out his sword but he doesn’t think he’d need it. The fire-red is growing and he can feel it pushing at the edges of his skin and as a different orc approaches Thorin with a long thin blade he just reacts.

Bilbo tackles into him and he hears the orc shriek, fire blistering at his skin and he pulls out his sword as the orc tries to gain the advantage back but it was too late and Bilbo lifted his sword up and slammed it down into his chest. It is the first time he’d killed something in ages, centuries maybe and it didn’t feel different. Didn’t feel like anything but victory once more.

He is in front of Azog then and he can see the fire-red disappearing and he holds his sword in front of him. If they tried to touch Thorin he’d kill them where they stood. He’d tear Azog to pieces if he could.

He hears battle cries and he glances over to see that some of the company had climbed off the trees and were attacking the orcs in return. Bilbo hits one with his sword and turns attempting to dodge a blow but stumbling into the white warg, without conscious thought he lets his hands heat up again and the warg snarls bucking him off. He falls, sword following away and the warg and its rider move closer.

Bilbo can hear himself gasping but it was not out of fear but the way his lungs felt; they were on fire, heat scorching them up and he can’t do anything. He looks into the eyes of the pale orc and he swore that he wouldn’t die by his hands or blade. He’d set what remained of the forest on fire if he had to.

I’ll kill you he thinks and almost imagines blood-stained teeth, claws sunk into orc hide.

There is a shrill screech and then a giant bird unlike any other he’d seen before appears. He can only watch stunned as they either attacked the orcs or picked up the members of the company, against the protest of his chest he tried to stand as one of them picked up Thorin, afraid they would only hurt the unconscious dwarf more. Before he can do anything he is being lifted into the air and then suddenly dropped.

Feathers greet him and he clings to them slowly relaxing at the feel of familiar air and flying. Bilbo closes his eyes and embraces it, trying to memorize the feel of it. He knew he’d never do so again and it was worth it despite the pain.

It was like coming home for the first time in a very long time.

The birds flew into daylight and now that the fire-red had faded he felt only tired. He couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Thorin, worry clawing at him. The dwarf still wasn't awake.

He didn’t know where they were but the valley around them was green like his shire and it felt safe and the great birds dropped them gently on stone.

Gandalf is already by Thorin’s side when his bird finally lands and Bilbo moves forward a step, and then one more and hesitated. If even Gandalf could do nothing--Thorin’s eyes open and he says something but Bilbo couldn’t hear it. He didn’t even care, he is so relieved, so happy that Thorin is alive. They are all alive. Somehow.

Thorin struggles to his feet, being supported by his kin and Bilbo feels frozen in place unmoving. The dwarf king looks at him, blood on his face and wounded still and Bilbo fears the worst as those compelling eyes look at him. Thorin knew he'd seen him burn the orc.

“You.” He gasps out and there is still some ragged quality to his voice. “What were you doing?” The company is silent as they watch their king and their burglar.

Bilbo opens his mouth to speak, to beg, to offer some plea of his life, of an explanation and Thorin continues. “You nearly got yourself killed.”

“Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild?” His voice was low and rough as he moved closer, some emotion captured in it but Bilbo didn’t know him well enough to know what it was. “That you had no place among us?”

Too close. He is too close and Bilbo can feel himself burning up. He is on fire from Thorin’s words and his looks, from the things he could not understand. Why didn’t anyone see it? Why didn’t they put him out?

Thorin moves closer and he can feel that burn in the pit of his stomach, in the cavity of his chest but it didn’t hurt this time. There is no gasping for breath, no ash in his lungs and he finds he cannot say anything at all.

“I’ve never been so wrong in all my life.”

Strong arms encircle him and pull him against Thorin’s chest. Bilbo lets out a tiny breath and doesn’t care. The embrace, the way Thorin’s arms feel around him feel right. It feels more than flying.

The company cheers; they are alive, they are safe.

Bilbo didn’t care, he just let himself be thrown in the fire with an open  heart.

“I am sorry I doubted you.” He sounds truly regretful and Bilbo shakes his head.

“I would have doubted me too.” Bilbo pauses, a dragon’s pride wavering in a hobbit’s body. Well then. What did pride matter compared to this? “I’m sorry for the words I said at Rivendell, they were too harsh.”

Thorin says nothing but his eyes are still soft and there is no grudge in them. His gaze filters upwards and they widen in surprise. Bilbo turns around and sees it.

“Erebor,” Gandalf confirms. “The lonely mountain. The last of the great dwarven kingdoms.”

In the distance over a span stretching miles and through misty air there lay a mountain. To him, it was just some distant peak but in their eyes, he could see the call of home, could see their own fires.

“Our home.” Thorin breathes out and Bilbo glances at him. He’d never looked happier, never looked more wistful, and yet young then he did staring at that faraway place.

Bilbo smiles.

He’d made the right choice.

Chapter Text

Gandalf’s friend lives a week away and the company is sullen at the prospect but it’s the safest option. In total, at least half of them are wounded in some way or another with Thorin’s shoulder and chest being the worst.

They are sluggish and weak and the prospect of being attacked and unable to defend themselves weighs heavily on everyone’s mind though Fili and Kili try to lighten the mood.

It takes him two days to get the chance to talk to Gandalf about the ring. He’d like to pretend it’s not because of how ashamed he feels.

He waits until everyone is asleep and spends the entire day wallowing in his nerves. He doesn’t think Gandalf will judge him too badly but the thought of disappointing the wizard is terrifying to almost physical pain.

He owes Gandalf his life. He doesn’t want him to think it was a waste.

Everyone notices; Balin frowns at him and looks like he’s going to speak up every now and then but doesn’t. Dori does in fact ask him if he’s alright and Bilbo spends fifteen minutes reassuring him that he’s fine really, just tired. Fili and Kili try to draw him into a conversation about hobbits but stop after the fifth attempt. Even Thorin looks concerned when he’s not busy being coddled by the company or grimacing in pain at Oin’s treatments. Thorin’s concern is somehow the most damning.

Gandalf sits by the fire, smoking curling out from his pipe and he casually makes shapes of them as he looks out into the distant night with some faraway expression on his face. He’d never been able to understand what the wizard was thinking and at the beginning that had made him only warier. This strange man who looked like he held the weight of the realm in his hands and the stars and the skies in his old eyes.

It had terrified him.

“I need to talk to you about something,” Bilbo says quietly, trying not to wake anyone up. The company has been treating him differently since the run-in with Azog. Jumping in to save Thorin had proven something to them or shown them something he’d been lacking before and they’d reacted in kind. They treat him better. They treat him like he belongs and he doesn’t want to lose that just yet.

Gandalf’s expression comes back to the world and he smiles slightly though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Of course, my dear Bilbo.”

“You don’t seem surprised.” He points out wryly, a poor distraction at best.

“You’ve been looking haunted since the moment you stepped out of that cave Bilbo Baggins.” His eyes are grim and the smoke shapes twist into solemn figures--a pack of dwarves, a tall man, and lastly a hobbit. “It is a look I thought you’d done away with long ago.”

Bilbo stares at the fire because it is easier than looking at his friend and telling him he’s a greedy monster. The fire crackles and it’s the only sound he can hear. It used to comfort him and it still should but the sound of the company breathing, live and whole is better.

“Bilbo.” A wizened hand touches his shoulder and he keeps staring straight ahead. “Tell me please.”

Because he can deny Gandalf nothing, not even his blasted adventures it seems, he does. He tells him everything in hushed whispers and he pauses more often then he should lost in his disappointment and anger and above all his shame. Gandalf says nothing, his face growing more pensive as Bilbo continues his tale.

“I’m so sorry,” Bilbo says at last and his interest in the fire has increased until it’s the only thing keeping him from fleeing.

Gandalf pauses and the dark look that’s come over him has stopped for the moment. “Sorry? Whatever for?”

Bilbo looks incredulous, outrage wrapping inside him. “I let it get a hold of me! I thought such terrible, beastly things about the company and I was only touching it. How can I not be sorry? I acted like a raving, greedy fool.” It didn’t matter that the company hadn’t seen it, at that moment his thoughts had been true and he knows what he would have done if they had been there.

“Bilbo Baggins.” It’s the wizard voice again and for once it compels him to look up and he does, staring at the wizard with hesitant eyes. “You are one of the best men I know. If I am right then you’ve shown more strength then most for resisting the influence that ring wields.”

“Gandalf?”

Gandalf looks into the fire and for the first time that Bilbo has ever seen, he looks afraid. The thought strikes fear into Bilbo as well. He doesn’t know much that can make the maiar afraid. “You fought with evil once but I doubt you know of why or the weapons they used that went beyond dark creatures. There were certain…items made by the hands of evil and controlled by those hands. They were gifted to the leaders of other races and they sought to influence them. To rule them.”

“You think the ring from the cave is one of those items?” Bilbo thinks of the way the ring had been calling to him and he thinks of how hard it had been to resist.

“Yes. I believe so though I cannot be certain.” Despite his grim words, his reply sounds certain enough and he shudders, whispers from the cave curling in his ears.

Gandalf stands then, tall and strong, and blows out his pipe and the last of the shapes, a dragon, fades away into the smoke of the fire. “Do not let yourself be troubled by this now. Your journey lies with this company and if anything is to be dealt with the ring it won’t be anytime soon.”

Bilbo nods, feeling impossibly cold despite the fire and the warm weather. “Gandalf? What would it have done to me if I had listened?”

“It’s best you not know.” Gandalf doesn’t turn back to him and Bilbo shudders again. He stays by the fire for the rest of the night even when his watch ends and Nori takes over.

In the end, Bilbo’s not entirely sure how they manage to get to Beorn’s house in five days instead of seven. He’d put it down to divine intervention or of course, the will of a wizard. Gandalf takes over leading the company and stubbornly doesn’t let up no matter what anyone says.

“He’s worse than Uncle!” Kili complains, later that night.

“I never thought that would be possible,” Fili adds, looking just as forlorn as his brother.

If pressed Bilbo would point out that neither say these things in either Gandalf or Thorin’s presence.

They’ve stopped for the day and by tomorrow afternoon they’ll reach Beorn’s lands. Bilbo waits till all the others are asleep and he wanders over to where Gandalf lies, absently thinking that he’s developing a pattern of this. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Bilbo says bluntly and the wizard nods.

“Is this because of what I told you?”

“I would have to leave regardless, there is a growing evil over these lands and its best if I meet with the rest of the white council.” Bilbo frowns because that means Saruman and Gandalf laughs, catching it.

“In my defense, he wanted me dead.” Bilbo points out dryly. “Sometimes I’m sure he still does no matter how much you and the elves deny it.”

“Saruman will do you no harm, it’s been over a thousand years after all.” Some of the mirth fades from Gandalf’s eyes as he adds. “And did you not want to be dead yourself those first few months?”

Bilbo looks away but nods his head once. “I did and you know that changed by the time we reached Imladris.”

“I am ever so glad that it did, my old friend,” Gandalf says and there is such honesty in his voice that Bilbo cannot help but smile at him, only slightly embarrassed. Wizards he thinks but it’s with fondness instead of scorn.

“Well then.” Bilbo stands and stretches, cracking out his back. “I should get to sleep. I’m sure it’ll be a tiring walk to Beorn’s no matter how close it is.”

“Bilbo?”

“Stay safe and do not fear what awaits you. You are stronger than you think.” Gandalf says at last and Bilbo nods and his sleep is easy that night and he does not dream of whispers in his ears or precious gold. By the time he wakes up in the morning, Gandalf is gone.

Beorn is a tall and gruff looking man and at first, he looks as if he is going to turn them away. He stops at Balin’s mention of Gandalf's name and bids them tell their story. Balin does and it seems like everyone jumps in at one part or another adding something to the tale.

At last, he looks over them all with his fierce eyes and when he comes upon Bilbo they linger and in return, the hobbit scowls slightly at him staring back with a pointed look.

The large man laughs loud and booming.

“You can stay as long as you need. Nothing dangerous will come into these lands.” Beorn tells though most of the company is distracted by all of the strange animals. Bilbo is just glad none of them fear him. He can’t tell if that’s because of Beorn’s influence or not.

“Have you ever seen bees that big?” Kili says eyeing them suspiciously. The company seems to regard Beorn in general as suspicious though Bilbo knows that Gandalf’s friends can only be odd at most or at least that’s what he hopes.

“What are you doing?” Fili says curiously and that draws the eyes of some members of the company.

Bilbo doesn’t look up at him from his place on the ground, stretching out and resting in a nice patch of grass. He’s tired and sore--his back still aches if someone like Beorn says it safe then he’s not inclined to doubt him. Besides the sun is shining in a way that he’s missed since the beginning of this journey.

“Resting.” Fili looks at his brother and they shrug together before joining him. After a while, Ori comes over and eventually Bofur and his kin do as well until at least half of the company is next to him though he’s the only one really resting. The rest are talking or reading or carving and Bilbo is struck by a sense of contentment so wide that he doesn’t care that he spends the day half-way drowsy because of the sun.

Beorn lets them sleep in his halls and the younger dwarves fall asleep quickly, their familiar snoring a comforting presence. The rest however are too used to the outside and the hard ground, the ever-present danger to really relax though Bofur assures him they’ll adjust quickly.

“Master Baggins, would you come with me please?” Bilbo looks up, lost in the story Dori and Bofur had been telling him only to see Balin smiling pleasantly at him.

Bilbo blinks in confusion and nods letting himself be led away from the conversation without a thought. His confusion only grew as they wandered farther into the woods until the sounds of the company was a dim chatter. “What’s this about then? Obviously it’s important or you wouldn’t have cared--”

“I saw what you did when you saved Thorin’s life. I saw you burn the orc and light the pinecones. I’ve heard how the elves of Rivendell treated you, how Gandalf views you as an old friend. I even saw the way Beorn looked at you.”

Of course, it had to be Balin who had found out. If it had been one of the younger dwarves or even Bofur it wouldn’t have mattered so much. He could convince them or outsmart them but he couldn’t do that to someone as strongly intelligent as Balin. “There’s no point denying it is there?” Bilbo says shortly and then shakes his head. “Well, are you going to kill me yourself or tell Thorin and have him do it?”

Balin’s pleasant smile lessens. “Do people often threaten you with death when they find out what you are?”

“Generally? Yes.” He says and thinks of a looming counsel though the thought quickly disappears. “I take it to mean you’re not?”

The old dwarf shakes his head slowly and Bilbo relaxes, the tension in his chest fading away. “I just want to understand. All you’ve done as far as I can see is help this company. No harm will come to you.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” He warns but then Bilbo has no choice but to tell his story. He should be more relieved. He isn’t dead yet but Balin doesn’t know the worst of it, can’t even guess what he is. But the story is an old one and painful despite that fact.

The dwarf remains silent throughout the entire event and for that Bilbo is nothing but grateful. The look on his face is blank and the smile fades at some point but Bilbo doesn’t stop, not even when he can feel his throat go sore. If he stops he knows he’ll never start it again.

The last thing he says is this: “Gandalf would not choose me to come if he thought I was a danger to you. Even if we are friends. For all intents and purposes, I am a hobbit. I cannot fly and I cannot change shape. I stay away from gold and I bet I eat more greens then you dwarves. In a fight, if it came down to it you could kill me easily even with my small fires.”

In short, he was entirely helpless.

Balin nods but says nothing and it is painfully silent and Bilbo cannot help but remember a different time when his fate was decided for him. At least he’s not in shackles this time. “Why were you saved?”

Bilbo stares at him startled, if there was any question he had expected then it hadn’t been that and then shrugs. “I don’t know.” Long forgotten words echo in his head, words that speak of a purpose beyond violence and death and the reign of dragon’s fire. He could have more than that if he chose it.

“Will you tell the others?”

“You won’t tell them yourself?” Bilbo challenges and Balin shakes his head. “I’ll tell them eventually, I’ll have to.” Secrets like this could not be kept forever, even now it was starting to unravel if Balin had noticed then who was to say another had not?

Balin claps him on the back and gives him one last suggestion that makes Bilbo frown. “I’d advise you to tell Thorin yourself instead of letting this slip out.”

Bilbo thinks about it--very briefly. He pictured the dwarf’s rage and he could picture the look of betrayal passing over his face. He could see it so easily, so clearly that it made him wince. Dwarves did not forgive. The issue of the elves proved that.

No, he wouldn’t be telling Thorin anytime soon if he could help it.

When the next night Beorn returns from his ‘hunting’ and looks at him in such a way he was sure even Fili and Kili would notice, Bilbo rises away from the company and leads the big man somewhere private.

“What is it?” He says somewhat exasperated. He’d be damned if he let the skin-changer ruin everything just by looking at him oddly. “You keep looking at me and someone is bound to notice and it won’t be the right someone’s, Master Beorn.”

Beorn looks stunned the entire time the hobbit drags him away and the man laughs when he has finished. Bilbo’s scowl deepens and he has half a mind to burn the insufferable fool. “I would not have allowed your company to stay had I not noticed you. Even with the wizard’s word, I’m not fond of dwarves or beggars.”

“I mean no harm, little one.” Bilbo stared at him impatiently and the man continued. “I’ve never seen a skin-changer such as you and it surprised me.”

“I’m no skin-changer.” Wasn’t the point of staying here getting a break and healing up? With how much he was fearing for his secret and how his back still pained him he doubts he’d be getting much rest at all.

Beorn raises an eyebrow at him. “So there’s a different reason why you smell like smoke and dragon but look like a halfling?”

Bilbo opens his mouth to protest but Beorn continues and he finds himself closing it. “You have the spirit of a dragon and the heart of one too. Anyone can see that. You stalk about like someone twice your size and you watch over your hoard with fierce eyes.”

“I have no hoard, though I’m sure you could make an argument for all of my books back at the Shire,” Bilbo says because it was the only thing he could really say. If Beorn saw things that weren’t there then who was he to challenge that? For all the strange looks the man had offered them his home.

The skin-changer smiles slightly. “A hoard can be more than gold or books. I think your hoard is people, little one.”

He frowns at him but finds he had nothing to say about that.

“Can you not change your form?” Beorn says and when Bilbo said he couldn’t he looked as if the very thought of it surprised him.

“I tried once,” Bilbo admits, losing most of his temper.

“It did not go well?”

“I could feel it underneath my skin, I thought it was waiting for me and I tried--it felt like I was dying all over again.” Bilbo barely holds back a shudder, the phantom pain still very clear to him even so many years later. It had felt like his bones were breaking and his organs turning to ash and even then he hadn’t so much as changed one of his fingers into claws. “If I can I don’t know if the price is worth it.”

“I’m sorry then. I’ve seen in the old days how much your kin enjoyed the air.”

He shrugs. “You get used to such things.”

Beorn frowns at him. “You cannot tell me you don’t miss it.”

“Of course I do,” Bilbo says incredulously. “But I have other things that are more important than whether I get to fly again. The sky was my home once but no longer.” His back throbs in defiance right where his wings had once lay.

“You are a strange man but a good one.” There is some admiration in his voice and Bilbo smiles.

“Bilbo.” He corrects. “If you’re going to call me anything it might as well be that.”

Beorn nods. “Bilbo.”

“You should get back to your hoard. I think they’ll get nervous if I keep you much longer.” Beorn said with a smirk and before Bilbo could say anything the skin changer wandered off into his forest and he could only shake his head.

“Not my damn hoard,” Bilbo mutters as he heads back to the house.

He is on the large stone steps that led into Beorn’s Hall when he heard the voice from out of the darkness. “Burglar?” Bilbo didn’t jump but was close to.

“For calling me a burglar you seem to do more sneaking about yourself, Master Dwarf,” Bilbo says, frowning.

Thorin to his surprise only laughs, the sound rich and deep, and for a second Bilbo is almost mesmerized and then he shakes his head coming back to himself. “What are you doing out here?”

Thorin gives him a smile--an actual smile, not a smirk or a scowl. Bilbo swears this day could not get any stranger. “I was looking for you; Fili and Kili grew worried when you did not return from your walk.”

“Oh! I forgot about them.” They had been pressing him for ‘hobbity’ stories for ages and he hadn’t been planning to tell them at all but Ori had said he was interested too and even Bofur had chimed in. “I was talking with Beorn.”

Thorin’s half-smile twists into a scowl just like that and Bilbo rolls his eyes. “Is there any race that you don’t hate? First, it’s the elves and now skin changers and don’t think I haven’t noticed how you fight with Gandalf sometimes.”

“Hobbits I’ve found are not so bad despite their appearances.”

“Despite their appearances?” Bilbo says challengingly, some part of him would always love teasing Thorin.

Thorin shakes his head muttering under his breath in what Bilbo could only presume to be Khudzul. “I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.”

“I know,” Bilbo says simply. “I stand by my words from Rivendell, you cannot keep such dislike of others. A cycle of distrust and hate will only end in more distrust and hate after all.”

Thorin to Bilbo’s relief didn’t look angry, merely pensive and the dwarf king nodded. “You remind me of the wizard sometimes,” Thorin says almost teasingly and Bilbo laughs.

“I think I should count that as a strike on my honor. I have far more sanity then Gandalf the Grey ever will.”

“That remains to be seen, burglar,” Thorin says and his voice is soft and warm and it almost sounded fond.

“I’ll prove it to you yet.” He promises with a grin and feels proud of himself when Thorin smiles that almost smile again. Silence came over them then and he wants to question it, curious as he ever was but found he had no words that were adequate enough and for the moment he was content to let it rest.

Chapter Text

Beorn’s halls don’t have a proper place to bathe and when Bilbo considers how much work would be put into that endeavor for a man of his size, well he found it understandable why.

“There’s a stream nearby, where you can wash up.” The man says gruffly and then disappears as he did every day since their arrival, stopping only to pat Bilbo on the head. At least he no longer looked at Bilbo so evidently, though occasionally Bilbo would look back and see amusement in his dark eyes when no one else was paying attention.

“He’s fond of you, isn’t he?” Bofur says laughter in his voice and Bilbo rolls his eyes as they head down to the stream. Judging by the noise, most of the company is already down there.

Fili and Kili wave when they see him and he nods, slowly getting undressed. Besides the lads, there’s only Bofur’s kin and the brothers Ri. Good. He’s bathed with them before but it feels almost odd now, especially if Thorin were here—Bilbo can feel the heat rising up his neck and he quickly shakes his head, shedding the rest of his clothing and sinking into the water as fast as possibly.

Hobbits as a whole aren’t particularly fond of streams or rivers though he’s never been bothered much by it and he floats easily enough, content with watching the company play. It’s almost funny to see hardened warriors, dwarven warriors specifically, to act like children.

Bilbo laughs as Fili dunks Ori under the water and is swiftly splashed by Nori in revenge. His laughter fades as his thoughts turn dim suddenly aware that it won’t always be like this. How much longer can they stay in Beorn’s halls soaking up sunlight and laughter? The road forward can only grow worse and he can feel death approaching with each passing day, each mention of the dragon and Erebor.

Once, long ago before the change, his Kin had a saying. Death has a smell. And it did though he was never sure how to explain it. It wasn’t blood or rotting bodies or anything close to that. It was just death and death, was it. Weeks before a battle his kin would be nervous and tense, the smell of death wrapping itself around their homes and hoards until it was unbearable, and when it was the strongest you knew that was when it was time to strike. Before the Men and Elves struck you in your belly with their damn arrows.

He smells that bitter death-scent now. Bilbo isn’t sure when it started but he’s noticed it since the run-in with Azog. Though that isn’t the only strange occurrence he’s noticed since the run-in with the pale orc it’s the most prominent. He can disregard the way his flames are brighter, fiercer. He can ignore how much clearer things seem. He can ignore the burn in his shoulders, the way they haven't in over a thousand years. Bilbo can pretend that nothing has changed but only a fool would ignore the death-scent.

So he lets himself think as he floats; plans and half-formed ideas swimming in his mind as his friends' happy voices become only a distant echo. He is clever. He is clever and he can keep the death-scent away from his hoard. He can—

Bilbo sputters and swallows what feels like an entire mile of water before his head breaks the surface and he finds a cheeky looking Kili grinning at him. “Imp.” Bilbo curses and pulls himself farther up until he’s sitting on a rock with only his feet touching the water.

“What’s that?” Kili says curiously and before he knows it he feels something prodding at his shoulder.

“Hmm?” Bilbo says thinking of how he’s going to manage to wash his hair while perched on the safety of his rock. The prodding grows harder and he yelps slightly and he hears the sound of water shifting quickly as if someone has pulled away suddenly.

“Bilbo?” He turns and finds that the dwarves are staring at him strangely and he frowns.

“Well, what is it then?”

“Has his skin always been like that?” Ori whispers.

“What?”

“No, I don’t think so. It was fine back in Rivendell and before that, wasn’t it?”

“What?”

“What do you think it is?”

“What are you talking about?” Bilbo snaps and the dwarves immediately fall silent, staring at him with wide eyes. “What are you lot going on talking about my skin for? What’s changed?”

He reaches behind him and stretches as best as he can and aha! There! The edges of his fingertips skim over something smooth and deceptively soft—and he freezes because he knows, instantly he knows what it is because you can’t forget something like that, not in a million years can you forget the way your true skin actually feels.

“—Well what is it? Is this a hobbity thing or should we get Oin?”

“What?” Bilbo says and he reluctantly pulls his hand back. He forces himself to relax and he pretends to look at them puzzled for a moment before ‘oh-ing’ in realization. “This? This is in fact a ‘Hobbity thing’ as you called it Kili.”

“What is it, lad? If you don’t mind us askin’?” Bofur says kindly and Bilbo thinks carefully before a story quickly comes to mind. It’s not entirely a lie but he can twist it to work enough for his own purposes.

“Hobbits used to be wanderers before they settled into the Shire, it’s said that our ancestors had walked all over middle-earth, and because of the tough terrain, our feet grew big and strong. The rest of our ancestors grew big and strong to follow them. It’s said that when we came to the shire we lost our size and became small but kept our tough feet as a memory for all the long years we searched for a home. My grandfather used to say that if a Hobbit started wandering again he’d started to become just as tough as his feet.”

Ori looked interested but he couldn’t read the others, couldn’t be sure about whether they bought it or not but he figured that either way they wouldn’t press him too much about it. Dwarves were notoriously private people, he figured that went the same way in return.

“Does this mean you’re going to get taller?” Kili says curiously and the others start to chuckle at him as Bilbo shakes his head no. The cheerful air from earlier returns then though Bilbo spends most of that time thinking as he resists the urge to touch his shoulders.

The dwarves leave before him as they always do and Bilbo can’t help it, he touches the bumps again and he frowns finally coming to a decision. Well, there’s only one way to be sure isn’t there? If only Gandalf was here. The wizard could confirm it easily, having been the only one who actually knew what they looked like. Balin was an option now that he knew the truth but Bilbo thought about it and then pushed it away. Balin knew but who was sure how accepting he would be? Matters like these were always easier to accept when the proof was not being shoved so blatantly in your face.

By the time Bilbo actually bothers to clean his hair and wash as best as he can the sky has darkened and the water has become almost unbearably cool. He’s not even surprised to find most of the company sitting in front of the hearth. Nor is he surprised by what they’re doing. At least not anymore.

He'd spent so long surrounded only by his little hobbits that he'd forgotten that other races' customs were not the same. He'd been shocked to see all of them braiding each other's hair and had been about to ask Bofur but at that very moment so long ago, Gandalf had stepped in as was his way and saved him from the dwarves thinking even less of him.

"My dear friend, surely you remember that all dwarves braid their hair." The wizard had said in a hushed whisper. "Why I expect a fine braid to a dwarf is the same as a well-cooked meal or a nice garden to a hobbit."

"Why are they braiding each other's hair? Can't they manage their own?" Bilbo asked, even as he watched Kili braid his brother's long hair.

The wizard's smile had turned wry. "I think if you suggest such a thing to a dwarf you'd get a most unpleasant reaction. Dwarves braid each other's hair for many reasons; as a sign of kinship from parent to child, from brotherhood, and lastly intimately with their Ones."

Bilbo had considered this and then said very quietly in one last confirmation. "So it's really not just their women-folk who do it?"

Gandalf's booming had rung out through the camp and the dwarves had looked at them for a moment before going back to their braiding.

Now Bilbo spared little attention to Dori fussing over Ori's unkempt hair, though to be honest, that could be more of Dori then any Dwarven braiding tradition. Instead, he weaved his way carefully through the room until at last, he was by Bofur's side, the dwarf speaking casually to his brother.

"Can I borrow your knife?" Bilbo says politely. "I need to repair a few of my things and my needles aren't strong enough to manage."

Bofur gives it to him without looking away from his kin and Bilbo slips out of Beorn's too large house without anyone noticing him. He wanders into the edge of the forest, close enough that he'll hear anyone coming but far away that no one will see what he's about to do.

First, he pulls out a torn piece of clothing, the color similar to his waistcoat from the beginning of their journey. He'd meant to mend it but he's glad now that he hasn't. He places it between his mouth and bites down, wincing at the taste of dirt in his mouth. He swears it still tastes of troll.

Then he pulls his shirt off and sets it out of the way. It's pointless to ruin such a decent thing so far away from any place to fix it.

He hesitates.

The sound of some bird's song fills the air and then--

It's now or never and before he can fully process what he's doing his hands come up and quick as a bite from his kin's teeth, Bofur's whittling knife slices into his shoulder and

Something dull presses against his shoulder and it takes him a second to realize that it's the damn knife and he presses even harder, biting down against the cloth in his mouth.

It takes him another two minutes of carving before there's white-hot pain and he shrieks at the suddenness of it, the sound muffled by the strap.

Well, at least he's found it.

His hands are more careful now as they inspect around, feeling the line between numb flesh and that flash of pain. When he feels the boundary he slowly pushes up against the resistance he finds. By the end of it, he feels lightheaded and slow as if he's drunken all of the Old Gaffer's strongest winter ale but it doesn't matter when he finally hears the sound of something falling and he twists around.

He moves too fast, too suddenly and he's struck by so severe of dizziness that he has to stay still and breathe slowly until it fades away.

The scale he picks up is smaller than he's used to; to be fair the last time he had scales a single one was the size of his head. It's brown and dull, the edges of it covered in blood but when he holds it up, it shines as bright as any gold piece in the moonlight.

Staring at it all Bilbo can think is home. He's so entranced by it that it takes him forever to notice the cold feel of blood dripping down his back and he pulls the strap out of his mouth and presses it on his shoulder, eyes never leaving his scale.

Bilbo pockets the scale and stands, pulling on his shirt with shaky pale fingers. Instead of answering his questions or resting his fears the scale and all it symbolizes have only risen more.

The company is still by the hearth when he returns, still laughing and talking as if nothing has changed and Bilbo hands over the now clean knife to Bofur with a tired smile.

"You fixed your things?" Bofur confirms, some strange concern plaguing his mind.

"I've done my best but I think they're beyond saving," Bilbo says and he doesn't linger for much longer. Bilbo is the first to sleep that night though his dreams are no more pleasant for it.

By the time the moon dies his shoulder will be fully healed, a new stronger scale in its place.

Thorin announces that they leave within the next few days and no one is entirely surprised. "He doesn't trust Beorn much," Bofur says quietly, smoking his pipeweed and offering Bilbo some.

Bilbo snorts. "Much?"

The next two days are spent preparing for their journey. Beorn offers them supplies to last for weeks for though the company does not like it the only way to travel and make it to Erebor by Durin's Day is through the forest that lies nearby.

Bilbo once knew it as Greenwood the Great and an elf named Oropher was crowned king of the lands. He remembers Elrond telling of the lands as plentiful and strong though he never saw it in person himself. Both have changed in the years since, the forest has grown dark and twisted so Beorn says and Oropher's son, Thranduil rules over it all. This Bilbo imagines is the elven king who abandoned the dwarves of Erebor so many years ago.

"Why so much food?" Ori asks curiously and Bilbo has to agree, the majority of their supplies are food.

"Do not eat anything that grows in the forest," Beorn says his face serious and his tone grim and even the heirs of the line of Durin stop their playing around as he speaks. "Nothing good grows in those lands."

The words are simple but they send a shiver down Bilbo's spine and he thanks Beorn's little animal helpers later that night. Bilbo has endured starvation once or twice before and the thought of doing so again makes him nervous.

They have a party that night, one last sure night of celebration and in the morning they'll set out for the forest. Bilbo compares it to hobbit parties and smugly thinks his own are better. He pointedly doesn't imagine what a celebration at the Erebor of Old must have been like. He can't handle the possibility of all that gold or that many dwarves.

Some of the company play their fiddles and others hum along, voices deep and strong as all of theirs are. Bilbo listens and is reminded of long sleepy rivers and green rolling hills. For all that this most definitely isn't his shire or his hobbits he's reminded of them and their parties.

Sometimes kinship is easy to see no matter the race it resides in.

"You look unhappy, halfling." Thorin sits down, watching his company with easy amused eyes.

Bilbo shrugs, watching as Fili and Kili dance to the song. They're horrible really, probably the worst dancers he's ever seen and he thinks the drink plays only a small part in that. On any other day, he'd be laughing along with the rest of his friend. "I cannot be happy when I know what approaches."

"I thought you'd be happy, we're close to your precious elves," Thorin says dryly, remembering the hobbit's words from the other week. His tone holds no malice, only teasing and Bilbo rolls his eyes.

"Despite what you seem to think, I hold no great love for all elves. I am only so fond of those who have helped me." Bilbo says promptly and Thorin raises an eyebrow and takes the opportunity.

"Like the Wizard?" The company has often wondered how a famed Wizard came into the friendship of such a small domestic creature and even he had wondered at the beginning when his thoughts towards the hobbit had been less than kind and less than fair. He knows now that Bilbo Baggins is worth more than he seems. The curiosity from before clings despite this.

Bilbo smiles and Thorin is happy to see that it is a real one, the first he's seen so far. The Halfling has spent the entire day brooding and though it matters little to him personally it's his responsibility to keep his company workable. His unruly nephews tease that is more than that but a swift cuff up the side of their heads is enough to stop such things.

"Gandalf the Grey has done the hobbits of the Shire a great service and there are some among us that do not forget it so easily," Bilbo says simple in that damn mystifying way and Thorin frowns.

He's about to press further but is interrupted by a much quiet, more polite voice. "Can you tell us about it?" Ori says shyly, sitting down next to the dwarf-king and Bilbo stares at him in surprise, suddenly realizing that the room is much quieter, the sound of fiddles and rich baritones gone.

"You never did tell them your 'hobbit stories'." Thorin points out smirking at the way Bilbo frowns at him.

"Tell us." Kili and Fili settle in on either side of the hobbit and before Bilbo knows it the company is surrounding them, eyes curious save for Thorin who only looks smug. "Please?"

Bilbo barely resists glaring at Thorin. There's no way at all that he can twist his meeting with Gandalf the way he's twisted other hobbit stories. "Are you sure you want to hear a 'hobbit' story? I'm sure it can't compare to a grand dwarven tale like you're used to."

"We'll adjust." Nori cuts in smoothly, mischief in his eyes.

Bilbo's frown deepens. It seems the entire company is conspiring against him.

"It's not a happy tale," Bilbo warns and then he speaks for once the loudest voice in a room full of dwarves.

"It was some few years ago, the weather had grown cold earlier than we expected and it quickly became clear that it was also stronger then we'd ever imagined."

In his time protecting the Shire only three terrible events had happened that he could not prevent or fix. Two were long and dreadful winters and the third, a famine.The first winter had been worse by far in terms of weather and death. Cold and bitter, stepping more than a few feet out of your smial risked the chance of death. Bilbo had been at a loss of what to do, thousands of his hobbits lay dead of starvation and it hadn't mattered how much he hunted or how little he himself ate.

It was never enough.

It would never be enough.

He remembers the feeling of hopelessness. He remembers passing by houses and smelling the death-scent and knowing he could do nothing.

The worst was how slow it took. Death by a blade was quick and horrible and death of old age a sign of a good life but his hobbits died slowly, died gaunt and thin.

Then there was a beacon of hope. Gandalf the Grey had shown up one day as if he'd belonged and Bilbo had felt like weeping. He'd thrown himself to the man's feet and begged. Any last feelings of hate had fled away for good as the Wizard who'd saved him long ago saved Bilbo's hobbits.

It wasn't all fixed due to his intervention. There was only so much that could be done and famine followed it. For the rest of that year, the death-smell clung to the Shire. It was buried in the new ground.

Bilbo doesn't like thinking of the winters much. He did all he could but it never feels like enough. Shame and anger are still very much present when he thinks of those years and those who he swore to protect, dying.

That first cold winter was horrible but when Bilbo does think about the winters, he always thinks the second was worse. The second brought them.

"As we starved we realized something worse was lurking about and Hobbits stayed close to home, tension brewing in the air and it wasn't until the Brandywine river froze over that we found out what it was."

"Bilbo?" Thorin says quietly, noticing the haunted look in the Hobbit's eyes, the way his hands are wrapped tightly around the armchair.

Bilbo shakes his head and continues on, hate coloring his tone. "The wolves came then."

"Oh Mahal," Balin says quietly in horror, a sentiment echoed by many of the company. During particularly rough winters wolves weren't uncommon on the borders of the Blue Mountains and even Erebor had its own trouble with wolves.

"We weren't fighters, the best we had were farmers and the best we could do was hide in our homes and hope that they would spare us and count our dead when they left,"Bilbo says and he remembers coming home to Bag End and finding Belladonna and Bungo hiding in their room, knives at the ready.

The hobbits could hide but he couldn't. He was better than a farmer if by little and if any stray wolves came into his path he tried to burn them as badly as he could. His flames weren't as strong back then and in the end, Bilbo had many jagged teeth scars and killed few wolves.

"Is this where the wizard comes in?" Thorin says gently and Bilbo almost jumps when a hand rests comfortingly on his shoulder. The warmth and weight of it steady him and he nods taking in a breath.

"It came to a head towards the end and we couldn't hide any longer. It wasn't saving us anymore just making it easier for them to get us. Some of us were tired of hiding. We wanted to fight, this was our home, this was our land and these were our people being killed by animals. We'd sent out messages for help but we didn't know if they were received until one day."

Bilbo smiles slightly, "Until the day Gandalf came and with him, rangers from the north who gave us food and helped as best they could. Not all of them could stay but those who did helped us fend off the wolves, Gandalf including."

"You fought off the wolves?" Fili says in surprise, remembering all the little halflings they'd seen on the way to Bag End, trying and failing to picture any of them fighting like warriors. "With what?"

"Hoes and picks, knives, and pans, whatever we could find. We used what we could and we kept them at bay and they were gone by the time the river unfroze." The dwarves looked approving at this, understanding the need to defend their home.

Bilbo distinctly remembers Belladonna wielding a frying pan, charging into the fight as carelessly as the rest of her mad relatives. Though he also remembers Bungo using a shovel and pushing off a wolf or two with the help of Hobson Gamgee. He even remembers a young Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, no more than a fauntling really, throwing rocks at anything that dared get by, a pack of even younger children behind her.

"And that is why despite being entirely un-hobbitsh and eccentric and far too prone for adventures the Hobbits of the Shire allow Gandalf into their borders." Bilbo finishes, smiling softly.

To his surprise, other members of the company tell their own battle stories and in the case of the younger ones, any story that's particularly humorous or interesting. The mood lightens and his smile remains as does Thorin's hand which has somehow moved to be wrapped loosely around Bilbo's shoulder, barely touching it.

Bilbo smiles and doesn't comment on it and instead starts a particularly lengthy discussion with Nori about pipeweed.

In the morning they'll wake early, half of them complaining of headaches and feeling sick to their stomach from too much drink, but they get up anyways, a feeling of restlessness in the air that even Bilbo can't deny.

They'll leave for the Mirkwood and the troubles that are bound in it and Bilbo's spirits will lessen as he sees the twisted remains of a once green and grand place.

For now, they celebrate and dream of Erebor, of their own home to take back. For once with the warmth of Thorin's strong hands resting close to him, Bilbo dreams of it too and hopes for a future less grim than his thoughts.

Chapter Text

Beorn gives them enough food to last for at least a month’s time and Bilbo can see the tension in all their faces as that deadline fast approaches. Though he knows it does, it has to, it feels as if the forest has no clear end.

They try to stretch out the food, cutting it down into smaller and smaller amounts but they only manage to make it last for an extra week and a half before they run out.

“This is the last isn’t it?” Bilbo murmurs quietly to Thorin as a solemn Bombur and Bofur pass out their small meals.

Thorin’s grim look is enough of an answer in itself.

As the others eat—slowly, carefully as if savoring their meal he makes his way over to Balin and politely asks if they can talk privately. Balin’s still uncomfortable around him that much Bilbo can tell so he’s been avoiding the elder dwarf as much as you possibly can when being constantly in the same space. Matters like these take time to get used to and he can only be relieved that Balin’s a much better actor than say Kili ever would be.

“Yes, lad?” Balin says raising an eyebrow as Bilbo wrings his hands slightly and then decides to just say it. A dwarf like Balin would probably appreciate the straightforwardness.

“I want you to take my food,” Bilbo says and clears his throat once, he sees the look in Balin’s eyes and then hastily adds. “Give it to Oin or Ori, anyone who looks like they need it.”

“No one’s going to take your food from you,” Balin says not unkindly. “Not even Bombur would.”

Oh, Yavanna does Bilbo know that! He’s spent the past few days cursing the stubbornness of dwarves seven ways to the Valar. Every time he tries to offer any of the food they give him that critical look, like he needs protecting and refuses.

“I know I look weaker than you and some ways I suppose I am.” Bilbo begins quietly, glancing around at the dining company nearby. “But you must understand in some ways I’m far stronger, this is one of them.”

“Bilbo?”

He shrugs and then squares his shoulders with determination. “Well, I’m…what I am after all, even if I look like a hobbit. I don’t need to eat as much as you and my stomach won’t protest the lack of one meal the way yours might.”

Dragons could go years, decades even without eating, usually during periods of great hibernation but sometimes just because of a lack of food or being too sick to get a meal. It was one of the many reasons why Bilbo privately thought Smaug was still alive.

The lack of eating was one of the traits that had carried over, though to a far lesser extent. He’d gotten used to eating the way he did from his hobbits but he wasn’t lying when he said he could afford to miss a meal or two.

Balin looks considerate but he agreed as Bilbo knew (hoped) he would. He was smart enough to agree where others might refuse out of some kindness.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Balin says shortly, giving him a nod before heading back to the company.

Bilbo can feel his stomach ache with hunger pains but he pushes away, he’s had worse than this and a few days without food won’t kill him. They’ll be out of Mirkwood in no time.

“Bilbo, come sit with us!”Fili calls, trying to bring some cheer back to the group, and Bilbo sighs once before plastering on his most pleasant expression.

A few days turn into a week and they start growing desperate. Hunger is slow killing but soon they’ll be out of the water as well and they’ve found no water in this forest so far.

“I could try and hunt something with my bow?” Kili offers, his voice raspy and dry like all of theirs are now. Bilbo has to hold back a wince every time he hears it.

Thorin over them all just once and his agreement comes far too easily than it once would.

It takes Kili nearly the entire day to get a kill and by the end of it even Ori’s trying to help, shooting anything he can with his slingshot as the rest of them remain as quiet as possible. In the end all they catch are two squirrels, skinny and lean but at least it’s something.

The squirrels they find taste foul and not even the hungriest among them can eat more than a bite. “Beorn did say the forest ruined everything it touched,” Bilbo says wishing he had water to wash out his mouth, unfortunately, this doesn’t warrant using his small stash even with the rotten taste stuck on his cracked tongue.

“We’re going to die here.” Gloin grumbles and Bilbo’s heart drops when no one speaks a word of protest.

They spend their days traveling as much as they can, covering miles and miles of ground but it seems like they never get anywhere before night sets in. At least the walking keeps their minds off of food though no one has the attitude to sing or make jokes. It’s just silence.

One day Bilbo realizes that the entire forest is silent. He doesn’t think he’s heard even a bird’s song once since they stepped inside. The thought makes him shiver and he mentions it to no one though Thorin always looks at him strangely, knowingly, when he thinks such things.

The nights are the most difficult of all. Their fires always seem to go out no matter how much kindling they use and it’s cold, far too cold when it’s not even autumn yet and the leaves haven’t changed. He’s not entirely sure how but Bilbo ends up sleeping next to Thorin and it’s no surprise when he wakes up too close to the dwarf-king, heat radiating between them, at least it’s no surprise after the first few times.

He blames the cold and he doesn’t have enough energy to bring it up so it remains between them.

He’s so cold and hungry that he doesn’t really care. It’s warmer to sleep with someone else than it is to freeze alone and even the rest of the company has paired up together, sleeping as close as they can.

The first time it happened Bilbo had waited until it was Thorin’s turn on watch before asking. He figured it’d be less embarrassing to be rejected if most of the company was already asleep. “Do you mind if I sleep here?” He’d said, resolutely looking anywhere but at Thorin and his face was flushed and he pretended it was from the cold and hoped to Yavanna that Thorin didn’t notice.

He may or may not have stuttered a bit when he said it.

Thorin looked him over, seriousness in those blue eyes of his and clearly Bilbo was a pitiful sight because he’d swore they softened because Thorin simply nodded and that had been enough for him. Bilbo brought his sleep roll over and immediately curled up into a ball. He’d been asleep in minutes and it had been better than it had been in days. He woke up only once that night and he’d been almost startled at Thorin’s strong arm wrapped around his middle but the dwarf had murmured something quietly to him and Bilbo fell back under sleep’s elusive spell.

The worst part of this all was privy to Bilbo alone. He could feel someone or something more likely, watching them. It wasn’t so bad during daylight but when the sun set the strange feeling was only amplified and Bilbo didn’t feel safe no matter what. Whatever it was was clever because he couldn’t smell anything and he never saw anything but he knew it was there.

Though they weren’t sure why the company remained tense and wary of it themselves and without a proper reason Thorin doubled up on everyone’s watching shifts.

“Forget hunger, we’re going to die of exhaustion,” Bofur complained but there was no heat to his words and even Thorin looked pained when it was his turn to watch.

“How much longer do you think we’ll be here?” Bilbo says sleepily as he leans against Thorin, head resting on his side, near his thigh. He’d been leaning on his shoulder, trying to talk to the dwarf as long as he could in an attempt to keep both of them awake but he’d started to drift off some time ago.

Thorin is quiet for a moment. “I do not know.” He admits and it sounds like it hurts him to say it, knowing Thorin it probably does. Bilbo tries to pat his shoulder comfortingly but he can’t quite reach from his position and he gives up after a moment, hand still waved in the air awkwardly before he remembers to set it down.

Hidden to all,Thorin smiles anyway.

“We’re gonna make it out of this,” Bilbo mutters, face half-buried in the warmth of Thorin’s jacket and yes, there’s absolutely no way he’d do this if he was fully awake but like everyone else, he’s just so bone-tired now. His words are mostly a yawn now, voice stolen by sleep but somewhere in his tired thoughts, he thinks Thorin needs to hear them. “You know that right? We’re stronger than some forest.”

The dwarf-king’s smile widens and if Bilbo’s eyes were open then he would only be able to describe the look Thorin is giving him as ‘fond.’ A hand settles in his hair and Thorin’s voice is quiet but warm as he says, “Go to sleep Halfling, you’re being foolish as usual.”

Thorin’s words are warm and his hand is warm and even the fire is still going so Bilbo does.

When he wakes up he is alone.

For a second he thinks it’s just Thorin and he nearly goes back to sleep because Thorin is almost always the first of them to rise but it’s too quiet, even in this place that has no sound and when he rolls over he sees that everyone is gone but their sleep rolls are still unpacked and their weapons lay in the same place as they did last night.

Bilbo struggles to his feet, looking frantically around the camp. It’s no use calling out for them, they’ve been kidnapped and one attempt at smelling for them tells him they’ve been gone a while. Besides he can barely differentiate from their smells, they all just smell ‘dwarf’ to him. Too much of stone and a little of earth. Not the clear-cut grass and apples smell of his hobbits.

He growls and the inhuman sound echoes around the camp, Bilbo barely remembers to pick up his ‘letter-opener’ before he storms off, stepping off the damn path for the first time in over a month.

At first, he’s lost because the smell of dwarf grows fainter and fainter the deeper he gets in the forest before sharply veering into nothing but a strange sticky smell that lingers everywhere but then Bilbo hears it.

Hissing sounds, vile whispers cling to the trees and though the sounds are faint they carry on the wind and Bilbo has no choice but to follow. The trail that leads him deeper into the woods is not smooth and somehow it’s darker still even though daylight has barely touched the ground, the most sinister sign is the cobwebs. The farther he goes more and more of them he sees until they touch every tree. There is a rotten, bitter smell in the air and when Bilbo dares to look down he sees dead animals everywhere. Some of them are eaten but most remain untouched, their limbs were frozen.

By now there is more than enough evidence of what the creatures are and Bilbo can only hope that it's only a single spider instead of a pack. Forest spiders are rarely clever like their larger and fiercer cousins but their poison is still severe and it doesn’t take much cleverness to kill something you’re three times the size of. Only a sharp set of fangs really.

Bilbo stumbles, his feet catching on a stray rock or root and he slips and catching himself with his hands. The hissing has abruptly stopped. “Of course, the element of surprise would have been nice but when do things go my way?”

He quickly makes his way to his feet and darts in a random direction, trying to be as fast yet silent as he possibly can.

“Where iss itt?”

“Where iss itt? We smell itsss dragon sssmell.”

“Where iss itt?”

Their voices are like nails on ice and he cannot help but shudder, some part of him wanting to flee.

He’s no coward.

Bilbo doubles back, certain that his friends are somewhere around here and there! The smell of stones, by the Green Lady he never thought he’d miss such a thing.

He travels to where the smell is the strongest, his feet light and quick as he does but Bilbo frowns when he gets there. The clearing is empty save for silken webs that are everywhere—the ground, the trees, they even block out the sun.

Wait.

Bilbo cranes his head and squints and then sighs, “You’re all in trees, oh of course they put you in trees.”

There are really only three possible options he has at this point because the spiders will be back soon and he isn’t particularly interested in seeing if they’ve evolved to be more attractive in the last thousand years or so. Option one) climb trees and cut down each dwarf individually—too slow of an option and he’s more likely to break his neck with the way his luck is turning out today. Option two) throw a sword into a tree in the attempts of cutting down a dwarf while hoping he doesn’t accidentally maim them—too unpredictable and besides the sword would most likely be stuck in the tree after he rescued the first dwarf. That of course leaves only option three.

He smiles.

The first fireball makes it halfway up the tree and for a second he panics thinking it’s going to set the tree on fire but it disappears in seconds. Bilbo steps a little farther back and concentrates harder, willing the fire to go where he wants it to. He pitches his hand back and almost lets out a shout in victory as it strikes at the top of the first dwarf’s web casing, dropping him down to the ground.

Bilbo manages to get two more free of their tree prisons before he hears the still-distant sound of silver-quick whispers. He runs over to where the first dwarf is and pulls his way through the webbing, burning it only slightly. He only has to pull off a layer or two to see it’s Kili. Good, good. Kili is quick and young, he’ll recover from the stun of the venom more quickly.

“Kili, lad get up. The others need your help.” Bilbo says and the dwarf groans, eyes fluttering open.

“B-Bilbo?”

“Kili.” He says more sharply and Kili concentrates harder, focusing on his face. “I need you to help free the others.”

“The spiders.” Kili breathes out, his mind rapidly catching up and Bilbo spares him a nod. Kili stumbles to his feet, swaying slightly but at least he can walk. “Where are they? They’re so quick, they just snuck upon us.”

Kili moves over to the dwarf closest to him and Bilbo hopes it’s someone young like Fili or Ori. They’ll recover better and sooner. “Don’t worry about the spiders, I’ll take care of them,” Bilbo says trying for confidence and Kili nods, barely looking at him as his smart fingers pull at the webbing.

“It’s a good thing they didn’t take you.” He mutters absently.

Bilbo shrugs. “I suppose so.”

He could hazard a guess at the reason why. They said he had a dragon smell after all and Bilbo couldn’t smell it, not even with how strong his nose was becoming lately but he didn’t doubt it. It certainly explains why most animals disliked him and why he made so many people aside from his hobbits uneasy.

“Bilbo?” Kili says, pausing in his task as the sound of the whispers grows closer and closer. The archer does shudder and Bilbo bits at his lip before making up his mind. Well, he said he’d take care of him after all.

“Whatever you hear you keep working at freeing the others, I mean it Kili,” Bilbo says and he hopes the stern look on his face is close to the one he sees Thorin giving his nephews all the time. It’s the only thing he’s seen that’s actually effective at making them listen.

Kili looks uncertain and Bilbo’s pointed look deepens and at last, he nods letting Bilbo leaves calling out, "Be careful or Uncle will have my head!" but he has no time to ponder that and Bilbo darts back into the woods and pushes thoughts of the company out his mind. They’re in Kili’s hands now and he has faith in the boy.

Mostly.

How’d that rhyme go? He’s sure he’s heard Paladin and Ruby say it once or twice before when they were playing skip. “Lazy Lob and crazy Cob are weaving webs to wind me, I am far more sweet than other meat but still they cannot find me!” He hollered, satisfied at the way his voice echoed around the forest.

He hears a loud snarl, the chattering of rows and rows of fangs and Bilbo moved farther and farther away from where the company was until the smell of stones and earth was distant.

“Here I am, naughty little fly, you are fat and lazy!” Bilbo yells, voice singing-song and perhaps he is enjoying this a bit more than he should but it’s been a month they’ve been lost in this damn forest, a month without anything but the beat of hunger and the smell of fear upon them and he is tired of feeling afraid, tired of feeling weak. “You cannot trap me, though you try!”

“In your cobwebs crazy.” He finishes in a much softer voice and he has only seconds to wait before two massive spiders burst from the dark gnarled trees, screeching loud and shrill. They are darker than night, darker than the taint of Mirkwood.

“Dragon.” One of them hisses out, its many eyes staring at him as it snarls.

“Dragon.” The other one repeats again, smashing its teeth as they circle him.

“Dragon,” Bilbo confirms with a vicious smile, eyes molten gold and he doesn’t wait, moving with impossible speed.

Flames burst out from his hands and the spiders' shriek, rearing back from the light as he snarls. It is red-hot in him and he cannot control it so he lashes it out, something dark in him purring with delight as the spiders' screech and snarl.

One of them is braver or more foolish than its kin because it strikes back, scraping Bilbo in the shoulder even as flames lick up and down its back. Bilbo lets out a shout, the stinger being pulled painfully from his shoulder as it falls away.

He reaches a hand up and touches it carefully, eyeing the still moving spider, but there’s no blood and Bilbo is suddenly very thankful of his scales. Stronger than near about anything.

The spider hisses and charges forward and Bilbo throws fire at it, but it dodges and charges again, forcing him to move back.

“I have neverrr had dragon beforrrre.” It says, dark eyes staring at him, and Bilbo grits his teeth when his back hits a tree. “Do you think you'll tasssste better than dwarffff? Littttle dragon?”

Bilbo growls, unable to control himself, and it laughs, high and cold and the spider is too close and it slashes again, stinger piercing Bilbo’s stomach and he gasps, all he can do is gasp, shoving at it with all his might with fire in his hands.

It howls flames on its belly and the howl is terrible and loud and Bilbo cannot think, cannot move as the venom races in his blood. His legs give out and he slides down to the cold forest floor as the spider twists and turns, trying to get the fire away from it.

It snarls and snaps its teeth at him, enraged and Bilbo blinks, mind sluggish as he struggles to close his eyes, no desire to have that as his last sight. At least he saved the company, gave them some time, and killed or knocked out one of the spiders…at least he did that much.

What is that?

Bilbo frowns, something loud and piercing and yet oddly familiar ringing clear in the air but he cannot guess what it is, he is so tired and sleep is right there.

There is another strange sound and he hears something scream and then there is nothing but black.

Chapter Text

Bilbo wakes up in an unfamiliar room, a dull throbbing running down his stomach but it is not the unbearable pain from before and his mind is no longer slow and sluggish. He looks down and finds bandages wrapped tightly around his stomach, instead of his raggedy shirt there is a new one folded at the end of the large bed. Slowly he makes his way to his feet and glances about the room.

It's ornately decorated and the style is familiar, it appears almost elvish but something is strange about it. The room is fine, nicer than any he's been in months but he has his suspicions and when he lightly presses his head against the thick door he hears two heartbeats closely on the other side.

No matter how nice it is still a cage then and there are few who could give him a cage so pretty, this far east.

Bilbo sits and waits. His thoughts are twisted however, always focused on the fate of his friends. Had they made it out of the forest? Or were they lost to the spider or his capturers? Had they healed from the venom alright? Was anyone injured? Would they come for him? Did he want them to?

To his surprise, there is a knock on the door before a tall elf stepped in. The second part wasn't so surprising but the smile on the elf's face was. "I see you're awake, Laerin--your healer will be pleased."

Bilbo blinks at him. "Hello?" He'd expected something a bit more terrifying honestly. Even if the room was nice you usually didn't smile at prisoners you found dying in your woods. "Are you the king then?" He's most likely not. He imagines Thranduil wouldn't be smiling at him so.

"I am Legolas." The elf says with some pride in his voice though that cheeky grin still remains, taking away most of it."The king is my father."

Of course, he is.

Bilbo bows slightly, hobbit manners finally kicking back in. "I am Bilbo Baggins."

"The dragon-kin?" Legolas says with curiosity in his voice and it is not a question so much as a statement. Bilbo wonders how he knows but dismisses it. The elves could have found out any number of ways from his scales to being told themself. Some knew that the name Bilbo belonging to a small hobbitsh being belonged to that of the dragon-kin. Though most of those belonged to members of the white council.

"Yes, that's me."

Unconsciously Legolas sits down beside him, long legs folding underneath him. "I've heard many tales about you Bilbo Baggins, I was wondering what you could tell me is true of them."

Bilbo considers it and then agrees. At the least, it'll keep him from his worries.

Legolas is the only visitor he has for a week and a half. They trade stories every day and though Bilbo is mostly unwilling at first that quickly fades away when the boredom comes. Days later he makes his first request. "I know you cannot tell me much but can you tell me of my friends, if they are well?"

The elf looks him over carefully, sees the barely contained worry in his eyes, and agrees that he will try to find out information. "I will try my hardest though I can make no promises, my friend."

Bilbo's smile is more true when he speaks of the Shire and his laugh is real when Legolas talks of his first scouting mission and how his friends scared him.

Legolas' report is short but it's the best thing he's heard in days: "Your friends are well and in good health. I've heard from the guards that they ask about you frequently."

"Really?" He says slightly surprised but somehow pleased. He's considered them friends for a while but he wasn't sure of their own feelings towards him.

"Truly," Legolas reassures looking amused. "One of them was especially vocal that you were not to be harmed."

Nearly two weeks pass and Legolas' face is grim when he appears that day. "Bad news?" Bilbo says fearing for his friends. He has no means to protect them here.

"My father wishes to see you." He says words rushed out in a quiet tone.

Bilbo stills and Legolas sees something in his eyes that makes him speak again. "He will not harm you, Bilbo. He only wants to speak to you."

"There have been many men and elves alike who have wished to 'only' speak to me who have had other intentions." He snaps out in frustration and then sighs seeing the stung look on Legolas' face. For all the elf is old he is still so young at the same time.

"Forgive me, I should not take my worry out on you so." Legolas is the only friend he has here, the only kindly face he sees.

A calloused hand rests comfortingly on his shoulder and that familiar smile is back on the elf's face. "It is already forgiven."

Bilbo leans into the touch just for a moment and then moves away. "When is he coming?" If he has time he can steel himself and can push away all his worries.

There is the sound of footsteps from outside just as Legolas says in a regretful voice. "Now."

The son of Oropher is slender and tall with hair as bright as any gold and eyes bluer than the Brandywine river. He's beautiful as all the elves Bilbo has ever met have been but there is something even more stunning about him. The sight should stop him short, take away his breath but there is something cold in his eyes, an impassiveness that is barely held back and there is ice in his smile.

Bilbo looks down at his hands even as Legolas stands striding toward him, affection clear on his face. "Father." he greets politely, warmth still evident and how can they be kin, from what he's seen Legolas is so carefree and Thranduil is held up by tension and tight strings.

"My son," Thranduil says his eyes lingering on him only for a moment before they turn to Bilbo. "And this must be the infamous dragon-kin ." Bilbo's hands tighten involuntarily into fists before he forces them to release. It's been a long time since he's heard that name fall from another's lips, there's no malice in the elf-king's tone but there might as well be. Only one with ill intentions would call another by a name he'd never wanted, a name he had cast away so long ago. It's meant as an insult, he is no longer a dragon but he is no man or hobbit. To those who call him that name, he is nothing.

The last time he'd been called dragon-kin it had been to decide his fate, he hopes that this time is not a repeat of the last.

"My lord," Bilbo mutters demurely, eyes still down. He cannot act like a fool, the elf-king is no less an enemy than any spider of Mirkwood. He's worse.

Thranduil stares at him and then says for Legolas to leave them alone, there is hesitation in his eyes but the prince leaves trying to cast him a reassuring look. Bilbo wonders if he is still so confident that his father will not harm him.

"Tell me how are your injuries fairing?" Thranduil inquires and Bilbo can't help but look up almost surprised by the question before he scolds himself. What did he expect for the King to brashly question him about the company and Thorin? "When we found you they were quite severe."

"Oh?"

"Yes, in fact, I'm certain you'd be dead if my elves had not found you when they did." If it's a reminder that he owes Thranduil or his elves something then it's most definitely not the most subtle of ones.

Bilbo breaks his stare first. "I give them my thanks then for my recovery and that of my company." that may have not been the most subtle of remarks either.

Thranduil merely smiles and Bilbo would like to say there is something sharp about it, but he can find nothing. "I shall come back tomorrow to see your health does not fail." the elf-king states and then retreats from the room, the door locking behind him.

He blinks shocked by the sudden departure and then groans, falling back against the cursedly soft bed. "I hate elves." Only an elf would mean to draw this out, to be so content to wait as Bilbo frets about his company. He'd almost prefer being tortured then waiting in some tiny room despite Legolas' visits.

True to his bloody word Thranduil visits the next day and the day after that, always polite and calm, looking over at Bilbo's wrapped wounds with a critical eye. By the fourth day, the elf's attentions have made him antsy and Bilbo barely contains a growl in irritation even as he gets more nervous for news of the company. Legolas swears his father has no ulterior moves, only wishes to see that his 'guest' heals safely but they both know that's a lie.

"You do realize how necessary this is, don't you? We both know my wounds are quite well healed and will stay that way." Bilbo snaps some days later when he can no longer take the King's piercing eyes. At first, he feared how long it would be before he let something of the company slip but it had only taken him a few hours to calm down and come to his senses.

There were little secrets to be had of their company and of course Thranduil would know of their purpose, why else would the line of Durin be heading back to the Lonely Mountains after so long of time? The only question Bilbo had was why Thranduil continued this charade, why he played with him so.

What was the point of it?

"It appears they are." Thranduil acknowledges still with that composed stare, that smugness hiding inside. He knows Bilbo is going to break under all of this worry and frustration.

Bilbo considers it for a moment and then decides to fling politeness away, though he won't be brash like some foolish dwarf, like Thorin would be and damn it all even the thought of Thorin yelling threats at the elf-king is enough to make him feel fond. "Why are you here, my lord?"

Thranduil raises an eyebrow. "I was not aware my presence bothered you so, dragon-kin." oh the bastard was very aware of how much his presence 'bothered' him.

He has to be careful about this, no matter how desperate he's feeling, how worried he is for Thorin--for the company he can't let his emotions take control of him. "I am nothing so special and not a dwarf so even if there were any secrets belonging to my company they would not be told to me."

"Are you saying your company has no secrets?"

Bilbo snorts before he can help himself. "There's only one secret that could be worth knowing and we both know there's only one reason Thorin would dare go near Mirkwood." He realizes how blunt he's speaking and then hastily adds, "My lord."

Don't be short-tempered Bilbo chides himself.

Thranduil smiles thinly. "I am aware of the dwarf-king's less than positive opinion of me but what is yours?" The question is unexpected and it leaves Bilbo in all his anger pulled up short. He's not even sure what he thinks about the elf-king. He had not killed them, had saved them in fact but that could be for his own benefit. The dwarves would not take kindly to the line of Durin being squashed out when the elf-king could have helped and wasn't Thorin related to a king? Dain?

"My lord, why would you care about my opinion?"

"You are the dragon-kin, surely there must be something special about you." the 'or why else are you still living' is silent and unnecessary but Bilbo hears it clear as day nonetheless. He thinks if Thranduil had been sitting with the white council on his judgment day...well perhaps he wouldn't be here now.

"I cannot say I have formed an opinion of you either way," Bilbo says at last, words haltingly hesitant.

In truth, Bilbo knew nothing of the elf that wasn't biased. Thorin's opinion of him had been clearly stated many times on their quest and less than positive was a massive understatement. Legolas spoke of only positive things, colored by a child's loving eyes towards a parent though it was clear that Legolas disagreed with him at times.

Thranduil's smile is still cold and there is something strange flickering in his eyes but Bilbo disregards it, the king will think whatever he will think, Bilbo's opinions be damned. He leaves soon after and as if he was waiting Legolas appears only minutes later.

"My father came by?" Legolas says in sympathy, after the first few days he realized that Bilbo always looked so disgruntled only after his father visited.

"Aye," Bilbo says with a bitter smile. "And I am still wandering in the dark as towards what he wants." He hates this, hates being played with like he's a mouse and Thranduil is a large cat.

Legolas winces slightly but Bilbo comes out of his sulk to allow him to sit down next to him. "Have you any word of my friends?"

Legolas gives him a quick grin before his face becomes cheeky as he solemnly states, "They are faring well and the guards of the dungeon all complain about how much of a nuisance they are, especially the younger ones."

"Good." Bilbo's smile becomes sweeter, fond.

Thranduil has not treated them wrong in fact he hasn't even questioned any of them but Thorin; they are all given food and water and in some regards, they are better off then they were before the elves found them but they're still trapped in a dungeon and haven't spoken to the others, to their kin in weeks. It'll be driving them all crazy Bilbo thinks, especially Kili and Fili with as close as they are.

Bilbo sighs and then shakes his head slightly. He'll make sure they can see each other soon, somehow. He turns his attention back to the prince and starts in on a story about the time Luca Proudfoot drank so much moonshine he fell asleep in farmer Maggot (Sr)'s stable and woke up right next to the backside of a horse. Legolas laughs and shares his own story.

Though he cannot hide his...discomfort of Thranduil, he finds that's not the case at all with Legolas. The elf is bright and eager, ready for tales of the world, and is quite possibly the closest Bilbo has to a friend in this place.

Legolas likes his tales of dragons best and seemed interested if Bilbo possessed any residual 'skills' but respectfully stopped asking after Bilbo said that regretfully no, all he'd kept was the long lifespan and the healing.

"Do you think the White council would let someone who could breathe fire out into the world?" Bilbo points out wryly and Legolas laughs, shaking his head.

"If the white council thinks you are at all harmless then they are bigger fools then I thought." The elf-king's voice cuts in and Legolas catches the way Bilbo stills before his spine stands straight. Legolas clasps his friend comfortingly on the shoulder and leaves without prompting.

"My lord, come to torment me further?" Bilbo says before he can help himself and then decides he doesn't quite care anymore.

For a second he'd swear that Thranduil looks almost amused but it's gone in a flash if it was ever there at all and there is only that familiar blankness. "No, dragon-kin I have only come to ask you a question and to make sure that you have not harmed yourself sometime in the night."

Bilbo flushes slightly at the jab, really how helpless do these elves think he is, and then frowns, "Well what is it then...my lord?"

"I take it that Thorin Oakenshield has informed you of the events of so many years ago?" Bilbo blinks in confusion but quickly realizes what he's talking about. Really, there's only one thing it can be.

"You mean when you abandoned the dwarves of Erebor?" Bilbo says coolly, some protective urge rising up in him. "I've been informed yes."

Thranduil's smile is as sharp as a sting's blade and it's gone in the blink of an eye. "Do you think I made the right decision?"

"What?"

"With your keen ears, I'd think repeating myself is a waste of time, dragon-kin."

"No, I heard you well enough. I just don't understand. Why are you asking me? I've got nothing to do with it."

"Perhaps that is the point. You've been a guest here for a long time, long enough for my son to form an opinion of you and he seems to think you've picked up some wisdom in your years.

Bilbo raises an eyebrow. "Aye? Is my wisdom so valued to a king? I'm only the dragon-kin after all." Infamous for being different, for being alive when most think he should have been killed.

If there is a plot here, and he's sure there is--he's rarely seen an elf do anything without thinking it out twice first, then he can't tell what it is. "If I answer your question will you leave me alone?"

Thranduil says nothing, only watches him, expression as unreadable as ever and Bilbo gives up, exhausted in more ways than one. Politeness has run it's end, caution too. If he's being honest then it's been a lost cause since the moment he decided on it. His feelings towards the company are too deep to play games against a man as dangerous as the elf-king could be. They make him feel too irrational, too desperate.

"It was for the good of your people and perhaps that's what I can see that Thorin is so blind against." Thorin, with all his years of grief and anger bottled up so tightly that it was wrapped around the core of him, had stained him in a way that couldn't be fixed, would never be able to understand. He'd never be able to think like an elf when a dwarf would have charged in and died with honor. Mirkwood could have given all of its best men and all of its worst but in the end, there would be only more death.

"Smaug was young then but strong, there was little you could have done but sent your men off to the slaughter," Bilbo says quietly, the words feeling strange in his mouth. "But just because it was the best decision for your people does not mean it was the right one."

"Do you think your beloved dwarf would have done the same?" Thranduils says mouth twisting into an ugly smirk, arrogance clear in his eyes, and Bilbo resists snarling. "It's easy to believe such things dragon-kin when they will never happen."

"The bond between elves and dwarves wasn't so bad then. He would have done the same if asked if it had been his decision to make." Bilbo snaps. "It seems dwarves believe in honor where elves do not!" 

But he knows, and Thranduil must know that the dwarves would have helped, would have at least sent some kind of aid.

Legolas enters the room just as his father leaves, spine painstakingly stiff and without a doubt burning with cold fury, to find Bilbo sitting on the bed, hands pressed tightly against his eyes and muttering curses to himself. "Are you alright Bilbo?" he knows how much the visits with his father tire out the smaller being.

Bilbo sighs and then finally sits up. "Merely cursing my foolish tongue. I fear I have said things I shouldn't." Things he should have regretted saying but didn't.

At Legolas' curious look Bilbo explains in a hushed tone his conversation with the elf-king. By the end of it, even Legolas looks worried though he tries to hide it. "It's possible he reacted in anger only because of his own feelings," Legolas says in a strange sort of voice that makes Bilbo frown and presses him for further answers.

"You said it yours did you not my friend? It was the right decision for our people, but in the end, we failed our allies. Who is to say that he himself does not feel guilty for his actions? Or at least regretful that we did not help in some way even if we did not fight."

Bilbo scoffs.

There's a brief awkward silence for a moment and Bilbo wonders if he's overstepped but then Legolas smiles one of his cheerful grins again and starts to tell him about the upcoming celebration.

As Legolas talks of the feast, Bilbo realizes it's the perfect time to somehow escape. With most of the elves at the feast or helping set up for it, there will be" limited guards and presumably enough noise to cover any sounds they make, it could be hours before anyone realizes they've escaped at all.

He resists smiling and pays more close attention to what his young friend says.

There is three days until the feast is supposed to happen and Bilbo has nearly everything planned out which doesn't mean that he doesn't stop spending nearly every single spare moment going through the plan in his head. The only issue is how much time it'll take him to find the others though thanks to his sense of smell it shouldn't take too long. He can only hope that being delayed won't give anyone time to notice them.

The elf-king makes one final visit the night before the feast and for one heart-stopping long second he's afraid that he's somehow found out though Bilbo has told no one, not even Legolas.

Thranduil merely looks him over and then sits in his customary chair. It's the first time he's seen him since he was asked 'the' question and if the elf had been angry then it doesn't show now. "I thought you said you'd leave me alone, my lord," Bilbo says pointedly because he can't think of much else to say, too nervous to really think.

"We made no mention of how long that would last and it's been days dragon-kin, surely I have indeed 'left you alone'."

"I suppose so," Bilbo says grudgingly. "What is it you want of me now then, my lord?"

"Only one final question." The way he says final makes Bilbo tense but he forces himself to relax, to not tap his fingers or look away. Those are beginner's mistakes.

Bilbo bites his tongue and waits.

He doesn't have to wait long.

"You and I both know that the Lonely mountain is not so lonely." The elf-king reads the brief glimpse of surprise in his eyes correctly and continues on. "You've been nervous all your stay and unlike most, you do not look out the window, perhaps because you are afraid of the mountain that lies ahead or the beast inside it."

"Smaug is not dead." Bilbo agrees uncomfortable the truth of it feels like it should burn him. No fires rose from the stolen king of Erebor nor any smoke but the smell of dragon was thick and spread out for miles.

Death clung to it.

He'd known from the beginning of the quest and he thinks Gandalf must have too or the wizard would not have always looked so grim, that it was very unlikely Smaug was dead. By all reports, the dragon wasn't so old, closer to a youngling in fact than anything and he'd been strong. The dwarves it seems simply do not care--alive or dead Erebor will belong to them once again.

It takes a lot to kill a dragon Bilbo thinks with some weary humor.

"You think fourteen can kill what entire armies could not?" Thranduil raising an eyebrow and the weight of that stare should shake him but Bilbo has met worse things than an elf-king, faced down his death more than once to crumble so easily.

He thinks of the company, of Thorin.

"Probably not," he admits.

"But still you would try?"

Bilbo shrugs. "It is their home, it belongs to them as surely as my home now belongs to me. If they are willing to try to take it back what can I do but help them?"

"What is in it for you?" Thranduil says with the suspicion of someone who has lived for a very long time and seen many unpleasant things. "Though your true form is locked away does the craving for gold remain strong?"

It does. It probably always will the same way he will always long for the sky, how he'll always feel just a little uncomfortable in his body because it doesn't belong to him but that doesn't mean Thranduil has to know this.

"They are my friends and if it makes them happy I would do all I can to insure it." It's possible he may strive more for the happiness of one specific dwarf and if so that thought belongs only to him.

"I cannot let you leave, dragon-kin. Your company will remain here until this mad idea has left Thorin Oakenshield's thick head." Thranduil says, at last, no emotion in his voice, not that there ever is.

"You'll be stuck with him until you die then." Bilbo points out dryly. "He will never give up and why should he? If it was your people, your home would you not do the same if it belonged to you?"

"The dragon sleeps and your companions can only awaken it, there is no hope for them to win and if you were not so weighed down by your feelings for them you would see it." The elf-king looks considerate. "It's strange, I did not think such a...being like yourself would have feelings so deep for dwarves."

Bilbo refuses to look away. "I think my lord, you suspected I had no feelings at all." Some think him still a beast, some probably always will. He knows Saruman's sentiments about him haven't changed.

The lithe form of the elf-king stood to leave and Bilbo finally let his words escape him, one last warning--a gift to the elf who made him uncomfortable but had saved them. "Dragons sleep long and deeply but he will wake one day sooner or later and he will do what he has done to the dwarves to your land."

Bilbo smiles at his back. "Take my word for it, my lord. Dragons do not stop until they are dead."

Chapter Text

It's almost ridiculously easy to escape now that he has a plan and it's even easier on the night of the elf-king's feast to burn away the lock on his door. He's not even going to pretend he doesn't get some satisfaction at the little pile of molten metal on the floor. The two elven guards who are usually there are gone as expected and he's so determined to leave that he almost misses the small item placed right next to the door that's somehow remained unseen by anyone passing by. Bilbo crouches down and picks up the keys quickly realizing that they must be the dungeon ones.

Affection rushes over him because there's only one person who could have done this and he wonders what Thorin would think of owing an elf much less Thranduil's son, a hand in his rescue. Involuntarily Bilbo pictures his face and has to bite down hard on his lip to stop from bursting into laughter.

Barely holding it back he makes his way down the long hallways as noticeable as a ghost, fading seamlessly into the shadows.

The one thing he hadn't considered is how frustrating tracking could be. The smell of earth and stone was faint, fading in places altogether before appearing randomly somewhere else. Adding to that fact was that it had been a month since the dwarves had been anywhere not in the dungeons and the trail was impossibly hard to keep following.

Eventually, he catches the scent and keeps it after what feels like hours of wasted time before making his way down towards the dungeons. Always alert for the sound of footsteps or the thud of a heartbeat. He doesn't want to hurt anyone but he's not naive enough to believe that attacking someone isn't the fastest way of keeping them quiet.

Never has he been more grateful for his senses as he stares down at the twisted labyrinth of hallways and paths. If he was a regular hobbit there's no doubt it would take him days, maybe even weeks to find his friends. For a minute it almost overwhelms him as he gets reacquainted with his friends' familiar smells but he adjusts and moves farther into the dark.

He finds the Ri brothers first and he laughs quietly at the scene he sees. Ori is sitting on the ground, tongue sticking out in concentration as he writes in his journal. Standing above him Dori is berating his other brother for something, Nori looking everywhere else in desperation or perhaps boredom.

At his laugh Nori's eyes land on him and Bilbo almost freezes before remembering that he's still hidden in the shadows, he holds up a hand and stops Dori in the middle of his tirade. "Who's there?" The thief demands to know, speaking in a quiet voice but no less dangerous for it.

Bilbo considers it and then steps forward smiling. "Is that how you greet lost friends?"

"Bilbo!" Ori says excitedly in a too-loud voice and then his eyes widen and he covers his mouth. Dori just looks shocked.

Nori raises an eyebrow. "Where have you been after all this time?"

He moves closer to the door, fiddling with the keys and trying to figure out which one belongs to this cell. It'd help if there were labels or numbers at least but of course, Thranduil's guards wouldn't make it easy. "In better sleeping arrangements then you."

The door finally creaks open and the brothers quickly scramble out of the cell. "You got the keys?" Ori says in awe and even Dori gives him a respectful, grateful nod.

Nori stares at him, something strange and suspicious in his eyes before he smirks. "It appears you're more of a burglar than we thought, aye halfling?"

Bilbo gives half the keys to Ori and instructs Nori and Dori to watch out for any oncoming guards sure that they'll be able to handle themselves even with their weapons missing. He's surprised when they agree (especially Nori) without complaint but chalks it up to him rescuing them.

He goes down a different hallway following what sounds like angry khuzdul. Of course, it leads to Bofur and his kin. Their reactions to him are no less entertaining than that of the Ri brothers though Bilbo feels almost bad when Bofur hugs him and then pats him companionably on the back saying they feared the worst for him; guilt creeps in.

He should have tried to find a way to escape sooner or tried to send a message through Legolas, he should have done more--no, he had his reasons for waiting and to do so when nearly all of Thranduil's kingdom wasn't busy would have been rash and irresponsible.

"If you go that way you'll meet up with Ori, he should have a few of the others with him," Bilbo says gesturing towards the way he came from. Bombur nods and then says in a quiet voice, "Thorin should be south of that hallway over there."

"We've heard him shoutin' a few times so he's somewhere close," Bofur adds and then a mischievous smile appears on his face. "Or he's just yellin' loud enough that we can hear him, ye've got fair odds for both options really."

Tension bubbles up in his stomach as he wanders closer to where Thorin is--and he can pick out scent now and it's strange how much his stands out from the others, they're all dwarves after all. Of course, Thorin would stand out, he likes being difficult and unique after all.

Beneath the nerves is something else, some desperate need to make sure their esteemed leader is alright. The last time he saw Thorin was the night the spiders attacked and he doesn't remember seeing Thorin wrapped in spider silk.

It's only Thorin Bilbo thinks, reassuring himself, and then he's down the last hallway and even from this distance, he can see a lone figure sitting in the last cell. Bilbo moves faster at the sight and he almost yelps when those damn eyes suddenly lookup. It's strange now to have the heated weight of them on him for the first time in a month but it's comforting at the same time; surely if he was injured the dwarf wouldn't be looking so severe.

"Who's there?" This isn't Nori's quiet threat but a raspy growl that is all Thorin. It is easily the single best sound he's heard in near a month.

Bilbo thinks of his teasing replies to both Nori and Bofur and then discards it. Cheekiness would feel odd right now. He decides silence is probably the best option and steps into the light. The only reason he sees Thorin's eyes widen is because he can't quite look away from his face. A strange look passes over his face, something if Thorin was anyone else Bilbo would name as desperation, someone searching for a sign of reassurance.

"Burglar?" Thorin makes his way to his feet, moving closer to the bars of the cell and it's like some kind of spell comes over him because before he knows it Bilbo's right in front of him, close enough to touch if he leaned in just that last bit.

"Hello," Bilbo says quietly lamely but Thorin doesn't care looking over him with a critical eye as if he can't quite believe he's here.

Thorin laughs suddenly and there's a half-smile on his face, some of the tension leaving his frame though it's still pressed as close against the bars of the cell as he can be. "I'm relieved to find that you're alright." the dwarf admits in a low voice, never looking away.

Bilbo's brow furrows and before he can help himself, "Why wouldn't I be?"

The smile disappears replaced by a familiar scowl though it hasn't been directed at him in some time. "The elf." Thorin snarls out the words with a fierceness like they're poison and it'll kill him to keep it to himself.

Thranduil? How had Thorin even known he was here? Come to speak of it, how had the others known to ask the guards about him. Had they just assumed he was here or had Thranduil told them something and if so what?

The name dragon-kin echoes around in his head and he shudders, shaking it off. If Thranduil or his men had told them anything then Thorin or his company would not be looking at him so kindly, especially not Thorin.

Before he could give it more thought he was brought back to himself by a large hand settling on his shoulder, barely cupping his neck but enough to send warmth down his spine. Bilbo blinks and looks back up at Thorin who's gaze looks more concerned.

"Halfling?"

He forces himself to smile and merely shakes his head, "It was nothing. I was just thinking about something I found I didn't like."

They didn't know, they couldn't know.

Thorin studies him carefully and his eyes darken until the blue looks the color of night, the hand around his neck tightens slightly but not at all to a point of pain--a comforting weight for poor Bilbo who feels so off-center.

"Perhaps I could give you more pleasant thoughts." the king murmurs and then he leans in, pulling Bilbo closer at the same time. Lips pressed firmly against his and an entirely different kind of heat came over him, soaking into his bones and making his skin feel pleasantly tingling. Bilbo instinctively scrambled closer, pulling Thorin towards him, his mouth opening against the dwarf's. He'd never kissed anyone before but he learned fast, more eager when he found the taste of Thorin addictive and tried his hardest to chase him down, quickly turning the kiss bruising.

Thorin is gracious enough to allow him and despite the dizzying sensation, Bilbo finds he is still aware enough to notice the feel of the dwarf-king's strong hands stroking his neck, his thumb a steady presence against his rapidly beating pulse point.

"Bilbo? Uncle?" a voice sounding like Fili calls out from the other end of the hallway.

Oh!

Thorin pulls back first and Bilbo takes the opportunity to nip at his bottom lip, delighting at the surprised look that briefly comes over his face. Thorin isn’t the only one who could be sneaky, Bilbo thinks smugly even as he catches his breath.

Then he realizes what had just happened and his flushes redder than any of Roper Gamgee's prize tomatoes had ever been.

"I should probably unlock your door." Bilbo glances at Thorin and then quickly looks back down when he sees the rich amusement in his eyes, the dwarf smirking openly at him though there was nothing unkind about it.

Thorin doesn’t embrace him the way Bofur and Ori had but he hardly expects him too (though to be fair he hadn't been expecting a kiss either.) Thorin isn’t much for public affections from what he knew and he couldn't help but wonder what Fili had seen if he had seen anything at all. Instead the dwarf-king touches his neck one last time, smirk widening when Bilbo's pulse jumps again and then starts making his way down the hallway where Fili waits.

Bilbo follows after him and finds he is walking close enough where his arm keeps brushing up against Thorin's. He found he didn't mind that much at all. It was almost worth it to see the confused suspicion on Fili's face.

"Were you two just--?"

Thorin embraces his nephew tightly for a moment effectively cutting him off. Fili collapses into him without another word. When he pulls back, all of Thorin's humor has been erased, only his usual seriousness visible. "Where are the others?" he asks shortly.

"Dwarves," Bilbo mutters, rolling his eyes.

The rest of the company who had not seen him before greet him heartily and Bilbo is surprised to note that even Balin doesn't look so uncomfortable around him anymore. Matters turn over to escape plans which quickly turn into squabbling between them which after being separated for so long and then forced into making crucial escape plans is probably normal.

"I know of a way out," Bilbo says when he's gained their attention some minutes later. "Follow me."

They wouldn't like it, in fact, he was positive more than a few of them would protest if not all of them but it was the only plan he had and they'd already wasted so much time that they couldn't afford another.

Bilbo didn't like it when sometime later the dwarves remembered their missing weapons and insisted they needed them. He understood, really he did but images of hoards of elven guards surrounding them appeared in his head. Somehow he didn't think Thranduil would be so accommodating if he caught them trying to escape.

If Bilbo had the option of reliving one moment of their quest over and over again it would be without any question the moment the dwarves realized his escape plan involved barrels. He almost doubled over in laughter at the outrage on their faces, Fili and Kili being especially amusing because both of their mouths dropped open in surprise.

"Ye can't be serious laddie." Dwalin says looking deeply offended as most of them do which in Bilbo's opinion just makes the picture all the funnier.

Bilbo raises an eyebrow. "If you see another option Master Dwarf then please, by all means, tell me--that goes for all of you! Otherwise get in the bloody barrels, that feast isn't going to last all night."

They grumble and complain but eventually, Balin and Thorin convince them of the wisdom of following Bilbo's ingenious plan. By which he means Balin tried to convince them of the logic of it and Thorin got fed up and told them to get in the damn barrels while looking intimidating.

It was strange how much Bilbo had missed that.

Together Thorin and Bilbo help the others into the barrels until at last there is only one left. Thorin looks over at him and gestures towards it.

Bilbo frowns, "Go on and get in it already." Some part of his mind is screeching about wasted time and how at some point some is going to check on the prisoners and why does Thorin have to be so disagreeable? Stubborn dwarf!

Thorin scowls back in return. "And where will you go, burglar? I'll have a better chance of holding onto a barrel and not drowning against the current."

His shoulders slump and he sighs, "I suppose you're right." he says easily in agreement.

Thorin stares at him clearly expecting more of a fight. Bilbo gives him a sweet smile and moves ostensibly closer to the last barrel, bobbing carefully in the water.

Just a bit further and--the last thing Bilbo sees before he closes the lid on Thorin's barrel is his shocked expression.

Bilbo smirks at the barrel and the irritated string of khuzdul he can hear coming from within, he's most likely better off not knowing what it is.

His ears suddenly pick up the sound of footsteps and Bilbo pushes open the gates watching to make sure all of the barrels start to go safely down the river. The door behind him bursts open and he doesn't wait, diving into the water before they can do anything. The last sight he sees before the water blurs his vision is that of an immensely amused Legolas and more than one stunned guard.

He's never been the strongest of swimmers what with never having much need of it. As it concerns dragons and hobbits aren't fond of swimming (Except for those peculiar Brandybucks and a few squirrely Tooks.) But Bilbo thinks it should be easier to get back to the surface of the water than it is.

The river is nothing like the familiar Brandywine and his head comes above the water briefly before the river sinks it back down, not enough time to get enough air.

He struggles against the current, feeling the start of a burn in his lungs due to the lack of air and he starts panicking, scrambling to find some way to pull himself above the icy water. It's only by chance that the current push him in a different direction, slamming him into a barrel.

Bilbo's fingers claw against the wet wood and finally find purchase on the metal rim and he hoists himself up, breaking the surface and he gasps, desperate for air. The current shifts him back and forth and he keeps hoping that it won't be enough to crash into the rocks that lay on the sides of the river.

In retrospect, this is becoming a terrible plan.

He'll never be sure how long he floated against the current. All he knows is that by the end of it he's miserable and soaked to the bone, with water in his lungs and he has to cough every few minutes to try to get it out. He runs warmer than most but now his skin is covered with pinpricks of ice and he'd be shivering if he had the energy for it.

They leave Mirkwood when the moon is still high and bright, by the time the river starts to mellow out the beginnings of sunrise are coming up on the horizon. Bilbo is so tired he thinks he's somehow managed to fall asleep.

At some point, he must have because he doesn't remember seeing the shores of a town he'll know very shortly as Lake-Town. He'll wake up with his face smashed into the sand and thirteen angry dwarves shouting from barrels.

Chapter Text

They had been in Lake-Town for nearly three days before Bilbo decides that he can’t ignore the fact that Thorin is avoiding him and has been since the moment he pulled the dwarves out of the barrels. He hadn't noticed at first, too tired and cold to care and just assumed that the dwarf's brisk attitude was because of how he'd tricked him.

He definitely notices when after the Master generously offers them rooms, with two being assigned to each, Thorin looks at him with a strange expression on his face and then claims Balin as a roommate even though Balin and Dwalin are already sharing a room. Adding to that he can’t ignore how Thorin wouldn’t say a word to him at all but stared at him constantly, more than once he'd gone into a room only to have Thorin leave it.

If he was more naive he'd chalk it up to regret over the kiss in the dungeon, if Thorin's feelings didn't run as deep as his then he was wise enough to back off and leave it at that. It wasn't that though, you didn't look so...dark, you didn't look so angry at someone you had kissed even if you were having second thoughts. He'd never seen anyone look so wronged and he didn't even have a damn reason why.

Perhaps he is merely being paranoid, he wouldn't be the first to succumb to stress and let his mind find suspicious looks where there was none to be found. Maybe, Thorin is regretful about the kiss and Bilbo is too clueless to realize that.

That idea is hastily and fully shot down by all the pitying and confused looks everyone kept giving him.

Bilbo decides he needs to talk to someone after Dwalin of all people gave him a sympathetic look and then asks what he'd done to twist Thorin up so badly.

Hesitant to talk to Thorin--especially when he is in such a strange mood and concerned about his own reaction Bilbo decides to go to the next best source. Ordinarily he might feel a little bad about it but desperate times call for desperate measures.

There's only one tavern that he's seen his friends frequent so far and after checking his room Bilbo heads out for it, shuddering slightly from the colder weather. At least it's not snowing yet. The tavern is packed but he spots his friend quickly enough, the lone dwarf in a bar full of humans and surrounded by whispering. It's been days and Bilbo is still surprised by how strongly everyone's reacted to the company.

"Do you have a moment to talk?" Bilbo asks, sliding into the seat across from Kili. The archer grins at him, a warm meal in front of him and a tall mug of ale. "Dinner is always better with friends." he says cheerfully and some of the anxiety in Bilbo lessens for it.

They are silent as Bilbo struggles to phrase it and he just opens his mouth to speak when he is cut off. "Is this about our esteemed leader then?" Kili says prodding his chicken carefully, eyeing it with distrust.

"What? How'd you know?" Bilbo says in surprise. Was it that obvious? Of course it was, how much more obvious could a scowling dwarf-king be?

Kili shrugs, clever fingers pulling apart his food and discarding the burned bits. "Just did I suppose, he hasn't looked that angry in ages and honestly I figured you'd ask a few days ago."

"So you do know why he's angry at me?" Bilbo says slowly, drawing out the words and resisting the urge to wince, as far as he knows he's done nothing worth wincing for and he still has enough pride that he won't feel guilty for a thing he hasn't done.

"I wouldn't say he's angry per say but yes." He waits watching as Kili eats some more of his food before he speaks again.

"At first when we woke up in the damned tree-shagger's home we didn't notice you were missing, Thorin did though. We couldn't say anything of course. We didn't know if they were holding you somewhere else, if they'd killed you or if you'd gotten away. There wasn't a point in asking about the first two but if you had gotten away and we asked about you well...you wouldn't be free for much longer would you?"

"Right, I understand." Bilbo frowns. "I'm guessing that changed quickly?"

Kili smiles thinly, looking more serious than Bilbo's seen him in a long while. It's strange to see him so solemn when they have only a few days left before they met death head on. "Of course it did, we had the elves to deal with. A few days after we woke up they brought us into Thranduil's, well I suppose it'd be his throne room, wouldn't it? They brought us there and he started to question uncle, didn't even look at the rest of us. He kept making subtle little hints about you--how many of us were there, were all our members dwarves, and then he said he wondered how none of us had asked about our halfling, did he really mean so little to us?"

Bilbo held back a flare of irritation. Of course Thranduil had used him to anger Thorin, the elf-king would be delighted to use anything against him. But how was any of that his fault? Surely there was more to it then that. "What happened next?" He encourages.

"Uncle was furious of course, you're apart of the company after all and he was pretty much insulting Thorin's protection, but he was keeping calm until Thranduil threatened you, he said he'd never had a prisoner so small before and he'd have to make sure his guards were extra gentle or you could be damaged irrevocably." Kili shakes his head, disgust and anger in his eyes. "It made all of us angry if I'm being honest."

"I swear he never touched me, no one did." Bilbo says soothingly, surprised at how angry Kili looks. He'd never thought any of the company cared about him as much as he did for them--it had been years since someone had looked so irritated on his behalf. "I spent the entire time stuck in a tiny room and dying of boredom but they never hurt me."

Kili relaxes, back to his joyful self. "Good. We didn't think he would but you can never be sure of elves." A sentiment that Bilbo often thought himself. "It's strange but after that he never taunted us about you, it's like he was just trying to see if we'd respond though. I think he talked to uncle though, I heard from Bofur that he'd go down there to talk to Uncle all the time though and whenever he left Uncle was always furious, always yelling."

Bilbo's heart stutters, skipping a long beat before returning to its usual and he tries not to show the rising panic he felt, the cold flash of dread in his stomach. "Yelling what?"

Kili shrugs. "I don't know, I think you'd have to ask Uncle about that."

"Right." Bilbo says hollowly, but his mind is still stuck on Thranduil and Thorin and the thousand new terrible possibilities it brings with it. What did he tell him? He couldn't have told him. Would Thranduil have really used his biggest secret against him just to get a rise out of Thorin? Of course he would, the elf had no loyalty to him. He had no loyalty but to his people surely his behavior after Erebor was taken proved that--

"Don't look so worried." Kili cut in, unaware of all the awful thoughts he'd just interrupted though he noticed the hobbit looking a bit more pale than usual. "I know it's not your fault Uncle's ignoring you but you have to understand he's not used to caring about people who're not kin. It's probably scaring him so he's avoiding you."

"What?"

"Like I said Uncle's not used to caring about people, he's probably just freaked out by it and taking it out on you which is completely unfair of him. Give him a few more days and he'll be back to his lovable self."

What? Of course he and Kili weren't on the same page, they weren't even in the same book. He wished he had Kili's optimism, he'd taken Thorin's feelings issues in a second if it meant avoiding what he thought it was.

Bilbo blinks, stunned and then nods his head. "Right, right. Few days everything will be fine. Thank you for telling me all of this Kili." He made his way to his feet and put his jacket back on, bundling himself up for the chilly weather.

"You don't believe me do you?" Kili says, raising an eyebrow, a small smile playing on his face. "I can see it on your face."

He smiles back at him, unable to help it when it comes to Kili. "It's not that I don't believe you, it's just hard to believe--"

"You didn't see his face, you didn't see how angry he was when Thranduil mentioned your name. When he threatened you I thought he was going to lunge across the floor and kill him, guards be damned."

The young and the hopeful saw things differently than people as old and tired as Bilbo did, the world wasn't quite so bright or colorful. Kili had the qualities of being both young and hopeful and while in most cases Bilbo would applaud that talent, he couldn't. Not with this, not when he was so completely wrong.

"Goodbye Kili." Bilbo says instead of any of all the angry, panicky words he wants to say. It wouldn't be fair to direct that on poor Kili.

"I'll see you later?" Kili says phrasing it like a question, concern in his eager eyes and Bilbo nods his head once and leaves before he can say 'If Thorin doesn't kill or banish me first.'

He knows where Thorin is--back at the Master's home but instead he makes his way towards the edge of town, towards long hills that remind of the Shire only it's not nearly as beautiful. It lacks the vivid green, it lacks the sweet smell and even this far away from the mountain the grass is new, still dry from years of dead burnt grass on top of it.

Seeing it Bilbo is reminded that Smaug attacked more than the dwarves that day. It's strange how he never noticed that signs of a dragon linger long after the dragon itself has attacked. Even as Smaug sleeps, the smell of smoke and dragon sticks to the mountain and nearby towns, clings to the river, the death-scent is still clear in the ground.

And they'll be facing the cause of all that soon, within a week according to Balin. Bilbo snorts, shaking his head.

"I travel with fools who think they can steal a dragon's toy." He says in great amusement to himself. "Or am I a bigger fool for traveling with them regardless?" Somewhere with the Green Lady, Belladonna Baggins was cackling at him, he could hear it now.

Bilbo sits down at the top of a hill nearby town and lets himself relax, forcing his thoughts to stop. He couldn't control whatever happened with Thorin, whatever would be would happen and there was no use making himself sick panicking about it.

Absently sometime later when his mind was more calm and lazy he starts to entertain himself by tracking the heartbeat of a field mouse in a nearby nest. He wasn't going to hurt it but he did consider catching it for fun. He certainly had the speed, the skill for it now.

Before he could consider it in greater detail he hears the sound of someone behind him and he turns, eyes tracing the thick grass. "Who's there?" he calls out and listens closer. Only one heartbeat. Kili? No, it didn't smell like him. It smelt different than that, less of stone and more of air and sweat. Human then.

"Don't make me ask again." He says in a much less friendly tone when he hears no answer.

A man steps through the grass, he looks vaguely familiar with dark hair and eyes and a grim countenance though to be fair nearly all humans looked similar to him. He hadn't spent enough time around them for them not to.

The man looks surprised and then nods respectfully at him. "You're that halfling? The one traveling with the dwarves."

"Hobbit." He corrects with a scowl. "I am not half of anything." Normally he'd let the name go, after all how many times had he been called a halfling? But he was in a foul mood and his nerves were all but spread thin.

The stern looking man nods again and still Bilbo had the feeling that he'd met him before. "Hobbit then, my mistake. I've never met a hobbit before."

Bilbo sighs. "That's not surprising, we're not much for wandering anymore. But yes, the dwarves you mentioned are my friends." Though for how much longer he could not say. "My name is Bilbo Baggins."

"I am Bard." He says in return. Bilbo looks at him closer and notices the bow casually slung on his back and realization struck him.

"You're the bowman! I remember you now." Not all of Lake-town was pleased with their arrival, Bard being the most vocal and grave about it. He'd been angry as he exclaimed how they would wake the dragon and doom them all.

He frowns. "Were you hunting? I didn't mean to interrupt you."

"It's fine, master Baggins. I can always hunt later or tomorrow."

Bilbo studies him and in the end was not sure what he found that prompted him to say, "He'd wake up anyways."

Bard's eyes narrow, "What?"

"Smaug, I mean. He's not dead, just sleeping and he'll wake up no matter what." Bilbo says quietly, a plan coming to his mind as quick as dragonfire. "He'll go after Lake-Town eventually, maybe not while you're alive or your children but he will. Burn it straight to the ground as he did Dale."

"And you know so much about dragons that you can tell their mind, little one?" Bard says curiously, suspiciously and Bilbo can't deny that. He'd be suspicious too if someone was trying to endanger his home and then offer him advice at the same time.

Bilbo smiles grimly at him, "I know quite a good deal about dragons. It's why I'm trying to help you."

Bard sighs. "How can you help me? When your dwarves are set on destroying my home for a folly of a fool's dream?"

"You men don't know much about dragons aside from the tales your mothers tell you as nightmares, horror stories. Dragons are quick and strong but they have a weakness. Their scales are tough but can be pierced." Bilbo watches closely, making sure that Bard was listening before continuing. "Young dragons after they gather their hoard will reinforce their scales, they'll sleep in a bed of the toughest jewels of the finest gold and after many years it will harden and become like their skin."

"How does this help me?" Bard says and Bilbo was grateful that he was listening at all. Perhaps not all the Big-Folk were so damn bad.

"Smaug isn't too old--a few centuries but barely. There's a chance he could still have patches free of his metal armor and if you strike him there then you can kill him." Bilbo smiles at him, pointedly looking at the quiver strapped to his back. "I have heard that you are a fine archer, the best among men as far as I've been told. If we fail in stopping the dragon then I think there's a chance you could."

The man is quiet, too quiet and Bilbo fears he would discard everything he had said but then,"Why have you told me all this?"

Bilbo stands, brushing the stray pieces of grass off of his clothes. "You don't deserve to have your home burned to the ground a second time." especially not if it was his company's fault.

"I have never seen Dale, no man in Lake-Town has." Bard replies and Bilbo almost smiles as he makes his way back down the little hill, the Lonely mountain looming like an omen behind him.

"Just because you have never seen it does not mean it's not your home."

At least he'd done some good in the end if Thorin did kill him. With that happy thought Bilbo decided there was no use putting it off any longer, it was time to confront Thorin. He didn't see any of the company lingering in the Master's halls so he assumed they were either out at the tavern or in their rooms.

Bilbo stands in front of Thorin's door, hand poised to knock and he found he couldn't will himself to, his hand frozen in the air for minutes before he finally could move.

How could one knock sound so ominous? So final?

He could hear a heartbeat--slow and steady so he pushed open the door. Thorin sits on the edge of bed, cleaning his sword of course. He didn't look up when Bilbo came to stand near the bed. "Can I talk to you?"

"I'm not in the mood for talking, halfling and you wouldn't like any words of mine now."

Bilbo moves closer, unable to look away from the blade. "I don't care, I need to talk to you."

Thorin did look up, eyes dark and simmering with deadly anger. He stands, throwing his sword on the bed. "Do you then? Let's talk."

"What did Thranduil say to you?" Bilbo asks. "What did he tell you?" There was no use waiting, best to blunt.

"Why does it matter?" Thorin says smirking, biting clear in his tone. There was a coldness about him, so devoid of any warmth or affection that it felt as stinging as a slap to look at him. "Unless what he said is true."

"What did he say to you?" He says more sharply. "Tell me what he said!"

Thorin's back is tense, straight as the length of sword and possessing all of the danger. He looks furious and Bilbo thinks he should move away but he didn't, wouldn't. "So it is true." he says darkly. "You are a monster? a worm like Smaug?"

"I am nothing like Smaug!" He snaps. "Smaug is a killer, a greedy arrogant fool, a--"

"Dragon like you?"

Bilbo bit back a snarl. Control your temper you fool. "I was once. I am what I am now."

The dwarf-king moves closer, moving so quickly that it stuns Bilbo. He wonders if Thorin would hit him. "You admit it then. You have betrayed this company, betrayed our trusts!"

He glowers at him, unable to control how angry he felt, how hurt by his accusations. He'd lied but he had not betrayed them, not even at the beginning when they had doubted him.

This wasn't supposed to happen. No one was supposed to find out, especially not Thorin. "What was I supposed to do? Would you have accepted me if I'd told you the truth? You disregarded me when you thought I was a useless and fussy hobbit, how would you react if I said I was a dragon? Would you wait one night to kill me or two?"

"If I had known what you were then I never would have stepped through your door." Thorin scoffs with so much malice.

Bilbo growls quietly unable to help himself. Thorin's eyes narrow more at it, becoming blank. "What do you want me to say? I'm not sorry for my actions and I cannot take them back."

Thorin explodes, stepping closer again even though there was no space. "Your actions? This isn't about your actions! This is about you being what you are! This is about you being an honorless beast!"

"Do you think I chose this? Do you think I honestly chose any of this?" Bilbo snarls. He wonders if his eyes were gold, would Thorin fear it or merely take it as another sign that he was a beast?"To be cast down so small? To be helpless? No, Master Dwarf this was chosen for me and I am tired of being blamed for a decision I never made!"

This is worse than the white council. He knew his options then, either he'd live or die. He didn't know what would happen now. He didn't care what would happen now. Not when he felt so angry. He'd never expected Thorin to act so harshly especially when Balin had been so accepting in comparison.

"Will you kill me then?" Bilbo says out loud and Thorin is silent, shaking with black rage and hands balled into tight fists. "Do you think you can? If I am so evil as you say then surely I could kill you easily, king or no king."

"You dare threaten me, worm?" Thorin snarls back.

Bilbo laughs, short and humorless and he is suddenly so tired, so very tired. "Of course not, my king. Unlike you I don't threaten my friends."

Thorin looks over him and for a second Bilbo thinks he would be kind, he'd forgotten he was dealing with a dwarf. "You are no friend of mine." he says quietly, dismissively but he didn't have to be loud for his words to have impact.

Bilbo lowers his eyes and moves back, aware of how Thorin watched him like he was some kind of wild animal poised to attack the second he looked away. "You may not be my friend but I am yours, why else would I have saved your life and your companions' twice over now?"

"I cannot say for I do not know the workings of greedy beasts." Thorin says back coldly.

He shakes his head and turns to leave stopped by a hand grabbing tightly onto his shoulder and pushing him back until his head slammed against the wall. "What do you want now?" Bilbo hisses moving his head slightly so Thorin's arm wasn't digging into his throat. "Do you want to kill me now? Shall I help you, my king?" he tilts his head slightly, showing the expanse of his throat eyes daring even as Thorin's looked unreadable.

"Until I've decided what to do with you, you will not leave this place." Thorin says, face suddenly blank and perhaps that was more terrible than the anger Bilbo had faced so far. "If you do I will hunt you down and kill you."

Bilbo looks him in the eye but he could see no lie, only harsh truth so he nodded once. "Whatever pleases you, my king."

Thorin pulls his arm away and Bilbo jerks out of his grip and storms out of the room. He didn't stop until he was safe in his own room with the door locked.

'It appears I'm the bigger fool after all.' Bilbo thinks with a heavy heart, and fire still in his veins.

Chapter Text

Bilbo sleeps very little that night if he even sleeps at all, his mind running around in continuous circles about his fight with Thorin. What could he have done differently? Was there anything he could have said to make Thorin less angry? He knew he should have controlled his temper better, should not have been so defensive when he knew Thorin would be furious from the moment his secret was revealed.

But to have someone you thought fondly of, to have someone who saved your life and you saved theirs in return call you a beast, a monster, to claim that you had betrayed them when you were only trying to survive, trying to keep things as they were. It hurt and hurt had always made him lash out, some leftover dragon instinct of trying to get rid of the thing that caused him so much pain.

No, he decides Thorin would have reacted the same no matter what Bilbo had done or said. When a dwarf made up their mind they were unmoving as the stone they supposedly came from.

Feeling restless and despite Thorin's warning, Bilbo opens the window and slips outside, making his way up the ledges to the roof. If he is correct then Thorin would tell the others tomorrow and his fate would surely be decided. If it came to that then Bilbo didn't want the last thing he sees to be a gaudily decorated room. The others don’t notice his disappearance, not even Dwalin who is Bilbo's roommate for the time being, who most likely would have a room to himself by morning.

During the day Lake-town represents all the alienness Bilbo sees in the Big-Folk's cities. There are so many of them, constantly moving and he can barely understand it, never feeling the urge to rush as the Men did. But before morning broke, before then silent and still Lake-town could easily be his Shire. The start of the mountain's slope could be his hills and the forest lingering to the side was no longer Mirkwood but his own. Staring at it all and trying not to think of the morning Bilbo has never before been struck by such a feeling of homesickness.

Strange despite the trolls, despite the orcs, despite the bloody dragon Bilbo has never once thought he wouldn't return to it. How ironic was it that the blasted dwarves were going to be his downfall?

Bilbo sighs, the sound loud in the chilly air. The Thain would be displeased, would probably even find a way to bring him back only to kill him again. The one time he left its borders for more than a few days, for a place farther than Rivendell and he was going to return home dead.

He imagines Prim's sad eyes, imagines Paladin and his sisters' looking upset and thinks himself more a fool for it all.

What had he even come here for? Thinking now and Bilbo couldn't bring himself to remember why he'd left. Whatever...whoever it had been for certainly hadn't been worth it.

"If I survive this, survive Smaug then I shall want nothing more than to return home. Treasure and dwarves and wizards be damned." He says out loud but it feels little more than wishful thinking.

If, if, if.

He’s tired of his life being decided on the what if's of other people. He was no toy, no puppet to be played. He was a dragon! Or at least he had been once, long ago. Dragons were not cowards. Among their many flaws, greed the greatest of them, at least they could claim there had never been a cowardly dragon. And if tomorrow was his last day, if this was his last sunrise then Bilbo would meet it with his head held high, eyes proud, even if the day was cut short by Thorin's blade or Dwalin's axe.

Even the first time he died he had never begged for his life, he'd wanted a good death to the end and Bilbo the hobbit was no different in that regard than Bilbo the former dragon. Thinking so Bilbo creeps silently back into his room cursing the small flicker of fondness and amusement he feels at hearing Dwalin snore loudly.

Bilbo can pin down the exact moment Thorin feels the others because the previously noisy company, heard even from Bilbo's room some floors above has fallen deathly silent. If he concentrates Bilbo knew he'd be able to hear them but he chooses not to, what was the point when he'd hear every accusation repeated again shortly?

He spends what he assumes would be his last few moments writing out a set of letters even as he heard the dwarves break out into a burst of chatter downstairs. The first was to the Thain and said shortly that his death was his own doing and the dwarves were at no fault (he was hoping he could convince Balin to lie about it, say Bilbo had caught some illness or had been felled down by a wound in battle and died from an infection, yes that sounded decent enough.) Among other details Bilbo requested to be buried in the Shire, a request that he thought more than a few would find strange but well, he'd been a hobbit longer than he'd ever been a dragon. Towards the end, he adds at the bottom that Bag End was meant for Fosco and his family but all his possessions were to go to the Tooks, Sackville-Baggins be damned.

Though Bilbo had been fond of his Baggins', had even taken their last name it was a surprise to no one that their guardian had loved the Tooks best and most fiercely. For who else among them could match the heat of a dragon's heart? More than one hobbit still remembered how besotted he'd been with wild fearless Belladonna and then later more reserved Bungo.

Besides Bilbo muses setting aside that letter, he'd kill to see the outrage on Lobelia Sackville-Baggins' and her husband's face.

The next letter was addressed to Primula, asking if she'd please take Belladonna's things and if she did not desire them then to make sure they found a good home. Also, he added with a mischievous grin, to go on an adventure like all entirely unrespectable hobbits should do.

His grin fades away as he stares down soberly at the last letter. It was addressed to his first friend, the one who'd given him a chance he'd never wanted but had come to value more than anything and Bilbo wondered if his death would pain Gandalf greatly or even at all. They'd been friends for centuries but even now Bilbo would never claim to understand the ways of wizards, only that they were trouble.

This letter was different, not an arrangement of his final affairs but a letter of gratitude that Bilbo had never been able to describe verbally to anyone. How did you thank someone for your life without it falling flat?

He has just neatly folded Gandalf's letter and set it with the others when there is a knock on his door. Bilbo freezes for a moment, heart lurching still and then steels himself, rising to his feet and opening the door with only a slightly unsteady hand.

I am a dragon Bilbo thought, I will not bow to anyone.

Balin greets him on the other side. The older dwarf's face is unusually solemn. "The company would like you to come downstairs, lad." Bilbo nods, once, twice, and then pauses rushing back to the desk to grab his letters.

"Can I trust you to send these for me?" He says quietly avoiding the flash of pity he thinks he sees.

"Please," he says somewhat desperately when he thought Balin would refuse, mouth open to protest. "They're just--they're to the Shire."

Balin studies him and then nods. "Of course," he says kindly and then takes the letters, tucking it away safely.

Without another word between them, Bilbo is led downstairs and he remembers his promise to himself and keeps his head high even when he walks in and found the rest of the company staring at him.

Some of them--Gloin, Dori, Bombur, even dear Bofur look away quickly not meeting his eyes while others like Fili and Kili hold his gaze longer. At last, only two dwarves are staring at him and even Balin's blank gaze feels like a threat. There is nothing else to say about Thorin, the black heat of Thorin's rage, the way his mouth is twisted into a line of distaste said it all.

"My king," Bilbo says quietly and forces himself not to flinch when he met Thorin's eyes. Clearly the night has not quelled his anger.

Thorin does not seem to be looking at him but looking through him like Bilbo wasn't worth the effort. Well, of course, he wasn't, he was a monster after all. "Dragon, you've been brought forth with betraying this company."

Bilbo jerks back like he'd been struck. "I have not betrayed this company." he snaps out harshly before he can help himself and then forces himself to calm down when the company starts.

"Bilbo, your eyes." Ori stutters out, shocked.

"I have not betrayed this company, it has never been my intention to betray you, any of you." He says calmer but he fears the damage was done, he claimed to not be a beast and then lashed out like one the second Thorin says something hurtful.

If it had been anyone other than Thorin he thinks it wouldn't get under his skin so easily.

Thorin's low voice becomes more biting as he continues, practically a growl that would have made a lesser man shake. "You've betrayed our loyalties and took advantage of our trusts, my trust. You've taken us as fools, deceived us from the start."

"What would you have done if you were me?" Bilbo demands of him, determined not to have another outburst, to keep the anger and hurt he felt swirling around tightly to himself. "If your closest friend had come to you and asked that you go on this journey, even at risk to yourself?"

"You've committed a grievous offense and I do not easily forgive," Thorin says and some of that dark fury is gone, not faded but hidden away into the tightness of his shoulders, the unmoving countenance of his expression. Without it, Bilbo could see nothing but brutality in his eyes and he thought his heart was beating loud enough for the entire company to hear.

"My King." Is all Bilbo could say, the only words that could keep away his desperate pleas for understanding because Thorin didn’t want them. 

"This company has no need for a burglar we cannot trust." The rumble of Thorin's words had been comforting once but now they felt what they were; a death sentence. "Who is to say if you would not betray us to Smaug or try to kill us in our sleep for gold?"

Bilbo's throat burns--from Thorin's terrible insinuations, from holding back his stinging words, from holding back dragonfire--whatever the cause it burns regardless and he cannot speak, can only shake his head frantically.

"Do you have anything to say, dragon?" Thorin snarls and somehow falling from his lips dragon seems a worse name then monster or beast ever could be, a more dreadful moniker than dragon-kin had ever been.

"I saved your life once," Bilbo says quietly, pushing away his dry throat at last. "I saved your company from the spiders and I helped you escape from the elves."

Thorin raises an eyebrow, face cold and harsh and it did not matter that he was feet away, when it felt like he could strike Bilbo down from here. "Is this what dragons do? Do they bargain for their life instead of facing down punishment admirably? No, I should have known, none of your kind has honor, why should you be any different."

Bilbo's eyes harden, gold and sharp evident to all and he hears someone breathe out in fear for a second, the smell of it second to the bitter anger clouding the room. Dragons did not beg, not from the earth's children when they belonged so fully to the sky. "No, my King. I only mention it to show that I have never betrayed you, never even thought of it."

Thorin's jaw tightens at his words and before he could say his sentence, someone else spoke for the first time since Bilbo had stepped in the room. "Thorin, I know he has betrayed us but he speaks some truth," Balin says, not even looking at Bilbo but at his friend. "He has saved our lives at least twice now, it's bad luck to kill a man with a debt not repaid."

"Who knows how many times over  he has betrayed us?" Thorin replies hotly in return.

"We cannot afford a new burglar this far in our quest," Balin says evenly. "Our original reasons for needing him remain the same. If you desire to punish him then can it not wait until we have reclaimed Erebor?"

Thorin looks searchingly at Balin and then back at Bilbo. He refuses to look away, willing his eyes to show his determination. Keep him, kill him, he would not beg and he would not back down.

"Thorin--" Balin starts again but the dwarf-king holds up a hand and he falls silent.

"I have decided to allow you to live, for now, in return, you forfeit your share of the treasure," Thorin says, face blank and Bilbo's heart starts beating again, relieved despite himself but Thorin's next words sully some of his joy. "If you try to run away, you will be killed. If you betray us once more you will be killed."

"I'm not going anywhere," Bilbo says daringly.

Thorin looks at him one last time and then shakes his head in disgust. After some hesitation, the rest of the company followed him with only Balin remaining.

Bilbo sighs and sits down on the closest chair, rubbing his face tiredly. "I owe you my thanks," he says, the words muffled.

It was no doubt more accurate to say that he owed Balin his life.

Balin nods once, looking uncomfortable as he passes Bilbo's letters back to him. "I should go see if I can calm them down anymore, no doubt they have questions."

"He was really going to kill me, wasn't he?" Bilbo asks before he left, unable to help himself.

The old dwarf doesn’t look back at him but his spine is stiff straight and there is a tightness to the shape of it that hadn't been there a moment ago. "Just be thankful Master Baggins that he did not."

Despite himself, Bilbo's fingers shake pressed against his face and a terrible feeling of dread remains. Thorin has allowed him to live but this was far from over, far from being settled even in the wake of Smaug's shadow.

No, Bilbo thinks feeling more tired than he has all morning, this is only the beginning.

Chapter Text

Bilbo takes his things out of the room he shares with Dwalin and spends the rest of his time sleeping on the roof. Sleep matters little to him and he needs less than most. After the third time, the company went quiet when he walked into a room, no one even daring to look at him, he spends the rest of his time outside to enjoy the fresh air more than the awkward silence.

He isn't sure what to make of their reactions, no one has outright said something against him but they haven't confronted him either. If he has to place a bet then he'd say they were confused, but who knew where that confusion would settle into? Still, it stung, this coldness when only days before he'd had their friendship in his grasp.

The most damning has to be Kili and Fili who have come to a mutual decision to ignore him; the first few days they had only just left any room he came in but now they avoid him so much that he hasn't seen them in days, not even around a corner or by accident. The one time he had run across them they had looked at him as if he wasn't even there as if they could see straight through him and they'd knocked into his shoulders as they brushed past him, going on without saying anything.

It wasn't surprising, not really. They are Thorin's kin and his heirs at that, where else could their loyalties lie but with him? When he thinks about it he realizes most of the company was related to the Line of Durin in some way or another and can only shake his head, resigned.

So Bilbo does the only thing he can and adapts the way he always has. He avoids the dwarves as much as they avoid him and he says little if anything at all. The one concession he does not make concerned Thorin. He would keep his distance but he would not look away, not give first. Bilbo hasn't done anything wrong, has not betrayed them and he would not act like it especially to that stubborn dwarf.

He sleeps outside and eats outside and though it is lonely, almost painfully it is not terrible. He's done this before for many years when his Hobbits had undergone the Wandering Days--years and years spent traveling and surviving and really this wasn't so bad, only a few days longer.

He isn't completely alone, however. The people of Lake-town are friendly enough after they get used to him, though many of them have never seen a hobbit at all and had at first assumed he was simply a very strange dwarf.

Bilbo spends most of his time out and about and though he isn’t surprised to see Bard it is suspicious how often he'd run into the man until he realized it’s probably on purpose. He couldn't think of a reason why Bard would be so interested in speaking with him but considering the limited company he has he did not shy from it.

From that point on Bilbo often speaks with Bard, finding to his astonishment that the man is good company if a bit on the serious side--he hasn’t seen the man smile once. Bilbo's surprise deepens when after a few meetings Bard asks him if he is alright. Bilbo has recovered and says he'd fallen into a quarrel with his friends but it was only a little thing.

"Dwarves are stubborn." He says with faux cheer, taking a sip of his drink. "And I find I am unusually stubborn for a hobbit." That particular dwarf often makes him more stubborn, more prone to temper and Bilbo hates the loss of control as much as he relishes how much he enjoys squabbling with Thorin. But that was different, much more lighthearted than this grip of anger hanging over them, suffocating them.

Bard looks unconvinced but is wise enough to say nothing else about the subject only adding that he’s there if Bilbo needs him.

The company is nice but nothing compared to the closeness from the dwarves, of the familiarity of his hobbits, and at that moment, restless and waiting Bilbo just wanted to be done with the whole thing and go home.

He'd always been like that though; impatient when angry, restless with heat tracing his bones and no way to get rid of it. Something about anger makes it easier for him to feel like his true self, it loosens his control and Bilbo hates it but he can’t help it. If he let it get to him then it made the arrogant parts of him become louder than the senselessness, it makes him think what if, makes him think stupid things, dangerous things. If it makes him the monster that Thorin claims he is then Bilbo wouldn't deny it. Denial is foolish and pointless, so he's accepted his flaws. Accepted the occasional anger, the pride, and the greed and he had not let it rule him.

That is the part Bilbo has always told himself to remember. He’s never let it beat him.

Back in the Shire, he'd walk, miles and miles until he felt like he could breathe again, the smells and sounds and sights of his hobbits surrounding him. They helped ground him, remind him that he wasn't that person anymore. He had a purpose worth more than something as vile as greed, as tainting as anger.

He can’t walk now, the lands are unfamiliar and who knew if that damned dwarf-king would take it as a sign of him running away if he steps out of town but there are always other ways to fix his problem. He leaves at dawn, before anyone--even early rising Oin woke up and heads for the nearest hill, the same one on which he'd met Bard by chance.

Bilbo smiles and thinks about how furious he is, how hurt he is that Thorin's trust, the company's trust in him has broken so easily, so quickly and lashes out with his fist snapping a stocky tree in half, it falls clattering to the ground and something in his chest relaxes, the fire receding just a little bit. Something dangerous in his head purrs at the violence but Bilbo ignores it and focuses on hitting the next tree, the wood smashing into pieces.

By the time he returned when the sun was high and the town was bustling with people, more than a few trees had been destroyed but the heat was gone and Bilbo feels as close to normal as he thinks he can get.

It would have to do.

The house is most likely empty, with the dwarves gone off somewhere in town to get supplies and Bilbo creeps in to get some food, smiling politely at the servants. He doesn’t think he'd ever get used to that. Half the shire would sniff in disdain at the lack of propriety, what kind of host didn't serve his own guests? Certainly not a good one.

"Bilbo?"

Or not, clearly, today is just not meant for him. Bilbo turns, clutching his lunch of fried bread and meat like he thought they'd steal it. Ori stands behind him, looking nervous but determination clear in his eyes.

"Yes, Ori?" He says and then inwardly curses himself for the wariness even he could hear in his tone.

"Can I talk to you somewhere in private?" Ori asks politely but still firm.

Bilbo raises an eyebrow. "Are you sure your brother would appreciate that?" Dori had been one of the first to start avoiding him and somehow despite how kind the dwarf had been he couldn't see him going against what Thorin said, the truth of what Bilbo was.

Ori shrugs looking uneasy only for a moment. "I'm an adult now, I can make my own decisions about who my friends are and my brothers will just have to accept that." Neither of them bring up that as Head of the Ri Clan it was fully possible for Dori to have such a say in his brother's life.

Instead, he laughs quietly, not unkindly, and nods his head some part of him undeniably pleased at interacting with one of his former friends. It still doesn’t mean anything he reminds himself, squashing down whatever hopeful feelings were blooming up. People are unpredictable from dwarves to even his hobbits. Look at the Tooks for instance, he swears they were wilder then men and more stubborn than any dwarf he'd met so far.

"Lead the way then," Bilbo says and follows after him. They end up outside near a tall tree and where Ori sits down and Bilbo allowed himself to sprawl out, happy to feel the sun against his skin.

Ori looks amused mouth quirking up into a small smile. "You remind me of a house cat more than a dragon."

Bilbo shrugs lazily, "And yet I am a dragon."

"And yet you are." Ori agrees quietly, his good humor fading back away into that nervous determination.

He closes his eyes and waits, content to let his friend take his time. It could have been only a few minutes or an hour before he speaks again. "How?"

Bilbo sits up and stares at him, eyes gold and bright. "How what?" he says gently when Ori seems stunned by his eyes though he'd seen them before.

"It's just that I didn't think dragons could shapeshift, I've never heard of it before," Ori admits.

"They can't, as far as I know, whatever magic my kin possesses it's not that and even if they could I doubt they would, it's terribly uncomfortable to be outside of your skin," Bilbo says thinking of the first few years after he'd become this, how itchy his skin had felt, the wrongness of it all. He'd been even desperate enough to send a letter to Gandalf for help, but the wizard had regretfully informed him that he would just have to get used to it and it would disappear with time.

Ori looks considerate but mostly curious in a way only the young truly could. Bilbo smiles at him and then shakes his head. "We're just going to go in circles, I can explain it to you if you want?"

"Please?"

"Dragons weren't made the way everything else was. You were made by Aule while Men and Elves are the Children of Illuvatar. But Dragons? We were made from a man out of fire and magic and we were whatever he wanted, whatever we needed to be."

Ori keeps silent looking thoughtful and Bilbo takes that as a sign to continue. "There are many types of my kin, each different and deadly. My kin, the winged-dragons, the ones so feared came about during a battle where I fell. I'll spare you the boring details but we lost and I got injured by an elven arrow, strong enough to crack through my scales. Somehow I survived it even though it was stuck in my mouth and it caused terrible pain."

"What happened next?"

Bilbo's smile is wry. "The leader of us was called Ancalagon, some say the greatest of my kin and when he fell we fled if we hadn't then perhaps my kind would have died out there and Smaug would be nothing but a fairy tale. The elves and men were determined to get as many of us as they could and they shot at us until the very moment we disappeared from the sky, I got hit by another arrow and I fell."

"I thought I would die and I was fine with that, I had fought honorably enough after all. Instead, I woke up some days later. I couldn't move and because the arrows were still in me I couldn't heal, I was stuck slowly wasting away." He frowns, rarely did he think about the time that had led up to Gandalf finding him. It was still a miserable memory even this many years past.

"But you didn't waste away, did you?" Ori says cleverly and Bilbo's smile turns more sincere.

"No, I didn't but it was a close thing. Many days past and it was close to a month when he found me and I was more dead than alive, hanging by the tenacity of my kind."

"He?"

Mischief dances in gold eyes. "Why, Gandalf of course." Ori's eyes widen and his mouth drops open in shock but Bilbo smirks and shakes his head, continuing on.

"I woke up one day and there he was--this tall and old looking man. I looked at him and I would have thought him weak if the magic had not burned so clearly off of his skin. I snapped at him and tried to struggle to my feet but I fell again. I asked him what he wanted and he only looked at me with these infuriating eyes. I said it again and said if he did not answer I would eat the flesh from his bones."

"What did he do?" Ori asks curiously.

Bilbo laughs loud and mirthful, "He looked me up and down and said he doubted I'd be much up to eating anyone. It made me furious, of course, and I tried to ignore him after that but he kept talking to me, saying such odd things." He would share much but he doubts he'd ever tell anyone all of what Gandalf had said to him. Some things were best left kept as secrets. "I felt myself growing weaker and weaker and one day.”

Ori looks concerned, caught up in the tale as if it was happening now and not thousand of years in the past. "What happened, Bilbo?"

"And one day I asked him to kill me." Bilbo continues softly. "I told him I wanted an honorable death and what was more honorable for one of my kind then dying by the hands of one of the Istari, it was better than fading away by an arrow."

He can still remember Gandalf's eyes on him, the quiet concern as his breathing grew more labored and then shallower by the hour. You could have more than an honorable death, he had said, you could have an honorable life.

Bilbo had looked at him through lidded eyes, so tiny in comparison, smaller than one of his claws and said he doubted there was anything worthy for the likes of him. Kill me please he had said, begged for it.

"I fell asleep while we were arguing, he refused to kill me of course--the old fool and when I woke up I was like this." Bilbo shrugs gesturing at himself. He'd woken up and the world had instantly felt wrong as if all air had been taken away and every color had fled from him leaving him in a grey hold.

What did you do to me? Bilbo had snarled out and then immediately winced, hands--not his, never his, coming up to clutch at his throat and the wizard had remained silent, eyes full of pity for his state.

It hurt to walk, unused to the lack of two legs and though he could speak it well enough it hurt to talk, his throat used to harsher sounds, a larger mouth. He was cold all the time for the first weeks--body trying to figure out where all his fire had gone. He spent days falling and stumbling and struggling with a body that screamed it wasn't his.

He'd looked at Gandalf with accusing eyes and refused to speak to him for the rest of the journey to Imladris.

"Gandalf turned you into this?" Ori says in surprise and Bilbo thinks perhaps awe. He didn't blame him, the magic to turn a dragon of all things into something so insignificant was impressive.

"Yes and afterward we traveled to Imladris and the White Council tasked me with guarding the hobbits of the Shire and that's where I remained until your company and your king knocked on my door."

Even he wasn't sure if it had been Gandalf or some other power. Even the Istari couldn't make a thing change its shape so completely that it could never be undone, could it? Change it and bring it back from death because Bilbo had felt himself die on that day long ago.

Even after all that there were the months that it took to make it to Imladris, the way Bilbo had clung to his hatred because it was all he had left. He had hated Gandalf, wanted him dead for what he had done to him but the fool of a wizard hadn't cared.

And then they had arrived at Imladris, as lovely as it was now and Bilbo had felt something new.

Fear.

"Bilbo?"

"Hmm?" He says absently, realizing he'd crept farther back in his memories then he had intended. Sometimes it seemed when you started something it wasn't easily stopped.

"What did you look like? As a dragon I mean?" Ori says and Bilbo would have thought the question sudden if he hadn't seen the concern in his eyes, clearly, his reminiscence has been noticed.

Bilbo takes the change of subject gratefully. "My kind was the first of the great winged dragons and though I was slender and sleek then, I imagine I was easily twice as large as Smaug."

"Really?" Ori says in surprise.

He nods. "The old dragons, the last of the great ones were much bigger than the ones that remain. Smaug might be one of the last great dragons of this age but he's little compared to Ancalagon the Black or any of the others."

"It's strange to think that there have been worse dragons than Smaug." Ori muses.

"There will always be something worse," Bilbo advises. "Though it may not necessarily be a dragon."

"Balin said you possessed some of your old...talents?" Ori questions once again changing the subject for a more lighthearted one and Bilbo stares at him, torn between amusement and irritation.

"Oh did he?"

"He also said if we had any questions about you then we should act like the 'adult dwarves we pretend to be and ask you ourselves.'" Ori adds on and Bilbo is so startled a laugh slips away from him.

"I'm guessing you took his advice?" He says still chuckling. He has a feeling he would come to regard Balin the way he did with Gandalf; a friendship that in turn bewilders, pleases, and, exasperates him.

Ori shrugs, uncaring. "What's the point in sitting around and whispering to each other? You're our friend and you must have had your reasons for not telling us." He pauses to peer up anxiously at Bilbo. "You did, didn't you?"

"Yes, I swear I did." He says sincerely and says nothing else about the subject. Ori smiles at him and starts talking about a new book he had read but before he could fully get around to it they are interrupted.

"There you are little brother, I've been looking for you for the last half-hour," Nori says smirking lazily. Ori jumps, shocked but Bilbo merely rolls his eyes. "Thorin's called a meeting."

"How long have you been there?" Ori demands to know, looking over at Bilbo.

"He's been there the whole time, or close enough," Bilbo says cutting in before Nori could respond at their looks--one incredulous and the other of narrowed eye scrutiny he only shrugs, getting up off the ground.

"You're too loud, might want to work on that." He advises before smiling cheekily.

Nori raises an eyebrow at him and only shakes his head. "Dragons," he mutters with some scorn and then looks back at them. "Are you two coming? I'm sure the king's already impatient."

"Wouldn't want to keep his majesty waiting," Bilbo says wryly as they start back.

Ori pauses, looking hesitant, and then some minutes later he had made up his mind because he asks. "Why do you call him king? Especially after...what's happened between you two."

Even Nori looks interested, or as interested as someone could look when they were purposely trying to look bored.

"It's not out of any loyalty if that's what you're assuming," Bilbo says dryly. "Thorin is a good man and I'm sure he'll be a good king but he's not mine. I call him King because in my experience calling people by their proper titles when they're trying to decide whether to kill you or not usually works out better than being informal."

"Besides, I think it annoys him just a little bit." He adds.

Everyone is already there by the time they came in and for the first time in days, Bilbo finds himself staring at Thorin. The dwarf-king doesn’t so much as look at him.

Chapter Text

"How much longer?" Bilbo says staring up at the hill in dismay. They'd been walking what felt like hours already and there was still so much left. It was funny almost how it hadn't seemed so far away until they were actually walking.

Ori smiles at him but even that was strained. They were all tired and hot from the beating sun but everyone knew there would be no rest. Not when Thorin looked so restless, so impatient. But then everyone was a bit impatient, this was the penultimate moment of their journey, what they'd been working for years before Bilbo had ever met them.

So they sighed but said nothing else and kept walking up the long mountain, Erebor looming in the distance like a beacon or an omen and it unnerved him that he couldn't decide which it was.

Thick smoke curled from the top of it slowly--lazily. But when he looked again alarmed, there was only nothing and he tried to reassure himself into thinking it was only the mountain's shadow.

"Are you ready?" Nori says with a smirk, stepping in line with Bilbo and Ori who were near the end. He spoke up loud enough that a few of the others looked over, eyeing Bilbo with interest or perhaps suspicion. Bilbo stares back at them until they look away, Fili and Kili being the first. "Your part is nearly here."

"You'd have to find the door first." Bilbo points out dryly.

"We'll find the door." Ori says quietly but still assured. "We have to."

Nori raises an eyebrow, his grin simply widening. "Can you handle it then burglar?" Bilbo looks feeling eyes upon him again and somehow wasn't surprised to meet Thorin's piercing stare. There was a challenge there, unspoken and fierce and Bilbo refuses to back down, not now.

"Yes, I can." He says staring back at him.

Thorin snorts but was the first to looked away, barking out an order for them to walk faster.

Bilbo let himself smile for a moment but then reality set back in and his thoughts turned dark again, the triumph from his staredown with Thorin fading away quickly.

Smaug.

It always came back to the fire-drake in the end. No matter how Bilbo looks at it he couldn't see this ending neatly. Nothing was ever clean with a dragon involved but Smaug was a completely different matter. The last great dragon they called him and he couldn't say whether that was true but names like that were never given lightly, were they? Bilbo had never heard of him before the dwarves and Gandalf tumbled in and disrupted his comfortable life but he'd seen others like him, had fought with them. He knew the power they possessed more intimately than he knew anything else and he had seen what it took to bring down such a goliath.

During the war right before things had turned sour he'd seen a grand dragon, scales as red as rubies and embers, with claws the size of tree stumps and teeth the color of night but sharper than any mortal blade. It had been easily one of the biggest of his kind he'd ever seen, with perhaps Ancalagon being only larger than it and it showed in the way it fought, like a beast struck mindless with rage and hate, the way they all were. It had taken nearly a hundred men--a hundred elves to bring it down and it had killed twice that amount before they did.

And here they were, a band of thirteen dwarves and him.

It was almost laughable how outnumbered they were, how easily Smaug outranks them. Almost, because somehow the thought of the company being charred beyond their bones wasn't funny in the slightest.

The dwarves didn't care about odds. They didn't care about how strong Smaug was or how big he was. Some of them had even witnessed it before, had been in Erebor the day the dragon took it away and that was the reason why they didn't care.

In their eyes they had already lost once, they couldn't afford it again. They were too proud, too confident to be struck by doubts, to show fear even if they should feel it, especially not of a thing they hated so much.

Bilbo envies them and hates the tight roll of anxiety awash in his stomach, hates how much he was afraid.

Once he wouldn't have been.

"Are you alright?" Ori whispers, looking concerns.

"Just thinking." He murmurs back just as quietly, keeping his eyes ahead.

"About?" Bilbo shakes his head, lips pressed together in a tight line, feet mostly numb now. He'd have to get over it. There was no turning back now and even as terrified as he was, and oh he was terrified, he could admit that much, there was no way he was cowardly enough to do it.

Not when he had something to prove and maybe his pride would get him killed one of these days or even today but at least he could say he hadn't been a coward.

"Is it Smaug?" Ori whispers again.

Bilbo froze but it was only a for a second and somehow Ori still caught it. "We'll be alright, you know."

He remains silent.

"We have to be." Ori says quieter, barely more than a ghost's voice and Bilbo wonders if he was reassuring him or himself.

"Look!" Someone--Bofur calls out and Bilbo did and there it was Erebor, the last great dwarven city in all its ruined glory.

The ground closest was still scorched, the land smelt of smoke and dust and death but the company didn't care. They stared as if it was a gift from Aule himself and even Bilbo finds himself breathless looking at Erebor up close for the first time.

He'd seen a great deal of things, pretty and one of a kind. Cities fit for kings of men and elves but somehow they couldn't compare to this hulled out wreckage. Bilbo looks at it and it dazes him.

The company was silent, stunned or awed and Bilbo pulls his gaze away long enough to look at them. To some this was a homecoming and to others it was an entirely new sight but they all felt like they belonged, he's never seen Fili or Kili look so sober, even Bofur is solemn and quiet. This place was theirs and they would take it again or die trying.

He could see it in their eyes, could see it in the way they stood.

Bilbo steps closer to Thorin without a thought, only concerned. Thorin didn't look happy but he didn't look angry either. His familiar scowl absent and Bilbo thinks he just looked lost.

"Welcome home." he said softly.

"Not yet." Is all Thorin says, eyes never looking away from his home. How long had Thorin dreamed of seeing it again? Did he ever dream about it or did he push it away, forcing himself to move on but never forgetting, never forgiving what had happened.

Bilbo stands out of the way as they look for the door and he thought it was a wise decision indeed when Thorin's temper grew the more they couldn't find it.

To be fair it was a hidden door.

"This is impossible." Kili complains sitting down against a rock and Fili sighs and reluctantly sits down with him. Half the company had given up deeming it hopeless while the other half argued about where it could be.

Bilbo rolls his eyes and then found himself distracted, attention shifting easily due to the hot sunlight and boredom. It was better than thinking about dying at least or so he told himself.

"It's an invisible door. How are we supposed to find an invisible door?" He continues. "Isn't the point that you're not supposed to find it?"

"And complaining about it is going to help?" Gloin says wryly, looking half amused and half frustrated. Bofur laughs when Kili sputters in response, struggling to come up with something to say.

"Bilbo?"

"Hmm?" Came the absent response, gold eyes lost to the sight of his prey.

"What are you staring at?" Ori says craning his head but his eye sight wasn't half as good and all he could see was clouds and even then he'd never found clouds so interesting. Maybe it was a hobbit custom Bilbo had picked up? It seemed like something they would do.

"Hmm?" he repeats, looking for the twitch of dull colored wings. Where had that blasted thing gone? It was so quick.

"Bilbo?" Ori repeats more firmly and Bilbo blinks, coming back to himself and realizing that more than a few people were looking at him.

He flushes. "Sorry, there was a bird, I got a bit distracted." It wasn't even that interesting of a bird, small and too useless to be food or adequate prey but he had nothing else to do and the sound of them yelling is hurting his ears and his nose stings with the musk of rotting.

"Bird?" Gloin says, a gleam of something in his eyes. "Where?"

Bilbo merely points and at first Gloin can’t see it but eventually something small and quick fluttered in and out of his sight.

"Is that--?" Fili says but stops suddenly.

Kili frowns, and then his keen eyes widen as he gets a better look at the little bird. "Did he really?--"

"What?" Bilbo says confused.

"Bilbo! Oh, you found the thrush." Ori says excitedly.

"What?"

"Look." Kili says cutting them off and so they do, watching as the bird, the thrush darted closer and closer and oh, there was something in its talons. Bilbo frowns wondering what it was but before he could ask why it was so important the thrush knocks whatever it has against the side of the mountain.

It is a quiet sound but somehow it seems as if all of the company could hear it and suddenly they were all there. The silence broken by a chorus of booming voices and as quick as the thrush knocks a door appears and even later Bilbo would be surprised that he'd never asked how but it had seemed unimportant at the time.

Nori looks at him and he thinks he sees some sympathy in his eyes. It was probably his imagination because he couldn't imagine Nori caring about anyone except his brothers. "It's time, burglar." he says because even though everyone was looking at him unsure and waiting, Nori was the only one cocky enough to say it.

Bilbo nods, sucking in a breath but forcing himself to let it out. He thinks of how easily Thranduil had read his fear, how easily Ori had guessed it. He wonders how long it would take Smaug to do the same.

"Good luck." Ori says reassuringly. "I know you can do this."

At least he wouldn't die a coward.

Bilbo steps forward into the massive doorway, looking apprehensively at the darkness inside. A hand caught his shoulder and pulls him back, turning him around. Thorin just looks at him, grip tight. Even silent something about him irritates Bilbo, somehow those dark eyes said he was afraid, said everyone knew it.

He yanks his arm back or at least he tried to and finds that Thorin's grip is unwavering.

"Trust me." Bilbo says but he doesn’t beg, doesn’t even plead. He says it and he’s weary and tired of this all, tired of Thorin and fighting and even adventures. All he wants was his Shire and his bed and summer nights spent watching hobbits dance and looking at stars. He says it and it sounds like an order but Thorin could take it however he wanted, he didn't care anymore.

Trust me.

Just this once.

Thorin looks at him and Bilbo looks back, eyes gold and sharp and the worst thing Thorin hated had to be reflected right back at him but Thorin didn't look away, didn't even move. Bilbo couldn't say what he was searching for or what he saw (he'd never known Thorin well enough to guess such a thing and now it seemed like he never would but...) but at last Thorin releases him.

Bilbo turns and disappears into the black, footsteps as light as a ghost.

If the outside of Erebor was a scorched shell then the inside was what was left of the remains. Dust and ash cover the floors and mark the walls. They stain and rub away the dwarven craftsmanship that had been there before. There were holes everywhere, entire sections collapsed and broken as if something had smashed it into pieces.

The smell of corpses is so strong it makes him gag and Bilbo has to stay still for a few minutes with his hands over his nose.

Beneath that there was something else, something stronger. It smelt familiar, it smelt of heat and stone, of embers burning in his mouth and fire in his blood and Bilbo knew this was Smaug.

Against his better judgment Bilbo follows the fire-smell. He walks through empty silent hallways, through the ruins of an ancient city and tried to imagine it as someone's home.

It was impossible really. Everything was grey and ashy and touched by Smaug's wreckage. He couldn't see Thorin or his kin growing up here, living here. He couldn't even see Smaug staying here.

Death was the only one who could call it home now.

The mountain is large and the paths are more mazes than anything else and if Bilbo didn't have his sense of smell he thinks he could easily get lost and no one would ever find him.

Bilbo snorts. Not like there was many people who'd even want to.

The farther down in the mountain he get, the sharper the smell became so Bilbo walks down countless flights of stairs, down and down until he thinks he’s reached the end only to find more in its place. It was pitch black even to his eyes and he kept a hand to the wall in order to avoid falling into a hole in the floor.

He walks until at last he came to the heart of the mountain, the center of it all. There was a giant room and the smell is all around him now, bitter and strong and sticking everywhere. There must have been doors on the room once but there is nothing now and Bilbo creeps closer, curious despite himself and his fear.

Gold glitters from every corner, spilling out into an ocean of shimmering jewels and coins and Bilbo can’t tear his eyes away. It is everything he hates and everything he always desires all at once and Bilbo wants it as much as he'd wanted that strange ring back so long ago.

He wants it because he deserves it, because it calls to him, because it is his--

No.

It is Thorin's and the company's, it is Erebor's gold and he doesn’t want it. Not really.

Bilbo steps further into the room anyways. He steps onto the gold because it was quite literally everywhere, with nary a bare spot in the room and he can’t seem to look away from the giant piles.

Something bright and shiny caught his eye and Bilbo leans down to pick it up. It was a gem, a blue so pale it was almost white in places and round and Bilbo traces it absently.

The ground shudders suddenly, as if it was taking a deep breath and the gold shakes and the force of it made it look as if it was moving. Bilbo falls to the ground as the shudders continue and he realizes with a sense of oncoming dread that the gold is actually moving.

Chapter Text

Bilbo does not think, as he pulls himself up on shaky feet and scrambles to an alcove, dropping the bright gem in the process. The gold shakes and rattles and red scales shine as the dragon appears. “Thief.” the dragon—Smaug calls out with a voice deep and heavy enough to make him shudder. “Come out little thief.”

he does not move, he cannot breathe as Smaug stands, body slithering against the gold and jewels. There is another alcove further down, more hidden and Bilbo rushes towards it, treasure chiming as he runs. Smaug lunges towards the sound, following it and he barely makes it into the alcove, gasping for air and trying to quiet himself.

“Don't be shy.” Smaug taunts and Bilbo has never heard how a dragon sounds, not to any ears but his own, but he thinks he suddenly understands why a deer freezes at danger. “There's something about you, your smell.”

Bilbo's foot slips amongst the gold and before he can move Smaug is there, staring down at him with one terrible yellow eye. “There you are, thief.” the dragon hisses out and the room is hotter, heat rising quickly.

“I'm not a thief.” Bilbo stutters. “I have not come here to steal from you, O' Smaug.” He remembers how dragons think, knows that all creatures big and terrifying like flattery.

“I value no treasure. I have only come to see a dragon.” Bilbo says and he cannot stop his voice from catching, choking on his own fear. “It seems the tales fall utterly short of your—magnificence.” he needs time, needs to think of a plan but there is no time and he has no plans. He has nothing.

The dragon stands to his full height, massive even in the gigantic room. “You seem familiar with my name and yet I've never seen one of your kind before.” Smaug moves closer and Bilbo's heart stutters. There is an ache starting to burn in his chest. He thinks this is what absolute fear is like. “Who are you? Where do you come from?”

Bilbo inches away and takes in a breath. “I come from faraway, from green hills and quiet lands. I am small and I can walk unseen, I've stolen treasure right from under an elven-king.”

“Impressive.” the dark voice rumbles. “What else do you claim?”

“I hold few titles and I desire no riches. But surely, a dragon as clever as yourself can see that I'm not all I appear to be?” Beneath the smell of earth, the smell of good food and comfort lingers the dragon-scent. “Isn't there something you recognize?”

“I recognize the smell of dwarves.” Smaug hisses out. “Where are your friends, little thief? Where are they hiding?”

Bilbo shakes his head and steps back again. “I know no dwarves. I call none friends.” and none would call him the same.

“They sent you in here. To do their dirty work, while they skulk about for my treasure.” Smaug snarls out, great body moving closer. Bilbo is not sure how he knows to move but he manages to dart away when Smaug strikes forward, pillars crashing to the ground.

Smaug speaks but they are a dragon's words meant to distract him and paralyze him with fear so he does not listen, only runs away to wherever he can. But dragon eyes are keen and even as small as he is, as fast as he is there are few places he can hide.

He has no weapon, no way to kill a dragon and Smaug can finish him with one breath. This was death from the start but he still hadn't turned away.

“It's Oakenshield, isn't it? That filthy usurper. He sent you in here for the Arkenstone.” The name is familiar. The company had talked about the Arkenstone, a gem brighter and more beautiful than any other—the treasure of Erebor. Bilbo had been sent to find it but the dragon was a bigger priority, he'd always stressed that it was far too unlikely for Smaug to be dead.

“I don't know any Oakenshield. I don't know of any stone!” He looks for a sword, for any kind of weapon but there is nothing save for the glimmer of gold, useless as it ever was.

“You are being used, little thief of the green hills. Your life has been marked as less valuable than a stone.”

Bilbo can't say anything only shakes his head. Smaug is taunting him, playing with him like a cat plays with a mouse before it eats it.

“What did he promise you? Honor? Riches—oh, a share of the treasure? A treasure that is not his to give.”

“I told you, I don't want any treasure.” Bilbo snaps out and a claw struck out suddenly at the pile of gold he was standing on, spilling it and sending him crashing to the floor. The force of the strike moves him so far that he hit a pillar, the old stone shuddering beneath him.

“My teeth are swords, my claws spears.” The scales on Smaug's chest burned bright, turning red-hot and for an instant every moment of his past life as a dragon, all of the instances he'd so easily set something on fire came rushing back to him. He'd never once thought about how painful it must have been. “My wings a hurricane.”

The fire races toward him and Bilbo can only run, the edges of his clothes singeing from the heat, his skin shuddering from the flames.

“I'm not afraid to die by fire. If you were as clever as they say you'd know why.” Bilbo says and mercifully the fire stopped as quickly as it started.

“What riddle do you think to spin, little thief?”

He needs to get out, get to the stairs as fast as he could. There would be no way to find that stone, to kill the dragon. Not without a plan, not when he only had his luck.

“No riddle, no trick.” He gasps out, edging closer to the stairs. “Just smell me and tell me if you do not recognize something.”

Those fierce yellow eyes widens and Smaug smashes forward roaring and wailing, scattering gold and Bilbo takes the chance and ran as fast as he could. “Dragon! I smell a dragon, who sent you? Who dares to steal my treasure?”

Bilbo ran and ran up the stairs but he could hear the dragon behind him, could see the heat blistering along the walls. “Bilbo, you're alive.” A voice says as an arm reach out to wrap around his and Bilbo stops, realizing he'd been so focused he hadn't even noticed Thorin. The dwarf stares at him and Bilbo wonders if he was imaging the relief in his eyes. He had to be.

“What are you doing here? I thought I told you I could handle this.” He could hear the walls shake and he shakes his head. “Never mind that, we have to run!”

“Did you find the stone?” The hand around his arm tightens, a solid grasp that he couldn't get out of. “The Arkenstone, did you find it?”

Bilbo stares at him, eyes wide in confusion. There was something strange in his eyes, something ugly and Bilbo didn't like it, didn't like it at all. This was different than before, not the biting anger from Lake-town but something worse.“We need to leave, he's coming.”

“Did you find it?” Thorin asks—demands again and somehow suddenly there was a sword being pointed at him and that ugly look in Thorin's eyes only got darker.

No, it wasn't just his eyes, everything was darker as a shadow fell over them and Bilbo turns to look, heart heavy with dread at the sight of Smaug prowling closer.

Thorin pushes him behind him, sword pointed but Bilbo wasn't sure what damage a sword could do. About the same as chucking a pile of gold at Smaug he thought.

There was a roar, like a battle cry and the company came tumbling in, weapons raised and expressions fierce.

Bilbo stares at them incredulously, forgetting his fear for the moment. Smaug roars, fire coming at them and against all logic Bilbo follows the company, running into one of the smaller rooms. They kept running down the long and empty twisted hallways. Their only way out came to a dead end, buried by rocks and the bodies of dwarves from Smaug's attack.

Thorin came up with a plan and Bilbo didn't think it would work but they had nothing else and he didn't want to die like that—struggling to breathe. He'd rather burn to death. Thorin thought it would work, he had to take some small comfort in that.

For one single moment, he thinks it will work. He's not really sure why. Maybe it's the triumphant look on Thorin's face, maybe it's the way Smaug is dazzled by the gold. But for one single moment, he forgets that dragons will never be afraid of fire and prays that the gold will smother Smaug.

Even as the gold covers Smaug, as the mountain grows silent, he knows it hasn't. Smaug bursts, golden and shining and roaring of vengeance. For the first time in years Smaug leaves the mountain and the world is set to burn.

Bilbo follows after, closer then any others, Smaug's words ringing in his ears. This is all their fault. He's petrified and furious and there is nothing they can do and it is all their fault.

No.

He stands on crumbling stone and watches horrified as Smaug soars towards Lake-town, a disaster, an omen. Faintly he can hear the company—a tumbling mess of confused and panicked voices but it sounds like they're miles away from him and it's hard to hear anything over the quickening of his own heart.

It's hard to feel anything under the terror, under the shock of Smaug leaving the mountain, of even just witnessing Smaug but eventually Bilbo realizes there's something else. A dull ache throbs along his entire body, painful enough that he stumbles barely catching himself. The ache turns sharp and flares, sinking hooks into him and this time Bilbo falls and he can hear the washed out sound of Ori calling his name.

His vision flashes white—hot and painful, and Bilbo lets out a low moan of pain, hand clutching at his chest, gasping for air. His heart is beating too fast, it's beating too fast and it will burst from his chest.

“Bilbo!”

Everything is heat and fire and Bilbo wants to claw off his skin, to get it away from him right now. Move, the fire whispers and the hooks pull, he climbs to shaky feet and he steps closer to the edge of the mountain and it is only as he starts running that he realizes what is happening.

It didn't feel like this last time. Last time it hadn't hurt until he'd failed and even then the pain had been sudden like being stabbed. Everything had felt broken and wrong and he'd known as soon as he'd started that it would fail.

This is different. This is heat rising, pulling away his skin and his bones and even if it hurts a part of Bilbo sings out in joy. Nothing about being a dragon was ever easy, nothing came without pain at one point or another.

Bilbo runs to the edge of the mountain and he does not think, does not stop—only jumps.

In the distance someone screams his name.

There is a rush of blood in his ears, the roaring of wildfire and then—and then he is nothing.

Bones break, skin falls away, and it does not feel wrong but right, this is who he is. This is what he always is.

There are no bright flashes of light, nothing but the glow of Lake-town on flames.

Bilbo falls and falls.

a dragon rises.

The dragon is him and it is not. It remembers it was called Bilbo once, it remembers soft earth and smallness—a life of being breakable and restrained, but that feels a lifetime away against the feel of his wings and the righteousness of a body that can carve mountains. Bilbo is soft and kind and it is nothing but heat and sky.

The dragon does not falter under the weight of its wings for you cannot forget how to fly if you've belonged to the air. This is the kind of knowledge that goes past skin and bones, it marks into your soul and the dragon soars and soars, spiraling into the black. The world is suddenly sharp and colorful—a thousand sights and sounds brought new. If it remembered the word it might call it beautiful.

It charges for the town, the flames and screams a call as much as a warning and it is not sure if it going to crush the other dragon—Smaug that is its name—or to join.

The dragon reaches the town and hesitates, there is fear and anger, some instinct telling it to flee at the sight of Smaug, the sound of people screaming and crying. Smaug has not seen it yet, it could flee, to that place with rolling green hills or the kingdom of elves, it could leave the mountain and its treasure and take its freedom back, build a hoard of its own and ignore Smaug, the way their kind often do.

But then there is a flash of something, a memory maybe. It is of a dwarf—dark eyes and dark hair, and there is its voice speaking, the voice it has when it is small and quiet. It cannot understand the words, the dragon has only just awoken and the common tongue is a distant fuzzy memory. But emotions run differently for dragons and it knows a promise when it hears it, an oath.

The dragon lets out a roar, buildings shudder, the earth shakes, and Smaug looks up.

Their bodies clash like the roar of a storm, the boom of thunder and the force would break the bones of anything else. Their kind do not fight each other often. It's a necessity if they want any part of their species to survive. For dragons are brutal and unforgiving, and they do not stop. They will never stop.

Claws and teeth can pierce better than any elven arrow or dwarfish sword. They are a devastation.

Smaug roars, fire burning hotter than any forge but the heat does nothing, it stands unflinching. If it was an ice-drake perhaps but fire is its weapon as well and the other dragon snaps back, teeth pulling at scales, digging into the molten gold and pulling away barely anything. When it was small, the dragon thought Smaug was big—it had been afraid of its size and its fire but now it is bigger, twice the size of its foe.

Now Smaug is nothing.

Smaug's teeth clench down scrapping the skin of its back and aiming for a wing, for any bit sensitive and the dragon snaps back twisting around to sink its own fangs into anything it can grab. There is a roar, from it, from Smaug and the dragon lets itself fall, pulling Smaug down with its' massive weight.

They plummet towards the lake and Smaug yanks his jaws free and the other dragon spirals away, wings still intact. There is a single moment where they are both still and they look at each other and then it's broken.

They charge and it is the same as before. A clash of one's jaws and the desperate attempt of the other to pull away. Again and again. They pant, bleeding but neither will stop. Smaug's scales are too well-protected and the other dragon is too big, too strong even in a body so new, for the bites to do much damage.

Smaug bites longer, pulling away the weakest of its scales but each time the other dragon holds onto it and makes for the water. They stay away from the town, there is a much bigger threat than the weapons of men.

They collide over and over and at last the dragon moves at the right moment and sinks its jaw into its enemy's softer underbelly. Golden scales, jeweled and bright cover nearly all of it but there is a weakness hiding among them, clear to its newly sharp eyes and it bites down and pulls, tugging even as fire hits its scales, as Smaug roars. It pulls and pulls and Smaug copies its trick and races towards the water, throwing the other dragon away from his belly.

Some of the scales fall away, and it can smell blood—the blood of men and the acidic scent of dragons.

I am fire it snarls, charging forward and Smaug's tail smacks into him like a brick swiping away his teeth.

I am death it says and it bites and bites, and it cannot breathe with all the blood in its mouth. The dragon's tongue burns and its throat is raw and melting but it cannot stop biting. Claws scrape down the dragon's back, reaching and reaching and then there is an agonizing pain in its wing and the sound of something shredding. The claws hook in and pull—

The dragon howls in pain and suddenly Smaug starts to fall, a dead giant weight and the dragon tries to pull itself free but its sharp teeth are still trapped in Smaug's flesh and Smaug's giant claws are still wrapped around its bleeding broken wing.

They fall and fall and the water wraps over the both of them.

The dragon cannot breathe and they are sinking under their heavy weight and it struggles to free itself but the lake is stronger than either of them and it swallows them whole.

You belong to me the lake says and it drowns them both and the dragon has died before but never like this.

The last thing the dragon sees is the strange red-orange glow of fire beneath the water and the black arrow sticking out of the dead dragon's belly.

Chapter Text

The first thing he knows is blackness. The world is heavy and dark and for a long time there is only him. He thinks he's felt this before but any attempt to remember fades away as quickly as it came to him, the effort too much. The second thing he knows is the terrible ache in his throat, blackness burning down it and clawing--covering his eyes as he struggles to breathe. The weight of the world hits his chest and pulls him down at the same time something tugs ferociously at him.

He feels like he's being pulled into two and he tries to call out for whoever to stop only for more of the blackness to sweep in, its heaviness sinking like an anchor in his chest. Someone says something, shouts it maybe but the sound is warbled and he can't understand.

A feeling tugs at him, more than the horrible burn in his throat and he tries to follow it but loses whatever thought it was immediately. There is no room for it here, the burning rules over everything.

The pulling grows harsher and at last, some of the black fades away and the air is cold but heat still lingers on his face, in his chest. The sound from before is louder now but still so unclear and he struggles to open his eyes. For a second orange light flickers in front of him but it's too bright, painfully bright, and he snaps them shut.

Now there is pain, dull at first but quickly sharpening and he groans. All at once everything hurts even as he realizes that there is more to him than the blackness.

His head feels heavy.

Everything feels heavy.

Exhaustion sinks in and he tries to focus, something is happening, something important but he can't remember what. It's too much for him, too big of a burden to even try to think about and he reluctantly lets himself go with one terrible thought coming in slowly at the last moment.

'Where are my wings?'

Then again there is nothing, the blackness it seems always wins in the end.

It's different now, not the heavy crush of darkness and the struggle to remember, to think past it all. Different but perhaps not much better. This time he thinks he dreams.

He's on a grassy hill and there's green all around him and the sky is bright blue. In the distance he can he hear the sound of children playing, people laughing, and the crackle of fireworks.

A couple stand nearby watching him, calling out to him though he doesn't recognize the sound. They look impossibly familiar—the woman with her bright mischievous eyes and the man with his kind smile.

Do you know me? He wants to ask but fears saying anything will break the strange peace and they'll slip away through his fingers like ashes.

Once again there is no sound, no words but he feels someone calling him all the same and he turns. A company of men stand nearby, as familiar as the couple with their cheerful looks and jumble of weapons. The man standing at the front with the dark eyes is the one he can't look away from.

A feeling rises up in him but it's different this time, more than just that untraceable recognition, something deeper and without thinking about it he takes a step towards them—towards him. He takes one more step and the dream shatters, rolling green and sky blue slipping away only into nothing.

The next time he wakes up it's easier. He knows that he's a person now even if he doesn't remember who. He thinks he was big once and then he was small and now he's not sure on which he is just that everything is terribly painful but maybe that's a good thing too. If it hurts then at the very least that means he still has something to be hurt.

He still can't open his eyes but his hearing is better. No longer the uncomfortable distorted mess from before.

“--any better?” he thinks he knows that voice even if he couldn't say who it belongs to.

“He hasn't woken up but I think so. What's he even doing here, Da? I thought he went with the dwarves to the mountain.”

the other voice is quieter this time. Unsure perhaps. “To help.”

He opens his mouth to speak but by the time he remembers how to, he realizes he's exhausted and slips back into sleep assured that at least for now he'll wake up again.

Bilbo wakes and this time it was with a sense of calm. He remembered everything to a point—the quest, encountering Smaug, a burning so strong that it had swept away all traces of his humanity. He did not exactly remember how he came to be here or where here even was but he could guess.

For the first time in who knows how long Bilbo was strong enough to move and with some effort he sat up and opened his eyes. The tent he was in was unfamiliar and empty, through the thin walls of the fabric he could hear the sounds of people crying, of someone moaning in pain.

He sat there, considering how difficult walking could be when the tent opened and a young woman stepped in. She didn't notice him awake at first but startled when she did, eyes widening for a moment before a frown crossed her face. “Oh what are you doing sitting up? Lay back down before you irritate your shoulder.”

“Sorry?” Bilbo tried to say but found himself coughing before anything could come out, a terrible ache rising in his throat in response. The woman was by his side in an instant, moving him in a way to make breathing more bearable.

When his hand came away from his mouth he found it covered in thick black specks. Smaug's blood Bilbo thought and at least now he didn't have to wonder why his throat had hurt so badly for dragon blood was nearly acidic and who knew how much of it he'd swallowed if he'd fought Smaug.

When his coughing had died down the woman handed him a waterskin looking sympathetic. “Drink—and slowly at that, I need to go get Da. He'll be happy you've woken up at last.”

He shouldn't have been surprised when Bard stepped into the tent but somehow he was. The man looked like he'd seen better days, he was covered in cuts and bruises with his eyes deeply shadowed and haggard looking. The smell of smoke lingered about him.

“We were beginning to think you'd never wake.”

“What happened?” Bilbo asks, thankful this time when no coughing followed though his voice was raspy and it hurt a great deal to speak.

Bard looked over at him some hidden emotion on his face. “What do you remember?”

“We went into the mountain. Smaug woke up and we tried to stop him but nothing worked.” Bilbo says slowly, brow furrowed as he tried to remember. “He left for Lake-town, he must have smelt you on us or thought you had helped us in someway...I was—I was so angry.”

“Then what?”

'I was on fire' Bilbo thought.

“I...I don't remember.” It was all a blur of heat and anger, sharp and biting before turning into nothing.

“Smaug came down from the mountain and burned the town.” Bard says quietly. “And then another dragon appeared, larger and greater than even our worst fears.”

Bilbo froze, stunned but Bard continued. “The other dragon did not burn the town but attacked Smaug. After you distracted Smaug, I managed to shoot him with an arrow and pierced through his hide. He fell into the lake and took you down with him.”

“You knew what I was and you still saved me? Why?” He asks confused.

Bard looked equally as surprised but for a different reason. “Because you saved us. If you hadn't fought Smaug I think many more people would have died.”

“How did you find me when I fell?” Memories were coming back to him in bits and pieces and he remembered Smaug's claws gripping into his wing and pulling him down with him. Bard must have saved him or he would have drowned with him.

“I went to see if you were dead, both of you because I didn't know who you were at the time. Smaug's body was already sinking beneath the surface of the lake but I saw you in the water as you are now, saw the wound on your shoulder and knew what had happened even as impossible as it seemed.”

“Thank you.” Bilbo says as sincerely as he can manage, overwhelmed as he is. Smaug is dead and somehow he is still alive, somehow they all are. “There are not many who would have done the same. I think most would have let me drown and consider it a fit ending.”

Bard stood and clasps a hand on his arm gently as if afraid to hurt him which seemed insane when contrasted with what they had just been discussing. “There is no thanks needed. I have to go but my daughter Sigrid will come back soon to check on you.”

Bilbo nods and then pauses. “If you come back later. I'll tell you the whole story and answer any questions you may have.”

Bard agrees and at some point he must have fallen asleep again because he's woken up to someone gently shaking him. “Master Hobbit?”

The woman from before—Sigrid he presumed was there. She a pile of torn cloth at her side. “Your rest is important but I think changing your bandages might matter even more.”

“Right, of course.” With her help he manages to sit up again, this time more aware of the pain in his right shoulder and the effort it takes to move it. It's agonizing in a way and he's surprised he didn't notice it sooner.

When he voices this she laughs quietly but it's not much of a happy sound. “When we first found you we gave you some herbs to help with the pain but we've had to use them sparingly. There's just not enough to go around.”

“I understand.” How many were wounded in the burning of Lake-town? How many had been killed by his company's ways? He remembered before how he told Bard that Smaug would wake up no matter what but it felt worse now, the guilt much harder to ignore as he thought about how many must have suffered.

“You're very lucky.” Sigrid says conversationally with a focused look on her face as she unwraps the bandages around his shoulder. When he looks at them he sees them covered in black and red. His blood and Smaug's poison.

“Lucky?”

“Luckier than some. We thought at first that you might never move your arm again, that's how badly your shoulder was hurt. I'm not a healer, there's not many left around and they couldn't stay with anyone for too long. We thought it might get infected.”

“And now?” He could not recall if he'd ever been hurt before this seriously. Enough where he might lose a limb. He healed quicker than most and the Shire had been peaceful nearly the entire time he was there. The spiders in Mirkwood forest came closest.

Sigrid smiles. “Now it seems much better. I think as long as we keep it restrained in a sling you should heal up nicely.”

She wrapped one last layer over his shoulder and then stood to leave. “Get some sleep Master Baggins and gather your strength. Da says we'll all need it for tomorrow.”

“What happens tomorrow?” He asks but Sigrid had already left, moving on to the next tent by the sounds of it.

For the rest of the day Bilbo either slept though it seemed as if he had been sleeping forever or spent time thinking about his friends and the people of Lake-town. There was little else he could do when it took a great deal of effort to move, to talk without pain. He wasn't sure how much strength he could get in a day but he hoped it was enough for whatever Bard had in mind.

Later at night when it grew cold Bard returned, looking just as troubled as before perhaps even more. “I believe you have a tale to tell me.” he says kindly.

It's easier than telling the dwarves now that he knows that for some strange reason Bard does not fear him. He asks less questions than Ori but when they come they're always inquisitive and not demanding.

“That's what your quarrel with the dwarves was about, isn't it?” Bard asks when he has finished and some time has passed in silence. Bilbo because he can do little else without falling tired and Bard so he can think in peace.

“What?”

“Before you left for the mountain. We spoke and you mentioned they'd become angry at you. They found out didn't they?”

Bilbo had hardly remembered, that day seemed so long ago in comparison to everything else. “Yes. They didn't take it well but I would have been shocked if they had. Dwarves aren't fond of dragons for obvious reasons.”

Before he might have begrudged them their fear, he remembered being hurt and angry at them, at their lack of trust but now everything was cast under the shadow of Smaug. Smaug who'd caused so much destruction and Bilbo who for all his words had become just as mindless at the first chance. He hadn't hurt anyone but he remembered a little of his dragon self's thoughts, remembered it questioning whether to run, whether to go somewhere else and create its own hoard. He doesn't know how he'll feel when he sees the company again, if he ever does, but he thinks he understands a bit more now. He's been reminded of the damage a dragon can wrought.

“What will you do next? You could leave here and be free from Thorin Oakenshield's company. I don't think he'll take it kindly what you've done or you could stay with us if need be. We don't have much but I think we can manage a hobbit to take care of.”

There a thousand responses he wants to say all at once. He needs to see that they live, that Thorin lives though they were all well when he left the mountain. He needs to flee because he cannot imagine going into that gold filled mountain again. He cannot imagine facing whatever judgment Thorin has of him.

“I don't know.” he says at last.

“You have time. I'd advise you to make no hasty decisions Bilbo Baggins. I think what happens next will matter a great deal.” Bard leaves soon after but Bilbo cannot sleep. Thoughts of the future run through his head. The future of Lake-town, the future of the company and his own future if he has one.

Later when it's grown colder Bilbo tries to light a ball of fire, nothing appears and absently half-asleep he wonders how much strength he needs to recover.

In the morning it's like stepping into a whole new world. Sigrid wakes him up and lets him leave the tent though she bides her younger sister, Tilda to watch over him and report if he seems like he's in too much pain.

For the first time Bilbo sees the devastation Smaug and himself has brought and it takes his breath away, like a punch to his chest.

The town has been destroyed to mere rubble and he can see no building that's been left untouched. According to Bard it's been three days since Smaug's death but some of the town still smolders with flames. Around him there are many more tents like his own—raggedy and made out of whatever can support it. People lay everywhere wounded and dying or already dead. The smell of smoke and death lingers in the air and Bilbo almost gags with it.

“Is there anywhere I can wash up?” he asks Tilda somewhat desperately. He needs to step away from this all for a moment, needs to get away from that unbearable smell. Tilda takes him farther down the shore, a ways away from the main site and tells him she'll look for him in half an hour if he is not back by then.

It takes many minutes to manage stripping out of his clothes and the sling Sigrid has given him and he notices for the first time that they're borrowed. He wonders if they burned up when he changed at Erebor or if they were ruined beyond repair by his fall into the lake.

It takes even longer to get himself clean. Tilda or someone else has kept the area near his wounded shoulder clean but the rest of him is covered in ashes and muck. Bilbo is nearly finished when he realizes there are still splotches of dirt left on him and he scrubs at them even harder. Frowning when they remain.

He sets aside his soap and when he touches them they fall away as easily as anything else. Gently, afraid of how fragile they appear to be he picks one of the fallen pieces up. When he brings it closer he can see that it isn't dirt for it shines a bright bronze in the light.

Dread curls in his stomach. “My scales?”

Bilbo drops it like it burns him and it sits there floating slowly in the water. He touches another patch on his arm and they falls away like the first. He remembers the patches on his shoulder, thick like armor and touches his back. When he pulls away a pile of them sit in his hand. Last time it took a knife to pry away one and now a touch of his finger takes away dozens.

He doesn't know if it because of his change or because of something Smaug's bite has done to him, he only knows that when he looks at them it makes him almost physically ill. “No fire, no scales, not much of a dragon left.” he mutters as he hurries to finish, a bath no longer so appealing.

Within the hour they start packing up all their supplies and urging those who can walk to help those who can't. Bilbo helps out in whatever ways he can whether that be by loading more kindling or tending to someone who looks like they're about to fall over. A few times Sigrid gives him a look when she thinks he's putting too much weight on his shoulder and after the second or third time Tilda is sent to assist him and follows him around for the rest of the day.

“You're heading to Dale.” Bilbo says as Bard starts to lead the trek. He wonders how many more will die getting to the abandoned city.
“We need shelter before winter sets in or we'll die out in the open.” Bard confirms.

A thought occurs him not for the first time but now he's weary enough that he actually voices it. “You turn to Thorin for help.”

“We turn to him for compensation.” A thunderous look crosses Bard's face and Bilbo almost wishes he hadn't brought it up at all. “We are no thieves Bilbo, we only want enough to survive.”

“I'd offer you my share if I still had one.” Bilbo says quietly.

“Do you think Thorin will honor it? The due that he and his company owes Lake-town?”

“I think that for all his faults, Thorin Oakenshield is one of the most honorable people I know. That is all I can offer you.” Bilbo says considerately. He can only hope that hasn't changed in the short time since they've last seen each other.

Bard looks no less worried and much of the rest of the trek is spent in silence. Everyone is pushed to their limits in an effort to reach Dale before nightfall. Bilbo is exhausted by only midday but says no protests.

The people react to Dale in a variety of ways—some are stunned into silence, others fall to their knees whether out of some strange nostalgia or because they are so tired they cannot stand, some cry. It reminds Bilbo of the company in a way, back after the fight with Azog and when they'd seen the Lonely Mountain in the distance.

Bilbo helps as many people set up and find shelter as he can before he sets off to find Bard. He finds him surrounded by his children in one of the many wrecked buildings, huddled together for warmth. It's the first time Bilbo's seen him sit all day.

Bard looks at him. “You're leaving then?”

He nods. “It might not make sense to you or anyone else...but I can't just abandon them now. They might not count themselves as friends as mine but I cannot say the same.” Even if half of the company ignores him or avoids him outright.

“You're a good man Bilbo Baggins.” Bard says sticking out his hand to shake.

Bilbo smiles. “Not exactly a man.”

“Hobbit then.” Bard amends.

“Not really one of those either.” Bilbo says goodbye to Bard's children next, thanking Sigrid and Tilda for all their care.

The distance from Dale and the gates of Erebor is not so far but it feels like a lifetime for Bilbo to cross. He doesn't know how Thorin or the others will react. He swore he was harmless and even though he didn't know it to be a lie he can't see it mattering that much. Even still some treacherous part of him is relieved to know he'll be seeing his friends again, relieved to see Thorin.

“Dragons are not afraid of anything.” Bilbo reminds himself and resigned to whatever fate Thorin has for him begins to move forward, the few lights of Erebor glittering into the night like a warning.

Chapter Text

By the time he reaches the mountain, night has all but fallen and Bilbo can hardly see his own two feet in front of him. Despite Sigrid’s excellent bandaging of his shoulder, the wound aches fierce and throbbing and he longs for his armchair as he never has before.

Still, he presses onward, motivated by the faint lights up ahead. As he gets closer he realizes the lights are coming from posts along the mountain and his heart is warmed with the thought that the company is in far better shape than Lake-town.

The gates of Erebor are still as large and foreboding as ever and before he can get much closer, a voice calls down. “Who goes there?”

“It’s me--It’s Bilbo.” He says, clearing his throat uncomfortably. When they last parted near half the company had been at odds against him after the reveal of his true form. Not all had been as angry as Thorin but many had ignored him or been afraid and though Bilbo could not blame them some part of him winces in dismay thinking of their upset faces.

And that had been before Bilbo had jumped off the edge of the mountain and turned into the stuff of Dwarven nightmares.

“Bilbo? Bilbo Baggins?” The voice calls again and it takes him a moment to place it as Bofur’s familiar brogue. “Bless my beard, we feared you were dead!”

“No. Not quite.” he laughs quietly. “Is...Is it alright for me to be here?”

Will Thorin allow him to come back?

Thorin could barely stand to look at him during their stay in Lake-town and when he had Bilbo had only been met with fury. But still, when he’d been facing Smaug alone only Thorin had come down to look for him.

That had to mean something, didn’t it?

Or it had before Bilbo ruined it.

“Aye,” Bofur says quietly after a moment, more subdued. “I’ll send down a rope. Be careful though Laddie, they’re not in the best of shape.”

Bofur does not complain about how long it takes Bilbo to climb for which he is grateful. In fact, when Bilbo’s finally back in Erebor he only has a moment to breathe before arms are embracing him tightly.

“We thought we’d never see you again,” Bofur says as he lets him go.

Bilbo smiles slightly. “To tell the truth, I wasn’t sure if I’d see you either.”

Bofur leads him down the halls, still covered in wreckage and decay. The smell of the dead and old overpowering and constant. The dwarf occasionally sends him hesitant looks but Bilbo is content that he does not look afraid or angry.

A thought occurs to him and he slows down. “Has someone told Thorin yet?”

Bofur looks uncomfortable and he nods once. “Nori’s gone ahead and told the others you’re back.”

A hand claps down on his back and Bofur starts to lead him onward. Bilbo breathes out sharply, unable to help the dread curling up his spine, and then lets it go. Whatever fate Thorin has for him Bilbo has no choice but to accept.

The great hall suddenly thins out to an intricate doorway surrounded by geometric patterns and designs and Bofur pauses. “Be careful, Bilbo, things are not as ye left them,” he says just before they enter the room.

The first thing he notices is that nearly the entire company is present. They all sit around a small fire as Bombur cooks what smells like the beginning of a hearty meal. The room was perhaps once a common room of some sorts but now looks like where they’ve been residing.

All here except for the namesake of their company Bilbo notes with some surprise. The rest of them look much the same as they did when he left them with the most obvious injuries he can see is a few cuts or bruises here or there.

Bilbo stares at them with wide eyes unsure of what to say or where to start. Of them, few can meet his own.

“Master Baggins,” Balin says calmly, after a moment. “Please sit down. You look about ready to faint.”

He looks around and reluctantly sits down next to Bofur and his kin as Dwalin glowers at his brother, saying something he cannot understand in Khuzdul. The words are unfamiliar but the tone is harsh and within a few moments it seems like the rest of the company has joined in with just as heated words. Bilbo thinks that the racket will be heard as far as Dale.

Balin looks more calm but even he seems to begin becoming frustrated as he argues with the company. He says one last thing, this time Bilbo hears Thorin’s name come up and at last, they all fall silent, tension still crackling fiercely around the room.

Dwalin stands, spits a few words at his brother and leaves the room. After a moment some of the others--Oin, Gloin, Dori follow after him. Fili and Kili look at him for a moment and then also leave, talking quietly with each other.

Bofur looks at him sympathetically. “They’re having a rough go of it, all of them except for the lads once lived right here in Erebor.”

He realizes that this means they would have seen Smaug’s devastation first hand. Bilbo finds he can’t even blame them for their anger—even with previous knowledge of what he is, no doubt his own transformation has brought back unfortunate memories.

“I didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” Bilbo says to Bofur, as Bombur begins cooking again and the rest slowly, uneasily fall back to what they were doing before he arrived.

The sound of heavy boots wander closer and Balin sits down with an indecipherable expression on his face. “What did you mean then? By coming back?” There is no judgment or scorn in his tone, merely curiosity.

Bilbo glances at the others and then shrugs lightly. “It sounds strange with all that’s happened and knowing your feelings about me but I needed to know you were all right.”

Secretly, perhaps somewhat foolishly, a not so small part of him feels as if the quest is not yet finished until Thorin has fully claimed back his home. It feels lacking to think of leaving when Thorin is so close after all he’s worked for, even with the risk to his own safety.

Bilbo thinks that he would like to see Thorin Oakenshield truly happy at least once before this is all complete.

“That doesn’t sound strange,” Bofur says warmly and Bilbo gratefully smiles back at him.

Balin and Bofur fill him in on what’s been going on in his absence. Namely that the Arkenstone is still lost and without it, Thorin’s rule is not fully cemented.

“News of Smaug’s defeat will have spread.” Balin gives Bilbo a pointed glance. “But the dwarf lords will not offer our people aid without the Arkenstone.”

“It’s been a mad scramble trying to find the damn thing,” Nori adds mischievously as he strokes his beard. “Can’t be helped with all the rubble and the treasure King Thror collected.”

Bilbo recalls the massive, splendorous treasury and is inclined to agree. It’s been three days since Smaug fell but perhaps even three years would not be enough time to search the entirety of the room.

As the two talk further of the difficulties in finding one tiny gem, no matter how remarkable it may be, Ori sends Bilbo a concerned look. “Are you alright? It’s just I noticed your sling.”

Bofur looks over at him curiously as well and Bilbo gives as best a shrug as he can manage. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Sigrid—Bard’s daughter said it was healing well.”

This catches Balin’s attention and he pauses in his conversation. “You’ve seen the men of Lake-town then?”

“Yes,” Bilbo confirms quietly.

“How do they fair?”

Around them the rest of the dwarves grow silent, a grim tension running through the group.

Bilbo thinks of the ruined smoldering remains of the once peaceful town and resists the urge to sigh or perhaps weep. “Not as well as they were when you last saw them.”

He wonders if the dwarves were similar after Smaug’s arrival if they had carried that same confounded look as if someone had swept away the very ground from beneath them.

He thinks of Thorin, still haunted so much later and knows they must have.

The rest of the evening is somber and not even Bombur’s meal can lighten their spirits. Slowly the others slip away to their sleeping quarters until only he and Balin remain, the last embers of the fire slowly smoldering away.

Finally, the subject turned toward what Bilbo had thought of since his fall.

Thorin.

“How is he?” Some part of him would like to think he had not seen Thorin because the dwarf did not know how to face him. The same reason Bilbo himself had been somewhat relieved by Thorin’s absence.

What did you say after you’d turned into a dragon? After you’d sworn you were harmless and yet had suddenly changed?

All the gold in the world would not be enough to give Bilbo even an start of how that conversation would go.

And yet there was a pit of dread in his stomach that told him a far more worse reasoning was behind the King’s absence throughout dinner.

Balin studies him for a moment and something seems to come over the dwarf and in a blink of an eye, it’s if he’s aged a hundred years. “He does not sleep, he’d barely eat if it wasn’t for the lads.”

On the road, Thorin had done close to the same. He’d had such a single-minded focus on the quest, on Erebor that sometimes he’d eat dinner hours after the others had gone to bed.

Still to be this worried? No, for Balin to be this frightened?

Bilbo frowns, “There’s something more isn’t there?”

Balin hesitates for a second and then sighs, sounding near grief-stricken. “Have you ever heard of dragon-sickness?”

Of all the things Balin could have said that was perhaps the most surprising. “I-no, I can’t say I have.”

“I don’t think I need to explain to you how dragons love.”

“No, I’m familiar.” He says hoarsely. As a dragon so many things—emotions, sensations are blunted. But greed, possession, runs true for all creatures it seems and he cannot help but think back to his recent transformation.

How quickly had he almost fallen to his covetous nature? Minutes?

Dragons did not love. They only possessed and if they could not have it, then the only option left was destruction.

“Until his grandfather, we thought it was a myth of the ancient kings. Even as Erebor burned all Thror could think of in his madness was his gold. It was the death of him.”

“Is there a cure? Is there anything that can be done?” Was there anything he could do?

Balin shakes his head. “I fear not. Thorin will not rest until the Arkenstone is found and I don’t think even that is enough to halt his longing.”

“What do we do then?” He says quietly as Balin stands up. The old dwarf clasps a hand briefly on his nonwounded shoulder and gives him a sad smile, defeat running through every inch of his posture. “We do as the dwarves of Erebor have always done, Master Baggins. We continue on.”

With that last remark, he slips away leaving only Bilbo and the last of the embers as witnesses to his grief.

Heart heavier than lead Bilbo stands and makes his way through the mountain listening carefully as he does.

His feet as if with a mind of their own stop abruptly and Bilbo realizes where he is and peers inside the room reluctantly.

The treasure room looks much the same as it last did save for the lone dwarf sitting in the middle of it.

His heart catches painfully in his chest as he gets his first glimpse of Thorin in days. The dwarf king is making his way through piles of gold as he casts them off to the side, muttering curses under his breath.

True to Balin’s word he looks awful, braids a mess and skin pale.

Still.

Still, it’s somehow a welcoming sight and Bilbo gathers his courage as he steps into the room.

“Thorin,” he calls out, hating the tremble in his voice and hoping it’s not so apparent.

Thorin whirls around and stares with wide eyes and in that instant, Bilbo can see a thousand emotions flash through them, all as unreadable as the next.

“You.” He says lowly and at last, they settle on something, his eyes turned cold like ice. “What are you doing here?”

There are a thousand answers he could say and all of them, truth and lie alike would perhaps be better than his actual one.

“I came back for you,” Bilbo admits.

For a moment Bilbo thinks Thorin looks almost stricken but it fades quickly before he can dwell on it and Thorin steps forward with a snarled look on his face.

“For me? What use do I have of the likes of you? Of a liar twice over?” Beneath the ice, there was the fierce anger he had been expecting and even though he knew better Bilbo couldn’t help but react to it.

Even as a prim and proper hobbit, he’d always had an easier temper than most. There was something about Thorin Oakenshield that got under his skin in a way no one else could “A liar? How dare you? What are you accusing me of this time?”

Thorin’s scowl darkens. “Helpless you said, small you said. You did not look either when you dove off a cliff and showed us the truth.”

Bilbo realizes he’s grinding his teeth together and abruptly stops. “I wasn’t lying to you. Do you really think if I could do that all this time I’d have waited till now? You think I would have done nothing to stop Azog or the spiders?”

“As I’ve told you before, I do not know the workings of beasts.” Thorin spits out and anger flares through him sharply before he can help himself.

“Why else would I come here then? If you’re so right then why come back to you snapping insults at me, to have half the company be unable to look me in the eye. Why would I put myself through that?!”

“For my gold!” Thorin hisses out, eyes dark and piercing as he gestures around at the glittering hoard. “You come scavenging like all the other vultures.”

This is just like the last time he realizes. They keep saying the same things and going in circles and nothing he’s going to say with anger will help fix it.

He sighs, “From the start of this quest I’ve never wanted a single piece of your gold Thorin. I want no part of any treasure as long as I live. Remember I told you that at Bag End?”

Thorin only stares at him with that same wild look in his eyes and if this is the madness Balin spoke of then it’s evident now. He’s never seen the dwarf so off-kilter, even in that first fight in Lake-town Thorin had never looked so lost. Furious perhaps but not haunted and shuttered as he does now.

“Everything I’ve said is true, I didn’t know, I couldn’t know. I swear it and I’ve come to help you—help the company. I swore an oath to help you find the Arkenstone and reclaim your home and I intend to keep it.”

“I don't believe you. I can’t believe you.” Thorin says hoarsely, some of that madness slipping away if only for a moment as he gets a glimpse of the dwarf that first stood on his doorstep.

Bilbo looks at him and cannot help the way it feels like the very breath has been punched out of his chest. Thorin cannot trust him and Bilbo cannot convince him.

“If you ever cared for me at all, even just a little then let me stay, let me help you.” He says, near begging. “Please, Thorin let me prove it to you.”

A shudder runs through him and Bilbo can see his hands clenched into tight fists as Thorin closes his eyes and turns away from him. “Leave my sight. At dawn, we resume searching for the Arkenstone.”

He turns away and once again starts shuffling through the gold and it’s as if Bilbo has disappeared. Not even a minute has passed but Thorin looks wholly consumed by his search.

Bilbo stares for a moment, eyes catching the small tremble of the dwarf’s shoulders and then flees as quickly as he can, unable to bear it any longer.

He slips into an empty room near where the others are already settled and curls up into a little ball. His chest feels tight and shaky and Bilbo bites at his lip as a hot feeling runs through his throat and face. The bitter tinge of blood fills his mouth as he holds back a sob.

He got what he wanted and yet in the end somehow it feels like he accomplished nothing at all.

Chapter Text

Bilbo wakes to the sound of chaos—it was so loud that it startles him out of his sleep despite his exhaustion.

Stumbling out of the room he absently wished for Sting. The poor sword had been lost either by Thranduil’s hands or left abandoned on Mirkwood’s twisted forest floor. Having it now would certainly make him feel better about what seems to be the end of his magic. It’s an uncomfortable thought that’s plagued him since his awakening in Lake-town but he can linger on it no longer.

The banging leads him farther away from their common rooms and to the great hall, still ruined from their failed attempt at slaying Smaug.

The company is moving faster than Bilbo has ever seen them as they haul ruble to the gates to form a makeshift barricade, it takes him a moment to realize only half of the company is here and he wonders about the rest as Balin approaches him.

“What’s happening?” Bilbo asks quietly.

Balin looks wane, his skin pale and dark circles ring his eyes. “At dawn, the men of Lake-town came.”

He pauses for a moment. “With Thranduil’s armies as their shadow seeking a share of the treasure.” A sensation like a sucker punch hits him as Bilbo tries to come to terms with Thranduil’s involvement. He’d been gone from Dale in less than a day and somehow the king has stepped his way in. It’s a smart move for Bard but Thranduil is not one to act for kindness alone.

Bilbo’s eyes close as if to stop his next words. “Thorin refused, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Balin replies. “A raven has been sent to Dain Ironfoot as we speak and the company prepares for war.”

“He’s gone mad!” Bilbo says despairingly. “Even if Dain gets here in time how can he expect to match Thranduil’s numbers?”

Balin looks away, gaze wandering towards the direction of the Treasury where no doubt Thorin searches still for that damn stone. “The King has faith in this company and his kin.”

“Balin—you can't be alright with this. You know this isn’t Thorin.” Thorin may have been prideful and occasionally angry but to refuse aid to the innocent? To as much as outright declare war? “This is the dragon-sickness, you know it is.”

Balin does not shrug but instead seems to fold in on himself looking older than he has more than any other time in their journey. “If it is? Then there’s nothing I can do.”

“You could talk to him, he trusts you more than anyone here. He’d listen to you.” Bilbo pleads.

The dwarf shakes his head, resignation clear on his face. “Thorin answers to no call but that of the sickness.”

Bilbo feels like screaming. If he had less control he’d tear at his hair and stomp his feet. “That’s it then? You’re just going to follow him into his death?”

“I cannot go against my King,” Balin says regretfully. “None of us here can. We can only hope Thorin comes to his senses.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Bilbo challenges, anger sharp in his voice. Balin can only shake his head before he wanders away to continue helping the dwarves with their reinforcements. The rest of them are hard at work and looking not at all as if death is waiting at their doorstep.

Bilbo heads back to his room as he struggles to collect his thoughts. He doesn’t know when but he knows that soon his friends will be dead from Thorin’s fucking madness and he’s so furious he’s afraid he won’t be able to control himself if he runs into the dwarf king now.

More than that, the remains of Lake-town will fare even worse trying to wage a battle in this state when nearly all are injured or starved. Bilbo pictures Bard’s small son trying to fight a battle and it makes him shudder.

Suddenly, desperately Bilbo wishes for Gandalf at his side. Perhaps the wizard could talk sense to Thorin or knew of some way to break this spell.

No.

Balin must be wrong there has to be a way to find peace from here. Under it, all Thorin is a good man, a good leader who would be horrified to see his company dead.

To see his nephews dead.

The image of Fili and Kili lying in a pool of blood covered by a flurry of elven arrows flashes through his mind.

There has to be a way to fix this and Bilbo just needs to find it before the foolishness of dwarves makes it any worse.

Bofur brings him lunch but Bilbo’s stomach is so twisted in knots that he fears what will happen if he eats it.

Instead, Bilbo lingers near the Treasury, trying his best to look at Thorin without being noticed. If it’s possible the dwarf somehow looks worse than he did yesterday, more like a walking corpse than a king.

He barks out orders harshly as the company shifts through the sea of gold and gems. They seem uncaring as they work harder and harder and Bilbo can only wonder how they continue their search, how none of them catch his madness despite how ragged Thorin looks. Even Dwalin says nothing as Thorin admonishes them over and over again.

Balin was right Bilbo thinks in misery, none will go against their King.

It happens midday when things change and the first embers of a plan start forming in Bilbo’s mind. As of yet, Bilbo has not dared step foot in the treasury again, unable too without remembering that strange dark look on his face from the last time. Instead, he tries to help by reinforcing the walls, imaging he can see the glint of golden armor every time his head breaches through the crumbling stone.

A bit past noon and he hears the sudden sound of shouting. Balin, Oin, and Dori drop their tools and he sprints after them without a second thought.

The rest of the company is still in the Treasury but the relentless shifting of coins has finally stopped. One long moment to realize there’s someone lying on the ground and then who exactly it is.

“What happened?” Oin demands of them as he crouches down by Thorin’s side. The king is deathly still and Bilbo can’t move, can’t even tear his eyes away.

“Nothing,” Kili says looking shaken. “He was searching for the Arkenstone and then he just—” he looks so upset that he can’t even finish and Fili sets a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Uncle fainted,” Fili confirms and despite his calm demeanor, he looks upset as well. Bilbo glances around and realizes that the rest of the company looks unsettled. Bilbo wonders if they’ve ever seen him like this before, Thorin has always seemed so unshakeable, so strong.

“Exhaustion,” Oin grumbles unhappily. “Or starvation, who knows how many meals he’s skipped.” He steps back and sighs for a moment before coming to a decision. “Dori, Dwalin help carry him to his room.”

Balin looks at him, face uncertain. “Are you sure there’s no way to wake him?” Though he doesn’t say it they all know Thorin will be furious at the waste of time.

“If he wakes anytime soon then he’s just as likely to pass out again.” Oin frowns. “He needs rest—and a good meal, Bombur start preparing something light for his stomach.”

The company trade looks but as they glance over at Thorin’s fallen form no one argues, not even Dwalin.

Fili sighs and then straights and starts to turn back to the gold. “Nori, Gloin, Kili continue with reinforcements and searching for armies. The rest of you continue searching for the Arkenstone until dinner.”

Kili looks over at him for a moment but no one protests as they uneasily settle back into work. Bilbo turns to leave when Fili stops him.

“Master Baggins, we could use you in here,” Fili says gruffly.

Bilbo looks surprised but the dwarf merely waves an impatient hand. “We need all the help we can get, it would be foolish to turn away an extra pair of hands.” With that he strides away, gold coins clinking at his feet.

Bilbo can only stare at his back before shaking his head as he heads to a corner that looks relatively untouched.

Before being in this room had been overwhelming. He’d hated gold as much as he loved it but now even as his hands shifted through piles there was not so much as a hint of longing.

It was really gone then.

One way or another the last great dragon had died on Lake-town’s shore.

A thought occurred to him then and his hands stopped for a moment, holding tight around a pretty but common opal.

It took a minute for it to fully come back to him and Bilbo resisted the urge to laugh as he remembered the descriptions the company gave of the heart of the mountain.

Because he’d had it, hadn’t he? Before Smaug awoke—a gem so pale but burned bright like a star—he’d had it and then lost it without even realizing it.

It’s hard to remember much about his encounter with Smaug. At first, he’d been so afraid and then after he’d been in so much pain from the fight that the entire thing felt hazy like a dream.

Still, it only takes him a few moments to remember where he stood when Smaug awoke and Bilbo makes his way over carefully, one eye watching the rest of the company.

It’s too easy to find the Arkenstone buried under some nice looking diamonds and a layer of gold. Some part of him wants to shy away and pretend he never found it but regardless his fingers slip the gem into his pocket.

He works until dinner before he escapes to the solitude of his room as he struggles torn between two equally horrible choices. He could give the stone to Thorin in some small hope that it could stop his madness. The Thorin he knows is much kinder than this stricken dwarf who cannot think of anything outside his gold. Perhaps when he’s thinking clearly he’ll be sympathetic to Bard and Lake-town. Not forgiving but reasonable enough to see the truth in the matter.

Or.

Or he could use the Arkenstone to give them peace. If Thorin is that desperate for it then he’d have no choice but to help Lake-town no matter how furious he gets. He’d prove every terrible thing Thorin has said about him right but at least he’d be alive to say it.

He thinks of his arrival yesterday and his conversation with Balin. Balin hopes that the Arkenstone will help but admits even that is a far off dream. If Thorin’s friend and closest counsel thinks the Arkenstone won’t cure him then why should he?

Bilbo may not know much of dragon-sickness but he knows of dragons and their greed.

He knows Thorin will never stop.

In the end, it’s an easy choice to make.

“So you’ve found it then?” A voice says casually from behind him and Bilbo whirls around startled to see Fili leaning against his door frame, staring at the Arkenstone with an unreadable look on his face.

“Fili I can—” He stutters out before Fili raises a hand and stops him.

Fili steps further into the room, purposely stepping further into the doorway. “What’s there to explain? You found the Arkenstone and now you intend to escape with it.”

Bilbo frowns, “You don’t seem particularly surprised? Don’t you even want to know why?” It burns him to wonder what Fili must think of him now. He and his brother had been amongst his first friends in the company and despite their estrangement after the truth was revealed he’s missed hearing their laughter.

The dwarf shrugs. “ You intend to take it to Bard and the elf-king to barter for peace.” He laughs quietly at the shock he must-see on Bilbo’s face. “Despite appearances, I’m neither stupid nor unobservant, Master Baggins.”

Bilbo pauses and then looks him over, something picking at his mind.

“You want me to take the stone?” he says surprised.

The last of his previous cheer fades away and Fili looks at the stone for a long moment and then back at Bilbo. “If you took that to Rohan and beyond it would not be far enough.”

“Why wouldn’t you say anything then? Surely Thorin would listen to you—”

“He won’t,” Fili says sharply. “I’ve tried and so have Dwalin and Balin in their own ways but Uncle refuses to see reason. He is in a place I cannot reach no matter how hard I try.”

The dwarf sighs heavily and it occurs to Bilbo how truly young he is, how many of Bilbo’s hobbits are his age, and how many with the weight of a kingdom resting on his shoulders.

“I do not care if my Uncle hates me for this if he banishes me,” Fili says calmly and he looks so much like Thorin right then despite their appearances. A kind of bearing to his frame that instinctively makes Bilbo want to stand up straighter. “Only as long as he’s alive to do so.”

“I won’t tell him. I won’t tell anyone.” Bilbo reassures and surprised eyes flicker up at him.

“Why?” Fili asks—no demands, looking suddenly angry and Bilbo isn’t sure where he’s misstepped.

“Why would you do that?”

“Thorin only needs to be angry with one of us,” Bilbo says reasonably. How can Fili not see the logic in that?

Fili raises an eyebrow at him. “Is that what you think my uncle feels for you?”

Bilbo resists the urge to roll his eyes if only because it’s an incredibly childish one to do so. “I know he cares—cared about me but I also realize that Thorin cannot get over his anger no matter what I do or say. He’s already furious with me now, why should you have to share in that?”

Fili closes his eyes, looking pained. “You’re far too kind Master Baggins.”

“What?”

“This company has treated you poorly. My brother and I treated you poorly and you continue to help us at every turn.” His voice is quiet but it rings like a shout in his ears.

“I know dealing with what I am is not easy,” Bilbo says simply because he is not sure what else to say.

“Is it?” Fili looks truly angry now and it’s odd to see his carefree demeanor slip away. Of all the Durins he’s always remained the calmest where Kili is prone to excitement or bravado, Thorin to anger or arrogance Fili has been steady as a river stream. “You were our friend and we should have trusted you more. You helped save us how many times over and we scorned you in return.”

Bilbo wants to comfort him but is not sure if he’s allowed the right. If it would even help at all. Clearly Fili has been holding onto this for some time now.

“I am sorry for my actions Bilbo,” Fili says, at last, sounding tired and worn. “I know it means little but I truly am. Kili as well and he’d tell you himself if he wasn’t busy keeping an eye on the rest of them. If it matters any our avoidance since your return has not been because of what you are but our own shame.”

He looks so miserable that despite himself Bilbo can’t help but step forward and rest a careful hand on his shoulder. “ I forgive you. I’ve forgiven you all a long time ago.”

Some of the tension slips out of his frame and Fili bridges the gap between them to very careful rest his forehead against Bilbo’s own.

It’s a ritual he’s seen the rest of the company do to their family but not one he’s part taken in himself and it leaves him stunned.

A moment later Fili pulls away and when he meets his eyes he’s not surprised by the determination he sees there.

“I don’t know what my honor means to you anymore but I swear this—I cannot go against my Uncle, my King but I will protect you to my last breath.”

Bilbo closes his eyes against the sudden burn of tears. “Thank you, Fili.”

A hand touches his own for a moment and then Fili steps away, an impeccable mask slipping over his face and looking as if the last few minutes had never happened at all.

“Leave after midnight, Dwalin and Nori have guard duty and after the first hour they inevitably start arguing about the time Dwalin arrested Nori in Ered Luin.” With that, he strolls away before Bilbo can even say thank you.

Bilbo spends the rest of the day looking over the company trying to remember the way they sound when they argue or laugh. The smell of Bombur’s food, Nori’s sly comments, the sound of Bifur fiddling with a new wood carving. The last time he’d left hadn’t been planned at all and he’d wondered if he’d ever see them again if his last memories of them were to be shadowed by dragon fire and ruin. It’s easier now to look at them mostly fine and hale and know why he’s doing this.

It’s even easier to find Thorin’s room than he expects. Farther away than the rest of the company but not as close to the Treasury as he’d thought.

By the looks of it Thorin hasn’t moved at all since Fili and Kili helped him to his room, his exhausted body curled into his bedroll in a deeper sleep than Bilbo’s ever seen him do.

His chest tingles painfully at the sight but Bilbo is far too used to the way he feels when he looks at Thorin to pay it much attention.

The reliable rise and fall of his chest are reassuring as Bilbo steps further into the room with light feet. Farther down he can still hear the sounds of Dwalin and Nori on watch, their voices too low to catch more than murmurs.

Bilbo sits gently a few feet away from his bed roll, as close as he dares. His attention is caught by a glittering pile in the corner before realizing it’s only some kind of armor and dismissing it.

It’s foolish doing this but everything Bilbo has done since he’s been on this quest has been insane so what’s one more thing.

“I’m sorry.” He says quietly little more than a whisper. “I know what I promised you but I cannot sit and watch you destroy yourself for some gold.” In the end, it always comes down to the gods damned gold. Thorin cannot escape its pull and Bilbo refuses to let him die for it.

Thorin does not respond, does not even move and Bilbo can’t help but take one last look at him trying his best to capture his features. The high arch of his nose, his strong jaw, the soft fan of his lashes meeting his cheek, the way the dim moonlight gives him an otherworldly glow. This Thorin trapped in slumber looks more like the one who stepped in his door and called him a grocer. This Thorin is the one that makes a painful ache start in his throat.

If this is the last time he sees Thorin, he really sees him because tomorrow can bring nothing but grief and heartache, then this is the way he’d like to remember him. Noble and proud but kind, so kind.

Bilbo has to close his eyes then and he bites hard at his lip because if he doesn’t then he’ll burst into tears. He waits in the dark as he tries to get his body to settle, lulled slowly into peace by Thorin’s steady breathing. At last, he feels alright to continue and Bilbo opens his eyes even though it burns terribly.

“I’m sorry.” He says again because it’s true. He wishes there was a way to make Thorin understand but knows it’s futile. After all that was always the problem with them, they were both too stubborn for the other to understand or ever give ground. If things had been different Bilbo wonders could have been more? Or maybe they’d end up here regardless—Thorin, a mad king, and Bilbo, a wretched thief.

Unable to help himself Bilbo carefully reaches out a hand, his fingers barely skimming Thorin’s cheek. It’s warm beneath his touch and Thorin murmurs a word in what he thinks is Khudzul but could be the ramblings of a dream before settling back in and his face turning slightly to embrace the touch.

“I love you.” He says because it’s important before he forces himself to get up and leave, fleeing into the night like the oathbreaker Thorin had accused him of being so long ago, the Arkenstone burning a hole in his pocket.

It’s easy to make his way back to the ruins of Dale. No one expects someone to break out after all. The elven guards look surprised to see him however and Bilbo doesn’t protest as they grab his arm and drag him towards one of the more sturdy looking tents.

Even this far away he can hear the shouting of a familiar exasperated voice and it’s almost enough to make him smile. Three pairs of eyes look at him as the guards shove him forward.

“Bilbo!” Gandalf exclaims, relief clear in his eyes as he looks at him from head to toe. Bilbo manages to offer him a small grin though it only seems to make the wizard frown in response.

“Bilbo, what are you doing here?” Bard asks confused. “I thought you’d left for the mountain already.”

“Yes, What are you doing here dragon-kin?” Thranduil is as impassive as ever, clearly not even a dragon attack and imminent war is enough to faze him.

The look at him, expressions ranging from concern to curiosity to demanding but Bilbo cannot bring himself to words yet and thus strides forward and sets the Arkenstone harshly on the table, some small part of him hoping the cursed thing would just shatter in pieces.

“I am here to help you stop a war,” Bilbo says, resigned.

A hand grabs tightly onto his noninjured shoulder and Bilbo looks up to meet his friend’s eyes. “What have you done?”

Bilbo holds a breath and then lets it escape when he has no choice. “Thorin desires the Arkenstone above all else, if you use it to bargain he will fold.”

Bard at last tears his eyes away from the jewel. “How is this yours to give?” He asks with a touch of wonder in his voice. Bilbo can’t blame him for all it means, the Arkenstone shines brightly above all others.

“It’s not.” Thranduil cuts in coolly before he can even think of saying anything. “You stole it from your company—from Thorin Oakenshield.”

Bilbo gives one short nod. “Yes.”

“Why would you do this?” Bard says aghast. “Is this because of Lake-town?”

He looks concerned about the trouble he must think he’s put Bilbo in and he hastens to reassure. “I am and will forever be in your debt for you saving my life at Lake-town and the care your family gave me after but that’s not why.”

“Why?” Thranduil’s voice is like a crack of wind, the start of a hurricane and Bilbo doesn’t get why this matters, the Arkenstone is here, who cares about the why of it.

Somehow though he thinks he won’t be able to escape from any of the three without a real answer.

“I've grown care for them despite their flaws and I would save them if I can,” Bilbo says quietly.

Thranduil looks at him, gaze unreadable. “You would save the King under the Mountain.”

Bilbo tilts his chin up and stares back. “Yes.”

A wave of dizziness flickers over him and he stumbles nearly falling over before Bard steps in before anything more can happen, a kind hand making sure he doesn’t trip over his feet.

“You’re still injured and you must be exhausted.” He says kindly. “Come with me and you can stay with my children, Sigrid will be delighted to see you.”

Bilbo follows his lead with the feeling of eyes burning into his back as they slip out of the tent. He’s only glad he won’t lose even more face in front of the elf-king.

Bard leads him towards one of the more sturdy looking buildings, only a little touched by time and devastation but stops a ways away.

“Master Baggins whatever debt you think is between us has been paid twice over,” Bard says firmly.

Bilbo stares up surprised into his dark eyes. “Are you sure?” Telling about Smaug’s weak spot cannot make up for even half of the trouble the company has caused him, not to mention saving Bilbo’s life when he could have easily let him die with no one the wiser.

“I’m sure.” He says and then looking somewhat awkward continues on. “I have no use for your debt but friends are always welcome.”

Unable to help himself Bilbo smiles at him. “Friends it is then.”

Sigrid is indeed delighted to see him though she immediately scolds him about the state of his arm. She looks particularly distraught about several pulled stitches she finds under his bandage.

“A waste of good needlework.” She says teasingly.

Bain gives him some much-needed food and Tilda scavenges up a spare blanket and none of them ask about his return to the mountain.

Even though he knows he should, Bilbo cannot sleep, the image of Thorin’s furious eyes dance in his head as an omen of what morning will bring.

He slips from the room and goes to sit by one of the nearby fire pits with the ragged blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. The remains of Dale are looking much better thanks to the elf-king’s aid but he can still hear the sound of the wounded crying and can see people shiver in the night’s cool air.

Survival is still a long way off for all of them.

A looming presence sits next to him and Bilbo says nothing as lazy smoke circles start to appear.

“You are a fool,” Gandalf says at last after some length of time.

He shrugs. “Maybe but I did the right thing.”

The fire crackles between them and Gandalf’s next smoke shape is that of the familiar form of a dragon twisted in flight.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“I didn’t know.” He says quietly, unable to look away from the smoke dragon even as it starts to drift away into the wind.

Without looking at him Bilbo starts at the beginning. He knows Gandalf is his friend, his dearest one in fact, but it’s easier still to talk without facing his stern eyes. He tells of discovering his scales at Beorn’s home and not knowing what it meant only that he was afraid. He tells him about the spider attack and their imprisonment by Thranduil. How Thorin had been told but stewed in silent fury for days until Bilbo had confronted him after the kiss. He speaks of Smaug and how he’d been so mad seeing him head towards Lake-town that he’d reacted on instinct and he’d jumped off the mountain without knowing why only to end up free.

“It’s gone for good this time I think,” Bilbo says softly. He’d been afraid to bring it up to anyone as if afraid to speak the truth into existence but there’s no use denying it. “I feel different than before.” Last time had been like being shoved into someone else’s body but this time is like slipping on some old and loved slippers.

No scales, no fire, no wings.

Nothing but a hobbit with an achy shoulder and borrowed clothes.

“Thorin will not forgive you,” Gandalf says in return, not unkindly.

Bilbo closes his eyes but cannot bring himself to regret yet. “I know.”

They sit together until the sun starts to break over the mountain and then they rise and head over to Thranduil’s tent in silence.

No one says anything but there’s a strange feeling in the air as if they’re halfway into making a step into the unknown.

It makes everyone from the citizens of Lake-town to the elven guards unsettled.

Thranduil and Bard are already awake as they enter and Gandalf quickly joins them with a frown on his face. Bilbo flounders for a moment wondering if he should join if he’s even allowed to when he’s stopped by a cheerful cry of his name.

“Bilbo, I’m relieved to see you safe,” Legolas says smiling at him. Like the rest of the elves, the prince is dressed in fine armor but it’s hard to see him as threatening.

Unable to help himself Bilbo smiles at him in return. “It’s good to see a familiar face, I’d wondered if you were here.”

Legolas explains that he and some others had spent most of the night helping out the wounded of Lake-town. “We have limited hands and supplies.” He admits, smile dimming slightly. “But it seems the men of Dale are harder than most and we’ve lost no one since the first night.”

“Perhaps when this is all over Imladris could send aid,” Bilbo suggests and Legolas seems to cheer at the suggestion. The elves of Mirkwood have always run to a more martial calling than most and Elrond’s healing skills are famed throughout the land.

“I’m glad to have caught you before we left,” Legolas says quietly, some of his mirth fading away. “Has anyone told you of the defiler yet?”

“What of Azog?” He demands and the elf continues on looking solemn.

“He and his son bring an army of thousands this way.”

“Have they been told?” Bilbo asks, gesturing at the bickering trio in front of him. How can they be so calm?

Legolas frowns, “Yes, and your dwarves as well. All believe their armies will be enough to defeat the pale orc’s.”

“Do you believe that?” He says shuddering slightly at the thought of an army of thousands of orcs ready to brutalize and butcher without a moment's thought.

“No,” Legolas says simply. “But if I cannot sway them from their foolhardy thoughts then I can do my best to prepare, it’s why I’m glad to have found you, I want you to take this.”

In his hand is a fine elven dagger with silver leaves engraved on the handle. Bilbo looks at it and then back at Legolas in confusion. “Why would you give me this?”

“If—when the defiler comes I fear there’s little we could do in the fighting to protect you despite Gandalf believing otherwise. You lost your blade in Mirkwood, didn’t you? It would comfort me to know you had a way to defend yourself.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo says, at a loss for words and can do nothing but take the blade.

An elven guard with long red hair steps in and strides toward them. Legolas smiles at her, “friend, I have found your burglar.”

To Bilbo, he says, “This is Tauriel, guard captain of Mirkwood.”

She looks over at him in amusement as Bilbo flushes a deep red. “For such a small person you’ve caused a great deal of trouble for my men.”

“I’m sorry?” Bilbo glances at Legolas and wonders if the elf has neglected to mention his own involvement in their escape.

Tauriel smiles, “Don’t be, clearly they could use the practice.”

He finds Tauriel to be pleasant and quick-witted, in a way she reminds him of Elladan and Elrohir, Elrond’s sons. Of a hardier sort than most elves.

Before the sun has fully risen they set out on the well-worn path back to Erebor, led by a company of gold-clad warriors. It’s hard to notice anything over the unrelenting pounding of his heart but Bilbo is pleased to see that the men of Lake-town are protected by the safety of the elves.

Legolas trails behind his father and Bard, Tauriel at their side and Bilbo shifts uncomfortably in his saddle.

“Are you sure the King under the Mountain will be persuaded?” Legolas asks in a hushed tone.

Bilbo’s arms tighten around his waist as they come to a stop. “I know he values the Arkenstone beyond all measure.” Despite everything he can only hope that Thorin’s greed will win out one last time.

Erebor looms impressively in front of them despite the rubble at her gates. Up on the battlements stands the familiar figures of the company, dressed in armor and weapons at their side.

In the middle, looking like a thunderclap personified is Thorin. He’s furious and lovely all in the same breath and Bilbo sees the moment his gaze locks on him. For a second he thinks he sees something that could be grief but it’s gone in a flash of anger.

Thorin releases an arrow that lands only inches from Thranduil’s horse. Ahead he can see the tension of Legolas’s spine and Bilbo wishes he had some way of comforting him.

A chorus of cheers goes through the company and around him he can see the elves begin to tense, so subtle it’s barely a movement at all. The move so quickly it’s hard to see but Thranduil stops them before they can release their arrows.

Bard pulls out that cursed stone and the crowd—dwarves and elves go deathly silent.

The company cries out in shock all save for Fili who looks at him with something like sorrow.

“You ally yourself with oath-breakers and traitors and ask of me what is rightful mine?” Thorin says lowly, voice little more than a rasp but he never takes his eyes off of Bilbo. He looks absolutely murderous and he’s sure if anyone could kill by just the heat of a glare that he’d already be a pile of ashes drifting away.

“The return of the Arkenstone for what was promised to us,” Bard says levelly and Bilbo admires his calm demeanor. “Will you have peace or war, Thorin son of Thrain?”

His answer is a Raven’s cry and the slow steady pulse of iron boots marching forward. Dáin Ironfoot and his army breach the hills and the company lets out a cheer.

“No,” Bilbo says quietly, despairingly. For all his efforts have amounted to nothing.

The elven army turns to meet them and Bilbo urges Legolas to follow Gandalf who is striding farther ahead than anyone else.

Gandalf tries to reason with him but Dáin who looks ready to fight is clearly unpersuaded even as he tells of the pale orc’s army.

The ground shudders once, then twice before there is an ominous crack and a terrible shrieking sound fills the air. The blaring of a horn makes even the nearby elves shudder.

“The defiler has arrived,” Legolas says quietly as the Iroonfoot force goes to meet them with a battle cry.

Bilbo looks around until he finds Thranduil staring impassively at the battlefield ahead of them.

“Will you do nothing? And to think you thought yourself better than Thorin Oakenshield.” Bilbo says angrily but the elf-king does not even look at him.

There is a flash of gold, an elven war cry and at last, Thranduil turns to look at him, inclining his head slightly.

“I thought your long years had taught you patience, dragon-kin.”

The battle is on and it’s somehow familiar and not. He’d fought wars as a dragon, fought orcs as a hobbit but it was so much more awful to see it up close and in person.

Another force appears then, more orcs and hurrying creatures as they realize with dread that they’re heading to Dale.

Bard orders them to fall back and Legolas' horse turns to follow.

“They’re defenseless,” Bilbo says quietly in fear thinking of Bard’s children in that tiny room. He slashes away grasping goblin hands as Legolas continues onward, never flinching.

Bard leaps off his horse and disappears into the fray as Legolas quickly pulls him from the saddle.

“Stay nearby,” Legolas instructs but then there is little time for words as the orcs are upon them.

Bilbo slashes at any goblin he sees as Legolas and Gandalf fight with skillful ease. For a quick moment, he wishes for his fire but his sword skills will have to be enough. Every swing of his blade makes him want to cry out in pain. His shoulder screams at the movement but he cannot stop, cannot falter or they’ll be overwhelmed. Men fall and others step in to take their place as screaming and the scent of blood fills the air.

They fight as long as it takes for the wounded to be taken to safety and every minute feels like it lasts an age. From the corner of his eye, Bilbo sees Thranduil fall from his great steed and he heads over in that direction. He gets there in time to strike down an archer before he can launch an arrow at the elf-king and Thranduil gives him a barely perceptible nod.

Legolas finds them, face grim and covered in the black orc blood from head to toe. “ Tauriel reports a third of our force are down or dead.”

Thranduil twirls and slashes at a group of ogres, their corpses falling at his feet. “What of the bowmen’s forces? The dwarves?”

“Close to the same or near enough.”

The elf-king’s lips tighten into a thin line and he moves quicker searching out for who Bilbo can only presume is Bard. The orcs press ahead, forcing them to move back towards Erebor or be cut down and Bilbo stumbles once or twice, nearly falling over a dead body. Everywhere around them stands the fallen and injured.

Tauriel’s word is true. The dwarves cut less of an impressive figure as they met blade after blade and fall. At every half-second pause he searches out for Thorin and his company but if they’re there then he cannot see them. He hopes they’re safe, hopes they found Dáin.

Out of nowhere is the strike of a bell and Bilbo turns in time to see the stone of Erebor crumble as the dwarves, his dwarves burst through with a battle charge—Thorin at the helm glittering, brilliant in the morning light.

The glint of silver catches his eye and Bilbo moves in time so the orc’s blade catches on his shoulder and not his head. It throws off most of the force but it’s still enough to make Bilbo wince as he starts to parry.

“Focus Bilbo, we’re not through yet.” Legolas chides as he steps in behind the orc and catches him neatly in the back.

Bilbo glances in Thorin’s direction one more time and then lets himself move on, unable to afford to be distracted.

The dwarves seem rallied by his presence and Bilbo finds himself reassured by it as well and fights even harder. He wonders what it means that Thorin left Erebor if he’s still under the dragon-sickbed.

“They go to fight Azog,” Legolas says in something akin to astonishment and Bilbo turns to the hill to see what looks like a pack of war goats racing up it.

“Who goes?” Bilbo asks in alarm. “Legolas who goes to fight the defiler?”

Dread curls in him and even before Legolas says the answer he already knows it in every fiber of his being.

In the end, there’s only one choice it could ever be.

“The King under the Mountain,” Legolas says in admiration, and Bilbo’s heart drops.

Gandalf and Legolas both shout in dismay as he breaks from the group and makes his way through the crowd, dodging friend and foe alike as he tries to reach the hill.

“Master Burglar!” A voice calls out and Bilbo is swung up into the air before finding himself on the back of Tauriel’s horse.

“What the hell are you doing?” Tauriel says as Bilbo tries to slide free.

“They mean to go for Azog.” Bilbo snaps out. “They’ll die, the damned foolish lot of them.” Thorin despite his strength and skill has fainted until yesterday. He cannot mean to hold off the pale orc with so few numbers.

Tauriel says a quick word in elvish and her horse turns, galloping towards the hill. “Then we shall simply make sure they don’t.”

Above the roar of the battle she shouts out something else and in the distance, he can see Legolas nod back before cutting down another enemy.

“What did you tell him?” Bilbo asks curiously.

Tauriel smiles serenely at him, “He instructed me to keep an eye on you, I was just informing him you were well if bravely stupid.”

Bilbo scowls back in reply.

They follow the trail of bodies up the hill and Bilbo is relieved to see that he recognizes none of them.

Up ahead is the sound of battle and Tauriel urges her horse on harder, one hand prepared to grab her dagger in a moment's notice.

They turn the next corner to find a small horde of goblins fighting Dwalin and Thorin. Dwalin notices them first and pauses long enough to tell them to head to the towers.

“Go! Kili and Fili search there for the defiler.” Dwalin snarls out. Thorin turns to look at them, look at him but Tauriel’s horse charges forward and they are gone.

She stops the horse as they near the ice and frees him carefully from the saddle. “Let’s hope your friends are as quick-footed as you, Master Burglar.”

Bilbo holds tightly onto his blade and follows her lead unable to help but think of how their last encounter ended Thorin nearly dead.

If someone like Thorin could not stop him what hope did they have?

The ice cracks ominously beneath their feet but the stone tower is silent save for the sound of their breathing.

Tauriel holds out her hand and Bilbo stills. “Above.” She says hushed, barely more than a whisper and Bilbo nods as they make their way to the upper levels.

They make their way carefully towards the top of their own and his anxiety ricochets skyward when he realizes in the midst of slain orcs that there’s red blood, fresh blood on the ground.

Someone has been caught.

Next to him he can see Tauriel tense and knows she must have seen it too. Their footsteps grow louder as they move quicker, stealth slipping out the window.

They come to the last of the broken ruin and Azog stands before them, a pack of orcs at his side and poor Fili held by the scruff of his neck, saying something in that awful speech.

Tauriel looks at him and raises three fingers and Bilbo nods. As the third finger drops, one of the orcs finally notices them and cries out in alarm.

The pale orc turns to look at his man and Tauriel throws out her dagger, knocking his blade off course. Fili cries out as Azog drops him from the tower and Bilbo can only pray that he survives the fall.

The orcs strikeout and Tauriel jumps forward, putting herself between Azog and Bilbo. She does not look back only trying her best to parry with her other dagger but it is a matchup of the worst kind.

All Bilbo can do is his best to protect her back and try to dodge the worst of the orc swords as he tries to think of a way out.

“Bilbo!” Kili appears from the shadows, rage on his face and he cuts down the orc closest to him. He’s panting slightly and listing as he favors one side. “What happened to my brother? Does he live?”

Bilbo shakes his head, trying to get closer to Tauriel and the defiler who’s suddenly taken notice of their newest combatant and is making his way towards the entrance. “I don’t know—he was alive when he went over the edge.”

Tauriel cries out as the pale orc’s mace hits her and Bilbo watches in horror as she crumples to the ground.

“I’ll take care of them!” Kili says nodding at the remaining orcs. “Help her.”

Azog stands above her and snarls something out as she struggles to her feet.

Bilbo glances once more at Kili’s confident face and can only hope he’s making the right decision as he lunges forward. Azog moves out of the way but it’s fine as long as his attention is no longer on Tauriel.

The orc clearly recognizes him because a cruel smirk stretches over his scarred face as he forces Bilbo closer and closer to the edge. Every strike he makes, every parry is easily avoided like he’s swatting at a fly.

Bilbo sees Kili has defeated the remaining orcs and reached Tauriel’s side. Blood drains off of the two of them in pools and it’s easy to see how wounded they are. As laughably as it sounds they’ve even less of a hope of beating Azog then even he does.

“Run!” Bilbo yells out and Kili looks hesitantly at him before starting to pull Tauriel away. Snarling Azog turns to stop them and Bilbo charges forward, leaping onto his back and swinging his dagger towards the pale skin.

His aim strikes true and the orc cries out in pain as it pierces his chest. Azog stumbles back and Bilbo realizes only a second before it happens that they’re falling over the edge. In the distance, he can hear someone call his name before they hit the ground with a sickening crunch and the world goes dark.

It’s hours or maybe minutes later before Bilbo awakens with a groan. He pulls himself slowly into a sitting position as he touches his head. Every breath he takes is agonizing and short. It takes him a painfully long moment to realize that Azog is not next to him and he lumbers to his feet, grabbing a sword from a nearby dead orc. Using it as a crutch he makes his way towards the sounds of fighting. It’s easy to see Erebor in the background and see the armies are still at work, Azog must still live.

He can only hope his friends do as well.

His head aches with every step and the pain in his shoulder is unbearable but he keeps moving.

Near the ice, Dwalin and Legolas are fighting another pack of orcs and it’s so strange a sight that it nearly stops him in his tracks.

In the center of the ice is Thorin fighting back desperately against Azog. Despite the pain in his chest Bilbo breaks into a run, not stopping as Legolas calls out his name.

Azog and Thorin both look exhausted and run through but neither will stop. The sound of screeching fills the air and Bilbo barely takes notice of the eagles as Azog falls beneath the ice.

Just as Bilbo reaches them Thorin falls to his knees in pain as Azog breaks through the ice with a scream.

Bilbo charges forward with a shout as Thorin’s blade falls and Azog starts to fall forward. Azog snarls and whirls in time to block him, leaving Thorin gasping against the ice.

From the start, it’s an inevitable match. Aside from the cuts and bruises Bilbo has no doubt broken at least one rib, suffered a concussion, and injured his shoulder beyond repair. Now he fights with a borrowed unfamiliar blade from a creature thrice his size.

Still, there is no option but to endure and Bilbo fights not to win but for time.

It was always going to end one way and Bilbo is not surprised when Azog starts to fight back and his own strikes begin to falter. Azog smiles and Bilbo can only cry out as the orc’s mace aims not for him but at his wounded shoulder. Despite the searing pain burning through him Bilbo leans into the thrust and brings his blade to Azog’s middle. Azog snarls out and Bilbo’s body begins to betray him, refusing to stand.

Bilbo closes his eyes and hopes it will be quick. He’s already experienced a slow death and isn’t inclined to repeat it.

There’s the sound of blades clashing and he looks to see Thorin has grabbed his fallen blade and is fighting back despite his wounds.

You fool Bilbo thinks in despair why didn’t you run away.

Something must finally be in their favor because Azog starts to slow whether from blood loss or exhaustion he does not know. For the first time since the battle started, he’s begun to make mistakes and he cries out at every slash of Thorin’s blade. Thorin is quicker than his foe and at the first opening, his blade snaps forward and cleaves Azog’s head straight off his miserable shoulders.

Thorin looks at the head as if surprised and then begins to step towards Bilbo when he crumples to the ground a few feet away. Despite everything Bilbo grits his teeth and starts to drag himself towards him, ignoring the foreboding sensation of warmth he leaves in his stead.

“Thorin.” He tries to say but can manage little more than a whisper as he tries to see if Thorin’s chest still rises.

Slowly, agonizingly Thorin turns to face him. “Bilbo.” Regret and pain cover every inch of his face but Bilbo is so relieved to see him alive that it might as well be the most beautiful sight in the world.

He opens his mouth and he’s unsure what his next move was—to cry, to apologize, to tell Thorin he’s a fool who should save his strength—but instead darkness overtakes him.

The last thing he sees is the devastating blue of Thorin’s eyes.

Chapter Text

Bilbo drifts in an ocean of nothingness for what seems like many years and is comforted by it—the way it cradles him gently as he imagines a mother would have if he had ever had such a thing.

The nothing is not scary but warm like curling up with a good book next to a well kept fire.

At some point so slowly that he can’t recall when Bilbo begins to dream and that wonderful warmth slowly slips away.

He dreams of calloused hands running through his hair, of a voice saying his name over and over again.

He dreams of a red scaled beast, of his skin falling away like ashes.

He dreams of a crowded house—a chorus of voices laughing and shouting and the clatter of silverware.

He dreams of a woman laughing, of children cheering and playing in a quiet little place.

He dreams of a green voice, of gentle but steady hands holding onto him, of the promise of a new life.

He dreams of a man he once begged to kill him.

He dreams of a thousand fights, of smoldering flame.

He dreams of the touch of the sky.

He dreams and he dreams for so long that he’s no longer sure that any of it was ever real. Was there ever a king with dark hair and piercing eyes? Had there ever been a little house tucked away by the earth? Had a dragon ever lost its wings?

He tries to hold onto them as best he can— the cheering crowd, the man in the hat, of a voice calling burglar but they slip through his fingers like shadows into the night.

He dreams and he drifts and he wonders in the nothingness and the dark. Until like all things do it must come to an end in one way or another.

Bilbo Baggins wakes with the deep seated knowledge of someone who knows they’ve been asleep for a very very long time.

It takes him a minute to slip fully into awareness and he gingerly sits up in his cot, his ribs protesting heavily at the motion.

The tent he’s in is otherwise empty and distantly he can hear the sound of people talking beneath the constant murmur of what sounds like hammers.

Bilbo starts to move but the moment he does he’s struck by an agonizing pain and he can’t help but cry out clutching at his arm as the room blurs white hot.

Someone darts into the tent and he’s so racked by pain it takes him a second to realize it’s Tauriel. The elf-maid scolds him as she helps ease him back down.

“Why am I not surprised you try to move the second you wake.” Still beneath the firmness of her tone there’s something like relief.

“What’s happened? How long have I slept? How fair the others?” His voice is awful and rough with sleep and disuse and Tauriel raises a hand to interrupt him.

“Peace Master Burglar, I will answer all your questions in time.” She strides out for a moment, saying a quick word in sindarin before stepping back in and settling into the chair next to his cot.

She makes him wait until an elf comes in with a pitcher of water and he drinks half of it before she’ll let him say anything at all.

Some of his desperation must show on his face because Tauriel simply sighs once before beginning to speak.

“The battle has long since finished and you rest in the camps of elves and men in Dale. We won despite suffering heavy losses on all sides.”

“Losses?” Bilbo says imploringly.

Tauriel smiles at him and there’s something calming about it, an innate sense of peace that reminds him of Arwen. “Your friends live Master Burglar, as do mine.”

It’s wonderful the relief that rises in him then, so overwhelming that Bilbo thinks he could burst but still he can’t help but fear. “Thorin?”

“The King Under the Mountain lives.” Tauriel confirms quietly but before any more relief can fill him she says, “However he was gravely injured in the fight with the pale orc—he nearly slipped away twice and he rests now in his mountain.”

“He’s still asleep?” Bilbo’s brow furrows. “Hang on you’d said the battle has long been over. How long has Thorin been asleep? How long have I?”

She does not look away from him. “Nearly a month.”

The bottom of his stomach drops out and a pool of dread takes its place. “How?”

“You both received grave wounds, fatal wounds if not for quick treatment. I do not know the specifics of the King’s but I can tell you of your own.”

“Please.” Dimly he realizes he’s feeling something like shock and Bilbo forces himself to calm.

“You received four broken ribs, a twisted ankle and were covered in superficial bruising and punctures.”

She looks at him in consideration and he sighs “That cannot be all of it.” None of that was enough to steal away a month.

“The sleep was from your head wounds—we can’t be exactly sure but you suffered more than one and it was enough of a concern that we worried you wouldn’t wake at all at one point.”

Bilbo thinks back to the fight—the fall from the tower, that first black out—and can picture it easily.

A never ending sleep, was that better or worse than drowning beneath the ice?

“There’s also the matter of your shoulder.” Tauriel says and her clinical tone turns gentler somehow.

“My shoulder?” He says in confusion which only grows further as Tauriel carefully peels the blanket away from him. His right arm is bound tightly against body and when Bilbo tries to wiggle his fingers he’s struck by that same white hot pain again.

“The damage was...unexpected, nearly all the bones in your shoulder and upper arm were shattered.” She sighs. “It was a concerning injury but then infection set in—it’s been hard to manage and you still have it even now.”

“I sense there’s more to it.” Bilbo says quietly. “Please continue.”

“You woke at a very opportune time Master Baggins—the healers have been debating your course of treatment and perhaps your opinion can hold some sway.”

“What are my options?”

“To keep the arm or cleave it.” Tauriel says bluntly. “If the infection grows too severe you could die, but if we can gain some ground with it then there’s a chance you can keep it though I do not know what the arm would be like after.”

It’s a shock but not as much of one as it could be. The fight with Smaug, going into battle still injured and Azog’s targeted blows had all made him think of the arm being ruined.

“Even if I beat it do you think I could be the same as I was before?”

Tauriel shrugs, “ I cannot say, surgery is not my speciality and I’ve seen many go on fine and many wrought with pain often. Even with our most skilled healers at the helm it is a gamble Master Burglar.”

“Do I have time?” Bilbo tries to picture it—a life without an arm, a life where he cannot write or defend himself. Still the alternative is not much better; what use is there in writing if every motion causes pain? Could he even raise a sword even if he kept an arm? He’s already lost his wings. How much worse could losing an arm be?

“Not long, a day or two perhaps depending on how well the arm fairs currently.” Tauriel says gently. “I know it is much to consider and I would give you more time if I could.”

Bilbo nods and tries to smile reassuringly but it’s half hearted at best so Tauriel turns towards other topics of conversation.

She tells him that the elves and men are currently in talks with the dwarves and though the meetings are tense, the near side is as quick to anger as before.

In the meanwhile those who are able have begun the long process of rebuilding. Winter is coming right around the corner and shelter and supplies are the highest priority for all involved.

Tauriel and Legolas have stuck with healing the wounded for their numbers are many. All are for the most part untrusting and many of the injured dwarves refused aid at first until people such as Oin talked sense into them.

Perhaps surprisingly Bard has been involved in the discussions as an equal partner of the elves and his children have helped in repairing Dale and aiding the injured.

“I’m afraid I know very little of your friends.” She admits with some regret, “Save for those that come for healing the dwarves have kept to the mountain though it is no longer sealed. I have seen all of your company around.”

All save for their King Bilbo thinks and the thought bothers him so much that he hastily forces it away.

“What of Gandalf? Of Mithrindir?” He says instead.

Tauriel laughs quietly, the sound like tinkling bells. “Somehow he’s involved himself in the talks though the whole process seems to grieve him.”

It’s so much like him that Bilbo can’t help but smile. If all things change then at least Gandalf the Gray will remain as steady as the tide.

They’re interrupted by another elf who looks apologetic but explains they need Tauriel’s aid and she excuses, promising that she or Legolas will be back later with his dinner.

She pauses at the entrance of the tent, her green eyes piercing into him. “I know you would like to help your friends, to help all of us but the best thing that can be done now is to rest.”

Tauriel leaves before he can sputter out a protest and Bilbo is left with the distinct impression of being scolded like a mischievous fauntling.

He finds his eyes grow heavy without meaning to and he surrenders to sleep with the half formed hope that it won’t be for another month.

There are no dreams this time or if there had been they’ve faded away from memory by the time his eyes flutter open. The noises from earlier are all but gone now save only for the quietest of whispers and footsteps.

There’s the smell of a hearty meal and pipe weed filling the tent and Bilbo is not surprised by the appearance of his oldest friend.

“Awake at last I see and I thought talk of hobbits hibernating was only a myth.” Gandalf laughs at his scowl and carefully helps him sit up for his dinner. It’s awkward eating with his left hand but not unmanageable and he’s spared the indignity of Gandalf spoon feeding him.

“I am glad to see you awake.” Gandalf says quietly as he blows out a smoke ring.

“I’m glad to be awake, I did not think it likely at the end.” Bilbo says truthfully.

One of those bushy eyebrows raise. “And what did happen at the end? Dwalin found you and Thorin both unconscious next to each other and the defiler headless nearby.”

Bilbo tries for a casual shrug and then hisses at the sharp pain. Despite being bond it seems every motion he makes jars his wounded side. “Thorin killed him, I must have blacked out but he was awake longer than I was.”

There’s something incredulous in his stare but Bilbo decides to do the prudent thing and ignore it. Gandalf is above all else a gossip and too curious for his own good. Besides, it was the truth after all. Thorin had slain Azog and avenged his family, did anything else in the telling matter?

“Have they spoken to you about your arm?” Gandalf says instead of pressing the issue.

“They have.” Bilbo looks at him. “Is there anything you could do? Any last minute wizardry?”

“If only I could.” Gandalf sighs ruefully. “If you had any chance at all it would be with Imladris but even on the fastest horse you’d never make it in time. Still the healers say there’s hope, if only they can manage the infection.”

“If only.” Bilbo says quietly but there’s no further wishing at the thought. If it’s to be his fate then better an arm than his life.

Without prompting Gandalf starts in on a rant about the ongoing discussions, ranting about the idiocy of one side or the other. “The only one with anything close to sense is Balin and even then there’s only so much he can do.”

“Why not?” Bilbo asks curiously. “If Thorin’s still asleep then wouldn’t his advisor be in charge?”

Gandalf waves a hand, bites of pipe weed falling to the ground at the erratic motion. “Fili is of age though not much past it. Despite his training he’s inexperienced in such talks.”

“Isn’t that unfair then? To press forward with the talks while he’s alone?” Bilbo can’t help but think of the last time he saw Fili, the flash of fear in his eyes as he was dropped from the tower.

“He’s inexperienced but not naive. It’s a fair enough decision especially with Balin and Dain Ironfoot advising him.” Gandalf pauses for a moment. “Truthfully the negotiations have gone on so long because both sides are reluctant to discuss more serious matters with Thorin unaccounted for.”

Bilbo can see the logic in it—Thorin had been so steadfast before in his refusals to give even an inch. Fili’s word now was as good as his uncles in its permanence but could anyone help but wonder of what could come after? Would they press for peace only to face another war in winter?

Still surely Thorin would see reason now whenever woke. Thorin had saved him despite Bilbo betraying him for the world to see. That had to mean something didn’t it?

Bilbo has to believe in the man he originally chose to follow. That Thorin Oakenshield could not be lost after everything.

“Do you think he’ll wake soon?” Bilbo wants to wince at how hopeful he sounds. If it’s obvious to him how much easier is it for Gandalf to hear?

“I do not know.” Gandalf fiddles with his pipe and this time to the smoke ring he blows out looks like a mountain. “I hope so. For all our sakes.”

Gandalf leaves him soon after his dinner is finished, he gently pats his uninjured arm and promises to stop by as soon as he can.

“Gandalf!” He says before the wizard can leave and he stops to stare at him in surprise.

“I know it’s unlikely, but I wish to see the company again. If they’d want to see me.” Bilbo cannot help but think of what tomorrow might bring. If his arm cannot be saved and he must endure surgery. He trusts in the elves and their expertise but everything has its risks. If he could die tomorrow or the next day then he wants to know it’s with everything settled.

Gandalf looks at him for a long moment and then at last says he’ll see what he can do before disappearing into the dark.

His check up tomorrow does not prove as fruitful as they all hoped. Tauriel and Legolas sit with him as the elven healer strips off his sling and bandages. He's a dark haired man named Amdir who surveys him with a brisk demeanor but has gentle hands.

Beneath the bandages lies what had once been his arm. The skin is red and blistering with deep purple on the edges of it. Near the actual shoulder the skin itself is so blistered and damaged that a deep hole has started to form.

“I’m guessing it hasn’t gotten better?” Bilbo says with resignation at his friends dismayed faces.

Amdir looks apologetic. “I’m afraid not Master Baggins. The hole has actually grown significantly since last time.”

They settle the matter for surgery for tomorrow. Bilbo is surprised at the haste but Amdir explains he’s easily their most injured patient at the moment.

“I’m also afraid of it spreading further into your bloodstream the longer we wait.” He admits and it’s enough to convince Bilbo.

If Bilbo expected anyone of the Company to answer his plea then it would have been Bofur or Ori. Maybe even Balin if he wasn’t so involved with the peace talks. Instead at midday Kili strides into his tent, looking oddly hesitant and young.

It’s enough of a surprise that Bilbo sets down his cup of tea before he can spill it.

“Kili! It’s good to see you.” He says as warmly as he can. Indeed it’s the truth, though they were still at somewhat odds at the end he’s relieved to see him looking so well.

So alive.

Kili relaxes somewhat at his words but it’s still a far cry from the boy who made a mess in his home all that time ago. He sits down carefully as if he’ll be called away at any moment.

Bilbo is eager to ask of the company and of their leader but Kili begins before he can say anything at all.

“It’s good to see you as well Master Baggins. There is much to talk about and little time to do so.” Kili looks at him and there is no mirth in his eyes, no gleam of laughter. In that moment he looks more like his uncle than he ever has before. “I know you have no reason to grant it but I ask that you let me speak my piece first.”

“Oh! Of course.” Bilbo tries to smile at him but it seems to do little.

“I know a little of your conversation with Fili back in the mountain. I know he’s told you of why we stayed away and that my brother has apologized but you’re owed many more.”

“Kili—” Bilbo begins but the dwarf continues on like he’d never said anything at all.

“I owe you mine and I’ve come with many others to accompany me. We are beyond sorry for how we acted after your secret was revealed, if I had a beard to give you in remorse I would.”

“Kili—” He tries again to little avail.

“The others of the company feel just as badly. You were our friend and we treated you so poorly! It’s a disgrace we cannot fix but we offer you anything that’s in our power to give.”

“Kili.” Bilbo says forcefully and this time Kili stops, looking up at him with watery eyes. “If you know of my conversation with Fili then surely you know I’ve already forgiven you all.”

Kili opens his mouth, a refusal on his lips but Bilbo only has to shake his head once before he’s quiet again. “We’ve all made mistakes, myself included and I owe you all an apology as well for any harm I’ve caused, intentional and otherwise.”

Bilbo pauses for a moment. “I would like us to move past this if we can. If there’s anything I could ask for then it could only be your friendship once more...if that’s something you’re willing to give me.”

“Are you sure?” He says and he sounds very young. “Would you really want to be friends with us all after everything?”

“I could ask for no finer friends.” Bilbo says firmly and is greeted with a smile. It’s small and fragile but it’s the start of hopefully better times for them all.

Bilbo decides he’s gone through enough motions in one day and badgers Kili into more news of the company. The repairs on the mountain are apparently going quite well though there’s no chance of the rest of their kin coming to join them until at least next summer.

The others of the company are often exhausted but happy in their continued survival. Bofur and his cousins have startled whittling toys for the young survivors of Lake-town while the others are often involved in the repairs and reorganization of the mountain.

Kili quiets when they at last come to the subject of Thorin. “He’s recovering well but the healers have no idea when he’ll awaken—they say it could just as easily be tomorrow as another month.”

He looks so miserable that Bilbo can’t help but try to comfort him. “Thorin Oakenshield is one of the strongest and most stubborn men I’ve ever met, if anyone could get through this hale and healthy it would be him.”

“Do you think you’d like to talk with him when he wakes?”

Bilbo blinks in surprise. “Do you think he’d want to talk to me? After everything?”

Kili shrugs uneasily, “I thought I knew my uncle as well as anyone could once but now I cannot say anything of what he’d like. Still it seems unfinished between you.”

Kili leaves him soon after, wishing him well on his surgery and promising to visit afterwards. He shyly says the others may as well and Bilbo can only respond that he’d look forward to it.

Still thoughts about Thorin plague him for the rest of the night. Would he want to talk to Thorin? Could Thorin possibly want to see him? Is there anything they could say to each other that wouldn’t just devolve into shouting and hurtful words?

Kili believes it to be unfinished but that’s the optimism of the youth and Bilbo has lived long enough to know that sometimes there is no satisfactory resolution. Sometimes there are endings where everyone walks away unhappily and can only regretfully look back later on the what if’s.

Recovery is a slow and painful process that he stumbles along as much as he succeeds. He reaches out for things with an arm that’s no longer there, he sometimes stumbles expecting to lean against his bed only for nothing to meet it. Despite it being cut cleanly away the space where it once was itches and throbs and it’s hard for Bilbo to ignore.

His friends try to help at first but truth be told Bilbo has always been an awful patient, too independent and stubborn to be vulnerable even for a moment. Now they let him shuffle along, figuring out his own way to do things even if it takes him five minutes to button up his shirt.

Their rekindled friendship is a tentative and fragile thing. It’s easier with some like Ori and Nori whereas others like Gloin and Dwalin still have that tinge of awkwardness to them. Still he appreciates the effort and tries his hardest to match it.

No one speaks a single word about the Arkenstone. No one says a thing about Thorin unless he prods them into it and the first conversation is so horribly awkward that he never tries again.

The dwarves try to make time but they’re busy, there’s so many things to prepare and fix so when he’s well enough Bilbo tries his best to stay out of their way as much as he can.

Truthfully everyone but him is busy, even Bard’s children have jobs to do and Bilbo feels more than a little adrift. It’s one thing to rest in the comfort of Bag End and another to shuffle around in the wreckage of a battlefield.

Gandalf first mentions leaving when the autumn air starts to grow colder and all the leaves have fallen from the trees.

“I will not be able to linger here much longer.” He says one night.

“What about the negotiations?” Bilbo asks, surprised. “Aren’t you worried what they’ll do when you're gone?”

Gandalf hums in consideration. “Tempers have cooled more now and I can see the first embers of peace. They know they cannot wait all winter for Thorin to wake much as we’d hoped to. If I leave now I believe it would be fine even when he awakens or I’d find a way to stay.”

The wizard looks at him. “I’d likely be one of the last to leave before the snow makes it unsafe to travel. I know you’re still recovering but I’d ask that you consider where you want to be come the thaw of spring.”

Bilbo considers his options for a good while even as the days begin to grow shorter.

The dwarves offer him safe passage for the winter as do Bard and Legolas but ultimately none of his options are perfect. Everyone here is struggling and it’ll be worse in winter where every bit of food and space could have gone to someone else, someone who could have needed it more.

Someone who would be more deserving of it.

They all protest when he tells them of his plans but his mind is set. In his heart he knows there’s no place he’d want to be than back in the Shire. He’s adventured for far too long and now home calls for him comfortingly.

He invites all his friends to visit any time they’d like and to send him letters as well.

Fili, one of his more infrequent visitors if only because of his duties, catches him the night before they leave.

They talk of many pleasant things for a long while but at the end of the night Fili asks if he’d ever consider coming back to Erebor and he can only answer truthfully that he doesn’t know.

The what-ifs and could be’s slip into his head again that night but even a once dragon needed more than uncertainty and hope.

A not insignificant part of him wants to stay until Thorin awakens and Bilbo believes with all his heart that he will wake up even as others worry and worry louder.

But then he thinks of what comes after—will they fight, will they speak as former friends, will Thorin ignore him entirely—and he’s too afraid of the prospects to stay even as that part of him is disappointed.

He thinks to say goodbye to him even while sleeping but it’s a silly request that he dismisses easily. No one, save the company and Dain Ironfoot have seen the King since the day of the battle and even now his chambers in the mountain are surrounded by guards. If Bilbo tries to enter who knows what kind of trouble he could make for the negotiations.

Besides hasn’t he already said goodbye before? Wasn’t that an adequate enough goodbye that night on the mountain? What more could he say now that he hadn’t already said then?

So Bilbo Baggins and Gandalf the Gray begin their way home with their friends wishing them safe travels. It’s going to be a long and dangerous journey but Bilbo is excited beyond words for the reward at the end of it.

Bag End.

The journey back is not nearly as difficult as the journey there though it’s much more quiet. They’re greeted properly at Mirkwood by Thranduil’s steward who offers them food and shelter.

The King is still in Dale but Bilbo’s is surprised to learn he hasn’t returned at all since the battle.

“Though no one matches Lord Elrond’s skill, Thranduil was most helpful after the fighting.” Gandalf says simply when Bilbo comments on it. “He actually assisted with Thorin.”

“What?” Bilbo says aghast. “Surely you’re kidding?”

Gandalf laughs at him. “Soon after the fighting Thranduil’s healers had not yet arrived and there were few hands for many wounded. The dwarves had even less—Oin and a few in Dain’s company. It was grudging but Balin and Dain both agreed it would be prudent to have Thranduil help if Thorin had any chance at survival.”

“Even still it’s hard to believe they trusted him enough.” Bilbo murmurs and Gandalf chuckles again.

“I wouldn’t go that far. Dwalin stood behind him the entire time, hand on his blade until they declared Thorin stable.”

Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh too. That sounded much more in line with what he knew of the dwarves.

Mirkwood despite the residual gloom is much lovelier when not confined to one room or the dungeons. The staff are kind and courteous and if they know of his history they make no mention of it.

It’s nice enough that a tiny voice inside him thinks what if they stayed, all nice and cozy before the chill fully hits but Gandalf presses them onwards.

The forest is quieter. No hiss of spiders, no webs dangling from every tree.

Beorn’s once again back in his home welcomes them to rest. If he had ever been injured in the battle it’s long since healed. He makes no mention of either the missing arm or the lack of anything dragon. He only grumbles at Gandalf to feed them more. They stay for a few nights and gather more supplies but with only two of them and Bilbo still healing it’ll be a much tighter journey.

“Do we really have to go through the Misty Mountain again?”

It’s not that he’s scared exactly, not after everything he’s gone through. Everything he’s lost but still the idea isn’t appealing. Particularly when it’s just the two of them.

“Whatever left of the goblins that didn’t join the fighting have already scattered.” Gandalf explains. “They wouldn’t feel safe without a large group and there were no others nearby.”

Bilbo stares at him skeptically and can only hope it goes better than last time.

The days grow colder as they leave Beorn’s house. Unused to the chill Bilbo is more miserable than he’s ever been in his life. Even with his borrowed winter clothes he’s constantly shivering and the only way he can comfortably sleep is huddled next to Gandalf.

“You could have told me it would be this cold.” He says waspishly as he rubs his hand on his coat trying to gather some heat . If he knew how awful the cold was then he could have stayed in Dale until spring, the Shire be damned.

It’s not that he was necessarily unaware of the cold but it had always been so much bearable with heat lingering just beneath his skin. A drop of discomfit vs a sea of misery.

Gandalf offers up apologies but laughs at him when he thinks he’s not paying attention.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to being a regular hobbit, cold and all.”

“The horror.” Bilbo says bundled up into his coat and wonders if there’s a way he could turn into a dragon again.

The Misty Mountains are as foreboding as ever. The caverns are long and dark with the added addition of being deathly silent now. It’s a strange atmosphere unlike any he’s felt before and it feels almost uncomfortable to speak so they spend many hours in silence until they can at last rest for the night.

In these long stretches of time Bilbo cannot but help to think of that strange ring and that even stranger little creature Gollum. It had been unlike anything he’d ever seen. Pale shiny eyes, a body too gaunt and spindly to live but somehow it kept on going.

Was he some mutated goblin or another dark creature? Had he gone to fight in the Battle of Five Armies or fled altogether?

And what then of that awful ring? Gandalf had said it was a dark artifact but how could it wield such power?

Bilbo had felt such horrible thoughts under its brief spell. Terrible greedy covetous thoughts. Had its lure been so strong because of what Bilbo once was or was it really just like that?

These thoughts twist and turn in his head as they get closer to the other side of the mountains and Bilbo can only pray they do not encounter either of them.

If Bilbo never sees either the ring or Gollum again he’ll be all the better off for it.

Though the atmosphere is uncomfortable their time in the Mountains proves uneventful and they break into more familiar terrain. Bilbo knows Imladris is near and his heart lightens at the thought of that lovely place.

He’s surprised to see the first layer of snow on the ground as they leave the mountains. Winter has officially arrived and Bilbo offers up a prayer to whoever would listen that his friends in Erebor and Dale are well and warm.

“Do you think Thorin’s woken up by now?” Bilbo asks one night as Gandalf sets up a wonderful little fire for them. They’re only a few days away from Rivendell but their pace has slowed down considerably the past while. Bilbo finds his pain is worse in the cold weather and it makes him sluggish even as Gandalf prods them on. “Surely he must have?”

“I cannot say. It’s possible, I suppose if there’s any news to be found it would be envoys from the blue mountains but I doubt any have gotten through to Erebor in this weather.”

The answer is not as reassuring as he’d like but Bilbo’s thoughts are drawn back to the matter of Thorin regardless. In his mind Thorin looks strong and healthy, the way he did before they’d ever stepped into the mountain. He can easily picture him arguing with Thranduil about some inane topic or another. He can clearly see him sitting with the company as they eat Bombur’s cooking, warm and happy, as the snow falls outside.

Bilbo hopes he’s happy. Despite everything at the end, if his friends are happy, if Thorin is happy then maybe it was worth all the trouble they’ve endured.

Imladris is as stunning in the full bloom of winter as it is in every other season. The fresh powdering of snow and the gleam of icicles only add to its charm. It’s a bit like stepping into a fairytale he thinks.

Elrond greets them with welcoming arms and orders a grand meal to celebrate their return. He only smiles kindly at them, his eyes not lingering on how rough and tired they both look. Arwen is gone for Lothlorien but her brothers have returned. He dines with them and young Estel whose curiosity rolls off him in waves.

“We’re glad to see you both well.” Elrond says. “Even this far away we heard of the Battle of Five Armies.”

“It’s been a long journey and we’re thankful to be here.” Bilbo says in return.

Estel lasts nearly through the entire dinner before breaking to ask more about their travels. Bilbo and Gandalf both laugh at his excitement even as his family looks resigned at their ward’s enthusiasm.

“Ask and I’ll try to answer any questions you have.” Bilbo says kindly for he’s always been fond of children.

“Was there actually a massive battle?” Estel says curiously. “I know the name but still you set out with such a little group.”

Bilbo can’t help but laugh again. “My friends and I were only one group of many. But there was indeed a fierce battle against an army of orcs and goblins.”

Estel asks question after question, his eyes wide and charmed as Bilbo describes the bravery and courage of his friends and allies. He explains as much of the journey as he can, as much that’s appropriate for a young boy. By the time his tale comes to an end Estel’s eyes are heavy, futilely blinking away sleep.

Elrohir stands and beckons Estel to bed even as he protests in reply. Elladan and Elrond only smile at their playfully bickering backs.

“He’s certainly spirited.” Gandalf notes. “Though that is not entirely a bad thing.”

“He brings levity to our home.” Elrond says in agreement. “It’s odd to have a child running about once again but good as well.”

Gandalf and Elrond begin to drift into their own conversation that Bilbo tunes out completely the second he hears mention of Saruman’s name. Elladan chuckles at his expression but smoothly slips into his own tale of the brothers’ recent travels.

The night is pleasant, more so than any he’s had in recent memory and later Bilbo slips into sleep feeling a strange lightness in his chest.

He’s not totally surprised to see Gandalf gathering supplies the next morning even as the snow falls harder. The wizard is flighty at the best of times and he’s spent many months traveling with their company there and now back.

“I have pressing business to attend to.” Gandalf says, looking apologetic. “Lord Elrond has offered for you to shelter the winter here if you’re so amenable.”

Bilbo nods his head and wishes his friend a safe journey. The wizard sets off with a promise to visit Bag End sometime in the spring.

The winter passes slowly, peacefully. Rivendell is not home but he’s so familiar with it that it’s nearly a good enough substitute. The elves are used to him from past stays and either greet him kindly or with polite acknowledgement. Bilbo spends a great deal of time resting but the rest is focused on regaining his lost skills. He spends many hours practicing to write with his left hand and though it looks absolutely horrendous at first, his latest results are passable even if Elrohir teasingly compares it to Estel’s.

The twins rope him into practicing swordsmanship, reasoning that even knowing how to fight a little is necessary even for a place as peaceful as the Shire. The twins are some of the finest fighters of this age and they’re brutal teachers as they repeatedly fling Bilbo into the snow. Estel and Elrond are frequent watchers—the boy shouts out encouraging cheers and Elrond hides smiles behind his hand.

By the end of it Bilbo is still awful but his skills have progressed enough where he lasts more than a few seconds defending himself. Bilbo will never be an excellent swordsman but he knows enough to defend himself and enough dirty tricks that could hopefully allow him to escape.

At the same time Elrond tends to his arm. The elf’s fingers are gentle as they examine the scarring that wraps around his stump and his collarbone, merely commenting that his surgeon did a fine job. He helps with Bilbo’s pain and his stay gradually becomes easier, some long held tension escaping him.

Truthfully Bilbo feels lighter in body and spirit as the ground around them begins to thaw. He feels refreshed and bright as if all weights have been pulled from him.

One day Estel asks for Bilbo’s tricks like the one he’d shown him on their first meeting and is surprised to hear that Bilbo is just an ordinary hobbit. The elves are so familiar with him that they could easily sense the change—the lack of a strange magic but Estel is only human.

“Is that why you seem so different?” He asks shyly.

Bilbo hums in response as he thinks carefully over his answer before at last finding something that’s true and understandable enough for the lad. “Sometimes when you go on adventures you lose different pieces of yourself but gain new ones in return. I suppose if I’m different now then it’s just how my experience has changed me.”

He accepts it easily enough and treats him no differently for it.

Ah, the adaptability of youth.

Bilbo arrives at the Shire one unusually warm spring morning and stires up a ruckus as he cheerfully kicks Lobelia Sackville-Baggins out of his home and scandalizes his hobbits by being completely rude about it.

Then Bilbo curls up in his bed for the first time in over a year and sleeps for a week straight.

Hobbits are creatures who are unfaltering when it comes to routine and order and so less than a week after he returned Bilbo is treated as if he’d never left at all.

The moon could start to crumble and the hobbits would continue on with only a minor note about how terribly inconvenient it was before discussing their next party or latest bit of choice gossip.

Spring turns to summer turns to fall and Bilbo falls into his own routines. He spends his days reading or working in his garden. Occasionally he’s visited by curious fauntlings and Bilbo spins them wild tales of his adventures and other stories that pop into his head.

It’s peaceful as Bag End always is but Bilbo finds to his dismay that it’s not as comfortable as it once was. He rounds corners in his home and is saddened that no one greets him. He eats dinner and thinks of a company of voices messing with his dishes. He sits outside and stares up at the stars and tries not to remember how Thorin once sat beside him in this very spot.

Gandalf stops by not in spring as promised but on his birthday instead and they spend the day together before the wizard bounces off to wherever wizards go.

Leaves have just started to fall from the trees when Bilbo receives the first letter.

It’s a sprawling missive from Ori of course who’s written him on behalf of everyone in the company. The lad excitedly informs him that things in Erebor are well established enough that they should be able to send letters now without fearing them being lost. Most of the letter talks about the reconstruction and the pride is easy to see in his words as he describes how well Erebor is coming along. Other bits throughout catch his attention—Gloin and Bombur have been reunited with their families, Kili has struck up a friendship with Tauriel of all people, and Dain Ironfoot has left the mountain at last.

He reads it twice to be sure but finds that there’s absolutely no mention of Thorin. He finds his stomach twisting as he considers why. Either Thorin has forbidden it or Ori has felt it too sore a subject or most distressingly is the prospect that Thorin has not woken up at all.

Bilbo sends his own reply off just in time before winter arrives. He speaks of the journey back, of the mess he came home to, he talks about Gandalf’s visit, he even mentions how exceptionally well his garden is doing this year. At the very end, after days of hesitation, Bilbo asks of Thorin’s health and wishes them all well. All of the possible responses are awful and Bilbo spends the entire winter thinking of them with a heavy heart.

Spring brings an answer but perhaps not one he’d ever hope for.

The responding letter, delivered by a massive raven, is from Fili. Where Ori’s letter was full of pride and excitement Fili’s writing is rougher, full of tired strokes and slow markings.

Thorin has not woken, Fili says. The sentence looks like it’s been rewritten twice, heavy ink blots staining the paper by the King’s name. He rules on his Uncle’s behalf and though he mentions how relieved he is by his mother’s arrival he admits he can’t help but miss Thorin even as others commend him on how well he’s doing.

Uncle has spent my entire life and beyond that fighting and providing for our home. It’s hard to celebrate any accomplishment when he’s not here to witness it.

It feels unfair.

Bilbo doesn’t remember much of the letter he sends in return. Some fragile attempt at offering comfort and guidance from a world away.

Fili’s words ring in his head even as he receives letter after letter and sends his own back.

He’s right, it does feel unfair. The world has begun to move on but Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain has been left behind.

The dwarves aren’t the only ones he receives letters from though they are by far the most frequent. Legolas and Tauriel send him letters every now and then as do Bard and his children. Even Estel sends him a letter every once in a while, his writings slowly fading from childish ponderings into something more mature and refined. He receives one from Arwen and Elrond once after a few years but the pace isn’t unexpected. Time is so incomparably different for elves that a letter once every few years is practically chatty!

Bilbo sends letters and lives and dreams much in the same way he did before he ever became a burglar and time passes in this fashion for many many years until he abruptly realizes it’s been almost five years since everything happened.

He only realizes it when he’s invited to Asphodel Brandybuck’s coming of age party and sees how much Primula and her cousins have grown. Gone are the little fauntlings who’d hound him for stories or while away the afternoon in his garden.

For the first Bilbo realizes how lonely he actually is.

It makes him almost nostalgic in a way, to think how much time has moved on and after thinking about it for a good while Bilbo tentatively pens a letter to Fili and asks if he thinks anyone would mind if he visited Erebor.

Fili sends an enthusiastic reply, with Kili cheerfully adding his own note begging him to come and so it’s decided.

Bilbo sets out for Erebor again, not for anything as grand as reclaiming a homeland but very eager to see his friends once again. He manages to travel with a group of rangers until he reaches Rivendell and from there on a group of elves who have business in Mirkwood offer their companionship on his journey.

It’s nicer this time around. None of the stress or worry of the first trip nor the exhaustion of the second one. Only peace and quiet greet them as they camp out at night.

It’s somewhat awkward seeing Thranduil for the first time in years. Bilbo doesn’t think they’ll ever be anything near friends though he can’t deny the elf isn’t as awful as he once thought. From Bard and Legolas’ letters he’s been nothing but fair and accommodating to both Dale and Erebor. Still there is an icy demeanor beneath his courtesy as he welcomes them into his home and Bilbo cannot forget that first stay here. He knows it’s irrational but some small petty thing inside him cannot help but blame Thranduil for mockingly telling Thorin what he was.

If that secret had never come out or even if he’d been given the chance to tell the truth differently how much would things have changed? How much happier could they have been if they’d been given a real chance?

He knows it’s irrational and so Bilbo spends his time with the elves from Rivendell or with Legolas, who’s a breath of fresh air in this gloomy place as always.

He sets off for Dale on his own and is pleasantly surprised by how well off the city has become. The reconstruction efforts in Dale have paid off and its people look happy and lively as the streets fill with merchants and wandering travelers.

Bilbo debates stopping there but in truth he knows he won’t be able to sleep when he’s this close to Erebor so he makes the trek despite night falling, silently vowing to visit before he leaves.

He’s stopped at the fixed gate and is told to wait before what seems like the entire company arrives to greet him, shouting and cheering in excitement.

“I thought you were meant to arrive tomorrow.” Balin says as he claps a hand on his back.

Bilbo just grins at them. “I decided to come a bit early.”

They escort him into the mountain, cheerfully pointing out what’s been fixed, what’s been changed from the Erebor of old’s design.

He’s not sure what the old Erebor had looked like but the new one is stunning in its splendor and craftsmanship, even a hobbit like Bilbo feels awed looking at it all.

“It’s beautiful.” He says quietly. “You’ve all done a wonderful job.”

They beam at him, pride clear on their faces, and it’s so perfect that he nearly doesn’t realize what’s missing. They’re loud and happy but there’s a noticeable shadow that hangs over them all in the spaces where Thorin should be.

Bilbo has spent months imaging an Erebor without Thorin and it’s exactly as lonely as he’d pictured despite all those around him.

It’s late enough that dinner has long since finished but Bombur manages to scrounge up some food as Bilbo talks of how his trip went. It’s startling how easy it is to fit back into this place as if he’d never left all. The sounds of Dwalin and Nori bickering, the mischievous gleam in Kili’s eyes as he teases Ori about something, the quiet murmur of Balin and Gloin.

It’s so so familiar and Bilbo realizes with a lump in his throat just how much he missed his friends. Letters are fine and fair but it’s nothing compared to seeing them in the flesh.

“Bilbo? Are you alright?” Fili asks quietly, looking concerned.

Bilbo shakes his head, tells himself to get a grip and sends a reassuring smile his way. “I’m just glad to be here.”

Fili relaxes a bit, his shoulders not as straight or tall. “We’re very glad you’re back.”

They all talk long into the night, reminiscing and sharing new stories and Bilbo tries his very best to remember every moment of this, of being here with his friends.

He meets Dis early the next morning. He turns around a corner, looking for the dining hall and abruptly feels like he’s been sucker punched in the gut.

For one second that feels like it stretches into eternity Bilbo could swear he’s staring at the ghost of Thorin Oakenshield. Then the ghost moves and his mind catches up enough to see the differences. The dwarf’s face is rounder with a fine beard and their eyes while similar aren’t that same intense blue.

“Are you alright?” They ask concerned and even the voice is similar—not as deep but the cadence, their tone.

Bilbo realizes then who this must be and he tries to smile. “You just surprised me. It’s nice to meet you Dis, daughter of Thrain.”

Her eyebrows raise and then she gives him more than a passing glance, taking in the pointed ears and bare feet, the pinned sleeve of his jacket. “Well met Master Baggins. I had not heard of your arrival yet.”

Dis helps guide him to the dining hall which Bilbo is incredibly grateful for. Lovely as Erebor may be its path are no less confusing now than they were buried in rubble and ruin.

She’s a pleasant conversationalist and as they talk she reminds him less of Thorin and more of Fili. They have the same calm bearing but are still full of humor and mirth.

“I’ve heard a great deal about you Master Baggins and though the rumors run the gauntlet of outlandish to bad I’m glad to have met you.” She says, sounding pleasantly surprised. “You seem much like my sons have said.”

He can’t help but be curious. “And what have they said of me?” He’s been on good terms with the boys for quite a while but he still can’t help but fear what they think of him sometimes.

Her smile is full of mischief and glee, “That you are a kind and clever man and they owe much to you.”

She laughs not unkindly at him as Bilbo flushes red and splutters out denials.

After that Dis is not an infrequent visitor to their outings as the company helps him explore the wonders of Erebor. Sometimes he thinks he can feel her staring at him but she only smiles at him when he turns to look.

She catches him one night near the end of his stay. At this point most of the excitement and sightseeing has faded and Bilbo is content to just spend time with his friends. Kili and Fili approach him after dinner and say that their mother has invited him to her quarters if he’d be so inclined to join her.

It’s a sudden request and an odd one—he finds her company pleasant but they haven’t grown particularly close—but he doesn’t refuse as he follows the boys down a series of hallways.

The furnishings in this area are even more impressive and ostentatious and he realizes this must be the royal quarters.

They affectionately pat his shoulder before leaving him to his fate as the lady Dis invites him in.

Her rooms are what he’d expect if he ever thought to consider what a royal dwarf’s home would look like. She’s sitting in front of a roaring fire and gestures for him to join her.

Bilbo sits in the armchair and can’t quite help but wonder what he’s walked into.

“From what I’ve been told you’re planning on leaving soon Master Baggins.” She says conversationally.

“I intend to set out next week.” He confirms somewhat hesitantly. “I traveled with some elves from Rivendell and they plan to head back around that time.”

Dis nods and then turns to look at him, her dark eyes holding him into place. “Master Baggins, how would you like to see my brother before you left?”

Bilbo can feel his mouth drop open in shock and he knows he should close it, he’s being terribly rude at the moment, but he’s so surprised that the task seems impossible.

She laughs at him. “Had you never considered the idea?”

“No, I uh have.” Bilbo says stuttering, his befuddled brain kicking back into action. “I just didn’t think I’d be allowed.”

Her laughter fades but the marks remain on her face, her eyes pleasantly crinkled up into crescents. “My sons and their friends seem to be under the impression you had no such desire but I didn’t think it was true.”

“Oh.” He says surprised. He’d never considered the idea that the company thought it would be too painful for him. He’d always thought they were doing what Thorin would have wanted. “No, I’d want to see him. If I could. If it was allowed.”

“Who is there to stop you?” Dis asks kindly. “My son is king and last I checked there is no royal decree on who can visit my brother.”

“I just...after everything I’ve done, I didn’t want to cause trouble for anyone.” He admits.

“Master Baggins, what you have done has helped save my family and secure our home.” Dis says firmly. “I’ve heard the entire story many many times and if it came to it—if I had to choose between the Arkenstone and my kin’s life I’d make your choice a thousand times over.”

Bilbo stares at her with wide eyes and she laughs again. “I know it’s not what it’s expected, not of a dwarf or a Durin but I’ve seen the way gold ruined my grandfather, the way it doomed my family and I have no desire for it.”

Dis pauses and then says very softly, “Sometimes I think about getting rid of every single coin in this mountain. Every last gem.” She stands then and beckons him to follow her and he does, only dimly aware that he’s doing so.

She leads him further into her rooms and pauses at a door. Dis looks at him from head to toe and then nods once to herself. “My brother is in here. It’s late so I can only give you a few minutes but I welcome you to come back anytime you wish.”

She smiles again, “I think Thorin would appreciate the company.” Dis leaves then heading further down the hallway to what he assumes is her bedroom.

Bilbo stares at the door for a long long time before he gets the courage to go in. The room is plainer than the rest of Dis’ chambers but there are little touches here or there to show it care. There’s a drawing of what looks like Dis and Thorin and what must be the boys when they were children. There’s little carved toys and figurines, Bofur and Bifur’s handiwork, decorating the fireplace. There’s the kind of yarn Dori used while they were traveling in a basket in the corner. A knife that he’s sure belongs to Dwalin rests on the table next to an empty bowl.

There’s signs of every member of the company here. Signs to show their support and patience as they keep their sleeping king company.

Bilbo’s eyes trail over every item and every object before at last facing the corner he’s ignored until now. In a cozy bed under a soft looking blanket lies the too still form of Thorin Oakenshield.

Thorin looks the same as the last day he saw him when Bilbo was sure he’d die. His face is softer in sleep, younger and less troubled and it brings tears to his eyes.

Bilbo clears his throat as he gingerly sits down next to the bed. For a while he can’t do anything but stare. After so long of not seeing someone you forget things like how Thorin has a small scar on his right cheek, how the silver in his dark hair looks like strands of caught moonlight.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.” Bilbo says to the room feeling foolish and silly. “I don’t know what you say after everything that’s happened and how long ago it was. I don’t even know if you can hear me.”

Thorin’s chest rises steadily up and down and Bilbo tracks the motion for a minute, the proof that Thorin isn’t actually dead easing some of his nerves.

“I’m sorry for everything that happened, every way I wronged you. I’ve been sorry for a long time and I’d list every mistake I made one by one if you were awake.” Bilbo sniffs. “I don’t think I’m any good at this. That’s probably not very comforting if you can hear me. Ah, your kingdom is doing well, Fili’s doing a good job and your people all love him. I hear them when I go walking in the markets, they call him Fili the gold hearted.”

Bilbo laughs quietly, “Don’t tell him I told you, he’s so embarrassed by it. He’s banned all of the company from saying it in his presence.”

He scrubs his hand over his face, eyes suddenly burning. What’s the point in all this? Thorin’s chest rises and falls and his eyes remain closed no matter what he says. Bilbo might as well be talking to the fireplace. “I don’t know if you can hear me in there but if you can it’s time to wake up. Not because I’m telling you too but because your family needs you, they miss you so much Thorin.”

His voice cracks miserably when he says his name and Bilbo clears his throat again. “The healers say you’re fine, you just sleep. I don’t know if this is your choice but you need to wake up now if you can. You won. It’s over and you’ve got everything you wanted right here, all you need to do is just open your eyes.”

Bilbo looks at him again, memorizing the slant of his nose, the softness of his cheeks, and hopes it’s enough to keep with him when he goes back home.

He stares at him until it’s so painful he cannot bear it any longer and then he leaves.

In return Bilbo spends the next two days in Dale and resolutely pretends he has no emotions whatsoever or that he’d ever met a dwarf king.

Bard raises an eyebrow at his strange mood but says nothing otherwise as Bilbo forces things to be as normal as he possibly can. When he comes back it feels easier and Bilbo apologizes as the company teases him for abandoning them so close to his departure. The company falls back into their familiar cheer even as Bilbo prepares to leave.

Things are fine until two days before he’s meant to leave when Bilbo is woken up in the middle of the night by frantic banging.

Grumbling he stumbles to the door ready to curse out the poor fool who’s woken him up at three in the morning only to stop.

Fili and Kili are on the other side looking more disheveled than he’s ever seen them. Fili’s mustache is loose from its braids and Kili’s hair looks closer to a bird nest than actual hair. Most alarmingly he notices their eyes are red, as if they’ve been recently crying.

“Are you two alr—”

“Thorin’s awake!” Kili shouts, a wide grin breaking out on his face. “He’s finally awake!”

“What.”

Kili whoops again in joy and runs off heading in the direction of Bofur’s rooms. Fili frowns at him as Bilbo sways.

“Are you okay?” The world around him sways dizzily and Bilbo turns and matches into his chair Fili following after him.

“Bilbo?”

Bilbo flaps his hand in his direction as he makes himself take even and precise breaths.

In, out. In, out. In, out.

“Is he really awake?” Bilbo says into his knees when words are easier to do. “He’s really awake?”

Fili crouches down next to him and reaches out, patting him on the back. “Aye, he’s awake. No one’s allowed to see him yet but mother and Balin. I think every healer in Erebor is in her sitting room right now.”

Bilbo laughs and then promptly bursts into tears. Fili looks alarmed but keeps patting him on the back.

“Sorry.” He says a few minutes later. “It’s just—”

It’s just too much for words. Every hope and wish in the last five years dropped right into his hands without a by your leave.

“I know.” Fili says, his own voice rough and teary. “I know.”

Fili stays with him a little longer before having to leave. “I have to check on Kili and the others. Get some rest if you can Bilbo, I think we have a long few days ahead of us.”

Bilbo cannot in fact get any rest. He lies in his bed staring up at the ceiling, hardly able to believe somewhere close by Thorin walks and talks.

The mountain is absolutely mad in the morning, worse than a May Day party. Everywhere he goes dwarf after dwarf is celebrating, drinking and cheering and singing.

It’s wonderful and chaotic at the same time and Ori and Bilbo who’d had plans to explore the Library more instead go outside to get a bit of space.

Bilbo’s the one who first notices the two riders waiting patiently at the gates but Ori as a royal scribe and well established member of the company goes to meet them. He recognizes neither the elf or the man but judging by their clothes and their steeds they both look important.

Ori talks to them for a long while before the riders set off and then waves at him, beckoning him to come closer.

“What was all that about?” Bilbo asks curiously. The bonds between Dale and Mirkwood are well established but in his experience they don’t often act together unless it’s important.

Ori sighs and runs a hand through his hair inadvertently messing it up. “Apparently news of Thorin has already spread. They were royal couriers from Dale and Mirkwood asking if the rumors are true.”

“What did you say then?”

“A non answer for now. This is a matter for Fili or Balin.” Ori wrings his hands nervously for a moment and then decides, “We should go to them. They’ll need to know about this soon. I can’t imagine they’ll be the only ones asking.”

Bilbo scurries after him as they make their way through the crowd feeling vaguely claustrophobic as he does.

It’s heartening in a way to see how much Erebor still loves Thorin even as he wishes they could celebrate somewhere else.

Neither Fili nor Balin are in the throne room or the council chambers they often do business in. Ori sends a servant to check their respective quarters but finds it empty as well.

“They must be with Thorin.” Bilbo reasons.

Ori nods in agreement and begins to make his way towards the royal wing only to stop when he realizes he isn’t being followed.

Bilbo stands in the center of the room looking uncomfortable and uncharacteristically timid.

“Bilbo aren’t you coming?” Ori asks in confusion.

“I think I should stay—I uh, you know there’s so many people still up there I’d just get in the way of anything important.”

Ori stares at him, frowning. “Are you sure?”

“It’s for the best really. Say you go ahead and talk to Balin and we can meet up later for lunch, maybe we can go to the library after all.”

Ori still looks unconvinced but the importance of the messages press him and he hesitantly agrees before finally leaving.

In Bilbo’s defense he’s not wholly being a coward. Things probably are still incredibly busy in the royal wing if Fili’s only just been allowed to see Thorin. It’s just good manners to wait for a better time. In fact it has very little to do with the fear that if he tried to see him that Thorin would refuse.

And if that better time takes a long time to happen well that’s alright. He’s waited five years, what's a little more.

Bilbo makes himself scarce for the day, focusing his best on being as unobtrusive as possible. The only thing of note he does is to borrow a raven to deliver a message to his elven friends in Mirkwood in order to say it looks like he’ll be staying a while longer and he’ll find his own way home.

It’s perhaps not his most well thought out decision. Leaving with the elves now would guarantee him a safer trip home than traversing the trail on his own but the idea of going now when Thorin’s just woken up seems impossible.

By the end of that first week Thorin’s visitor circle has expanded to include Kili and Dwalin, his closest kin who have yet to see him. Kili says his uncle is much the same, if grumpier at the idea that he’s wasted five years. Dwalin calls him a pissant bastard but he’s never heard anyone be insulted quite so affectionately. Two weeks after that and the rest of the company has visited Thorin who all say similar things.

Thorin’s mind is well, better than those last days before the battle, even if his body is weak from lack of use.

“If Uncle could he’d already try practicing swords and holding council meetings.” Fili says with a wider smile than he’s seen on him in a long time.

Thorin’s revival has brought a liveliness and light to the mountain that infects all others. Erebor under Fili’s rule had been peaceful and lovely but there was always something missing. Now for the first it seems as if the Mountain is truly happy.

Every news of Thorin lifts Bilbo’s spirits even as nerves jumble around in his stomach like twisted little butterflies. Thorin has not asked for him and Bilbo begins to fear he never will.

It’s his right, Thorin had saved his life that day on the battlefield and lost five years of his own as payment, if there is any debt to be paid between them it’s solely on Bilbo’s part. But still Bilbo cannot crush that flicker of hope that arises at every mention of Thorin’s name.

Bilbo arrived in Erebor at the height of summer and now autumn firmly has its hold as the nights begin to grow shorter, the sun fading that much quicker day by day.

After thinking it over for sometime Bilbo announces at dinner one night that he intends to set out for the Shire in a few days.

Some of the company protests whereas others see the sense for leaving now before Bilbo gets trapped somewhere along the route by heavy snow. Surprisingly Kili looks the most disappointed at the news of his departure but Bilbo gently says his stay was only ever going to be temporary.

Bofur breaks the tension by suggesting they must celebrate his return back home and they quickly find some ale to drink and Bilbo’s pulled into a drinking song.

He can’t help noticing though that Fili and Kili take little part in the revelry, spending most of the night quietly talking with each other.

Dis approaches him the night before he leaves, this time stopping at his quarters instead.

“Master Baggins, I’d thought to say goodbye before you leave.” She says smiling, that quick little grin that reminds him so much of Kili.

“Oh of course.” Bilbo gestures for her to come in and they sit in the chairs by the fireplace. He can’t help but think how remarkably similar this is to that night a few weeks ago.

“I’d like to apologize that I haven’t been able to spend as much time with you towards the end of your stay as I’d like.” Dis looks exhausted but happier than he’s ever seen her, eyes content and bright.

“Oh, no it’s fine. I understand things have been busy.” The subject of Thorin lingers between them.

She laughs pleasantly. “You could say that. Even before Erebor fell it’s never been so hectic here. It’s a marvel really.”

They talk casually for a while, neither of them lingering on a subject for too long but just enjoying each other’s company. Dis asks of his travel plans, if he intends to spend another winter in Rivendell and in return Bilbo asks what Erebor does for Yule. It’s pleasant and comfortable which is perhaps why he’s so blindsided when out of nowhere Dis says “My brother asks to see you if you’re amenable to the idea.” She says it the same way one would comment on the weather and it takes Bilbo a full minute to process what she’s said.

“Is he sure?” Bilbo asks and hates how uncertain he sounds.

Dis reaches out and pats his hand comfortingly. “You know him Bilbo, when does Thorin do anything he’s not sure of.”

Her voice is gentle as she says, “He understands there’s much between you both and he only wants to see you if you’re comfortable with the idea.”

Dis tells him to sleep on it. “Thorin is awake now and there’s no harm in taking time for yourself. If you’re not ready then this is not your only chance to see him.” She says firmly and her bearing then is all fierce and royal. Absently Bilbo thinks Dis could have been a good Queen.

The truth of the matter is that there has never been a time Bilbo hasn’t wanted to see Thorin. Even when they were shouting or at each other’s throats, unable to talk without inevitably misunderstanding each other, Bilbo has always wanted to see him. There is something completely and impossibly different about Thorin Oakenshield than anyone else he’s ever met.

So Bilbo gathers up the tiny pieces of his courage as he goes to visit Thorin one sunny afternoon. He has a whole speech planned—apologizing for taking the Arkenstone, explaining his reasons why he did it—but it goes out the window the second he sees him.

His breath slips out of his chest and Bilbo can do nothing but stare. The Thorin from the other week had been beautiful in his sleep but seeing him awake, seeing him alive is a totally different experience.

It takes Thorin a minute to notice him, distracted as he stares out the window and Bilbo’s not sure if he moves or if a sound escapes him but then those blue eyes lock onto him.

“Bilbo.” Thorin says and his voice is raspy and rough from lack of use that Bilbo’s throat burns, a lump rising up.

He never thought he’d hear Thorin say his name again.

Thorin silently gestures for him to sit and Bilbo’s in that armchair before he’s even realized he’s taken a step.

The dwarf stares at him for a moment, eyes searching him up and down before pausing at his arm. “They told me you lost it in the battle. Azog?”

Something twists in his stomach at the idea that Thorin had asked of him, had cared enough to know what happened to him.

Bilbo shrugs, “In part. It was injured by Smaug and it was too much damage in too little time.” In some respects he’d gotten off lucky. How many among them had died? Quick from goblin or slow and lingering as the healers could do nothing but wait.

Five years on and he thought very little of his missing arm though he did not blame Thorin for asking about it.

Thorin at last looks away, some indecipherable emotion passing over his face before it is like stone once more. “That day—why did you save me?”

Bilbo stares at him in surprise and the dwarf continues on. “I understand your aid to my nephews, I know you still cared for them. But why fight Azog when you knew you’d lose?”

Bilbo thinks of Thorin kneeling on the ice, gasping in pain, and says as gently as he can. “Thorin you know why. It was the same reason I took the Arkenstone.” He pauses then, as if realizing that’s perhaps not the best thing to bring up. “Which I am very sorry for taking and you were right not to trust me.”

He smiles at him, but it’s small and fragile. “You were right in the end, I was just a thief.”

Thorin shakes his head. “No.”

“I am sorry for it, and for everything that happened between us.” Bilbo says, because if he doesn’t say it now he doesn’t think he ever will. “If I could take it back—”

“Would you?” Thorin asks, and Bilbo expects anger but there’s no trace of it in his voice. At that moment Thorin only seems very tired.

Bilbo hesitates for a moment and then admits, “No. but I could have tried reasoning with you.”

“I wouldn’t have listened.” Thorin says regretfully. “The dragon sickness was like being submerged underwater and everyone felt so far away. I do not think there was anything that could have swayed me.”

Then Thorin does something Bilbo could have never anticipated at all.

He apologizes.

“Bilbo Baggins I owe you an apology for numerous offenses before we stepped in Erebor and after. I let my anger and fear get the better of me instead of my reasoning.” Thorin says in that deep solemn voice. “I do not know how to repay you or the debt I owe you. You saved my life, saved my kin, and I would grant you anything in my power to right the wrongs I’ve made.”

“Thorin—” he says stunned but stops when the dwarf reaches out and carefully grabs his hand.

“Whatever you would have. I can offer you the finest books in Erebor, any artifact in the treasury, a coat of Mithril . Whatever your heart desires.” Those dark eyes look intensely at him, desperation rolling off him in waves.

Bilbo tightens his fingers around Thorin’s. “Thorin you know I have no interest in any of that. I only have one thing I’d want of you.”

“Ask of me and I shall give it to you.” The King Under the Mountain promises.

“I just want us to start over.” Bilbo says softly. “I’m so tired of apologies and anger, of misunderstandings between us. I know things can’t be the same as they were before but couldn’t we try?”

Thorin looks at him with wide struck eyes and then they close in grief. “That’s all you’d ask of me?”

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” Bilbo says firmly.

“You’re more than I deserve.” Thorin looks at him and his eyes are red rimmed but at last he smiles and it’s lovely and wonderful and everything Bilbo has spent these long years dreaming of. “If that’s all you ask how could I not grant it? I’d be a fool to say otherwise and I am done with foolish things.”

Things between them are not perfect because nothing in life ever is. It takes them a lot of effort and time to build the trust and care between them into something strong and enduring. But neither the dwarf king or the once dragon are much inclined to giving up when things are hard, their lives are proof enough of that. If it takes many years or only a few, Bilbo and Thorin intend to be happy, to place their happiness in each other’s hands and knowing the other will keep it safe.

Together at last, after everything.