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Chapter Text

'The stubbornness of Dwarves.' Bilbo cursed as he continued to hobble down the frozen path. "After everything!2 Bilbo shouted. "Everything I have done for them! For him!" He couldn't help but tell the broken rubble of stone steps. His thoughts continued to wonder. 

First came the bats.
Then the orcs were quick to swarm us.

'Us?' Yes, Dwalin was with him. They'd fought side by side - 'Well not that Dwalin would've called it fighting.' He remembered quickly cutting the ties with his beloved Sting to methods he was indeed more used to; even if they were a little larger than the conkers he had at home.  

 Down they fell. Each stone meeting its mark as they gathered along the walls, 
their bodies littering, in fact starting to pile on the stairs and floor. 
He could hear Dwalin yelling from around the corner, and then-

Bilbo cursed suddenly as he fell. "Blast-" he winced. Did he slip? He wasn't concentrating after all. Perhaps he had lost his balance? Got his foot caught? He couldn't tell in the short time it happened. He steadied himself on the stairs quickly clasping his right foot tightly. He hissed through his teeth as he squeezed it between his fingertips, trying to relieve the pain. It was only then he truly realised how filthy he was. It would probably take him months to get all of the dirt (not to mention) blood in between his toes and hairs on his feet.

From atop the stairs he watched. Small torches could be seen, more of which where at the two cities, Dale and Erebor. Probably getting the injured to safety in the warm and shelter; speaking of which, the light was getting dim.  If he wanted any chance of getting back to Erebor and quickly he needed to make a move and with haste. 

Maybe the others survived. Granted he did not know what became of the dwarves whilst he slept, but he did search for them after. Only to find blood, discarded weapons and armour and of course more bodies of orcs and other foul creatures. There was no sign of the dwarves, not even Fí- Bilbo's face froze at the thought. 

The sight of the Golden Heir in the Hands of Azog.
I should've turned away out of respect.
The Orc with all its filth of tongue spoke at his prize kill.
Even if the wound didn't kill him that fall...

Bilbo swallowed the thought. Either way, despite how strong he knew the dwarf was there was no way he'd be walking unaided out of there. And the fate of the other dwarves? Bilbo wrinkled his nose as he pressed his lips into a line. Even if Thorin had survived - when they spoke atop the hill he did seem somewhat more of himself, at least the Thorin he knew. Though, Bilbo wouldn't hold it to Thorin: The King he should now say, if he still meant his word at the bridge.

Shire Rat.

He couldn't place what was worse; Burglar or that last remark. Perhaps Erebor was not the best idea to venture, and whilst he sat there lost in his thoughts the sky surely was growing darker and darker. Setting a deep red over the lake and hills in the sky. Not nearly the amount of blood lost in this combat. 

With a deep sigh he released his foot, testing it on the cold floor. For sure it felt numb, no doubt probably swollen. He brought himself to stand only to lean more on his left, hardly able to apply much pressure on it. 'If only I had my cane.' He thought to himself, all stuff and nonsense - thoughts of home where useless to him now. He had to get to shelter, who knows what was out there, maybe an orc lurking around the corner, a goblin hidden beneath the corpses of others. The thought churned his stomach. 

...so hungry

And so the hobbit continued to hop down the stairwell, when his legs grew tired he crawled down, when his knees bled he shuffled down carefully. When it became too much he stopped to catch his breath. 

...so tired

He was so tired. What was the point.

...rest your head

He should have never left, who was he kidding. From his place, perhaps only a third of the track down did he stop. His head growing more and more painful, from a dull ache to feeling like it would explode.

...give in

All he wanted to do now was disappear. Bilbo sniffed. He couldn't carry himself any further.

... you don't have to hide yourself
...the ring
... it will grant what you seek

As he thought of it Bilbo searched his pocket, pulling out the piece of metal. In the shine of the gold he saw his pitiful reflection, he looked so beaten, especially the large gash on the side of his head. Curiously he trailed his hand up to it wincing sharply as white invaded his vision. It stung so violently. Now a pulsing throb throughout his being. 

Bilbo let out a cry from his lips. Once he'd started he couldn't stop. With caution he rested on his side and curled up on himself as the first of many tears fell. Everything, this entire adventure in which he had no time to grieve, no time to allow himself to, came crashing down on him. 

...put on the ring
...the precious
...disappear

On his side still Bilbo raised the ring into his line of sight. With the sun past the horizon, only flecks appeared on the ring, the tiny lights still glistening in the distance, retiring back to their homes, like ships sailing back to harbor over the see of darkness.

Staring into it made his eyes heavy. He shut his eyes begging for the darkness to take him again, but it wouldn't. "Please." Bilbo sobbed, but again he could not reach sleep. Bilbo was fed up, he breathed in sharply through his nose readying himself to scream.

Only something beat him to it. 

Curious Bilbo opened his eyes with a confused look upon his face. There was that same noise again, though it didn't sound like any man, or in fact any creature that could talk; an animal. The cry was in distress, Bilbo listened as it wailed again. 

Was it so selfish to wish the creature silent? 

...put it out of its misery

Again Bilbo's face fell. Without another thought he placed the ring safely back in his pocket before carefully rising to his feet. He quietly unsheathed sting, enough to see if friend or foe; to which the blade did not shine blue. So, Bilbo limped closer, his view blocked he made his way towards the sound to find one of the battle rams. 

It's reins had become caught in the piles of rubble from the cliff, trapping it in its location. From the moonlight he saw that one of the great creatures had been cleanly sliced off. The animal bucked trying to free itself, charging at the pile of rubble again and again. He could see wounds on the legs and hooves of it, where pieces of the armor had started to run into its skin. 

Bilbo approached, gently clicking his tongue against his teeth to get its attention. He offered his hand pretending to handle food as he approached carefully. The animal huffed loudly and tried to back away closer to the cliff edge. "No no no!" Bilbo encouraged raising his hands in the air. To him it meant surrender but to the poor animal, well who was he kidding, as much as he liked to think he knew he really didn't know anything. 

The ram huffed again but took a step towards him. Bilbo was secretly glad it was tied, otherwise he was sure the thing would've trampled him down out of good measure. The two stared at each other for a while. Bilbo Bagins: Barrel Rider, Theif of the Heart of the Mountain meets his demise with a ram. Bilbo chuckled to himself. In fact they seemed to be equal in this state. Both injured, both unable to continue their journey. Perhaps if he'd released the animal he could maybe ride him down the path. 

With care he pulled out sting once more, hushing the ram as it again tried to back away. Bilbo once more noticed the missing half of the horn, he guessed an orc brute might have sliced it off, no wonder it was afraid. None the less Bilbo continued towards the pile of stone and with a clean swipe the reins holding the creature back where loosened. 

The Ram bolted. Bilbo didn't know what he was expecting as he watched the white blur slowly disappear from his sight, more accurately the blur of his vision below. He couldn't help but smile though as it turned and bared towards the great mountain.  

Bilbo this time laughed sadly to himself; for they were nothing a like. The animal had Erebor to call its home, whilst he knew he was not welcome in its halls. 

Chapter Text

Bilbo freed the ram, watching from atop the hill as it galloped away turning towards the Great Lights of Erebor. Exhausted from the battle it began to tire quickly, slowing its pace it came to a trot before walking, sniffing the ground as it went. Curious the creature was and so desperate for a drink it lowered its head to smell the liquid. Quickly it shook its head letting out a snort as to remove the smell of the foul water.
It raised its head at the sound of a very high pitched whistle. Twitching its ears it heard it again as well. Without twisting its head it could see a light growing brighter behind it, but it was not the Dwarven shade it was used to. So it ran again; ran and watched as another collection of animals charged past with its riders aback.
They were headed in the same direction as itself, once it was out of harms way the ram continued forwards, towards the Great Gate of Erebor.

~~~Chapter 2~~~

Soaking the cloth into a bowl of water Óin placed it onto his face. He sighed into it, allowing the water to cool his head. The stress and workload of the day was starting to take its toll on the older Dwarf. Before the war, whilst all the other members of the company made do in the banks, counting all of their riches (or Thorin's he should correctly say: for he knew under the rule of the Gold-Sick King that the treasure was not theirs to claim at all), instead the physician of the company made himself useful in the supply stores. He busied himself preparing vials and potions, bandages and equipment he'd guess (from experience) they would need on the battlefield. 

Thorin, so caught in the gold sickness didn't care for the herbs, glass vials and cloths he took, only to store them near the entrance of the gate at the ready. Even with the dusty supplies and Dáin's medics to which Óin would need to apologise to the Lord; having known in the past how much Dáin liked to focus on the heat of battle rather than the aftermath he was pleasantly surprised when he annouced another fleat was coming. 

For shelter, the mountain was not yet a safe place to keep the sick. A lot of work needed to be done and carrying the injured on the loose paths and rubble was certainly not a good idea. Out of the drapes and scraps they could find they made: tents, beds and blankets. Óin had insisted that they were not to work off the floor, in fear of the rain to flood the tents, spreading more disease and polluting the environment. So tables where fetched out of the old market place.

Óin sighed again as he removed the cloth to wipe his brow before washing his arms of the blood of his allies. He cast a look to his most recent patients, truly a miracle that they had survived. Óin often used the term lightly, yes they were still breathing after the battle had past, but he feared for how much longer. He made to dry his hands on his apron as he checked up on each of them.

Out of the three of them Kíli was doing well, thank Mahal that none of line of Dur in came into contact with that poison again. The young lad had sprained his ankle, suffered a fierce wound to the stomach and continued to throw up any excess liquid for a long period of time after they arrived. He continued to shiver though, saying he was cold despite the blanket and growing fever. Óin hoped the lad would sweat it out through the night, at least he was conscious (on occasion) and still had his charm about him. Fetching a new cloth he placed it in a clean bowl of water, before ringing out the towel so it was just damp enough. He then folded it, and gently pushed the black mess of hair off Kíli's face to help with the fever.

Thorin had the odd gash on his body here and there, the bones in the foot in time would heal that is if he was to survive the wound in his chest. Carefully Óin lifted Thorin's arm within the sling. He sighed relieved though, seeing that blood had stopped seeping out of the bandages (or at least he had put enough on to stop it), holding in place as well three broken ribs. Of course the broken arm in the sling; such injury was an easy fix for man but as Dwarves the bones would take longer to set. 

Which is why he feared for their heir. Not only for the wound in his back from when the orc filth cowardly struck his blade but from his bones. The analysis was a long list, nearly bandaging most of his body including his wrists, feet and neck. If he were to make it through the night then the lad would most definitely be crippled. Óin  knew how much Fíli pushed himself, the idea of the lad not being able to ride, fight, or even walk shook him. He knew that Erebor would still except him as heir and King, but whether or not Fíli would accept himself? Óin did not know the answer.

"You must be strong. You are the Lion of the Durin line, brave, loyal and vigorous." Óin spoke to the lad before him, "You must wake up for your Uncle. Your King, your brother, and your mother." He'd never seen the heir look so broken, not only in body, but his face- he could be easily mistaken for dead from his shallow, slow breaths. From behind him Óin heard someone enter the tent but he did not immediately acknowledge it. Gently he stroked the strands of hair out of the young princes face before making his way to the supplies again. Óin quickly glanced at his visitor, "And what can I do for you my Lord Balin?" still he kept his back to him.

Balin grit his teeth together. Hearing it, his title didn't sound right at all- they after all hadn't won yet, there was still the matter of the Arkenstone, getting two cities rebuilt, arranging a treaty and not forgetting the thousands remaining in the piles of dead. "I bring somewhat brighter news." Balin started as he stepped up to the beds. "The Elves are sending their supplies and medics."

"But how is that somewhat better news? Is there anyth-"

"Thranduil travels with them." Balin spoke through gritted his teeth. "I know. I know we need all the help we can get, but." Óin did not interrupt Balin, mainly for he could not hear without his prized ear piece although he knew perfectly well what the older Dwarf was doing. Balin was looking at the frail state of the line of Durin, and was probably regretting not being more fit to assist in battle.

Óin sighed. Wiping his hands on his apron again before placing a hand on Balin's shoulder. Together they'd fought at the East Gate of Moria all those years ago and today shared that same look. "We cannot loose them."
 Balin pressed his lips into a line after he spoke breathing deeply through his nose.

"And we shan't, not whilst I'm here." Óin encouraged. Balin nodded at that, sniffing quickly before placing his own hand on Óins shoulder. They nodded and broke apart, Óin to his desk and Balin to the loose fabric barely making a door for the tent. 

"Shall I bring them straight to you when they arrive?" Balin confirmed to which Óin agreed as he continued to prepare more balms.

On Balin's question Dwalin rose to his feet, meeting his brother just outside the tent. "How do they fare?" Dwalin was quick to ask, entry to the tents was limited, to save grieving for another point of time but mainly to keep the dirt out as much as possible.

"They live, but its apparent that the elves are our last chance." Balin nodded. Dwalin quickly turned to see if the tent was still open so he could see for himself but Balin started to walk away. "We've sent a ravens Rohan and Gondor, I received King Fengel's earlier this evening."

"King of Gondor?" Politics never was Dwalins strong point.

"The Other," Balin corrected. "Farmlands remember? He's agreed but with a price." Balin and Dwalin continued to walk through the many tents, secretly thanking Mahal that their home was off the mountain, providing a solid surface to walk on rather than the mud from the war zone. 

Behind another tent Nori continued to listen intently, no doubt Rohan will share its supplies, their land fresh and nourished. Meanwhile they were lucky if they could get any scraps out of the cook tents. Whilst the majority of the population at the Gate of Erebor where Dwarves there were the odd elf or man seen hobbling in and out of the tents.

Not that Nori cared for race, he just wanted to make sure his family was getting enough. He parted from the side of the tent and made his way to the cooks. Most of the food was being sourced from in the mountain, and despite the years it was still somewhat edible. Basic bread was made, mainly given out and a single piece of fruit (from Óins instruction). It was green - but at least it wasn't leafy. Nori laughed at his brother's disapproval of the food they served in Rivendell. It seemed like so long ago now.

He continued to walk around in circles of the cook tents, blending in here and there. Someone told him to help carry boxes, so he did, whilst making sure to pocket two apples. He'd go without and save the last for Dori. 'Dori will wake up. He will.' Nori assured himself, after finishing his task he quickly vanished into the front tents where he'd left his brothers.

He found them just as he'd left them. The tiffs of fabric from the sling where sticking up at the back of his younger brother's head as it supported his broken wrist, meanwhile though Ori was far to focused on the eldest brother. Even in his bloody sleep the daft mothering dwarf was smiling. Nori sighed, a little defeated by the lack of improvement. "Nothing?"

Ori jumped as he turned to see Nori, a little surprised he was, well, back so soon. "Nothing," he replied rather sadly as he turned back to watch his brother.

Nori wanted to ask if the physicians had been, but seeing the sag in Ori's shoulders even before he asked the question gave him the answer he needed. "Go on, I'll watch him for a bit you get some fresh air." Nori suggested as he messed up Ori's hair. The distraction allowed him to sweep the apple into his coat. He never liked offering the items he'd stolen for his brothers; instead he'd put it in a location they'd be sure to find it and just think what a coincidence instead. That way, the Ri brothers were happy, and Nori wasn't scorned at for stealing.

Ori though felt it. He didn't want to put his brother in danger for benefiting him and the family, Nori of course wouldn't let that happen, but still. "Make sure you eat it." Nori squeezed his shoulders before guiding him out of the tent. "Go on, stretch your legs." Nori instructed before sitting down next to Dori. 

Hesitantly the other youngest left, allowing Nori to take care of his brother, remembering what had happened earlier that day.

On the other side of the gate we could still hear the cries of battle.
Fíli and Kíli debating with each other whilst we prepared ourselves for war.
It wasn't a matter of going or not, it was whether we were to tell Thorin.
Thorin beat us too it.

"I have no right to ask this of any of you. But will you follow me one last time."

At his words Ori gripped tighter to the dual-sided axe.
Seeing him ready for battle, it didn't feel right, but Dori placed an encouraging grip on my shoulder.
We could do this.
Together.

And so we ran.
Leading through Dáin's army
"TO THE KING!"
Our voices resounding after Thorin's cry.

We sliced through the army, chopping down body after body.
I never took Ori out of my sight, I couldn't allow it.
Dori had headed left whilst we both right.
I couldn't tell if we were making a difference but we didn't stop.

Dori kept moving closer to them, no doubt trying to find Ori.
And that's when we gave them hell.
Ori and Dori, toppled them as I gave the killing slices.

And then Ori fell.

Ori was trapped, his hand was being squashed by the metal boot of an orc
whilst it raised its axe to kill him. "ORI!" I heard Dori scream from behind me as I raced over the orc,
not realising Dori was screaming for me.

The Warg came out of nowhere but grabbed
me happily around my upper leg.
That's when I lent over and gutted the creature.
"DORI!" I warned but it was like he had no other options.

The axe went down,
it was obvious the blade was too sharp for the basic staff,
Dori standing over Ori took the blade into his shoulder.
"DORI!" I screamed, quickly silencing the confused orc.

Outside of the tent Ori watched the silent interaction between his brothers. Ori wanted to say something to Nori, he knew he blamed himself for the condition Dori was in, even though it was always all his fault. He was just so careless sometimes. Lost in his thoughts he quickly jumped out of the way as a number of elves on stags and horses galloped between the tents. He recognised Thranduil, and the red haired one that had spent time with Kíli and various others he couldn't count for.

And they were suppose to be nice to elves when they storm through like that? Ori humphed, wanting to sink his teeth into the apple but Mahal there was a hole in his pocket. He quickly looked about the stone ground, following the steep edge of the main path leading to Erebor's gates. He finally found it but from its fall it had become spoiled and dirty. Edible yes, but he'd need to wash it first. With that he started to head to the cook houses. No, he couldn't go there, Nori had stolen it; instead he headed to the river. Next to the gates of Erebor was the great fall - probably not the biggest in Middle Earth, but still a big one considering. He passed through the tests, bordering on the edge of the area as he dunked the apple into the water, getting rid of all the dirt.

Ori placed the apple in his lap and pulled out his carving knife slicing the now nice clean apple carefully in his lap. Only to realise he wasn't alone. Ori changed the grip on his knife, just like Nori had shown him. Point facing the ground, sharp bit away from you. But the creature was more interested in the apple.

"Hey!" Ori scrambled back as the ram nibbled at his hand to get it again. "Get off!" Ori scolded, but then saw the wounded Ram in more detail. It was definitely one of Dáin's, and guessing by the state of the armor and wounds he'd say it'd just got off the battlefield.

'Where people still fighting?' Ori wondered, concluding that maybe being on the edge wasn't such a good idea. "Come on, I wasn't hungry anyway." Ori encouraged the Ram a bit of the apple, and continued to feed him, leading him slowly into the makeshift stables they had made. Every time they took another couple of steps though the Ram would stop and look behind itself. It looked like it was looking for something, but what could a ram be looking for? More food probably. "Come on Boy... or girl?" He didn't know so continued to encourage with the apple instead. Once he had tied the animal with the leather he careful removed the armored head gear, making sure to be careful of his hand still in the sling.

The ram shook its head, relaxing and opening its jaw now and again. "Take care!" Ori smiled, "Oh and I'll bring back some more apples," he leaned in to whisper as if it were top secret. He laughed again, and headed back to the tent.

He'd just made a new friend.