Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was just like any other morning in The Shire. Birds began their early songs and the sun sparkled on the dewy grass. Soft, gentle hills and winding footpaths connected the gardens and their little houses. And William Baggins (or Bill, as he was known to everyone) woke up from a dream that somehow managed to involve trolls, a dragon, and ravens all in one. 

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as his dream faded from memory. He had had others like it frequently, but never quite managed to remember them properly. But he always enjoyed them, even the scary bits. It was a welcome reprieve from the monotony of daily life. 

He did have a wonderful and comfortable life, one that he quite enjoyed, thank you very much! But in the quiet moments, something would find him. As if there was a void inside him, a space in his heart that he could never quite fill. A hunger that was somehow never satisfied. But he had also learned to live with it– he even gave it a name: The Emptiness– and whenever it struck, he would simply wait for it to pass or find something to occupy himself with until it left.

He lived alone, his parents having passed many years ago when he was barely on the verge of adulthood. He would have attributed The Emptiness to this, except that it had afflicted him his entire life and it got neither better nor worse after his parents’ passing. Yes, his parents’ death had caused him a great deal of grief and suffering, but it was somehow not related to the unknown void in his heart, the hole that could never be filled. Just like The Emptiness, he learned to live with The Grief, and he now lived a satisfying, comfortable life. And so it was, this simple spring morning, that Bill set about beginning another ordinary day.

His father had owned a good amount of land, which Bill leased to some farmers and their families. He lived off the collected rents and traded crops, which meant that he often had to resolve Mrs. So-and-so’s complaint about the neighbor’s chickens getting into her garden or Mr. So-and-so’s cow breaking through the fence (again). But this morning, there were no such complaints, and he was able to take his coffee outside to enjoy the fresh morning sun.

The old man appeared as if out of nowhere– one moment, there was nobody, and the next, Bill was sitting in someone’s shadow. The man wore a gray traveling cloak; he had long gray hair and a long gray beard, and a gray hat perched upon his head. Bill looked up from his hot coffee with increasing suspicion. Where had he seen this old man before?

Bill spoke up first.

“Good morning!”

The old man looked at him with piercing eyes. Where had Bill seen those eyes before?

“What do you mean? Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?”

“All of them at once,” Bill replied, “A very fine morning, made finer by some hot coffee. I have more in the house, if you are looking to fill your cup before moving on.”

The gray man didn’t move.

“It smells wonderful, but I have no time to idle. I am looking for someone,” the gray man said.

Bill looked up, mildly curious and increasingly suspicious.

“Someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging,” the man clarified.”It is proving difficult to find the right person for the job.”

Bill stopped with his coffee halfway to his mouth. The old man was definitely making him … not quite uncomfortable, but he felt all ruffled and a bit agitated. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this man knew him, and worse, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he himself somehow knew this stranger. It made him uneasy, and uneasiness didn’t sit well with him.

“Well, that comes as no surprise. I’m sorry, but you won’t find anyone interested in adventures around these parts. You could try further down the river, or perhaps over in Bree, but no, there isn’t a soul in this village with any interest in adventures… Good morning!” And he turned away from the old man and focused intently on his cooling coffee. Yes, he definitely felt uneasy now– why did this whole conversation feel familiar? 

The gray man continued to look down at Bill with a piercing eye, and Bill nervously sipped on his coffee. 

“What a great many things you use ‘good morning’ for! First you mean it as a welcome greeting, and now you mean to send me away!”

Feeling trapped and a bit exposed, Bill changed the subject.

“I don’t believe I quite caught your name.”

“But my dear fellow! You must know my name, even if you have forgotten I belong to it! I am Gandalf, and Gandalf means me!”

Bill let go of a tension he wasn’t aware that he was holding onto. So he wasn’t losing his mind after all.

“Not the traveling tinkerer with the wonderful fireworks and who knows what other knick-knacks! We never knew what to expect from you and your cart! We had the most glorious… Well, no matter, that was a long time ago. I had no idea you were still in business. You look…”

But Bill didn’t finish his thought aloud. Gandalf looked exactly the same, except that it must have been close to forty years since his last appearance in The Shire. He had been an old man back then when Bill was just a little lad– how was this possible?

“Well, I am pleased that you remember my fireworks,” Gandalf said. He looked like he wanted to say more, but didn’t.

Bill was struck again with the feeling that he had been here before, and not just a childhood memory of fireworks and parties. No… this was something… different.

“Ah, yes, well, I thank you for stopping by. I wish you the best of luck in finding the right companion for your adventure, although I daresay you will have to leave The Shire for that. If you are still in the area tomorrow, you are welcome to stop by for a spot of tea– good morning!”

And Bill scurried up back into the house as quickly as he could without being too rude. As a country gentleman, he generally considered rudeness beneath him, and the invitation to tea was a rushed nicety that he now regretted somewhat. He wasn’t looking forward to that uneasy feeling again, and hoped Gandalf either didn’t hear his last-minute offer or would forget about it.

Gandalf, on the other hand, simply looked on for a moment before taking up his long, weathered walking-stick. He carved a symbol into the corner of Bill’s door, so subtle that it was invisible to passersby, but if you knew where to look and what to look for, it shone clear as day– like magic. And then he was off.

Chapter Text

The day passed uneventfully for Bill, and by the time tomorrow’s tea came around, he had quite forgotten about his invitation for Gandalf to join him that afternoon. The Shire was a peaceful and prosperous village, and its residents prided themselves on their frequent meals and parties. It was a symbol of the village’s self-sufficiency and success– while others in the world may toil away, climbing an endless ladder to the top (what even is “the top” ?), those who lived in The Shire prized a simple life of community and contentment. Bill was just settling down when the door rang.

The events of the previous morning came rushing back to him all at once. So Gandalf did remember after all. Deeply regretting his hastily thrown out invitation, Bill got up and made for the door.

But it wasn’t Gandalf.

The stranger was tall, taller than Bill (although that wasn’t saying very much), and broad. Broad shoulders, broad chest, broad stance. He wore dark green traveling clothes, dusty and worn, but they had clearly been quite handsome many years ago.

“Daniel Whitten. But you can call me Dwalin. At your service,” the man bowed himself into the house.

“William Baggins at yours,” Bill managed to compose himself enough to stammer out his own introduction as the strange man entered his house. “I’m sorry, do we know each other?”

“No,” the man replied. “I am with Gandalf. Am I the first to arrive?”

Bill stammered incoherently for a moment before the bell rang again. Feeling a bit relieved, as he now had a good many questions for Gandalf, he opened the door.

But it was not Gandalf; it was another broad stranger, this time with a magnificent white beard and white hair. 

“Balthasar Whitten. But you can call me Balin. At your service,” the man introduced himself before handing his red traveling cloak to Bill. “Is Gandalf here yet? Ah, good to see you brother!” he clapped Dwalin on the back. 

Bill stammered his greetings and, not wanting to be rude and not really knowing what else to do, escorted them into the kitchen for tea.

They were just sitting down for seed-cakes when the bell rang again.

Feeling flustered and rather annoyed, Bill got up to tell Gandalf a piece of his mind.

But it wasn’t Gandalf; it was two more strangers. These two were much younger, sporting blue traveling cloaks and carrying large rucksacks. They bowed together.

“Fili and Kili. Brothers at your service.”

“Fil… and Ki…? I’m sorry? I didn’t quite catch your names,” Bill was catching on to a trend. Whoever these people were, they seemed to like unusual nicknames.

“Oh, sorry, Felix and Killian. But everyone in The Company has a nickname. We’re Fili and Kili. Helps keep our operation a secret, you know! You’ll get one too, no doubt,” the older lad cheerfully explained. 

“Where is everyone else?” the younger one chimed in. At least, Bill figured Kili was the younger one; his beard was shorter (if you could even call it a beard) and he seemed to let Fili take the lead in things.

“Everyone… so… exactly how many are you expecting?” poor Bill stammered. What had he gotten himself into!?

At a loss for what to do next, Bill brought the brothers into the kitchen and set out two more chairs. It was getting crowded. And the bell rang again.

Fuming, Bill marched over to the door and pulled it open, prepared to tell Gandalf a thing or two about inviting strangers over to his house. 

Instead, a crowd of travelers came tumbling into his house.

“Quick, quick, close the door!”

“Before anyone sees!”

“Inside, inside!”

Hasty introductions were made in a sea of chaos. Bill thought he got it right: brothers Nori, Ori, and Dori (Orson, Norton, and Dorian); brothers Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur (Biford, Redford, Robert); and finally, brothers Oin and Gloin (Oliver and Gordon). What was with the need for discretion, and what was with all the secret names!?

Finally, the door opened one last time and a familiar gray figure appeared in the doorway. Gandalf saw himself inside, and set about greeting, organizing, arranging, and overseeing and in no time at all, Bill’s house was suddenly set up for receiving a rather large party. All the while, Bill flustered about, wondering how the old man could possibly know where he kept everything in his pantry and also feeling very frustrated that somehow the whole thing seemed very familiar. It was almost as if he was remembering a dream.

They were just sitting down and Bill was finally feeling like he might have the opportunity to speak with Gandalf and ask him just what on earth was going on when the bell rang yet again.

“Ah,” Gandalf said, sounding pleased, “That would be the door, and the final member of our Company.”

With a million questions and still no answers, Bill marched over to the door. His patience was running extremely thin, and he wretched the door open.

In the doorway stood a man. His dark hair and beard were streaked with silver; his shoulders were broad and his stance was intimidating. He wore a serious expression on his face, and his blue eyes had a haunted look behind them. But when Bill looked up into those eyes, the man’s face softened ever so slightly and Bill had a distinct feeling they had met before. He… he knew these eyes. He didn’t know why or where, and quickly looked down to hide the growing blush in his cheeks. 

“William Baggins, at your service. Please, do come in,” he opened the door wider and gestured inside the house.

“Thorin, at yours,” the man replied, “I thank you for agreeing to host my Company at your home.”

He allowed Bill to escort him inside, and sat down at the head of the table (it was really a few tables pushed together). Gandalf stood up and everyone fell silent.

“A thank you, for our gracious host! To Bill Baggins!”

Echoes of “Bill!” and “Baggins!” sang up around the table, followed by the silence of everyone drinking. Gandalf began again.

“Now, my dear fellow, I am sure you have a great many questions–”

“Wait, wait!” the young man called Kili interrupted, “he needs a name!”

“Yes, yes, a name, a name!” echoed around the table.

All sorts of combinations of “William,” “Bill,” and “Baggins,” were shouted all around. 

“Bilbo!” Fili finally called out. The Company started nodding and discussing their agreement.

Bill was thoroughly confused. Gandalf stood up again.

“Fine, fine, yes. A toast again, to our gracious host and the fourteenth member of our Company: Bilbo!”

Chapter Text

When everyone once again finished drinking to Bill’s gracious hosting skills, Gandalf sat down and became quite businesslike once more.

“Well, my dear Bill, or shall I say, Bilbo now! My dear Bilbo, I suppose you have some questions that you might like answered!”

Bilbo felt that the world would never again make sense (he turned out to be right about this), and the multitude of questions simply evaporated off his tongue. What was happening, who were all these people, what adventure were they planning, and how did he manage to get involved in the first place? Feeling a bit helpless, Bilbo’s eyes somehow found Thorin’s.

“I am the rightful heir to an enormously successful mining and metal company,” Thorin explained. “It was started by my grandfather, out west. I was just a boy in those days. What started as a simple family operation grew to employ hundreds, and our craftsmanship was completely unmatched.” 

There was a murmur of agreement among the older men, who Bilbo guessed must have been among the workers mentioned. Thorin continued:

“But then, one day, a tunnel collapsed– completely caved in. You must understand that the Durinson Mining Company had never experienced such a thing before. Our structures are secure and our practices sound. No, this was somebody’s malicious intent, someone either jealous of my family’s success or looking to profit from our downfall.”

At this, the haunted look appeared again in Thorin’s eyes. Bilbo resisted the urge to reach across the table and comfort him. What’s come over you!? he scolded himself, You have just met! Behave!

“The culprit was never found, and whoever it was has covered their tracks well. The next thing we knew, the Durinson Mining Company was taken over by Smaug Incorporated. They work with metals, too, but not the fine beautiful things of my family. Where Durinson would produce a single set of riding gear for a single horse, finely crafted, Smaug would crudely pound out a dozen sets of poor craftsmanship.”

At this point in the story, Bilbo found himself so fascinated that he forgot to wonder what part he would be expected to play in all of it. Gandalf took over here.

“There is some foul play at work, beyond just the simplicity of business rivalries. Through some wicked deed, it was as if reason had been replaced by madness. Thorin’s father and grandfather both went missing after the accident, and Thorin barely managed to escape with his life. Those workers that were somehow able to keep their minds were dismissed and sent far away. Who, or what, is running the mines and forges for Smaug now is a dark mystery indeed.”

Bilbo shuddered, all sorts of horrible images flashing through his mind. 

“But the time has come,” Thorin’s deep voice commanded the attention of the room once more, “to right these wrongs from so many years ago. It has been brought to my attention that certain documents have been found, papers confirming my right to take over the company–”

This was met with a general tittering again, but this time it had taken on a tone of anger and frustration. 

“It is obviously your right! Who would have the nerve to think otherwise!?” Kili blurted out loudly.

“Understandable. But without the proper papers in order–”

“But you’re a Durinson! The next in line!” Fili exclaimed.

“Thorin is right, lads,” the white haired man, Balin, finally spoke up. “Laws are laws, and without proper documentation, Thorin has no legal claim to his company. The papers disappeared with his father and grandfather.”

“Not anymore,” Gandalf produced an old and weathered folded document. “Thorin, this has taken me years to find. But you cannot simply journey out west and lay claim to your legacy. It is too dangerous.”

Bilbo let out a little squeak at the mention of danger. He then felt eyes turning in his direction, and, suddenly ashamed at his skittishness, wished he could disappear or at least hide under the table. Gandalf came to his rescue, and continued his tale.

“There is one more piece to this riddle. Before the disaster, a peculiar artifact had been found, deep in the mines. A stone, said to hold magical powers–”

Some of the younger men scoffed, but were quickly silenced by the looks on their elders’ faces. Gandalf continued:

“It was after this precious artifact, the Arkenstone, was found that things turned… sour. Whispers, shadows, paranoia… There is a power that lies within that stone, but power brings darkness. Darkness which masks deception. There are riddles, puzzles to be solved, and a wrong to be righted, but for all of it to take place, the poison must first be drawn from the wound. The Arkenstone must be removed.”

All eyes turned to Bilbo.

“I… I’m sorry, have I missed something?” Bilbo stammered.

“Why, this is where you come in, my dear fellow” Gandalf said cheerfully, as if he were inviting Bilbo to a garden party. He now addressed Thorin: 

“You asked me to find a burglar to be the fourteenth member of this Company, and I have chosen Mr. Baggins!”

It was the mention of being a burglar that brought Bilbo back to his senses. 

“I beg your pardon?! A burglar!? And I was under the impression that this was a respectable Company!”

“Is that not your sign on the door?” Thorin asked smoothly.

“Sign, what sign!? There is no sign there, I just had it painted!”

“We all saw it,” the man called Gloin chimed in. “The mark of a Burglar available for hire. Some prefer to be called Expert Treasure Hunter, but it’s all the same.”

Bilbo started to protest again, but was interrupted by Gandalf.

“Yes, there is a mark, I put it there myself. And for good reason. Bilbo has a good deal to offer to your expedition, more than any of you know, including himself if I may say.”

“We will not need your decision until tomorrow morning,” Thorin announced. “And in the meantime, let’s have some music.”

Instruments were brought out; flutes and strings and Thorin had a magnificent harp. They began to play, and Bilbo was carried far away on melodies and words of distant lands and dark crevices. Thorin’s voice, low and somber, moved something deep within Bill’s heart. And, after everything had been cleaned up and everyone had retired to bed, it was Thorin’s voice that continued to sing softly long into the night. Bill lay awake, listening, mesmerized. He fell asleep with Thorin’s voice continuing to whisper throughout his dreams, and when he awoke next morning, something else had awoken inside him. He had made the decision without even realizing it.

He would go.

Chapter Text

Bilbo felt something ignite inside him; a spark that he didn’t know he had. His eyes popped open, sunlight streaming into the room. What time was it?

It had taken him a long time to fall asleep, and when he finally did sleep, his dreams were even stranger than usual. Dragons, trolls, ravens– those were the dreams he experienced all his life. But now there was something new. Figures, faces, whispers, and that deep voice belonging to those somber blue eyes. He would cross the world to look into those eyes and hear that voice again.

But alas! The house stood quite still this morning, so still in fact that Bilbo wondered whether it had all been a dream! He shot out of bed and ran down to the kitchen and– lo and behold! The furniture was back where it belonged, the dishes clean, in fact, there was no sign whatsoever of the party from the night before.

You fool, William Baggins, he scolded himself, mistaking dreams for reality! 

And he sat down at the table, a bit dejectedly. The feeling of emptiness had returned tenfold; he felt as if the darkness would swallow him whole if he allowed it. Who knows how long he sat there, miserable, thinking thoughts of things just out of reach, when in walked Gandalf.

So you haven’t been dreaming!

“My dear fellow, what on earth are you waiting for? You are not at all yourself this morning!”

“So it wasn’t a dream?” Bilbo felt silly now that he said it out loud.

“No, of course not! And you have not bothered with breakfast, which is quite unlike you, otherwise you would have seen the note!”

“Note, what note?”

“Why don’t you go make your morning coffee?”

So Bilbo got up and went to the coffee mill, and there sitting under it was indeed a note. It read:

“Thorin and Company to the esteemed Mr. Baggins:

Our sincerest thanks for your gracious hospitality! Since we have many preparations that must be attended to this morning, we felt it unnecessary to wake you at this early hour. If you intend to join The Company, please meet us at The Green Dragon Inn promptly at 11am sharp.

Yours,

Thorin and Company”

A quick glance at the clock told Bilbo that he had only 10 minutes to spare. How he ever managed to make it down to the Green Dragon by 11am, he had no idea, but at 11:00 sharp, he arrived at the inn and found Balin waiting outside for him.

“Bravo!” Balin said, and handed him a rather long and official-looking document. Bilbo had just started reading it when Thorin came around the corner riding a splendid-looking horse. The rest of his Company followed, all riding horses laden with various supplies and things.

“Up you get,” Thorin addressed Bilbo quietly before calling out to the company, “Onwards!” and before Bilbo could say anything he found himself hoisted up onto the smallest horse, riding in the middle of the group. 

“Just sign down at the bottom,” Balin handed him a fountain pen.

“But.. I…” Bilbo started protesting. He found some of the terms outlined in the contract to be a bit unnerving. “Wait, funeral expenses!?”

“Oh, that’s just the standard terms for employment of this nature. Surely you understand, being a Burg-- er, an Expert Treasure Hunter and all. Now, just sign down at the bottom and all will be in order.”

“No, not at all! I only found your note at 10:45, and haven’t any traveling clothes, or handkerchiefs, or a good many other things!”

“Don’t worry!” Dwalin came up beside him, “I have a spare cloak. As for handkerchiefs, you’ll learn to do without!”

And Dwalin clapped Bilbo on the shoulder before tossing him a somewhat weather-stained traveling cloak. 

“What’s happening back there?” Thorin’s deep voice boomed from the front of the line.

And Bilbo again felt that spark, a fire that now blazed inside him, and-- surprised at his own nerve-- he signed his name on the bottom of the paper and handed it back to Balin for inspection, who took it with an approving smile.

Their horses trotted along the little road; fields and streams passing by. Soon, Bilbo realized that he was about to leave the borders of The Shire, the only home had ever known. As the landscape grew less and less familiar, Bilbo couldn’t help but wonder… he should be feeling all of the unpleasant feelings that went along with venturing out into the unknown: nervousness, discomfort, fear… Well, true, he was feeling these things, but they were all masked by a greater feeling of excitement. Anticipation. And something else, something he only felt when he looked into the somber blue depths of Thorin’s eyes.

Chapter Text

It was raining.

The beginning of their journey had been quite pleasant, so much so that even Bilbo was beginning to think that maybe adventures weren’t such bad things after all. The weather was fair, and while they didn’t break for meals as often as Bilbo would have liked, they stopped enough to keep everyone fed and generally satisfied. But then the rain began, and it didn’t stop. Worse, Gandalf suddenly had urgent business to attend to and left them on their own. Bilbo wasn’t sure why, but Gandalf’s presence offered a sense of comfort; as if things would work out in his presence. It seemed the rest of the Company felt that way, too, or maybe it was just the rain, but there was a noticeable lack of morale in Gandalf’s absence.

Eventually, Thorin had enough and called for them to stop. They tried to light a fire, but everything was so wet that even Oin and Gloin couldn’t get one going and they were the best at fire-making. They then set about searching for a suitable shelter for the night, and all they could find were the remains of what appeared to be an abandoned house. It gave Bilbo an uneasy feeling, and when he voiced his concerns, he was met with a general dismissal about country gentlemen not being hardy enough to withstand a little rain. Thorin said nothing, but his eyes were understanding and he sent Fili and Kili out to watch the horses and stand guard.

It was then that Bilbo sat alone, cold and wet and hungry, and for the first time since the adventure began, he truly missed home. He wished for his armchair by the fire; the kettle singing; warm biscuits fresh from the oven. Fool, he scolded himself, well, this is what you get for getting up and running off with a bunch of strangers! Now you’ve done it, William Baggins, you’ve really gotten yourself into the most horrible pickle.

Someone draped something over his shoulders, pulling him out of his loneliness, and Bilbo looked up into a pair of somber blue eyes. Thorin gave him the softest of smiles, just a simple reassurance, before turning away to organize dinner rations as they had no fire for cooking. Bilbo pulled the blanket tighter and watched him as unfamiliar feelings started to burn inside his heart. He would have to tread carefully… he could get lost in those eyes.

He was brought sharply back to reality by somewhat of a commotion. Fili and Kili had come running back from their watch; something had scared the horses and now one was missing. Furthermore, a light had appeared far off in the woods.

There was a big discussion about what to do with this development– some insisted that they find the perpetrator of this light, or at least discover whether they are friendly or not. Others insisted that a light in the dark is never something one should investigate, least of all when one is cold and wet and tired. After much deliberation, someone thought of their official Burglar and this was how Bilbo found himself with his first assignment.

“Not to worry!” Kili said as he pulled Bilbo along, “You move the quietest, and nobody will see you in the dark! You can at least tell us whether they look friendly or not.”

“If you run into trouble, hoot twice like a barn-owl and once like a screech-owl, and we’ll come to your aid!” Fili chimed in.

And before Bilbo could even mention that he didn’t know how to hoot like any owl, he was pushed in the direction of the light and left completely alone.

He gently padded towards the source of the light. As he got closer to the red, flickering glow, he started to hear voices.

“What do we have here? Look at this horse’s bridle. Yes, these are the shoes. This is one of Durinson’s. They must be close. And look what she’s brought us… flour… beans…”

“We’ll be able to dine on more than that soon enough!”

“Sssh keep your voice down!”

“D’you think it’s all really true?”

“Well, what have we got to lose? Got nothin’ anyway. Some crazy offers me the deal of a lifetime, I’ll take it.”

“We have to capture him first.”

“We’ll get him in his sleep, easy! Besides, we have help.”

“What if it doesn’t work? What if he has a whole army with him?”

“They don’t stand a chance. Not with the kind of help we’ve got.”

“One last job, boys, and then we retire to the good life!”

There were general murmurs of agreement and the three men started to take the supplies off the Company’s missing horse.

And Bilbo, for he was now close enough to see the three men sitting around their campfire, he saw a shadow pass over them, their features momentarily twisted into something awful. It must have been a trick of the light. Bilbo remained in his hiding spot, unsure of what to do next. 

The men set about going through the stolen supplies, continuing to congratulate themselves on their good fortune and scheming all the things they would do with the money, when Bilbo felt a hand on his shoulder. He froze.

Even in the dark, Bilbo knew those eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Bilbo whispered, so softly that Thorin could barely hear.

“You’ve been gone a while,” Thorin breathed back, “I am checking on you. What news have you for me?”

“Robbers. Not friendly. We should go. But Thorin… they know something.”

“What?”

“They… they were talking about… you. They’ve been offered a reward.”

Thorin swore, and he led Bilbo back to camp, then roused the Company.

“Up! Come now! To arms! These robbers nearby are no friends of ours, and we must find out what they know! Come, quickly, while we have the advantage of surprise!”

There was a good deal of clamoring, and the Company, led by Thorin, crashed into the clearing. Thirteen miners and one gentleman should have overcome three robbers easily, but these three fought with an unearthly strength and appeared to grow, bigger and bigger until it seemed to the Company that they were not fighting men, but great ugly trolls larger than life. 

“What is this devilry!?” Kili shouted.

“Magic,” Balin grunted.

“WHAT!?” 

“I know what it feels like,” Thorin explained hastily. “Yes, this is Magic. But this… this is strange… and dark.”

And amidst the yelling, fistfighting, and overall chaos, Bilbo suddenly found himself in front of the fire, locked in someone’s arm and a pistol shoved into his temple. 

“Hey! HEY! Stand down, all of you. Or we blow his head off.”

Everyone stood still, and the three bandits were men once more. Thorin’s face was unreadable to Bilbo. Was it anger? Or fear? But he raised both hands in a gesture of surrender, and the entire Company followed.

“Right then. Search them, and tie them up!”

Ropes were brought forth, pockets emptied, weapons taken, and finally, all hands were bound.

“Which one of you is Durinson?”

With an icy stare that Bilbo couldn’t interpret, Thorin marched up to them. His eyes had become a blue fire; burning and intimidating.

The man cocked his pistol.

“You. I know someone who’s very interested in you. I’ve been offered the deal of a lifetime if I deliver you. Come with us and I let him live,” he gave Bilbo a rough shake, “Don’t come with me, and I pick them off one by one.” He pointed the pistol towards the Company before bringing it back to Bilbo.

“Don’t!” Bilbo heard his own voice cry out, surprised at his sudden surge of bravery, “Don’t.”

Everyone stopped to stare at Bilbo. He had to get them talking; it was the only thing he could think of. Buy them all some more time. 

“You are making… a terrible mistake,” he continued. 

“No one asked you,” Bilbo’s captor tightened his grip.

“Ah, but what will you do with thirteen bodies? Bury them all? No, no, see that’s not the way to go about it at all. Terrible business, and think of all the extra work you’re making for yourself.”

“Not if your friend here does what he’s told and comes quietly.”

“Come, now,” Bilbo tried his best to remain calm, “is this really necessary?”

Bilbo’s captor scoffed, but his accomplice shifted uncomfortably. 

“What!? ” Bilbo’s captor turned to his comrade, “I thought you’d have more sense than to listen to this!”

“I’m just sayin’… he’s got a point. I didn’t sign up to become a murderer. We have our man. Let’s just take him and go.”

“What did you sign up for, then? And I never caught your name,” Bilbo piped up, trying his very best to sound conversational.

“Tom. Some nutter offered us a heap o’ money for this guy,” Tom gestured to Thorin. “Nobody said nothin’ ‘bout murdering his friends, though. Supposed to be a quick and easy capture, then we turn ‘im in and get our money and I’m off.”

“Ah, I see,” Bilbo was determined to keep the conversation flowing, “Off to where?”

“Out west. Gonna buy myself a nice plot o’ land and settle down. Hopefully find a nice wife, have a few kids.”

“That sounds lovely.”

“Do you have kids?” Bilbo now addressed the third man, “What will you do when this is over? And I beg your pardon, I never caught your name either.”

“William,” the third man grunted, “An’ that’s Bert.”

“Oi!” Bert yelled, “There’s no ranches for nobody out west without finishing the job! So get a move on! You!” –he now turned his attention back to Thorin– “Come with us, or your charming friend is a goner!”

“Oh really, Bert, I thought we had passed all that,” Bilbo said pleasantly, and then was struck by sudden inspiration. “What is the price you were offered, anyway? Perhaps I can offer you more.”

Tom’s ears perked up at this.

“It was a lot.”

“Try me,” Bilbo answered smoothly.

“Four hundred… each,” Tom said, doubtful but hopeful. He really was only in it for the money.

“Ah,” Bilbo smiled, and tried his best to look encouraging. Could he really talk his way out of this? He didn’t have any money on his person. He hoped someone in the Company would step in to help, but so far, he was on his own.

“Except I was offered six,” Bert interjected, “So unless you can come up with fourteen hundred dollars tonight, we’re taking this one. And if he doesn’t come quietly, I’ll pick you off one by one, starting with you, you little troublemaker!”

“So… by my calculations, I must give an offer of over four hundred each to William and Tom. And over six hundred to you, Bert? Is that correct?” Bilbo said pleasantly.

“How come he gets more?” William asked.

“Because that was your original promised price, was it not?” Bilbo answered.

“You said a three-way split!” Tom brought up, feeling more and more that he never should have taken this job in the first place. “You lied to us!”

“It is a three-way split!” Bert shot back. “I’m the one in charge, so I get the most. You two split what’s left. I’m doing all the work here, anyway, while you’re getting ready to go have tea with this one!” He gave Bilbo another rough shake.

“That one’s got the right idea! Come to think on it, I’d much rather work for him than you!”

“What!?” Bert yelled.

“I’ll take your offer,” Tom said to Bilbo, “If you can top four hundred dollars, I’ll work for you instead.”

How will you talk yourself out of this mess??? Bilbo thought to himself. He opened his mouth to answer, but then something happened.

Tom’s face became twisted and distorted; his body grew and convulsed and suddenly, a stone statue of a troll stood where there had once been a man. 

William let out a yelp of surprise, turned tail, and began running. This was definitely not what he had signed up for.

They heard a groaning and a creaking, and then silence.

There was a soft thud as Bert dropped his pistol to the ground, backing away and looking on at Bilbo in horror and disbelief.

“You… you… what have you done!? What is this devilry!? Are you working for the old man?! What did he do to you!?”

“That’s my business, and mine alone,” Bilbo improvised, partly horrified at what he had just witnessed and partly relieved that he didn’t have to somehow conjure $1400. “Now, it’s your turn. Start talking.”

“It’s just a job! The old man. He gave us a name, Durinson, and told us where to find him and what to look for. He offered us money to deliver him, and set a spell on us so we could best anyone in a fight to make sure we could capture him!”

“The old man,” Thorin spoke up, “What did he look like?”

“White! White hair, white beard, white clothes–”

But Bert never got to finish his description, for he too then froze into stone. 

Bilbo collapsed on the forest floor. In an instant, Thorin was down with him.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“No… no, I’m… I’m…” Bilbo wanted to say he was fine, except that he was anything but fine. He had just witnessed three men turn to stone, after all, and had somehow managed to evade his way out of what had seemed like certain death. “I’m… not hurt,” he finally managed to choke out.

Thorin breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Are you sure? Are you able to untie my hands? Then I can untie the others. And I will be able to help you.”

Bilbo nodded, suddenly breathless and unable to speak for reasons completely unrelated to his ordeal with the bandits. His hands shook considerably as he worked to undo the knots at Thorin’s wrists, but he managed it somehow.

“Thank you,” Thorin said softly, “Now, I must help the others, but I will come back for you.”

“Somebody please explain,” Kili finally spoke up, “What on earth is going on?”

“We move out, the sooner, the better,” Thorin answered as he began untying hands, “Repack the horses as quickly as you can. And we cannot use the roads anymore; they are too dangerous. As for them,” –Thorin gestured to the stone statues– “this is what happens when you meddle with Magic.”

He came back to Bilbo, and spoke softly again.

“Can you stand? Come, I can help you. I wish we could stay and let you recover, but it’s too dangerous here. We must move on from this foul place.”

And suddenly, Gandalf appeared at their side, as if he had never left.

“What brought you back?” Thorin inquired, “You have missed an eventful night.”

“But you seem to have managed just fine,” Gandalf said cheerfully, as if robbers turned to stone every night.

“I am sure you have an explanation,” Thorin said, just as casually. Bilbo wondered if nothing would surprise them.

“I have my suspicions. But clearly, whoever they made their deal with didn’t want them backing out, or betraying them.”

“You seem to know a lot about this situation, particularly for one who wasn’t there,” Thorin said pointedly.

“I know a good many things about a good many things,” Gandalf said simply, “but all’s well that ends well. And you are right, the road has proven to be far too dangerous. Next time, you may not be so lucky.”

They loaded up the horses with everything they could find and headed out again. Thorin helped Bilbo up, despite Bilbo's insistence that he could mount his horse just fine, and they were off with Gandalf in the lead, followed by Thorin with Bilbo at his side.

Chapter Text

“Here. I picked this up for you,” Thorin handed Bilbo a finely crafted knife in its sheath. It was a good size; large enough to be useful but small enough to carry on your person. 

“Where… where did you get this?” Bilbo had his suspicions, but needed confirmation.

“It was by one of our stone friends,” Thorin said dryly, “I doubt he will be needing it anymore.”

“Isn’t that stealing?”

“A fair point. I prefer to think of it as… retaliation. For how they treated you. And I suspect it was not rightfully his in the first place.”

“You don’t know that.”

Thorin didn’t know what to say. Bilbo continued on.

“It’s true. Tom seemed nice enough, anyway. Desperate maybe, but he wasn’t a bad man.”

Thorin stared at him. 

“These are the men who almost killed you last night, you do remember that? Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

“These are also the men that you attacked last night. You started the fight, not them, remember?”

“ I prevented them from attacking us .”

“We could have left.”

“They would have followed.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Would you have preferred that we waited to find out? The best solution to a problem is preventing it from happening in the first place.”

They rode in silence for a little while. It was slow going, now that they were traveling through the forest. They were too visible on the road, Thorin insisted, and the trees provided a much better cover for them to continue out of sight for a while– they would be plenty visible once they reached the open plains, and he didn’t want to pick up any more potential followers. Bilbo had half a mind to voice his concerns about getting lost, but with Gandalf leading, he somehow felt much better. Fili and Kili were openly disappointed that their code names didn’t work as well as they had hoped, and were starting to discuss possible aliases for Gandalf, but the old man turned back and gave them such a look that they stopped and started talking about disguises instead.

“I’ve been watching you,” Thorin said at last.

Bilbo choked on nothing and needed an embarrassing moment to recover.

“Beg pardon?”

“Forgive my bluntness,” Thorin apologized, “I know we only just met.”

And they continued on in more silence. Thorin looked like he wanted to say more, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Bilbo was sure he looked the same– there were many things he wanted to say to this dark man with the somber blue eyes, but nothing seemed to be the right thing to say.

Lunch was a short and hasty affair. Thorin wanted to cover as much ground as possible, and now they had to make up for their slow pace trekking through the woods. They continued on, a slow and steady march, and by the time evening fell, they were beginning to feel hopeful that perhaps they truly were alone. Thorin sent them scouting far into the parameters of their chosen campsite, and when everyone came back with nothing to report but squirrels and rabbits, they at last started a fire. Bombur set a pot of beans to cook overnight, Thorin assigned the watch in pairs, and so began another night in the wild.

Bilbo sat alone again, considerably warmer and drier than he had been the previous night. Now that he was sitting properly on the ground, exhaustion was beginning to set in. With their hasty departure that morning followed by a full day of travel, there had been no chance to fully process the events of the night before. He sat and stared into the fire, the red flames conjuring dark images in his mind… 

“Do you mind?” Thorin sat down beside him.

Bilbo shook his head slightly, still lost in thought and mesmerized by the fire. For a moment, they both sat in silence. 

“Are you alright?” Thorin asked finally.

Bilbo nodded.

“But you’re not,” Thorin said, “I can see it.”

Bilbo said nothing.

“You left home to go on a journey with thirteen strangers and an old man that you barely know. I know what loss looks like. I know what it feels like to be alone. Let me help you,” Thorin said at last.

Bilbo finally looked up. Thorin wore an intense expression on his face; concern and care etched into it. Their eyes met, and Bilbo felt as if his entire body would be engulfed by the flames in his heart and the fluttering in his stomach. What if…

He forced himself to look away, and he heard Thorin exhale next to him. 

“I’ve been watching you,” Thorin said again, “You have a great deal to say, and yet you are so quiet. You downplay your nerve and your bravery. I am beginning to think Gandalf was right about you. There is much more to you than meets the eye.”

“Are you saying your first impression was a poor one then?”

“What!? No, no, not at all,” Thorin corrected. Why was this so hard!? “Just… you are helping me. So let me know how I can help you.”

“What gives you the impression that I need your help?” Bilbo said it before he realized just how awful it sounded. How come everything he said to Thorin somehow came out wrong?? 

Silence again.

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo said finally, “That’s not… I mean....”

“I know,” Thorin replied, and he meant it. “But please. Let me know if there is some way I can help you.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo said quietly. He had learned to live alone, finding peace in his solitary routine. He could carry on with superficial conversions for days; but delving deeper into the dark places of his heart was proving to be much more difficult than he thought it should be. But Thorin was so sincere in his offer to help that Bilbo forced himself to speak, to share at least something .

“Do you… do you know what happened? Last night?”

A sadness passed across Thorin’s face.

“I am sorry. It was my fault.”

“But there was no way you could know about the ...Magic. Is… it is true? Is it… real?” Bilbo could hardly believe he was having this conversation. It all felt surreal, but for some inexplicable reason, it also made sense somehow. As if Magic had always been part of the world, but nobody ever bothered to take notice of it. Like how you could walk across the same grassy field, day in and day out, and never take notice of the little clovers scattered throughout.

“Yes,” Thorin said, a bit relieved at finally finding a conversation topic. It wasn’t his first pick of things to talk about, but at least they were talking. It felt… right. 

“The old stories say that Magic once used to be abundant. But the ones who wielded the Magic left for another land, and the world has been without it ever since. Occasionally, very rarely, one might find a bit of it tucked away someplace secret, left over from the days of old. This is what happened to my grandfather.”

“He… found a piece of… Magic...?”

“The Arkenstone. It wasn’t long after its discovery that I met Gandalf. He told us the stories, most of which have been lost to time, or become the stuff of legend. Children’s fairy stories, nothing more. But much is derived from truth at one point, or so he says.”

“Do you think it’s true?”

Thorin considered.

“I’ve seen too much to know that there is truth in it. You’ve seen for yourself last night. But we are not meant to wield it. It never ends well for us, as you also witnessed last night.”

“Who exactly is Gandalf?”

“Don’t you know him?”

“I know him. But I don’t know him.”

Thorin considered, staring into the fire and thinking. 

“I don’t suppose anyone really does. But I trust him. In all the years I have known him, he has yet to give me a reason not to. He tends to speak in riddles, and I’ve found he never says anything beyond that which is absolutely necessary, and he also has a knack for disappearing for long periods of time. Who he is beyond what he portrays is a mystery to me, but I suspect that is a mystery to us all.”

Despite the utter absurdity of the whole thing, Bilbo somehow felt relieved. Thorin’s explanation didn’t make sense, except that it did. They sat in silence again, comfortable this time, and Bilbo gave in to his exhaustion and let his eyes close.

When they opened, it was considerably darker. The fire had burned down to a gentle glow of coals, and stars twinkled through the treetops. And he was comfortable… so much more comfortable than he would expect considering he fell asleep sitting up on the cold… ground… 

Oh no. Bilbo thought to himself.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” Thorin whispered, “But I have the next watch.”

And he gently moved Bilbo’s head off his shoulder.

Feeling slightly mortified, Bilbo sat himself up and looked around. Fili and Kili were shuffling over, yawning and grumbling about having missed the chance to pick out the best sleeping spots.

“Who is taking their watch with you?” Bilbo asked, realizing they were the only ones awake.

“You are. But you can sleep. I have done this enough times, I can keep watch on my own. Bifur and Bofur have the next one. I will wake them when it’s time, and then come back to get some more sleep.”

Bilbo tried to protest, but Thorin was already on his way to go sit by the horses, and then sleep overtook him once more.

Chapter Text

The first thing Bilbo noticed when he woke early the next morning was Thorin’s sleeping form next to him. 

The second thing Bilbo noticed was just how …normal… that felt. As if this was how things were always meant to be, and now that it happened, all was right again in the world. 

Behave! Bilbo scolded himself. Really, you’ve only just met.

He pushed the thoughts out of his head and buried the feelings as far down as he could manage. Thorin rolled over and gave him the gentlest of smiles.

“Good morning,” he said quietly, “How are you feeling? You look better this morning.”

“That bad yesterday?”

“You looked troubled. But less so today,” Thorin observed.

“You would too if you found out that people could magically transform into fighting trolls and then turn to stone for double crossing.”

“Fair enough,” Thorin answered, “But, if I may be so bold, I believe it started before that. In any case, we must be packing up and moving on. I am glad you slept well.”

And he was up and off being Thorin Durinson– rising the Company, giving out assignments for the day and overseeing breakfast. Bilbo liked campfire nights, for it always meant beans the next morning, still warm from the embers. With Thorin’s master efficiency, they were breakfasted and packed in no time, heading out for another day of travel with Gandalf in the lead.

They hadn’t gone far when they came to a stop. Gandalf seemed to be searching for something. Thorin rode up beside him.

“Please tell me you haven’t lost your way,” he said.

“Not even the slightest!” Gandalf scolded, “And be quiet!”

He rode slowly this way and that, and finally stopped with a look on his face that said he found what he was searching for. Except that as far as Bilbo could see, there was nothing there.

Thorin rode up to Gandalf and looked at… whatever it was.

“We agreed to stay off the roads.”

“I know a place where we will be safe.”

“There are no safe places.”

“Don’t be a fool. We need to rest, properly, and resupply. Soon enough, we will be in the open prairie, and there will be no tree cover for you then. Would you prefer to resupply in an unknown town, where anyone could find you? No, now that I’ve found it– and consider yourself lucky for there are few who can– we must take it.”

And now that he mentioned it, Bilbo did indeed observe the strangest thing. If he rode a little to the left, it disappeared, and if he went a little to the right, it disappeared. But if he set himself directly in front of where Gandalf and Thorin were looking, there it was. If you could even call it a path, for it hardly looked like anything, but it felt like an entire road, large enough for a whole wagon train.

“Where does this hidden path lead to, may I ask?”

“A safe place,” Gandalf explained, “I came across some friends of mine the night before last. They warned me of a strange darkness in these parts, so I turned back to find you. But in any case, they are expecting us. Their valley is safe and protected, I can assure you, and it is your last chance to rest and resupply before you enter the wild.”

Thorin looked uncomfortable, but Bilbo felt relieved. Whoever these people were, if Gandalf trusted them, he could too, and the idea of proper food and proper rest was quite appealing.

The path was the strangest road Bilbo had ever been on. It twisted and turned, winding in on itself and out on itself and squeezing them through the tightest spots before opening wide again. Gandalf must have noticed the quizzical look on Bilbo's face, for he offered up an explanation:

“The Hidden Pass is just that. The road moves and never comes out to the exact same place twice. But if you are clever, and lucky enough to find the entrance and then not lose the road once you’ve found it, it will lead you to a safe place. A friend of mine lives there, and he has agreed to take you in.”

As they delved deeper into the valley, Bilbo began to notice a change. It was as if the very air was charged with …something… and with every breath, he began to feel his weariness fade away. He was still tired and hungry, true, but it was losing its edge to something else. Hope. Safety. He glanced over at Thorin, who still wore an expression of doubt written across his face. 

“Tread carefully, my friend,” Thorin said when he noticed Bilbo’s eyes watching him. “Do you feel it? This is it… this is what Magic feels like.”

“It’s lovely,” Bilbo said before he could stop himself.

“So it seems,” Thorin cautioned, “But remember, we are not meant to wield it. It does not end well for those who try.”

At long last, Gandalf led them through a narrow crevice that let out into a splendid view. It was as if the valley, the river, and the houses were all one. Buildings were built right into the rock and trees, not fighting against each other but coexisting together. And a man, tall and slender, with dark hair and gray eyes, stood waiting for them.

“Mithrandir. Glad to see you have made it,” the man said to Gandalf, “You are always welcome here.”

“Sadwyn!” Gandalf strode forward to greet his friend. “I thank you for your hospitality. How are things in The Valley?”

“We are well, thank you. But there are whispers outside, something dark lingers beyond our reach and just out of sight.”

“Agreed. But you and I shall talk more later. Now, for introductions!” And Gandalf beckoned them forward. Bilbo, eager to learn more about this enchanting place, started to go up to them but Thorin put a cautious hand on his shoulder and came forward instead. 

“I was unaware that there are still entire villages drenched in Magic,” Thorin said, making just enough effort to control his outright distrust of the place to not come off as entirely rude.

Sadwyn smiled.

“You are right in your suspicions, friend,” he said calmly, “There are few places left in the world like The Valley.”

“I see,” Thorin said, a little too coldly for Bilbo’s liking– he liked this place, whatever it was, and Thorin’s behavior was not increasing their chances at an invitation to dinner.

“I am descended from a very ancient line of kings,” Sadwyn explained, and held up his hand to show a very old ring. “I cannot wield Magic, same as you, but my lineage allows me to guard it safely and keep it from seeping into places where it should not be. This Valley is well protected, and no harm will come to you while you reside here. Come,” he gestured to them all, “Gandalf has told me that you need food, rest, and new supplies. I can help with all three. We will attend to your horses and then introductions can be done over dinner.”

“He’s helping us, you know! You could stand to be a little nicer,” Bilbo hissed to Thorin as they followed their host through a winding pass. 

“Magic is not something to be taken lightly,” Thorin whispered back, “You saw for yourself. Maybe he is who he says he is, and all is well. It would be the first I have heard of such a thing. Just… be on your guard.”

Dinner that night was a joyous affair, and by the end of it, even Thorin was in good spirits. When Sadwyn showed them to the guest halls, Bilbo had never been so grateful to see a proper bed in all his life. Gandalf had disappeared again, but they were all so full from dinner and happy at the prospect of a good night’s sleep that nobody seemed to notice his absence except for Thorin.

Unable to sleep and still feeling uneasy, Thorin crept out into the night. He wasn’t entirely sure whether his intention was to go for a walk or to find Gandalf or to try and have his questions answered, but all he knew was that sleep was evading him for the moment and it was no use lying there.

He had to admit, The Valley was peaceful. It had a calming presence, as if to reassure all within it that things would be alright in the end. Finally alone, and freed (at least for the moment) of the responsibility for his Company, he allowed himself to give in and simply walked aimlessly through the little paths, listening to the sparkling water and watching the twinkling stars above. 

“Can’t sleep?

Pulled from his solitude, Thorin turned to find Bilbo coming up beside him.

“I suppose I could say the same for you?”

“I wanted to make sure you are alright,” Bilbo replied, “ Are you alright? Everything okay?”

“You should be sleeping. I am sorry for waking you,” Thorin apologized.

“Don’t be sorry. Are you okay?” Bilbo persisted.

Thorin considered. He was, now, and said so.

“Good,” Bilbo replied, “I was worried about you.”

They walked in silence. It was not an awkward silence with a million unsaid things hanging in the air; rather, it was a comfortable and pensive silence, the simple satisfaction of being together, which was enough for tonight.

They were interrupted by voices.

“...determined to see it through. He will go with or without our help, and faces a much greater chance of success with it than without. You said it yourself… these shadows, whispers in the dark… There are foul things at work, and it began with the discovery of the Stone.”

“He knows too much, Mithrandir. They all do. With every step, they learn more and more about the things that are no longer meant to exist in this world, things that belong hidden in shadow.”

“There is no way around it, Sadwyn. The Durinson family discovered the Stone, and all the secrets that it holds. Would it have been better for me not to have intervened? What would have happened had I not come to his aid? We have a choice. Do we leave them to fend for themselves, fighting foes that, as you say, do not exist in this world and belong hidden in shadow? That is a fight he cannot win. And what happens then?”

“It drove his father and his grandfather mad. How can we be sure that he will be able to resist its draw?”

“We cannot. I do, however, have my suspicions… he has something that they did not.”

“Am I privy to this information?”

“Not yet. And we shall find out in due time if my speculations are correct, although they usually are if I do say so myself.”

“I see. Well, let us hope that your intuition is true, then. As for me, I shall see them well-fed and well-supplied for the journey west. But we must continue this conversation at another time, for I fear the trees have grown ears.”

With that, Sadwyn and Gandalf walked away in silence, leaving Bilbo and Thorin alone in the dark once more.

Early next morning, they woke to find their horses rested and resupplied; breakfast was waiting for them and Gandalf was up with instructions.

“Follow the Hidden Pass. It will take you to a road– No, Thorin, nobody could follow you here, so there will be nobody to track you to the road! –Now, once you reach the road, it will lead you to the river. You will have to cross it, but do not do so without me! Wait for me at the ford, do you understand? I will be along shortly, but I must stay and speak with Sadwyn first.”

And so they were off once again, with their bellies full and their spirits lifted considerably (even Thorin, though he would not openly admit it), ready for whatever adventure awaited  beyond the safety of The Valley.

Chapter Text

They followed the winding, confusing path for a very long time. This time around, Bilbo was inexplicably able to understand it better– it somehow made sense to him, the way it wound around itself like a garden snake. Thorin, for his part, was having a hard time of it and ended up deferring to Bilbo to make sure they were still on course. Eventually, they stepped out onto a clear (and clearly non-Magical) road, well-traveled with packed dirt and faint wagon-wheel prints. The trees had faded to scaggly bushes and there were wide patches of tall, dry grasses. And then, they heard the thunder.

It was still far off, but the clouds were coming in quickly, dark and foreboding with the occasional burst of light followed by a booming crash. They were still in front of it; perhaps they could outrun the storm. Thorin bade them forward, calling out to his Company the encouraging words that only a Durinson could conjure. Bilbo, for his part, was not the strongest rider and he found himself simply holding on for dear life while they tried to outrun what felt like a monster in the sky. He turned his head back, just for a moment, to see whether they really were making any progress and then he saw it.

The lightning was formidable– bright beyond brightness, tall and proud, and it came down to the earth in a single, bold stroke. The tree it struck stood alone, standing up in vain against its mighty foe as it burst into flames. And then… a red glow on the earth. Growing brighter and bigger and wider, spreading its wrath across the dry landscape. And the smoke rose, dark and thick, joining the clouds…

“Fire!! Thorin!! Fire! I saw it, lightning struck back over there, it’s coming for us!”

Thorin turned abruptly, and they all stopped to look back… the red glow was growing fast, the dark smoke rising, and they had no choice.

“Bilbo, stay by Balin, I must ride in back now,” Thorin said quietly before addressing the rest of the Company. “Ride! Ride, for our lives depend on it!! We must make it to the river! Go, go go!

And he ushered the Company forward before taking up his position at the end of the line. 

Bilbo thought they were riding fast before, but it was nothing compared to now. They could smell the smoke, the ash was beginning to rain down on them, and every time he looked back, the red glow was bigger, brighter, and closer. At last, they saw the greenery off in the horizon that could only mean one thing: the river.

They reached the riverbank, horse and rider both exhausted and terrified. 

“We must cross the river!” Thorin called out.

“Is it safe? Gandalf said not to cross the river without him,” Bilbo brought up.

“There is no time to wait, and what other choice do we have? I only hope that Gandalf is someplace safer than here,” Thorin answered.

True enough, when they turned back, they could see the flame devouring all in its path and dancing its way through the grasses, closer with every passing minute. They came to where the tracks led into the water and crossed in pairs, choking on the smoke and ash. Safely on the other side of the river, they trotted along as far as they could manage, putting as much distance as possible between them and the smoke. When they could go no further, they tended to their horses as best they could before collapsing onto the ground. 

There were no fires that night, no songs nor stories, for they were all too exhausted from their flight and even Bilbo wasn’t hungry. Thorin, ever in charge, made sure everyone ate and drank before taking the first watch. Bilbo sat up with him, having insisted that he wasn’t that tired (although he was) and that he needed to do his share of the work (this he felt was true). They sat together in silence for a while, watching the stars doing their best to shine through the hazy sky. At last, Thorin spoke.

“Are you alright?”

“I think so. You?”

Thorin gave Bilbo a soft smile. He hardly smiled, but when he did, Bilbo noticed it always reached his eyes.

“Yes. A moment of calm. It is a rare thing,” Thorin observed.

“It is, isn’t it? I don’t think I ever fully appreciated it before,” Bilbo admitted.

“I find that surprising,” Thorin mused.

“I’ve never… I mean… I didn’t before… ” Bilbo struggled to find the right words. He felt as if he was beginning to experience the world in color for the first time, after a lifetime in monochromatic neutral. Even the calm after the storm was colored now– colored in rich appreciation for life and all it has to offer. But he found none of these thoughts could be articulated properly into words. He sighed and looked helplessly at the ground.

“I’m sorry,” Thorin apologized, “I only meant… The most wonderful things make you happy… you can be thoroughly miserable, and yet, a cup of warm, bland beans in the morning will make you the happiest person alive.”

Bilbo chuckled in spite of himself.

“Doesn’t that make everyone happy?”

Now it was Thorin’s turn to laugh, soft and gentle. He looked like he very much wanted to say more, but held back whatever it was. 

They were interrupted by a low rustling: Bifur and Bofur were getting up and ready to take the next watch. Thorin exchanged a few words with them before settling on the ground. The last thing Bilbo saw before he closed his eyes was Thorin’s outline next to him, signifying somehow that at this moment, all was right in the world.

Chapter Text

Bilbo woke with a start, pulled from his sleep by a sudden sense of uneasiness. Something was wrong, but he had no idea what. He quietly got up, trying his best not to wake Thorin or anyone else. He just needed to… to… move away from this spot. Something in the ground was making him unseasy. Snakes, scorpions, spiders… all sorts of horrid things ran through his mind.

“Going somewhere?” Bofur’s voice was quiet; his sitting silhouette barely visible in the hazy moonlight. It was an honest question without scorn, something Bilbo noted appreciatively. His reputation among the Company had improved significantly after the incident with the trolls.

“No, no.. just… tired of lying on the ground... Going to visit the horses for a bit…” Bilbo whispered back. He started to make his way over to the paddock and noticed that all the horses were huddled together, as far away as possible… What did the horses know that they didn’t?

“Everything alright?” Thorin’s low whisper pulled Bilbo from his thoughts of impending doom, and instilled a fresh wave of guilt for waking him. But now that he was awake…

“The horses. Look at them… something…” Bilbo whispered. But he never had the chance to finish his thought.

It all happened very suddenly. There was a stirring deep underground, a low and frightful groaning, creaking sound. The rumbling in the ground grew louder, and the earth began to move– and the ground caved in, taking the entire Company and Thorin with it. Bilbo, just out of range, reached helplessly towards them; Thorin’s hand barely brushing his as the earth swallowed him whole.

Bilbo stood frozen for a moment, staring at the horrible sinkhole, overcome with fear and disbelief. But then, the earth began to put itself back together . Bilbo watched as the ground began to fill itself in until it appeared to be nothing more than a mound of freshly dug earth. And there was that feeling again, he had felt it with the robbers, and he had felt it in The Valley (it was so much nicer in The Valley), the inexplicable sensation that Thorin described as Magic. 

It pulled Bilbo back to his senses and got his brain working properly again. With one desperate, impossible hope, he jumped on his horse and rode back to the river. He crossed the ford into the blackened, desolate landscape of the prairie fire… he had to find him, there was no other option… please, please, let luck be on his side today… 

There he was, a figure far off in the distance, barely visible against the dismal backdrop, and Bilbo had never been more relieved to see the silhouette of that hat. He urged his horse, faster, faster, and then there was Gandalf, who had clearly sped up his own pace upon seeing Bilbo alone in the distance.

“Where are the others? What happened?”

Bilbo opened his mouth, suddenly unable to articulate what he had just witnessed.

“I… I… there’s no time! Come… come with me!” 

Riding beside Gandalf gave Bilbo a renewed sense of hope, and he was able to recount everything Gandalf had missed as they made their way back to that horrible spot. When they reached the river, Gandalf spoke at last:

“There have been rumors of a darkness festering beyond the river. Sadwyn had warned me, and they are keeping eyes on this land. Something has awoken here. Let us cross with care.”

When they reached the campsite, Gandalf muttered something about trapdoors and Bilbo thought he heard the word goblins , but figured he must be mistaken. Gandalf took his long, weathered walking stick and spoke in a strange language, sending the soil off to reveal what Bilbo thought looked like a wooden bridge buried deep in the earth. And before Bilbo knew what was happening, the old man took him and jumped into the pit. They were falling… then a flash of bright white light, and then… then they were deep underground.

It took Bilbo’s eyes a moment to adjust to the din. They were in a cave, or rather more like a tunnel, deep within the earth.

“Goblins,”Gandalf said darkly.

“I… I… Beg pardon!?” Bilbo stammered.

“They are waking up. Something, or someone, must have called them. Stay close to me,” Gandalf instructed.

They crept cautiously through the deserted tunnels. Gandalf seemed to know where he was going, although it was all lost on Bilbo. A few times, Gandalf conjured a fire out of nowhere (or, at least, that was how it looked to Bilbo!) and examined it for a moment before determining their next course of direction.

“These are Goblin tunnels,” Gandalf explained, “to find the surface, one must head towards the flickering of the flames. But we are going further in.” 

Of course these are Goblin tunnels, Bilbo found himself thinking, Since it turns out that men can turn into trolls and there are magical valleys and stones that drive you mad, what else could this be!? and then he found himself wondering what on earth he would tell everyone when (or, if) he ever made his way back home. He was pulled out of these thoughts by the appearance of lights in the distance.

“Stay next to me,” Gandalf instructed, “And be on your guard.”

They crept closer, and made their way to the entrance of a large cavern where Bilbo could now make out the terrifying outlines of the creatures. They probably would have been tall if they were standing up straight, but they had a crunched look to them, all angles and sharp corners. Everything about them gave off an aura of darkness and malice. And there in the center were Thorin and Company, barely distinguishable in the dark, held prisoner by these things. All eyes were fixed on the largest, a hideous creature sitting on an ancient and rotted throne. Gandalf and Bilbo crept into the chamber, taking care to remain hidden in the shadows while the Great Goblin examined his prisoners.

“...if you are not spies, then what is your business here!? Speak!”

“We are miners, traveling out west to visit relatives,” Thorin answered smoothly.

“Ha! And yet the Front Porch recognized you for what you really are! What deals have you struck, and with whom?”

“None, with nobody.”

“He lies!” One of the smaller goblins cried out, “We found this when we searched them! Out cold, they were!” And the goblin cackled wickedly, handing over an ancient ring, gold with a black stone.

Thorin’s roar of anger gave them away before the Great Goblin even had a chance to examine it. One glance at the ancient object in his palm, and the Great Goblin knew who he had in his clutches.

“Durin’s Ring!? It’s you! Durinson! Haha! Oh, no wonder our Front Door recognized you!! Ohhh… I know someone who will pay a pretty price for you! Look at this, we are barely awake with half of us still sleeping, and here we are!! Oh, I like this new world!! Right then, what else are you hiding from us?” 

But the Great Goblin never found out, for at that moment, an explosion of pure white light shook the cave. The goblins fell back in shock, shielding their eyes and writhing in pain from the sudden brightness as Gandalf entered the chamber with surprising stealth and speed. Bilbo raced for the Great Goblin’s throne, swift and silent, and plucked Thorin’s ring from the ground.

“What are you doing here!?” Thorin whispered as Bilbo ran over to untie his hands.

“Rescuing you, of course,” Bilbo replied, “I brought some help,” he gestured over to Gandalf. The knots were proving difficult, so Bilbo took out his knife and sliced through the rope before slipping Thorin’s ring back to its rightful owner. Thorin’s look of surprise, followed by a genuine smile of thanks, had Bilbo’s stomach fluttering despite the desperate situation they were in.

“On your feet!” Gandalf commanded, “Run! Run!!” 

Bonds were cut and the Company assembled behind Gandalf, leading the way with his beam of sunlight, and so began the race to the surface.

But, for all their crude love of unnecessary violence and general disregard for all things that live aboveground, goblins are quick, cunning, and clever, particularly in their own tunnels. Careful to avoid Gandalf’s sunlight beam, they started to come at the Company from the side corridors, like spiders descending on flies caught in a web. 

“Stay by me,” Thorin squeezed Bilbo’s hand ever so quickly before releasing it to take out a new goblin. But it was an impossible request; the tunnel was a sea of chaos and darkness, and Bilbo found himself helplessly tossed around until he ended up thrown to the ground, hitting his head on the hard rock and he knew no more.

When he opened his eyes, he wondered if he really had, for it was so dismally dark that there was really no change. 

Well, there you have it, William Baggins, he thought to himself miserably, You’ve gone and run off with a bunch of strangers, and you’re going to die alone in a goblin tunnel because why not!?

But then, something took hold of him. The same spark that had inspired him to leave home; the fire within him that made him braver than he believed possible… No, he would not accept this fate sitting down, wallowing in The Emptiness, feeling sorry for himself. He forced himself to stand and forced himself to think. Light. Fire. He needed fire to find his way out.

It took a few tries with several different rocks, but he was eventually able to create a spark. Now… fuel. Scrambling around on the tunnel floor brought him up empty-handed. With no other options, he turned to his clothes… feeling somewhat sorry because it really had been a fine waistcoat before, he took off the only thing he really felt he could spare. Hoping that the firelight wouldn’t give him away, he fashioned a torch of sorts using his knife as a handle. 

It felt like an age. He was too afraid of losing his fire to let it burn out completely, and stopped every so often to add more cloth and check the direction of the flame. When his waistcoat was gone (he did pocket the buttons, however), he turned to the tails of his shirt and was starting to wonder what he would use next when he heard a commotion up ahead.

Deeply regretting the loss of his fire, he extinguished the flame and flattened himself against the side of the rock, barely daring to breathe or move as the hoard passed. The goblins were grumbling and fighting, but it looked and sounded like they were fighting with each other this time.

“You let ‘em go!” “What do we say?” “The wizard! How were we supposed to fight a wizard!?” “The Great Goblin’ll have all our heads!” “No, he’ll have your head!” “It’s all your fault!”

Bilbo chanced a glance at where the mob was coming from– and lo and behold! A light! Not a fire, but the true light of the sun! Just the faintest hint of it! He threw all caution to the wind and bolted for the light. He heard the goblins behind him; some had noticed his flight, but he was beyond caring now. He was so close, so, so close…

And then, he was pushing out a doorway and came up onto a beautiful sea of grass and light.

Chapter Text

For a moment, Bilbo lay still in the tall grass, his eyes adjusting to the light and his mind still processing all that had just happened. His relief was short-lived, however, for soon he found himself stuck on the pressing questions Where am I? and Where are the others?

Taking care to remain hidden in the grass, he chanced a glance at his surroundings– the tops of the small bush-like trees told him that the river was nearby, which was a promising start. He quietly started to make his way over, suddenly very aware that he was alone in what had turned out to be an extremely unpredictable world. Voices rang up from the riverbank, and as he grew closer, he breathed a sigh of relief. But then he heard what the voices were saying. Gandalf was having a heated discussion with the Company.

“...but where did you last see him?”

“I don’t know! I thought he was with you!”

“I thought he was with you!”

“He was by Thorin, last I saw.”

When Thorin spoke, it was harsh and bitter, and Bilbo could feel the pain and resentment in his voice.

“We won’t be seeing our burglar again. He has left us.”

There was a general commotion from the Company, mixed cries of “So, the country gentleman has decided he finally had enough!” and “Well, now what do we do?” and “How could we lose him!?”

Feeling a bit outraged, and more than a little hurt at Thorin’s comment, Bilbo marched straight into their circle.

“No. I haven’t,” He pulled himself up to his full height, still a head shorter than everyone else, and crossed his arms defiantly. “Here’s your burglar.”

“Now, see?” Gandalf smiled, “What did I say? Excellent burglar material! Snuck right into camp, and managed to sneak out the goblin tunnels, unaided and unarmed mind you!”

Cries of congratulations and questions on his torn clothes and about his escape led Bilbo to recount his journey through the dark. While it was happening, it hadn’t seemed all that extraordinary, but now that he was telling the story, it did sound rather clever and the Company rang out their praises for how Bilbo’s quick thinking saved the day once more. Only Thorin kept his distance, and offered an awkward, “Well done,” accompanied by a simple nod. 

The festive mood didn’t last long. The late afternoon sun was quickly dipping lower, and goblins can leave their tunnels after sunset. Their best chance was to find their horses before dark, so they followed the river, hoping to reach the ford sooner rather than later.

The last beams of sunlight shone red and purple when they heard it. Bilbo had heard wolves before, but never like this– the sound carried clear and terrifying, causing even old Balin’s hair to stand on end. And when they saw them approaching, Bilbo soon realized that these were no ordinary wolves. 

“Wargs!” Gandalf cried out, “The goblins have been awake longer than I feared, long enough to summon their old allies. No, Thorin, put away your gun– that will not help you now, and save your bullets– no, and we cannot outrun them either, everyone, into the river! Swim!”

They clamored into the river, all except for Bilbo, who stood helplessly on the riverbank. Escaping goblins only to be caught by wolves , he thought, We’ve jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire!  

Cries of “Bilbo!” and “Come on!” started to echo among the Company. Unsure of what to do next, Bilbo waded out into the shallows as the first warg appeared on the riverbank. 

“Can’t you swim??” Dori appeared at Bilbo’s side. Bilbo shook his head. “Come on, then,” Dori guided Bilbo out into the water, just deep enough for Bilbo to stand on his tiptoes. Bilbo noted Thorin’s hurt glare from the middle of the river, but there was no time for that now. They were trapped.

The wargs circled the riverbank; several of them even waded out into the shallows and Bilbo was now at the mercy of the Company, who were doing their best to keep him afloat as they swam upriver for the ford. They all argued amongst themselves what to do next– they could swim to the other side, and be safe over there, but that would most definitely mean the end of their horses for the wargs would surely find them still tethered in their paddock. If they could get to their horses first, they stood a chance at outrunning them, but that seemed impossible odds.

Bilbo was starting once again to think that he should never have come on this horrible adventure in the first place– especially now that Thorin was inexplicably avoiding his eye– when Gandalf summoned a blue flame out of nowhere and cast it onto the riverbank. It rolled and sparked as the nearest warg’s coat caught fire, sending it howling and retreating. Gandalf did the same with a purple fire, and a green fire. 

Seizing their opening, Thorin led the charge out of the water. They raced through colored flames, howling wargs, and occasional snapping teeth and gunshots. Thorin saw them to their horses, firing at the oncoming creatures, for now the wargs were extremely angry in addition to being wet and horribly burned. One by one, the Company mounted their horses and took off until at last, it was only Bilbo and Thorin left, wargs starting to close in around them.

Bilbo mounted his horse as a warg snapped at them; Thorin fired his gun, but nothing happened– he was out of bullets. Bilbo’s horse reared at their attacker; Bilbo was thrown off as the warg pulled his poor horse to the ground, devouring its prize. A second warg appeared, its coat still smoldering with blue smoke as it made straight for Thorin.

Bilbo then did something both very brave, and very reckless. But, what else could he do? He jumped onto the horrible creature as it knocked Thorin to the ground; he held onto its smoking fur and stabbed it all over with his knife, everywhere he could reach. The warg reared in surprise and pain; it rolled over and snapped about, searching wildly for its attacker. Bilbo hung onto its neck for dear life, just out of reach of its teeth, when finally it swatted him off with its great paw.

On the ground and now in a good deal of pain, Bilbo scrambled to his feet, armed with his knife. The warg, infuriated at the audacity that someone would dare attack him this way, charged at Bilbo, who was now prepared for what he thought would be certain death.

“Bilbo!” Thorin’s cry rang out, and Bilbo suddenly found himself pulled up onto a galloping horse. 

They rode in silence for a good long while, and they soon caught up with the others. The moon had risen high in the sky, casting white light over the prairie as they followed Gandalf across the sea of grass. The moon dipped lower, and still they rode on. It wasn’t until the first glimmers of sunlight began to appear on the horizon that Gandalf announced their stop.

Fili and Kili attended to the horses, who were exhausted from a full night’s ride. Oin and Gloin started a fire, Bombur tended to their food, and for the first time in what seemed like an age, Bilbo was able to sit quietly again. Thorin, he noticed somewhat bitterly, was avoiding his eye.

The sun was rising now, and likewise, the Company’s spirits had lifted significantly as well. Their escape from the goblins and their flight from the wargs had taken on the feeling of a terrible dream, and the warm sunshine and hot food brought back a sense of hope, even for Bilbo.

“I’m sorry,” Thorin said quietly and suddenly, as he (somewhat stiffly) sat himself next to Bilbo, keeping his distance.

“Sorry?” Bilbo tried, and failed, not to sound hurt.

“I mean,” Thorin corrected, now sounding a bit too formal, “Thank you. For what you did. Last night.”

Bilbo stared at him.

“If you are hurt, I… I can have Oin take a look at you,” Thorin said, “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Bilbo said, sounding extremely hurt.

Thorin looked helplessly at Bilbo. Bilbo glowered back. Thorin moved to get up, but Bilbo interrupted him.

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo said, and he meant it. He didn’t know what he had done to offend Thorin, but whatever it was, he hadn’t meant to do it.

“Me too,” Thorin said sadly as he got up and left.

Oin soon took his place.

“Thorin sent me. Where does it hurt? How is your head? Your back?”

Bilbo glanced over at Thorin, who was watching them with a pained expression on his face.

Bilbo went through Oin’s examination halfheartedly, and when Oin had cleaned and bandaged his wounds and declared that he would live just fine, went back to his solitary thoughts. Normally, he would bury his feelings so deep until they disappeared, but these kept bubbling to the surface like a volcano, so instead, he marched up to Thorin and pulled him aside.

“I’m sorry, did I do something wrong?” Bilbo half asked, half demanded.

Thorin stared at him.

“No.”

“What’s wrong then?”

“Nothing.”

Bilbo resisted a very strong urge to take Thorin in his arms and shake some sense into him. He was just about to turn and march away when Thorin spoke again, soft and low.

“But I did. I am sorry,” Thorin said quietly.

“What?! What did you do? Other than avoid me for the past… how long has it even been? I don’t know. Since the river.”

“Yes. Because that’s what you wanted.”

“WHAT!?”

“I took your hand. In the goblin tunnels. I didn’t mean to, I just wanted to make sure you were safe. And then you disappeared. I am sorry. I apologize for being so forward. I wasn't thinking, and I will respect your space from here on out. I... I will keep my distance."

Bilbo stared at Thorin.

“Thorin… in case you had forgotten, we were all a bit preoccupied… you know… fighting a hoard of goblins? I got separated from you. I didn’t do it on purpose, if that’s what you’re implying. Did you really… did you… what!? Thorin… who thinks those things!?”

Now it was Thorin’s turn to stare at Bilbo. Bilbo took his hand, and continued:

“Now, I must warn you. I have absolutely no idea what I am doing, and not a clue what I am getting into, although, I dareseay one could probably say the same for you it seems.”

Thorin smiled. Bilbo noticed it reached his eyes.

Chapter Text

The Company settled into a weary routine of traveling nights and resting by day. There was no way of knowing how far the network of goblin tunnels extended, and also no way of knowing how many of them were awake, so there was a constant air of uncertainty and caution. However, as with most routines, there is at least some comfort to be found in the predictable, and as the nights passed and the chilling howls grew further and further away, the Company began to breathe easier.

Having lost his horse to the wargs, Bilbo now needed to ride double. As much as he (and Thorin) would have liked it, Thorin’s horse couldn’t bear two riders for the entire journey, so the Company members took turns. Bilbo did enjoy getting to know each of his fellow travelers– Balin answered his questions and was more than happy to share stories of “the good old days,” Bofur was friendly and had a knack for finding common ground between them; Dwalin was mostly gruff and silent, but would talk about mining; Ori turned out to share Bilbo’s love of books; and Kili rattled on and on about the sorts of things young men find important (Bilbo found this most amusing). Gandalf would sometimes be open and friendly, and other times he would ride in silence. But, of course, Bilbo’s preferred riding partner was Thorin.

He had been a bit self-conscious, at first, riding with Thorin. Thorin was, by all accounts, a far better rider, and (at least in Bilbo’s opinion) a far more interesting person overall. Bilbo had no adventurous tales, no stories of close escapes, no great family legacy to uphold. But Thorin seemed genuinely interested in Bilbo, and likewise seemed to find Bilbo’s stories of The Shire just as fascinating as Bilbo found him. They soon found themselves continuing their conversations when they were not riding, with Thorin finding a spare minute to slip next to Bilbo as they made camp for the day. And as time wore on, Bilbo found himself feeling less lonely, less empty, and far more complete than he ever had felt before.

They had covered a great distance, and the monotony was beginning to wear on them. What had once been a predictable, comforting routine was now turning into a cage. So when Gandalf announced that he knew a place, not far off, where they might be able to take refuge, rest, and resupply once more, it was welcome news indeed. Only Thorin had his doubts, but then again, it was his job to be cautious and ensure the safety of his Company– Bilbo was starting to understand this about him more.

“The man of whom I speak is a great and powerful man indeed– no, Thorin, he is under no enchantment but his own,” Gandalf explained to them, “He owes allegiance to nobody, and has taken many names and many forms over many years, but you may know him as Beorn. He is wary of strangers, and does not take kindly to outsiders, and for this reason, you must do exactly as I tell you. And let me do the talking.”

This description didn’t do much to ease Thorin’s doubts; if anything, it made the rest of the Company uneasy as well. But what other choice did they have? They had lost many supplies on the night with the goblins in addition to Bilbo’s horse, and morale was running thin after so many long nights traveling through the endless prairie.

They followed Gandalf in the late afternoon sun, and they once again began to feel the invisible buzzing through the air– the inexplicable sensation that Bilbo now recognized as Magic. And once again, this Magic felt different. The goblins and the robbers had felt like darkness, selfishness, and despair. The Valley had been hope and promise. And this… Bilbo liked this Magic best of all. Simply put, this felt like home. Nature. Gardens. These were things Bilbo understood. He was riding with Thorin again, and allowed himself to lean back into Thorin and melt away in contentment. He chanced a glance up, gaging Thorin's reaction to this new closeness, but Thorin simply looked down at Bilbo in amusement. He understood now how Bilbo felt about gardens, and although he himself didn’t really understand it, he could appreciate why Bilbo felt so happy in this moment.

They stopped in what seemed like a pasture, except that everything was more . The bees were as large as your thumb, and a deep golden color. The flowers were rich velvet, glowing bright in the afternoon sun. And a large hedge stood in front of them, an impassable vastness wrapping what appeared to be a very large house and barn, of which they could barely make out the rooftops.

“Wait here,” Gandalf instructed. “You must come out in pairs. Bilbo, you come first with me.”

Thorin protested, saying that he wouldn’t put Bilbo first into unknown and potentially dangerous situations, and that he should go first with Gandalf instead. It wasn’t until Bilbo pointed out (a bit defensively) that he had managed the robbers and the goblins on his own thank you very much, that Thorin reluctantly backed down and agreed to Gandalf’s plan.

And this was how Bilbo found himself entering into a large courtyard, where the most enormous man he had ever seen stood leaning on a large axe.

“Wizard,” he spoke in a deep, growling tone. “What do you want?”

“Beorn,” Gandalf said pleasantly, “It has been a long time.”

“It has been many years and many lifetimes since last we met,” Beorn answered, “and I do not doubt we will meet again in another. But what do you want?”

“Ah, well, my companions and I–”

“What companions? I see only one, and this one… this one has the look of one who has seen many days. Far too many days for his age. What are you up to, Wizard?”

“Oh, you mean my dear friend, Master Baggins? Ah, yes, well, allow me to introduce William Baggins, also known as Bilbo, a gentleman of good family and outstanding reputation!”

Bilbo gave an awkward bow, unsure of what to make of the whole situation. Although, to be honest, after everything he had seen, he was starting to understand why nothing seemed to surprise Thorin. Giant, magical man who lived in a magical farm far out west in the middle of nowhere? Sure. Why not?

“You were saying about your companions?”

“Ah, yes, well, Fili and Kili were tending to our horses!” Gandalf announced as Fili and Kili came in and gave matching bows.

“Your companions. Go on.”

“Well, Bilbo and I were fortunate enough, but the rest of our group had been taken prisoner by goblins!”

“You call two a group?”

“No, no, Ori and Dori were also seeing to our horses, but ah, here they come now!” And in came Ori and Dori, bowing low and joining Bilbo.

“What did they go near goblins for?”

“Ah, well, the lightning storm had all but driven them into their lair! Bilbo here was fortunate enough to escape the fate that awaited the rest of our party!”

“The rest of your party?”

“We do have a… some more, ah, here comes Bifur and Bofur! But in any case– the goblins! I am sure you know, for nothing moves in this land without your eyes seeing it!”

“That is right. Something has woken the goblins. There are not many of them yet. But more wake every day.”

“And you know they have called on their old allies!”

“Yes. The wolves are transforming. Corrupted by dark promises. But what has this to do with you?”

“Bilbo here managed to evade the goblin trap, and he came to fetch me. We were able to save our Company from the goblin tunnels– ah! And here are more from our merry gathering. Allow me to introduce Balin and Dwalin.”

Balin and Dwalin bowed low and joined the growing throng.

“Continue,” Beorn growled.

“Ah, yes, quite right! Well, we had managed to escape the goblin tunnels only to be cornered by the wargs! They had been planning a meeting with the goblins, a collective scheming and other dark business. As you may remember, I am able to understand their foul language.”

“As am I.”

“Yes, of course! Nothing speaks in this land without your ears hearing it! But back to my story: Our escape seemed to have caused a bit of a commotion among the goblins, for they never came. So the wargs decided to hunt us instead– ah, here, please allow me to introduce Oin and Gloin!”

Oin and Gloin bowed low, and joined the group. Beorn raised an eyebrow.

“But the wargs were clearly unsuccessful in their hunt.”

“Yes, quite right. We were able to make a close escape, but through this whole nasty business, we lost a good deal of supplies. Ah, and here comes Nori! Oh, and Bombur behind him!”

“And that is why you are here?”

“I have one last member of our group,” Gandalf continued, dodging Beorn’s question. “Please allow me to introduce the leader of our Company, Thorin Durinson.”

Thorin entered proudly, as was his way. Beorn eyed him skeptically. 

“This is another with the eyes of one who has walked this earth before. What are you up to, Wizard?”

“SImply doing what I believe is right,” Gandalf answered. “We have a great many more stories to tell that we can share inside, and I come bearing news that may or may not have already reached your ears. In any case, I do not deny that we are in need of shelter and supplies. We haven’t much to offer in return, other than our alliance against those who grow corrupted by the spreading darkness.”

In spite of himself, Bilbo shuddered a little at that final sentence. Thorin took his hand in reassurance, and Bilbo felt Beorn’s eyes flicker in their direction.

“You,” Beorn growled at Thorin, “You come from an ancient family. Even without your ring, I can see it in your face and in your bearing. I know your ancestors and where you come from. A selfish people, consumed by greed who place far too much value on meaningless trinkets and cold things without a heartbeat.” He paused and looked Thorin over before continuing:

“But… I see something different in you. I will help you all. Do not prove me wrong.”

Chapter Text

Beorn saw them into his house and set about finding barrels and blocks to use as chairs, for he seldom (if ever) had visitors. Dinner that evening turned out to be a plentiful and even welcoming affair; the Company’s gratitude and happiness at a proper meal in a proper home was infectious, and even Beorn joined in the storytelling. Once he got started, he told all sorts of tales of far-off places and times long past, and then he began describing the deserts and darkness that lay beyond the safety of his home. These stories got even old Balin’s hair to stand on end, and Thorin subtly put an arm around Bilbo and pulled him close, protectively, a gesture which did not go unnoticed by their host.

At long last, the candles burned low and the moon rose high in the night sky. Beorn excused himself to see to his animals before they retired to bed, but not before warning the Company that they were not, for any reason, to leave the house before the sun was up. If anyone found it to be an unusual request, none of them showed it, for they were all quite full of good food and were now very much looking forward to a proper night’s sleep.

Bilbo woke suddenly, and was immediately glad it was so dark because he was sure his blush could be seen from a mile away, for he woke up somehow wrapped in Thorin’s arms. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Bilbo noticed how much younger Thorin looked in his sleep– not a dozing, ready-to-wake-at-a-moment’s-notice sleep, but a true, restful, deep sleep. And then he heard it– a growling noise from outside, terribly close to the house and far too close for comfort. He buried himself deeper into Thorin’s arms (Thorin’s contented sigh did not escape Bilbo’s ears, although he dearly hoped it escaped everyone else’s), closed his eyes, and lay still for a very long while before sleep took him again.

Next morning, a bit to his dismay, Bilbo woke alone. He soon realized, however, that he was entirely alone– the whole Company and Gandalf were nowhere to be seen. He worked his way to the main room, where Beorn sat comfortably and jovially, a notable change from the day before.

“Ah, good morning little bunny!” Beorn called out. “Look who’s finally up and about! Come, I have saved some bread and milk for you!”

And Beorn gestured to a spot on his right where two loaves and a large tankard of creamy milk sat on a tray. Bilbo sat and dug in; Thorin was already sitting a few places away and gave Beorn a jealous look that Beorn ignored.

“Now that we are all here– you must know just how lucky you are that you have made it to me! For I followed your path last night, and found the goblins not far behind. It was smart of you to travel by nights, for had you traveled by day and slept at night, you would have been gone weeks ago. As for my part, I now confirmed that your tale is true, and shall do what I can to see you to success in your quest. The consequences are dire, should you fail, and I have no desire to see a return of the darkness to this land, or any other land for that matter.”

They ended up staying several days with Beorn. It had been quite a shock when Bilbo ventured out into the garden and found a goblin’s head stuck on a stake at the entrance– Beorn, it turned out, was truly a fearsome enemy. But he was also a fierce friend. He took a good deal of liking to Bilbo, for they shared the same love of all growing things, and he showed Bilbo around his gardens and pastures. Thorin, for his part, prickled with jealousy watching Bilbo growing close to someone else. But Bilbo never gave any sign that his affections were waning, so Thorin simply kept up polite appearances towards Beorn (he was, after all, in no position to have him as an enemy) and tried to find time alone with Bilbo whenever possible.

Beorn insisted that their horses would not survive the harsh desert landscape that they had to cross, and the Company reluctantly allowed them to remain in Beorn’s care. Beorn then offered to let them take his fine Western Mustangs in their place, under the condition that they let them free once they crossed the desert. 

“There are many roads and paths that will try their best to deceive you,” Beorn warned them. “But there is one that is still safe. It was crafted many years ago, in another age, and while in considerable disrepair, its Magic remains uncorrupted and it should be suitable for you to use. But you must not stray from the path, for any reason. Do not drink the water that you find, for you shall become horribly thirsty and will think of nothing else, but you must only drink that which you take in with you.”

And Beorn laid them full with water skeins of every size and shape. To Bilbo alone, he entrusted a small cactus plant whose juice would relieve one’s thirst with just a single drop, with clear instructions not to use it unless they were thoroughly out of other options. 

“The days are hot and the nights are cold. Travel by morning and evening, and rest at midday and midnight. And stay on the path.”

And so, early one morning when the sun had barely begun to glow above the horizon, as the Company readied themselves to set out once again, Beorn pulled Thorin aside.

“I know who you are, and I know what you are after,” Beorn said warningly.

“And I offer my sincerest thanks for all you have done to help,” Thorin answered smoothly and politely, or as politely as he could manage, given how many times he had to fight to keep his jealousy under control in recent days.

“No,” Beorn’s voice dropped to a low growl, “ I know who you are. I know what you are after. And I know who you are descended from. And…” Beorn looked over to Bilbo, “I know who he is. I know where he comes from. And I know what you did to him .” Beorn gave Thorin a dark and threatening look. Thorin held his ground and looked up at Beorn. Beorn continued:

“You haven’t done it yet. Not in this lifetime. And you have shown me reason to believe that perhaps you never will. But remember, nothing moves in this land without my eyes seeing it. Nothing speaks in this land without my ears hearing it. And should harm come to my bunny at your hands, you will have me to answer to.”

“And I thank you deeply for your interest in his well-being,” Thorin fought to keep his voice calm and his anger under control. “It seems we have a common goal.”

“See to it that it remains that way,” Beorn gave Thorin a final look of warning before turning his back, leaving Thorin alone with his thoughts.

They rode with Gandalf in the lead, for he knew where to find this road they were searching for. Bilbo and Thorin rode in the back, where Thorin could keep an eye on his Company.

“What did Beorn say to you? You’ve been quiet, even more so than usual,” Bilbo announced.

Thorin was pulled from his thoughts.

“Not much. You’ve made quite a friend,” Thorin said tentatively.

“Did he threaten you?”

“One could say that.”

Bilbo gave Thorin a teasing smile. 

“He’s just overreacting. Everything about him is larger than life. His bees. His flowers. His reactions,” Bilbo said dismissively, and then dissolved into laughter at the look on Thorin’s face, “No, not like that, you idiot!”

“So… there is nothing going on between you?”

“What!? What on earth would make you think that!? We both like gardens.”

“I like gardens.”

“No, you don’t. You like that I like gardens, which is not the same thing. I don’t care about rocks, but you do, and I like that you like rocks.”

“Minerals. Minerals are not rocks.”

“It comes from the earth and it’s not alive. It’s a rock. But in any case, no, I am happy to call Beorn a friend of mine, and a rather good one at that, but he is not you , so stop your brooding.”

“I am not brooding.”

“Yes, you are. And you can stop now.”

Feeling rather relieved to hear Bilbo say it, Thorin relaxed a little. But Beorn’s warning still played in the back of his mind. What did Beorn know that he didn’t? 

“And you can stop worrying,” Bilbo said, “Beorn turns into a bear every night. Not really my thing.”

“What!? How would you even know that?!”

“I asked him. You should try it sometime.”

“Turning into a bear?”

“Asking. It really is the best way to get information from people.” 

And Bilbo gave Thorin such a flirty smile that Thorin laughed in spite of himself. Bilbo was so lighthearted and open right now that Thorin allowed himself to be pulled in completely; he was falling, fast and deep, and he was sure there was no way he could turn back now, even if he wanted to. And something deep inside told him Bilbo felt the same.

Chapter Text

They came at last to a road. It was ancient, little more than a path through the dry, foreboding landscape. To everyone’s dismay, Gandalf announced that he would not be accompanying them through the desert; rather, he had urgent business to attend to elsewhere, and would meet them where the path let out on the other side of the mountains. They were to use Beorn’s horses only to cross the desert; when they reached the base of the mountain, they must let them go to return to their master. They were to stay on the path, no matter what . And then Gandalf was off, leaving them on their own to face whatever unknown dangers lay ahead in the vast emptiness.

Thorin took the lead now, with Bilbo at his side, and they cautiously set out into the hot, dry, and unforgiving landscape. Their one consolation was that the desert was so harsh and so desolate that even goblins wouldn’t dare cross into this land, although the fact that they were now venturing into a place that even goblins found impassible did little to ease their minds. There were other horrors, Beorn warned, and they must, at all costs, remain on their guard and remain on the path .

They moved at a slow and steady pace. Beorn had been right in his stories and cautionary tales– it was a stifling and deceitful place, an endless sea of the same– low, scraggly plants struggling to survive; the unforgiving sun burning overhead; the colors all muted– earth, plants, sun, and sky blending together and it felt as if they too would soon disappear into the endless, colorless landscape.

Still, they rode on. When the sun started to reach its peak, they dismounted and rested right on the road, for fear they would lose it. There was no shade to speak of, and, hot and thirsty as they were, they tended to their horses first for they could not afford to lose one of Beorn’s precious animals. When the sun began its descent, they took up and rode once more until the moon came out and the cold started to set in. Again, they rested on the path and cared for their horses before setting out blankets and bedrolls for their first night in the desert.

Bilbo had never been so cold in all his life. It pierced through his blanket and his torn clothes; it reached all the way to his bones and every breath was as if icy cold water was filling his lungs. They had no fire, for Beorn had warned against it, and Bilbo curled up as tightly as he could, blanket pulled up over his head, trying to hold onto any bits of warmth possible.

Suddenly, Bilbo was wrapped up, warm at last. Thorin had moved in from his place at Bilbo’s side, thrown his blanket over them both, and pulled him close. Throwing all caution to the wind, Bilbo relaxed and snuggled in, hoping the darkness would provide at least some semblance of privacy. 

“Better?” Thorin whispered.

“Much,” Bilbo breathed back, “Thank you.”

And Thorin, ever so softly, so subtle that Bilbo wasn’t sure whether it was intentional or not, laid his lips gently to Bilbo’s forehead. It only lasted a moment, and then sleep took them both.

And so began the monotonous, tedious, endless trek through the desert.

For Bilbo’s part, he was certain that if it wasn’t for his nights spent with Thorin, he would have lost his mind completely. But, during the times when the seconds became hours, and the desolate landscape swirled teasingly in the distance, and even the time when the entire Company swore up and down that they could see a lovely, tempting lake far off in the distance, Bilbo managed to keep his head. For he now had something to look forward to– not a far off promise of when they finally managed to make it to the mountains, but something real and close. Sure, it was unknown and uncharted territory for him, foreign and intimidating, and he often wondered what would happen once they left the desert behind them, but for the moment, he allowed himself to simply enjoy each night as it were.

Despite the bitter, biting cold, Bilbo’s favorite times were when they took the night watch. By now, it had become a given that they would take their watch together. On the first night, Bilbo had been so cold that Thorin finally pulled him onto his lap and wrapped their blankets around them. Now, it had become a ritual. They sat up together, Bilbo nestled into Throin’s chest. Up until this, their moments of intense closeness had been limited mostly to sleeping, with Bilbo curled up in Thorin’s arms. But now, fully awake and fully aware, they had crossed into something new and marvelous. Sometimes, they would talk. Other times, they would simply watch the endless sea of stars, twinkling bright overhead. But always close, so close that Bilbo could feel the comforting rhythm of Thorin’s heartbeat and the steady rise and fall of his breath. Somewhere, deep inside, Bilbo knew this was a place where he belonged.

The days and nights blended together, and they began to lose track of time. Finally, there came a day when even Bilbo found himself dazed– it was as if time had come to a complete standstill, despite his horse dutifully continuing to put one foot in front of the other. 

“Look!” Bofur’s voice penetrated weakly through the haze, “Look! Don’t you see it!?”

“...see… what?” came Kili’s sleepy response.

“I see it too!” Fili called out.

“Water!”

“Water!?”

“So close to us!” 

“Right here!” 

“Just off the path!” 

“Look, a stream!” 

“Running at our side!”

And Bilbo found his horse surrounded by the entire Company, who had all dismounted and were now peering intently over the edge of the road. Just out of reach, a sparkling stream was flowing, teasing and tempting them. It was impossible to tell where it began, where it ended, and where it flowed to. But it was right there . So close.

Bilbo dismounted in a haze. Somewhere in his brain, he knew he was being tricked. But his eyes could see the clear, flowing water! Lost in this internal debate, Bilbo was only vaguely aware of the commotion going on around him as the Company argued among themselves about what to do next.

“We can… send the lightest…” Thorin announced, his voice thick and sleepy, “Come Bilbo… I can hold your hand… so I can pull you back… if it… proves dangerous…”

Bilbo’s brain knew it wasn’t a good plan, but his mouth couldn’t speak and his body couldn’t move. All he managed to do was shake his head slightly, no . Thorin took a step towards him, his hand extended– not a threatening gesture, but Bilbo shook with fear all the same. He backed up, feeling trapped, pushing Bombur out of his way, which was no easy feat. But Bilbo needed to put more distance between himself and Thorin… the glazed look in Thorin’s eyes… he couldn’t… that look… 

They were pulled back to reality by a sudden commotion– Bombur had fallen into the stream. Only it wasn’t a stream, it was just more desert, and now Bombur lay just off the road with only the tips of his shoes remaining within reach. To make matters worse, Bombur appeared to have fallen asleep and nothing they could do would wake him.

It took several of them to pull Bombur back onto the road. There were general murmurings about their rotten luck, but Balin managed to remind them that it could have been far worse, for Bombur’s feet had at least managed to remain safely on the road. Thorin announced that they might as well stop for their midday rest, and they all sat rather miserably in the sun, grumbling about everything from the desert to Beorn to the quest and everything in between.

Bilbo sat alone, unsure of what to do next, when Thorin came to his side and took his hand. His eyes were his own again, and the glazed look was gone.

“I am so sorry,” Thorin apologized, “I don’t know what came over me.”

Bilbo tried to say that everything was fine, except he couldn’t. 

“I know,” he managed to whisper, “But please… Stay away... I just… I just need to be alone. For now.” And then the tears fell, and he couldn’t do anything to stop them.

Thorin gently placed Bilbo’s hand back and retreated, Beorn’s warning running through his mind. What did Beorn know that he didn’t? Probably a good many things. Despite wanting nothing more than to take Bilbo in his arms and whisper comforting words and promises, Thorin reluctantly left to sit alone with his growing guilt and regret.

The sun began its retreat, and Thorin announced that they must press on. It took several of them to lift Bombur onto his horse, and they resumed their slow, painstaking march. One step at a time, their horses walked dutifully until nightfall. As if underwater, the Company dismounted at Thorin’s command, cared for their horses (and Bombur, who still hadn’t woken), and set up for the night. They dragged through the motions, forcing themselves to accomplish one task at a time, stuck in a horrible monotony of hopelessness and despair.

Bilbo slept alone that night, shivering and miserable in the cold. But when he woke in the morning, unrested and alone, he was surprised to find that the excruciating numbness of the day before had broken. For today he awoke with a new sensation– he had asked Thorin to leave him alone. And he had. It wasn’t hope exactly, or any other happy feeling, but it was something else: It was the beginnings of trust. And in that moment, it was enough.

Chapter Text

Slowly, the Company rose, going through the motions of packing up camp, which now included lifting a sleeping Bombur back up onto his horse. Thorin channeled his pain into his work; a skill that he had honed to perfection over the years. Somehow, it also gave him a new sense of clarity; the endless, colorless, soundless, monotonous existence was pierced by the pain of his behavior the previous day. It wasn’t a good feeling, but it was a feeling nonetheless, which turned out to be better than no feeling at all.

He was packing up his horse when he felt a small hand on his shoulder, gentle and tentative. The rush of relief mixed with the pain of regret, and he cautiously turned to face Bilbo.

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo said before Thorin could do or say anything, “I shouldn’t have pushed you away. You weren’t yourself… and you didn’t mean any harm, or do anything… I overreacted. I don’t know why… all I can say is that I’m… I’m sorry.”

Thorin’s eyes softened in relief. So Bilbo was alright after all.

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I would never put you in harm’s way… I don’t know why… It just… I don’t…”

But Thorin never got to finish his sentence, for at that moment, Bilbo closed the space between them, determined to find the one thing in the world that was still real. Thorin’s reaction to Bilbo’s advance was everything and then some; surprise melted into affection which quickly turned to passion.

Bilbo broke apart first, much to Thorin’s disappointment. Behind their backs, several members of the Company started exchanging coins amongst themselves; some grinning and others grumbling. Thorin gave them all a Look, and the open gossip quickly became hushed exchanges.

“Ignore them,” Thorin whispered to Bilbo, inclining his head towards the general tittering. “How are you doing? Ready to move forward?”

Bilbo’s blush had Thorin backtracking.

“No, mounting– no! No, not that–- “ Thorin had to take a moment to collect himself, “I meant, are you ready to continue traveling? Let us put this horrid desert behind us.”

The Company resumed their march with considerably higher morale than the previous day. Bombur finally woke up, and if that wasn’t enough to lift their spirits, Fili and Kili taking the liberty of updating him on the latest gossip surrounding their dear Uncle and the resident Burglar definitely had the rest of company at least entertained. For his part, Thorin took the lead, confident, with Bilbo at his side, while Bilbo went back and forth between feelings of elation (Thorin, it turned out, was an excellent kisser…) and mortification (why did he have to do that in front of everyone !?”). 

Whether their change in mood brought it about, or maybe they really were close to the end of the desert, nobody really knew or cared, but by the time they stopped at midday to rest, they could make out dark shapes in the distance that could only mean one thing: the mountains. They rode now with a renewed sense of purpose, but also a growing feeling of reluctance. For at the base of the mountains, they would have to unload and release Beorn’s fine horses. And then they would truly be on their own.

It came both all too soon and not soon enough; they loaded up with all they could carry and and let Beorn’s horses go. Freed from the burdens of rider and baggage, the beautiful mustangs turned and tossed their manes and were off, back across the desert to return home. Thorin gave Bilbo’s hand a squeeze, careful to keep his affections subtle, and thus began the second leg of their journey through the wild.

The mountains turned out to be even worse than the desert.

It was painstakingly slow, and the path was getting harder and harder to keep track of. Even Bilbo was having trouble discerning which turn went where. But worst were the nights.

It was less cold than the desert, but still far too cold for Bilbo’s liking. They started no fire, for not only did they want to avoid any malicious Magic, but they were now also entering the territory of a rival Durinson company– the Sindor workers would most certainly recognize and betray them. They huddled in their blankets, cold and hungry and rather miserable, and then they saw it. A firelight. And then they smelled it… the unmistakable smell of delicious food being cooked over a campfire… it teased them and tempted them and drove them utterly mad. And it lasted for hours. When they finally fell asleep, they dreamed of comfort and food and other good things, and when they woke in the morning, they were so bitterly disappointed that even Balin was snappy and short tempered.

They trekked on through the day, and spent another night just out of reach of someone else’s feast.

On the third night, the arguing began.

“We could at least find out if they would share!”

“It doesn’t hurt to look!”

“Just one of us could go!”

“Remember the incident with the robbers??”

“This is different!”

“No, this is the same!”

“ENOUGH!” Thorin boomed. “Enough. I will go. I will find out whether they are friend or foe.”

“Thorin, I can go,” Bilbo volunteered, “Nobody knows me. Nobody can recognize me. People know your face here,” he explained logically.

“No,” Thorin insisted, while Bilbo groaned in protest at his stubbornness. “No. I won’t put you in harm’s way. I will go.”

Bilbo started to argue, but was so worn out and miserable from cold and hunger that he settled for going off on his own and sulking. 

He suddenly found himself quite alone– the Company’s tittering and arguing had silenced and the distant fire was gone. Perhaps, if it were another time, William Baggins might have sat down miserably and accepted his fate. But not this time… Bilbo felt something turn on inside him, like a switch. He groped around in the dark, and that was when he realized he was surrounded by something… sticky. When he went to take a step, he promptly fell over, for his legs had been bound by the same… sticky… something.

And he saw the eight gleaming eyes of a giant spider, shining luminously in the dark.

He didn’t know what came over him. All he could think of in that moment was: REALLY!? GIANT SPIDERS NOW!? And his knife was out; he was slicing and hacking and stabbing everything and anything he could in a blind rage.

The spider, unused to being directly attacked, recoiled in surprise. Bilbo gave a final blow to its horrible head and rolled out of the way as it fell to the ground. 

Bilbo felt as if every cell in his body had come alive. Armed with his knife, he faced the dark and the unknown– he would find his friends, he would  find Thorin, and he would take out any spiders (or any other horrid thing!) that stood in his way.

Chapter Text

Thorin crept cautiously towards the fire. It went entirely against his better judgment– and to his credit, Bilbo’s it seemed as well– but Thorin had the whole Company to keep happy, alive, motivated, and on task. If he was quiet, and careful, he could hopefully at least determine whether these were fellow travelers, Sindor workers, or something worse. And so, he crept in closer, slowly, staying as low and keeping as quiet as possible.

However, moving silently in the dark in a mountain forest is significantly harder than it seems. Thorin was starting to think that maybe he should have let Bilbo do this, for despite his best efforts, Thorin could hear himself with every move. Bilbo, he learned by now, had the inexplicable ability to move through a forest in silence. Thorin, it seemed, did not.

It was over in an instant– a canvas bag slipped over Thorin’s head; he fought in the dark against his invisible enemies, but it was no use. A heavy blow came down on his head, and he knew no more.

Bilbo’s eyes were adjusting to the dark, and he could make out the shapes of more spiders ahead. The feel of the earth under his feet, together with the sudden appearance of giant magical spiders, told him that they had most definitely lost the safety of the road. It probably happened during their debate over whether to approach the distant campfire, he thought bitterly. But the thought didn’t shut him down– rather, it fueled him and focused him. 

Bilbo picked up a large rock and threw it as hard as he could, as far away as he could. The spiders froze. He threw another to the same spot; and now several spiders scuttled away in the direction of the noise. Taking care to remain low to the ground, Bilbo snuck up behind the nearest one– he knew it was its back because there were no shining eyes– and stabbed as hard as he could. It wasn’t a killing blow, but it had the effect he wanted, and the creature froze and writhed in pain. Bilbo slid underneath it and began slicing into its soft underbelly. He felt a horrible stabbing pain in his arm as its pincers nicked him, and it now took everything he had to avoid another (and potentially more fatal) blow. He stabbed at its ugly head, and at last it rolled over, dead. 

His left arm stinging, Bilbo realized there was no way he could fight them all off face-to-face. He found a stone and threw it at one of them, a direct hit. He scurried out of the way as the spider raced past him, searching for its unseen foe. Bilbo did it again with another spider, and was about to take on a third when there was a commotion in the distance– the sound of many approaching footsteps. 

The spiders froze, then retreated, dragging their prey with them. Bilbo saw his chance, and raced through them, cutting the lines of sticky silk. The spiders hissed, and were now extremely angry at losing their capture, but they knew better than to remain in the open for the Sindor workers (and their guns) to find. Bilbo cut through his friends’ wrappings, freeing them from the spiderwebs. They were all rather woozy from the spider venom, in varying degrees of consciousness, and there was nothing Bilbo could do to get them to move, or in Bombur’s case, even wake up.

And this was how the throng of Sindor workers found them; half asleep, desperate, hungry, and miserable. It was an easy capture, if it could even be called a capture, for the Company was thoroughly spent and went with them willingly– all except for Bilbo, who had tucked himself away, just outside of the group and out of sight. He followed them through the forest, and at last they came to what looked like a great city: the headquarters of the Sindor Company.

The Sindor Company was Durinson’s great rival, for both produced exquisite work with their own signature trademarks. But they managed to coexist; it was a fragile relationship with each company working a different part of the trade, and they were mostly rivals on principle. While Durinson was concerned mainly with gold and other metals, Sindor worked primarily with gems. In the old days, they had even traded with each other to create unique and unrivaled pieces of art. But that was in the old days, before the darkness came with the discovery of The Arkenstone. Now, Lee Sindor had grown paranoid, fearful that Sindor would become Smaug’s next victim. All who came near his mountain were viewed with suspicion and outright distrust.

The Company was set up in rooms; it wasn’t exactly a prison, but it certainly felt like one for the rooms were mostly bare– and locked. They were given bread and meat, for which they was most grateful, but once the elation of being fed had worn off, the uneasiness began to settle in for Thorin was nowhere to be found, and Bilbo too for that matter. Kili’s snarky comment as to where they could have gone was met with a scolding from Balin about respecting his elders, and Kili sat grumpily in the corner, fixing the sour mood that was starting to impede on them all.

Bilbo had managed to follow them into the city under cover of darkness, but the sun was beginning to rise and he was forced to tuck himself out of sight. Nobody here would recognize him as one of Durinson’s, so he figured once the Sindor workers were up and about, he could try and blend into the crowd while he decided what to do next.

Thorin woke with a headache, locked alone in a room. He was grateful to find that food had been placed out for him, and he ate with relish before taking in his surroundings and situation. The room was rather bare, and looked like it may have been an inn once, but it was clear that nobody had stayed here for many years.

He was brought before Lee Sindor, who wore an infuriatingly smug expression at seeing a mighty Durinson brought so low.

“Durinson. I wondered when you might come crawling back. What business do you have in my mountain?”

“Simply passing through. And it’s not your mountain,” Thorin was having a hard time keeping his outward dislike for Sindor under control. 

“Such a simple explanation, and yet, things are never as they seem, are they? Why were you trespassing on my workers while they enjoyed their bonfire and dinner?"

“What is it to you?”

“You are passing through my mountain, which makes it my business,” Sindor answered smoothly. Thorin gave him an angry glare and refused to say another word until Sindor at last ordered him escorted back to his room until he was willing to talk.

The miners and craftsmen were rousing; their families were waking; and thus began the bustle of another day in the mountain city. Bilbo wove in and out of the crowds, keeping his head down and taking care to look busy while wandering around and gathering his bearings. And so it was, in this way, that an entire week passed: Thorin, adamantly refusing to give any information on the Company or their task; the Company stuck in their rooms while Sindor waited for Thorin to talk so he could decide what to do with them all; and Bilbo– Bilbo snuck around the entire city, a fly on the wall, listening, watching, learning, and planning.

He managed to gather that they were all being held in the old hotel, which hadn’t seen guests in many years but had turned out to be rather convenient in its use as a jail. He also found that the river was used for all kinds of trade, and there were rather a lot of tunnels leading to various trapdoors that let out into the water– the most notable and useful of which was the wine cellar. 

He had discovered it quite by accident; for he had been eavesdropping on a pair of gossiping men, and they ended up entering a great cellar lined with liquor barrels of every kind. There was a lever that one pulled, which then released the empty barrels into the river below, and Bilbo began to form his desperate, albeit somewhat far-fetched, plan. If he managed to pull it off without getting caught, he would really be a first-class Burglar indeed.

The opportunity came sooner than he thought it would. By now, he had figured out a lot of people’s routines, and he was keeping his eye on the man he called The Keeper of the Keys. There was a festival of sorts going on that day, and it seemed the entire city was out in the square eating… and drinking. The empty barrels amassed in the cellar, and by the time night rolled around, there were enough for all. Better still, the Keeper of the Keys had all but abandoned his job at the hotel, leaving his keys hanging on the peg to go join the increasingly rowdy party happening outside. And Bilbo took his chance.

It took some searching to find everyone’s rooms, but soon enough he had freed the entire Company. He found Thorin last, who was so relieved at seeing Bilbo again (not to mention the rest of his Company, and also the fact that they were being rescued) that he abandoned all propriety and kissed Bilbo rather thoroughly in full view of everyone. Kili’s sniggering at the whole affair brought them firmly back to reality, and Thorin released Bilbo but refused to let go of his hands, as if he couldn’t stand being apart from him.

“Right then, follow me,” Bilbo instructed, “And keep quiet!”

Bilbo brought them to the back door, hoping beyond hope that the darkness of night would provide enough cover for their escape. He took them to the wine cellar, and after double checking that it was, indeed, empty, led the way down into the cave, which sparked a rather heated debate about the soundness of his plan, a debate that only worsened at Bilbo’s instructions to hide inside the empty barrels. It wasn’t until Thorin demanded they get in or else he would leave them behind that everyone climbed inside and waited for the next instructions. 

Bilbo pulled the lever (it was quite heavy); the trapdoor opened and the barrels went tumbling down into the river below, with Bilbo sliding through at the last second.

Chapter Text

The water was cold, and the current was terrifyingly fast. Bilbo scrambled to find something to hold onto, anything, and when he crashed into the side of someone’s barrel, he was thoroughly relieved. He clambered up to the surface, holding on for dear life. There wasn’t enough room for both inside, as it was Bombur’s barrel, and Thorin’s desperate cry could be heard over the sound of the river telling Bilbo to hold on. 

It was, in actuality, not a very long journey down the river although to Bilbo it felt like an eternity. He could barely see anything, despite the moon’s best efforts, which made the whole ordeal even worse. He was knocked off of Bombur’s barrel, but managed to grab hold of Balin’s, and when he had to let go of Balin's barrel to avoid being smashed on a rock, Kili caught him. They couldn’t get Bilbo into the barrel without tipping it, so Bilbo held onto the side again, feeling rather sick from all the water he had swallowed and inhaled. 

The current slowed and Balin announced that they should find a place to land, for he recognized these parts, even in the dark. There was a town nearby, built on an old dried-out lakebed. Lake Town, it was called, and Balin was still on friendly enough terms with a man who lived here and could perhaps pull some strings to get them help and supplies. Bilbo had never been so relieved in all his life, and when he staggered out onto the shore, he promptly keeled over and threw up a good deal of water.

Thorin was at his side in an instant, which made Bilbo feel worse if anything– this was not something he particularly wanted Thorin to witness, let alone be next to. It wasn’t until Thorin pointed out that he had helped raise his nephews from infancy, and there was nothing Bilbo could do that he hadn’t already seen, that Bilbo reluctantly gave in to his care.

They dried off as best they could, but Bilbo was still cold and miserable. His arm hurt where the spider’s pincer had nicked him, and while his comrades had been comparably well-fed during the past week--Lee Sindor didn't like outsiders, but he was not so cruel as to keep them starving-- Bilbo had been living off of whatever he could find or steal in the city. He swayed on the spot, trying his best to keep it together as the world started to spin, and didn’t even protest when Thorin scooped him up like a child. 

They headed west, following Balin, and soon they could see a sprawling village, lights twinkling, in the distance. Balin headed alone into the town to find his acquaintance, the hood of his cloak pulled up to hide his face. Thorin sat with Bilbo shivering in his arms, apologizing for not having anything warm or dry but hopefully that would change soon.

After some time, Balin returned with a man. The man was tall, with dark hair and a grim expression on his face. 

“Bard, please allow me to introduce the leader of our Company, Thorin Durinson,” was Balin’s introduction while Thorin bowed politely.

Bard simply nodded his acknowledgement, and Thorin took over the conversation.

“We are in need of food, medicine, and supplies. We can pay handsomely for your help and discretion.”

To which Bard agreed, and after some negotiations, money was exchanged and the Company followed Bard into the village, hoods pulled forward to hide their faces for the sun was rising fast. Bilbo insisted that he was feeling better enough to walk, but allowed Thorin to wrap his arm protectively around him. Bard led them through the gates, exchanged some coins with the guardsman, and took them through the back alleys to his boardinghouse.

Business had been slow of late, as there were fewer and fewer travelers passing through these parts, and Bard really was grateful for the money. His inn was empty for the moment anyway, and he agreed to take no new travelers until Thorin and Company were on their way again. The Company had turned out every pocket to pay him, but what other choice did they have? Bard showed them to their rooms, the ones furthest back and least likely to attract attention; he gave them what medical supplies he had on hand, and then set out to see what could be done about food for fourteen.

The Company settled together in Thorin’s room, tired and hungry and damp, but in good enough spirits nonetheless. The sun was up, they had escaped the mountain, thanks again to Bilbo’s cleverness, and they were now an eager audience as he recounted how he had set about forming and executing his great escape plan. Thorin eventually sent everyone out so he could tend to Bilbo’s wounds, an action that resulted in Fili and Kili sniggering so much that Balin started lecturing them on showing their uncle proper respect and Bilbo ended up blushing so hard that Thorin worried he might be developing a fever.

When everyone had left, Thorin helped Bilbo out of his damp shirt and took a look at him. The spider wound on his arm wasn’t deep, but a week of neglect followed by a pounding in the water had left it rather red and angry-looking; Thorin cleaned it thoroughly before applying a salve and bandage. Bilbo had some nasty scrapes and bruises from his ride in the river, but nothing seemed broken, and once Thorin finished fussing over him, Bilbo pulled his shirt back on and they rejoined the others in Balin and Dwalin’s room. Bard returned some time later with food and a few clothes, and everyone was in rather good spirits by the time evening rolled around: for the first time in many weeks, they sat around simply enjoying each other’s company, telling stories of times long past and singing songs of far-off adventures. Finally, Thorin announced that they all needed a proper rest, and sent everyone off to bed.

It then dawned on Bilbo that he didn’t have a room assigned to him yet, and he was starting to wonder what to do about it when he realized he was still holding Thorin’s hand and they were most definitely heading back together towards Thorin’s room.

His stomach started turning again, but it was a good feeling this time. Thorin closed--and locked, Bilbo noticed-- the door behind him and they were alone at last.

Chapter Text

Thorin lit the lamp before taking Bilbo’s hands, slowly backing up towards the bed. Bilbo followed, and noticed somewhat sadly that Thorin’s eyes had resumed their haunted, somber look. He wondered what was going on in his mind, and hoped he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Do you trust me?” Thorin spoke at last, reaching a hand to Bilbo’s cheek, gently stroking from his ear towards his chin. It wasn’t a threatening question or tone; rather, it was tentative and gentle, as if Thorin was afraid of what the answer might be.

Bilbo took Thorin’s hand from his cheek and held his fingers to his lips, kissing them before stepping in closer.

“I think so,” he answered honestly. “Why would I not?”

“I don’t know,” Thorin said, his eyes soft and troubled, “Maybe… I… Maybe I don’t know if I trust me…”

“How come?”

“Because… of how I feel… when I’m with you…” Thorin whispered, pulling Bilbo closer still.

“Which is…?” This conversation was not exactly what Bilbo had been expecting, but then again, nothing with Thorin ever was.

Thorin finally smiled; a soft, gentle smile. 

“Everything. Joy. Fear.”

“And why do I make you afraid?” Bilbo whispered in Thorin’s ear. He couldn’t help it.

“I’m afraid… afraid… of falling so deep… there will be no coming out again,” Thorin finally gave in and pulled Bilbo into a passionate kiss. And then he released him, somewhat reluctantly.

“Bilbo…” Thorin whispered, “What if… what if I can’t be everything you need me to be? I can’t– I mean– I would promise you the world, but that's a promise nobody can give because it's a promise that's impossible to keep. But it's not because I don't want to. I... I would give you everything I can and more, that I can promise you. Is... is that enough? Are you alright?”

Bilbo pulled back and looked at Thorin with an expression of affectionate amusement, which he promptly rearranged into a look of understanding and care.

“Thorin, that's more than enough for me… are you sure you are alright? We don’t have to do this, you know, if, erm, you don’t… if you’re not… ready…?”

“That’s just it,” Thorin said softly, with the air of one making a confession, “I have never wanted anything so badly in all my life.” He took his hands and ran them down Bilbo’s body, caressing him as if he were the most precious thing in the world. “And…” he kissed Bilbo’s hands, “I am afraid…” he moved on to Bilbo’s neck, “once we start…” he whispered in Bilbo’s ear, “we won’t be able to stop…” He kissed Bilbo properly now, passionately, and his hands explored freely, caressing all the places that had been tempting him so badly up until this point.

Bilbo responded eagerly, pushing Thorin back onto the bed.

“Who says we would ever need to stop?”

It was what Thorin needed to hear– he looked at Bilbo with such passion and care in his eyes that Bilbo suddenly understood what Thorin had been talking about. There was no turning back now; they were far too gone into the depths of unknown and beautiful things that there was no way they could emerge from this as unchanged people. And when Thorin pulled back Bilbo’s shirt, so differently than he had earlier that day, looking upon Bilbo as if he were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, Bilbo felt all self-consciousness melt away.

Thorin was passionate and caring and spent far too much effort being gentle with Bilbo’s bruises from the river that Bilbo eagerly began his own exploration. He started with Thorin’s shirt, and then spent a good amount of time getting to know every inch of him. Thorin sighed with contentment; groaned in anticipation; and responded in ways that had Bilbo feeling like he was completely losing himself with desire. But there was something that he needed to know first– it just didn’t seem right without knowing–

“Thorin?”

“Mm? Are you... Are you alright? Do you need to… do you want to stop?” Thorin tried hard to hide his concern and twinges of disappointment.

Bilbo smiled and shook his head.

“No, everything is fine, better than fine, I just have one question for you and then we can continue until the sun comes up, or even longer if you like.”

“Ask away.”

“What’s your real name?”

Thorin smiled gently, and his eyes sparkled as he pulled Bilbo in for a soft kiss before whispering in his ear:

“Theodore.”

Chapter Text

Thorin, Bilbo discovered that week, was an excellent lover.

He was passionate, but considerate. While it was clear that he wanted nothing more than to simply devour Bilbo and absolutely ravish him in every way possible, it was equally clear that he held himself back in order to put Bilbo’s comfort and desires first. Bilbo’s only hope was that, by some miracle, he managed to meet Thorin’s expectations as a lover, because Thorin was clearly either an expert in this or just unnaturally talented– at first, Bilbo worried about it (how many lovers had the great Durinson taken before him???), but eventually he began to think maybe it really was the latter, for there were many times that Thorin seemed just as self-conscious as Bilbo felt. 

They did end up sleeping that night, a little, and when the streams of sunlight began to pierce through the curtains, Bilbo rolled over to find Thorin gazing at him with a look that should only be allowed in the bedroom. Thorin gently stroked Bilbo’s cheek, looking more at ease than Bilbo had ever seen him-- he seemed younger, relaxed, and genuinely happy.

“Good morning,” Thorin whispered, “You’re beautiful. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Bilbo smiled in spite of himself.

“Don’t laugh,” Thorin teased, “It’s true.”

“So is this,” Bilbo kissed the tender spot he had discovered on Thorin’s neck. Thorin’s response had Bilbo seriously wishing they would never have to leave this room ever again.

But the stubborn sun continued its inconsiderate invasion on their privacy, climbing higher and sending more beams through the curtain, glaring reminders that the night was now far behind them. Thorin groaned and reluctantly got up, leaving Bilbo pouting on the bed.

“Don’t look at me like that, or we will never reach the mines,” Thorin teased.

“Good,” Bilbo replied, “Come back to bed.”

Thorin laughed affectionately.

“We have tonight to look forward to,” he said and gathered Bilbo up in his arms. He fussed over Bilbo’s wounds, but now every touch had them both tingling with anticipation as he cherished his lover’s body. It took them a good while to clean themselves up and get dressed, mostly because Thorin took his time and insisted on doing things like buttoning Bilbo’s shirt, an act that he somehow managed to make romantic. By the time they emerged from the room, it was so late and they were so relaxed and elated that there was absolutely no hiding what they had been up to the previous night. The Company tried halfheartedly to pretend not to notice the change, but eventually gave up and Bilbo was embarrassingly aware that everyone knew full well about the next step that had been taken in their relationship.

And so passed their time in Laketown– they stayed nearly a week at Bard’s inn, the days dedicated to planning, scheming, and gathering supplies. The nights were dedicated to everything else, things that had Bilbo wondering how he ever managed to live his life before Thorin came along into it. And Bilbo began to understand Thorin.

He was an excellent leader, and his tendency to overthink turned out to be essential in making sure every little detail was covered and addressed. There was an overlook near the mines where they could station themselves, accessible from the east, but difficult to traverse coming from the other direction. There was a small, hidden path that led down into the heart and headquarters of the company and that was where Bilbo came in.

He was to sneak in, although since nobody knew him in these parts, there was a good chance he could simply walk in as a new hire and nobody would give him a second glance. He needed to find where the Arkenstone was being kept, steal it, and bring it back to their base camp without being caught– a task that everyone seemed confident was within his skill set after his success with the barrel ride. Bilbo secretly had his doubts, but didn’t want to disappoint, so he went along with it. He did have anonymity on his side, and he was quite good at whittling information out of people without coming off as suspicious– a skill he found to be rather essential for living in a small town.

Once retrieved, the Company would split: Fili, Kili, Bofur, and Oin were to accompany Bilbo back to the outskirts of Lake Town. He would then board a train with Gandalf and bring the Stone back east, where they would journey to The Valley and deliver it to Sadwyn. Since Bilbo had no connection to the Arkenstone, there was little chance that anyone would recognize or suspect him, and the train would be so much faster than horses. Bilbo did wonder whether Gandalf would raise suspicion on the train, but was assured by the Company that Gandalf knew what he was doing and he shouldn’t worry about him. With the corrupting power of the Stone removed, Thorin would then be able to present his documentation as the rightful owner of the Durinson Company, and could set about re-hiring his workers and undoing all the damage Smaug had caused over the years.

The only thing Bilbo (and Thorin) didn’t like about the whole thing was that it involved Bilbo leaving Thorin’s side. Bilbo soon discovered that this had generally been the plan since the beginning, before they had even met, and though it tore painfully at Thorin’s heart to stick with it, he was a professional who kept his personal life separate from his business life as best he could. After many reassurances from Bilbo that he would return as quickly as possible, Thorin resigned himself and stuck with the plan. In the meantime, he was determined to get the most out of his time with Bilbo that he possibly could, and the remaining nights spent at Bard’s inn were dedicated to lovemaking with increasing passion and tenderness.

All too soon, the time came for them to move onwards. Bilbo found he was no longer self-conscious of his relationship with Thorin, as by now, everybody was extremely aware of all they had been up to and Thorin had been right– now that they had started, they simply couldn’t get enough of each other. For everyone else’s sake, they kept their public affections to a relative minimum, and Fili and Kili turned out to be an excellent alarm system of sorts and had no qualms about telling their uncle to tone it down in front of them. 

It took all day to reach the lookout, and when Thorin laid eyes on the distant mining city– it was called Erebor, he said to Bilbo– he had no words left and simply held his lover as he looked on at the place he called home.

They set up a base camp under the tree cover, and enjoyed a final night of quiet talking and reminiscing. They had no fire, for the smoke would give them away, but it was quite a bit warmer on this side of the mountains and they were relatively comfortable with their bedrolls and blankets. With rather a lot of willpower, Thorin and Bilbo restrained themselves that night and simply slept in each other’s arms, enjoying their newfound closeness. For tomorrow, Bilbo would enter into the dragon’s lair, so to speak, and put their plan into action.

Chapter Text

Far too soon, the dawn began to break and Bilbo found himself facing a day that seemed far less intimidating in discussion than it felt in reality.

Thorin was nervous, but he was so good at maintaining professional composure that Bilbo was pretty sure he was the only one who really noticed. He somehow managed to maintain physical contact with Bilbo through the entire morning, whether by sitting close by or holding his hand or wrapping his arm around his shoulders… right before Bilbo set out, Thorin at last pulled him aside to semi-privacy and ran his hands down his body, much like he had their first night, looking on him with such tenderness and concern.

“Are you sure you’re alright? Can I help you with anything? We can turn back, you know. Just the two of us… we could find someplace to go… Disappear… I should never… what was I thinking? I am so sorry, Bilbo, I don’t… I can’t…”

And Thorin looked so helpless in that moment that Bilbo reached up and pulled him into a deep and passionate kiss. He tried his best to portray everything he felt– reassurance and care and all of it.

“Thorin. If we leave now, you will regret it for the rest of your life. I know you, and I know you will. And I would have to live with that too. You asked me if I trust you… well, I do. Do you trust me?”

Thorin took a deep breath, steadying and collecting himself.

“Yes. And yes, you are right, as you always are. Alright. But if there is any doubt in your mind, any reason to turn back, you come straight back, understood? Do not engage, come back to me, and we will figure it out. Together.”

“Fair enough,” Bilbo squeezed Thorin’s hands one last time, turned his back and set off while he still felt brave enough to go.

It really was an inaccessible spot, and Bilbo had to climb down quite slowly and carefully. There were a few moments when he worried he might lose his footing, but as he carried nothing with him, it was, overall, not the worst descent he could have had. The trail led through a rather thorough undergrowth, and looking back, Bilbo understood why Thorin had chosen the lookout as their base camp– it was thoroughly inconspicuous from down here.

Entering through the gates was easy enough, for there were a good many workers going in and out of the great city. They had a glazed look about them, which put Bilbo rather on edge, but still he pressed on. The whole area had an aura of deception about it, as if Bilbo were looking at everything through a veil, and when he tried to peer down off the bridge into the first mine, it was as if he were looking down on the reflection of a lake rather than the reality of the earth. 

He ended up spending the entire day there, spying and eavesdropping and flitting in and out of crowds. He gathered a good deal of information, and when darkness began its descent, he climbed back up to the lookout.

His arrival back in one piece caused a good deal of quiet celebrating and congratulating among the Company, and Thorin looked like he had spent the day wallowing in anxiety (he had). But there was something else– Bilbo couldn’t place it, but Thorin looked… different. There was a desperation and hunger in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“What happened? Are you alright? Tell us everything,” Even Thorin’s voice had taken on a new urgency.

“Erm, alright. There is deceit everywhere, if that makes sense. I don’t even trust my eyes to see the truth, I can’t explain it. But nothing is as it seems, that much I can tell you. There is a man, tall and fierce. I’ve only seen him from a distance, but he looks to be the one in charge, or at least, he is the one everyone seems afraid of.”

“Benedict. A dragon on earth, if ever there was one,” Thorin’s voice was harsh and bitter, full of resentment that Bilbo hadn’t heard before. “Now there is a man who cares for nothing but himself, stuffing his pockets full of coins, no matter what he has to do or who he has to deceive to get it from. His only goal is to amass wealth; he does nothing with it but hoard it, and my men are starving under him.”

“So… Benedict…”

“Yes, Benedict is the head of Smaug, Incorporated,” Thorin spat out bitterly.

“But… but there’s someone else,” Bilbo pressed on, “I’ve only caught glimpses of him– an old man, clad all in white. But I’ve heard him talk, and when he talks, it is as if… as if… as if all burdens of the world fall away, his voice is soothing and… and the things he says… I had to cover my ears, because otherwise, I would have found myself falling completely under his spell and doing whatever it was he was asking.”

Thorin looked somewhat pensive, before resuming his new and discomforting demeanor.

“I don’t know the old man. But were you able to find it?”

“Find what?”

“The Arkenstone.”

Thorin’s eyes took on a hungry look. It made Bilbo shift uncomfortably.

“No, Thorin, I spent the day scouting and gathering information. That was the plan, we agreed on that, remember?”

“But did you find its whereabouts? You will be able to retrieve it tomorrow?” 

“Thorin, I… I'll do my best… but… are… are you alright?” Bilbo now looked to the rest of the Company for some sort of explanation, but they all appeared to have fallen under a similar trance, looking at Bilbo expectantly and far too eagerly. Only Balin appeared to retain his composure, and he offered no help at the moment. Bilbo feigned hunger (well, he really was hungry) and tiredness (he wasn’t all that tired) and excused himself to go rest for tomorrow’s excursion. He left the group feeling distinctly uneasy and went to go pick through their rations.

He found a spot off to the side and sat alone, nibbling a biscuit, wondering what to make of these new developments. He hadn’t considered what he would do if Thorin and his friends all fell under the same spell, or what would happen if he himself fell victim to whatever malady this was. It now seemed a rather gaping hole in their otherwise well-laid out plans.

Sitting alone with his thoughts, Bilbo picked out something small from his pocket and turned it over pensively. It really was a beautiful thing, he thought, so small and yet so powerful. 

“What is that? In your hand?”

Thorin’s voice was unlike anything Bilbo had heard before: dark, desperate, and accusatory.

“I… I just…” Bilbo closed his hands around his prize, looking up with the air of one who had just been caught in a private moment.

“Show me.” Thorin demanded softly; without care or compassion;

“I… it’s… it’s just…” And Bilbo opened his hands to show Thorin the small cactus plant that Beorn had given him all those weeks ago. “It really is quite amazing. I was so sure it wouldn’t survive; it had been in my pocket in the river. But… here it is. Surviving against all odds. A bit… a bit like us, I suppose. Who would have thought?”

And Thorin was back, ever so briefly; the darkness lifted and the urgency vanished from his demeanor. He smiled softly, to his eyes, and he reached out.

“May I?”

Bilbo handed it over.

Thorin examined the sturdy little plant. It was just a plant, but to Bilbo, it was something extraordinary. 

“Who would have thought?” Thorin agreed gently. He pulled Bilbo in close, and kissed him, softly at first, then increasing in his need and desire. Bilbo felt the flames in his heart ignite, but at the same time, a sense of warning began to form in the pit of his stomach. Something… something wasn’t… right.

Thorin pulled back and examined Bilbo with the look of a hot and thirsty traveler approaching a tempting lake, but he didn’t make any more advances. Instead, he caressed his lover’s cheek, asked if he had eaten enough and brought him over to their bedrolls to rest up for tomorrow’s excursion. Bilbo pretended to sleep for a long time, the feelings of unease building as he lay in the dark next to Thorin’s sleeping form.

The morning came again far too quickly, and Bilbo now began to feel quite as desperate as Thorin looked-- although, by now Bilbo wasn't even sure who this new person was, for the Thorin he knew never looked at him this way. But what else could he do? He bade them farewell, and crept once more down the path into the dragon’s lair.

He knew his way around better this time, and Thorin had briefed him on the most likely places where the Arkenstone could be. He knew now to avoid Benedict’s eye, and to make himself scarce every time the old man appeared in the distance so he could cover his ears discreetly. He figured he would try the main offices first, and so waited until Benedict had come out to give instructions to a new team of workers when he slipped inside.

He pretended to be on urgent business of some sort, and managed to walk through the various clerks and bookkeepers without attracting so much as a second glance. He was just starting to feel slightly more confident in the whole situation when he heard a door close behind him and he turned around to face the fiery eyes of Benedict, head of Smaug, Incorporated.

“So. I wondered when I would have a chance to speak with you,” Benedict’s voice was as deep as Thorin’s, but full of deception and malice.

“Ah. Wonderful to finally meet you. I am so… so glad that we finally get to talk… in person,” Bilbo found himself saying. “I must say, I find myself quite impressed by your… first class facility and the… efficiency of your operation.”

“I thank you for your flattery. And who, may I ask, are you?”

“I… I am… I am… he… that walks unseen through the darkness. I was chosen for the lucky number. I… am friend to all that is green and growing in this world. And I… am here… to… to… admire your great leadership and handiwork, for this is clearly an operation unequaled in size and scale!” Bilbo improvised.

Benedict looked at him, and cracked an oily grin.

“I like you. You’ve got nerve. Now why are you really here?”

“Like I said, to… to admire your fine operation! And… and apply for a job!” Bilbo said, running out of excuses and other things to say.

Benedict lifted an eyebrow, clearly suspicious.

“Very well then. Let me show you around. But only because I like you.”

And poor Bilbo found himself escorted around for the rest of the day in Benedict’s company. It turned out to be rather a good thing at first, for he was able to discover a whole lot more information, like the fact that Benedict and the old man were partners, and once the old man joined the team, Benedict had been able to buy out Durinson; his production then skyrocketed and profits boomed. Bilbo, for his part, ended up pretending this serpent-like man next to him was Thorin, and he engaged as politely and interestedly as he possibly could, despite the whole situation making his insides crawl. It was indeed getting very late when Benedict took him to the dining hall, with Bilbo following along out of sheer desperation, unable to find any way out of the man’s claws, and after dinner, Bilbo found himself quite unsure of what on earth would come next.

“I like you,” Benedict said again, “I’ve decided. I could use someone like you. Are you ready for the opportunity of a lifetime?”

What else could Bilbo say?

“That depends. What is this opportunity?”

“Whoever you’re working for, you now work for me instead. And I will make you rich beyond belief. Power beyond measure. Anything you desire.

Bilbo put on his best face.

“Go on.”

“The old man. He thinks it’s a secret, but I’ve figured him out. But he knows me too well, see? It’s too suspicious. But you… he’ll never suspect you.”

“I’m listening.”

“There is a stone, a magical stone. No, hear me out–” for Bilbo feigned a scoff at the mention of Magic, “This stone brings unlimited power to the one who wields it. You bring it to me, and whatever you’ve been promised, I can double. Triple. And anything else you may … desire.”

“What would I have to do?”

“Ah, see, I knew I liked you!” Benedict clapped Bilbo on the back, and drew himself in closer, uncomfortably close but Bilbo maintained his composure, “He keeps it in his tower, hidden away. He goes for a walk every morning… you will be able to slip in then… and in the meantime... while we wait for the sun to rise… you can prove to me whether or not I can trust you. For I know where he keeps it, and you’ll need to be quick. But I won’t tell you the rest until the morning. So. Are you in? Prove yourself to me, and I can make you the richest, happiest man alive.”

Bilbo was trapped. If he refused, he would never have another chance like this again. But Thorin’s words rang in his head, if there is any doubt in your mind, any reason to turn back, you come straight back, understood? Do not engage, come back to me, and we will figure it out. Together. 

But Thorin was not Thorin anymore, at least, not right now. What would he do when Bilbo returned empty handed?

I’m sorry, Thorin, Bilbo thought and desperately hoped that somewhere, somehow, Thorin would find it in his heart to understand, I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry… I’m so, so sorry…

And he followed Benedict back to his chambers; he swallowed down the regret and the pain and clung onto the fleeting, desperate hope that with the Arkenstone’s removal, he could save Thorin and give him his life back… even if Thorin wanted nothing to do with him after this, at the very least, he still stood a chance at saving him, and that would be enough.

Chapter Text

Dawn broke at last, and Bilbo woke with a start as the events of the night flooded back to him. He had, overall, done the best he could at evading certain acts, and while it had definitely not come anywhere close to his nights spent with Thorin, he was wracked with guilt nonetheless. But he had a plan to put into action today, and he couldn’t afford to reveal himself now.

“Look who’s awake,” Benedict’s oily voice purred in his ear, far too close for comfort, “Now… are you ready?”

Bilbo put on his best pillow-talk smile.

“What do I need to do?”

“Come, come over here. See the tower over there? That’s his tower. No idea why he wanted a tower, but to each their own I guess. He goes for a walk every morning, overseeing what’s happening down in the mines. If anyone asks, say I’ve sent you. Here, take this--" he handed Bilbo a small golden shaving cup engraved with a dragon, "-- this is mine, everyone knows the dragon means me, just show it if anyone doubts you and they’ll leave you alone. Go straight up the stairs into his study; you’ll find it there locked in his desk. But I have a skeleton key— here you go. You’ll know it when you see it.”

Bilbo nodded in agreement, working hard not to give himself away.

“And know this,” Benedict’s voice dropped dangerously low, “Should you prove false… should you betray me… in any way… I will find you. And I will destroy you.”

Bilbo put on his best reassuring face, trying his hardest to look as if he had scored the deal of a lifetime, and set off. Everything Benedict had said was true– the old man descended from his tower; Bilbo entered pretending he was on an important errand on Benedict’s orders (this at least was true); he ascended the stairs into the study, picked the lock on the desk (so he really was a first class Burglar after all), pocketed the Stone, and exited down the stairs, his heart pounding so hard he was afraid everyone could hear it.

He ducked into a crowd flowing into a mine, with the intention of grabbing some clothes, or a hat, anything to help him find some anonymity, and the sight of the underground workers nearly had him forgetting everything he had so carefully schemed– they looked like the goblins, but bigger and far more menacing. Not now! Bilbo told himself– he grabbed someone’s cloak, wrapped it over his face, and ran.

He had never run so fast in all his life. Taking care to remain hidden, he raced through the city, clambered up the cliffside, and rolled onto the lookout.

“Run! Run! We need to leave. Now! Come on!” Bilbo scrambled into the tree cover. Why was nobody running? What part of urgency didn’t anyone understand??

“Give it to me,” Thorin stepped in front of him; a hungry look on his face and eyes filled with desire. His voice was thick and low and dangerous.

“No. No, Thorin, we had a plan,” Bilbo stepped back, “And we need to leave. Now.”

“Plans change.”

“What? No, nothing’s changed. Except for you. You’ve changed,” Bilbo continued backing up. This wasn’t Thorin. He didn’t know this person in front of him, with no love or tenderness in his eyes, only greed and lust and want.

“Yes. You’re right. I have changed,” Thorin whispered. 

“Good, glad you finally figured it out,” Bilbo said bitterly.

“I fell in love with you.”

Bilbo’s heart dropped and his stomach froze.

“No. Absolutely not, no, Thorin, we are not having this discussion now,” It was all Bilbo could do to remain calm. He could feel anger boiling up while bitter disappointment clawed at his insides. This isn’t Thorin , he reminded himself, This isn’t him.

“I love you,” Thorin said again. It was a declaration this time, not a tentative whisper. “Give me the stone. Unlimited power in the hands of the one who wields it. Give me the stone, and I will give you the world. Everything… for the one I love.”

“No… Thorin… I… I can’t…” Bilbo’s anger was quickly giving way to numbing pain and sadness; he was breaking and he now wanted nothing more than to simply disappear, to wake up at home in The Shire and realize the whole thing was just one long, crazy dream.

“I love you! Do you not love me too!?” 

“Thorin, I… I…” Bilbo couldn’t bring himself to say it. There had been so many times that he wanted to, it had been right on the tip of his tongue time and time again. But the words never left his lips. He loved Thorin. But he didn’t love this person standing in front of him, staring at him with no care or tenderness, only desire and nothing more. He didn’t know this person.

“You don’t. You’ve been toying with me this whole time,” Thorin said darkly and desperately, pain and betrayal written clearly across his face.

“What?! No, Thorin, that’s… no! You do not get to make those accusations, not now, and especially not to me! Not after everything I've just been through for you!” Bilbo stood his ground, tears flowing freely now. This is not him, this is not him, echoed through his mind. 

“I gave you everything,” Thorin said dangerously, stepping in closer. “Everything. I love you. Do you not love me? When we shared a bed together…those nights in Lake Town… did you not love me then too!?”

“No, Thorin, no, no, not now, this is not the time for this!”

“I have been betrayed! You… you stole my heart and now you steal the Arkenstone! Was this your plan all along!? You would take what is rightfully mine and keep it for yourself!?”

“No, Thorin, I would never… steal from you... you know this. Or at least, you used to.”

Thorin shook with shock and betrayal; his face distorted in anger and bitter, bitter pain and sudden understanding. He gave up all restraint and marched over, grabbing Bilbo with both hands..

“You have been playing me for a fool this whole time. Where were you last night!?”

Bilbo’s look of pain and guilt gave him away.

“You wretched creature! It’s true! Curse you!! Now hand over the Arkenstone! Give it to me now and then I never want to see you again!”

And Bilbo found himself fighting as Thorin shook him in a blind rage, dangerously close to the edge of the cliff.

It was all Bilbo could do to hold onto the stone and keep his footing. As the world began to fade in and out of focus, there was only one thing left that he could do. Please work, please please work, he pleaded simultaneously with nobody in particular and everything in the universe, Thorin, please, please come back to me. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry… His hazel eyes found Thorin’s clouded blue ones; Bilbo didn’t even have any tears left to cry, all he could do was look into Thorin’s lost, focusless gaze and hope that somewhere in there was the Thorin he knew and loved. And the world grew dark; inky clouds closed in around him, and all the while, his heart pleaded… Thorin, I know you’re in there… come back to me…

And suddenly, Bilbo was on the ground, gasping for breath. Thorin had retreated, looking down at his hands in horror. Bilbo tried to speak, but nothing came. He reached out, but Thorin pulled back.

“No, Bilbo… no… I… Bilbo. Please. Leave me. Before I hurt you. Again,” Thorin crumpled; his face, his posture, his body… he held his head in his hands, clearly wracked with pain and regret.

Bilbo tentatively reached out to Thorin’s shoulder, but Thorin pulled back.

“Please leave.”

“No, just... let me say... I... I'm... Everything I've done... I did it for you... I'm sorry...”

“NO!!! LEAVE ME!!” 

With a good deal of effort and willpower he didn’t know he had, his heart breaking, Bilbo turned and ran.

Chapter Text

Thorin held his head in his hands, crumpled, defeated, fighting the madness that threatened to consume him completely. His Company stood by, silenced and frozen by an invisible spell; the power of the Arkenstone. How long they stayed that way, nobody could tell. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours.

The sound of a gun cocking brought Thorin back to reality.

A tall figure stood over him, holding a gun to his head.

“Ah, the mighty Durinson. This makes so much sense now.”

Thorin looked up, his eyes a blue flame. Benedict continued:

“It seems we may have a mutual friend. Clever fellow. Lot of nerve. Not a bad lover, either, although I must say not what I was expecting,” Benedict now dropped low to whisper in Thorin’s ear, “Trembled like a leaf the whole time.”

Thorin’s roar of anger was enough confirmation.

“Ah, so you do know him. Good. He has something of mine, and I would like it back. He may think he got the upper hand in this deal– a night for a stone, one could say. Except I have legions at my command. Come, come over here. No, this isn’t a request–” Benedict held his pistol to Thorin’s temple– “It’s a command. Look over there. What do you see?”

“The city of Erebor," Thorin growled as he rose and came to the edge of the cliff. 

“No, no, what do you see ?”

It was as if a veil was being lifted from over the city. For when Thorin looked again, he could now see the vast expansion of deep mines, thick smoke rising, and… 

“That’s right. Your eyes see what you want them to see. It’s amazing what people choose to overlook. But do you see it now? I have an entire army at my command, and this is unlike any army the world has ever known. 

“Now, back to our mutual friend. You can tell me where he is, in which case I will simply take back what is mine. Who knows? I may even return him to you once I'm done... although come to think on it, I might decide to keep him. I like a submissive partner in the sheets, know what I mean? Ah, yes you do.

“But. Should you decide not to disclose his whereabouts, I will send this army out across the world. They will not stop until he is found, and I promise you they will find him. And they will bring him to me. And I will kill him... when I'm done with him." And Benedict smiled, an awful, serpentine smile that made Thorin's skin crawl, his insides burning with rage.

Thorin forced himself to smile back. It was the only thing he could think of. He couldn't let this monster near Bilbo; and the thought of what Bilbo did to get the Stone... Bilbo, why??? Some things just aren't worth it. You should have come back to me... we could have gone away... someplace safe. Maybe, just maybe, he could buy some more time– time to find Gandalf, time to escape. Even if it meant he never saw Bilbo again… if Bilbo could make it to The Valley, he would be safe there. That was all that mattered.

“He doesn’t have it anymore,” and Thorin turned out his pocket, taking care to keep its contents hidden while still making it clear there was something there– Bilbo’s plant. Please work.

Benedict laughed. 

“Oh, this is even better! So he was working for you the whole time. Pity. Whatever you gave him for it, I could have easily given more. Told him that, too. Ah, well, his loss. Tell you what. You come with me. I know someone who’s been searching the whole damn world for you anyway. Offering rewards of all kinds, so more money for me. And remember my promise– if you’re lying, I will find him. I will kill him. And I will kill you."

And Thorin gave his Company one final look, a look that meant many things. Gratitude. Apologies. Sacrifice. And hope. He didn’t know if they could see him anymore, for their bodies had frozen in stillness and their faces had glazed over with the look of those who had fallen completely under the spell. But Balin flicked his eyes in Thorin’s direction, and Thorin knew. Balin had been listening through the haze. Balin had received his silent message. There was hope after all.

Thorin walked in front, straight and tall and proud, with Benedict’s pistol held to the back of his head. He refused to enter Erebor cowering in defeat. If this was to be his end, so be it. Bilbo lived still, and that was all that mattered now.

He was brought to the tower and delivered to an old man clad all in white, with long white hair and a long white beard.

“Saruman,” Benedict bowed low. “I have delivered Durinson to you. At long last, you can call off your manhunt. And I ask that it be remembered who it was who brought him to you.”

The old man nodded in agreement. Benedict bowed and took his place standing at attention in the corner. When the old man finally spoke, Thorin noticed the enticing quality of his voice. So this is what Bilbo was talking about.

“Durinson. I have been looking for you.”

“Have you?”

“Yes. For you see, I have come across a peculiar artifact. Its power is unmatched by anything in this world, and yet, it fails to reach its full potential.”

“I see.”

“Magic. In the days of old, my power was unmatched and unequaled. But that was another time. In this age, I have been forced to wander the earth, powerless, a worse existence even than that of men. For men at least have the power to die. 

“But enough of that, for those are years long past and best forgotten. Because of what your grandfather discovered, my hands and my voice are able to wield their power once more.”

Thorin scoffed.

Saruman threw him against the wall, using nothing more than a simple gesture with his long fingers.

Thorin gathered himself, refusing to cower or show any weakness.

“Magic doesn’t belong in this world.”

“Ah, but it does belong to me,” Saruman closed his fist, and Thorin could feel the world closing in around him, choking him. “You are right, men cannot wield it. But I am no man. Now, back to the Arkenstone."

Saruman released his grip, leaving Thorin gasping for air, before turning his attention to Benedict.

“What have you done with it?”

Benedict did his best to maintain composure.

“My lord, I assure you… I have done nothing with it!”

“Liar. It was removed this morning, and you will tell me what you know.” Saruman’s voice slid through the air, menacing and commanding and soothing all at once. Benedict was powerless to resist. When he answered, his voice was choked and forced, as if Saruman were extracting the words through sheer force.

“The thief… I sent him... to steal... the Stone...”

“So the servant thinks he can rise above his master. Such a pity. You could have gone far, so much farther than a simple mining company. But I have no use for a worm who betrays my trust.”

For the first time, Benedict looked trapped, a snake caught in the corner.

A flash of green light– and Benedict collapsed on the floor, never to move again. The entire tower shook; the sky darkened and all of Erebor trembled as it felt Saruman’s rage. And then everything stopped, falling into stillness so cold and dark that even the residents of faraway Lake Town were stricken with a sudden feeling of fear and despair. 

And Saruman’s voice rang out, clear and mesmerizing, penetrating deep into the mines and carrying far off through the hills and surrounding lands.

“There is a thief among us, hiding in the shadows. Should anyone attempt to conceal this thief from me, they will be dealt with accordingly. Thief. I now speak directly to you. There is no place you can hide from me. There is no place that is safe for you. I will hunt you down, I will find you, and I will take back what you have stolen from me.”

Chapter Text

Bilbo ran blindly; he had no idea where he was going or what he was going to do. He stumbled on a rock, or maybe it was a root, and when he hit the ground, the pain of everything that had happened hit him too. Here he lay, curled up as small as he could manage, wishing that he could simply disappear from the world. But such wishes are fruitless things, and no matter how hard we may wish ourselves someplace else, the world simply doesn’t work that way.

And so, Bilbo forced himself to keep going. He started by pulling himself to a crawling position; eventually he made it to his feet and he forced his legs to walk, one step in front of another…

It was here that Gandalf found him.

“William Baggins! I have never been so relieved to see anyone in all my life. Are you alright? What happened?”

“Gandalf! The others– They– they’ve fallen under its spell.”

“Yes, I found them first. Are you alright?”

Bilbo swallowed down the pain and the guilt…

“I’ve taken it. I have it here. But by now, they will know I’ve taken it… they will be looking for it.”

“Thorin has gone in. They think he has it–”

“Wait what!? No! He can’t! That’s not… What will they do to him when they find out he doesn’t!?”

It was then that they heard it. A voice, clear and mesmerizing; commanding and controlling. 

“There is a thief among us, hiding in the shadows. Should anyone attempt to conceal this thief from me, they will be dealt with accordingly. Thief. I now speak directly to you. There is no place you can hide from me. There is no place that is safe for you. I will hunt you down, I will find you, and I will take back what you have stolen from me.”

Bilbo’s feet were running before he even had time to think. It was impulsive and foolish and his brain couldn’t find any rational reason to think he could have any success in whatever it was that he was about to do. All he knew was that he couldn’t leave; not without knowing, he would never be able to live with himself if he left without ever finding out Thorin’s fate… If we die, at least we die together. Down the cliff, through the undergrowth. Bilbo was blinded by fear and rage, and yet it focused him. He ducked into the city and grabbed someone’s traveling cloak, pulled the hood over his head, and headed for the tower.

He walked with his head down, swiftly and with purpose. He made it to the tower steps when a hand on his shoulder made him freeze.

“Where are you going in a hurry? What business do you have here?”

It was a man Bilbo didn’t recognize. He took a breath and pulled out Benedict’s gold shaving cup. Please work. 

“Benedict sent me on an urgent errand. Here’s your proof I come from his private chambers. Now let me pass in peace, or I will report you to him.”

The effect was amazing. The man saw the engraving, withdrew in apology, and Bilbo ascended the stairs. What next? Inside. He opened the door and came face to face with an old man, dressed in white with white hair and a long white beard.

“So. Who have we here?” 

The man’s voice was low and soothing, like cool water on a hot day. Bilbo felt his pain melting away; that man’s voice could right all wrong things in his world. He just had to… answer the question.

You can't tell him, a tiny voice inside spoke up, Come on, Bilbo, you can resist this.

“William. Underhill.”

“What business have you in my tower?” That voice. Woven in between the words, Bilbo could hear the message, loud and clear: Answer the question, and you can have the world. Riches. Power. You name it. It’s yours.

Why? The tiny voice inside him asked. What would you do with those things? Lie to him, you can do it. Anything to get you inside.

“I… came… to… to… to pledge myself to your service.”

“You come at an opportune time. But first, you must swear it,” and Saruman handed Bilbo a knife. “A payment of blood would suffice.”

Bilbo gritted his teeth, looked Saruman in the eyes, and sliced across his palm. Crimson blood spilled from his hand, and he dropped the knife to the floor.

“Payment made,” he said, standing his ground.

“And accepted.”

They were interrupted by a commotion outside. It sounded like fighting. Bilbo wondered if the Company had been able to ward off the spell... But he couldn’t allow his mind to wander; it was taking all his strength to resist the temptation of Saruman’s voice and promises.

“Wait here,” Saruman commanded, and Bilbo felt his feet freeze to the floor, “I am not finished with you yet.” The old man opened the doors without touching them, and Bilbo thought he saw the figure of a giant bear tearing through the crowd… No. Focus. Fight it. You have no need for power. You have no need for riches. The only thing you need is probably locked in this tower, somewhere, and you have to find him. Now move your feet.

And Bilbo wretched his foot from the floor; it felt as if he had ripped his leg in half, but he did it. He would try the study first. He wrapped his wounded hand in his shirt, so as not to leave a blood trail, and quickly, quietly climbed the stairs…

Thorin was there, crumpled on the floor.

No. No. No, no, no. 

Bilbo raced over and took Thorin in his arms… Please, please… He was still alive; his breathing was soft and shallow and his hands were cold, but he was alive. 

“Thorin, Thorin, can you hear me?” Bilbo whispered in his ear.

Thorin’s eyes fluttered.

“No… Bil…Bilbo? No…”

“Thorin, it’s me, I’m here. I’m here…” Bilbo choked tears and cradled Thorin’s head in his lap, stroking back his hair.

“Bilbo? What… what are you doing here? You’re… you’re supposed to be far away… hiding… safe…”

“I couldn’t leave you.”

“No, Bilbo. Please. There’s nothing for me. My time was up when the tunnel collapsed… I should never have survived that. I… I thank you… for being the best thing that could have ever happened to me. I am so, so sorry to have brought you through such peril… Just know… I lo–”

“Stop it right there, I know what you are going to say, and I feel the same, but we can have this discussion later when I am done rescuing you!”

“What!?”

“Can you stand? Let’s go. I don’t know how much time we have, and whether there’s any other way out of here, but we will figure it out. Together. Now come on.”

Bilbo helped Thorin to his feet.

“What happened? You… your hand… you’re bleeding.”

“Yes, I know. Is there another way out?”

The sound of a door closing in the distance sealed their fate. Bilbo’s face gave it away. Thorin pulled Bilbo close, looking deep into his eyes, memorizing them.

“Bilbo, listen. I have two things to say to you, especially now, while you are here and while I can think clearly. First of all, most importantly, I love you. Second. Take the Arkenstone. No, I am giving it to you. If more people valued home above gold and power, as you do, the world would be a far better place–” Bilbo started to protest, but Thorin continued, whispering with increasing urgency– “No, no, I know you. This is your home,” Thorin put his hand over Bilbo’s heart, “You carry it with you wherever you go. The Arkenstone grants unlimited power to the one who wields it. It corrupts everyone who comes across it. Except for you. So it’s yours now–”

The door to the study opened, and Saruman the White walked in.

“So. The one who can resist my temptation. I wonder..." And with a beckoning of his hand, Saruman dragged Bilbo across the floor and reached into his pocket. "Ah, yes, so you are the thief. You are quite good, I will give you that. You and I, we could have accomplished great things together. But I will deal with you later." Saruman held up the Stone, admiring it.

“The Arkenstone. Unlimited power to the one who wields it. But yet it has failed to reach its full potential. One must wonder… why.” He turned to look now at Thorin.

“Your grandfather found it. When I killed him, its power passed to your father. And when I killed him… its power passed to you. And now I will kill you, and I will be the one who wields the Arkenstone. All that is rightfully mine shall be returned to me. It has already begun. The dark creatures can sense it and are waking up after many long years asleep underground. And this new world, the world of men, will fall so easily… like a windy day at the end of autumn, when the leaves are dry and barely holding on to their branches. But, before any of that can come to pass... First, I kill Theodore Durinson.”

Saruman made a slashing movement with his hand, and Thorin’s lifeless body crumpled to the ground.

Chapter Text

“NOOO!”

Bilbo tore through Saruman’s binding spell and pulled Thorin’s limp body into his arms. 

“No, Thorin, no, no… there… there is something… something I… I need to tell you. It’s so important, and I… I never… Come on, please… For me…”

And as he spoke, Bilbo felt his hands grow warm… his fingers felt… alive. The sensation grew, and spread, and now his whole body felt as if something hot and invisible flowed through his veins, through his very core… Still, he held onto Thorin, he kissed him and begged him not to leave him alone, not now, not after everything and not with all they still had left to do…

And Thorin’s chest began to rise again. And then fall. 

“Impossible…” Saruman reached out to bring Bilbo back to his clutches; Bilbo felt the pull tugging at him, but he held his ground and remained. The wizard took his staff, black adorned with a white orb; it flickered with a faint light before going dark.

“What have you done?” Saruman’s voice had lost its seductive quality; now it was only raw anger. With surprising strength and agility, he struck Bilbo with his staff, separating him from Thorin. “Does this mean I kill you as well? So be it.”

Thorin’s eyes flickered, and he took a breath. A real, living breath. Where was Bilbo? He forced his eyes open– there was Saruman, approaching Bilbo like a cat cornering a wounded mouse. 

Saruman reached out his hand and Bilbo felt the world closing in on him… his life was being squeezed away… black spots began to cloud his vision… Thorin was alive, that was all that mattered now, Bilbo thought, and as he felt the world begin to slip away, a new sensation started to take over. Maybe dying wasn’t so bad. Maybe the worst is over… Wait. No, his sight was coming back and he could breathe again, and here he was in the same room. Maybe it isn’t the end.

The tower began to shake, the windows rattled, and all around them, the world trembled. Saruman released his hold on Bilbo, dropping the Arkenstone to the floor, retracting and retreating.

The Stone's light had gone out; its radiance gone… it was simply… an ordinary stone.

Thorin appeared at Bilbo’s side.

“Bilbo. I’m here. Can you stand? We have to get out of here.”

Thorin helped Bilbo up as the first beam fell. The tower was collapsing.

They raced down the stairs; why were there so many stairs?? Around them, the ceiling was caving in, the fixtures were bending and breaking, the walls were crumpling in on themselves…

“Come on Bilbo, we’re almost there,” Thorin encouraged, “You can make it, we’re so close, here’s the door…”

Bilbo was struggling. His feet felt like lead, the world swayed and spun before his eyes… the door… the door…

I’m sorry Thorin , was all he could think as the world went dark.

If this is what death feels like, it’s very soft. And comfortable. And warm. And… is that… wait. That can’t be. No, no, absolutely not, he cannot be dead too.

Bilbo forced his eyes open and Thorin’s face came into focus.

“Good morning,” Thorin said softly, “I was just telling you about the time Fili and Kili got into a cherry orchard and ate themselves sick.”

“Happy thing to wake up to,” Bilbo managed to croak out.

“You liked to hear stories,” Thorin smiled, “Or at least, I think so. It’s been one-sided conversations, but you seemed happier when I was talking to you.”

“How… how long has it been? And… where are we? What happened? Where are the others!?” Bilbo felt the panic rushing in. What happened? What did he miss?

“Three days,” Thorin gently pushed Bilbo’s hair back before bringing his fingers softly down his cheek, “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve... been better,” Bilbo replied honestly, “But… I’ve also been worse”. He felt like he had been run over by a wagon, and that was putting it mildly. But he was alive, and so was Thorin. “Please tell me you’ve done things like eat and sleep during those three days.”

Thorin chuckled.

“You haven’t. You prat. I didn’t bring you back from the dead for you to run yourself to death talking to me in my sleep.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Thorin smiled, “Or anyone else for that matter. For once in your life, please, worry about yourself and only yourself.”

“Only if you eat something.”

“Stubborn thing,” Thorin teased affectionately, but he took a roll from the plate on Bilbo’s bedside table. “See? I have been eating. And you should too. Are you hungry?”

Now that he thought about it, yes, Bilbo was very hungry. He didn’t trust himself to keep much down, though, so he settled for a drink of water as he looked around to get his bearings.

“Where are we?”

“In the medical barracks. In Erebor.”

“Where is everyone else? Where are the others? Where is Saruman? What have I missed??”

Thorin took a deep breath.

“Saruman poses no threat, not anymore,” Gandalf announced as he entered the room. “Stripped of its power, the Arkenstone is now just… an ordinary stone, beautiful, but ordinary. And without the Stone and its Magic, Saruman has returned again to his fate. To walk the earth amongst men, living eternally, without even the power to die.”

“Gandalf!” Bilbo cried out. “Where are the others? Wait... what happened to the Stone?”

Gandalf smiled.

“The Stone. Unlimited power to the one who wields it. When Thorin gave it to you, the full extent of its power also passed to you.”

“But… I…”

“Quite right, you have never fallen victim to the Stone’s enchantment. You have no desire for personal gain, not the kind promised by the Arkenstone anyway. You were able to use its power to save the one you love. And that was it. It fulfilled its purpose, and its Magic is spent.”

“I… but… No, people cannot wield Magic. What have I done?”

“Ah, Bilbo, but you are no ordinary person. You alone felt no call to the Arkenstone’s power. You alone could resist the alluring promises of Saruman’s voice. I think, my dear fellow, that you will find no permanent harm done, for your action was one purely for the benefit of another without thought for how it would benefit yourself. And that is how Magic is supposed to be used.”

“And the others?”

“They are safe. The enchantment has been lifted. But, at this time, my dear friend, I ask you to ease your worries and simply rest. You are in good hands,” Gandalf flicked his eyes in Thorin’s direction with a subtle smile, “Tomorrow, we will be able to answer all your questions, and in the meantime, I leave you once more in Thorin’s care.”

And with that, Gandalf turned and strode out again.

The moment he was gone, Thorin climbed into Bilbo’s bed. He seated himself against the headboard and sat for a while, stroking Bilbo’s hair. He whispered reassurances that everything was going to be fine, that they were all safe and that Bilbo’s only job now was to rest and recover. 

As Bilbo’s eyes fluttered closed, Thorin whispered in his ear.

“I love you.”

Chapter Text

Those fiery eyes. His possessive stance. Trapped, helpless, with no way out… 

Bilbo woke in a panic, tangled in the sheets, sweat dripping down his temple. From Thorin’s reaction and the feeling in his arm, Bilbo was pretty sure he had just hit Thorin in the face, or something to that regard.

Thorin held his hands up to where Bilbo could see them. It was both an invitation and also an asking of permission. Bilbo’s heart was hammering in his chest, but his raw panic was slowly starting to fade and his breathing calmed.

“Bad dream?” Thorin ventured cautiously. Bilbo nodded, afraid to speak. Speaking would make it real again, somehow.

“Is it… something you would like me to know about?”

Bilbo nodded again, feeling very small. They would have to cross this bridge eventually. But why now? Why was everything so… complicated? 

“Can you… talk about it? Do you want to talk about it?”

No. Talking about it will make it real again.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” Thorin said quickly, again holding up his hands. “Is it something I already know about?”

Bilbo nodded. Thorin ventured on with caution.

“If it’s… what I think it is… please… let me know how I can help you. I’m not mad at you. Hurt– yes, I won’t lie to you, but I… I need to take my share of the burden here… none of this would have happened had I not sent you in there. Please. What do you need from me? I want to help you.”

“I… I just… I don’t know,” Bilbo finally found his voice, and now that he found it, the words came tumbling out. “I made a choice. I could have left. But I didn’t. And even if I did leave… I really, truly don’t believe I could have taken the Stone without… without his help. I could never have found it on my own, not the way it was hidden so discreetly. We all thought it would have been up on display, someplace where the world could admire its power… but… it was kept locked away in a little drawer. I would have been caught. And if I didn’t have the Stone, I wouldn’t have… I wouldn’t… I… I can’t…”

And the tears started. It was such a tangled mess. Here they were, safe and alive and together. Why did they have to do such horrible things to be able to end up here? Could they have managed it had they made different choices? There was no way of knowing– he would have to learn to live with that.

“May I?” Thorin asked, still keeping his hands visible, refraining from touch. Bilbo nuzzled in close, and Thorin wrapped his arms around him.

“I’m sorry, Thorin, I really am,” Bilbo said tearfully into his shoulder. “I’m sorry for everything… And I… I…” But Bilbo couldn’t finish. 

“No, I’m sorry. I treated you horribly. I said things to you… I did things to you… And yet, here you are. I don’t deserve you, nobody does, you really are too good for this world…” Thorin whispered as he ran his fingers through Bilbo’s hair, comforting and protective. “And… I… I understand if you want to leave me. I put you in harm’s way. I did unthinkable things to you, and allowed even worse things to happen to you at the hands of another… If you want me to leave you alone, I can make arrangements to see you safely home and then I will be gone from your life… Oh. And here. This is yours.”

Thorin reached over to the table and picked up the little cactus plant, still thriving beyond all odds.

Bilbo smiled through his tears.

“Even in your care, it’s still alive somehow,” he teased, wiping his eyes. “Look at it. After everything it’s been through… you could never tell it journeyed across half the country in my pocket, then almost drowned, and then survived the magical end of the world. It just… keeps growing.”

“We can too, if you like,” Thorin said softly. “Whatever you need. Whatever you want… I can leave. I can stay. Just… tell me, and it’s done. No questions asked. For once, please, put yourself first. What does William Baggins want?”

Bilbo was silent for a moment. What did he want? He smiled to himself… the answer had been clear since the moment he opened the door to reveal those blue eyes so long ago, back in his home in The Shire. Eyes he lost himself to, and eyes he was able to find the best parts of himself in. There was no question really…

“You. I want you. All of you. The good. The bad. We will have more of both, it’s how the world works. But… we will face it. Together...”

They woke the next morning to sunlight streaming into the room, and Fili and Kili’s disgusted faces hovering over them.

“Wh… What?! What are you two doing in here!?” Thorin scrambled to maintain some semblance of decency. 

“We were sent to wake you, and can you please tell us when we can look again!?” Kili said as he and his brother made a show of turning their backs to their uncle and his lover. “We were told Bilbo was sick and is supposed to be resting. Certainly looks like he’s feeling better now though.”

Grumbling, Thorin got up and got dressed, feeling a little like a popped balloon– the elation of last night had quickly turned to guilt at Kili’s comment about Bilbo needing rest. In his defense, however, Bilbo had started it… Thorin shook his head and focused on pulling on a shirt– these are thoughts best avoided in the presence of children, no matter how grown they are.

“We were sent to see if Bilbo is feeling like he could come out for breakfast–”

“--but since he seems alright to us–

“--we’ll just be leaving now…”

“Message delivered, see you in the dining hall!”

And the boys all but ran from the room, sniggering. Thorin sighed and put his hand to his forehead while Bilbo somehow felt both like laughing and hiding under the covers at the same time. Thorin gave him a slow smile.

“How are you feeling? Are you alright? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… the boys are right, you should be resting…” Thorin apologized. Why was it that everything he did was wrong??

Bilbo smiled and sat up.

“Stop apologizing, I started it, remember? Because I wanted it. And you’re right, I don’t feel amazing, but I definitely feel better than before thanks to you. And I have a million questions, so can we please go meet up with the others?”

Thorin insisted on helping Bilbo get dressed, but Bilbo drew the line when Thorin offered to carry him to the dining hall– “I can walk, you know!” –and so they entered the large room together, side by side only to be met with–

It felt a bit like an avalanche of people coming at them. The entire Company was there:  Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur; Oin and Gloin; Nori, Dori, and Ori; Fili and Kili; Dwalin and Balin; and last Gandalf, who stood in the back of the crowd looking on as hugs and greetings were exchanged, tears were shed, and everyone congratulated Bilbo on a job well done. The rumors appeared to be running rampant. Some claimed that Bilbo had bested Saruman in a duel, while others insisted that Bilbo had managed to explode the tower. Some insisted they had seen Thorin running out of the tower carrying Bilbo’s dead body. Still others said it was the other way around, and that Bilbo was the one carrying Thorin, but since there was such a size difference between the two, nobody seemed to find that one particularly believable, but it was a rumor nonetheless.

They took a table in the corner, and Bilbo filled them in on all that had happened. He left out certain parts about how exactly he was able to find the whereabouts of the Arkenstone and how he was able to retrieve it, and when Fili started to ask questions, Thorin silenced him by stepping on his foot and giving him a Look. And then the Company filled Bilbo in on all that had gone on outside the tower.

It took both Gandalf and Beorn to wake them from their trance, and even then, their memories were hazy. Gandalf roused the villagers from Lake Town, telling them of the atrocities happening in the mines and how Smaug was taking their people and working them to death, leaving their village to grow smaller and poorer with each passing year. Gandalf led the march into Erebor, with Beorn at his side, waking those who could be woken and driving Saruman’s orc army (“Orc!? What on earth is an Orc!?” “They are like Goblins.” “Oh… Okay…”) back down into the mines. 

This was the commotion that had drawn Saruman from the tower. And then, not long after Saruman had retreated inside, the Magic started breaking. The deep mines of the orcs collapsed and filled in on them; men whose minds were trapped by Saruman’s spell found themselves freed. Those who remained were easily overcome by those who had come back to themselves. And then the tower collapsed, with Thorin carrying Bilbo down the stairs and out of the falling rubble…

Gandalf then filled them in on the Arkenstone; he caught the Company up on everything he had told Bilbo the day before. Being the true owner of the Arkenstone and wielding it with pure intentions, Bilbo had been able to use its full power to save Thorin. But, still being a man, it had taken a great toll on him, and this was in addition to the deep wound on his hand and Saruman nearly squeezing the life out of him. In short, Bilbo was lucky to be alive, a fact which earned him many rounds of cheers and toasts from the Company while Thorin abandoned all propriety and pulled Bilbo into his lap as if he would never let him go again.

Amidst the cheering and general celebrating, a shadow appeared over Thorin, and he turned around to see Beorn standing over him, arms crossed with a dangerous expression on his face.

Chapter Text

“A word,” Beorn growled.

Thorin excused himself from the group and followed Beorn outside.

“So,” Beorn stood tall and menacing. “Some things never change.”

“I can explain,” Thorin answered, not apologizing but not defensive either. He could explain.

“I hope you remember our last conversation.”

“Vividly.”

“Go on then.”

“BEORN!” Bilbo came running up to them, “Whatever it is you are doing, don’t do it without hearing what I have to say first!” He caught his breath when he reached them, determined not to let himself pass out again. Thorin noticed and reached an arm around him, but Bilbo swatted him away and stood his ground. He had to do this on his own first. He stood as tall as he could and looked Beorn in the eyes.

“Did he hurt me? Yes. Yes he did, very much– Thorin, don’t look like that, you don’t need to apologize again, you already have and I’ve already accepted your apology, many times in fact! But, Beorn, listen to me, I’ve hurt him too. So unless you plan to maul us both right now, I ask you to please keep your temper. I need you. You’re my friend. And based on all you’ve told me, you need me too. That’s why it works. I am there for you, and you are there for me– oh stop it Thorin, it’s not like that, it never was! But Beorn, please, listen to me, we can’t lose our friendship over this. For if you hurt him now, I… I don’t… I can’t… Just please. But… if I do ever need him beaten to a pulp, you’ll be the one to do it, fair enough?”

“Fair enough.”

Beorn gave Thorin a Look and stalked away.

“I don’t know what you see in him,” Thorin said, his jealousy bubbling dangerously close to the surface.

“He’s a friend . And I guarantee he feels the same, he had a wife, you know.”

“I… I don’t know if I want to know. Just… as long as you’re happy, I can be happy that you are happy.”

They returned to the group, only to be sent away again, this time by Gandalf who insisted that Bilbo still needed to rest. Bilbo was secretly grateful, for, as much as he would have loved to continue on with everyone else, his entire body was aching and he was finding it harder and harder to focus on anything. He didn’t even protest when Thorin picked him up, and he spent a good amount of the afternoon sleeping.

And so, the days passed and each new day brought about slow changes with the rebuilding of Erebor. Thorin presented his documentation as rightful owner of the Durinson Company, and took over management fairly and legally. He immediately set about undoing the years of damage caused by overwork and neglect under Smaug. Every day, Bilbo’s energy returned and after a week in the hospital barracks, he insisted that he was feeling better enough to move into Thorin’s room.

“I’ve taken the liberty of relocating,” Thorin explained, “For I doubt you will want to stay in the rooms that used to be mine. If it is any consolation for you… I am not sure if anyone has told you yet… but… he is dead. I saw it.”

Bilbo chewed pensively on this information. He did feel better, in a way, but he was also wracked with guilt. In a dark and twisted way, he owed Thorin’s life to Benedict. When he voiced these thoughts, Thorin simply took him close and held him, letting the pain pass through them both, lost in the endless “what ifs.” 

“I suppose we’ll never know what could have been, or what might have been… what’s done is done,” Bilbo said at last, “There are some things we’re simply not meant to understand…”

They took their time that night, cherishing each other in a way they had never done before. There was nothing in their way now; no wounds to be cautious of, no people around to overhear, no timeline as to where they needed to be the next day. It was not like their nights in Lake Town, exploring, where every sensation was new, every touch both tentative and electric, keeping as quiet as possible with their comrades just outside the thin walls. It was not like their time in the hospital, either, rushed with the fear that someone could come barging in at any moment. No, this was something else entirely.

Love is everything, both the good and the bad– the passion and the joy, but also the pain and fear and forgiveness. Love is knowing who exactly it is that you love; loving your partner for their best traits, but also knowing, accepting, and loving their flaws for what they are. Love is finding the person who completes you, the one who brings out the best in you while you bring out the best in them. 

As he lay in his lover’s arms that night, Bilbo contemplated all of this, reflecting on all that had happened and finding he regretted nothing. It had, after all, led him here, and he would do it all over again to end up here once more. 

“You look… pensive,” Thorin’s soft, low voice interrupted Bilbo's thoughts as he gently stroked his lover's hair, “Everything alright?”

Bilbo turned over so he was facing Thorin, looking into his eyes. Eyes that were no longer sad, Bilbo noticed, but eyes now filled with happiness and affection. 

“Just thinking, I suppose…”

Thorin smiled gently.

“May I ask what?”

Bilbo kissed him before returning to his place, lost in those eyes, the blue windows into his lover’s heart…

“I love you.”