Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mahal did not know what the Children of Ilúvatar would be like, so he made the Dwarves strong and unyielding to brave out adversity. To counterpoise, the Dwarf heart was made to burn hot like a furnace, completely devoted to One. With a One, Dwarves could experience love like Mahal loved his spouse:
unquestioned,
unchallenged,
and irrevocable.

Bilbo startled into awareness, instantly panicked and, in hindsight, didn’t know whether to be impressed or spooked by himself. It was slightly disconcerting to see Kili holding down his left leg and Fili holding down the other, while Dwalin and Oin were apparently wrestling with one arm each.

“Bilbo, lad, you need to calm down. You’re safe here.” Oin’s authoritative voice seeped into his brain and Bilbo realised that all of his limbs were still flailing, involuntarily and quite ineffectively, against his four companions. Taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart, he let his head fall back onto whatever he was using as a pillow and tried his best to relax his entire body.

After a few seconds of careful assessment, all four dwarves slowly let up the pressure on his limbs. As reality truly registered, Bilbo just stared. At Fili. At Kili. At the both of them. Alive. Had he just had the most horrifyingly real nightmare in his life? He couldn’t have… It was hard for him to decide, to find obvious errors in his dream to distinguish it as such. There had been whole armies at the gate of the Lonely Mountain, followed by bloodshed, screaming, a feeling of terror that had pierced his very soul. Bilbo had seen the dragon, the Arkenstone, the armies, the corpses… had attended funerals. The funeral of Durin’s line. And he had seen the One Ring, seen what it had done to his dearest nephew, and his heart had wept. Then Bilbo jolted with the realisation that he had yet to see Thorin after waking up, and he quenched the sudden onset of dread that almost drowned him.

“Thorin?” Bilbo croaked with a parched throat, looking at Dwalin inquisitively, expecting him to know these things because Dwalin was nothing if not very serious about getting Thorin back on the throne, alive, and thus kept a watchful eye on anything that lived and breathed around the dwarf king within a mile radius. Dwalin, looking surprisingly tense from Bilbo’s point of view, couldn’t stop the slight tilt of his head or hide the quick look he shared with Oin. The medic just softened his expression further as he helped Bilbo up into a sitting position. Only when the hobbit was sipping from an offered glass of water did Oin reply: “Thorin is in a meeting with the Master of Lake-town, together with the rest of the company. He will visit you as soon as he can.”

Kili started shuffling on the spot and supplied Bilbo with some much needed context: “You took quite a tumble inside the barrel and must’ve hit your head. You were unconscious when we pulled you out, even though Oin couldn’t find any obvious head wounds.” Bilbo nodded, but before he could ask for an elaboration, Kili’s expression lightened a bit as he added: “You’ve missed some interesting meetings while you were unconscious.”

Bilbo snorted. Feelings were welling up inside of him, all the pictures in his mind that felt so much like memories were jumbled, and he had to close his eyes from the onslaught of anguish. He knew things. Like exactly what kind of interesting meetings he had supposedly missed. Bilbo knew forbidden things. Things no one was supposed to know, but he couldn’t disregard it now that he was aware. Everyone was alive. Every single one of them. And if that was supposed to be their future, he could change it and keep them alive. They would be prepared for the war. Bilbo could save people. Save Thorin, Fili and Kili.

Bilbo tried to blink away tears, but failed rather spectacularly judging by how Dwalin politely looked away to give him privacy. The seasoned warrior cleared his throat awkwardly as he moved around the bed and towards the door. “Get well, ya hear? We’re leavin’ for Erebor in two days. Don’t wanna lose our burglar so close to the mountain,” he said gruffly. Bilbo could only nod, thoroughly touched by the obvious concern the moody warrior showed as he threw Bilbo a searching look over his shoulder.

The heavy steps of Dwalin had already faded by the time Bilbo turned his attention back to Fili and Kili. The hobbit found the pair oddly muted in their behaviour, especially considering that he was now awake and would be recovering nicely with some bed rest, despite the generous headache he was currently sporting. The two brothers respected both privacy and the need for rest, but it was particularly hard to curb their enthusiasm when someone was on the mend.

“It’s good to talk to you again, Bilbo. We’ve all been so worried.” Fili announced quietly. “And would appreciate it if you stepped back on the dramatics from now on.” Kili added, a spark of his usual mischief and good cheer ghosted over his face. “We’ll leave you to rest,” they chorused and disappeared with a gentle pat each to Bilbo’s leg.

Oin started fussing with the quilt. “That must’ve been some nightmare you had, lad. Your scream gave us a proper fright,” he began, “Thought you were under attack. I’ve never seen a fiercer look on those boys as they charged through the door or heard Dwalin growl quite so loudly before.”

“I’m sorry-” Bilbo began, but Oin tutted him into silence before he could finish.

“None of that, laddie, we all have our demons to contend with. I won’t ask anything unless you offer first, and neither will anyone else in the company.” The statement was followed by a reassuring pat to the arm. “Get some rest. I really have no idea why you were out-cold for so long, but you’ll feel better after some more sleep and a proper meal. The four of us will be nearby, so shout if you need anything. The bathroom is through the door on your right and I’m walking through the only exit. If your toe even thinks about crossing the doorstep, I will string you up by the quilt before Thorin-” Oin trailed off uncertainly, taking in Bilbo with a thin smile as the hobbit blinked owlishly up at him. “Just call for us if you have need.”

Bilbo lied still like the dead for three whole minutes after Oin closed the door, brain almost overheating, before he shot out of bed like lightning and didn’t even have the presence of mind to feel if his body protested at all. There was a small desk with a worn wooden chair in the corner of the room, and Bilbo soon found himself in the chair and hyperventilating because he really needed to get things under control and find a lot of solutions to a lot of problems with only a few weeks to do it, regardless of insufferable everything that would be thrown his way.

There were a lot of things Bilbo now knew with crystal clarity, but he didn’t know what could possibly be changed and what was absolutely set in stone. Truthfully, he didn’t know why he knew these things either, or if he should take the terrible dream seriously at all… But then it struck him what he would do if everything in his dream came to pass… Bilbo put his head in his hands with a groan. He couldn’t risk it; couldn’t handle the possible consequences of being passive when he could make himself useful, for the company, for Thorin.

Bilbo didn’t know much, but the one thing he knew was that his main objective was to prevent the deaths of the descendants of Durin, and frankly speaking, the hobbit cynically believed he could step over a lot of corpses to make that a reality. But even if he managed to work out the problems between every party and salvaged what he could, Bilbo could never rest until he had solved a second problem. He knew what the One Ring had done, would do, to his nephew, and more than being an uncle, Frodo was his future son, although that could also change now. But it was hardly relevant because in Bilbo’s head and heart was a fond feeling for Frodo, a nephew he had never met, and that was all that mattered, all that should matter. And so destroying the Ring would be his second main objective. Bilbo wouldn’t let the One Ring scar his nephew again. Never again.

‘Do I even have the Ring?’ the hobbit wondered and scrambled to his feet, almost keeling over as his vision blurred for a second, eyes frantically searching for his clothes. After several minutes of brainstorming on where to look and general pacing, he found his garments neatly folded in a plain chest by the end of the bed. Rifling through the pockets of his vest, his eyes closed in relief when fingers brushed against familiar metal. The touch was enough to make Bilbo more focused and he folded his vest securely around the Ring before he sat back down on the chair, feeling overwhelmingly burdened.

This was really happening and he needed to plot. He needed a plan. He felt like he should write down everything, make a timeline, a step-by-step and to make a fail-safe. However, if anyone else in the company read a note where his stated mission was to save Thorin and his nephews while keeping the rest of the company alive, and then proceed to destroy the One Ring, Bilbo was inclined to believe that Oin’s gracious offer would turn into a severe hearing instead.

It was while Bilbo was sitting there on an uncomfortable wooden chair and brooding, that the sudden noise of the doorknob turning made him almost jump off the chair in his surprise. “Bilbo?” Thorin’s deep timbre, while hesitant, soothed Bilbo’s nerves in an instant, leaving him with a feeling of calm for the first time since he woke up. Thorin was really alive! “Shouldn’t you be resting in bed?” Bilbo could hear the frown without turning around, thank you very much, but turn around he did, and while the intention was to argue the fine point of how does one define resting, his words dried up in his mouth. Thorin looked regal. As imposing as ever with his air of nobility and furs of vanity and the hint of a frown, dark eyes zeroed in on a certain hobbit, but he was alive, thank the Valar, and all Bilbo could do was stare, feeling ill at ease under Thorin’s molten gaze.

“You should be in bed,” the king emphasised as he put a wooden bowl of something steaming down on the desk before approaching, with the clear intent on moving Bilbo himself. The hobbit gathered his wits enough to stand up on his own, with mixed results as he had to hold onto the chair while his vision corrected itself.

“I was resting just fine. I’m only a bit bruised, except for the apparent bump to the head that Oin can’t find.” Bilbo defended dryly as Thorin lunged forward to steady him. “Oin said you were in a meeting with the Master of Lake-town?” he continued smoothly to change the subject.

“Yes, the Master has agreed to aid us with supplies for the last part of the trip. For a price, of course.” Thorin supported Bilbo to the bed and proceeded to tuck him in much like Oin had done not too long ago, locking Bilbo in an upright position on the bed.

“Of course.” Bilbo responded easily as he savoured the newfound feeling of peace he had suddenly acquired by Thorin’s presence. “With a mountain full of treasure within your grasp, I’m sure you can promise a few trinkets to get there.” The dwarf king just gave an indistinct hum and started sifting through the curls of Bilbo’s hair with a big, warm hand. The hobbit closed his eyes without thinking, looking very much content without realising so, to Thorin’s great delight. It was nice to feel like a proper member of the company and Bilbo gratefully accepted anything that could make the future seem farther away.

“I brought some soup for you.” Thorin fetched the bowl from the desk as he spoke and dragged the chair with him on the way back. “Oin said you should eat as much of it as possible. You’ll get a more substantial meal tomorrow, and Bombur has sworn to make you all of your favourite dishes for dinner.”

“That is very kind of him.” Bilbo responded slowly in-between mouthfuls, pleasantly surprised, as Bombur, being the resident cook of the company, rarely bothered making treats when not on the road. He must have really done a number on them all to warrant so much open affection.

Dwarves were brave, loyal, and strong, with a stubborn streak a mile wide, which was oft used by the Dwarven race to imitate stone when situations got emotionally constipated and overly awkward due to previously mentioned constipation. It was slightly surreal to have the company swarming him to see to his well-being, and Bilbo was moved by the sincere gusto in their attempts to make him feel better.

Bilbo felt privileged knowing that he could protect them now. Protect their offered companionship with the same ferocity and stubbornness as the company did. Hopefully save Lake-town too and solve the matter of treasure shares between the Men, Elves and Dwarves, before the great calamity of the entire Arkenstone debacle could even resurface. Speaking of which, Bilbo hadn’t thought of how to save Thorin from the gold sickness, to keep him sane from the get-go in order to save everyone a lot of trouble.

Without properly realising it, Thorin had taken the empty soup bowl from Bilbo and helped him lie back down, snugly cocooned in his quilt. Feeling drowsy, Bilbo tried to choke back a yawn by scrunching up his nose in extreme concentration, not even registering the fond snort that came from the occupant of the chair. Thorin patted down the quilt with his hands, silently urging the hobbit to rest.

“Fili and Kili were acting a bit weird today, seemed worried about something.” Bilbo mumbled, already half-asleep, but feeling obligated to share his concerns with the boys’ uncle.

“Were they now?” Thorin said, sounding strained and uncomfortable. “A lot has happened since we escaped Mirkwood. I’m sure the excitement of it is just getting to them. It’s gotten to all of us really, but we’ll be fine.” Thorin assured, taking Bilbo’s hand in his. “Won’t we, burglar?”

Bilbo hummed in response, already dozing off. On the verge of sleep, he distantly realised someone else had entered the room. Oin’s whisper reached Bilbo through the haze, though the medic was doing a fine job of tiptoeing around and keeping the general noise down. “He is going to be fine, Thorin, so stop your fretting. You will scare the poor lad if he sees you like this,” the voice was gentle but firm.

Bilbo felt the bed move as Thorin shuffled a bit where he sat. “I know. I’m pulling myself together. Thank you for-” Thorin trailed off awkwardly, “helping him,” he finished lamely.

“Lad’s a good sort. We were already quite fond of him. Let’s just hope we all get to see the quest through.” Oin responded kindly. Thorin made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat as he stroked the back of a hobbit hand soothingly, whispering gentle words in Khuzdul and watching over Bilbo as he finally succumbed to sleep.

Bilbo had been berating himself for being as subtle as a herd of raging oliphaunts ever since the company had left Lake-town and arrived at the Lonely Mountain, and he was still fighting the urge to repeatedly bash his head in with a rock. If he tried to think about this objectively, there was no way Bard could know anything other than that Bilbo was a really suspicious fellow.

The archer had seen a packet of bird food among Bilbo’s chosen supplies for the trip to the Lonely Mountain. It was certainly not the end of the world in and of itself, but the man had of course asked what the hobbit wanted with bird food, and the question had so utterly floored him that Bilbo had barely managed to stutter out something about thrushes this time of the year, and then scampered off. If that hadn’t raised Bard’s eyebrow, then nothing ever would.

It wasn’t a secret that some Men of Dale could speak the thrush language, but it was considered extinct by now and a moot conversation topic. Thanks to Bilbo’s sublime inconspicuousness, Bard probably assumed that the hobbit had some grand master plan involving the use of thrush language, involving Bard, which was neither here nor there, because Bilbo really didn’t have a plan at all. His gaze had happened to fall on the bird food at the market and his mind had just gone with it. No harm in cozying up to the local wildlife, and it would come in handy if he needed to get a quick message to Lake-town.

Admittedly, it was something Bilbo expected would be necessary sooner or later. Thorin seemed… normal, for now. He hadn’t even mentioned the Arkenstone since they had been stomping through the never-ending paths of Mirkwood, but Bilbo could vividly recall Thorin’s look of fierce enthralment in his dream, and he dreaded the moment where he would lead the company into the treasure room.

It would happen soon enough. The company had gathered in front of the secret entrance on the western side of the Lonely Mountain, waiting for the last light of Durin’s Day in a haunting silence. Bilbo had spent the waiting game pondering about how to handle the upcoming meeting in the treasure room. Smaug was an intelligent and greedy fire-breathing dragon with psychopathic tendencies, carrying an extreme dislike for dwarves. Bard had killed him once. Could it be done twice?

Bilbo had the great fortune of knowing when and how Smaug would die. There was no doubt that Smaug had to die, but could he somehow use the dragon to his advantage first? It was very tempting to get Smaug on their side during the Battle of the Five Armies, but the dragon served no one but himself and securing his temporary aid would be difficult.

Even if it worked, Smaug would surely turn against everyone at his own leisure, and there was still the problem with the dragon-spell. Bilbo suspected the dragon-spell had made both Thranduil and Bard greedy, and with Thorin influenced by the gold sickness on top of that, the situation had been doomed to go bonkers at some point. As far as Bilbo knew, the dragon-spell could not be undone and so the tense relations between Men, Elves and Dwarves would probably be unavoidable.

To add to that, the dragon could not be trusted, but if Bilbo played on the whole Arkenstone is the heart of the mountain-fact, Smaug might be coerced into a deal. Bilbo could make it more tempting by implying a high level of dwarf suffering as Smaug was sure to love that. The Arkenstone was a worthy price for the service of a dragon, and in addition Bilbo could offer the great dragon a longer life, if only by weeks. Smaug might find such a proposal intriguing due to its sheer insanity and be entertained enough to listen maybe. If Bilbo could exaggerate select details and adjust some truths without being caught lying then all the better for him, especially if it would make the dragon forget how squishy a hobbit actually was.

Bilbo was startled out of his trance by a loud crack as the keyhole appeared in the rock wall, eyeing Thorin as he hurried to unlock the door, to loud exclamations of joy from the rest of the company. The door swung quietly inwards like it had done in his dream and the darkness was just as suffocating as he remembered it. Bilbo turned to the others, waiting for Thorin to start his great speech, feeling very gracious and not particularly adventurous at the moment, hoping to stall as much as possible. When no words were forthcoming from anyone in the party, Bilbo looked around and took proper notice of all the grim expressions around him. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he made a half-hearted attempt to step through the door, getting the breath knocked out of him when Thorin’s arm shot out to restrain him.

“Just observe Smaug from afar. See if you can find any weaknesses. Don’t approach him. Don’t touch anything. Don’t wake him up.” The dwarf king closed his eyes, looking reluctant and fearful to the point of physical pain. “Don’t die in there, burglar. Bilbo.” Thorin implored, and Bilbo was taken aback by the raw emotion in his voice.

The hobbit had really underestimated how much he was considered one of the company and it warmed his heart greatly. Too bad he was going in there with every intention of waking up said dragon and attempting to barter with it. Thorin was going to have his head either way. Bilbo dreaded the fact that he still had no idea how to prevent Thorin’s descent into gold madness, but the issue with Smaug had to be solved first. Smiling widely at each member of the company in turn, Bilbo put a hand on Thorin’s arm that was meant to reassure himself more than anyone else. “I’ll be fine,” he promised with false cheer, bracing himself as he descended into darkness.

Bilbo knew where to go, felt it like a tug in his stomach whenever he recognised a tunnel, archway or door from his dream. The temperature increased steadily and Bilbo started cold-sweating, clenching and unclenching his fists as he went, fearing the red light in the distance. He was going to be fried, was so sure of it, and Bilbo was mentally sifting through all kinds of possible dodges and distractions in order to stay alive. The hobbit didn’t want Smaug to know he had the One Ring, was determined to keep it out of sight, until he had pissed off the dragon beyond repair at least. Smaug had been displeased with his thievery and trickery last time they had met, though amused by the conversation, so Bilbo thought the dragon bloody well better appreciate how vulnerable the hobbit made himself by not turning invisible now.

Steeling himself, Bilbo took a deep breath as he stepped into the enormous treasure room. Admittedly, it was magnificent with all its piles of sparkling riches stretched from the floor to ceiling, but Bilbo could still see the precious gemstones and metals for what it truly was: a damn hassle. His eyes almost reluctantly sought out the Arkenstone on the top of the biggest treasure pile in the middle of the room.

“O Smaug, Your Excellency!” he shouted. The echo was more terrifying to him than the rustle of moving gold and gemstones. Red scales slithered through the treasure hoard and it didn’t take long for Bilbo to meet the sharp golden gaze of Smaug. “The songs and tales really do you no justice, O Smaug the Tremendous. You are greater than I could have ever imagined.” Bilbo gushed appraisingly, trying to gauge the dragon’s reaction as he stretched languidly around a huge pile of gold.

“You have nice manners, strange one, but I do not recognise your smell. Who you are and where are you from?” Smaug said, settling his head down on the hoard again complacently. Bilbo was tense, so incredibly tense, but at least he could take some comfort in not being dead on sight.

“O Smaug the Magnificent, I am the friend of bears and the guest of eagles. I am Barrel-rider: the clue-finder, the web-cutter, the stinging fly. I came from the end of a bag, but no bag went-” Bilbo trailed off as Smaug rose from the treasure hoard and stalked towards him with clear intent, sniffing loudly as he went.

“Lovely titles! But why are you here, if not to steal from the greatest treasure hoard on Middle-Earth? You do not fool me, Barrel-rider. One does not enter these halls without… intentions, hmm?” Smaug cut in sharply with a purr, inching ever closer, and Bilbo became keenly aware of how the dragon’s nostrils seemed to be working fervently. “What were you promised? A share in the profit? A safe haven? Your freedom? I am curious to know who promised you this. I will give you one piece of advice for your good: don’t have more to do with dwarves than you can help!”

“Dwarves!” Bilbo exclaimed, trying to school his expression into something like outrage. “I assure you, O Great One, that I am not here at the behest of the stunted people-”

“Liar! Don’t tell me that I can eat a dwarf-ridden pony and not know it.” Smaug sneered, dipping his head so one roving eye could look straight at Bilbo’s face. “I know they are close! With friends like them, who needs enemies, Barrel-rider? You are here, facing me, and your friends are skulking in the shadows, leaving you to die alone, in the ruins of their own madness.”

Bilbo averted his eyes meekly. “You are right, of course.” The hobbit straightened himself, and the dragon cocked his head in surprise when Bilbo took a determined step forward and bowed exaggeratedly. “I have information that I am sure would be of great interest to you.”

Smaug huffed in mirth, moving back a bit to Bilbo’s great relief. “You know of something that will interest me? You dare! I lay waste to towns with fire, wind, and thunder; wipe out entire families with my teeth and claws. I have lived for centuries, Barrel-rider.” Smaug curled the lip over his teeth into a cruel grin. “I cannot help but know everything.”

“I know when you die.” Bilbo whispered, voice calm and steady, but the silence was suddenly deafening. “I have dreamt it. And your time is nigh, O Smaug the Golden. You are as great as the stories say and I would like to help you. I want you to live.” ‘At least for another month or so,’ Bilbo supplied drolly in his mind.

“Speak quickly, Barrel-rider, before I roast you!” Smaug ordered, but he made no move to make good on his threat and Bilbo felt a bit encouraged.

“You were right about intentions, O Smaug the Stupendous. I was hoping to strike a deal with you that would benefit the both of us. In return for the continued survival of the great dragons, I wish for your aid and minimised damage to my friends and our allies.” Bilbo swallowed. “There will be a war, a battle between five armies, and you are struck down. Two armies of goblins and wargs are headed for the Lonely Mountain, and there will be a great fight against Men, Elves, and… Dwarves.” Smaug snapped to attention and snarled, so Bilbo hurried on. “You cannot kill the Dwarves, O Smaug the Mighty, because their army is strong and resilient against the enemy. Let them fight as pawns! Leave them to die, so you can live, and take off with their greatest treasure instead.”

Smaug blinked, huffing in an attempt to hide his interest. “And what would this great treasure be, hmm?”

“The Arkenstone of Thrain, the Heart of the Mountain; and it is also the heart of Thorin. He cannot gather his people and regain his throne without the stone. If you have the Arkenstone, Thorin Oakenshield will be forced to continue a life in exile, even though he is standing on the very doorstep of his old home, his heritage. His humiliation would be absolute. The Lonely Mountain would be yours, even if you’re not there.” Bilbo tried very hard to ignore the sting in his chest upon uttering those words, firmly reminding himself that no price was too high to ensure the continued survival of the line of Durin, although this was not a betrayal Bilbo was eager to divulge to anyone.

“I must have been a fool to descend upon a battle of five armies. Why would I?” Smaug speculated curtly, making no indication of whether he was considering Bilbo’s suggestion or not. “It sounds preposterous! I shall simply refrain from joining the war, though I am sorely tempted to observe the death of Dwarves and burn the supposed dragon slayer to ashes.”

Bilbo tried to remember how to breathe. “That sounds like a wise move, the Chiefest and Greatest of Calamities. Bolg is the leader of the Goblins. I think he will appreciate the sentiment too, as I recall him insulting your magnificence and doubting the heat of your fire. All done to cover his encompassing fear, I am sure.”

“I shall decimate him and his entire army!” Smaug made to stand, but he stopped abruptly to tower over the hobbit, looking thoughtful. “A goblin leader, you say? How oddly convenient for you and your friends. Tell me, Barrel-rider, how did you come to attain your gift of foresight?”

“Uhm, well, to tell you the truth, I have no idea.” Bilbo admitted with a shrug, trying his best to look casual about it, though his mind was going into overdrive. ‘What a bloody logical question! Should’ve seen that coming, Bilbo, definitively should’ve seen that coming. What the hell are you going to-’

Smaug stopped his internal berating session with an irritated whip of his tail. “That is the most honest you have been since you entered,” the great dragon commented flatly, “and yet it does not please me the slightest. Not even the Valar know what you know, Barrel-rider. You possess knowledge beyond the creators themselves, beyond your own comprehension, and more importantly, beyond my death.”

Bilbo watched with apprehension as Smaug closed in on him again, feeling like herded cattle as he stumbled backward onto a pile of gold. “You will ride on my back and carry the Arkenstone for all to see.” Smaug demanded, sounding highly disgruntled. “Your presence should render the armies too dumbfounded to retaliate.” Bilbo smiled wanly, seriously doubting it would be his presence that rendered the spectators too flabbergasted to act, but he was not going to argue about details.

And then the implication of Smaug’s words struck him. “So we have a deal?” the hobbit asked disbelievingly, trying hard to ignore all thoughts of the death and destruction that was sure to come; that he may or may not have escalated to disastrous proportions. If there were even the slightest possibility that Smaug’s interference could save them, he was willing to try, though trusting a dragon would definitively be his make-or-break move in the upcoming war.

“I will decimate the armies of the goblins and wargs for you, and the price is my survival. I will keep the damage inflicted upon your allies to a minimum, for the price of Thorin Oakenshield’s greatest treasure.” Smaug bowed his head down to Bilbo’s level. “My only demand is that you ride on my back with the Arkenstone.”

Bilbo nodded tersely. “You have my word,” he swore with a shiver, feeling like he had just consented to his own undoing.

“Then you have my gratitude, Barrel-rider.” Smaug bared his teeth in a wicked grin. “You have no idea how much I relish in the mere thought of what I am about to put Oakenshield through.”

On the day Bilbo had previously stolen the Arkenstone and given it to Bard and Thranduil as leverage against an unreasonable Thorin, Bilbo had instead performed an enthusiastic soliloquy in front of a thrush of the old, hoping the bird would share with Bard the generous offer Bilbo had seemingly proclaimed to a small rock. The thrush had immediately flown away when Bilbo had stopped talking to give it a pointed stare, and the hobbit had been reluctantly impressed.

The company had the Lonely Mountain to themselves now as Smaug had hidden himself away somewhere. Bilbo had no idea how on earth the great dragon had managed that, but he had done as instructed and told the company that Smaug was gone. When the dwarves had dared venture inside to inspect, none of them had found evidence of anything suggesting otherwise and had promptly dismissed Smaug’s existence, which had made Bilbo very skittish.

Thorin had been enthralled by the vast treasure hoard, but in his defence, so had the rest of the company. Bilbo’s stomach had dropped when the hunt for the Arkenstone had begun almost immediately upon entry. History was repeating itself, but this time, his betrayal would be unforgivable.

Bard, on behalf of the Master of Lake-town, and Thranduil had come with their armies to demand compensation when the rumours of their successful quest had spread. Thorin had decided to be difficult about it, just like expected, and Bilbo grew more alarmed each day as he watched everything silently unfolding from the sidelines.

Somewhere out there in the darkness, two more armies were advancing and Bilbo didn’t want to risk placating Bard or Thranduil to the point where they would withdraw their armies prematurely, which was why he had given Thorin the chance to at least attempt to organise civilised meetings between the three parties involved. It hadn’t happened though and Bilbo had been forced to send the thrush with his message to Bard, hoping it would make the two leaders more inclined to join forces with the dwarves. Not that the hobbit doubted the power of survival instinct, but it would hopefully help smooth things over before the post-war gatherings.

Gandalf should have warned Dain, Thranduil and Bard about the advancing armies and called for a meeting by now. War would be upon them soon and Bilbo could only hope that Smaug would keep his word and be reasonable about it. The dragon understood intentions very well, but it wouldn’t surprise Bilbo if Smaug would choose to ignore it, or twist the words of promise into something foul and destructive, though Bilbo could do nothing but improvise whatever happened from here on out.

The hobbit tugged on the coat of mithril self-consciously before clutching the familiar gold through the fabric of his vest, feeling decidedly unhappy with himself as he waited for news. When Thorin had offered him the mithril coat with great reverence, Bilbo had tried to decline because the guilt was killing him, but Thorin had been adamant and the hobbit found himself once again dressed in armour worth more than the entire Shire combined. Bilbo was thankful though, seeing the fine point that the mithril coat would help if anyone tried to pepper him with arrows while on Smaug’s back, though it was a small comfort in the face of imminent war.

“Bilbo?”

“Thorin?” Bilbo couldn’t keep the wonder out of his voice as he turned around. It wouldn’t be long now until Bilbo would know if his plan had worked or not, would know if Thorin and his nephews would still be breathing next week, or perish in dragon fire so Bilbo would learn a lesson in when to call it quits. It made his heart ache not knowing if any meeting with the dwarf king would be the last one.

Thorin’s expression softened. “Bilbo,” he repeated with unhidden fondness and the hobbit was stunned.

“Do you need anything?” he asked tentatively and watched as Thorin closed his eyes, looking strained for a brief second. “I can help-”

“Peace, Bilbo, I only wished to see you.” Thorin cut in and the hobbit blinked expectantly. “I understand it’s been a long journey for you, for all of us, and you must miss the Shire terribly. However, I was hoping you would consider staying in Erebor with us to rest through the winter.” Thorin paused, trying to gauge his reaction. “Smaug is gone, and we will start restoring Erebor as soon as the matter with Thranduil and Bard is resolved. Dain and I have been corresponding, and my cousin should be here any moment now to aid us.” Thorin sounded confident and Bilbo fought down a sigh. Honestly, the stubbornness of dwarves would be an eternal conundrum to him.

“I would like that,” Bilbo began and Thorin rewarded him with one of his rare smiles, “but I am worried about the matter with Bard and Thranduil. As I’ve already explained to you and the company, I really did promise them a half each of my share of the treasure, and it would be rude and not very respectable of me to go back on my word.”

Thorin’s gentle expression disappeared in an instant and his chest rumbled in displeasure. “Such sacrifices will not be necessary, Bilbo. Although I appreciate your concern for our wellbeing.”

Bilbo just pursed his lips in silent frustration. “That is also something I tried to tell you, Thorin. Hobbits don’t need a fourteenth share of Erebor’s treasures. I have everything I need to live a comfortable life in my smial already. And if my share of the treasure could be used to ease relations between Erebor, Mirkwood and Lake-town, then I would call that treasure well spent.” ‘Because I want to lessen your burden,’ Bilbo wanted to add, but he held his tongue.

Thorin looked equally bothered but he put his large hands down gently on Bilbo’s shoulders. “I admire you, burglar, and sometimes you talk as if you really do have the solutions to all of my problems, but you have done so much for me, us, already. I would loathe to see you give up anything else on my account, not when I can provide for us both.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to respond, but found he was too moved to say anything in a steady voice, because the only thing he could think about was his betrayal and how Thorin deserved so much more than that from him. Meanwhile, Thorin was squeezing his shoulders affectionately, looking a bit flustered but quite content as Bilbo got back on track. “Provide for us? I don’t un-”

“Thorin! We got an urgent message from Dain!” Balin shouted as he came sprinting, causing Bilbo to jump out of Thorin’s hold. The two of them were gone in the blink of an eye and Bilbo was left behind in silence, the urgent voice of Balin’s rapid speaking faded as they walked away. Bilbo didn’t need to hear them to know what was going to happen now, though how he was going to find Smaug was beyond him, but first things first.

Straightening his vest, Bilbo headed off in the opposite direction to his room, for the Arkenstone. He had hidden the gemstone in his pillowcase, surprised the fabric was thick enough to hide the otherworldly glow, and even more surprised by the fact that he had a pillow at all. Thorin had offered it to him on the first night the company had attempted to sleep inside of Erebor, with a few mumbled words about hobbits and their comforts, and it had taken a pleased Bilbo two nights to realise no one else in the company had pillow-bragging rights.

Pocketing the stone, Bilbo took one last cursory glance at his impromptu bedroom, before sweeping out to join the rest of the company. He found them at the front gate, where Smaug had once done a great number on the surrounding structure, and the realisation made him shudder. How many would be saved if the dragon actually came to their aid for the battle? How many would perish later instead, on the dragon’s whim? Bilbo didn’t know, and it was destroying him from the inside out.

The entire company was donning new, shining armour, for once looking like the King’s Men they were. Thorin and Balin were talking quietly with their backs turned and the two of them looked powerful together. Fili and Kili had secluded themselves in the opposite corner with Dwalin, all three of them with austere expressions as they double-checked the state of the weapons picked up from an armoury two levels down. The rest of the company had huddled together on a pile of rocks and used the biggest ones for seating.

Upon his arrival, Ori waved him over when he spotted Bilbo over his scripts, to the welcoming grunts of his brothers. Bifur gave him a firm slap on the back as he sat down, accompanied by an encouraging noise, while Bofur and Bombur just inclined their heads in greeting. Bilbo smiled politely, feeling more and more nervous as the silence dragged on.

“Goblins and wargs are approaching Erebor. Dain’s army will be fighting with Lake-town-men on the eastern spur of the Mountain. Bard is the official leader now that the Master’s disappeared; happened as soon as war was inevitable.” Bofur spoke to no one in particular, but Bilbo was pretty sure everyone else already knew and appreciated the update. “Thorin doesn’t want to join the battle and Balin is trying to change his mind. Fili and Kili are under Dwalin’s watchful eyes because the two of them almost tore down the mountain walls bare-handed in their haste to aid kin.”

As screeching noises reached his ears, Bilbo realised with heavy dread that the bat-cloud had descended upon them. “It’s begun.” Gloin stated unnecessarily as he looked to Dwalin. Fili, Kili and Dwalin had finished their inspection and were eyeing the company expectantly. As one, everyone rose and took up arms, selecting weapons most suited to them.

“You can’t deny them their right to fight for kin because your-” Balin’s voice rose uncharacteristically, but he cut himself off when he met the panicked look of Thorin. The rest of the dwarves sported different looks of sympathy and wariness as they turned to eye the commotion.

Thorin closed his eyes. “Operate the levers of the gate, Balin,” he conceded and the old dwarf left with a curt bow. “Bombur, find the war horn.” The cook had never scampered off so fast before. “Bilbo, a word in private,” Thorin requested and waved for him to follow. The rest of the company spread out to help with preparations, but Fili and Kili were eyeing their uncle nervously.

“Uncle…” Kili started hesitantly, looking mightily worried.

“Not now, Kili. With me, Bilbo.” Thorin overruled, throwing Kili a warning look. Bilbo didn’t dare object and followed Thorin, glancing apologetically at the young dwarf as he passed. Bilbo was led to the treasure room where he had encountered Smaug, and he couldn’t suppress the shudder as he imagined the great dragon shooting up from all the gold and killing Thorin in one fell swoop.

The dwarf king took him to the very back of the room, and now that Bilbo wasn’t worrying about fire-breathing dragons, he noticed an indent in the wall that looked suspiciously like the outline of a door. He didn’t notice how Thorin did it, but the door slid open on its own with a great rumble as they approached. Peeking inside, Bilbo was surprised to see a sparsely refurbished room with a surprising amount of furniture. It looked like a cot in the middle of the mountain, with three beds with side tables, a kitchen table and chairs, storage chests, rugs, a nicely carved closet and a kitchenette in one corner.

“My grandfather had it made for us in case an enemy managed to breach the mountain. It was a temporary solution, but this was an emergency rendezvous point for us children, though we never got to use it. He was a kind man before the gold sickness took him, worried about his family a lot.” Thorin explained as he dragged Bilbo inside with him, lighting two torches on the wall before pulling Bilbo to his side with unbridled tenderness. “Bilbo, I want you to stay here until I come back.”

“What?” the hobbit whirled to face him. “Thorin, I’ll be fine! I have to-”

“You have done enough. I cannot ask more from you. Stay here where you will be safe.” The firm voice and gentle hand on his cheek did nothing to deter Bilbo.

“No, I really have to go. Everyone else is out there! You don’t know what will happen if I don’t-”

“You cannot be on the battlefield! It would be the death of me!” Thorin growled as he took Bilbo gently by the shoulders and looked at him imploringly, but Bilbo had lost all speech in his panic. Did Thorin know what he had done? ‘He can’t possibly know!’

“You will stay here and that’s final.” Thorin finished, turning for the door, but Bilbo desperately grabbed onto his hand before he could leave.

“You can’t leave me here to hide like a coward,” he argued quietly, knowing how dwarves valued bravery and loyalty above all other character traits. The company would laugh at him if he hid here, and more importantly, Bilbo had people he needed to save.

“You’re not hiding here like a coward, Bilbo.” Thorin denied softly. “I’m the one hiding you here like a coward.” And before Bilbo could gather himself to respond, the stoic dwarf had already disappeared and the door was firmly back in its place.

“Thorin!” Bilbo ran and pushed at the door, looking around desperately for anything that could be a lever. After what felt like ages of fruitless searching, Bilbo hit the door once in frustration as he sank down on the floor. “Thorin! Let me out this instant or I-”

“You won’t be doing much good behind there, Barrel-rider. The war is already upon us, the gate has fallen, and your… friends are facing death.” Smaug taunted slowly. Bilbo blinked disbelievingly as he heard the familiar slither of scales upon hoards of treasure. “May I suggest you step away from the door, hmm?” And Bilbo had barely time to throw himself at the opposite end of the room before the door crumbled in a roar of falling debris.

“Smaug!” Bilbo said in awe as he crawled over the remnants of the door.

“Do you have the Arkenstone?” Bilbo flicked his vest to the side to let the white glimmer show and Smaug nodded his head approvingly. “Then on my back you go, Barrel-rider. We have an army to kill,” he proclaimed, baring his teeth in anticipation. “You will of course point out this Bolg for me.”

Bilbo seated himself above the dragon’s wings, continuously testing his precarious hold on Smaug’s neck as the great dragon moved. Bilbo felt the muscles ripple and tense as Smaug prepared to crash through the gate and hopefully surprise most of the goblins and wargs to death instantly. Taking a firm hold, Bilbo braced himself against the scaly neck and kept his head down as the dragon gained speed.

Crashing through the gate with a loud roar, Smaug fried a great deal of the bats in his ascent to the skies, continuously breathing fire. As the great dragon turned to look down at the armies, Bilbo also sneaked a peak to survey the battlefield. The Men, Elves and Dwarves had taken positions on the southern and eastern spurs, leaving the goblins and wargs to enter the valley between the arms of the Mountain. Bilbo knew that the sheer number of enemies would soon overrun them, and that Thorin, Fili and Kili would be mortally wounded before the Great Eagles and Beorn could join in the fray.

“I see Bolg!” Bilbo shouted to be heard over the sound of massive wings at work. “He’s the tall one on the white warg, with the big goblin on foot shielding him.” ‘Duh,’ his brain commented when Bilbo actually noticed how much Bolg stood out from the rest of the goblins, making it fairly obvious that he was the leader. Smaug didn’t ask for any more details either, his sight sharper than the hobbit’s, and the entire battlefield had frozen up on the sight of the dragon, which made it easier to search. Bilbo could easily distinguish the armour of the company from the rest of armies and it worried him immensely how much they stood out.

“Hold up the Arkenstone, Barrel-rider. I want the dwarves to remember that the Lonely Mountain belongs to me.” Smaug demanded, angling his wings as he fell into a swoop, chest rumbling as he prepared to breathe fire. Bilbo clutched the Arkenstone so hard his fingers went numb, praying to all the Valar and beyond that Thorin and the company had the decency to draw back from Bolg when a great dragon had zeroed in on his head.

Bilbo found it quite anti-climactic really, but he supposed he shouldn’t have expected any other outcome when there was a dragon literally breathing down the necks of goblins and wargs. Bolg had been burned to a crisp without even turning to run, too stunned to act, and no bodyguard could save him from the wrath of a dragon scorned. Bilbo had no intention of ever setting Smaug straight about that, especially not since he remembered Bard fondly and felt no remorse for getting Bolg killed in his stead.

The goblins and wargs had scattered upon the realisation that Smaug had something against them personally, as the dragon ignored the Dwarves, Elves and Men, although he hardly showed any penitence when the other races got caught in his fire or pushed over cliffs and edges by the force of his wings. It didn’t matter. Smaug’s appearance and obvious favouritism had rallied the armies of Dain, Bard and Thranduil. As soon as the dragon had turned his head in another direction, the three armies were pressuring the enemies from all sides and hunting down those retreating with a vengeance.

It didn’t take long for things to quiet down, or maybe it did, and Bilbo was just a bit out of it. He had tried to keep an eye on the company, despite knowing that he had to trust them to take care of themselves because any request to save dwarves would probably make Smaug go ballistic. The company seemed to be doing well, though all of them had a lot of blood on their armour and some were limping or moving a bit awkwardly. They were all standing though, Thorin and Dain back-to-back, and Bilbo had never felt more relieved before in his life, despite being precariously balanced on the back of a dragon.

Then it dawned on Bilbo that Smaug had stopped his attack and was currently hovering. The only thing Bilbo could hear was the sound of beating wings and the occasional pained groan of injured warriors. Lifting his head from the strong neck, Bilbo was surprised to find himself so close to the ground that he could read quite plainly the horror on the faces of everyone in the company. Thorin had never looked so pale before and Kili seemed like he was trying his damned hardest to figure out if he could get Bilbo safely down on solid ground with a well-placed arrow. Dwalin and Fili had such stormy looks that said they didn’t particularly care about the details of which weapon to use, and were more inclined to go against the dragon bare-handed in their fury. Nori and Dori had taken protective stances in front of Ori, and Oin and Gloin had huddled together a bit, swords at the ready. Bofur and Bombur were holding Bifur back by the shoulders, trying to calm him down and not draw attention to themselves at the same time. Balin stood off to the side, frowning up at Bilbo and the dragon with scrutiny, undoubtedly trying to make sense of everything.

“Thorin Oakenshield! I hear you are here to reclaim your home. For what price, I wonder?” Smaug thundered for all to hear, making a noise in the back of his throat that sounded to Bilbo like a cross between a snort and a chuckle. “The little Barrel-rider made a generous offer in exchange for my aid.” Smaug’s expression turned sinister, making most warriors who could see his twisted expression take a cautious step back. “Now I have all the treasures you will ever care for in my possession and I will destroy them! The Lonely Mountain belongs to me. Begone before I return!” the dragon warned and took off, leaving Bilbo to desperately latch on lest he would fall.

Thorin’s painfully contorted face would forever be etched into Bilbo’s memory. He was sorely tempted to drop the Arkenstone as an apology to the company, but Smaug had upheld his part of the bargain and Bilbo could do no less. Hopefully Thorin, Dain, Bard and Thranduil would use the time wisely to plan a joint attack on Smaug upon his return, keeping his fingers crossed that Bard had spotted the vulnerable, bare patch on the dragon’s left chest. Then Thorin would have at least reclaimed Erebor. With Smaug dead, no one had objected to Dain on the throne, and Bilbo hoped the same would apply to Thorin, even without the Arkenstone.

Contemplating the endless outcomes of his dragon predicament, Bilbo barely had time to recognise Lake-town as it spread out underneath him before, to his horror, Smaug started breathing fire, sweeping over the town and not moving on until most of it was aflame. Men, women and children were in the water, trying to keep afloat and reach the shores. Bilbo was relieved that Smaug didn’t seem to mind them much, aiming for the town structures instead, but it seemed like a small mercy.

“Lake-town must burn! My hate for dwarves extends to their every friend and acquaintance.” Smaug said tartly, and Bilbo was surprised the dragon bothered explaining his actions at all, but his statement raised some dangerous questions and that might have been what the dragon was aiming for.

“Yet you made a deal with me.”

Smaug really did snicker then, obviously smug, before he snarled: “You are a treasure! The greatest treasure of all was gifted to Dwarves by their Maker, and for those blessed, a One outshines all else.” The dragon twisted his neck to look at Bilbo menacingly. “You are the other half of a Dwarven soul, Barrel-rider, and you belong with Oakenshield. If you die, he fades.”

“I see…” Bilbo replied, though he really wished he didn’t. “And what will you do now?” he asked with feigned calm, feeling unsettled as his gut screamed at him that he would doubtlessly dislike the answer.

“I will enjoy your death immensely, One of Oakenshield.”

‘Oh, bugger all,’ Bilbo’s mind quipped as he tightened his hold on Smaug and ducked his head when the dragon accelerated. The Lonely Mountain was only a sight in the far distance now, and Bilbo had no idea how to get home, though to be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to. A little voice in his head told him he was going to be killed thirteen times over if he showed his face to the company ever again, dead or alive notwithstanding.

“Might as well make it work.” Bilbo muttered glumly to himself. At least he could find comfort in the fact that even though he was leaving Thorin (who apparently could not live without him) behind on a desolate mountain to sort out post-war nuptials and whatnot (so Bilbo could soar off to die somewhere on the back of a great dragon), Smaug was at least headed in the general direction of Mordor.

Chapter Text

Dwarves hoard treasures to compensate for the longing of a One. Those blessed with a One will have found a new treasure, the greatest of them all: a permanent keeper of a Dwarf heart. To let your One go would be like spitting on the very essence that Mahal passed on to his creation:
devotion,
admiration,
and possessiveness.

It was very official now: circumspection wasn’t Bilbo’s strong suit. He was going to die before anyone could say "discombobulated”. The wind was merciless, going through his clothes and straight through his very being, leaving him chilled and miserable. Pressing even closer to the dragon’s neck, Bilbo hoped he could save his fingers and ears from the worst of it, because he already felt a bit numb.

Trying to consider his options, Bilbo doubted Sting would have fared well against a great dragon, or any dragon for that matter, but even if he had had the option of pissing off his ride enough to take a swan dive with nothing but the grace of the Valar, the hobbit would have been too frozen to reach for the sword anyway. Another issue would have been the matter of staying balanced on the back of a dragon, fighting said dragon, and surviving that encounter. While the sword wouldn’t have been an option, at least not a safe one, Bilbo still felt a longing to have Sting within his reach. While Sting hadn’t actually been in use since their travel through Mirkwood, it had become a soothing presence at his hip that had recently started reminding him of Thorin.

The company leader had insisted that their smallest member be armed at all times, and Thorin had even gotten Bilbo into the habit of always sleeping with Sting within arm’s reach. All of this had of course happened after the stubborn dwarf king had warmed up to him. Bilbo had had limited contact with Thorin before Lake-town, and even less so during the events leading up to their brief respite at the Carrock. Unfortunately, Thorin wasn’t here to help Bilbo out of this pickle, and neither was Sting. The hobbit had to sort out the delicate matter of staying airborne all the way to Mordor by himself.

Bilbo hadn’t studied a map well enough to know the exact distance between The Lonely Mountain and Mount Doom, having only vague memories to go on, but Smaug was covering a lot of ground quickly, and the hobbit surmised that keeping the dragon flying straight for maybe six or seven hours should at least reward him with a glimpse of the mountain on the horizon. And that right there was his big conundrum, wasn’t it? ‘How to earn your stay on the back of a great dragon?’

Smaug was… insane, though Bilbo could sympathise because he knew he would have gone mad too if he had to live such a solitary life. Even a dragon like Smaug must have been lonely from time to time, or was that too presumptuous? But the arrogant dragon wouldn’t have had a lot of opportunities to manipulate or brag about his many feats when there were no one around to listen. The thought reminded Bilbo of the dragon’s intelligence and sardonic humour. Such characteristics would have been something Bilbo could learn to appreciate in a friend, assuming his friend couldn’t breathe fire or wasn't almost impervious to any pointy ends. But to assume such a friendship might be reciprocated… ‘Is it possible, to hope against all hope, that Smaug might feel a tad forgotten?’ Bilbo inspected the blood-red scales under his fingertips thoughtfully. ‘Only one way to find out.’

“You should just let me fall here, O Emperor of Skies.” Bilbo announced suddenly with bravado. “My presence must be bothering your wings, and if I am to die, I want it to be as painless as possible.”

Smaug actually dignified his proclamation with a turn of his head to scrutinise him. “In a rush to die, Barrel-rider?” he rumbled, sounding amused. “You would do well not to underestimate my wings. You will fall when I will it.”

“I apologise, O Magnificent One, for making such assumptions.” Bilbo pulled a contrite expression even though Smaug wasn’t looking at him anymore. “I enjoy the view immensely, and am grateful for however long you let me live.”

“As you should be.” Smaug sniffed, seemingly placated for now. “How much have you seen of the world, Barrel-rider?” he continued conversationally, and Bilbo was sorely tempted to give his “Smaug is really just lonely”-theory some actual credit. If he could make his company enjoyable all the way to Mordor, his quest to destroy the Ring would become a whole lot easier.

“I haven’t seen more than where this adventure ended up taking me: From the comforts of my home in the Shire, to the beautiful elven-realm of Rivendell, over the treacherous Misty Mountains, through the mysterious forest of Mirkwood, and then to where it all ends, at the Lonely Mountain…” Bilbo almost trailed off, but plowed on when Smaug turned to look at him, inquisitive of the hobbit’s silence. “On my travels, I heard of a great mountain in Mordor. You, as an esteemed presence on Middle-Earth since time itself, might deign to shed light on something that was once mentioned on my travels: Was it truly the source of a great evil?” he ventured, hoping he had caught Smaug in a talkative mood.

‘As if I don't know it already,’ his mind quipped balefully. Bilbo could already feel the effects of the Ring on him, as if something heavy was circling him, ready to permeate his very skin in a moment of weakness. It wasn’t painful, but it left him feeling uncomfortable and restless. He knew the unpleasantness would eventually give way to intrigue, a weird sort of comfort, and a sense of ownership, but if Bilbo had his way, the Ring would be destroyed before it came to that.

“Mount Doom is indeed aptly named, and certainly not a sight you would ever seek out willingly, not even on an adventure.” Smaug responded thoughtfully. “I cannot think of a reason why anyone would want to tear into such old wounds set upon these lands eons ago.”

“I would very much like to see it.” Bilbo argued as he attempted to get a better grasp on the scales underneath his chilled fingers, surprised and slightly scared out of his wits when his only means of travel lurched at his words.

“I thought you were mad to make a deal with me to help your little friends, but I see now that the extent of your madness exceeds even my expectations!” The hobbit wasn't sure whether Smaug sounded amused or intrigued. “Pray tell, Barrel-rider, what do you hope to accomplish there?”

Bilbo thought about it. “There is something I want destroyed permanently before I die, and I hear Mount Doom has magical properties.” Smaug was finally back on a steady course and Bilbo eased his grip slightly. “Destructive magical properties,” the hobbit amended with an afterthought.

“Destruction in and of itself is neither good nor evil. It is merely a necessity. A part of nature that comes in many shapes and forms.” Smaug turned his head to scrutinise him. “Mount Doom is pure evil, Barrel-rider. I am sure there are hundreds of other methods that could do the job in its stead.”

‘And that response just isn't going to cut it, now is it?’ Bilbo thought with a frown. He needed to get to Mount Doom, and he was determined to get there. Smaug was going to get invested enough to take him to that blasted mountain, even if it was the last thing he did! ‘It most likely is,’ his mind added flatly, and Bilbo did not appreciate the candour. “I am in possession of a ring… the Ring.” Bilbo blurted out, looking apprehensive but determined. “And I have heard that when it comes to the Ring, there is only one method that can deal with it permanently.”

For one terrifying moment, Bilbo thought for sure that Smaug was going to throw him right off, as the hobbit suddenly found himself descending quite rapidly and a bit too steeply to feel entirely comfortable. However, while the landing was not particularly pleasant, Bilbo could appreciate still being alive, unharmed, not yet frozen solid, and finally back on firm ground once more.

“Show me.” Smaug commanded, leaving no room for argument as far as Bilbo was concerned. The dragon was eyeing him closely, and the hobbit could only describe the expression as sheer rapture. Swallowing loudly, Bilbo opened the top buttons of his vest with feigned calm, while trying inconspicuously to look for an escape. Nothing really stood out to him. They had landed on an open plain with no possible cover in sight. ‘Bugger all,’ he thought as he fumbled for the Ring from his inner pocket, careful to keep his mithril coat hidden as he searched. His entire being was protesting the movement as Bilbo carefully extended his arm. The Ring was breathtaking where it lay in the palm of his hand. Smaug was obviously enraptured and Bilbo was quick to speak. “Let us make another deal.”

“Really now? And what could you offer me this time, hmm?” The dragon's tail twitched in what Bilbo could only assume was pure delight, as Smaug was hovering over his still outstretched hand, clearly fixated on the Ring.

“Fly me to Mount Doom. Get me there, and I will give you anything.”

“Anything?” Smaug shouted. “Now that is a fine deal! You speak dangerous words indeed,” he declared gleefully as he twisted his body around Bilbo, trapping him. “Will you let me scorch the earth of your precious Shire? Let me reclaim my mountain, and sleep on the charred remains of your little friends? How about I claw out that delicate dwarf heart of your beloved, and share it with you for a lovely supper?” Bilbo winced with every sentence. “Will you let me do all that, Barrel-rider?” Smaug hissed, pinning him with an intense look.

Bilbo had to do this… He had to say yes. Nothing was more important than saving Frodo. Of course nothing could be more important. Yet when he opened his mouth, the affirmative words would not pass his lips, and soon he found himself shaking with indecision. “I… How far are we from the mountain?” Bilbo inquired with a nervous laugh. “Maybe I should just walk-” he trailed off uncertainly. Smaug snorted somewhere above him derisively, and Bilbo could not hide his trembling as he felt the puff of air wash over him.

“That ring is… exquisite. I am intrigued. However…” Bilbo could hear the dragon sniffing the air as he spoke. “I can feel its power like a deceptive lull in the air. The undoing of all Ring-bearers. It is chilling.” Smaug’s upper lip curled in contempt as he eyed the Ring still resting in Bilbo’s palm. Releasing something that resembled a sigh, Smaug unfurled himself from Bilbo and withdrew to a more respectable distance. Now, Bilbo was not an ignorant hobbit anymore, and knew very well that there was no such thing as a safe distance from Smaug, but he found himself breathing a bit easier regardless.

“On my back you go, Barrel-rider.” Smaug said, lowering himself closer to the ground with an expectant look.

Bilbo’s head snapped up. “You-”

“I make no promises, but I must admit this is bemusing.” Smaug interjected as Bilbo pocketed the Ring and scrambled to get up on his back again. Bilbo had a nagging feeling that he should definitely check with Smaug if accepting this ride was the same as accepting the terms the dragon has listed earlier, but for some reason the only words to pass his lips were: “thank you.”

“What? No flattery?” Smaug mocked as he took off, but for once, Bilbo felt totally at ease. “Your name isn't really Barrel-rider, is it?” the dragon continued, looking genuinely curious as he turned his head, and Bilbo threw his head back with a hearty laugh.

“Bilbo Baggins at your service,” he said with a flourish.

“Bilbo Baggins.” Smaug echoed. “You are a curious one,” the dragon stated, but left it at that, and Bilbo could do nothing but quietly agree.

They lapsed into silence, and it took Bilbo a while before he realised he had lost track of time. Under him was a wide expanse of green plains, and a sharp longing for the Shire welled up within him, but soon it was replaced with arid patches of dirt and rocks. As he was observing the land moving beneath them and trying to orientate himself, the hobbit became keenly aware of not feeling any of his fingers, at all. As Bilbo was studying his hands and quietly trying to name the shade of blue his little finger was currently sporting, Smaug turned around to look at him again. It was a bit unnerving how the dragon stared without saying anything.

Suddenly, in front of Bilbo’s very eyes, Smaug’s red scales started glowing a warm hue and the hobbit thought he was surely hallucinating when his palms got that tingly feeling associated with sleeping limbs reawakening. Bilbo leaned forward in his surprise and put his cheek on the scales, almost certain he must be imagining things. Smaug’s entire body was warm to the touch, and he pressed himself closer, soaking up the gentle heat.

“Thank you. I didn’t know dragons could do that.” The hobbit said eventually, after most of his limbs had regained some feeling.

“To warm our young.” Smaug explained. “Their scales take time to develop and are not impervious to temperatures during their first year.” Bilbo suddenly felt like he was privy to a well-kept secret. But instead of prying, he opted for a safer option. “That seems like a most useful ability. It would have been helpful indeed in the Shire. It can become quite cold on winter mornings.”

“Yet I am certain you would rather be at home on a winter morning than here on my back,” was the almost teasing response, and Bilbo nodded enthusiastically because nothing had ever rung truer in his ears. The smial was a lovely option compared to what he was currently stuck doing, but what he was doing was also an unavoidable necessity that would save his nephew a lot of trouble. And Bilbo felt that despite his missteps getting here, his situation was not looking too grim anymore, if the more amicable mood was anything to go by.

“I am an unusual one, as us hobbits never go on adventures. We are content to listen to the tales of wanderers, both the fabricated or the exaggerated. It’s all delightful really…”

“But it is not enough for you.”

The hobbit looked crestfallen at the dragon's surprisingly gentle probing, relieved that Smaug seemed too focused on something beneath them to notice. He didn’t know how to explain his emotions adequately to someone who had lived for centuries and probably thought him droll no matter how he worded himself. “It was enough…” he dragged on it. “In the beginning…” Bilbo trailed off distractedly.

“You met him,” Smaug said matter-of-factly.

“I met them,” the hobbit corrected with a thoughtful frown. “I came to know them, and it wasn’t like this the last time. That I can remember at least. It was more… straightforward, I suppose. Not all these feelings.”

“For you, this bond can be anything, or nothing even. But for a dwarf, it is everything.” Smaug turned his head. “If you showed no interest when you first met, the dwarf might have decided to try his luck after reclaiming my mountain. To woo you with my treasures.” Smaug sneered at the thought, but made no further comment.

Bilbo blinked owlishly as he mulled the words over in his head. It was weird to hear the great dragon trying to explain the actions of the stubborn dwarf king, though such an allegation would probably have been haughtily denied. He supposed Smaug might be on to something, it certainly fit his impression of Thorin, but it still seemed so farfetched. The hobbit had never been on the receiving end of such absolute affection before. It was intimidating, but also thrilling. It had made his stomach flutter and his toes curl whenever Thorin had lavished him with special attention, but to call it love? That was preposterous! ‘Or at the very least unlikely, but not impossible’ his mind amended quietly, and for once, Bilbo found himself listening and wishing there was a scintilla of truth to what the voice in his head was saying.

“What else did you see? Other than my death, that is.” Smaug asked after Bilbo had been silent in thought for some time.

“I saw only death, the death of thousands, including Thorin’s.” Just saying the words out loud made Bilbo uncomfortable and nauseated, but Smaug seemed to sense how uneasy it made him and had the decency not to pry. Bilbo found that oddly touching, especially coming from a great dragon that could easily force him to say or do anything at the moment.

In the silence that followed, Bilbo wondered what his other self had thought of Thorin, as in truly thought of him. It had been hard to tell because the emotions had been so muffled when he had dreamt it. He had felt grief, no doubt, but he couldn’t tell if the other him had been grieving a friend or maybe something more. He doubted it was anything but platonic, because from what he had seen, Thorin and him had never been together in a romantic sense at all. And Bilbo found it odd that an expressive dwarf such a Thorin would be capable of hiding a deep-running emotion such as love. But maybe it was supposed to be different this time. To see what could have been if everyone had survived. Regardless of all the possible outcomes between him and Thorin, Bilbo found himself feeling curious about what could have been.

“Bilbo, you can see Mount Doom from here.” Smaug announced after a while, and the hobbit was pulled from his thoughts of the future in an instant. The dragon was right, as there was no mistaking the now black, rocky landscape underneath them or the towering, smoking mountain that was quickly becoming bigger on the horizon. To Bilbo, it really seemed to be screaming doom, and he conceded that the mountain had indeed been aptly named.

As they approached, Smaug descended cautiously. He had told Bilbo that Mordor had been abandoned a long time ago, but one could never be too careful when stepping into the dark shadows cast by the mountain. Eventually Smaug landed on the mountainside, right next to a wide plateau with an impressive archway leading inside. Bilbo was tempted to comment on how straightforward and easy this was all becoming, and maybe even make a quip about how he should have gotten himself a dragon sooner, when the Ring in his pocket suddenly felt like it was pulsating. Even Smaug’s head whipped around as Bilbo dismounted, staring at the Ring as though he could see it clearly through his clothes.

Before any of them could talk, the mountain itself started rumbling, leaving the small hobbit to hold onto Smaug’s side as he tried to keep his footing. It was over as quick as it had begun, but Bilbo was left with a sense of absolute dread. Something felt wrong, like a presence was squeezing on his insides, and it left him short of breath. Before he could even think to take a step towards the archway, the ominous presence had moved from his innards to loom over his shoulder, and Bilbo almost crumbled in fright. He knew Smaug was behind him, but Smaug had never given him the shivers like this, not even when the hobbit had been trying to recruit him back in Erebor’s grand treasure room.

Bilbo turned slowly, trying frantically to control his breathing. Behind Smaug, a dark, blurry shadow was hovering in the air in the distinct shape of a man, though it looked taller than the men Bilbo had seen in Bree. Before Bilbo could ask Smaug if he too could see the fuzzy humanoid, the shadow had moved closer and with a flick of a thin, ghostly hand, a roaring ball of fire was suddenly hurling towards them. Without even turning, Smaug’s wing shot out to take the blast, unwittingly protecting Bilbo in the process, or so the hobbit thought. Bilbo released a breath that he didn’t know he had been holding, and blinked rapidly as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. ‘A sorcerer?’ Bilbo had heard of wizards obviously, but he had only ever spoken to Gandalf, and that old man was so amicable, the hobbit often forgot he was talking to someone who was ancient.

Next to him, Smaug stretched lazily before turning around with a sharp, assessing look. The hobbit felt the sudden urge to shout, to tell Smaug they should make a run for it, but the dragon would probably have hated the ruckus that would have caused, and considering they were up against a floating wizard, Bilbo didn’t think they stood much of a chance running anyway.

“I will hold it here.” Smaug rumbled, using his tail to gently nudge Bilbo towards the archway. His voice sounded grave, and the hobbit felt like he was missing something crucial. Without thought, Bilbo pressed against the Ring with a clenched fist, realising it felt slightly hot to the touch, though that could be just his imagination at this point. It was as though his own senses couldn’t be trusted anymore. Everything seemed wrong to him somehow, deceptive, but he didn’t need anymore encouragement from Smaug to take him up on his offer to run.

Without a word, the hobbit turned and ran for the sanctum of the mountain. Behind him, it sounded as if the world had erupted into continuous explosions, and he could definitely feel heat crashing up like waves behind him. He didn’t dare to turn around and look. Bilbo wasn’t dead yet, so it seemed like Smaug was able to keep that thing at bay, which wasn’t that surprising perhaps, considering fire shouldn’t be able to damage a dragon much, but maybe a sorcerer’s fire would be different, and then Bilbo found himself worrying. The thought that Smaug was doing this for him, for his mission, was making the hobbit’s heart ache a bit.

As soon as Bilbo had passed the archway, he realised the path he had to run wasn’t long, yet he cursed his short legs, as he felt like his running was getting him nowhere. The world around him had gone quiet, oddly so, and the terrible noises he had heard outside sounded so far away now. Bilbo was out of breath and standing on shaky legs by the time he was peering into the lava below. He was too warm and uncomfortable, and the Ring was weighing him down, causing him to stand hunched over as he took in the bubbling sea of fire below him.

He could end this.

Smaug had given him his chance.

Bilbo fiddled with his pockets in an attempt to grasp the Ring. As soon as his fingers curled around it, he realised it felt different in his hand, heavier, but as he pulled it out to examine it closer, it looked as magnificent as always. It was simply mesmerising. The shine in the gold seemed to speak to him, calling to him, pleading with him to never let it go… ‘The Ring has a good point, does it not?’ The two of them had stuck together through so much. And it was thanks to the Ring that Bilbo had been able to free everyone from the dungeons of Mirkwood. If he were honest with himself, and he strived to be, the hobbit considered the escape from Mirkwood his biggest accomplishment to date. It was a cherished moment; knowing Thorin trusted him enough to follow his plan, and having it all work out in the end to boot. Bilbo wasn’t knowledgeable like Gandalf or strong like his dwarf friends, but thanks to this ring, he had had his uses. It had made him useful. ‘And what will I become without this? …Useless’ The thought was unbearable, and Bilbo frowned; realising that his helpfulness and usability within the company depended solely on this one object was disappointing to him. He didn’t want to be worthless.

“I will give you one piece of advice for your good: If you want a future with your other half, you will let that Ring go.”

Bilbo froze. The feeling of dread that had been remarkably absent since he had entered the mountain came back with a vengeance, and he only noticed it now that he felt its return. But that voice. It was such an eerily familiar voice… ‘Smaug?’ Bilbo turned his head slightly, his head felt so heavy and his ears were straining, involuntarily searching for the speaker of that voice from far away.

“Now, Bilbo!”

Bilbo reacted as though he had been burnt, reflexively turning over his palm so quickly it didn’t even register properly in his head, though his eyes tracked the piece of gold as it fell to the ground, and then rolled languidly over the edge of the precipice. He knew logically that there was no way his eyes could follow the Ring as it fell, but for some reason it was as though he could vividly see how the Ring was swallowed up by the lava beneath in his mind, and something in his chest finally loosened and he felt like he could breathe again. Bilbo became aware of the fact that he was kneeling on the ground, and rationalised that his legs must have given up under him. Even so, he had never felt such profound relief before, as though he had spent his entire life up until now worrying and panicking about something that had eventually turned out to be easily solvable. He hadn’t realised before how tired he was, and his head was pounding too from all the stress being released all of a sudden.

Far below him, as the Ring melted, the lava started bubbling and the rock started shifting, causing the entire mountain to shake. Bilbo had no idea where he found the strength to get up and run for the exit, just as the core of the mountain erupted in fire, but as the precipice started crumbling, Bilbo was already passing the archway. Smaug was waiting for him on the plateau outside, and Bilbo almost stumbled when he saw the terrible burns covering his body. The scales were gone in several places, leaving only scorched, black flesh. For a stunned moment, Bilbo wondered if he could have helped in some way and instantly started looking for the sorcerer, but Smaug didn’t seem particularly bothered as he flicked his tail impatiently. Bilbo was certain the dragon was faking indifference, but he was given no time to comment as Smaug turned to face him. “On my back you go, Bilbo. This time is the last.”

Bilbo was about to say something rude to hide his worry when he realised with horror that one of Smaug’s wings was torn and looked absolutely mangled. Bilbo didn’t care that Smaug was the last of the great dragons and practically immortal. That had to hurt. Before the hobbit could say or do anything, Smaug nonchalantly used his tail to grab him and place him on his back, a bit forcefully as though to say time was of the essence. It probably was. Bilbo felt a sob well up in his chest and did his best to choke it. Not even the lava pouring out from the open archway could dissuade his grief. There was no way a dragon could take off with its wing like that, and Bilbo was about to point it out, when Smaug threw himself down the mountainside using his claws and tail to control the descent, seemingly unruffled whenever his limbs happened to graze the lava.

Once again, Bilbo could only hold on for dear life. The descent wasn’t long. It wasn’t even far. There was lava surrounding them from most sides now, and Bilbo was worried they would get stuck, permanently etched into the mountainside as lava rock statues. He was taken aback when Smaug’s tail lifted him off and then unceremoniously dumped him in front of the dragon, placing him on a small outcrop of the mountain. Smaug himself was still standing in a sloped position next to him that had to be most uncomfortable for his back. Bilbo silently wished that that was the worst of the extent of the dragon’s injuries, even though he knew it wasn’t true. The heat was becoming unbearable, making it harder to breathe, and Bilbo reckoned it had to be unpleasant for Smaug too, in his current condition.

“What are you doing?” Bilbo shouted, trying his best to steady his shaky voice as he wiped away sweat and dirt from his brow. “I’ll have you know, Bilbo, I still hate dwarves.” Smaug declared vehemently as he laid down next to the hobbit, using his tail to direct the lava on the side of his body that was opposite of Bilbo and keeping his one wing extended to offer the hobbit some cover. With those words, Bilbo couldn’t hold back a small half-laugh and half-sob then. The lava was flowing heavier on all sides now, hopefully reaching its peak soon, and Bilbo was worried that even if Smaug was immune to fire, since most of his scales were already damaged, it would still hurt him.

“Smaug, you should move.” Bilbo pleaded while sluggishly inching closer in order to get the dragon to look at him again. Smaug had his eyes closed and didn’t acknowledge Bilbo at all, and if the hobbit didn’t know any better, it seemed like the dragon was taking a cosy nap in a fiery sea of doom. He quickly decided that that couldn’t be healthy. Bilbo himself seemed to be relatively safe on this outcrop Smaug had placed him on, so that meant Smaug could move further down the mountain on his own to get to safety, without having to think about Bilbo. After all, someone had to find him sooner or later up here, and as long as the sorcerer didn’t return, he should be fine until then.

At this point, Bilbo was inclined to sleep away the waiting period for a mounted rescue entirely, making it literally forgettable to him. He was exhausted and, judging by how he was feeling right now, maybe even half dead, despite having no obvious injuries. His head still throbbed, but he felt relaxed now and the sky was surprisingly calming to look at, despite consisting mostly of black, heavy smoke. While Bilbo was too tired to move around much, he could still be bothered to extend an arm to give Smaug a persistent shake, because it seemed like the dragon was ignoring him right now. ‘Stupid dragon.’ The hobbit was going to teach the dragon proper manners, specifically how rude it was to ignore others, even if Smaug most likely intended to eat them all for lunch later on. But Smaug continued to ignore him, and eventually Bilbo stopped bothering him when his arm ached too much from the effort. Maybe the dragon needed some rest too.

Blinking owlishly up at the sky, Bilbo suddenly realised several huge shadows seemed to be blotting out the skyline. Unable to stay conscious anymore, he closed his eyes to rest, with his last coherent thought being ‘the eagles are coming.’

Chapter Text

Thorin was a true Dwarf through and through, but he had lived a difficult life and experienced hardships beyond his years. With his scars, it made sense to him that his One would be of a different folk. His Hobbit would want for nothing:

home,

friends,

and a husband.

Ever since Thorin had first laid eyes on Bilbo, he had been steadfast in his conviction that he had met his One. More importantly, he had been quiet about it. Discreet. Careful. But always vigilant in any matters regarding his newfound weakness.

Dwalin had seemed rather horrified when Thorin had shared the news, but Thorin didn't care one way or the other. He knew Bilbo was an unconventional One, but he was unique and he was Thorin’s everything. Dwalin had not been as charmed by Bilbo as Thorin had hoped, but the gruff dwarf had not hesitated in taking the hobbit under his wing.

And since Bilbo had a habit of growing on people like a fungus, in an entirely endearing way, mind you, it hadn’t taken long for Dwalin to reluctantly admit that the hobbit came with some appreciative traits, such as diplomacy.

It had been difficult, however, to find a balance between making Bilbo feel like a part of the company and ensuring his hobbit’s safety.

For one, Thorin had not entrusted Bilbo with a lot of night vigils. That was because his hobbit was soft and sort of squish-able, and Thorin could not bear the thought of putting him at risk while he himself slept. Though knowing Bilbo, he had probably taken personal offence at what he considered a slight regarding his trustworthiness and capabilities, considering he had only been allowed to take watch when Thorin and Dwalin had agreed that minimal vigilance was necessary for the night.

While Thorin’s subtle overprotectiveness had perhaps driven a slight wedge between them, it had done wonders for his nerves. Thorin could ignore a lot of mishaps in his world, lived through a lot of them already, but any danger to his hobbit was not one of them. Bilbo had been in peril before, but it had always happened right in front of him, where Thorin had been able to run interference.

At least that had always been the case until the company had reached the High Pass, and then there was Mirkwood. The path they had taken through High Pass had not been kind to Thorin’s life expectancy, but it paled in comparison to their escape from Mirkwood.

Thorin had not had the time to make heads or tails of much until he found himself downstream in what was a very poor substitute for a boat. He had been counting heads when he realised the barrel that was supposed to contain his hobbit, was just drifting by its lonesome, with no sound and no visible mop of brown curls. He hadn’t even had the time to call out before Dwalin, always looking out for him, had taken one look at Thorin’s horrified expression and followed his gaze.

Upon quickly coming to the same conclusion as Thorin, Dwalin had called out to mobilise the dwarf closest to Bilbo’s barrel, who happened to be Oin. The older dwarf hadn’t hesitated as he had perched on the edge of his own barrel, carefully keeping his footing and trying to find the right angle so he could keep his momentum going as he had jumped towards Bilbo. He had soon attached himself to Bilbo’s barrel and hoisted himself slightly upwards to peek inside, taking care not to tip the barrel too much. At this point, Dwalin had managed to reach the pair while Gloin was keeping a steady hand on Oin’s abandoned barrel.

By the time Thorin had made it over to them, Oin had already climbed in with the help of Dwalin and was carefully supporting an unconscious hobbit. Thorin’s world had halted, just for a second, as his gaze had honed in on closed eyes and a pale complexion. ’Death.’

Oin hadn’t looked too worried, but Thorin had felt the intense need to see for himself.

The rest of the company had picked up on the new sense of urgency, and Fili and Kili were already on shore, wading out to meet the rest of them. Everyone was muted and working quickly, hesitant to do anything that might agitate Thorin. Bilbo had barely been placed down on dry land before Oin was already half-way through his medical assessment.

“He seems to be fine.” Oin had said eventually, and Thorin had bit back an anxious sound of disagreement that had involuntarily risen up in the back of his throat. Bilbo had very obviously not been fine.

They had never had the chance to bicker about it though, because it was at this point Bard had made his entrance.

And all that had led Thorin to his current predicament; trying to ingratiate himself with the Master of Lake-town. Never before had he been more sure that he was in the presence of a bumbling oaf, but he couldn’t really complain because that would only let him see Bilbo faster.

The hobbit was currently being guarded by Dwalin, Fili and Kili, and would hopefully make a swift recovery under Oin’s attentive care. But Thorin thought his presence couldn’t hurt, and he was anxious to return. To inspect.

In the end, it had been Balin who had graciously managed to excuse themselves with the promise of a return visit soon, but Thorin was already out the door and on his way back to Bilbo before Balin had finished talking. If Dwalin had been with him, he would have discreetly warned him that Thorin was showing too much weakness.

Or was it too much heart?

Bilbo was anything but weak, but he was a weakness simply by being Thorin’s One, and it made his stomach churn.

Fili and Kili had already guessed what Bilbo meant to him early on during their travel. Thorin had done his best to ignore their nudges and stares and, a few times, their looks of outright disapproval whenever he said or did something that made Bilbo’s face fall.

When Thorin finally entered Bard’s house, Fili and Kili were sat around the kitchen table in relative silence while Oin was in the kitchen. Both nephews gave him a nod each when they realised it was their uncle, and Kili looked like he wanted to say something but stopped himself. Dwalin had pulled up a chair to the doorway leading to Bilbo’s room, with several different weapons propped up against the wall next to him. Thorin could only nod approvingly as he sailed past them all. The rest of the company could fill them in as soon as they arrived. Thorin had more important things to tend to.

“Thorin, a moment if you please.” Oin called after him. He was an elder of considerable reputation who could stop even Thorin in his tracks. Thorin turned around with a frown, worried something had happened to Bilbo while he had been away. “There’s nothing to look so cross for, Thorin.” Oin sighed. “Bilbo is awake and well. I want him to eat as much of this as he can.” He was promptly handed a bowl of steaming soup and a gentle push towards the door for his troubles.

It didn’t take him long to stand in front of Bilbo’s door. The soup was a good excuse for a visit, Thorin told himself, as he opened the door with Bilbo’s name on his lips.

Thorin had never allowed himself to imagine how his return to Erebor would play out… until he had met his hobbit. After Bilbo it had become inevitable. Fuzzy scenes of home and hearth had started playing on repeat every time he closed his eyes, and every scene hardened his resolve despite his misgivings.

If he could change only one thing on this adventure, he would have brought Bilbo along as his One rather than as their trump card. Not that Thorin would have been overly comfortable with that either, but at least it would have been honest… No matter… He was so close. It was when he had finally gazed up at Erebor again, that he had truly started to believe that the future he wished for could become reality.

When Bilbo had emerged from the small side entrance, hale and whole, Thorin thought with elation that they had made it. It was at this point he berated himself internally for at least not courting Bilbo sooner. With all the time they had had on the road, they would have been practically betrothed by now, according to Dwarven customs, anyway.

On the other hand, this was the perfect time to start.

As soon as the Arkenstone was in his grasp, Thorin’s claim to Erebor would be indisputable among his kin. And what better way to woo your One than with the riches of Erebor and a respectable title to boot?

Thorin was quick to mobilise the company after Bilbo’s reassurances. As soon as Erebor had been deemed dragon-free, the search for the Arkenstone began. Thorin supposed he had been rather forceful in his demands, but he had easily convinced himself that it was going to be worth it.

After all, Erebor had to be remapped too; taking stock of inventory and marking which areas were still safe and usable, which rooms were most suited as sleeping quarters, where to store the food and where to bury the dead.

‘Where to build a quaint smial for his hobbit under the mountain…’

Despite his love for and overwhelming gratitude to his hobbit, in hindsight, Thorin could admit that Bilbo had been dismissed quite blatantly for some time upon their entry to Erebor.

However, his intentions had been sincere, and a part of him thought it obvious to everyone around him. With Bilbo around, he felt like he was walking with his heart exposed. Dwalin and his nephews in particular had been giving him increasingly knowing looks behind Bilbo’s back, and Thorin daresay he also had their blessing.

After all, it was Fili who had suggested that Thorin give Bilbo the mithril coat, and it was Kili who had found the pillow and given it a wash for Thorin to gift to “whomever you like, uncle”.

Dwalin had been less grumbly around Bilbo as of late, and Thorin was sure he saw his best friend and confidant even make an effort to appear more friendly around the hobbit on three separate occasions. This behaviour was practically unprecedented coming from Dwalin.

When war had been inevitable, Dwalin had offered to take Bilbo out of Erebor and send the hobbit to Beorn. Thorin had scowled at the suggestion of letting the hobbit out of sight and away from him. It was unacceptable, but he also knew having Bilbo anywhere near the battlefield was not an option.

It was then Balin had reminded him of the old safe house hidden away inside the mountain, and Thorin had been quick to inspect it. He had deemed it… adequate, and taken the initiative to clean it up himself as well as inspecting every inch of the area for potential weaknesses in the structure.

Still, taking him there had still been… difficult.

Having the enemy at your doorstep and your One vulnerable… Thorin had wanted to fight as much as the rest of them, but the thought of Bilbo leaving his sight was hard to accept. Yet he could not leave his nephews and friends to fight this battle on their own. Dain would never have looked him in the eyes again.

It had finally been Balin who had set him straight. The old dwarf had looked hard at him, and through that look alone, he had been given an ultimatum. A part of Thorin had been aware of the fact that the stare he had levelled at Balin had been outright hostile, but he absolutely hated how the wise dwarf could be so bloody logical and make him see reason when Thorin just wanted to be stubborn.

Since Thorin was forced to go into war, he would have to resort to his contingency plan for his hobbit. When Thorin had closed the shelter door right in Bilbo's face, his shoulders had been high and tense, but his heart had felt more at ease. He would just spend the rest of his life making it up to Bilbo.

He was okay with that.

At least that was what he told himself when he led the company to war.

On the battlefield, the situation was chaotic, but manageable. Thorin had his cousin at his back, the full company by his side, and his hobbit safely tucked away in Erebor.

At least, he thought his hobbit was safely locked away.

But that was before the gates of Erebor exploded and a dragon came barreling out. Thorin had a vague thought about the convenient timing as some of the goblins stilled, before his eyes fell on a small form with a mop of brown hair on the dragon’s back, and Thorin froze along with everyone else.

As Smaug was ascending, a bright light started emitting from his back… From where his hobbit was. Dain made an outraged noise behind him, and a part of Thorin realised he should be mad too because the Arkenstone had left the sanctity of Erebor without his permission, but that thought came and went with a numbness that barely registered.

Because Bilbo was currently being carried on a dragon’s back… away from him.

It was only after the dragon left the battlefield that Thorin realised he had not drawn breath since the gates of Erebor had come crashing down. In the meantime, Dwalin had moved to his side and was looking at him with wide eyes full of sympathy.

Thorin hated him for it.

Bilbo came to slowly, to hushed voices and quiet shuffling around him. His entire body felt like it was pulsating with a sort of muted discomfort, but nothing hurt in particular. When he finally managed to open his eyes, he was greeted by two very excited nephews. Bilbo almost burst into tears at the sight; at least something had gone according to plan.

“You’re grounded until you’re 100.” Kili said shrilly, looking uncharacteristically serious as he loomed over him. “We’ve voted on it and it’s unanimous. We’re locking you up.”

Behind him, Fili was nodding along with every word, but his eyes were mirthful. Kili’s hands were hovering over him, seemingly too afraid to touch. He settled on offering Bilbo some water instead.

Bilbo had a passing thought to mention that by the time he was 100, he would be standing with one foot in his grave, but something told him that this really wasn’t the time. Instead he studied them.

They looked well. Healthy.

Bilbo was surprised he couldn’t even see a bruise. He knew Dwarves were sturdy folk, but they had been in a war. Not even Dain’s elite army could keep the company from bruising.

Fili and Kili were in their armour and armed, and Bilbo found it odd to see them so alert inside Erebor. It should be safe now.

But then he remembered the last time Erebor had been deemed safe. That time when a large dragon had broken through the gates… from the inside. They probably wouldn’t believe him now if he said it really had only been that one dragon hidden away.

As one, the two brothers moved back as a commotion could be heard in the distance. It didn’t take long for a door to open somewhere and soon his vision was filled with Thorin. Bilbo definitely felt a few tears well up then. And if the arch of Thorin’s eyebrows were anything to go by, the king under the mountain noticed immediately.

“How are you feeling, Bilbo?” Thorin asked, looking more pained than Bilbo felt. Bilbo wanted to reach out to him, to confirm it was real, but found his hand unresponsive. Looking down, he discovered he had thick bandages on both arms wrapped up to over his elbows, effectively rendering them immobile.

“The burns will heal, Bilbo, but you need to give it time.” Thorin said gently, following his gaze with sorrowful eyes. “Gandalf said it could take a few seasons, but you will regain full function. Some areas might scar, but shouldn’t cause you any discomfort once they have healed properly.” His voice was controlled, but strained with an emotion Bilbo couldn’t pinpoint. It made the hobbit frown.

“I’m sorry.” Bilbo whispered, and Thorin’s face crumpled.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“But I do!” Bilbo protested. He swallowed thickly and struggled to find the right words. “I lied to you and the others. I- I stole the Arkenstone. I released a dragon in Erebor... I hurt you-" his voice faltered, "And I’m sorry.”

Thorin's only response was to raise a rough, calloused hand to stroke his hair. Bilbo would have preferred if he just punched him instead. He just wanted anywhere else on his body to hurt as much as his heart did right now.

“I can make several concessions for your actions." Thorin's voice was raspy, and Bilbo felt like a lot of time must have passed when Thorin spoke next. "I know now that your actions were a result of my own inaction.”

The hobbit didn't know how to respond to that. He never expected Thorin to be so lenient, and wondered if Gandalf had managed to speak some sense into him while he was unconscious.

'Or is it because of me? Because I matter so much to him in this timeline?'

"You look tired. Rest. I will fetch Oin and maybe I can get you some broth." Thorin disappeared with a quick caress to brown curls.

Bilbo wanted to ask what they were now. To know what had changed after forgiveness had been so freely given. But he didn't have the courage to call out to him.

Thorin had become almost permanently attached to Bilbo’s side since he woke up. Frankly, Thorin wasn’t sure if Bilbo found it amusing or had just decided to put up with it, but the hobbit seemed pleasantly surprised every time Thorin went out of his way, or character, just to please him. And in turn, Thorin found himself preening under all the attention from the hobbit.

Currently, Thorin was reading from a Dwarven history book at Bilbo's bedside. Bilbo himself was currently propped up against three very large, comfortable pillows, almost asleep. Unfortunately, his hobbit claimed he was too hungry to do much more than doze, but Thorin had refused to let him into the kitchen until his hands had healed properly. Bilbo said the numbness was fading with each passing day, but Oin still kept his hands wrapped up tightly with bandages soaked in healing ointments.

Bilbo had accused Thorin of being too protective and overbearing, and he was right to suspect Oin was acting on strict orders from the king. But Thorin knew very well that the parts of skin that was not numb, felt pulled taut under those bandages and was causing Bilbo discomfort. Therefore, his hobbit was not to strain himself under any circumstances, end of story.

The two of them were waiting for Bombur to grace them with supper, and Thorin was growing visibly impatient. It was an impatience that was unwarranted, as Bombur had eagerly offered to cook up their hobbit’s favourite treats and had nearly stumbled in his rush to start immediately.

Thorin was just being petty because, in his opinion, Bilbo always deserved better. It would have been unbearable for everyone around them, had it not been for the fact that the company all felt indebted to their burglar and was loathe to see him in need of anything.

In the last week alone, Thorin had seen Bombur disappointed with himself for not having warm broth ready whenever Bilbo awoke, Fili and Kili had looked ashamed when they had accidentally disturbed Bilbo’s rest, and Oin could be heard tutting in the hallway when he had had to leave Erebor to fetch more herbs for the healing ointment.

Balin and Dwalin had been scowling quite viciously, and the latter had been seen nodding approvingly, as Nori had disappeared with a nasty spring in his step to stalk the dwarf that had dared insult Bilbo under his breath.

Thorin was unsure what exactly had transpired, but he had heard the rumours of Nori and Gloin leaving the darkest part of the deepest dungeons in a particularly good mood. Seeing just the two of them together was a rare sight, and all who knew them preferred it that way, as together they were a shrewd combination of subterfuge and brawn.

Dori had taken it upon himself to buy fresh flowers from the nascent market in Dale as soon as the current flowers on Bilbo’s nightstand showed signs of discolouration. None of the dwarves currently residing in Erebor had the green fingers of their resident hobbit, so the company had tacitly agreed that this would have to do.

The fresh flowers were always accompanied with a new book for Bilbo’s entertainment, curated by Ori himself.

Bifur and Bofur were visiting Bilbo as often as their busy schedules would permit, bringing with them new intricately carved wooden puzzle boxes at least weekly, to Bilbo’s absolute delight. Because of his bandages, it was up to Thorin to solve the puzzles under Bilbo’s watchful eye and gentle instructions.

So no, Thorin did not doubt that his hobbit was well cared for, but he often found himself wondering if it was enough.

Erebor used to be breathtaking. Most of the mountain was uninhabitable at the moment and renovations had barely started, but the ruins that were left could still testify to its magnificence. Thorin had great confidence that even without a Dwarven-inspired smial for their resident burglar, he could make it a welcoming home for his One. Bilbo had a love for homely comforts and a penchant for gardening, and Thorin was more than willing to liberally import wood and soil to please his hobbit.

'But will it be enough over time? Year after year?'

Thorin was a coward. His excuse was that Oin had been clear in his instructions: Bilbo needed time to heal. The dwarf king wanted his One to be physically and mentally present for their due talk about how Dwarven bonds worked. Thorin had already gone through the conversation in his head a hundred times already, but it always seemed... inadequate. Trying to explain the concept of a One to a non-dwarf was daunting; words could not explain how, upon first sight, his very existence and being was ready to meld with another.

They were intertwined, with no words of confirmation, no acknowledgement whatsoever beforehand, but so very cherished and much rejoiced.

The highest blessing.

Irrevocable.

“What happened to Smaug?” Bilbo’s asked suddenly; voice soft and shaky, as if he had been mulling it over for some time, but had not found his voice until now.

“How should I know?” Thorin replied, initially looking defensive, but he added in a kinder tone: “Gandalf might know.”

“Oh! Is he still here?” Bilbo visibly perked at the news and Thorin felt something unpleasant curl in his stomach. His hobbit seemed far too pleased by the thought of someone else: an outsider.

‘What if Bilbo wants to go back to the Shire?’

Gandalf would never refuse to accompany the hobbit. After all, Gandalf was the reason Bilbo had gone on an adventure in the first place, so helping the hobbit return home would only be polite. Thorin was finally starting to see that for Bilbo, the riches of Erebor could never compete with his own quaint home in the Shire. But he was still hoping that the company here could make up for at least some of it.

“He is helping Bard in Dale, but he visits often enough. He has been by to see you, but you were still… healing.” Bilbo seemed to understand the implication immediately as he huffed a laugh.

Thorin was willing to admit to himself that thirteen dwarves had been quite aggressively blocking the path of the wizard, but he would venture to guess that Gandalf had let them stop him.

“I hope you'll let him see me next time,” Bilbo said with great cheer, pulling at the blanket and tucking himself further into the pillows with a yawn. Thorin rumbled something incoherently in response, but the hobbit never had the chance to ask him to repeat as Bombur finally entered with supper. And then Bilbo promptly fell asleep after finishing his plate.

Thorin didn't have the heart to rouse him.

Bilbo had been restless as of late, and it was not just due to being on bedrest for the past ten days and the itchiness from his injuries healing. He was sure the rest of the company had noticed that he had become more distracted too.

Bilbo suspected Thorin had discussed the matter with Balin, but since he hadn’t been ambushed yet, he could only assume that the old dwarf had been far too reasonable and said that rather than wallow in speculation, Thorin should take the direct approach and just talk to him.

If Bilbo were being honest with himself, he was half-tempted to just wait for an ambush, but it seemed that Thorin was planning something more discreet and the hobbit had already decided to ruin that by making an unexpected appearance for tea in Thorin’s personal quarters.

He couldn't help but notice how the Nori-shaped shadow that kept following him around Erebor vanished the moment he entered.

The hobbit hadn’t even sat down before the king under the mountain had blurted out the first thing on his mind. “Is everything to your liking here?” Thorin asked as he cleared his throat awkwardly. He was half-way up from his chair in front of a large stone desk with intricate details and a nice finish, looking at him intently.

"Of course," Bilbo said, like it was obvious, but Thorin looked unconvinced. The hobbit blinked, a bit perplexed, but he stayed quiet because Thorin seemed to be looking for the right words.

"How has your day been so far?"

Bilbo somehow doubted that that was truly what Thorin had wanted to ask, but he opened his mouth to respond.

Really, he had wanted to answer, but instead he blurted out: “Nothing happened last time.” He clenched the fabric of his trousers, his frown clear and his mouth just a thin line.

Thorin seemed confused by his obvious discomfort and non sequitur, but Bilbo didn't give him time to interject.

"Me being your... One.” Bilbo motioned his hand between the two of them. “I don’t even think we…” he trailed off uncertainly. “Nothing happened last time,” he repeated, voice more firm but gaze adrift. He was staring right through Thorin, at something unseen; somewhere Thorin could not follow.

"Last... time?" The incredulity in Thorin's voice made Bilbo realise he had skipped a few important story points to make sense currently.

"That time when I was unconscious in the river... I think I saw the future. I felt everything as it happened." Thorin stepped closer as Bilbo's voice hitched. "Fili and Kili died. You died. It felt so real-" The hobbit stopped the second Thorin's finger touched his lips. Looking up, he had never seen the dwarf look so anguished before.

"My heart, you need to breathe."

Warm hands became a steady, comforting weight on his shoulders as Bilbo was gently guided to a seat. He realised now that his hands were shaking and his shoulders were tucked up to his neck.

"From the beginning, Bilbo."

And Bilbo spoke.

He spoke for hours.

In that time, pretty much the entire company had dropped by at some point, but none had interrupted him. They had looked pained, outraged and wary. Not at Bilbo, never at their burglar, but they were clearly processing the bits and pieces they overheard, and putting them together with reverence.

When Bilbo's voice finally petered out, it was dark outside. A single lantern on the desk was the only source of light. His voice was hoarse.

Thorin sat dark and imposing with an unreadable expression next to him, but his presence offered Bilbo only warmth and unwavering strength. It took him a while to break the silence.

"I don't know where to begin, Bilbo..." he admitted slowly. "But I feel the most pressing matter is extending my heartfelt apology to you. With the regretful realisation that I cannot ever make it up to you, even if I had ten lifetimes to try." Thorin closed his eyes as he placed a gentle hand on Bilbo's thigh. "Words cannot describe the pain I feel at knowing you had to suffer like this. Suffer through this alone." The king under the mountain looked thunderous at the thought.

Thorin moved with care to crouch in front of Bilbo, still with a steadying hand on his thigh. The other hand moved to rest firmly on Bilbo's upper arm; his grip offering quiet, unyielding support. He didn't speak again until Bilbo had gathered the courage to meet his gaze.

"I owe you an explanation, Bilbo. There have been a few instances where a dwarf lost their One soon after meeting, and survived. It takes some time for the bond to establish and settle." Thorin looked guilty. "I intentionally tried to keep it from manifesting because you were a hobbit going with us on a dangerous quest. It is... hard... to explain the importance of a One to outsiders. I thought it would be easier to deny you. I was torn, and in the midst of everything, I took away your right to choose." Bilbo's thigh was squeezed tightly.

"You can choose now, Bilbo. Always. But for me, there is only you. So I couldn't risk binding you to me in case I didn't make it. Without a settled bond, an outsider would never have known. I realise now that another me made the same choice. The right choice." Something in Thorin's expression morphed into clear resolve. "I have many regrets when it comes to you, my heart, but never that. At least you would have survived me. You did survive me."

Bilbo was doing his best to process everything Thorin had said. That he had tried to protect Bilbo in his own way. That Thorin had always felt something, had felt something since they had first met. It dawned on him that Thorin had said his piece and was patiently waiting for a reply.

“I- I don't understand… how?” Thorin’s eyes narrowed in confusion, and Bilbo felt the need to elaborate quickly. “I only know because Smaug told me, and he didn't say much. How does it work? How can you be sure you love me?”

“Your very essence is a part of me, Bilbo. Make no mistake, I have loved you since I took my first breath, and I will love you until my very last.” Thorin's bass voice brokered no room for argument.

There was a stunned silence as Bilbo thought that notion was incredibly sweet, but still kind of hopelessly misplaced.

“I am sorry if I seem ignorant. It just sounds a bit like falling in love? It can happen to anyone. Everyone really.” he protested meekly, and Thorin looked positively scandalised. Bilbo was quick to explain further, throat feeling thick with emotion.

“I mean, typically you would have been married by now, right? And you would have had children." Bilbo took a deep breath before meeting Thorin's eyes head-on. "A hobbit, as you put it, barging into your life years later would just be troublesome. I understand that—”

Bilbo didn't realise he had squeezed his eyes shut until he felt two gentle hands cupping his chin, and his eyes flew open in surprise.

“Silly hobbit, then why are you crying.” And with those mild words sounding exasperatingly fond, it was like a dam broke in his heart and Bilbo felt tears falling rather uncontrollably. He heaved for air as a wounded keen tried to break free from the back of his throat. Thorin moved readily to hold him closer.

The hobbit cried for the company in another future. He cried for everything Thorin had had to go through to get here. And he cried for himself, because that last bit of tension that had been haunting his steps snapped like a taught string and left him feeling exhausted and relieved.

A part of him had still half-expected people to drop dead in the hallways. As a payment for the lives he had intervened in and saved. But now, everything seemed to have worked out in the end, and Thorin looked ready to murder anything that might object to that.

The dwarf king had stealthily managed to maneuver Bilbo around and onto his lap. Dark hobbit curls were carefully tucked under a bearded chin and strong arms held him in a firm embrace. No questions. No hesitancy. Like it was the most natural place in the world for Bilbo to be.

"I feared for your safety during the entire quest." Thorin admitted quietly. "But in my selfishness, I wanted to keep you close. I wanted you to see; to prove myself." Bilbo shifted a bit so they could look at each other. "I wanted to reclaim Erebor for you, but you never wanted a mountain. I would turn this world to ashes to keep you here, but you are of nurtured soil. You would wilt among just rocks and stone. I see that now." Thorin's grip on Bilbo tightened slightly, like a reflex.

"And I can't imagine a better match to keep me tethered. You will always have a home here, my heart, with me. I beg of you to consider it."

And Bilbo was convinced, convinced that Thorin believed what he said. The king under the mountain was wrapped around him, his presence soothing. And in the past few days, Bilbo had seen a dwarf who was easy to love.

The hobbit wiped his tears on Thorin's shoulder. He knew his eyes were puffy and his voice was still hoarse. But it was strong and steady when he said: "I want this, Thorin. I want to stay, with you."

And then he pulled the king under the mountain in for a kiss.