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Chapter Text

When Man was created, Eru Ilúvatar gave them a companion. Their soul outside their body in the form of a daemon. The daemon settles at their coming of age, a reflection of the person they are. Until that time they shift and change with the wind. When the hobbits were discovered they too had daemons, the same as Man. Though many men are warriors, fighters and protectors who’s daemons settle as such, Hobbits are not fighters, warriors or protectors. Hobbits live a simple life and their daemons reflect that life. Hobbits view a proper daemon as not too big and not too scary. Many hobbits have rabbits, or cats or small birds. Unfortunately, sometimes a Hobbit’s daemon doesn’t settle as proper daemon.

Bilba Baggins is one of those Hobbits.

She was an unusual child, far more took than Baggins. Wild and adventurous with her Daemon Leofdaeg. Leo as she called him was a regular daemon in all accounts except that he settled late and of course what he settled as. His fox form shocked many, as did his unusual dark colouring, with bright, nearly yellow eyes. Bibla did not care that his form was strange in so many ways. But then came the shame, as unfortunate as it was, Bilba knew people thought her odd, and now they would think her even odder.

Her mother Belladonna was the first to see Leofdaeg’s new form, along with her own Daemon, a Stoat named Cicuta. They were both over joyed by Bilba’s settling, though understood her hurt. They too were considered odd, but Belladonna was a Took and all the Tooks were considered odd by the Hobbiton Hobbits.

“I wish I was a real Baggins,” Bilba had lamented to her Mother and Cicuta.

“You silly child, you are a Baggins,” Belladonna had said as she braided her daughter’s hair, Cicuta grooming Leofdaeg the best he could despite the size difference between them.

“You know what I mean,” Bilba wiped her eyes on her sleeve and was tempted to blow her nose there as well, but now that she was settled, she had to be a proper lady.

“You are a Baggins, but you are also a Took, and we Took do not settle as the Hobbiton Hobbits do, you know that Bil,” Belladonna amended, finishing the braid in a lovely bow. “Perhaps, when you are older, you can go and stay with your Took cousins, to learn that there are many ways for a daemon to settle.”

“Do you mean that?” Bilba said, turning to gaze at her mother.

“Of course my flower. Maybe even we’ll send you to live with the men as well,” she said teasingly and Bilba laughed.

Unfortunately the fell winter came and killed Belladonna, then shortly after her husband Bungo, and Bilba was never sent to live with the Took cousins. She and Leofdaeg were suddenly alone in Bag End, and really truly alone in the Shire.

Chapter Text

There are many past times enjoyed in the Shire, particularly by the women. Baking is a very popular one of course and cooking. And then there’s the art of gardening. Reading is enjoyed by some. Many of the most dignified Gentle Ladies of Hobbiton enjoy the craft of needle point and tea making. Often these two are done in conjunction, with many other Gentle hobbits. The most popular past time is of course gossiping. The trading of gossip is the most valuable currency that changes hand in the Shire.

Bilba Baggins is a very Gentle lady. She enjoys all the hobbies the other ladies enjoy. Though she does not partake the Gossip. This is, of course because most of the gossip is about Bilba herself. She is the most favourite topic of many tea parties and luncheons.

They might perhaps start off with something new, because the trade of fresh gossip is always important, the conversation always seems to circle back around to miss Baggins. And though she spends most of her time making sure the Ladies have nothing to actually gossip about, it doesn’t stop them. They rehash old gossip, or else engage in wild speculation.

Much time is spent discussing her unusual Daemon, a silver fox named Leofdaeg. They speculate about the moment of settling, something that Bilba had not shared with anyone to their knowledge, therefore it must have been quite scandalous. In all honesty, they’re really quite content in not knowing for the stories are much more exciting to tell around the tea table. That being said, each Hobbit dreams of being the one to deliver the true account of the settling, it would be the tea party to end all tea parties.

Other topics include Bilbo’s living arrangements, which is to say the fact that she lives alone, a spinster in Bag End all by herself. Bilba is by no means an old women, she’s really quite young, but she is far too old to be unmarried.

This particular topic is the favourite of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins and Balslevii, a very respectable cat Daemon, who’s snow white coat in the envy of many. Lobelia’s campaign for the ownership is widely known, and honestly a bit tired at this point, but she doesn’t let up. It’s unreasonable for such an odd, outcast, unmarried hobbit to live in such a grand family home. Lobelia as a respectable married women with the prospect of many children should have possession of the smial. Or at least, that’s what she’ll tell everyone who will listen.

And then they Gentle Ladies of the Shire will move on to general nit picking topics. Like what Bilba is doing with her hair these days, and the terrible dress she choose to wear the market, or the dish she brought to Tora Chubb’s birthday dinner.

Bilba keeps to herself, because she knows what they say about her and Leo. This seclusion only gives them more fuel, but to lash out, or to fire back would be more trouble than it’s worth. Leo of course wants desperately to snap at their heals, bare his teeth and growl loud enough to scare the ladies out of their stockings, but he holds back, out of respect for the difficult life Bilba is trying to forge for herself.

She goes to the social gatherings she is invited to, for it would be rude for the hosts not to invite her, and rude for her not to accept, but other than that, she spends her days alone. Going through her chores, reading, cooking, all of the acceptable hobbies for a Hobbit lady all except the social teas and trading of gossip.

It is a regular day there for when Gandalf lets himself into her back garden. Bilba is elbow deep in her flower beds, Leo sunning himself nearby, his face upturned to sky and eyes closed. She pauses to watch him, taking a rare moment to appreciate his form. And then a butterfly flutters too close to his noise and he sneezes. She laughs at him, earning a glare.

“You’ve got dirt on your nose,” he says, sniffing haughtily shifting himself to sun his other side. Bilba merely sticks her tongue out at him, but when he’s closed his eyes again she hastily wipes her nose on her apron, just encase. “I saw that.”

“Oh sush you,” she shoots back, pushing herself back onto her heals. As they’ve gotten older, Leofdaeg sounds more and more like Belladonna’s Daemon Cicuta, especially when he reprimanded her for the silly things she would do as a child. Bilba closes her eyes, remembering the way it felt when Cicuta would groom Leo. The fox daemon bumps his damp nose into Bilba’s hand and she instinctually buries her hand in the thick coat between his ears.

“Do you think they would be proud of us?” She asks her Daemon softly as he sits down against her, his bulk causing her to sit fully on the ground again.

“Pa would, and Muyeyo,” Leo sniffs, refuring to Bungo Baggins and his beaver Daemon, though they both know she was talking about Belladonna. There’s an unspoken ‘no’ between them. Well, that’s not entirely true, she doesn’t think that Belladonna would disappointed per say, but Bilba knows that this isn’t the life that her mother wanted for her.

But Bilbo doesn’t press the matter and she returns to her flowers. She hears the gate behind her open, but doesn’t look around. She’s sure its Lobella coming to say something snarky, or perhaps a thinly vailed attempt to get Bag End. The voice that speaks is not one she was expecting.

“You look more and more like your mother.”

Bilba turns quickly, having to shield her eyes from the sun as she gazed up at the very tall intruder. The fur between Leofdaeg’s shoulders is raised ever so slightly. He looks intimidating, but it’s all for show really. He can’t do anything to hurt someone without hurting himself and Bilba in return. “I’m sorry to be rude, but I am not sure that I’ve had the pleasure,” the Hobbit says, putting her hand on Leo’s back, half to push herself up and half to flatten his fur down, but clutched in her hand at her pair or garden shears, just in case.

“Ah, but we have, however you and Leofdaeg were just wee ones,” the man says. He cuts an intimidating figure, framed against the baby blue sky in her garden. He holds a hand out to her, which she takes, standing straight with her shoulders back. She’s quite a lot smaller than he is. “Gandalf,” he says by way of introduction.

The name sparks recognition, her mother had told her many stories of her adventures with the wizard in front of her. “With the fireworks,” Bilba says simply and Gandalf smiles.

“I suppose so yes.”

“Can I offer you a cuppa?” Bibla says, taking her hand back and slipping the shears safely into her apron pocket.

“Oh no thank you,” he shakes his head, his beard fluttering in the breeze. “I’m only stopping by to introduce myself and to offer you adventure.”

Leo’s head swivels towards Bilba with alarming speed, and she can feel his heart speed up. Normal with person and Daemon, the Daemon is the cautious one, the tempered one. They are always most sure of the way, which is of course the role of Daemon as guide and companion. But between Leofdaeg and Bilba it is always Bilba who holds the Daemon back from the flighty thrill of adventure. He wants to run faster and farther, but Bilba feels tied to Bag End and the expectations of the other Hobbits.

“I am not one for adventure,” she says, shaking her head.

“I think you are mistaken, considering the shape of your soul,” the Wizard says evenly, Bilba narrowing her eyes at him.

“You are the one who is mistaken,” Bilba sniffed and Leo whined softly and she shot him a glare. “It was lovely to make your acquaintance,” she inclined her head to Gandalf before slipping her fingers into Leofdaeg’s fur to pull him away and towards Bag End.

“My appologies, I thought you were like your mother,” Gandalf shrugged, but did not move.

This struck a nerve and Bilba spun on her heal, “I am like my mother,” she said, anger and pride mingling in her voice. Gandalf smiled down at her and nodded.

“You are. And my dear friend would have entertained the thought of adventure as your Daemon is doing now.”

Bilba glanced down at Leo who was twisted around her eyes, gazing up at her. “What are you proposing,” she said softly, still looking at the Daemon.

“A dinner, and a meeting. Here the plan and if it’s not to your liking then you owe nothing.”

“Dinner? For how many.”

“A few.”

“A few?” Bilba narrowed her eyes but Gandolf didn’t elaborate.

A few turned out to be 13, 13 male dwarves as it transpired. Well, Bilba is pretty sure they’re men, from what she’s read it can be hard to tell the difference. She knows their names but not which dwarf each name belongs to.

“I hope Lobella didn’t see them come in,” Bilba whispers to Leo as they stand in the doorway to the kitchen, watching them demolish her pantry and every last crumb in it. “People will talk…”

“They already do,” Leo pointed out with a quirk of his brow.

“They do,” she sighed heavily, glancing at the regal dwarf who is seated at the head of her brightly polished table facing her. She can feel his eyes on her as she speaks to Leo. Bilba isn’t sure if they quite know what Leofdaeg is, some of the older Dwarves seem to, or else they’re all just giving him a wide berth do to the fact that he very much looks like a wild animal that she happens to keep as a pet.

“Let them talk,” Leofdaeg says firmly, putting his paw on her foot. She smiles down at him and nodded after a moment. The flighty excitement in her chest that she had come to associate with straying somewhere she shouldn’t as a child was back. At the onset of adventure, her toes just on the edge.

“Let them talk,” Bilba agreed.

Chapter Text

The start of the adventure isn’t so much a journey as it is a slog. Bilba hasn’t spent a lot of time on horseback, so getting use to the way the pony moves under her is no easy feat. After the first day of riding she nearly fell off the saddle, her legs so stiff she had trouble walking for the camp fire. It’s a small miracle that her pony isn’t spooked by Leofdaeg. Perhaps the animal sense he isn’t quite animal himself.

Another small miracle is that she had the mind to pack a pair of her father’s old pants into her rucksack before she left. After the first day of riding she slips the thick slacks on under her skirts and that saves her from the painful chaffing of the saddle against her bare thighs. But then it beings to rain, and really doesn’t stop. She’s soaked through to the bone and shivering. Leofdaeg is wet too, but at night he provides at least a little bit of warmth, curled around her. The first couple nights she slept on the outskirts of the camp, furthest from the fire until one of the dwarves (she’s not sure who, though she is learning their names better each day), commented on the loudness of her chattering teeth, so they moved her sleeping spot to next the fire.

She still isn’t sure if the dwarves know what Leo is to Bilba. Leofdaeg hasn’t said more than a few words to her, and only in private. It’s how she knows that he doesn’t quite trust their companions yet. While it isn’t rude for a Daemon to speak to another person in Hobbit culture, it is in Human culture. Or at least, it just isn’t done. So she’s pretty sure that those who know Leo is a Daemon are going by the human etiquette because none of them have addressed him. Of the company, she thinks Thorn, Dwalin, Balin and Oin know. From what she’s heard from their stories they’ve spent the most time around Men.

She can’t imagine what the other think Leofdaeg is, perhaps just a very well trained animal. But none of them have asked, so she hasn’t explained to them. Early in their trek the largest dwarf Bombur became very concerned that Leofdaeg wasn’t eating, and that he hadn’t left her side to hunt. So after that Bilba would sit on the outskirts of the group, allowing Leo to stay just out of sight to ‘hunt’. It was easier this way, to not explain to this group of strangers how vulnerable her soul is to them.

Not explaining it turns out to be a mistake. On this day, which is by Bilba’s estimate is just over a week into their adventure, the rain has let up marginally, which means that when they stop to set up camp there is a decent supply of dry fire wood. This results in a large and merry fire, uplifting everyone’s very soggy spirits. As they sit around their fire, eating dinner and chatting they even begin to pull Bilba into the conversation. She joins in happily, starving for some real conversation. The two youngest, Fili and Kili sometimes would ride with her at the back of the group, but mostly to pester her. Other than that, very few of the company really go out of their way to talk to her, so the change is nice.

Leofdaeg is at the outskirts of the group, restless as the wind rustles the trees. He stands and stretches, bumping Bilba’s hand to let her know he was going to circle to group. She glances at him and nods before turning back to answer Ori’s question about her Smial. Bilba feels rather than see’s Kili’s ungloved hand reach out to touch Leofdaeg as he passes.

His thick fingers just barely brush Leo’s dark fur as Bilba leaps to her feet, a shriek of pain on her lips. She wants to lung across the fire at Kili to stop him from burring his hand in Leo’s back. But Gandalf is faster and swings his staff down on Kili’s hand with such force Bilba hears it break a few of his fingers. The young Dwarf reels back clutching his injured fingers to his chest as Leofdaeg snarls, jumping back before running back to where Bilba is swaying on the spot, all eyes on her. She drops to her knees and throws her arms around Leo’s neck. It isn’t until he’s safe in her arms that she’s realized that both Thorin and Dwalin are on their feet.

“What in the name of Durin’s Beard was that for?” Kili shouts, and Bilba can see tears in the corners of his eyes.

“You mustn’t ever touch the fox,” Gandolf says sternly, leaning against his staff.

“How come? It’s just an animal, I’ve been bitten by animals before,” Kili mutters, wincing as Fili examines his hand.

“It’s not just an animal.” It’s Thorn who speaks now, his gaze leveled on Bilba as she clings to Leo for dear life. “It’s a Daemon.”

Many of the company have looks of realization dawning on their face and they too look to Bilba and Leo. But Kili is still frowning, “Like man?”

Gandolf nods and Kili opens his mouth to ask another question when Thorin cuts him off. “She’s Miss Baggins’ soul,” he said, his voice rumbling.

The fox huffs and looks towards the Dwarf king and speaks for the first time in front of all of them, “I’m a boy than you very much.” At this even Thorin and Dwalin seem shocked. Apparently none of them had ever heard a Daemon speak. But Bilba supposes that if you only spend time around Men’s Daemons you’d get the impression that they were silent. “My name is Leofdaeg.”

“I apologize that we have no names to trade,” Balin says, having spent the most time around Men, and therefore knows that a Man guard their Daemon’s names.

“Don’t apologize, I don’t need a trade,” Bilba says, getting up and brushing the dirt from her knees and wiping the tears from her eyes quickly. “But Gandolf is right, to touch Leo with your bare hands…” She shutters at the thought.

Later, as the embers at burning themselves out and many of the company has gone to bed, Kili and Fili sit down across from her. “I’m sorry,” Kili whispers. “I didn’t know he was a… a Daemon. I feel like an idiot. None of us knew that Hobbits even have them... You’re the first Hobbit I’ve met.”

“It’s okay. Just.. please don’t do it again,” Bilba says soft and Kili bows his head in a nod.

“On my honour,” he promises.

“Mine as well,” Fili adds. “None of us will touch him.”

Bilba slips her fingers into Leo’s fur and smiles at the princes. The spent the rest of the night talking. Or rather the princes talk and Bilba listens. But it’s a step up from pestering so she’ll take what she can get.

Chapter Text

Bilba knows that Leo’s getting more comfortable around the dwarves. Their dwarves. That’s how they refer to them in private of course, Bilba would never dream of calling that to their faces, she’s only just gotten onto speaking terms with most of them. And she would never claim any ownership over Thorin. While the rest of the company hasn’t exactly accepted her into the fold, they aren’t treating her quite like a pest anymore, not all the time at least. Kili and Fili and Bofur are kindest to her. Thorin however is as cold as always, and Dwalin as well, since he takes his cues from the King. Anyways, it’s silly to think of them as her dwarves anyways, they certainly don’t think of her as their hobbit.

But the bond is forming, she can feel it. They engage her in conversation, give her tasks when they stop to make camp. They’re trusting her more and more each day. And in return Leofdaeg is trusting them more as well. He speaks to them now, something she knows took a bit of getting use to. At first, if they had a question for him, they would direct it at Bilba. They’re taking cues from Balin, who only knows the rules of Men’s daemons.

“No really, you can talk to him,” she assured the older Dwarf as they tended to the fire together. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Ori eagerly taking notes. He always has his little note book out whenever she talks about Hobbit culture. Beside him sits his brother Dori, who’s knitting needles are flashing in the light of the fire. He’s never very far from his little brother. As Bilba understands, he and Nori are extremely protective of him. “It isn’t rude for a Hobbit to speak to another Hobbit’s daemon if they’re friends.” She feels her cheeks flush in embarrassment. None of them have formally offered the hand of friendship to her, and she feels foolish to suggest such. She knows that much of the time they still think she’s quite the burden. Infirm and frail, a woman on a man’s journey. “Or acquaintances,” Bilba amends quickly.

Balin pants her hand in a fatherly sort of way, which only causes her blush to deepen. She’s thankful to all of the spirits in the world that it’s dark and no one can see her red cheeks. “So Hobbit Daemon’s aren’t like Man’s daemon,” Ori prompts, partially saving her from the embarrassment.

“Well,” she turns to Ori as she brushes a hand down Leo’s spine. “In essence I suppose they are. You saw at the Inn. A Daemon is a Daemon no matter who they belong to, but our cultures are different, so they act different.”

Ori nods and scribbles using the light of the fire to see his notebook. “So it’s not rude to know Leofdaeg’s name?”

“Not at all,” Bilba shakes her head. “I know many men use nicknames for their daemons. We have nicknames for our Daemon’s too, but they’re usually just a shortening of their name. For example, I call him Leo and he calls me Bil,” she smiled down at her daemon who pressed his wet nose to her wrist and rested his head on her knee.

“We called Ma’s daemon Cici,” Leo says, his jaw moving against her leg as he speaks. It’s a memory that Bilba has long since forgotten, foggy and dusty from misuse. She laughs.

“You’re right…” Bilba shakes her head. “Gosh he hated that didn’t he. He was a very proud Daemon.”

“Cici?” Balin prompts, looking curious.

“Cicuta,” Bilba supplies.

“That’s a poisonous plant that is,” Oin, with the help of Gloin, sits heavily next to Ori, his voice just a touch too loud. The eldest dwarf, Bilba had learned was going quite deaf, quite fast. “Water Hemlock.”

Bilba nods, “My mother was named Belladonna. Deadly nightshade. Our daemon’s are named by our parent’s daemons and they often name them something similar.”

“What does Leofdaeg’s name mean?” Ori scoots closer as the darkness settles. She can see he’s practically quivering with anticipation, his quill poised.

“Beloved Day,” Bilba smiles, scratching the fox behind the ear. “My name is a little more complicated, but in essence it means beautiful river crossing.” She can hear Ori’s quill scratching at an amazing speed as he transcribes all of her words.

“Muyeyo was a Beaver,” Leo says, lifting his head to look at the scribe. Ori pauses, caught in the lamp like gaze of Leo’s yellow eyes. She’s been told by Kili and Fili that is quite disconcerting to meet Leo’s eyes, partly because he looks so much like a wild beast and partly because there’s something of Bilba in them. “Pa’s Daemon,” he adds at the look of confusion. “She suggested the name I think.”

“Where are your parents then?” Bofur asks as he sits next to her, keeping a respectful distance between himself and Leofdaeg. His brothers Bombur and Bifur have joined them as well, carrying a large stew pot between them. The only people not around the camp fire listening to Bilba now are Thorin, Dwalin, Kili and Fili. And Nori of course, but Bilba is sure he’s lurking just out of sight, still listening. Gandolf has been gone for the last few days, doing whatever it is that Wizards do.

“Dead,” Bilba says bluntly. There’s no point in beating around the bush with unpleasant things like this.

“Sorry Lass,” Balin pats her hand again, giving her fingers a little squeeze. His hand, no pun intended, dwarves hers.

“It was long ago. The Fell winter took my mother, and only a year later my father followed her. I am used to the absence but… I miss them,” Bilba turns her head away to hide the tears that are forming in her eyes and catches sight of the remaining dwarves coming towards them, obviously called to the fire by the smell of bubbling stew. She meets Thorin’s eyes and embarrassed to be caught crying looks down at Leo quickly. Thorin already thinks her weak, she doesn’t need to reinforce the idea.

The conversation moves on to dinner, and she’s thankful they don’t ask her more of how her mother died. The thought of reliving the memory… well it would bring more than a few tears to her eyes.

Bilba helps to tidy up after supper, her stomach still rumbling. She isn’t eating nearly enough, or anywhere close to what she’s used to. Leo had offered to hunt her something, but when they tried, the taste of blood in her mouth as she killed the rabbit had caused her to lose her stomach and they didn’t try again.

“Is it odd,” Bombur says as he hands her a wooden bowl to dry. “To spend your life around hobbits with daemons and then to be with a company of those without them?”

She looks up at him, caught off guard by the question. She hadn’t really thought about it. She’s read plenty of books about dwarves, though there isn’t much information as they are a private race. But she was prepared that they lacked daemons. “A bit odd,” she says hesitantly. “But I suppose it doesn’t make you less of a person. Elves don’t have daemons either.” He huffs at the mention of Elves and it makes Bilba smile. “I feel bad for Leo,” she makes to flick him with some of the washing water and the fox nips at her fingers. “It must be lonely for him. Though it’s not unusual for Hobbits to talk to daemons that aren’t their own, daemons mostly talk to each other.”

“Don’t go giving away your secrets will Ori’s not here or he’ll be mighty put out,” Bombur jokes and wipes his hands on his pants.

“I’ll have to remember to tell him,” she smiles and puts the last bowl away in Bombur’s pack.

When she and Leofdaeg settle down to sleep, he curls himself under her head so she can use his soft side as a pillow.

“They have daemon’s you know,” he whispers to her in the darkness, silence broken only by the snores of her dwarves.

“Don’t be daft Leo,” she rolls her eyes, knowing he can see her.

“All living things have souls,” he snips at her, a tone of superiority in his voice only a daemon can have. They are not truly of this world, there for they know things about other worlds. “They have daemons, we just can’t see them properly. Don’t you ever notice, out of the corner of your eyes, when you let your vision go fuzzy.”

“I don’t let my vision go fuzzy, but I think your brain is going fuzzy.”

“Fine. Be that way. You’re the daft one.”

Bilba flicks his ear and he lifts his head to say something when someone clears their throat and Bilba rolls over to see Thorin standing above her. Her cheeks are instantly aflame.

“If you insist on talking, please, do it away from camp,” the king says gruffly. “We all need our sleep.”

“Sorry,” Bilba squeaks. Thorin grunts and turns on his heal, back to his bedroll. Bilba flicks Leo’s ear again before settling in to sleep. At this rate, Thorin is going to hate her even more by the time they get to the lonely mountain. Maybe he’ll push her off a mountain just to get rid of her.

“I’d push you off a mountain,” Leo muttered in her ear and she snorts. The connection between person and daemon is, as always, mysterious.

Chapter Text

If she thinks Thoin hated her before, it’s not to how he hates her now, after the debacle with the Trolls. She’s thankful for a few things at least. Thankful that Leofdaeg had stayed out of sight while she crept towards the ponies. Bilba couldn’t imagine the pain that they would have felt if the Trolls had grabbed hold of him. She thankful that they found the Troll’s treasure. It seems to make up, at least marginally, for the loss of their ponies. The last thing she’s thankful for, makes her also feel a little guilty, but she’s thankful for the arrival of the Wargs and their retreat into Rivendell because it has distracted Thorin from really laying into her the way she knows he wants to.

Every time his eyes fall over, all she sees is burning anger and she can’t help but wince.

The elves have given her her own room, and a set of Elvin style dresses that have obviously been tailored hastily because while they fit her in length, they’re also practically falling off of her shoulders. When she’s had a much needed wash, something she tried to savor as much as possible, she joins the rest of the company at a grand dining table. The rest of them look bathed, but they haven’t been given new clothes.

Bilba sits herself next to Ori, pulling self-consciously at the shoulder strap of her dress, which is slipping down her arm. Kili lets out a low wolf whistle and she flushes. Bilba opens her mouth to tell him off but is beaten to it by a stern sounding Thorin. “Behave yourself,” he snaps. When Bilba turns to look at him, she thinks he’s flushed a little, under his full beard. When Thorin’s turned away, Bilba sticks her tongue out at Kili, who returns the gesture with a grin.

“You’re showing off an awful lot of skin,” Kili teases her after dinner and she tugs at the dress again.

“Shut it,” she hisses, Leo growling low. “I’d rather have my trousers back thank you very much, but it’s quite rude, to turn down a gift.”

“Well, Uncle liked it,” Fili says, catching up with them at a jog as they wonder around the grand halls of Rivendell.

“You can shut it as well,” Bilba quips, keeping chin up, doing a very good impression of Lobelia. “I’m quite sure there isn’t a single thing about me King Thorin likes.”

“He likes it when you show a bit of skin Miss Baggins,” Kili teases. Leo takes the opportunity to bite at the Dwarf through his thick boots. Kili yelps and Bilba smiles smugly at him. It doesn’t quite hurt, when Leo touches someone with a barrier between them, but it does feel a bit like she’s bitten down on a spoon, her teeth aching in a peculiar way.

Their say in Rivendell is very pleasant for Bilba, but she knows the Dwarves are getting restless. None of them trust the Elves, despite Gandolf’s reassurances, Thorin least of all. Bilba’s sure that they’re going to start breaking things a bit bigger than chairs if they don’t leave soon.

The moon is full in the sky now, as she walks through the halls, the only sounds are her shoes on the stone and Leo’s soft padding paws. He’s a silent animal, the same way Hobbits are silent creatures. Bilba musing that perhaps Gandolf was right, picking a Hobbit to be a burglar, he just didn’t pick the right Hobbit. She’s making a fool of herself over and over again.

Ahead of her, she hears someone or something shifting out of a balcony. She tip toes forward, Leo all but melting into the shadows. She peaks around the corner to see… Thorin, sitting up on the banister, his feet dangling over the edge. She watches him as he takes a sure swig from the bottle of wine he holds in one hand. Bilba’s never seen him drink before. Some of the other dwarves have flasks with them, but the King doesn’t seem to, and he’s not yet accepted a drink at dinner. She had been starting to think he’s sober.

“It’s illegal to spy on a king.” His voice shakes her from her thoughts. She has two options, the first to turn and walk away the other to come out of her hiding spot.

“I don’t think that’s a real law,” she says boldly as she steps out onto the Balcony with him. Thorin pats the spot next to him, his hand only a little unsteady. Bilba doesn’t much fancy falling to her death, so she leans against the railing next to him, which makes him tower above her like he always does.

“I could make it one,” he shrugs, taking another drink. “But I am not the king of anything,” he says bitterly.

“You’re the king of the Lonely Mountain,” Bilba frowns up at him.

“Not yet…”

“But soon.”

Thorin looks down at her, and for the first time there isn’t anger there. He’s gaze is a little unsteady and she can smell the wine on his breath. “Soon,” he agrees, turning around on the rail and dropping to his feet next to her. It levels the playing ground some, but he’s still much taller than her.

They stand in silence for a few minutes, Bilba looking out at the forest below them. Leofdaeg has moved closer to them, and the prickling feeling at the base of her neck says that Thorin is watching her Daemon.

“What does it feel like?” He asks. His voice is steady, but he’s drank more than half of the bottle so she knows he’s at least a little bit drunk.

“What does what feel like?” Bilba drags her gaze back to him, willing her cheeks not to flush pink as he levels her with a look.

“Touching a daemon?”

She’s taken aback by the question. It comes from a place of pure curiosity that she didn’t think that Thorin had within in, especially when it came to herself. “I… I don’t know? I’ve only ever touched Leo…”

Thorin nods solemnly, taking another swig, a deeper one this time. He’s nearly drained the bottle. “I saw a man touching a daemon once, when I was working in a town as a black smith.” Bilba can hear the drink in his words now, but he still sounds sure of himself. They’ve never spoken this much and she doesn’t want to break the silence. “It wasn’t his daemon. I thought it was against… something, some law or something to touch another’s daemon.”

“Lover’s touch each other’s daemon,” she says without thinking, her cheeks blazing. The embarrassment of speaking of such things with a man.. with Thorin of all men. But his gaze has captured her and she hears herself continue to talk. “It’s very… intimate. I’ve… I’ve never,” her voice catches in her throat.

“But, for someone other than a lover or the like to touch a daemon is..” Thorin prompts her.

“It’s of the most evil thing someone can do. To lay your hands on another’s daemon with ill intention in your heart…” She shivers at the thought. “Pain beyond pain.”

“Pain beyond pain,” He rolls the words on his tongue and then finishes the bottle. “Miss Baggins,” he nods his head and turns away from her.

She and Leo are left standing on the balcony alone and a brisk wind cuts her to the bone. But she feels rooted to the spot, even now that the King has gone. “What on earth was that Leo,” she mutters to her Daemon.

“I haven’t a clue,” he replies, taking her skirts in his teeth and tugging her inside. But he does have some semblance of an idea. Not one that he’d share with Bilba of course, it would only make her angry.

They leave Rivendell the next night. Bilba is thankful to back in her trousers and waist coat, along with a few more articles of warm clothes gifted to her by the Elves. Kili and Fili fall into step next to her. “I’ll miss your shoulders more than I can say,” Kili teases and Bilba steps on his foot as hard as she can.

“Kili, Fili. To me,” Thorin orders and the princes hurry to walk with their uncle. She catches Thorin’s eyes, and see’s his gaze harden. Back to hating her then. Well, it was nice while the drink lasted. Bilba falls into step beside Bofur, who slows his stride to match hers.

Chapter Text

As they get up into the mountains, Bilba becomes colder and colder. She shivers so much that her teeth chatter near constantly. They’ve all given her the most clothing they care spare to her, and she often sleeps close between two of the other members so she’s sheltered from the wind, but it’s not enough. The comfortable layer of padding she had in the Shire has slid off of her. Though she hasn’t looked yet, when she slips her hands into her shirt to warm her fingers, she can feel her ribs. They aren’t starving her really, she can survive on the rations she’s getting, it’s just not what she’s used to.

Those two things combined makes her slower, less sure footed as they climb up the rocky outcrops. Thorin is becoming less and less patient every time she stumbles or falls to the back of the pack. The other dwarves, those who have become fond of her are doing their best to compensate for her. They try to walk with her when they can, so as to grab her elbow should she trip. Most of the time its Ori, who like her is not use to travel like this and is the slowest of the bunch beside Oin, who’s bones are stiff with age.

The princes have taken most of the heavy things from her back and dispersed them between themselves, without Thorin’s knowledge of course.

The king swings between lashing out at her and treating her to a stony silence. “It’s as if he’s forgotten he practically asked to touch me,” Leo grumbles to her as she struggles up the steep incline the company is traversing. Leo has no problem getting up the mountain but he can’t go far from Bilba so moves slowly helping where he can.

“Hurry up Halfing,” Thorin’s voice cuts sharp through the foggy air. It tastes of rain and the sky is dark.

Bilba doesn’t respond, but she does her best to move faster. “Yes your majesty, anything for you your majesty,” Leo grumbles under his breath, taking hold of her jacket in his teeth and tugging. When they reach the top, it’s only Dwalin waiting for them, the rest of the company is beyond the bend, out of sight.

Bilba sighs heavily, brushing her hair out of her eyes. The large dwarf has already turned and is striding away, leaving Bilba to half jog to keep up. “I should just cut it all off,” she says to Leo, running her hand through her hair. “It’s a bird’s nest now, I’ll never get it untangled.” She hasn’t washed since they left Rivendell and that was days ago now.

“Don’t.”

Dwalin’s voice startles her, she didn’t know he had been listening to her and Leo talk. “Why not?” She says in spite of herself. She and Dwalin have traded enough words to count on one hand.

“Dwarves only cut their hair if they’ve been shamed,” he says gruffly looking over his shoulder.

“I’m not a dwarf,” Bilba raises a brow at him. “I’m only a Halfling,” she says the last word with a sneer audible in her tone.

Dwaling grunts, and slows down to match her pace. “Is that not what you are?” he sounds cautious.

“I am not half of anything,” she said firmly. “It’s a name the big folk have given us Hobbits. It’s derogatory.” Bilba almost regrets saying it, considering Thorin’s been calling her halfling this entire journey.

“I’ll say something to Thorin,” he mutters as the company comes into view. “Don’t cut your hair. Ask Bombur or Gloin to fix it for you.”

“Thank you,” Bilba squeaks as Dwalin speeds up.

When they stop for the night and after Bilba has helped fix and clean up after dinner she asks Bombur to help her with her hair. He’s surprised but eager to help, making sure she’s huddled in a blanket on the ground between his knees as he sits on a rock. He produces a comb from somewhere in his pack and sets to work on her long brown hair. Bombur is exceedingly gentle as he combs the knots from her hair despite his thick fingers.

“Thank you for this Master Bombur,” she said, closing her eyes and enjoying the sensation. Leo is curled around her feet, his eyes also closed. Bilba threads her fingers through his fur and scratches him behind the ears.

“Of course Miss Baggins,” Bombur says softly.

“Just Bilba Master Bombur,” she looks over her shoulder to smile at him.

“Miss Bilba,” he amends. “You’ve lovely hair, I’m glad you decided against cutting it.”

“Dwalin told me I should ask you or Gloin to help me. Why is that?”

“We’re both married Miss,” Bombur says, now beginning to put an intricate and sturdy braid into her hair.

“Oh, Do you do your wife’s hair then? Do only married Dwarves know how to do a women’s hair?”

Bombur laughs, reaching over her shoulder to collect a few stray strands of hair. Under the fire light her hair looks like honey. “No, all the dwarves know how to handle hair. It’s of the utmost importance,” he says seriously. “But it would be very inappropriate for an unmarried dwarf to do this for you.”

She turns to look at him fully, Leo lifting his head to listen intently. “How come?”

“Only family or lovers do each other hair,” he replies, gently turning her head to face away from him so he can finish his work. “For any of the unmarried dwarves here to touch your hair… well without a declaration of intent… and even then,” he trails off and Bilba doesn’t quite understand. This is perhaps another cultural difference in the chasm that separates her from her Dwarves.

“What is your wife like?” Bilba changes the subject, deciding it was probably too presumptuous to ask about dwarven courting. “And yours,” she smiles as Gloin who has joined them in front of the fire. There’s another, larger fire going where most of the company sit together, planning their path through the mountains.

“Ay, the picture of beauty,” Gloin grins and Bombur laughs in agreement.

“My lovely wife as well,” Bombur lets go of her hair and pats her shoulder to let her know he’s finished. When she’s settled next to him on the rock he holds out a locket for her to see. She shifts it to see by the light of the fire. The picture is quite small and depicts what Bilba must assume is a women, though much of her face is observed with a large and highly ornamented beard.

“Very beautiful,” She hands the locket back.

“She’s my one,” he says, smiling down at the picture. “Love of my life.” He tucks the locket back under his shirt. Across the fire Gloin hands her a little pocket book style picture frame. One side is a women with a large beard like Bombur’s wife, the other is a little dwarf with just the start of a patchy mustache.

“Is this your son?” Bilba asks handing the pictures back and Gloin nods.

“Gimli, my wee lad.”

“Very handsome,” she smiles at him. “Do you have any children Bombur?”

“Ay, 14,” Bombur nods.

“Goodness 14? That’s a handful,” she smiles.

“We’ve been greatly blessed by Aulë,” Bombur says, and then mutters something under his breath that sounds like it could be a prayer.

“How many is normal?” She looks between them and Bofur who drops down next to her.
“One,” Bofur answers, “But as many as three.”

“What about hobbits?” Bombur asks. “It’s just you isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s just me. My mother was frightfully ill while she was pregnant with me. So they chose to have only me,” the dwarves look confused at her explanation. “Well, some families have many children, some have 5 to 10 children, but those families are often poor and can’t afford to stop pregnancy.”

All three dwarves look outraged, Gloin has even jumped to his feet. “What?” she looks between them all, confused by their reactions.

“Each child is a gift from Aulë, a blessing! To.. stop?” Bombur shakes his head. “It would be unspeakable!”

“Well it’s perfectly normal with hobbits I assure you,” Bilba says a little defensively. “So many children would be born out of wed-“ But she’s caught off by more cries of outrage. She has to shout to be heard. “What is it now?”

“To be… to make a child out of wedlock-“ Bombur seems unable to even finish the thought.

“Well it’s not spoken of in the Shire, but it happens, all tweens experiment and no one wants to be stuck with a child!”

“Stuck!” Gloin shouts back.

“Does this mean you experimented?” Kili appears out of nowhere and Bilba flushes a brilliant red.

“Did you not hear the part about it being unspoken,” she hisses. “It’s most rude to ask a lady such thing,” Bilba glares at him and is satisfied when Dwalin cuffs him around the head.

“It’s time to sleep, we leave early in the morning,” says the large dwarf as Kili slinks away, rubbing his head.

When she’s situated in her bedroll she leans up on one elbow and looks and Bombur, “I didn’t mean to upset you,” she says softly.

“I know Miss Bilba,” he smiles kindly. “Just a difference between us, it’s important to learn. You’ve taught me quite a lot of interesting recipes,” he lowers his voice so only they can hear. “And between you and me,” he looks around, and says even softer. “I think my wife would have liked to stop a few of those pregnancies. How do you do it?”

“Lots of Hobbits use Fabaceae,” she replies equally as quietly. The dwarf nods and smiles again before resting his head down and closing his eyes.
Bilba turns on her side and snuggles into Leo’s coat. Over his back, she sees that Thorin is sitting at the slowly dying fire. It the feeble light, she can see he’s watching her. And is terrified that he’s heard her, so she hides her face against Leo.

In the middle of the night it begins to mist, and then drizzle and then rain and then downpour. When she wakes. She’s soaked to the bone.

Chapter Text

Bilba is shivering so badly she’s worried she’ll shake herself off the edge of the cliff. The storm is pelting against them and all of the company is bent double against the wind. She’s tucked in the middle of the pack, as if the rest of them are worried she’ll be blown away. Leo is wrapped around her shoulders, so is added wait is holding her back, but they’re both terrified of being separated, so if they fall, at least the fall together.

With a crack of lighting, the mountains break apart. She’s lost in the crashing and shaking of the stones and one of the dwarves yells something that is lose in the crack of thunder. Bilba tries to follow as they all leap from one crumbling ledge to another.

With a lurch of her stomach, which is now in her throat, her fingers scramble against the rocky wall, but made no purchase. She’s going to drop to her death. Crushed at the bottom of this mountain. Her body never found.

Thorin’s arms close around her waist and hoist her up where she’s grabbed by Fili and pulled to safety. “We almost lost you Miss Baggins,” Fili says breathlessly as he maneuvers around her, holding onto her tight while making sure not to touch Leo. The fox Daemon has his nose pressed into her neck, breathing deep.

“She's been lost ever since he left home...she has no place amongst us,” Thorin spits as Dwalin pulls him up from the rocky mountain face. The king pushes past them, leaving Bilba standing, shaking as the rest of the company follows him to a cave in the rock face and out of the wind and rain.

“Come on Bilba,” Fili mutters to her and pulls her forward. “Uncle was just frightened is all… He doesn’t mean it.”

There isn’t any dry wood in the cave for a fire, so they can’t start one. The company huddles together, with Bilba at the outskirts of the ground with Leo on her lap. No one talks much, expect for when Bombur passes out the rations. Bilba takes her portion but tucks it into her pocket for later, her stomach hasn’t settled from her fall.

She waits until the cave is full of the sound of snoring before getting to her feet, gathering her bag and her small sword in hand, Leo twisting around her legs as she creeps towards the mouth of the cave.

“Where are you going?” The voice scares her nearly half to death, and she turns to face Bofur. “You aren’t thinkin’ of leavin’ are you?”

“Bofur,” Bilba breaths, not meeting his eyes. “You heard Thorin, I don’t belong here.”

“You do belong here, you’re part of the company,” Bofur insists.

“I’m not. I’m just a silly hobbit who’s wondered to far from home,” she presses the heal of her hand to her eyes to stop her tears. “I was a fool, to think I could go on an adventure.” She turns to leave and Bofur grabs her wrist, the one holding the sword. In her haste to pull away, she drops it, sending it clattering to the floor. It rest on the rock, glowing blue.

“Bilba please stay it will-“

But she’s not listening, she’s remembering Gandalf’s words; ‘It’s elvish make, which means it glows blue when orcs or goblins are near.’

“Wake up,” she shouts, bending to snatch the blade from the ground. “Everyone wake up!” Her voice reverberates around the cave and startles the company awake.

“What in the name of-“ Thorin starts, getting to his feet and advancing towards her, almost nose to nose.

“Your sword,” She says frantically, gesturing to the scabbard at his hip. She can just barely see the blue glow. “Orcs or –“ But her voice is cut off as the ground drops out from under them and they’re falling.

It’s not a long drop, but she loses track of Leo when they hit the ground in a heap. She’s practically laying on top of Thorin, and she’s pretty sure he had grabbed her around the waist when they fell.

“Leo,” she calls in the dark and is released to see his glowing eyes. The fox presses his nose to her cheeks checking for injury. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” she mutters and uses his back to help her up. She’s landed funny on her ankle, though It doesn’t feel broken it is damaged. Unfortunately there is not reprieve and as the company hauls themselves to their feet they’re surrounded by Goblins. The creatures carry torches and crude blades, the fire throwing terrifying shadows around the cave walls. The goblins are shouting in a language that Bilba doesn’t know, but she gets the general idea as they start herding them towards an opening in the cave, threatening them with the blades.

“Nobody do anything rash,” Thorin growls at the head of the group, Bilba close behind him. They’re lead out into a massive cavern, with paths built of wood and stone, criss crossing this way and that. The goblins urge them forward and Bilba stumbles. A Goblin pressing his blade between her shoulders and growling what is unmistakably a threat. Leofdaeg can’t help but growl.

It happens in the space of a second. The goblin lunges for the fox, grabbing him around the neck and lifting him from his feet.

A guttural terrible scream is ripped from Bilba, the pain knocking her from her feet. Every part of her body has been lit on fire, she’s burning to death, suffocating on the smoke. She cannot think, cannot see, the only thing that exists is pain. Bilba wants it to end, begs to be killed.

Dimly, coming from somewhere Bilba doesn’t know, she can near voices shouting. One louder than the others. “Put it down,” the voice rages. There are hands on her, trying to hold her still as she convulses.

The goblin drops Leo and Bilba curls into herself sobbing. The noise of the world presses against her ears. It’s the company who had been shouting, horror struck. Thorin’s voice had been loudest of all. The hands on her shoulders are wrenched off of her. She hears chains rattling, the company shouting as they’re chained together.

“Get up Miss Baggins,” Thorin commands, his voice breaking the slightest bit.

“Please Bilba,” Fili begs her. She can tell they’re being pulled away from her. But she can’t move, can’t respond. She has no breath in her lungs.

“Dead,” she hears one of the goblins mutter in the common language and suddenly she and Leo are shoved from the walk way. The company screams as one, but Thorin’s voice is loudest, following as she falls. Down, down, down.

Chapter Text

Leofdaeg presses his nose into Bilba’s neck, sniffing gently and whining softly. “Bil, please get up,” he begs her, pressing harder. When she doesn’t respond he nips her cheek, his teeth almost breaking the skin. Bilba groans in pain and pushes him off of her. “Get up Bil,” he urges again, taking hold of her jacket in his mouth and pulling hard. “There’s something down here.”

Bilba opens her eyes and looks blearily up at her daemon, he’s out of focus and her head is pounding. She’s pretty sure she hit her as she fell. Really it’s a miracle they aren’t dead. “Bil,” Leo’s voice breaks through the fog again. With her eyes still closed she gets her arms under her and starts to push herself to her feet. She has to stop when she’s on her knees, even with her eyes firmly shut, Bilba feels as if she’s spinning. Leofdaeg is moving around her, staying as close as possible. She can feel his panic, his pain in her own chest. Bilba digs her fingers into his fur, holding on tight enough that she can feel the twang of pain in her own scalp. “Are you okay?” she whispers, her voice horse. She must have been screaming, up on the walk way, her voice feels like she’s swallowed a hot iron.

“I’m okay,” Leo responds, using his nose to nudge her to her feet. “I’m okay. We’re okay. We’re together,” he mutters this, keeping his voice low. When she’s on her feet, she sways, and presses the heel of her hand hard against her eye so white stars pop up in the black of her eyelids. When she opens her eyes, the white spots are still there, brighter than anything around them.

“Where are we?” she asks, having to squint to see. It looks like they’re near the edge of a lake of some sort, but definitely still underground.

“I don’t know, but deeper in the mountain for sure… though I think I can smell fresh air,” Leo responds, still pressed hard into her leg. As she steps forwards he moves with her, not willing to part from her. She can still feel the burn of the goblin’s touch inside her. Her stomach rolls and she thinks she’ll be sick.

“Let’s go that way then,” she whispers back. She feels Leo nod and they move forward, Bilba inching her way through the dark, her hand Leo’s head as they go. His eyesight is much better, and while she’s practically blind, he can see the way.

As they walk, Bilba puts her foot down on something startlingly smooth and cold. She slips a little, catching herself on Leo. “Are you okay?” he asks nervously.

“I slipped on something,” she mutters, bending down and groping blindingly under her feet until she closes her fingers around the object. “It’s a ring,” she says softly, showing it to the daemon. “Funny thing to find in a cave.”

“A goblin cave,” Leo reminds her, turning his head sharply, his ears swivelling. “Come on, there’s something down here with us and I’d rather not find out what.” Bilba slips the ring into her trouser pocket and they carry on towards where Leo seems to think the exit is.

“Who is you…” a harsh voice comes out of the darkness. Bilba reacts without thinking, pulling her sword from her hip and brandishing it towards the source. In the dim blue glow of the blade she can make out the stooping shape of some creature, not like anything Bilba has seen before, or read about for that matter.

“Who are you?” she counters.

“I is hungry,” the creature creeps closer, only jumping back as Bilba slashes at it with her sword.

“Well you’re not eating me,” she snarls, the noise mingling with Leo’s snarl.

“"Praps ye sits here and chats with it a bitsy, my preciousss. It like riddles, praps it does, does it?" The creature inched forward again, though its tone has changed slightly, Bilba backs up just a bit.

“I… suppose,” she says hesitantly. “you ask one first then,” she gestures with her blade.

"What has roots as nobody sees, Is taller than trees, Up, up it goes, And yet never grows?"

“Easy, a mountain,” she says, not lowering her sword. The creature growls and lunges forward trying to grab onto Leofdaeg’s tail. The fox dances out of reach and Bilba slashes at it’ hands. “Enough foolishness,” she barks. “Show me the way out or… or I’ll run you through.” She tries to sound convincing, but her head is pounding and her voice wavers slightly.

“More riddleses,” the creature laughs. “Tells me a riddles it does.”

Bilba sighs, they might be able to find the way out their selves, but she doesn’t fancy turning her back on whatever this was. “An eye in a blue face Saw an eye in a green face. "That eye is like to this eye" Said the first eye, "But in low place, Not in high place,”” she says, her hands shaking slightly on the hilt of her sword.

“Sss, sss, my preciouss," he says. "Sun on the daisies it means, it does."

The sound of his voice makes her skin crawl. They’re wasting time. Surely the dwarves are either dead or out of the mountain, and she’s running out of time to find out which.

“"It cannot be seen, cannot be felt, Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt. It lies behind stars and under hills, And empty holes it fills. It comes first and follows after, Ends life, kills laughter."

“Dark,” Bilba responds right away, having heard the riddle before. “I’m growing tired of this,” she warns, jabbing the sword forward just a little as he crept forward again.

“Ifs I answer this riddless I getss to eatss you, yess yess,” the creature’s crooked rotting smile is visible even in dim blue glow.

She feels bile rise in her throat and Leo growls. “Alright then,” she says, trying to sound confident. “What have I got in my pocket?”

"S-s-s-s-s," it hissed . "It must give us three guesseses, my preciouss, three guesseses."

“Fine, Guess away,” she said, her teeth clenched, thinking to Leo that they must run at the first opportunity.

Handses!"

“Wrong," says Bilba smugly. "Guess again!"

The creature looks distressed, screwing up it’s face as it thinks. Knife!" he says at last.

"Wrong again! Last guess!" The creature hissed and rocked back and forth, seemingly on the verge of tears, beating its hands on the rock. “Hurry up! I haven’t all day,” Bilba prompts it. Though she’s not quite sure the creature will keep it’s word about not eating her.

"String, or nothing!" it shrieks.

“Both wrong,” Bilba yells tripulantly, jumping back as the creature collapses into a lump on the rock crying noisily.

She takes the moment and turns to run, following Leo in the light of the sword. “This way,” the daemon calls and turns down tunnel. She can hear the creature behind them, catching up to them. screaming nonsense about thieves and precious and pockets. Bilba puts her hand into her pocket, the ring slipping onto her forefinger.

Just in time as the creature rounds the corner, she turns to face him her sword still drawn and ready to fight it off. But the creature stops and looks wildly around before turning and heading off in the opposite direction.

Bilba stares open mouthed at where the creature had been, and goes to turn towards Leo only to find him gone. She has to clap a hand over her mouth to stop herself from shrieking. “Leo,” she manages a horse whisper, looking wildly around. She looks down at the ring. It’s the only thing different… she wonders if perhaps it’s a magic ring. There are always stories of magic jewellery, mostly told to little girls in the shire. Tucking her sword under her arm, she slips the ring off.

She only realizes when its gone that there had been a terrible weight pressing on her chest. And when the warm come backs, realizes that she had been terribly cold. “Bilba,” Leo’s voice brings tears to her eyes. “Where were you?” he sounds terrified.

“Where was I? where were you?” she drops to her knees and pulls him into a hug. “You vanished.”

“No you did, I couldn’t find you. That thing came down the tunnel and I thought we were done for but he just turned away… and then I found you gone.”

“The same happened to me,” Bilba says breathlessly. “I think it turns us invisible… but even from each other…”

“It’s terrible,” the daemon growls and Bilba agrees, but slips it into her pocket anyways. It might be useful, a ring to turn you inviable, when sneaking past a dragon. “Come on, I want to leave.”

She nods and gets back to her feet. She doesn’t put the ring on, so they move almostly silently through the caves, following Leo’s nose. He leads them to a crack in the wall, through which a faint light is streaming. It’s just big enough for her to slip through, thank the gods.

Once they’re on the other side, she lets out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. “Now what?” she sighs, shielding her eyes from the light of the rising sun.

“I don’t know,” Leo muttered. “Either the dwarves are dead or their not…”

“I can’t see Thorin wanting to wait around for me,” she says bitterly.

“The princes would argue against that,” Leo assures her and starts off down the gentle slope. “we’ll go this way, since its towards the lonely mountain.”

“And how do you know that?” she asks, picking her way down behind him.

“I just do,” he looks over his shoulder at her. They’re both filthy, and in the light of the very early morning, Bilba can see that she’s quite covered in blood. Slightly in front of her, Leo is limping, and she can feel that she is as well. The ankle that she damaged before is probably much worse now. She’s beginning to lose hope when voice float towards them over the wind. In unison, she and Leo spead up, crossing the cress of the hill and shouting out in relief.

“Bilba!”

“It’s Bilba!

“Aulë be bless!”

The dwarves shouts fill the air as she runs down the hit towards them, trying not to trip as she picks up speed. Fili and Kili are running to meet her, the younger one catching her first, lifting her off her feet in a hug that makes her ribs groan in pain. The air is forced out of her as Fili wraps his arms around her too and she’s caught in a bear hug between the two princes. When she’s let go, the whole company is there as well, catching her in hugs as well. Except for Thorin and Dwalin of course, but she thinks there’s a ghost of a smile on the bald dwarve’s lips. Gandalf, she sees is back with them. He smiles at her, though there’s concern in his eyes.

“We thought you were dead lass,” Balin says, taking her hands in his.

“I did too,” she breaths, though she smiles at him, wincing as she puts her weight on her injured ankle. The dwarves around her all look worse for wear as well, but she has a feeling, based on the way they’re looking at her, that she looks the worst.

“We have to keep moving,” Thorin says over the heads of the company. “We have no supplies, and the goblins will be on us in no time.”

“I have my pack still,” Bilba says, flushing as he turns his gaze on her. She had nearly forgotten she still had it, the goblins didn’t take it before pushing her over the ledge.

“Good,” he mutters. Thorin's gaze lingers on her, but then he turns. “Come, we still have far to go.”

As they start off, Bilba thinks that perhaps if she and Thorin had been alone, he would have said something different. But she'll never know if that's true. Instead, she turns her mind towards the rising sun, her fingers in Leo's fur again.

Chapter Text

They’re lucky that Bilba had been trying to sneak away. In her pack, are rations, some a small cooking pot, and two cantinas of water. She also had her bedroll and blanket, which the company unanimously decided that Bilba should keep for herself. Honestly she’s quite touched.

She appreciates the gesture even more after the sun has set on them. They spent the day putting as much distance between themselves and the goblin caves. Thorin showed signs of wanting to continue through the night, and it isn’t until Bilba’s ankle gives out from under her, sending her to the ground that Oin declares that they are topping for the night. She hadn’t realized she had hurt ankle in the caves, but now, as the adrenalin is wearing off its beinging to throb. Not wanting to be the weak link let again, Bilba hauls herself to her feet, or rather tries to. Her ankle is shaking quite badly, and she can’t quite put her weight on it, causing her to grab onto Bofur, nearly pulling him down with her in his surprise.

This display put any of Thorin’s arguments to rest and he allowed the company to set up camp. Bilba had tried to help, but Oin plants her in front of the fire and starts to go over her with a fine tooth comb. He finds a rather sizable bump on the back of her head, and her ankle has swollen to an impressive size. As Oin putters around her, she see Thorin out of the corner of her eye, and if she’s not mistaken he seems to be hovering, a little nervously, or as nervously as a king can hover.

The rest of the company are not as adapt at hiding their concern, and as they gather to eat they eagerly ask her to re-count her time in the Goblin caves. Oin specifically wants to know if she remembers getting hurt, he seems to be worried about the hit to her head.

She doesn’t remember getting injured unfortunately, it must have happened while she fell unconscious from the walk way. But she tells them of the creature she met, and her escape from him. She doesn’t however, mention the ring. Instead she says she hid from it before making her way to the crack in the wall. Leofdaeg shoots her a questioning look, but doesn’t say anything. Bilba doesn’t know why she doesn’t mention the ring. It had been on the tip of her tongue but the words were caught in her throat.

After their meager supper, Kili and Fili had helped her settle into a spot right next to the fire, her back pressed up against a log they had been using a seating. She’s warm and protected from the wind here. She can feel sleep coming over her, but fights it, watching the company move around the camp quietly. They don’t have any of their things, save for what had been in their pockets, but they’re trying to make themselves as comfortable as possible. At the edge of the camp, she watches Gandalf and Thorin. They’re talking too low for her to hear anything, but Thorin doesn’t look too happy with what Gandalf is saying. Before long Oin interrupts their conversation, blocking Thorin from view. Bilba allowed the heaviness in her eyelids to overtake her, and she drifts off to sleep.

The fire is burnt low when she feels a hand on her shoulder. She can see the faint light of it under her eyelids. “Bilba,” a voice says softly in her ear. She grunts and buries her face in Leo’s fur. “Bilba,” the voice says again. The fog of her sleep addled mind begins to part and she realizes the voice belongs to Thorin.

“What’s wrong?” she says hoarsely, sitting up too fast. White spots pop up in front of her eyes and she sways where she sits.

His hand is on her shoulder still, steadying her. “Nothing,” he says in a whisper. “Oin is concerned that you are concussed. He’s asked that you be woken up throughout the night.”

“Oh,” Bilba breaths, realizing how close he is to her, crouched between her and the fire. Leo lifts his head and shifts so he’s pressed even closer to Bilba’s side.

Thorin, taking the hint pulls away, moving to sit next to her. Bilba rests herself against the log and watches the embers for a little, her heart still thundering in her chest. “You should sleep,” Thorin says, his voice rumbling in his chest.

“So should you,” she shoots back.

“I am on watch,” he responds and she thinks she sees the corner of his mouth twitch upwards in a smile, but it could be the shadows cast by the fire as he leans forward to stoke it. They fall into a comfortable silence, far more comfortable than she’s ever experienced in his presence. She absent mindly scratches Leo behind the ear, causing the fox daemon to nuzzle against her, sighing slightly as he settles back down. “You told me, in Rivendell, that it is pain beyond pain,” Thorin says suddenly, still in a whisper.

Bilba’s cheeks flush in embarrassment. She hopes he didn’t remember that, but it seems as if he does. She turns to look at him, waiting for him to continue and when he doesn’t, she prompts him. “Yes?”

“Is it?” He still isn’t looking at her, but staring resolutely at the fire. She looks at him blankly, not understanding, Leo has lifted his head again to stare at Thorin as well. “Was pain beyond pain? When the Goblins touched Leofdaeg?”

Bilba’s mouth opened in a soft “oh” of understanding. In the back of her mind, she registers that Thorin had never said Leo’s name. There’s something in the way he says it that warms her. “Yes,” she says quietly, looking down at her daemon, remembering the feeling. Like she was burning, like she was being torn in two. “It was like something had set me on fire from the inside,” her voice is quivering, but she doesn’t stop. Bilba doesn’t think she’ll ever forget the feeling. “I was choking on the smoke. I couldn’t breath, couldn’t think. I could only feel pain.” Leo gives a soft whine and she leans down to press her cheek against his.

“I could feel Bilba being torn away from me,” Leo says quietly to Thorn. There are tears in Bilba’s eyes and they’re wetting Leo’s dark fur. Thorin’s turned to them now, watching with a steady gaze. “Getting further and further away from me. Daemon’s can’t go very far from their people,” he explains.

Bilba lifts her head and meets Thorin’s eyes. He seems to be stealing himself before he reaches forward. For a moment, she thinks he’s going to wipe the tears from her cheek, and perhaps he thought so as well, because for a moment they’re caught in each other’s gravity. But the moment is over and he puts his hand on her shoulder. “I have been to war,” he says quietly. “I have seen the horrors of the battle field… but… I have never seen… never experienced anything as terrible as that.” He shakes his head, the beads in his beard clinking softly against each other. Even for a being without a daemon like a dwarf, he seems to truly understand the severity of the act. “I promise, on my honour, that no one touch Leofdaeg ever again.”

She breaths a shaky breath as he pulls away. “And what about after I’ve gone back to the shire?” she says jokinly, trying to lighten the heaviness that has settled around them. But the joke his hollow and her laugh is nervous and shaky.

“I promise,” he says again before getting to his feet. “You should try to sleep, next on watch will wake you again in a few hours.”

Bilba watches him go and settles in without argument. She doesn’t know how far he’s gone, so doesn’t risk talking to Leo about what in the world just happened. “We aren’t really going back to the shire are we?” Leo says quietly in her ear.

“I don’t know Le,” she mutters back, pulling the blankets tight around them. “It’s home…” but she doesn’t sound convincing even to herself.

“Is it?” the fox says, licking her cheek and she doesn’t respond.

In the morning, Thorin doesn’t acknowledge the moment that passed between them, instead he is the same hard and sullen dwarf as always. She would have sworn she but as they leave their little camp behind, Oin and Kili helping her along, Thorin keeps turning back and catching her eye, as if to check that she’s making it along alright.

By the time the sun is setting on them again, she’s able to walk on her own and Oin declares that is wasn’t broken, just strained. It’s good news because as a sound cuts the evening air like a knife. It’s a sound she’s heard before from the men around the Shire. A hunting horn.

And with her heard plummeting into her stomach, Bilba knows that they are the prey.

Chapter Text

No one gives the word, but they all start running at the same time. The company is tired and sore but all of them are moving at a full sprint. Bilba is quickly falling behind. Bifur and Bombur are closest to her and each grab one of her hands, tugging her along with them. She’s thankful for the extra help, her ankle is throbbing and her head is pounding along with the rhythm of their feet on the uneven ground. Behind them, the sound of the horn blares again and it sends her heart into her throat.

Leofdaeg is easily the fastest of all of them. He is built for this kind of sprint, though because he’s tied to Bilba he doesn’t often push himself. As the company runs, Bilba can tell he’s holding himself back to say close to her. Speeding up and slowing down constantly. “Go,” she says to him and he looks over her shoulder at her. They nod at each other and Leo takes off. They’re running blind, they need to know where they’re going. The daemon catches up with Thorin, who looks down in surprise. If they weren’t teetering on the edge of capture and death, Bilba might have laughed at his reaction, might have even appreciated how they, Thorin and her daemon, looked running side by side. Both creatures of power, dark in colour against the night sky.

The fox puts on a burst of speed, outstripping Thorin and his nephews at the head of the group with ease. Over the hills behind them Bilba can hear that howl of the wargs, no matter how fast they go she knows they will be caught. She redoubles her grip on the dwarves hands and pushes herself harder, closing her eyes and focusing on the feeling of Leo’s paws hitting the ground as he runs ahead of them. He’s pushing the boundaries of their bond, like they often did in their youth. In a time when he flitted easily between forms, they would see how far they could go from each other before they were compelled back to eachothers side. Bilba can feel the twinge of pain next to her heart where Leofdaeg’s connection resides inside of her.

As they run, she can see what he sees ahead of them and together Hobbit and Daemon shout together: “Cliffs!”

“We’re running right towards a cliff Thorin,” Bilba screams at the king, her terrified voice wrenching the night air. Looking over her shoulder she can see the Wargs, the Orc’s mounted on them. She knows it’s her imagination, but she swears she can feel their hot breath on the back of her neck.

Leofdaeg is running back towards them, meeting them in the middle, stopping at Thorin’s side. Thorin’s glove hand brushes the tip of his Tail and it sends a bolt through Bilba. “We have to climb,” The daemon says panting, as he keeps pace with the dwarves.

“Can you?” Thorin asks his voice labored as well.

“We’ll manage,” Leo assures him.

“Climb the trees,” the king shouts and the dwarves obey. Leo scrambles up as much as he can before Bilba reaches him. Bofur boosts her up and she grabs hold of her daemon, helping him drape over her shoulders in the way they did in the mountains. If they fall, they fall together. Thorin is still on the ground, and doesn’t begin to climb until the company is in the air.

They’re only just high enough when the Orcs truly catch up with them. Bilba lets out a gasp at the sight of them, having never seen such creatures. One of them shouts something in a langue Bilba doesn’t understand but it cuts her to her core. And they begin to ram the trees. Leo digs his teeth into her jacket and she clings with one arm around him and one around trunk of the tree as the tree begins to shutter violently. She starts to mutter a prayer under her breath, something she hasn’t done since her parents were alive, but she figures if there ever a time to start this is as good a time as any.

Something hot flies by her, missing her by inches, and hits the warg at the bottom of their tree. The animal howls in pain and backs away from the fire now spreading across the dry pine needles that cover the ground. Bilba looks up just in time to watch Gandalf light another pine cone on fire before lobbing it towards the Orcs.

It holds them off for a brief moment as the fire spreads farther around them and begins to climb the neighbouring trees. But it only takes one warg and the tree they’re all clinging to gives way. Her stomach flips as they start to fall backwards over the cliff. She clings tightly to the tree trunk as it topples and is nearly bounced off of it with the roots catch it before it can tumble off the edge. She lets out a laugh that sounds much closer to a sob. The fire is growing around them and behind her up the tree she can hear the shouts of the other dwarves and knows that some of the company have almost lost their grip on the tree. Bilba can’t make herself look to see if anyone has fallen, knowing it will make her sick. All she can do is focus on Thorin, who is in front of her, struggling to his feet.

She thinks she realizes what he’s about to do a half second before he knows it himself. “Thorin No!” She shouts as he starts forward with his sword drawn. Bilba gets to her feet as well, Leo balancing on the tree trunk as she starts forward hopping to grab him. But Thorin has broken into a run.

The warg carrying the White Orc knocks Thorin to the ground with such ease that Bilba shrieks. “Get up Thorin,” Leofdaeg breaths next to each other. The fox is tense, his body poised to leap and Bilba realizes that she has drawn her sword without thought. Bilba starts forward hesitating only slightly before her mind is made. It’s the sound of Thorin’s pain that makes her decision. She and Leofdaeg are running towards the Orc who is bearing down on Thorin, it’s crude blade raised, ready to kill. Bilba throws her whole weight at the monster and knocks the orc to the ground.

The massive orc’s blade catches her across the ribs, but she barely feels the sting of pain as she sinks her sword into its chest. Once, twice, three times she stabs it before it stops struggling against her. She clambers off the orc and throws herself across Thorin’s body, one arm outstretched brandishing her sword at the remaining Orcs. Leo stands in front of them, growing and spitting, the fur on the back of his neck standing on end.

The orcs observe her with shock and something that might have been pity if they had been anything other than orcs. The white one gives an order, and they move towards them. Bilba wants to close her eyes, but she forces herself to stay upright, stay alert. “Thorin needs you,” she hisses to herself as the Orc’s stock closer. Even though she doesn’t have any idea how to fight, and even though she is just one hobbit against many orcs.

In the end it doesn’t matter. She’s given the company enough time and they rush in to her rescue. Bilba clings to Thorin’s side and Leo comes closer, pressing against Bilba but still growing low. She’s starting to feel the cut to herself and puts her hand to it. Her finger come away covered in blood.

The eagles come silently as the wind, appearing from the darkness to pluck the wargs from the earth. Bilba clambers off of Thorin just in time to have him scooped up in the talons of one. She grabs onto Leo and curls herself around him as they too are picked up.

She allows herself to close her eyes as they fly, allows herself to succumb to heaviness that is steeling over her. To die now would not be so bad, she thinks before shaking herself. No. She threw herself into the path of death for a reason and that reason would be wasted if she were to die in the talons of an eagle before they even reach the lonely mountain.

The eagle puts her down with a grace she didn’t think possible from such a large creature. She stumbles as she gets her feet under her but sees with relief that the rest of the company is there, crowed around Thorin as Gandalf leans over him. “The hobbit?” Thorin croaks.

“She’s here,” Gandalf assures him. “Bilba is here.”

With Fili’s help, Thorin labors to his feet and moves towards Bilba, “You! What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed! Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild, and you had no place amongst us?” Thorin towers over her and Bilba flushes angerly. She opens her mouth to retort only for Thorin to cut her off: “I have never been so wrong, in all my life. I’m sorry I doubted you.” And she finds herself pulled into a hug.

“I would have doubted me too,” she mumbles into his shoulder, letting him take some of her weight.

When he pulls away he’s frowning at her, “You’re injured,” he says, touching her side gingerly. Bilba hisses and recoils from his touch. His finger tips are covered in blood and she realizes that she’s been bleeding all the way down her side. She faints and Thorin is there to catch her as the sun rises behind them.

Chapter Text

Bilba comes too slowly, her eyes still closed. It takes her a few moments of confusion to realize she’s being carried bridle style. She cracks her eyes open with difficulty and for one shocking moment she thinks Thorin is carrying her in his arms. Dark hair hangs around her as the dwarf walks carefully across the uneven ground. Her heart slams hard into her ribs before she looks up and realizes it isn’t Thorin but Kili carrying her. He looks so much like his uncle she almost forgives herself for the mistake, but the embarrassment of her excitement makes it hard to let herself off the hook.

“You’re awake,” his voice cracks slightly but he sounds relieved. He looks down at her, searching her face. Her throat feels like she’s swallowed a beach worth of sand so she just nods a little dumbly. “Good. Oin wasn’t too worried. He said it’s a superficial wound, but you had the rest of us freaked,” He gives her a little smile. His words remind her of the wound in her side, and she puts her hand against her ribs, feeling bandages under her shirt.

“Doesn’t feel superficial,” she grumbles, her voice scratchy and raw. Bilba shifts in Kili’s arms and winces.

“Careful there,” he warns, adjusting his grip on her. One of his arms is under her knees, the other on her back.

“Where… Where’s Leo?” She says suddenly, her voice high as she realizes her daemon isnt’ with her. She twists, trying to get out of Kili’s grasp.

“I said careful!” Kili says again. “He’s with Uncle don’t worry.” His words stop her struggles and she looks back at him shock evident on her face. “Uncle insisted no one else touch him. I didn’t realize that if you passed out so would he.”

“Well we are the same person really,” Bilba mutters, looking towards the front of the group where she can make out Thorin’s back, walking next to Dwalin and Fili. Kili is still talking, but she isn’t really hearing him. Her cheeks are on fire as she watches Thorin walk. She can’t see any of Leo.

“He wrapped Leo up in his cloak so he wouldn’t touch him.”

She nods absently at Kili’s words. The idea of Thorin carrying Leofdaeg… oh well that’s enough to send her into a tizzy. “If I’m away he’ll be awake,” Bilba tells Kili and sure enough up a head Thorin stops suddenly and puts a bundle down on the ground. “Put me down,” she orders Kili. The princes hesitates but ultimately decides not to argue. Leofdaeg shakes himself free of the cloak and bounds towards Bilba. The hobbit steadies herself with Kili’s arm, bending down when Leo reaches them to scratch him around the ears and chin.

“Are you okay?” Leo says sniffing at the banadages on her side, poking his noise into her jacket.

“Ouch! Get away you,” she laughs, batting his nose away and pulling his face up to kiss him on the top of his head. “I’m okay.”

“I am glad.”

Bilba straightens up so quickly all the blood rushes from her head and she has to grab Kili again to stay upright. Thorin is standing in front of them, Dwalin at his shoulder. Bilba can feel her cheeks flushing. “Thank you,” she says, her voice breathy and embarrassing. “For carrying Leo,” she clears her throat.

A ghost of a smile slips over Thorin’s lips and he nods, “Of course. It is my duty to protect the members of my company. If you are able to walk, we must continue on. Gandalf says there is a safe place up ahead and I wish to get there before nightfall.”

“Yes, I’ll be fine,” Bilba promises. Thorin nods and turns on his heal. Fili and Kili fall into step beside her as they company continues on.

“Uncle likes you,” Kili teases her, poking her uninjured side.

“Oh shut it,” Bilba rolls her eyes at him, praying to Yavanna that her cheeks aren’t cherry red.

“If only you still had that dress from Rivendell,” Fili laments, grinning over her head at his brother. Bilba huffs, crossing her arms to stop herself from covering her face in embarrassment but looking down at her feet. The princes are laughing and when she looks up, she catching Thorin’s eye. He’s looking over his shoulder at her, and for a moment Bilba thinks that he winks at her before turning back around.

There are several things that surprise Bilba about Beorn. The first being how large he was. She had read about Beornings and skin-changers before, but all the books really failed to covey the enormity of them. Even Gandalf, tall as he is, is small next to the skin-changer. Another surprise was his daemon, a beauty peregrine falcon he introduces as Eira. Bilba expects a man that size to have a daemon big enough to match, but Eira is quite small. She flutters down from his shoulder to land on Leo’s back, content to talk with him in low even tones.

Perhaps it’s the presence of another daemon or else the delicious food their served, but Bilba quickly finds herself comfortable in Beorn’s home. The animals give Leofdaeg a wide, respectful birth, but after Bilba makes the mistake of offering one of the sheep a bit of spinach off her plate, they don’t leave her alone.

The dwarves are weary of the Beorn’s hospitality and only really relax when he leaves them after dinner to scout the area. Before he goes he sets them up in the main room of his home with enough blankets and bed rolls for the lot of them and then shows Bilba to the bathroom. A dog who walks up on it’s hindquarters assist her in filling the tub with near boiling water. The tub is practically large enough for her to swim laps so Bilba and Leo submerge themselves fully in the water.

By the time she emerges again, clean and scrubbed raw the fire has brunt low and most of the company is snoring loudly. She smiles fondly at them all sprawled out on the ground as she picks her way to the fire pit. Bilba sits in front of the fire dressed in a clean dress Beorn had lent her while her own are laundered. She warms herself and sits close enough to dry her hair. When it’s no longer dripping wet she begins to braid it. Leofdaeg curls up in front of her, his head resting against her knee.

“May I?” Thorin comes up to sit next to her on the ground. He’s shed his over coat and most of his armor, leaving him in only his shirt and trousers.

“May you what?” she asks in a whisper, conscious of Kili and Fili sleeping quite close.

“Braid your hair,” he replies in a low voice.

“Oh!” she says in surprise. “well of course,” she turns her back to him and shakes loose her hair for him. “Though Gloin seems to think it’s very presumptuous for an unmarried dwarf to do a lady’s hair.” Bilba says it as a joke. It isn’t scandalous at all in the Shire. When Thorin doesn’t reach up she looks over her shoulder at him.

“It is,” he says softly. “Presumptuous of me to ask you.” He seems embarrassed, glancing at his sleeping nephews.

“Well I’m not a- what’s the word you all use- dame?” she says and he nods. “Well I’m no dame, I’m a Hobbit and I assure you that there’s nothing wrong with doing a Hobbit’s hair.” Bilba smiles at him and Thorin seems mollified.

She turns back and his fingers slide into her hair with a softness surprised by. He gently untangles her hair before beginning a simple braid. “Only family is permitted to do each other’s hair,” he speaks in a whisper. “It is a very intimate activity.”

“I see,” Bilba says with a slight nod. She’s picking nervously at the hem of her dress while Leo watches Thorin work.

“You’re very good at it,” Leo says softly, lifting his head to see better.

“Thank you,” Thorin looks down at the daemon before quickly turning his attention back to Bilba’s hair.

“I suppose you have a wife to practice on,” Bilba says jokingly and Thorin surprises her again by laughing. It’s a laugh like none other she’s heard and she finds herself determine to hear him laugh again.

“No, no wife. Just nephews,” he glances fondly at the sleeping boys. “Done,” he says a moment later.” Bilba reaches her hand up to feel the simple but delicate braid he’s created.

“Thank you,” she turns back around to face him, Leo resting between them.

“No thank you,” he ducks his head slightly in a bow.

“I won’t tell Gloin,” she promises and he laughs again. Her heart soars.

“Neither will I,” Thorin nods, looking up at her from under his lashes and then back to Leo. Thorin seems transfixed by the way the firelight dances on Leo’s dark fur. They sit in comfortable silence for a while longer.

“Why a fox?” Thorin asks, looking up at Bilba.

“A question I’ve been trying to answer since we settled,” she sighs, running her fingers along Leo’s spine down to the tip of his tail.

“You don’t choose?” Thorin says in confusion, watching her fingers.

“Of course not,” Bilba shakes her head and scratches Leo under the chin. “No one chooses their Daemon’s shape.”

“Oh…” Thorin muttered loosing himself in thought. “What would you have chosen?”

Bilba frowns at the question, she’s never thought of it really, not since they first settled. “Something proper I suppose, like a song bird or a bunny rabbit.” Leo makes a face and she covers her mouth to stop her laugh from waking anyone up.

“You’re not like a song bird or a bunny rabbit at all,” Thorin shakes his head. “Maybe a lioness,” he grins a proper grin a her.

“Oh can you imagine the gossip,” she shakes her head and grins back, Leo laughs softly. “If we had shown up with you as a lion,” Bilba says to Leo.

“Would there be gossip?” Thorin asks.

“Without a doubt. I mean, there was gossip as it is when Leo settled as a fox. I can’t image the uproar.”

“That doesn’t seem fair, you just said you don’t choose your daemon.”

“It isn’t fair,” Leo interjects before Bilba can answer, Thorin nods in sympathy.

“What would I have then?” Thorin ask the two. “If I had a daemon.”

Bilba considers him for a moment before nodded, “A rook.”

“Like the bird?” Thorin seems startled by her choice.

“Yes like the bird,” She leans back on her hands and squints a his shoulder. “I can picture you with a Rook on your shoulder, can’t you?” Bilba looks to her own daemon who shrugs in a non-committal way. “What you think I’m wrong?”

“I can’t say for sure,” He says evasively and Bilba rolls her eyes at the fox. Daemon’s and they’re mysticism.

“But I suppose I’ll never know,” Thorin says with a stifled yawn, causing Bilba to yawn in turn. “Perhaps we should make the most of a warm safe place to sleep.”

“Perhaps,” Bilba says softly, though she’s reluctant to give up this precious time alone with Thorin. The moments when his mood is good and they are alone make her heart flutter.

“Sleep,” Thorin says softly, gesturing to her empty bedroll. Though they’re inside, the company still insists on her sleeping closest to the fire.

“Goodnight,” Bilba slips under the blanket, watching Thorin pick his way across the room to the bedroll nearest the door. Leofdaeg curls up next to her, resting his head on her shoulder.

“His deamon would be named Alfleda I think” Leo mutters to her.

“It’s a pretty name,” Bilba agrees. “Alfleda.”

“Maybe we’ll meet her one day,” The fox yawns before burrowing deeper into the blankets.

Chapter Text

Bilba finds it desperately difficult to leave the comfort of Beorn’s home, especially when they reach the edge of the Murkwood. She dismounts her pony and shoulders her pack as the rest of the company moves around her, preparing for their true departure. She looks back towards the cottage in the distance, smoke rising in spirals above the trees. Before they had left Beorn had made her promise to visit them soon and then pressed some extra rations into her hands, fresh sweets. Bilba hadn’t realized how much she had missed sweets.

As she makes sure her pack is secure, a falcon flutters down on the saddle of her pony. “Eira,” Bilba says in greeting, bowing her head to the bird who returns the gesture.

“I will guide the ponies back home,” the daemon says in her musical voice.

“Thank you,” Bilba smiles as Leofdaeg puts his front legs on the side of the pony to stand next to her. He bumps his nose against Eira’s beak.

“Yavanna guide you,” she says as she spreads her wings before taking off, the ponies following along behind her. Bilba waves to the bird before turning back to the company only to find them all staring at her. Balin is closest and seems the most confused.

“What?” Bilba frowns at the dwarf.

“Where is Beorn?” He asks, looking around as if to find him lurking behind a tree.

“Home I expect,” Bilba shrugs.

“I didn’t realize you could send your daemon away from you…” Balin says thoughtfully.

“Oh I can’t,” she shook her head, reaching down to softly stroke Leo’s ear. “But witches can… or Skin-changers I guess. I think they’re the same. I’ve never seen one do it, but I’ve read about them.” This causing the company to break into excited chatter and Bilba smiles down at Leofdaeg. It seems to her that ever new thing they learn sends them into a tizzy.

By the time they’re actually in the Murkwood Bilba would rather be anywhere but the dark, dank forest they’re trudging through. It’s so dark she can hardly see her way. The dwarves don’t seem to have any trouble and neither does Leofdaeg, which leaves Bilba to stumble half blind, gripping tight to her daemon’s tail so he can guide her. When they stop for a break, Bombur tries to light a fire only to bring upon them a veritable plague of cat sized moths. After beating the moths back they resign themselves to sit huddled in the dark, shivering. No one seems to have the energy to talk.

Leo turns his lamp like eyes on her, searching her face. She responds only by reaching out to scratch him under the chin before nibbling on the sugar cookie Beorn had given her. They don’t stay in one place for long and soon they’re on their feet again, moving along the path. “If only you were a bird,” Bilba says softly to Leo as they walk single file. “I would send you up above the trees, you could tell us where the hell we’re going.”

“You would have to be a witch,” the daemon points out.

“Perhaps a career change is in order,” she says dryly, squinting through the darkness. She can just make out the outlines of the dwarves ahead of her. Bilba keeps one hand on Leo and the other on the back of Bifur’s jacket, terrified of being separated from the rest of them.

The light hasn’t changed at all in the dense forest so Bilba isn’t even sure if it’s night when they stop to sleep. Without a fire they huddle close to each other but even with the heat the dwarves give off she hardly sleeps, shivering so violently. When they get up a few hours later Bilba feels as if she hadn’t slept a wink.

They continue like this for any number of days, Bilba’s truly lost count. “There’s poison here,” Leofdaeg mutters to her, pressing hard against her leg, speaking for the first time in hours or days or months perhaps.

“It’s killing us all,” she agrees. And surely they are all going to die soon. They’re out of food, and they lost the path ages ago. There’s no way to know if they’re going around in circles. As Bilba resigns herself to death, the forest around the lightens marginally, enough for her to see her hand in front of her face. Blinking in the weak light Bilba looks around at the company. “Where is Thorin?” she asks and when no one responds, she repeats her question, louder this time.

Her voice seems to wake the rest of the dwarves and they look blearily around, blinking heavily and shaking their heads. They begin calling his name, louder and louder until she’s sure they will wake something. And sure enough a rustling answers their calls.

“Spiders,” Bilba shrieks, struggling to draw her sword as the rest of the company leaps into action. It all happens quickly. As Bilba moves forward she’s hit hard in the forehead, knocking her silly. She falls backwards onto her ass, her vision fuzzing and she scrambles backwards out of the way of the fighting Spiders and Dwarves. The elves come out of nowhere, swooping in and dispatching the spiders easily.

As Bilba tries to struggle to her feet the Elf closest to Kili loops a rope around his neck, pulling him back to allow another Elf to tie his hands. Bilba claps a hand over her mouth and without thought slips the ring in her pocket onto her finger. She wrapped in the cold fabric of invisibility as she watches her friends tied up and led away.

She hesitates only momentarily before following, having to hope that Leo will have the same thought as her. Bilba reaches out to were Leo normally is at her side, fingers brushing only air as she follows the dwarves.

Chapter Text

It takes a few days of wandering before Bilba hears the Elves talking about Thorin. It had been easy to find the rest of the company what with the racket they made constantly. But it seems that Thorin has been placed in a separate dungeon. She follows the guard silently, taking care not to make any sound. The first time she had come across a group of Elves she’d almost been found out, stepping poorly over some rough stone. Her small intake of breath had turned multiple eyes towards her invisible form.

As they descend deeper into palace towards the dungeons Bilba can feel the ache of her bond with Leofdaeg as its pulled. He’s hiding safe in the wine cellar, something they decided upon one they first entered the Elf king’s palace. It won’t do to have them lost from each other when they need to make their escape. At first it had been nearly unbearable to walk far from him, but now she hardly felt it, only in the back of her mind or at the base of her skull, an old pain dulled with time and easy to ignore. Bilba rolls her shoulders, resisting the urge to take a deep breath as she stalks the Elven guard lower and lower.

They pass the doorway to the cells where the rest of the company are being kept and Bilba can hear their muffled voices. She spoke briefly with Dwallin on the first night to let him know she was there and looking for a way out. He surprised her by reaching through the bars of his cell in the barest proximation of a hug the relief clear on his face. He promised to let everyone know she was safe, both agreeing that the princes would make too much of racket if she showed herself to them.

Bilba presses herself against rough stone wall as the Elf guard passes her on his way back up the winding stairs. She holds her breath as he comes within inches of her, trying to make herself as small as possible and staying like that until he disappears from view.

She counts to 10 before rushing forward, around the corner and Thorin is there. He’s sitting against the bars of his cell, the tray of food in front of him untouched. They’re stripped him of his armor and over coat, but he doesn’t look small or diminished. The effect is more like a caged beast, dangerous and coiled, ready to strike.

Bilba lets out a noise of relief as she stumbles forward. He turns sharply to look towards the noise as she fumbles with the ring on her forefinger. When she pops into view he swears loudly, leaping to his feet. He reaches through the bars to her and she practically falls against the bars, gripping his arms.

“You’re freezing,” he whispers, searching her face as they pull back slightly. She hadn’t realized until he said something, but her fingers are numb with cold, like ice.

“I’m okay,” she assures him, shaking her head. The braid he had done as Beorns has come out and she’s pulled her hair up in a messy pile on top of her head.

“How.. How are you here?” he asks, still drinking her appearance.

“I found the ring in the Goblin caves, it turns me invisible,” she holds it up for him to see.

“Where’s Leofdaeg…” he says slowly, a dark concern crossing his handsome face.

“He’s hiding,” Bilba says with a shrug, her eyes going to the untouched food as she realizes she’s starving.

“Bilba are you okay?” Thorin says slowly, his hand going under her chin and turning her attention back to him.

“I’m okay,” she nods as his hand cups her cheek. She leans into the touch and closes her eyes. “I’m starving though.”

“Eat,” he takes his hand back and sits, pushing the tray towards her. “They keep me well fed, I can skip a meal.” Bilba almost argues, but the look on his face stops her words in her throat. She sits and digs in. Once she starts, she doesn’t stop, eating greedily. She barely notices that she’s shivering, but Thorin does. He slips a threadbare blanket through the bars of the cell and over her shoulders. “Have you found the others?” he asks once she takes a breath between bites.

Bilba nods and swallows her mouthful, “They’re two levels above you, all together. I’ve spoken to Dwalin. Everyone is accounted for. I think they’re trying to dig out,” she smiles a little.

“Of course they are,” he smiles back.

“I’m looking for another way out. But now that I know where you are, I’ll be able focus on that,” she reaches for the slightly stale bread, breaking off pieces and eating it slowly.

“As long as you keep yourself safe,” Thorin nods, looking absently at the space Leo normally occupies by herself. “It’s odd to see you without Leofdaeg,” he mutters. She doesn’t respond, feeling the prickly of pain behind her eyes when she thinks of him. If she concentrates, she call feel their bond. It’s not fractured in anyway, not thinner or damaged, just… longer.

When she’s finished the food, leaving a bun for Thorin and drinks half of his water she looks up at him. “When the company was captured you weren’t there…” it isn’t a question, but she is looking for an explanation.

“Yes,” he agrees, looking uncomfortable, making a little confused. She’s finding he’s much easier to read now that she’s not deciphering momentary flashes of emotion. “I don’t know. I was walking, and then when I turned back… I didn’t recognize where I was, and I didn’t see any of the company,” He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “It didn’t even seem like I was in the Mirkwood at all,” Thorin shakes his head, the beads in his hair a tinkling against each other. She leans forward, silently encouraging him to continue. He breaths, “There was something there with me,” he frowns, opening his eyes to look at her. “Following me. Stalking me. But I wasn’t afraid, I felt like I had been waiting to meet… whatever it was.”

“Odd,” Bilba muses. “I’ve never ready anything about that before,” she chews on the inside of her cheek. “Perhaps it was the Mirkwood playing tricks on you.”

“Perhaps it was,” he doesn’t sound convinced. She reaches through the bar and squeezes his hand. She means for it to be brief, but he turns his palm and slips her fingers through hers. “When we talked about it, about daemons, Leofdaeg said something about a name to you,” he looks a little apologetic about eavesdropping.

“Alfleda,” she supplies.

“Alfleda…” Thorin rolls the name over his tongue. “What does it mean?”

“Noble Beauty,” Bilba smiles, feeling her cheeks flush, the heat in stark contrast to her freezing skin. “Why do you ask?”

“When I was lost, it felt as if there was a name I should have been calling out,” he shrugs, his thumb passing softly over her knuckles. He raises her hand to his mouth and breaths a warm breath over her frozen fingers. “Alfleda…” he says again. Bilba tries to stifle a yawn, but is unsuccessful. “Sleep,” he says softly, his lips just barely brushing her knuckles. “I will wake you up before the guards return,” he promises.

So Bilba curls up under the blanket, her back pressed against the bars and sleeps for the first time in quite a while. When she wakes she must leave in a hurry, but she promises to come back to eat again. Before she slips the ring on, he presses a kiss to the palm of her hand. The blush that covers her entire body stays until she’s well up the stairs and away from his cell.

Chapter Text

Bilba has Leofdaeg pressed against her as she clings to the side of the barrel. Every rocky outcrop comes too close for comfort, some grazing against her. She can feel the scrapes as they sting, submerged in the freezing river water. Her fingers ache from holding the slick barrel rim, the rough wood not helping at all. A few times she’s completely submerged in the river and too many times she breaths the water into her lungs.

After perhaps an eternity in the icy water the company begins to slow and they bump gently against the shore. There’s much grumbling as they climb, water logged, from the barrels and slosh up the bank onto the grass. The water is nearly up to Bilba’s shoulders where she lets go of Balin’s barrel and has to wade against the current to where Bofur is ringing out his hat. Leo has beaten here there and is shaking water from his fur when she hoists herself onto the steep bank.

The dwarfs are shedding their thick fur coats and shaking them off. The coats have seemed to have taken most of the water, protecting them from soaking all the way though. But Bilba only has only her father’s waist coat, the wool of which is not known for being all together warm or water proof. She pulls it off, her clothes sticking to her thin frame and rings it out. The water from the coat splashes onto her bare feet and she shivers harder that ever, her teeth chattering painfully together.

“You’re half drowned,” a deep voice says behind her, and she turns to see Dwalin looking down at her with concern in his eyes. “What did you do, ride on the side of a barrel?”

“Yes,” she mutters, trying to squeeze the rest of her water her jacket before pulling it back on and starting to pull the water from her braid. Dwalin scowls at her admission. He turns and looks pointedly at Thorin. The King comes over, walking past Dori and Nori as they start a small fire.

“You’re half drowned,” Thorin comes and Bilba snorts at the repetition. The King shakes his head and swiftly sweeps his heavy coat onto her shoulders. She nearly sags under the weight and thinks about protesting before she feels the warm and pulls it tighter around her. It’s slightly damp, but warm from Thorin’s body.

“Thank you Thorin,” Bilba says, her cheeks flushing as she looks up at him through her lashes. He nods without a word and gesturers for her to move towards the fire. She does as she’s bid, and as she passes, Bilba feels the ghost of his hand on the small of her back. Just barely through the thick coat. She looks over her shoulder to see Dwalin and Thorin talking in a low and unfamiliar tone. Bilba smiles to herself and reaches down to feel Leo at her knee, when she sits, he curls up in her lap, though he’s much too big. But they’ve been separate too long so she warps her arms around him and hugs tightly.

They don’t linger long, being so close to the Mirkwood still. Bombur stomps out the Fire when they’re all sufficiently dry and they follow the river towards the edge of the forest. Bilba tries to offer Thorin his coat back, but he refuses with a shake of his head. “Keep it, you are still frozen to the bone,” he says, reaching his hand out and brushes it against her cheek. She half leans into the touch before she notices Kili and Fili whispering behind their hands so she holds her head high and strides away. The princes’ laughter bounces off the trees and she can hear Thorin scolding them. She takes refuge between Balin and Dwalin, knowing the boys wouldn’t dare say something rude and unbefitting in front of either dwarf.

Bilba would like nothing more than to settle for the night, but she knows its unwise and so doesn’t say anything when they continue to walk as the sun begins to set. Balin has keep a steady stream of conversation with her and Leo, though mostly Leo. Bilba is too lost in thought as she turns the ring over in her pocket, remembering the way Thorin’s beard and lips felt on the palm of her hand. Occasionally she looks back to where he’s walking with Kili at the back of the group, Fili leading the company through the trees.

Dusk has settled stiffly over them when they reach the lake. In the distance she can see the twinkly of fire lamps. “Laketown,” Balin says in explanation, “We are very near now.”

“Look!” Bofur points down the shore a little ways to where a man is inspecting the barrels they had escaped the Mirkwood in. They must have continued down the river without them to have landed here. The company surges forward, Balin and Thorin at the head, Fili close behind. Bilba hangs back, weary of the strange man. Kili, sensing her nerves, stands next to her, his hand on the hilt of his blade. Leo shields himself behind Kili’s legs, peaking around the prince to watch.

Balin, ever the diplomat, is trying to reason with the man, who seems just a weary of this group of ragged dwarves as Bilba is of him.

“I’m not smuggling a group of Dwarves into Laketown,” the man says with a tone of finality that makes her heart sink. The man’s daemon is a thick coated dog of some sort, with black and white colouring. Many of the men that Bilba has seen have dog daemons, but none as pretty as this one. Her eyes are a startling blue colour and she watches the dwarves warily, her hackles half risen in tension. The hair on the back of Leo’s neck rises in retaliation as he twists around Bilba’s legs defensively. She reaches down to stroke him softly, like a mother would do to a restless child and she is struck with an idea.

“Please sir,” Bilba says in her most girlish voice as she slips in between Thorin and Balin. She places her hands on her stomach as if she was with child. Thorin looks down at her, meeting her pointed look and quickly hides his surprise as Bilba stands against him. The Laketown man seems taken aback by the appearance of a lady among these rugged and dirty dwarves, though she knows she looks just as dirty and worn. His daemon slinks forward, sniffing quietly and Bilba knows Leo is resisting the urge to bare his teeth at her. “We are just unlucky travelers,” Bilba pleads gently with him, glancing up at Thorin.

“My wife is pregnant,” he says quickly, picking up on her angle and wrapping an arm around her back and holding her tight. “We are trying to get to the Iron Hills before the babe is born.” Bilba can only hope the rest of the dwarves around them are as quick on the uptake as Thorin.

The Laketown man observes them for a moment before frowning down at Bilba. “You’re a child,” he says in concern.

“I’m a hobbit,” she corrects him.

“I wasn’t aware Hobbits had babies with Dwarves,” he says slowly, studying her.

“Well we do,” she says simply but firmly.

The man sighs and then nods, “Alright… Alright I’ll bring you to my home for the night. But you must leave as soon as day breaks.”

The dwarves all thank the man graciously as they help him load the barrels onto his boat. Bilba and Leo wait by the boat, unwilling to go up with the strange man alone. The fox twists nervously around her ankles, making to speak several times but she hushes him each time, feeling the Dog daemon’s eyes on her as she waits.

Thorin offers her his hand when they all climb aboard and she accepts it gratefully, even with the plank, the step up is half as big as she is. “Wife,” he says softly as he assist her. Bila knows its merely for show, to trick the Laketown man and his daemon, but he says it too quietly for any to hear. There is no room below deck for them to hide, so they all huddle towards the back of the boat the man rows towards the little town at the center of the lake.

“You’re name sir?” Bilba asks after several minutes of tense uncomfortable silence. His dog daemon seems inclined to talk to Leo, but her own daemon stoutly refuses to leave her side, sitting across her lap, blocking her stomach from view. Thorin stands beside her, the only one standing beside the man.

“Bard,” he replies, glancing down at the dog at his feet. “And you may not have her name but you may call her Lady.” A few of the dwarves look affronted at the seeming rudeness of his word, but Bilba knows it is merely the custom of Man.

“Bard and Lady,” she nods. “I am Bilba, and you may have his name, Leofdaeg.”

“I will guard it well,” Bard responds, hiding his shock well.

“There is no need for guard,” she smiles kindly. “We Hobbits do not hide our daemons.” Bard simply nods and turns back to the steering of the little boat.

Sneaking into the Laketown is less than pleasant, but Bard’s house is warm and comfortable if not a little small. He introduces them to his three children, the two girls Sigrid and Tilda are nervous and do not introduce their daemons. His son Bain seems to want to stand as tall as his father, and quite boldly offers the nickname of Penny. The little daemon sits next to her person, chest out, the miniature of Lady.

After they have been fed and are settling into their sleeping arraignments in the small living room of Bard’s home, Sigrid quietly offers Bilba a private room. “I will share with Tilda,” she says in a soft voice. Her daemon is the shape of a lovely song bird, that hops nervously from foot to foot on her shoulder.

“Oh I couldn’t take your room from you,” Bilba says, touching her hand kindly.

“It isn’t any trouble,” Sigrid insits. “For you and your husband. A pregnant woman shouldn’t sleep on the floor.”

Remembering then that she’s supposed to be with child, Bilba agrees and goes to fetch Thorin. “They’ve offered for me to stay in Sigrid’s room,” she whispers softly to him, knowing Fili and Kili and straining their ears to hear her words, and she can feel a steady blush creeping up her shoulders and neck. Thorin looks at her blankly, as if unsure why she is telling him this. “For myself and my husband” she stresses and he understands, getting to his feet to follow her. Kili wolf-whistles and Thorin cuffs him around the head as he passes his nephew.

They awkwardly shuffle around each other in the tiny room. Thankfully, the bed is much too small for the both of them, and Thorin insists he is fine sleeping on the floor. She insists on giving him half of the bed linins and makes him a small sleeping mat next to her. Bilba climbs into the little bed and it creaks as she moves around getting comfortable. Leo, who has been unusually quietly during the entire proceedings, curls up against her, resting on her pillow. He licks her ear as he settles in. Thorin blows out the lantern and they’re plunged into darkness. She knows he can see her perfectly well however and tries her best not to blush. She’s never been alone in a bedroom with a man before. And even though they’d spent more than enough time on the road together, and they aren’t even touching, this feels more intimate than she could have ever imagined.

They lay in silence and she thinks he might have fallen asleep, so she lets her hand dangle of the bed, brushes against his shoulder. She nearly jumps out of her skin when his fingers brush hers, lacing between them and holding her hand. “What are you thinking about?” she asks him softly, her voice sounding too loud for the quiet little house.

“Our baby,” he responds after a moment that seemed to stretch forever.

“Our pretend baby,” she corrects him and he hums, squeezing his fingers.

“Do you think it’s possible?” he asks in a deep whisper, his voice rumbling from his chest.

“I’m sure Gandalf would know,” Leo pipes up, lifting his head, his eyes shining in the darkness.

“Oh shush the both of you,” Bilba says, her cheeks heating, so hot she thinks she could set the straw stuffed pillow ablaze. Leo puts his head down, resting on her shoulder.

“Goodnight Bilba, Leo,” Thorin says, and she can practically hear the smile in his voice.

“Good night Thorin,” she and the daemon say in unison.

She doesn’t know when she falls asleep, but only knows that she is dreaming. Through the fog she can almost hear Thorin’s voice, whispering softly to her, in a tongue she doesn’t know.

Chapter Text

Bard’s hand closes tight around Bilba’s wrist, hard enough she is sure it will bruise. Her hiss of pain lingers between them as Leo bares his teeth at Lady. The dog daemon returns the gesture with a low growl that is lost in the loud music filling the Master’s Grand dining room.

The party’s in full swing around them, people and daemons moving around the large table in the center of the room. The polished wood groaned under mountains of food, more food that Bilba had seen since Riverdale. The guests of the Master of Lake town are laughing and talking merrily and at the center of it all are Bilba’s Dwarves. Bilba can see Thorin through the sea of elbows that separate them. He looks surly, but regal as it talks evenly with the Master. She can tell by the stiffness of his jaw that he doesn’t like the Master of Lake town at all. And neither does the rest of the company, Bilba included.

When the Master had announced the party in Thorin’s honor she could practically hear the greed dripping from his tongue. Not to mention the way his eyes occasionally slide over her body makes her shutter from head to toe. His wondering gaze and sneaking fingers are one of the reasons she’s extracted herself from the commotion, settling into the corner next to the crackling fire. So many weeks the wilderness have sapped her heat and she’s finding that she’s perpetually freezing, so the warm is more than welcome. Another reason is that she’s by far the shortest person in the room, and while they nobles of lake town are just as interested in her as they are in Thorin, it’s easy for them to forget she’s there. Unlike the people of Bree, the people of Lake town are not use to looking down for Hobbit’s underfoot.

“One shout from me will bring 13 swords upon you Master Bard,” Bilba says in an even voice. Even now she can feel someone’s eyes on her, and she turns to find Nori watching her and the man with an intensity that could set burn a hole right through them. She can see his left hand is tucked under his jacket, his right hovering over Dori’s shoulder.

Bard lets go of her wrist, having followed her eyes to Nori as well. “You have a well armoured guard Miss Baggins,” Bard says, taking a step back but still speaking in a low voice meant only for her, though she can see from the corner of her eye that Nori is straining to listen as well.

“I have a well armoured family,” Bilba responds evenly, with a tone to match his.

“Is that so?” Bard rises a brow, his eye glancing towards the cup of sweet wine in her hand. “I was under the impression you’re marriage to the King was a sham.”

“I think you’ll find the word is ruse,” Bilba says, taking a sip from her cup, keeping her eyes on Bard. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect my family, I believe we have that in common.”

“Yes. Which is why I implore you, please, tell your King not to go to the Lonely Mountain. Re-taking the Kingdom will only bring devastation to Lake-Town,” Bard spoke through gritted teeth, his eyes darting to where Thorin stood. The dwarf King was now also watching Bard and Bilba was burning eyes.

“I hardly see how the reclaiming of Erebor has to do with Lake-”

Bard cuts her off, sounding more urgent now, “you will wake the beast, and he will destroy you, and when he is done he will destroy Lake-Town and all her people.” Bilba opens her mouth to retort but Bard speaks over her again. “There is nothing I won’t do to protect my family Miss Baggins. Your King thinks very highly of you. Speak to him, convince him to let the Lonely Mountain and all of her monsters sleep.” The man stands straighter now, having got quite close to Bilba as he pleaded with her.

She can feel him from across the room, Thorin is stalking towards them. Bard seems to sense him as well. “There is nothing I can say to convince Thorin otherwise,” Bilba says softly, looking up into his pained eyes. “Even if I thought there was any risk to Lake-Town, which I am sure there isn’t…” She knows she doesn’t sound to convincing, even to her own ears.

“Try. Or I will stop him myself.”

“Is that a threat Sir Bard?” Bilba asks evenly as Thorin thunders towards them through the crowd.

“It is. There will be blood on his hands. All of your hands,” Bard turns away from her, passing Thorin with a stiff nod that the dwarf doesn’t return. Dwalin is right behind Thorin as he always is. Nori had been crossing the room, but turned mid stride to escort Bard from the building.

“What did he want?” Thorin asks, waiting until Bard is gone from the room.

“He wanted me to convince you not to retake the Mountain,” Bilba says, placing her glass down next to the fire place, and inspecting her wrist. Already there are faint bruises were Bard’s fingers had pressed into her skin. Thorin reaches out and takes her hand gently, turning it over to inspect the bruises as well.

“He’s a fool,” Thorin says in a low voice before lowering his lips to the largest bruise where his thumb had been. It doesn’t escape her notice, even in her state, that Dwalin has moved to block them from view.

“He thinks the dragon will destroy Lake-Town,” she looks up into his eyes, silently pleading for him to re-assure her that they’re not putting any innocent lives in danger.

“The dragon is likely dead,” Thorin shakes his head. “But if he is not, we’ll kill him before he even realizes we’re there.” He lets go of her hand and she places it on Leo’s head, scratching behind his ear. Bilba nods, giving the dwarf king a small smile. “We will have our kingdom,” Thorin says softly. There’s something she can’t identify behind his eyes, but it’s gone before she can really register it’s presence.

The Company leave Lake-Town before first light and begin their trek towards the Lonely Mountain. They’re rowed across the water in the Master’s personal boat, Thorin standing at the helm, looking every bit the King he is. Bard had watched them go. She’s not sure anyone else had seen him, but she had, standing on a balcony with Lady, watching the boat slide across the calm icy water. The bruises on her wrist sting as Bard fades from view.

Once on the shore, they shoulder their packs once again and begin the steep hike up the Mountian side. She walks a little behind Thorin and Balin and Dwalin, Fili and Kili at her side. At first everyone is too tired to speak, but as the sun rises and the birds begin to sing the excitement builds and they chat and laugh and shout. She knows the feeling that is filling her is also filling the rest of the company. Anticipation, Nerves, Joy.

They make camp a few times to rest, but Thorin is anxious to reach the supposed door well before night fall to give them time to find it.

“This is it,” Balin’s voice cuts the silence. They had fallen quiet about an hour ago, now all to wound to make conversation.

“Everyone spit up,” Thorin orders, dropping his pack and skimming his hand along the wall. They all follow his lead and as they search the sun begins to set. It casts deep and long shadows over them. Bilba presses her hand hard against the stone, feeling it cut into her skin. “Please, Please, Please,” she mutters to herself. Leo sniffs along the rock as well.

“The last light of Durin’s Day,” Thorin breaths heavily as the sun sets with a finality that its Bilba like a fist in the stomach. “It’s over,” he growls. “We’ve failed…”

“No…” Bilba looks at him, tears in her eyes, but he just shakes his head. “No Thorin… We’ve come to far. I’ve come to far.”

“It’s over Bilba,” Thorin looks away from her and the rest of the company begins their trek back down the mountain. “Come. I’ll bring you back to the Shire.”

“No!” She stomps her foot, feeling silly and childish but angry at them all for giving up so easily.

“The sun has set Bilba. The last light of Durins day,” Thorin shoulders his pack and turns to follow the company.

“It’s not over,” She mutters to herself, giving Leo and sharp look. “The last light… The last light…” Bilba breaths as she runs her hand over the stone. And then she sees it, a key hole. “THORIN,” she turns and shouts, her voice ringing through the mountain side. “ITS HERE. THE LAST LIGHT IS MOON LIGHT.”

She can hear them clanking up the rocks and when they come into view she runs forward to grab Thorin. She takes his gloved hand and pulls him towards the door. With shaking fingers, he inserts the key into the hole.

They’re holding their breath as he turns it, waiting for the click. And in front of them a door swings open. All together they stare down the long, pitch black hallway. Thorin’s hand is still wrapped tightly in Bilba’s and he squeezes her fingers. He's staring into oblivion, but she has eyes only for him.

Chapter Text

Bilba laces her fingers through the course dark fur on the nape of Leo’s neck and holds tight as they step through the door. She can feel the eyes of the company on her back as they watch her and once she’s fully in the passage way she turns and looks over her shoulder. Over Thorin’s shoulder Dwalin gives her a small nod and she watches the Dwarf king slowly close the door behind her. They had decided it would be best, to keep any stray drafts from blowing the smell of dwarf into the Dragon’s lair.

With the door closed the passage way is impossibly dark and stiflingly hot. She’s glad she left her heavy traveling cloak behind with Thorin because she’s sure she’s already dripping with sweat in her waist coat alone. Bilba gives Leo a reassuring squeeze between his shoulder blades and his wet nose finds her shin in the dark.

“We should go forward,” he whispers to her, peering down the tunnel, something she can’t see.

“One second,” she whispers back and reaches her free hand out to press on the stone door, rough under her fingers. She gives a slight push and relief floods her when she finds it gives ever so slightly under the pressure. The fear that she would be trapped in the mountain with no way out receding. “Okay, now we go forward,” Bilba nods and lets Leo lead their way through the dark. She keeps on hand on him and one hand against the stone wall next to her, letting it slide under her hand. At first the stone is rough, un-treated but as they get father into the mountain and the heat grows, the stone walls become smoother to the touch, they’re defined in shape, turning into slabs, purposefully placed to make this pathway.

The first door that comes under her hand almost causes her to cry out in pain and surprise as sharp, rotting wood presses painfully into the skin of her palm. “I think we’re close,” she mutters to Leo, feeling carefully across the wood, now weary of splinters. She’s sweating heavily now, it stings her eyes as they adjust to the darkness around her.

“If not close, we’re certainly in the kingdom now,” Leo says in return, pulling her forward and away from the door as if he knows she wants to investigate further.

As they get further and further to the center of the mountain and the heart of the kingdom they come across more and more doors, Bilba is now able to make out their shape in the darkness, some are rotted completely from their hinges and give glimpses into rooms, kitchens, store rooms, servants quarters. Other doors just lead to more twisting, impossibly dark hall ways. “This place is a labyrinth,” she breaths to Leo who whines in agreement.

The darkness starts to lifting as they move on and at some point, Leo stops. “what?” she asks quickly, her eyes darting around the passage way.

“I smell fresh air.. but its…,” he shakes his head and says nothing more, only pulling her forward down the passage way.

It doesn’t take them much longer to come across the first body. Only skeleton now, rags that had once been clothing hanging off the bones in rotten tatters. Bilba comes to the lurching stop, swaying on her feet. The body is so small, curled around itself, half buried under the rubble of a clasped wall. She doesn’t know what compels her, but she bends down, brushing dust from the skull. “I suppose the fresh air you smelled was an exit,” she says to Leo, her voice catching in her throat and she wipes her eyes, half from tears, half from the sting of sweat. “I wonder how many made it through before this… child,” her voice cracks.

“We can’t stay,” Leo urges her, not looking at the skeleton, so small under the debris.

After that point, the bodies become too numerous to count and it’s all she can do to walk past them without flinching or bursting into tears. But she’s glad that Thorin is not here to see what became of his people in the aftermath of the Dragon.

With a blinding suddenness, fire light fills the tunnel. Bilba blinks in surprise, pressing her hand to her face. She and Leo press themselves into an alcove as the fox’s ears swivel in every which direction, listening hard. Their eyes meet and both nod as Bilba slips her hand into her pocket and the ring onto her finger.

The daemon disappears from her view in an instant and she has to take several deep breaths to center herself. This had been their plan, to search separately from each other, cover more ground alone. She can tell Leo has moved along without her by the tug in her gut that had become ever present in the Murkwood stronghold. Bilba follows his assumed path into the lair of the dragon, walking on silent toes.

Stone gives way to gold as she steps onto the dragon’s hoard, her eyes filled with the glimmering of jewels and coins. She looks around in awe before shaking herself and begins her search for the Arkenstone. Having never seem the gem, she has only Thorin’s description to go off of. She searches the piles and piles of treasures as a sinking feeling settles in the put of her stomach. It could take months, years to look through all the gold, not to mention she’s just one lone hobbit.

Under her feet the gold begins to shift and she loses her balance, falling hard on her back and sending coins flying in every direction.

“Well, thief! I smell you, I hear your breath, I feel your air. Where are you?” The voice rumbles up from beneath the largest pile of treasure as the dragon shifts and moves, awaking from his slumber. Bilba presses a hand hard over her mouth to stop her breath as a great golden eye blinks at her, smoke curling up to the ceiling from the beast’s nostrils. “Where are you?” The dragon repeats, lifting its head from the gold and turning around, listening for her.

She tries to move back silently, but the gold slides under her hands, tinkling together as she tries to regain her feet. “There you are, thief in the shadows,” it’s voice grates in her ears and sends shivers down her spine. The dragon turns to her and fixes its gaze upon her, and Bilba looks down to see the ring has slipped down her finger. Thankfully, Leo is nowhere to be seen.

“I did not come to steal from you, O Smaug the Unassessably Wealthy. I merely wanted to gaze upon your magnificence, to see if you really were as great as the old tales say. I did not believe them,” Bilba says, her voice shaking as she gets her feet under her, trying to back away from the dragon, who moves ever closer.

“And do you now?” the dragon says, breathing boiling air across her, tingling burns dance across her bare skin.

“Truly, tales and songs fall utterly short of your enormity, O Smaug the Stupendous...” She finds a firm patch of treasure to scamper back on, though gold sloshes around the dragon as he moves, sending landslides of sparkling gems and jewls and gold towards her.

“Do you think flattery with keep you alive?”

“No… No..” Bilba shakes as Smaug curls around her, nearly over top of her as he inspects her. Between the slate like scales on his chest, Bibla sees and chink in the armour. A small spot of fleshy skin between shimmering scales.

“No indeed,” the Dragon rumbles leveling his head with her and breathing deeply. “Who sent you?”

“No-No one,” Bilba shakes under his gaze, and between his front legs, catching sight of Leo as the fox picks his way across the gold towards them.

“You seem familiar with my name, but I don't remember smelling your kind before. Who are you and where do you come from, may I ask?” The dragon rumbles, settling in as if Bilba were an interesting toy.

“I come from under the hill...” she says hesitantly, unsure of how much she should give away to the beast.

“Underhill?”

“And under hills and over hills my paths lead. And through the air! I am she who walks unseen!” She says, trying to signal to Leo not to come any closer, the thought of Smaug getting his claws around her daemon make her sick to her stomach.

“Impressive. What else do you claim to be?”

“L-Luck-Wearer... R-Riddle-Maker...”

“Lovely titles... Go on.” She knows he’s playing with her, but she also knows there’s no way around it.

“Barrel-Rider!” Bilba says, growing bolder, angrier as she remembers the first dwarf they came across, crushed as she fled this monster before her.

“Barrels! Now that is interesting!” The dragon’s laugh is more terrible than his voice. “And what about your little dwarf friends?” Bibla shakes her head, taking a few unsteady steps back. “Where are they hiding?”

“No – No dwarves, it’s only me here. You’ve got that all wrong,” she looks quickly around, desperate for somewhere to hide, some way to escape. Leo has disappeared from view, hopefully looking for an exit, or gone for help.

“I don’t think so Barrel-Rider. They’ve sent you in here to do their dirty work. The cowards,” The dragon slithers around Bilba again, his tail slamming into something heavy out of sight. “To send such a small women into death’s waiting mouth.” Smaug bares his teeth and Bilba can seen fire brimming in the back of his throat.

“Truly you are mistaken O Glorious Smaug,” Bilba says, but her voice cracks and the dragon snaps his jaws.

“You have lovely manners for a thief and a liar,” he growls, the sound rumbling throughout the cavernous room. “I know the smell and taste of dwarf.” He raises his head and shoots and stream of blistering flame towards the ceiling and Bilba takes the opportunity to run. She slips and slides over the gold, feeling sharp gems cut her feet. As Smaug stomps, it sends more tumbling gold after her and she loses her footing again, falling painfully down and getting caught in an avalanche of treasure.

“The King Under the Mountain is dead! I took his throne, I ate his people like a wolf among sheep! I kill where I wish, WHEN I wish! My armour is iron, no blade can pierce me!” The dragon roars, it’s wings unfurling, slamming against pillars, causing rocks to shake loose from the ceiling. Bilba covers her head, hiding in the gold as Smaug’s great head swings around looking for her.

From somewhere across the room, something clangs loudly and Smaug whips around to see. Bilba sprints away from her, sloshing and clinking loudly through the coins away from the dragon and coming to a stop under what had once been a stair case, now so buried with treasure there’s hardly room for her to stand upright. She’s panting heavily, hands on her knees when she sees it, only a little way’s from her. Bilba knows it’s the Arkenstone without any doubt. She can feel it’s pull, it’s power.

“It's Oakenshield. That filthy Dwarvish usurper! He sent you in here for the Arkenstone, didn't he?” The dragon’s claw’s curl around the stairs, coming dangerously close to Bilba as she presses herself against a stone support.

“No…No, I don’t know any Oakensheild,” She breaths.”

“Do not lie to me,” the dragon roars, and by the heat she can tell he’s let off another jet of fire. “You are being used, Thief in the Shadows. You were only ever a means to an end. The coward Oakenshield has weighed the value of your life and found it worth nothing...”

Bilba presses her fist into her mouth to stop herself from retorting. “It is time I remind those who seek to over throw me what they will lose in the attempt,” Smaug says, and the stone stairs crack under his weight as he pushes into the air. Bilba screams as she’s buried under the rock.

By the time she’s half dug herself out, Leo has found her, shifting the rubble with his nose and paws. “Where did he go?” she gasps for breath once she’s free.

“I don’t know,” the fox shakes his head, pressing his noise against her to check for any broken bones. “I think he left the mountain…”

“Oh no,” Bilba moans, pushing herself to her feet, “Laketown…” She looks desperately to her daemon. “He’s gone to destroy Laketown… Bard was right. We have to find away to… To help.”

“I don’t…” Leo starts but is cut off by a great shout.

“BILBA,” Thorin’s voice rings throughout the hall and she looks to find him making his way towards her.

“THORIN,” she shouts back, relief flooding her. At least her dwarves are okay. She meets him half way and he gathers her up in his arms.

“I saw the dragon… leaving the… and I thought you..” he says into her hair and he hugs her tight, a hug that she returns with gusto.

“I’m okay, but Thorin, Lake-town. He’s gone to destroy Lake-town.”

With Thorin leading, they make their way to the main gate in no time. The cool night air stings her burnt skin, but she pushes past the dwarf king to the edge of the crumbling ramparts. “There he is,” she points at the inky black shape as he flies towards the little town nestled at the center of the lake.

“There is nothing we can do,” Dwalin rumbles coming up beside Thorin.

“There’s a chink in his chest, between his scales,” Bilba says sadly as a burst of fire lights the night air. It’s a warning to the people of Laketown, that Smaug is there to burn them alive in their beds.

“If only I were a bird,” Leo mutters, his front paws on the stone next to him, the flame’s reflecting in his eyes. It’s too far to, but Bilba imagines she can hear the screams of the people on the lake.

“Bird…” Thorin mutters to himself and glances at Balin who nods slightly. “It’s said the men of Dale could understand the language of the Thrush. I don’t know if there are any descendances of those men… or any descendances of those Thrush for that matter.”

“We must at least try,” Bibla says defiantly as fire’s begin to burn brightly on the lake. “HELP, HELP US THRUSH OF DALE,” she calls out across the dark night, her voice echoing down the mountain side.

“Bilba, it’s no-” Dwalin begins, but is startled into silence by a thrush that lands next to Bilba’s hand, turning its head this way and that to look at her.

“Please,” she says to the bird, “Tell the men of lake town that there’s a chink in the dragon’s armor, below his left arm on his belly. Please tell them Thrush.” The bird chirps before taking flight, disappearing into the sky.

“That is all we can do…” Thorin says softly. “Come, we must make the mountain fit for life, and we must search for the Arkenstone.”

As the rest of the company moves back into the Mountain, Bilba stays rooted to the spot. Thorin puts his hand around her arm but she pulls back and shakes her head, her eyes still trained on the burning town. “They have to survive,” she mutters to herself, Bard’s words echoing in her mind. She woke the dragon, it is her hands that will be stained with the blood of Lake-town.

“Bilba, please,” Thorin mutters to her, and she only laces her fingers through his and squeezes before letting go. Thorin leaves her on the rampart alone to watch Laketown burn.

Above the water illuminated by the blaze she can see Smaug. He twists in the air and then lets out a terrible shriek before plummeting to the water below. Bilba lets out of gasp of air she had been holding and tears stream down her cheeks. Someone had received her message, some brave soul killed smaug. Leo presses his forehead against her leg and she scratches his ear before turning back int to tell Thorin that Laketown is safe, that they need to ready the mountain not just for themselves, but for anyone who survived Smaug’s fire.

The chamber where Smaug lay is still blisteringly hot when she returns to it. The company is spread out, all searching through the treasure, above them Thorin is directing them loudly, his voice bouncing off the cavernous walls. As Bilba troops towards him, she puts her foot down on something incredibly smooth and nearly slips. “Bil…” Leo says nosing at the Arkenstone beneath her foot. She stoops, picking up the glittering gem and turning it over in her hand.

“Bilba!” Thorin calls to her and she jumps, looking up.

“Smaug is dead,” she calls back to him and he waves a hand through the air as If to brush away a bothersome fly.

“No matter, I need you to search. We must find my Arkenstone.”

Bilba frowns down at the stone in her hand, “Thorin…” She calls and looks up to see him striding towards her and she slips the stone into her pocket without knowing quite why.

“What?” he asks, his voice sharp, very unlike how he had been mere moments ago, on the ramparts, or when he found her in in the hall after Smaug had flown away.

“I-“ she looks down at Leo who shakes his head slightly. “I am sore.. I was hoping to rest before-“

“Yes. Yes,” he nods, “rest if you must…” He reaches out and brushes her cheek and she leans into the touch, but it is gone in a moment. When she looks into his eyes there is something un-Thorin in them.. something… gold, something… dragon like.

Chapter Text

The main hall of Erebor is almost entirely buried in treasure, save for a few stair cases, everything else drowns in a sea of gold. It’s blisteringly hot, and the air stuffy. “It smells of Dragon,” Leo says in an undertone as Bilba shifts through a pile of jewel encrusted gobbets.

“At least he was organized,” she says back, lifting up a particularly obscene cup. Cut from what looks to be solid ruby, inlaid with a dozen or so diamonds. She frowned at the cup, holding it out for Leo to see, and he sniffs it before sneezing.

“Dragon,” he repeats, shaking his head as if to get the smell out of his nose. Bilba chuckles and drops the cup onto a nearby stack of coins, sending them skittering away, clinking as they tumble down the hill of treasure.

She can’t see the others from where she’s standing, practically walled in by trinkets, but she can hear them, the shifting of metal on metal and their labored breaths. Given that there aren’t any windows in the main hall, carved too deep into the mountain to have anything except air vents, Bilba has no solid idea of how long they’ve been at this. Its disorienting to be this deep underground, so far away from the sky. The dwarves don’t seem to have any trouble keeping track of time.

Balin had woken her up during what she had to assume was the wee hours of the morning with mumbled apologies, the rest of the company rousing as well. After a meager breakfast they had set to work looking through the Dragon’s hoard, looking for the Arkenstone.

Guilt drops heavily into her stomach as she thinks of the Arkenstone, safely tucked in her pack, wrapped a strip of fabric ripped from her waist coat. She feels horrible, knowing they’re all laboring night and day to look for something that is impossible to find. But she just can’t make herself give the stone to Thorin.

Somewhere to the right of her, Bombour calls out for lunch and she drops another extraordinarily ugly goblet. Grabbing onto the fur between Leofdaeg’s shoulders to help balance herself as they clamber over a hill of gold coins. Once over the crest, she sits, gathering the daemon in her lap and slides down to where they’ve set up their small camp amongst the hoard.

A few days ago, before they started their round the clock search for the stone, Bilba had suggest to Thorin that they should spend some time clearing out some of the quarters for them to sleep in. He had dismissed the suggestion outright, outraged that she would suggest they spend time doing anything other than search. It had even been a hard battle to get him to agree to meal breaks.

Reaching the bottom of the mound, she gets to her feet and straightens her skirt. Bombour hands her a bowl of what they’ve been calling soup. It’s mostly water and boiled cabbage, but it’s the best they’ve been able to do. None of them can leave the mountain to search for food given the mass of angry Laketown residents that have taken refuge in dale. Poor Bombour has had to do the best he can with what has survived the dragon, which isn’t much. Their saving grace had been the discovery of a small garden up near the surface that had been over taken by cabbage.

“Thank you Bombour,” she says softly, touching his arm as she passes to find a place to sit. She’s one of the first the respond to his call, being that she tended to stay close to their camp for fear of losing herself in the piles of nearly identical treasure. By the time the rest of the company make their way to her and Bombour, she’s nearly finished her cabbage water.

They all take their bowls from Bombour in silence, and settle down in a circle, though there’s no fire to talk merrily around anymore. In fact there’s hardly any talk anymore. They’re all sweaty and covered in soot, too tired to carry on conversation.

“Is uncle join us?” Kili breaks the silence, looking at Dwalin.

The bald dwarf shakes his head, his shoulders dropping in a sigh. “No. He insists he doesn’t need to eat.”

Bilba scowls at her empty bowl. He’s being a fool, she thinks to herself. Leo snorts in agreement, resting his head on her hand, his normally wet nose dry from the never ending heat of the hall. The first few days of hiding the stone she had weighed the morality of hiding it from it. It wasn’t her’s to keep of course, it belonged to the King of the Lonely Mountain. She thought maybe she was being stupid, that the feeling in the pit of foreboding in the pit of her stomach was wrong. But normally, when she was being stupid, Leo would tell her so and he had been silent on the subject.

Only terrible things will come from that stone she thinks bitterly. They sit in silence, finishing their lunch before they all set back off in different directions over the mountains.

She and Leo climb back to their spot. She has been looking through the same area for the past two days and it looks practically untouched. Bilba sighs heavily, and sits to start shifting through a pile of elven coin. As she works the sound of cascading gold echos towards her over the piles of coins. Bilba twists from where she’s kneeling to see Thorin climbing over the Dragon’s hoard towards her. She gets hastily to her feet as he slides to a stop in front of her, more graceful in his movements than she ever could be.

“Thorin,” she said with a small bow of her head. The closeness that they had forged during their adventure feels distance and unattainable now in the vastness of Erebor. Bilba is sure now more than ever that there is something missing behind his eyes that used to be there. She had seen it when he had braided her hair in Beorn’s cottage. It had been there when she had revealed herself to him dungeons of the Mirkwood.

But now, as he stands in front of her wearing a crown of solid gold, there is only the refection of the gold around them.

“How goes your search?” he asks, looking around at the piles of treasure around him the greed evident in her face.

“Good,” she lies, her hand on Leo’s ear, stroking the velvety tip.

“Good,” Thorin echoes. “I fear the other’s aren’t as diligence as you Bilba,” he frowns, pulling his gaze away from the goblet pile with some difficulty. “I fear they plot against me,” he says in a harsh whisper.

“Thorin they would never,” Bilba says in surprise. How could he think the company disloyal after they crossed the world for him. “None of them… None of us would betray you.” There is a lump the size of the Arkenstone stuck in her throat. She can feel Leo twisting uncomfortably at her heel.

“You are the only one I trust,” his arm twitches as if he means to brush the hair from her face. Something he would have once done without thought.

“Your men are loyal,” she insists softly, her own hand moving to gently touch one of his delicate braids, frayed and unkept. There’s a hollowness to his cheeks that worries her more than any dragon could. He dismisses her touch, stepping around her to look across the dragons hoard. Thorin’s hoard now. “When did you last eat?” Bilba ask’s his back.

He rolls his shoulders, his arms clasped behind his back. “I will not rest until the Arkenstone is found and returned to me,” he says by way of answer. She considers telling him now, but she can’t stop herself from looking at the sword at his hip. There is no doubt in her mind that the Thorin standing in front of her would not hesitate to run her through if she told him of her betrayal.

“We will die looking if we can’t make the mountain fit for life,” Bilba says gently, stepping towards him careful to lose her footing on the slippery gold.

“The Elves and the people of Laketown look to break down my door,” he snarls, his fits clenching.

“The people of Laketown are refugees, their home was destroyed by Smaug,” she said, the words ‘by me’ remain unspoken.

“They are thieves and pillagers,” Thorin snaps, turning to quickly that Bilba nearly tumbles backwards. She stumbles away from him, his face so twisted in rage that she hardly recognizes the man underneath it. “They come for my gold, my treasure.”

“They look for shelter and kindness,” Bilba pushes back, Leo lets out a high pitch keel as Thorin’s hand closes around the hilt of his sword.

“And the elves?” he snaps at her. “There is no kindness in the heart of elves.”

“You heard the King, he wants what belongs to his people,” she flinches slightly, but stands her ground against him.

“There is nothing here that belongs to them!” Thorin bellows letting go of his sword to wave his hands wildly around them. “All of this is mine! They will not see a single coin, not a jewel or gem.”

Bilba half expects him to sprout wings and spirt fire at her. “You sound like a dragon Thorin,” she says, begging him to be reasonable.

“Do you work against me burglar?” He takes a step towards her, a hand raised. “Do you seek to take my treasure?”

“Never Thorin,” she grabs his hand. “I don’t care about treasure,” tears prick her eyes painfully as she pulls his arm down, her two arms wrapped around his one hand. “I only care about you,” Bilba says softly. The admission causes Thorin to faulter, blinking in confusion. For a moment she sees the Thorin from Laketown, who had called her wife.

“Of course,” he says, the rage seeming to have left him. He pulls his arm away from her. “I trust you Bilba, of course. You are the only one I trust.” Thorin nods to himself. “I must check on the others. Continue the search.”

Bilba watches him disappear over the piles of coin. She sits heavily on the ground, letting Leo curl up in her lap and she presses her face into his fur to muffle her cries. They don’t talk, don’t discuss the plan forming in her mind. After a while she returns to sorting, moving stiffly as the shifts through the coins, her eyes unfocused. There is no point in looking, the Arkenstone isn’t in the miles and miles of treasure that spreads out through the great hall. After tonight it won’t even be in the mountain.

She waits until the snores of the company surround her before she slips on her ring and steals away from their camp, acting the burglar she had been hired to be. She would save Thorin from this, even if it killed her.

Chapter Text

As Bard lifts his fist into the air, the shimmering stone in his clutched fingers, Bila knows she’s done for. A single solid drop of dread tears through her heart and sinks into the pit of her stomach. It’s as if the air atop the wall is sucked away, leaving nothing behind, as all of the dwarves draw a single sharp breath in unison.

“The Arkenstone,” Thorin whispers, his voice horse and gritty. “They’re taking us for fools,” he says to the company. “This is a ruse,” he clenches his jaw, Bilba can see the muscles in his neck strain under the beard. “A filthy lie.”

He leans forward to shout over the wall to shout down at the army below them, led by Bard and Thranduil. “The Arkenstone is save within this mountain.” His voice echo’s over the peaks and the stone behind them. There’s a dangerous note of desperation in his words, and Bilba can see his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“The stone is real,” Bilba says, stepping forward with Leo at her knee, curling around her legs and letting out a keening whine. Thorin turns to face her so quickly she nearly flinches back despite the several feet of space between them. The company’s eyes dart back and forth between the two of them.

“What?” The king growls, taking a step forward, his hand falling away from his sword. The look in his eyes breaks her heart, and she wraps her hands around the edge of the mithril chain-mail.

“I took it as my share,” her voice wavers slightly but she stands her ground as he takes another step forward, slowing closing the gap between them.

“You… would steal from me?” he growls, his eyes darkening even more. Behind his shoulder, Kili and Fili shift uncomfortably, whispering to each other. She can feel the company around them growing restless, shifting and muttering nervously.

“No, It’s my share,” Bilba repeats. “My share of the treasure. My claim.”

“Your claim?” A mirthless laugh slips from his throat, causing goosebumps to explode up her arms. “You have no claim, thief,” he spits the last word, sharp as any dagger. “You have no claim over me!”

“I wanted to give it to you,” Bilba takes a step forward herself, nearly tripping over Leo as she does so. “So many times I wanted to give it to you Thorin.” She needs him to believe her, but she knows, deep in her stomach that the part of Thorin that might have seen reason is gone, consumed by the dragon. He grows in response to her words, closing the gap between them completely and they stand an arm’s length apart. He towers over her as he always did but she doesn’t like herself shrink from him. “You’ve changed Thorin,” she half whispers, hoping her voice is lost to the others in the wind, but knows they’re hanging on every word.

“I’ve changed?” He snarls, looking down at her with unfamiliar eyes. There is no kin-ship there. The Thorin that braided her hair so lovingly is gone from them. That moment, in front of the fire feels a hundred years away from this moment here on the ramparts of the Lonely Mountain.

“The Thorin I met in Bag End would never have questioned the loyalty of his kin,” she shakes her head, her voice raising.

“Do not speak to me of loyalty,” he spits, his hand going to his sword as if he means to pull it from its scabbard. Leo reacts instinctually, twisting around her legs and opening his jaws in a true snarl.

Thorin lets go of the hint of his sword and moves quickly. It seems that like Leo had, Thorin reacts instinctually. His large hand closes around Leo’s muzzle, clamping his jaws closed like one might do to a dog about to bite.

Time stops and air truly leaves the top of the mountain this time. Bilba stares at Thorin, her mouth open, whatever noise she means to make stuck in her throat. Thorin is looking wide eyed down at the Daemon, his fingers still curled around his muzzle. Something painful begins to spark behind Bilba’s eyes. Duller than it had been down in the goblin caves, but it’s there. Just different. Tears begin to pool at the corners of her eyes as the strangled cry finally forces its way past her throat.

“Thorin!” A strangle cry comes from behind them as Kili surges forward to grab his Uncle’s shoulder. The touch of his nephew seems to shake Thorin out of the trance and he legs go of Leo. The Daemon howls once his mouth is free, stumbling back into Bilba’s legs, almost knocking her to the ground.

Thorin seems shocked, the company seems shocked and they freeze where they stand.

“Throw her from the ramparts,” Thorin breaks the spell with his muttered order. No one moves. “Did you not hear me?” He shouts at them all as Bilba digs her fingers painfully into fur around Leo’s neck.

“I will do it myself,” Thorin surges towards her and grabs her under her arms. He lifts her easily from the ground, her toes just barely skimming the dirt. Leo lets out of cry of pain and sinks his teeth into her leg as if he means to pull her away from the King.

As Thorin lifts her, it sends the company into action, Kili and Fili both taking hold of their uncle in an attempt to restrain him, but he’s much too strong for either of them. Once he has her half over the wall, her hair hanging below her they back away, terrified of making him drop her. “Please uncle,” Kili breaths. “Don’t.”

Leo whines behind them, having let go of her leg. His jaws are covered in her blood. Bilba closes her eyes, not wanting to look up at Thorin. She wishes he would do something quicker, break her neck perhaps. That way there would be no pre-amble. Bilba can picture herself falling to the ground, Leo trapped up above as they wait for death.

“THORIN.” Bilba opens her eyes, twisting slightly to see Gandalf far below them, moving swiftly to the head of the army. “If you do not want my Burgalur that return her to me UNHARMED.”

Thorin stares down at Gandalf and Bilba reaches a free hand up and touches Thorin’s cheek. Unable to stop herself. If she is going to die, then she’s going to spend her last few moments pretending that the Thorin she fell in love with is still with her. He looks down at her and their eyes meet, his grip loosening on her and he lets go, stepping away from her.

Fili surges forward and grabs her before she can tumble to her death and pulls her away from the edge.

“Thank you,” She breaths. “Fili I’m-“

“I know,” he whispers back, blocking her from Thorin’s view as he stalks away from them. “come on.”

Bofur is tossing a heavy rope over the edge of the ramparts, where the most damage has been done. “Can you hold onto Leo?” The dwarf asks as he quickly ties a rope tightly around her waist.

‘Yes,” she nods, gathering the large fox up in her arms. “I’m-“

“I know,” Bofur ushers her to the edge. Thorin is gone from view completely as Bofur and Fili help her climb up over the wall onto a towering pile of rubble.

“I’m sorry,” She says again looking at the company one more time.

“I would have done the same,” Fili shakes his head. “Now Go. Before he changes his mind.”

The climb down is terrifying, but when she looks back on it, she hardly remembers how she manges it. One moment she’s at the top, the next she’s falling into Gandalf’s arms. They don’t speak as he ushers her away from the wall and through the gathered army to a private tent. He seems to understand that there are no words for this moment.

When she and Leo are alone she falls upon him, gathering her daemon into her lap and begins to sob into his fur. “He is missing something,” Leo says softly once she has gathered herself, licking the salty tears from her cheeks.

“Alfleda,” she whispers the daemon nods. “Where has she gone?”

“I don’t know… But I think… I can find her.”

“How?”

“I would have to leave,” he licks her cheek again.

“I know,” she nods, kissing his nose. “You’ll be back. And we’ll save Thorin.”

“I hope,” Leo whispers, untangling himself from Bilba’s arms and slipping from the tent.

Chapter Text

Leo runs. He runs further and faster than he has ever in his life. For the first while, it feels almost as if he and Bilba are running together. He can hear her pounding feet in his ears, their rhythm in tune with their hearts.

It reminds him of their childhood, racing past the smials and slipping through the fence that bordered the pastures and the forest. They never went very far, but they went far enough to feel the thrill of danger in their throats.

The fox daemon, fur dark as night slips through the close branches of the forest, not slowing. He can feel the golden string that binds him and Bilba together pulling taut, like the string of a harp. Bilba’s heart beat reverberates down the thread, like a low plucked note, over and over until he can feel it in his teeth.

He’s surpassed the furthest distance they’ve ever been apart long ago, that string pulled to breaking point. As he leaps through a small hole in a thicket of bramble, he feels the string go slack and the surprise catches him midair, causing him to misstep on landing and sends him crashing into the underbrush. Leofdaeg rights himself, panting heavily. For a moment he is worried Bilba has been hurt… killed even. But then he would be dust. Leo shakes the dirt from his coat as he focuses on the bond between them.

Yes. Yes he can still feel Bilba’s heart beat sliding along the string towards him. It’s softer, like a whisper, but it is still there. He starts up again, at a trot, and realizes the quality of the string has changed. Before, when they were creeping around the Mirkwood keep, and just now as he ran towards uncertainty, their bond was stretched tight, brittle and strained. But now it feels like a ribbon of air, connecting them still but with endless miles of give.

It takes Leo another mile or so to realize that he isn’t in Middle Earth any longer.

- -

Bilba wakes, the sun blinding above her. Her head throbs so fiercely that it distorts her vision with every pound. The hobbit groans, pushing herself up into a sitting position. A wave of nausea and dizziness comes over her, and she has to press her hands over her eyes hard enough that the star like dots of light dance under her palms. She sits like that for a moment as her ears ring. Slowly, as the sounds around her turn into the sounds of clanging swords and screams, she gets herself together enough to open her eyes.

She sits on the out-skirts of the raging battle. By the slight blur to the fighters nearest to her, she knows she’s still wearing the ring, and a touch to her finger reassures her that she’s invisible. Getting laboriously to her feet, she has to stop on her knees, as the dizziness threatens to overtake her. Bilba puts a hand to the back of her head, her fingers coming away bloody. She must have been hit by a stray swing. Her stomach flips at the sights of so much blood. Now that she’s fully awake, she can feel that she has bleed down her neck and soaked the back of her shirt.

On her feet, she moves farther away from the fight, surveying it closely for a familiar face. Her heart clenches every time she catches sight of a dwarf, but it’s never one of her dwarves. She can’t tell if that is a comfort or not, but at least it seems like the battle is winding down. The valley that lays below the lonely mountain is strewn with bodies from both sides.

Bilba puts her hand on her belt and feels for the hilt of Sting, drawing her blade and holding it awkwardly in front of her. She continues to scan the horizon, looking for… anyone. Her heart catching in her throat with each beat and then she sees them. Thorin and the White Orc.

The Dwarven King dodges the massive mace Azog swings at time and Bilba is spurred into movement, sprinting towards the fight.

- -

The colours here are brighter, harsher than back home. The glare of the leaves that stir in the light breeze above him is hard to look directly at. Leo pauses, his ears swivelling, twitching as the wind grazes his fur. There’s a smell on the air that is familiar, but he can’t place where he’s smelt it before. Leo shivers and takes a few cautious steps forward before he hears the sound again.

“Who’s there,” he calls in a low voice, looking around, movement catching his eye from above him and he looks to see a bird sitting on a low branch watching him.

The Fox and the Falcon look at each other, neither moving. The Falcon is golden feathered, shining in the harsh sunlight steaming through the highest leaves of the tree.

“Leofdaeg?” The Falcon breaks their silence, her voice soft and musical.

“Alfleda,” Leo breaths in relief. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I’ve been looking for you too,” The other daemon says, taking flight and swooping down towards the Fox. She twists in midair and lands on the ground in the shape of a fox, though unlike Leo’s dark fur, her coat is like unfallen autumn leaves. Alfeda doesn’t hesitate as she surges forward and presses her snout to Leo’s, rubbing her cheek against his. “I don’t know what happened, I don’t know where we are, do you?”

“No,” Leo admits, sitting back on his haunches and surveying the daemon in front of him. “I think we’re in a different world. Not middle earth.”

“No, not middle earth,” Alfleda agrees, her form twisting again and she lands in the shower of golden dust in the shape of a chocolate hare.

“Thorin’s sick,” Leo turns to look at her, in awe of her shifting. He hadn’t shifted like that in… in years. Not since he settled. Perhaps this meant that Alfeda was still young. It would make sense, seeing as she didn’t exist outside of Thorin before.

“I know,” She says sadly. “I think that is why I’m here and not with him. Something came into him and…” she shivers, her form shuddering and she became a small kitten, soft white fur. She crawls into the space between Leo’s front paws and curls up in his shadow. “it pushed me out of him.”

“Dragon sickness,” Leo says sagely, leaning down to lick between her ears comfortingly.

“I don’t think we can ever be one again,” she whispers sadly, looking up at the Fox.

“I don’t think you’re meant to be,” Leo stands, nosing Alfeda into a standing position. “Come on, he stills needs you,” and he begins to run. Alfeda throws herself into the air, taking the falcon form again as she glides along behind the other Daemon.

- -

When she reaches the place where Thorin lays at first, Azog is nowhere to be seen. She had lost sight of the battle as she half sprinted, half ran up the mountain. Bilba drops hard to her knees next to Thorin. But then she spots him, the massive form of the White Orc dead on the ice.

Thorin is coughing, blood coming to the corner of his mouth. “Bilba,” he breaths, his voice thick and laborious.

“Shh,” she looks down at him, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and wiping his brow, delicately cleaning his face. “Don’t speak… Oin will be here soon. You’ll be okay.”

“Bilba,” Thorin groans again. “I’m… Sor-“

“Don’t you dare try to make amends,” She says fiercely. “You don’t get to beg for my forgiveness on your death bed, because you are not dying.” Bilba turns her attention to the blood spreading across his front.

Thorin doesn’t argue, but he does gasp in pain as she presses into the wound with her handkerchief in an attempt to drop the blood.

- -

The Daemons stop at the border, between this unknown world and Middle Earth. A gate formed by two trees that had grown together, twisting as they sprouted. Alfeda lands next to Leo as her chocolate hare, ears laying back.

“I’m afraid,” she whispers to the fox.

“Its okay,” he reassures her. “I’m with you.”

- -

“Bilba,” Thorin breaths, looking at the hobbit. “I’m afraid.”

“Its okay,” she leans down and presses a kiss to the side of his mouth. “I’m with you.”

Chapter Text

Oin is careful not to make promises, when the old dwarf putters around the tent, he talks only in facts.

“The bleeding has slowed,” he says, mostly to himself as he finishes tying the fresh bandages around Thorin’s barely rising chest. “It’s a good sign lass,” Oin nods, moving to the washing basin across from Thorin’s sick bed. Bilba can hear the sloshing of water, and closes her eyes. She can picture the water slowly turning red, as it does when she washes her hands after fixing Thorin’s bandages. She’ll wait for Oin to leave to inspect his work, she doesn’t want him to think she doesn’t trust his hand.

Bilba opens her eyes to look up at the old dwarf as he rests his hand on her knee, squeezing tight. “It’s a good sign,” he repeats solemnly and Bilba only nods.

A week of bleeding, even if it’s slowly… She’s not sure how much blood a dwarf has, but surely he’s running out.

“I’ll have Bombur bring round your dinner soon,” Oin promises, leaning in a pressing a whiskery kiss to her forehead as he hand goes to the back of her head to check the stitches he had placed there. It felt mostly healed to her, it hadn’t been too deep of a wound as it turned out. Oin had told her while he cleaned her up, that head wounds bleed more than other wounds. “Try to have a nap, before dinner,” he says as he leaves, pulling the tent flap closed.

She waits a moment before getting up from the chair and following behind him, opening the tent flap slightly to look out at the slowly setting sun. There’s a small cluster of tents at the foot of the gates of Erebor with Thorin’s tent in the center. They had set up a tent for Bilba as well, but she hadn’t used it, instead sleeping in the camp chair next to Thorin. Originally, they had wanted to take Thorin int the Erebor, but she had thrown a fit, thinking of how sick that horrid place had made him.

From the opening of Thorin’s tent she watches as Bombur stirs a massive pot over an open fire. He’s talking to Dori and Kili, though she can’t make out their words. Kili glances towards her, their gazes connecting and he gives her a small smile. It seems strange to see Kili without Fili by his side, but Fili is bed bound, recovering from his own battle with the white orc. He’s often sitting up and talking when Bilba visits.

Bilba returns Kili’s smile weakly, and it feels like a lie. They had all welcomed her back by their sides without second thought, even though their King had banished her from his kingdom, even though their King had nearly killed her. The dwarves seem to be pretending that that never happened at all.

She closes the tent flap and pulls the chair up next to Thorin’s bed, though she doesn’t sit. Instead she gently pull back the blankets from Thorin and runs her hand over his fresh bandages. There’s already the faintest stain of blood on the inner layer, but Oin is right, the bleeding has slowed. “Perhaps you will live after all,” she says softly, her voice hoarse from disuse, and she tucks the blanket back over his shoulders.

Standing over him, she reaches for a comb, and begins to carefully unpick his braids. Running the comb through his hair, she hums softly to herself, the tune the dwarves had sung what felt like so many years ago, as they tossed her plates around the warm and cozy kitchen in her smial. Once Thorin’s hair is free from tangles, she begins to weave new braids into his hair and beard. Though there really isn’t any point to redoing these braids every day, it is a routine that Bilba has kept to religiously, the thought of their conversation in Beorn’s cottage.

“I suppose this is practically a marriage proposal,” Bilba says softly to the sleeping Thorin as she slides a bead onto the braid. “Silly dwarves and their Silly customs,” she smiles. “If we were in the Shire, you’d bring me a bouquet of Everlastings, Heliotrope, and Orange Blossom,” Bilba finishes the braid and starts on the small delicate one at the corner of his mouth. “And If I was receptive to the courtship, I would weave a flower crown and wear it to the market.”

Bilba sighs, sitting in the chair, saying it allowed, now it seems so silly. She had crossed the world for Thorin, if it wasn’t clear to him that she loved him, a flower crown wouldn’t do it. The hobbit leans forward, pressing her forehead onto the blanket at his side. “If you wake,” she whispers into the fabric, “And if you will have me. I am yours.” She finds his hand under the blanket and squeezes his fingers. “No flowers required.”

Her chest aches, thinking of that moment on the wall when she thought that Thorin was going to drop her to her death. The hate that burned in his eyes… there was no way that that man loved her. But the man who had shared her room at Bard’s home had.

“Which man will you be if you wake?” she asks herself, lifting her head up as she hears footsteps approaching the tent.

“Dinner,” Kili’s voice announces himself as he pushes through the flaps holding a tray in his hands. “Bombur made chilli,” he pulls a little wooden table over to her with his foot and put the tray down.

“Thank you,” she says softly, picking up the spoon. Though she has little appetite, she knows from experience that it’s easier to eat than it is to argue with a company of angry dwarves who think she is intent on starving herself.

Kili sits gingerly on the end of Thorin’s bed and watches her eat for a moment. “So where is Leo?” he asks reaching over and stealing a slice of her warm bread. The princes are the only ones who had broached the subject of her missing daemon with her. She knows the others talk about it, especially with Gandalf when he’s around, but perhaps they think it rude to ask.

Bilba closes her eyes as she chews a particularly large chunk of potato, searching along the gold tether that leads to her daemon. “Close,” she says after swallowing. “Somewhere over the hills to the west.”

“Freaky,” Kili says approvingly, making Bilba smile.

“The market would be a tizzy with gossip if they found out that old Bilba Baggins is a witch,” she laughs quietly.

“A witch? I thought you were a hobbit,” the Prince jokes.

“Oh shush. I am a hobbit, but I suppose I’m also a witch. At least according to legends. Witches can send their daemons away from themselves,” she tells him, dipping a slice of bread into the chilli.

“Can you do other magic?” he asks, dipping his own slice into the bread as well.

“Bombur will be very upset if he finds out you’re eating my dinner,” she scolds, ignoring his question. Of course she can’t do any magic. Other than turning invisible of course, but that’s all the ring’s doing.

“Sharing is caring Aunty,” Kili says with his mouth full.

“Don’t call me Aunty,” she frowns, putting her spoon down and looking at Kili. “Once Thorin wakes, none of you will be able to pretend any longer that he didn’t banish me from Erebor.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Kili gapes. “Thorin was sick in his mind when he said that, he didn’t mean it!” He leans forward and takes her hand in his. “Uncle Thorin loves you more than any dwarf has loved a dame, anyone with eyes can see that.”

“He didn’t love much when he wanted to throw me off the wall,” she mutters, but doesn’t pull her hand from his. She feels silly, knowing she’s only saying it to hear Kili disagree. The truth is, that none of them know if Thorin will still be sick if and when he wakes.

“He loves you,” Kili says stubbornly. “Now eat, or there will be none of you left to love when he wakes.”

Bilba doesn’t argue, instead she picks up the spoon with her other hand, and continues to eat, Kili’s larger hand still holding hers.

Chapter Text

There is fire in is chest, burning embers fill his lungs and molten gold spills up through his throat and out his mouth in a blaze of fire and smoke. Thorin twists and writhes in pain, his cries of pain drowned in another burst of flame. He’s burning. He’s dying. Surely the pain will soon end and he will be embraced by the cold hands of death.

His massive leathery wings unfurl and he surges upwards hitting the stone ceiling of the throne room. The impact seems to shake the mountain as dust and rocks fall, breaking the marble floor below. He slams again into the rough stone, his claws finding purchase and he begins to dig, clawing his way forward, up and out.

His massive body twists and pushes against the stone, gnashing his jaws and letting forward another blaze from that pool of molten gold in his chest. He fire twists and twirls around his face, warming his scales. Steam hissing and rises from his cheeks as his tears mix with the fire. Thorin knows that has become of him. The dragon sickness that took hold of his heart has rotted him from the inside out, burnt away all that he used to be and left behind a monster. Death does not wait for him, he will not be afforded that mercy. It was the way of his grandfather’s kingdom after all; the punishment befits the crime.

Surrounded in the stone of the lonely mountain, her voice floats towards him as if carried on a breeze. He can smell the heavy scent of wet earth, the way grass smells after a storm.

“Perhaps you will live after all.”

He cries another jet of flame, the tendrils curling around him as he digs towards the surface. Her words cut him through the metal like scales on his chest and wet blood begins to spill the wound. He snaps his jaws, tearing at the stone with his teeth and claws. Slowly he moves forward. He can smell her on the breeze, mingling with scent of the earth. Bilba, he thinks, blinking tears from his eyes.

“I am yours.”

More fire, a scream of frustration as he struggles to break free of the mountain. And more pain, as she deals another blow, this time tearing through the flesh on his side between his ribs. I am yours, he echoes. From the moment he stood in the doorway of her home she had him, heart and soul. Every step of the long journey by her side has terrified him as every step he fell without realizing quite what that would mean for either of them.

“Which man will you be if you wake?”

I am no man at all, he sobs, fire and tears and blood mingling together. As he drags himself upwards he feels sharp pains as his scales are torn from his. His wings are shredded to ribbons from the sharp rock. I am a monster. A monster who nearly killed his One, blinded by greed and pride.

He breaks the surface and pulls himself free. Dropping heavily to the ground he sobs, shivering as the damp grass brushes against his bare skin. Thorin turns his face upward towards the softly raining sky, rain drops collecting on his eyelashes. He curls his hands into the dirt and feels the cool ground between his fingertips as he cries.

He doesn’t hear her approach, but he feels it. Thorin raises his head to meet her gaze. “Alfleda,” he chokes, his throat is raw and burned. The daemon, his soul, stands in front of him, her head low as she approaches slowly. She’s powerfully build, her fur short and sandy. He recognizes the animal from books, though he’s never seen a lion in person before.

Alfeda presses her cheek against his, her long whispers tickling his skin. A deep purr rumbles in her chest, and he feels it vibrate in his own. Thorin reaches a hand to brush his fingers through the soft fur on her neck. “Am I dead?” he asks softly as her rough tongue laps against his cheeks.

“No,” she responds simply as she butts her heavy forehead against him again. “It is time for you to wake.”

“I’m afraid,” he admits, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her large form against him.

“It is okay. Bilba is waiting for you.”

He can’t stop the small smile that flits across his lips, but he shakes his head. “I can’t face her. I nearly killed her. I betrayed her.”

“She has forgiven you. Leo as well. They are ready for you to come home. I will be there shortly,” She pulls away from him and surveys his face. He nods and closes his eyes, feeling the warmth of his soul against him and the cool sprinkle of rain on his face.

There’s a breeze that brushes past his cheek, like the soft caress of a hand.

“Bilba,” Thorin breaths.

“Thorin?” Her voice answers, high pitched and sharp. He feels a hand cups his cheek and he opens his eyes slowly. His vision is swims as he takes in Bilba, leaning over him. Her hair hangs like a curtain between them and the world. It takes all his strength to pull himself up towards her and kiss her.