Chapter Text
Immediately when Bilbo woke up he knew something strange must have come about during the night.
To start, his back ached as if he’d spent a week bent over his writing without even stopping for tea, or as if he’d spent that week out in the garden weeding; particularly stubborn and long-rooted weeds at that.
Waking up with aching body parts was not that uncommon, at least not since he’d left for an adventure, but so far his back had not been one of them. (The same could not be said for his thighs and backside, courtesy of Myrtle, a sweet and friendly soul, but whichever Vala had created ponies could have taken care to make them more comfortable.)
Secondly, when he opened his eyes he could see all of his Dwarven companions looking up at him with round, wide eyes. Yes, up.
Because the third thing Bilbo noticed was the entire world was upside down. Or rather, that he was.
And that’s when Bilbo fell out of the tree he’d been hanging from.
If not for Dwalin’s quick thinking his landing would have been quite an uncomfortable one, but thankfully Bilbo was snagged out of the air before any part of him managed to hit the ground.
Bilbo yelped as he flailed his way into Dwalin’s arms; the flailing caused mostly by surprise as there wasn’t really enough time to be frightened.
Realising that he’d found something sturdy to hold on to Bilbo proceeded to wrap both arms, legs and…
The Hobbit’s eyes widened. Wings.
He had arms, legs and wings wrapped around Dwalin’s solid form, only Bilbo was very much sure that he wasn’t supposed to have any wings at all to wrap around anything.
This conviction did not sway reality one bit, and when Bilbo inspected both himself and Dwalin there was only one conclusion to make.
There were indeed wings. And they did indeed seem to be attached to none other than himself, though they were doing their best to get as close to Dwalin as possible, not that Bilbo could blame them… however that was not relevant to the current situation.
This wasn’t- he wasn’t- Wings. Hobbits were not supposed to have wings.
And why were they dark, almost sinister looking wings? They reminded Bilbo of the bats that usually flapped about at dusk during summer only his wings were much larger, and attached to him. And also rather… furry. Small curly tufts of hair covered the wings all along the upper edges, growing thicker closer to his shoulders. Not a feather in sight.
“What’s going on?” Bilbo asked – voice just this side of shrill - looking up into Dwalin’s blue-grey eyes. Seeing them filled with concern was both alarming and comforting in roughly the same measure.
“You were gone when we woke up,” Dwalin said gruffly. “Found you hanging in the tree.”
“Is this something Hobbits do?” Kíli asked, head tilted to the side in puppy-like confusion as he looked between Bilbo and the tree.
“Grow wings over night?” Bilbo asked, no less shrilly than before. “Hang from trees? No, we most certainly do not.”
It occurred to him that he probably should stop clinging to Dwalin.
Yesterday had been a warm and sunny day, and it had still been rather balmy when they’d rolled out their bedrolls, which meant that Bilbo and Dwalin weren’t the only ones not wearing a shirt. However what the others were or weren’t wearing did not matter as such since Bilbo wasn’t currently glued to anyone of them like a wet leaf on a window. No, that doubtful honour was all Dwalin’s.
Getting his wings to understand that he wanted them to let go wasn’t the easiest thing in the world, especially since figuring out how to move them hurt.
The reasons behind his aching back was no longer a mystery. No, it was abundantly clear that the muscles of his back had been quite unprepared to have limbs other than his arms attached to it. How extraordinarily silly of them.
When he accidentally flapped his wings (and by the Valar he’d just flapped his wings) a small hiss made it out of his mouth and Dwalin’s grip on him tightened; a little counterproductive considering what Bilbo was trying to accomplish. But as Bilbo managed to fold his wings back, still wriggling in Dwalin’s arms, he was gently deposited back on his own two feet once more.
The moment he was released Bilbo swayed, not used to the extra weight on his back even though it couldn’t be said to be a heavy burden. Perhaps it wasn’t the weight as much as the inherent strangeness of it. Wings. He had wings.
He wasn’t used to the ache either, but that was at least getting better with every passing moment. Though to feel parts of himself twitching where there shouldn’t even be any parts… that would take some time to get used to and oh dear, what if he really had to get used to it? What if they weren’t going to go away?
Somewhat distracted by that thought Bilbo started a little when an arm curled around his waist, holding him steady as he swayed again.
“Careful,” Dwalin said, brows drawn together in a frown.
“Careful,” Bilbo murmured. “Right.”
His wings flapped in agreement, inadvertently pushing him forward into Dwalin’s chest, nose first.
Perhaps not in agreement after all then, Bilbo thought as he rubbed at his possibly flattened nose and tried not think about if he liked the way Dwalin smelled or not.
-
Gandalf turned out to be mysteriously absent; though as his horse was still grazing with the ponies odds were that he had not gone far.
His absence could be taken to be an admission of guilt, or just a Wizard’s usual tendency to disappear when he was wanted. Like when Dwarfs started showing up at your smial to demand dinner.
Either way, Bilbo’s wings in combination with Gandalf’s absence caused many a grumpy muttering to rise from Thorin’s direction, and Bilbo rather agreed, even though he couldn’t fully understand what Thorin was saying as it was not in Westron.
His impression however was that he was getting a small lecture on the various curse words in whatever the Dwarven language was called.
“I don’t remember anything except going to bed,” Bilbo said and poked a little morosely at a wing, flinching when the touch tickled. “You’d think I’d at least remember getting up into the tree?”
Balin hummed noncommittally and stroked his beard. “I would say magic is to blame for this.”
Bilbo stared at him, and then stared some more. “Really? And here I was contemplating blaming Bombur’s snoring. I’m so glad you cleared that up for me.”
The sound from Bofur’s direction was suspiciously similar to a giggle but when Balin levelled an amused look his way Bofur was a study of innocence. At least until Balin shook his head and turned his attention back to Bilbo.
Newly grown, sinister-looking limbs or not, Bilbo still had to bite his lip not to snort at the wink Bofur gave him.