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Chapter Text

Long ago, in an age so old that only the oldest elves could remember, there lived a forgotten race. The Children of the Sky, they were called, just as the dwarves were the Children of the Stones and the elves the Children of the Stars. They were peaceful, and prosperous, and were so secretive that they were considered as a myth. But the dragons, the Children of the Sky, were not a myth. They kept to themselves, and dealt with elves skin-changers, and other races long extinct. An occasional human or dwarf may sport them, but the "existence" of this great race was relatively unknown.

In ancient tomes, it was recorded that the dragons were skilled in the arts. Languages, music and arts were their forte. It is a well known fact that dragons all have hoards, but during the Great Ages it was neither gold nor princesses that they jealously guarded, but musical instruments, books, and their wealth of knowledge.

The dragons knew that other races would fear them, for they are powerful, strong and huge as compared to the rest, so they hid themselves from the world to protect their race. As in all other races, there are good dragons and bad dragons. A minority of them, a handful of youngsters, loved gold, and yearned for power and recognition. For they believe that dragons are the strongest, and they want to be revered by the other races. The elders had warned them and were wary of them but thought that the youngsters would eventually forego their desires and settle down.

They thought wrong.

When Morgoth came during the First Age, with a group of enhanced dragons led by Ancalagon, the Dragon race fell. For dragons, good and bad, were known for their complacency. They were not prepared, and they did not expect the young dragons to have turned to Sauron, the promise for gold and power tainting their minds and changing them to Servants of Morgoth. Nor were the dragons prepared for the tremendous power that came from Morgoth that enslaved their minds, and bent their wills.

The dragons made their first distinct appearance during the First Age, and became known to all races, not as the peaceful Children of the Sky but as Morgoth's Servants.

-Excerpt, from "The Forgotten Tales of the Dragonkin".

Bilbo was standing at his door after breakfast, smoking his pipe when he smelt something that was distinctly not-hobbit. He paused, sniffing the air curiously. It was rare to have a new scent in the shire, since hardly any Big Folk or visitors came by. A tall figure (tall for a hobbit) paused at his gate, and Bilbo groaned. No wonder the scent smelt unique! It had been years since Gandalf visited, so he was slightly urecognisable at first. Bilbo looked away and willed Gandalf to move on. Of course, the grey wizard never did what bilbo wanted him to. Gandalf meant trouble, and adventure, which Bilbo would like to avoid, thank-you-very-much.

But Gandalf stayed at his gate, and coughed slightly until Bilbo could not ignore him without being blatantly obvious anymore. A few centuries back he would not have cared about being rude, but living with the hobbits had taught him some manners, plus he had a reputation to uphold now. And he may have owed Gandalf a favour or two.

Bilbo feigned surprised and looked up. "Why, I didn't see you there! That cough sounds horrid, did you pause to ask for a cough drop?"

Gandalf quirked an eyebrow up. "Both you and I know that you've noticed me long ago, Bilbo," he commented before letting himself in.

Bilbo sighed. "Can't blame me for trying," he mumbled miserably before setting aside his pipe. He knew what was coming next: Gandalf would offer an adventure, or have some unexpectedly urgent news that require Bilbo's help, and his entire day plan would be ruined. His entire month plan would be ruined, if he was unlucky enough. It was expected, and any minute now he would- "I have an adventure for you." There. How predictable.

"No," Bilbo declared flatly, "I haven't recovered from the previous adventure you sent me. I believe I've been traumatised enough, thank you."

Gandalf looked bemused. "But the last adventure you had was 50 years ago!"

"Yes, and the images of burly men in short skirts batting their eyelashes while attempting to flirt have not yet been erased from my mind. So no."

Gandalf tried to disguise his laughter into a cough. Bilbo glared at him.

"If you're looking to share an adventure with another hobbit, there are a few young hobbits down the road, much more suitable than this old man."

"Bilbo my lad, your actually age is only 35."

"My body is physically 50! And I'm 531!"

"In Dragon years, which is about 35 in hobbit years."

"Regardless, I'm not interested in an adventure. Good morning, and goodbye," Bilbo stood up and made his way to his door.

"Cyadhon," Gandalf's tone was serious, and Bilbo paused, partially due to Gandalf's tone, and partially because no one had addressed him by that name for over 50 years. "This may be quite serious. It may involve...another of your kin."

He inhaled sharply. "Tomorrow. Come tomorrow for tea."

Gandalf tipped his hat in acknowledgement. "Cook for 13 more, Bilbo. Others may come knocking."

Bilbo's reply was another groan and a door slam.

He has spent the whole day cooking, for did not know who exactly would come, and Bilbo always preferred having an abundance of food than too little. The table was set, using Belladonna's best china plates specially reserved for guests.

The doorbell rang just as he placed down the last plate of pie, and his sharp nose caught a whiff of dwarf as he hurried to the door. He stilled. Dwarf? Gandalf invited dwarves over? What is wrong with that old sod?

Bilbo took a deep breath, and faintly contemplated just running out the back door while he still had the chance to before dismissing the idea. It was just a dwarf, nothing he could not handle. With that, he yanked open the door.

The dwarf had a blue beard tucked into a golden belt, and very bright eye under his dark-green hood, two axes strapped on his back.

"Dwalin, at your service," he said with a bow after hanging his cloak onto the nearest peg.

"Bilbo, at yours," he replied before ushering the dwarf into the kitchen, with the promise of a feast. Despite not liking dwarves, Bilbo was still a host, and had to be polite. Dwalin's eyes widened at the sight of the table full of food and dug in in without another word, eating with a relish that made Bilbo smile slightly, although his whole body was still tense. A dwarf. In his smial. Eating his food. Oh, he was going to have a few words with Gandalf about this.

It had not been long before the doorbell rang again, this time by a dwarf with a white beard and a scarlet cloak, who introduced himself as Balin. Two dwarf who were obviously siblings - Fili and Kili - were next. Bilbo stopped them from cleaning their feet on Belladonna's glory box -oh, the horror! How dare they! He could rip out their throats for defiling his hoard!- and directed a corner for them to deposit their weapons. He want answers, he was getting impatient, and where is that annoying meddling wizard? Bilbo growled softly and flexed his fingers, feeling the sharp edges of his nails when the doorbell rang for the fourth time, and incessantly. The dwarves' manners were non-existent.

"Wait, wait, I'm coming-" he huffed and wrenched the door open.

A pile of dwarves fell onto him.

Bilbo took in deep breathes and reminded himself that Gandalf would give him that terribly disappointed look if he killed a dwarf or two. He shoved them off him and narrowed his eyes on the wizard at the doorstep. He still had the nerve to smirk!

Bilbo jerked his head towards the kitchen and the dwarves needed no further prompting, stomachs growling.

He yanked Gandalf to a corner, sharp nails digging into his arm. "Why are there dwarves-dwarves!-in my smial? You know very well that I - don't - play - well - with - dwarves," he hissed.

Gandalf smiled belligerently at him, "they are essential, and you will not come to harm, worry not."

"You didnt tell them?" Bilbo's eyes flared a golden colour.

"They needn't know."

"One more thing. They cleaned their shoes on Bella's glory box."

"Oh" was Gandalf's quiet reply. He knew the ferocity of dragons guarding their hoard. There was a distinct sound of a chair breaking, and Bilbo turned to see Bungo's old chair in splinters. The dwarf with the generously round figure stood up and cursed the chair for being weak.

Bilbo pressed his nose bridge and reminded himself that not only would Gandalf be upset if he killed the dwarf, but Bungo and Bella would have been thoroughly disappointed at him as well.

Gandalf winced apologetically. "It can be fixed, probably," he offered. Bilbo levelled him with a glare that have sent lesser men running in the opposite direction.

"You better make sure it's fixed," he snarled, trembling slightly and resisting the urge to lunge at the wizard.

The doorbell rang again, and Bilbo sighed. The rest of the dwarves hushed, informing Bilbo that the last member was probably the leader or someone of equal importance. Goodness, why couldn't the dwarf meet up before coming together, and save him the trouble of opening the door multiple times?

Once again, Bilbo took a deep breath to calm himself down before opening the door.

The dwarf that stood there cut a striking and imposing figure. He was taller than most dwarves, and Bilbo barely reached his shoulders. A thick brown coat was draped around him, and a sword hung at the side of his waist. His piercing blue eyes stared harshly at Bilbo, sending a shiver down his spine. Bilbo had to admit, he looked handsome for a dwarf, in a rugged way. The perpetual frown ruined it though. Yet what was outstanding was the way this dwarf carried himself, wearing confidence like a second skin. His eyes, world-weary, tired, guilt-filled, but with a fiery but grim determination to succeed in whatever he wanted to do - they reminded Bilbo of his parents' eyes as they fought teeth and claw to protect him and his sister. Bilbo suddenly felt a rush of empathy for this dwarf, which he clamped down tightly.

The dwarf looked down his hawk-like nose, and inclined his head slightly. "Thorin Oakenshield, at your service."

Bilbo had heard of him, heard of this king-without-a-kingdom, the homeless king of Erebor. So that's what this is about, he realised, they want to reclaim Erebor. He refused to cower or show any sign of weakness, not even to royalty. He was a dragon, and dragons fear no one (Maybe except a certain Morgoth and Sauron and greater evils, but that was beside the point.) "Bilbo, at yours," he nodded back, voice equally cold.

Thorin Oakenshield took a step closer, forcing Bilbo to step back or risk hitting his chest. He gave a sweeping glance around the smial before commenting that he had difficulty finding the smial. Bilbo nearly rolled his eyes at that - clearly this dwarf king had no sense of direction. No one - no one - gets lost in the Shire. Maybe that's why he needed a hobbit to find his way home, Bilbo sniggered internally.

Thorin was back to assessing Bilbo, and had made a weird enquiry about his weapon of choice.

Teeth, fire and claws, but daggers will suffice, Bilbo had wanted to snarl, but he bit back the urge to bite off the obnoxious dwarf's head and came up with a relatively stupid reply about conkers.

Thorin Oakenshield's comment about Bilbo seemingly being a grocer was met with Bilbo baring his teeth at him. Handsome or not, this king was getting on his nerves.

"And your lack of manners is unbecoming for a king," he purred dangerously. The rude, manners-lacking dwarf king was stunned momentarily. The other dwarves gasped, seemingly waiting for their king to snap. Bilbo merely arched an eyebrow at the dwarf.

A glimmer of respect in Thorin Oakenshield's eyes, he bowed his head slightly. "Pardon me, Mister Bilbo. I heard there's food?"

Bilbo smiled again, less sharply this time, and led him to the kitchen.

He would give them a chance. One chance, to prove to him why he should aide them in their quest.

End of Chapter 1.

Chapter Text

When the Dragonkin fell, no aide was offered. Those who had survived were soon enslaved by Morgoth, minds tainted and wills bent. The younglings were in captive, as hostages, should the elder dragons dare retaliate. Those who willingly chose to serve Morgoth were gifted with great power-enhanced size, better fire-breath, and stronger, almost impenetrable scales. Yet it came at a terrible price. The Corrupted Ones, Morgoth's Servants, were fiercer, more brutal, and had an insatiable thirst for gold and all things sparkly. This was, of course, a simple method created by Morgoth to ensure the dragon's loyalty through gold, and to spread havoc more quickly.

As the dragons became more evil, their scales began turning darker in colour, until those of Morgoth's were marked with black scales. It was not easily recognizable as some dragons originally had dark scales, so differentiating those with naturally dark brown scales and those with black, tainted scales were difficult. As such, anyone with dark scales were often brutally mauled to death, regardless of good or evil.

Morgoth's Servants (Wyrms, the Dragonkin called them, and refused to recognize them as one of their own) were led by Ancalagon the Great, the first among the dragons to serve Morgoth. He was huge, even for a dragon, and terrifying, and no dragon could escape under his watchful gaze. It was only until the final battle, during the War of Wrath, when Ancalagon finally left and the Dragonkin seized their chance to escape.

As Morgoth fell and Ancalagon perished, the Dragonkin fought their way out, broke their chains, and flung themselves into the air, away from the bloody battlefield.

Armies on both sides saw the fleeing dragons, and aimed their arrows at it. Morgoth's, to slay the Dragonkin who refused to submit to him, and the elves and humans, as they did not know better and thought that all dragons must die.

Many fell that day, both good and evil, but a few managed to get away. A few of Morgoth's Servants had realised it was a losing battle, and slipped away during the chaos to fly to safety.

The elves, upon realising the truth, felt guilty for being unable to help the dragons and swore to do anything within their power to assist the dragonkin from that day onward. The Dragonkin (and only the Dragonkin - not the wyrms, for they were banished) were gifted with the power to take another race's form, enabling them to blend in and avoid being hunted down. With that, the remaining dragons split up into smaller groups and went their separate ways.

The dragons hid themselves from the world, and for a long time, they were thought to be extinct.

-Excerpt, from "The Forgotten Tales of the Dragonkin".

The 16 of them dined together in partial silence. Thorin scrutinised the oddity that was Bilbo Baggins. He had unique eyes: bright blue, ringed with gold, that looked as though it had seen many years, but was still sharp and intelligent, with all the spirit of a youth. His brown hair was curly, and long, reaching the nape of his neck. From what Thorin could discern from under the green clothes, the hobbit was on the lean side. Despite the ridiculous comment about conkers he made earlier, he seemed to know how to fight, and could probably hold his own during a battle, if that concealed dagger tucked at his waistband was any indication. Thorin realised that this hobbit was more than he let on, and his respect for him slightly increased. The hobbit moved with a natural grace that resembled the elves', and not once did he stumble or cower, not even when addressing him. In fact, the hobbit's attitude towards Thorin could be said to be casual, or even dismissive. It was... refreshing. This hobbit also recognised his name, which was unexpected. He had initially assumed that the hobbit would be ignorant about the history of dwarves, especially from the way he acted around Thorin. Yet he did know about Erebor. How intriguing.

"You've heard of me," Mister Oakenshield stated. Really, Bilbo felt a bit insulted. "Anyone who reads would know of your tale, Mister Oakenshield, and the fall of Erebor," Bilbo replied dryly. "I believe that is where the group of you dwarves are heading? To reclaim your home?"

Mister Oakenshield had that far-away misty look in his eyes again, as he poked at his food absently. "Aye." Bilbo leaned forward, ready to coax a tale(and answers) out of Mister Oakenshield, when-

"Enough enough, the serious talks can wait!" Gandalf interceded suddenly. Bilbo jerked and scowled. He stood up, and gathered the used plates and dishes.

"I need to wash up anyways," he said sourly. It was always Gandalf who ruined his plans. Always.

"Gandalf, I expect the chair to be fixed by tonight," Bilbo added, looking meaningfully at the exceptionally round dwarf before walking to the basin.

"We can help with the washing," Balin offered, and the dwarves chorused their consent. Bilbo froze, and hugged the pile of dirty dishes tightly. He refused to risk it, not now, not ever.

"No, thank you," he said very firmly, "why don't all of you just sit down quietly, it won't take too long. Preferably, don't touch anything." He did not care if they thought him rude, he would maim them if they ruined another of his hoard. There was a sudden silence, broken by Gandalf's sigh.

"I think it would be wise to listen to Mister Bilbo. Meanwhile, let me fix that chair," Gandalf said softly.

Plates washed and kept safely, Bilbo rejoined the dwarves, sitting a safe distance away from them. To his greatest pleasure, Bungo's chair had been fixed and was currently placed in a corner of the room, far away from the dwarves. Bilbo sighed happily, half listening to the discussion between the dwarves.

"...Dain... come...?"

"They will not come. They say this quest is ours, and ours alone."

The dwarves murmured their disappointment. Gandalf spread out a map on the table, and beckoned a dwarf to bring the light closer.

"Far to the East, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak," he began.

"The Lonely Mountain. "

"Aye. Oin has read the portents, and the portents say it is time." the dwarf named Gloin interjected.

"Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain as it was foretold: When the birds of old return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end."

Bilbo was confused. Yet again, more questions than answers.

"Beast? What beast? I thought Erebor fell due to an orc army?"

The king looked up in disbelief. "Orc army? How insulting! We would not have been bested by those foul creatures! I thought you were knowledgeable, Mister Baggins, but it seems like I was wrong." Bilbo bristled at that offhand comment, but Thorin was already moving on. "No, we were chased out by a dragon."

Bilbo stilled. "A dragon," He repeated flatly.

"Yes, a dragon. Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. Airborne fire-breather, teeth like razors, claws like meathooks, extremely fond of precious metals," Bofur said. The temperature of the room seemed to increase slightly, and the candle flame flickered.

"Smaug. As in, covered with black scales, evil dragon, Smaug " Bofur looked confused at the hobbit's reaction, and nodded hesitantly. The hobbit looked livid. His eyes narrowed dangerously, pupils looking more like slits. He curled his lips upwards, and hissed softly, revealing teeth that was slightly elongated and sharp-looking.

"Gandalf, a word, please." The dwarves shivered at the barely concealed rage in his voice, and unconsciously inched away from him. Without waiting for Gandalf's reply, he gripped the wizard's arm tightly and dragged him out.

Bilbo struggled to control his temper. Gandalf, at least, looked mildly regretful. "171 years. You knew where Smaug was, for the past 171 years. Yet you didn't tell me that Smaug was alive. Hiding. In a mountain. Why?"

"My dear boy-"

"I'm not your dear anything, thank you."

"-it was simply not the right time. You would have gone charging recklessly to fight smaug, and it would have not ended well, I'm afraid." There was a pause, and Bilbo was pained to admit that that was true.

"Why now? What changed?"

Gandalf smiled, "Living with the hobbits have mellowed down your infamous temper and hot-headed lust for revenge."

Bilbo hesitated. "And the books? How did you remove the fact about the dragons from the books I read?"

A guilty look crossed his face. "I may, ah, have spelled all the books beforehand to hide that bit?"

Bilbo stared at him in disbelief. "You, you... Argh!" He threw his hands up and stormed back into the hall, muttering about infuriating, meddling wizards.

The dwarves were watching him apprehensively when he returned to the kitchen. Bilbo sat down, and laced his fingers together. "Tell me more about your quest."

"We wish to reclaim our homeland from smaug."

"You forget: the front door is sealed. There is no way into the mountain."

"That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true." Gandalf said softly. Twiddling his fingers, he produces a dwarvish key, ornately wrought, from his pocket.

"How did you come by this?" Thorin asked in wonder.

"It was given to me by your father, by Thrain, for safekeeping. It is yours now."

"If there is a key, there must be a door," Fili said. Gandalf nodded, and gestured to the map.

"Indeed, there is another way in. I'd we can find it. Dwarf doors are invisible when closed. The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map and I do not have the skill to find it. But there are others in Middle-Earth who can. The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage. But, if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done."

"That's why we need a burglar!" Ori exclaimed.

Bilbo cleared his throat. "This is all terribly exciting, but how does it concern me?" He drawled.

All the dwarves looked at him as though he was batty. "Why, you're the burglar, of course!"

For the first time in years, he was taken completely by surprised. He choked and sputtered, "Me? No, no, no. I'm not a burglar; well, not an actual one."

"I'm afraid I have to agree with Mr. Baggins. He's hardly burglar material."

"He'll do fine, Balin!"

"Nay, the wild is no place for gentlefolk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves." Dwalin disagreed with Ori. The dwarves began arguing as Bilbo looked on dazedly. Him! A burglar! His parents must be rolling in their graves right now.

Gandalf stood up, slammed his hands on the table, and thundered,"Enough! If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is." The dwarves quietened immediately.

"Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unseen by most if they choose. And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of dwarf, the scent of hobbit is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage. You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company, and I have chosen Mr. Baggins. There's a lot more to him than appearances suggest, and he's got a great deal more to offer than any of you know, including himself. You must trust me on this." Bilbo snorted at this. More to him, indeed. Try dragon-in-disguise.

Bilbo was quickly handed a contract.

"It's just the usual summary of out-of-pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth," Balin explained. Bilbo hummed and skimmed through the contract.

"It's all very good, except I don't want the gold," he said abruptly.

"What?" Balin asked, flabbergasted.

"I said, I don't want the gold. I don't have any need of it. Instead, I'm more interested in your books. Rumours claimed that Erebor had n of the greatest library of the world. Let me have the choice to have any amount of books, and any book I desire, for free."

"An odd request, but if that is what you want, so be it," Balin agreed slowly after Thorin had nodded.

"Just thought you would like to know. The dragon is probably still alive," Bilbo added.

Thorin sat up straight and narrowed his eyes at him. "How do you know?"

He smiled wryly, "Call it a gut feeling."

The dwarf king flicked his hand dismissively. "So be it. This does not change our decision."

Bilbo shrugged, and flipped through the contract once more.

"Plus, in case this has escaped your notice, it's a suicide mission you're embarking on."

"Hobbit, would you or would you not join us?" Thorin growled through gritted teeth.

Bilbo made a show of contemplating the offer. "There is obviously not much for me to consider. Would I want to run off with a bunch of ill-prepared dwarves, on a crazy and near-impossible quest, travel to the east, just to slay a dragon who happens to be Smaug the Terrible, all the while risking being stabbed or clawed or incinerated and all the other perils while travelling?" The hobbit shook his head disbelieving, and the dwarves tensed, ready for the rejection, when Bilbo grinned madly, with a feral smile.

"Of course. Count me in."

End of Chapter 2.

Chapter Text

During the Second Age, most of the dragons went into hiding. The first few centuries were peaceful, but the peace was disrupted by the appearance of Sauron, Morgoth's right-hand man. When Sauron rose, he called upon those wyrms still loyal to Morgoth. The wyrms tricked some of the Dragonkin into serving Sauron; The One Ring compelled them, and corrupted them.

Once again, the other races were met with the ferocity of the dragons. During this time, the animosity between dragons and dwarves was created: the dwarves had an insatiable lust for gold due to the rings given by Sauron, and the wyrms were cursed with a similar lust for gold. The wyrms invaded kingdoms, especially dwarves, snatching away gold and anything shiny. The other races hated the wyrms; most thought dragons to be a race of pure evil. Few knew the truth. The elves dare not share their knowledge, for fear of the Dragonkin's safety and survival, besides other reasons.
Most of the wyrms under Sauron did not survive the war, but most had caused a huge amount of casualties and damage before being brought down.

The hatred towards dragons grew. The Dragonkin were even more careful to remain hidden after that, even as their numbers dwindled and they neared extinction. A previously great race, the Dragonkin, was reduced to such a pathetic state.

-Excerpt, from "The Forgotten Tales of the Dragonkin".

The dwarves settled down in the living room for the night. Bilbo, after seeing to the dwarves, entered his room. His room was literally filled with books, from the floor to the ceiling. The only area not filled with books was his bed, and a small path leading from the door to his bed. He sighed happily as he trailed his fingers along the spines of his books; being surrounded with his hoard instantly made him feel better. Sitting on his bed, he started to write letters to the hobbits.

To Hamfast Gamgee, his gardener, he explained that he has matters to take care of and must leave with the dwarves. He leave the care of his garden in his hands, and may be back in two years or so.

To the Thain, he wrote a similar explanation, but added that he will be back, so keep the other hobbits (especially Lobelia Sack-Baggins) far away from his smial and his possessions. In the event that he never come back, his sister would deal with his smial. The hobbits were used to his comings and goings and un-hobbitish behaviour, so his disappearance would not be amiss.

To Lobelia, he wrote a simple note: "Keep your sticky fingers out of my smial. Take something, even the silver spoons, and I would know." That should discourage her from attempting to break into his smial. (Honestly, who is crazy enough steal from a dragon and try to get away with it? Oh wait, that would be him in the near future. Great.)

Matters settled, he went into another room (one of the few rooms not filled with books) and started to prepare his travel pack. A few sets of dark-coloured, hardy, and thick clothes, a thick blanket, handkerchiefs (for he had spent many years as a hobbit, and may have picked up some of their habits), a small sewing kit, some money, a book for comfort, his daggers, a bedroll and small items here and there. Then, he hauled a chest out from under his bed.

Caressing the engravings on the chest gently, he opened the chest and pulled out a thick, mottled green cloak. Although it looked plain, it was hand-sewn by Belladonna Took and gifted to him. It was good for camouflage in the forest, and warm even in winter. It had been years since he took it out. He hesitated bringing it along: although he would need it for this adventure, he was reluctant to risk ruining it.

In the end, he draped it over his travel bag with a sigh. If Belladonna and Bungo were still alive, they would whack him for even considering leaving the cloak behind. "The cloak, Mister, is made to be used, and use it you will!" Belladonna would have said, with Bungo nodding enthusiastically behind her. Oh, how he missed them. Smiling slightly, he casted one last glance at his cloak before retiring for the night.

They set out early the next day. After making sure his door was properly locked, he left the letters in Hamfast's letterbox and met up with the dwarves. The ponies, although still slightly edgy around him, were familiar with his scent and did nothing more than fidget uncomfortably. Then they were off.

They travelled the whole day, stopping only for a quick lunch. At night, the Company camped near the edge of a cliff. Most of the dwarves were asleep, with Balin, Killi, Filli, and Thorin being the exception. Gandalf was still awake, as usual. Bilbo doubted that the wizard slept more than 2 hours daily. Maybe wizards require less sleep, or maybe it was just a Gandalf thing, Bilbo wondered idly.

Gloin was snoring loudly, with tiny flying insects being sucked into his mouth every time he inhaled, and when he exhaled the insects flew out again, still alive and well. Bilbo curled his lips in disgust.

The sound of a warg howling, albeit soft, cut through the silence of the night. Bilbo's head jerked up and his hand subtly inched towards the dagger strapped under his tunic, on his forearm.

"Orcs." he heard Killi hiss to Filli.

"Orcs?" Bilbo asked, and walked towards them. He did not know orcs still roam around these areas. They were no more than a day's ride from Bree as well; they were too close to his hobbits for his liking.

The siblings looked startled to see him awake before nodding.

"Throat-cutters. There'll be dozens of them out there. The lowlands are crawling with them," Filli replied. "They strike in the wee small hours, when everyone's asleep. Quick and quiet; no screams, just lots of blood," Killi added. Bilbo was unimpressed. Before he could reply, Thorin spoke.

"You think that's funny? You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?"

Killi and Filli exchanged horrified looks. "We didn't mean anything by it."

"No, you didn't. You know nothing of the world," Thorin growled before stalking off to the edge of the cliff.
Killi and Filli looked abashed. Balin began retelling the tale, of how Thrain II, son of Thror, father of Thorin, was killed by the pale orc Azog, and the defeat of Azog by Thorin. The tale was impressive, and Bilbo felt a tinge of sympathy for the king. He had lost much, and would probably lose more; for that, Bilbo pitied him.

Bilbo also could not help but draw similarities between him and Thorin. Both of their homes were wrecked by Smaug; both of them watched their father die; both of them hated orcs with a burning passion. That was where all similarities ended, thank Yavanna. No way was he as brooding as that Thorin Oakenshield, or as sullen, or as rude. No way at all. And why was he even drawing similarities betweeen himself and Thorin? He did not even like that dwarf. Bilbo shuddered, and tried not to think about him. If he wanted to brood, so be it. It was not Bilbo's business to care.

Yet, the image of the lone dwarf sitting on the edge of the cliff, staring morosefully at the moon, lingered on his mind.

It was raining in the morning, and Bilbo felt absolutely miserable. He was soaked to the bones, could feel all the layers of clothes sticking to his skin, was uncomfortable, cold, and dirty, and what exactly had he done to deserve this torture? A wet dragon is a miserable dragon, and even with Bilbo's increased body heat, he felt cold. His cloak, his poor lovely cloak, was waterlogged and dreadfully heavy. Bilbo grumbled and cursed under his breath as the Company rode through the muddy forest. Mud sloshed constantly and Bilbo was just thankful that his pony, Myrtle, was not one to suddenly buck and throw him off her back. Yes, he would reward Myrtle generously for not throwing him into the mud or doing something equally vile.

"Mister Gandalf, can't you do something about this deluge?" Dori was the one who asked. Bilbo snorted.

"It is raining, Master Dwarf, and it will continue to rain until the rain is done. If you wish to change the weather of the world, you should find yourself another wizard," Gandalf replied. Bilbo snorted derisively again. He knew that the dratted wizard could probably do something to ease their suffering, but just chose not to. That fish-smelling, parasite-infested wizard.

Gandalf smiled pleasantly at Bilbo. "That sounded like a weird cough Mister Bilbo, do be careful, we wouldn't want you catching a cold now, would we?"

"May you fall into a huge puddle of mud, you old coot," Bilbo grumbled loud enough only for Gandalf to hear. He merely continued smiling infuriatingly at Bilbo.

Not long after it had stopped raining, the Royal Regal Dwarf deemed a place suitable for camp. Bilbo was still soaked and relished in the idea of drying his clothes next to a warm, crackling fire. Wet undies are one of the worse things ever, he grumbled internally.

"Bilbo," Gandalf asked him quietly, "Do you smell anything weird?"

"Besides wet dwarves? No, I don't; the smell of extremely damp soil, thanks to the dratted heavy rain, masked most of the other scents. Not to mention that my nose is currently clogged with the smell of wet horses and wet dwarves. If there's something dangerous abound, I can't smell it," Bilbo groused. Gandalf still looked worried.

"Gandalf, what's the matter?"

He nodded his head towards an empty hut and replied, "Not a year ago, a farmer and his family used to live here."

Bilbo looked up sharply. "It's probably not safe here then." Gandalf made a non-committal sound and beckoned Thorin over.

"What is it, wizard?" Thorin barely spared a glance to Bilbo.

"I think it would be wiser to move on. We could make for the Hidden Valley." Bilbo perked; Rivendell! He wanted to go there! It had been a long time since he saw Lord Elrond.

Thorin gritted his teeth. "I have told you already. I will not go near that place."

"Why not? The Elves could help us. We could get food, rest, advice."

"I do not need their advice." Thorin insisted.

"We have a map that we cannot read. Lord Elrond could help us."

"Help? A dragon attacks Erebor. What help came from the Elves? Orcs plundered Moria, desecrated our sacred halls. The elves looked on and did nothing. And you ask me to seek out the very people who betrayed my grandfather. Who betrayed my father."

Gandalf frowned. "You are neither of them. I did not give you that map and key for you to hold onto the past!" Bilbo's eyes flickered back and forth as they argued, and wisely held his tongue.

"I did not know that they were yours to keep." Thorin narrowed his eyes at the wizard. Bilbo rolled his eyes. The stubbornness of dwarves!

"Thorin, there may be something dangerous lingering. This area doesn't feel safe," Bilbo interrupted.

The stubborn dwarf gave an exasperated sigh, "What does a hobbit know of danger? We will be safe here."

Bilbo glared at Thorin.

"Save it, Bilbo," Gandalf growled as he stomped off angrily. Bilbo hissed at Thorin before following the wizard.

"I've had enough of dwarves for one day!" Gandalf fumed. Bilbo nodded tiredly.

"I'm going to camp somewhere else for tonight, Bilbo. Do stay with them."

Bilbo crossed his arms."But they're annoying," he whined petulantly.

"Bilbo," Gandalf sighed.

"Fine. You owe me one."

Gandalf smiled wryly, nodded, and left.

Bilbo returned to the campsite and dried his clothes next to the fire, smiling in bliss. If any of the dwarves saw him sit too close to the fire, they said nothing. Bombur, that dwarf who broke Bungo's chair (Bilbo seethed at that memory), prepared a broth which smelt delicious. After consuming his dinner, Bofur passed Bilbo two bowls of soup and asked him to pass it to Fili and Kili. Wanting to stretch his legs, Bilbo grabbed his cloak (now thankfully dry) and agreed.

Fili and Kili were staring out into the darkness, a troubled expression on their faces.

"What's the matter?" Bilbo asked, when they ignored the bowls of soup in his hands.

"We're supposed to be looking out for the ponies."

"Only we've encountered a slight problem. We had sixteen. Now there's fourteen."

There was a pause.

"Daisy and Bungo are missing."

Bilbo raised his eyebrows. "Why haven't you both tell Thorin this, instead of staring at nothing?

They smiled sheepishly. "We didn't want to worry him. As our official burglar, we thought you might like to look into it."

Bilbo scrutinised the uprooted trees with a frown. There was an additional scent in the area that smelt quite putrid. Like rotten meat and dirty loincloths, or worse. The creature, or creatures, was definitely something big, possibly dangerous, and desperately needed a shower. Nothing good. His eyes widened slightly as he finally recognized the smell. Trolls. That was the odour of trolls.

Great. He hated trolls. Not only do they stank, they tasted foul, and were dim-witted. Not to mention they brought "uncouth" to a whole new level.

"Hey! There's a light. Over here! Stay down." Fili led them through the forest (Bilbo followed his nose actually) towards the light. They hid behind a log and peeked. Yep, they were trolls.

Three trolls, in fact, together with their ponies.

"Burglar, do something," Fili whispered.

"Mountain trolls are slow and stupid, and you're so small, they'll never see you," Kili added. Bilbo stared at them disbelievingly.

"You want me to do this alone? You dwarves must be stupider than I thought. Fili! Inform Thorin about this, but tell them to attack only if there is no other choice. They're mostly back-up. Kili, i hope you can use that bow of yours well. Grab your weapon and come back as quick as possible."

The siblings tried arguing with the hobbit that no they do not need to involve the others. Bilbo gave them a look specially reserved for unruly hobbitlings and they left quickly, suddenly very eager and supportive of Bilbo's idea. Kili reappeared first, with his bow and arrows.

"I'm going to try and sneak towards them, but if I get caught, aim for the trolls' eyes to distract them. If the other dwarves appeared and there is a need to attack, tell them to try causing a huge commotion before attacking: the trolls are dim-witted, and that may confuse them and slow down their attacks. But attack only if necessary: if I'm unharmed and escaping, do not bother attacking!"

"You sound like you've done this before," Kili noted. Bilbo made a dismissive gesture.

"Do you understand?"

"Aye. We'll be behind you."

Bilbo nodded. Wrapping his cloak around himself, he slipped into the shadows.

Two trolls were sitting around the fire as third troll joined them fate placing two more ponies into the makeshift pen. Troll Ponystealer, his brain supplied helpfully. Troll Cook, with an apron, was stirring a cauldron. As he crept around the trolls, he listened to the conversations. According to Troll Cook, they ate the farmer. How charming. The exceptionally stupid troll, Troll Daft, sneezed into the cauldron, which was extremely disgusting. Bilbo reached the pens of the horses and motioned them to be quiet. Then, he pulled out a dagger and slowly began cutting through the ropes.

Troll Daft turned around and Bilbo flung himself onto the floor praying that his dark green mottled cloak keep him from sight. The troll glanced around the pen, saw nothing out of the ordinary, and sat down again. Internally, Bilbo let out a sigh of relief.

Bilbo finished severing the ropes and led the ponies away, one at a time, when Troll Ponystealer noticed the ponies disappearing.

"The ponies! They're running away! Grab em!"

Bilbo hastily cut through the ropes, and slapped the remaining ponies' rump. Troll Daft tried to stop the ponies but they were too fast for him. Swiftly, they disappeared into the darkness of the forest.

All three trolls decided to focus on the little thing in front of them instead. The little thing being Bilbo.
Bilbo gulped. It was too late to run.

"What are you? An over-sized squirrel?" Troll Ponystealer asked.

Bilbo tried to look confident, "I'm a hobbit."

"What's that?"

"Can we cook 'im?"

"I'm afraid I'm rather poisonous. You wouldn't want to eat me, oh no, not at all."

The three trolls looked at him dumbly.

"It's lying! Let's try and eat it. I'm hungry!"

Troll Daft tried to grab him, and Bilbo swiftly side-stepped his outstretched hand, ducking slightly, before running towards the forest. The three trolls began a mad scramble to grab the hobbit.

"It's too quick!" One of them wailed. Troll Cook, in an attempt to hit Bilbo, hit Troll Daft with the ladle instead and Troll Daft fell on his bum, screeching.

"Shoot! Shoot!" Bilbo yelled. An arrow spontaneously flew out of the forest, right towards Troll Cook's eye, but he ducked suddenly to help Troll Daft up. The arrow hit Troll Cook's cheek, bouncing off his thick skin. He barely noticed it. Bilbo cursed as he saw Troll Ponystealer's hand swooping towards him. The hobbit yanked out his dagger and slashed the troll's hand; the troll howled and reared back. Bilbo was nearing the edge of the forest, he was about to escape, when-

-the dwarves burst out of the forest, screaming, weapons waving.

He stopped and gaped for a second. Bilbo groaned, slapping his forehead with his hand.

"Those stupid dwarves!"

End of Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

The Third Age is more peaceful for the Dragonkin. Having perfected the art of living and hiding among other races, they are rarely found. The hatred between the wyrms and the Dragonkin is also most notable in this age. Both are always trying to kill each other. However, due to the obvious advantage the wyrms had in terms of brutality, strength and lack of conscience, most battles are won by the wyrms. Yet the Dragonkin continues fighting, with the elves standing with them. Some day, the Great Race will rise again.

-Excerpt, from "The Forgotten Tales of the Dragonkin".

The Company charged out of the bushes yelling and brandishing their weapons, much to Bilbo's horror. As they fought the trolls, hacking, slashing, and hammering their legs. Bilbo stood there and stared. He almost yanked all his hair out as he screamed, "what are you idiots doing!" Of course, everyone ignored him. Bilbo narrowed his eyes, temper raising. Those dwarves had to ruin everything! He was going to kill them, Gandalf be damned! Bilbo stood hidden in the shadows of the trees, hands crossed. Let the dwarves suffer for a bit, he thought grumpily, it was not like they needed his help.

The fight was going nowhere until Troll Ponystealer suddenly lunged forward, large hands swiftly(synonym) closing around Ori, the little scholar. Ori was too stunned to retaliate as he was lifted up into the air. He held Ori up by his limbs, in plain view of everyone. Immediately, the dwarves halted.

"Ori!" His siblings cried. Ori trembled, but to his credit he remained silent.

"Lay down your arms, or we'll rip his off."

There was a few seconds of tensed silence when it seemed like Thorin would refuse. Finally, he reluctantly set down his sword, and the others quickly followed. Bilbo watched, hidden by the darkness of the night, as the dwarves were stuffed into sacks, while some were tied onto a spit. The dwarves squirmed and yelled, creating a din that could wake up the dead, but they were still unable to escape. He felt a headache building; it seemed like now it was up to him to safe their miserable hides.

While the trolls were happily roasting several dwarves suspended over the fire, Bilbo spent his time reviewing his knowledge on trolls. If his memory did not failed him, exposure to the slightest bit of sunlight turned them to stone. He checked the sky; dawn would arrive in an hour or two. He would have to play for time for the moment.

"Why bother cooking them? Let's just sit on them and squash them into jelly," Troll Daft whined, a hand reaching for a dwarf in a sack.

Troll Cook hit his hand away with a ladle. "They should be sautéed and grilled with a sprinkle of sage."

Time to make his presence known. Bilbo took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. Without warning, the cheery fire immediately dimmed to embers. The trolls started and looked around cautiously.

"What was that?" Troll Daft whimpered.

"Aren't you making a terrible missstake? Not inviting your neighbour for a meal?" This time, Bilbo spoke in a voice that was low and silky that sounded more like a snake. His forked tongue flickered between his sharp teeth as he slurred his words.

Troll Ponystealer stood up and walked around the campsite.

"We ain't got any neighbours!"

"No neighboursss? What about me?"

"Who are you?" Troll Cook shouted.

"Do you not recognize my kind? Agesss ago, our kind used to ssserve the sssame massster," He willed the flames to spike suddenly. The fires flared without warning before dying out again; the dwarves cried out in alarm. Fearful whispers were traded.

"I am known asss fire... I am known asss a Ssservant of Mordor. Do you not recognize me?" Bilbo rasped from the shadows. His voice, deep and unrecognizable, echoed faintly through the clearing.

Troll Daft looked more frantic than ever. "It's, it's one of 'em! One of em!"

"Don't be daft, those haven' be around for ages. 'e could be lyin'." Yet Troll Cook looked extremely uneasy.

"You challenge my claim? Perhaps I can prove myself through a sssmall test. How would you like to go up in flames, troll?" Bilbo purred, voice sickly sweet.

"No no no," Troll Daft spoke, cowering, before Troll Cook could reply, "Please, we ain't mean to make ya mad. Here, we caught some dwarves, we'll cook some for ya."

There was a pause.

"I expect my portion to tassste good, trollsss. The dwarvesss ssstink; I can sssmell their ssstench from here. Get rid of it firssst."

"How, oh Great One?" Troll Daft asked quickly.

"Sssoak them in sssage for an hour. It ssshould remove the sssmell." The dwarves began fighting their bounds, yelling obscenities and denying that they smelt bad. Bilbo really wanted to bash their thick skulls together to knock some sense into their tiny brains. Just be glad someone's prolonging your lives for now, he thought irritably.

"What a load of rubbish!" Troll Pobystealer scoffed softly.

"What wasss that, troll?" Bilbo snarled sharply. He did not know how long he could keep this up without then being suspiscious. He looked up; a few more minutes would do. At the side of his peripheral vision, he saw a flash of a tall figure, inching his way towards a large rock above the clearing. Bilbo grinned: Gandalf was here.

"I say, yer a fraud! Not daring to show yerself to us!"

Bilbo watched the sky brightened and kept silent.

"What have yer got to say?"

The Sun was rising. Bilbo smirked, and replied lowly, "Once again, you dare challenge me. It isss a pity, I would have helped you had you not doubted me. Alasss, it isss too late; Enjoy being statuesss."

The confounded expressions on the face of the trolls were priceless. "What?"

Gandalf, on that cue, made his appearance on top of the rock. Looking majestic and regal, he boomed, "The dawn will take you all!"

The trolls squinted at him.

"Who's that?"

"No idea."

"Can we eat him too?"

Fools, all of them. Bilbo watched with a savage glee as Gandalf struck the rock with his staff, splitting it into two. Sunlight poured into the clearing and onto the trolls. They howled in pain, their skins slowly hardening into stone. A few seconds later, three ugly stone statues stood in the middle of the clearing.

Game over.

The dwarves cheered loudly in response.

"Well done, Bilbo," Gandalf called out as he freed the dwarves. The dwarves paused and looked around, searching for their hobbit. From behind a tree, Bilbo stepped out, grinning widely. The golden rim around his blue eyes shone exceptionally bright, and his canine looked sharper than before.

"Where have you been, burglar?" Thorin growled.

Bilbo stared at him, unperturbed. "Saving your miserable hides."

"Lies, you weren't with us! There was this- dangerous being- we should find it before-" Thorin gripped his weapon tightly, eyes darting around the clearing, searching for a monster that was not there.

"You mean me? You challenge my claim; perhapsss I can prove myself through a sssmall test?" He tried to use his previous tone and voice, but had to alter it slightly so that his now-normal tongue would be able to produce similar sounds. It was not as deep nor as smooth-sounding, but Bilbo doubted the dwarves could tell the difference. Thorin blinked a few times, before exhaling and relaxing his grip on his weapon.

"That was you."

"Indeed," Bilbo looked pleased with himself. He smiled. "It worked, didn't it?"

"How did you do that? That voice?" Fili asked in wonder.

Bilbo smirked, "It's a skill."

"The fire? How did you control it?" Balin enquired.

"I trusted Gandalf to, of course." Bilbo stared meaningfully at the wizard.

The dwarves turned their curious gazes to Gandalf. With barely a pause, the wizard nodded and played along.

"That was an ingenious plan, and we thank you," Thorin admitted gruffly. Bilbo glared at the king in response.

"You! You brought me so much trouble! I thought my instructions were clear! Attack only when necessary! Why - did - you - attack?" He hissed, jabbing a finger at Thorin's chest for emphasis. Thorin pulled himself to his full height and loomed over the hobbit.

"The trolls were dangerous, and must die," he replied stiffly. Bilbo garbled a few unintelligent Words before making an obscene gesture with his hand. He knew Thorin was right, that the trolls made these lands unsafe and had killed innocents, but the dwarf king was so rash and impulsive, it irked him. It was clear they had no plan when they attacked the trolls!

"Next time, I'll leave you all to roast over the fire!" With that, Bilbo stormed off with the wizard to go admire some troll statues. Oh, how he hated dwarves and their obstinate ways.

"The trolls must have come down from the Ettenmoors." Gandalf said.

"Since when do mountain trolls venture this far south?" His Royal Stubbornness had decided to Grace them with his presence, much to Bilbo's displeasure.

"Not for an age, not since a darker power ruled these lands." Gandalf and Thorin exchanged meaningful glances.

"They could not have moved in daylight." Bilbo commented.

Thorin nodded. "There must be a cave nearby."

They were going to find for a troll cave which most likely stank ten times worse than the trolls themselves. Bilbo truly fear for his nose.

He was right. The cave smelt like rotting flesh and smelly trolls, only ten times more concentrated and acrid. Bilbo refused to enter the cave; he would probably throw up the moment he was inside.

"What's that stench?" Nori choked out.

Gandalf barely looked affected by the smell. "It's a troll horde. Be careful what you touch."

Bilbo took pleasure in knowing that he was not the only one who thought the smell unbearable; many of the dwarves were coughing and fetching at the pungent. The dwarves ventured into the smelly hell-hole, the elated shouts a sign that they had found the treasure hoard. Bilbo sat outside the cave and waited for them, humming under his breathe, half alert for any dangers around.

In the cave, the dwarves were entranced by the amount of gold coins and treasure in caskets just lying around.

Bofur surveyed the treasure longingly. "Seems a shame just to leave it lying around. Anyone could take it."

Gloin nodded. "Agreed. Nori, get a shovel."

In front of them, Thorin held up two cobweb-covered swords. He wiped the grime off one of the sheath, and admired the fine quality of it.

"These swords were not made by any troll," Gandalf commented, and Thorin handed him one of the sword.

"Nor were they made by any smith among men." Gandalf drew the sword out a few inches. "These were forged in Gondolin by the High Elves of the First Age."

That explained the fine quality, Thorin thought in disgust, and barely managed to stop himself from throwing the sword onto the floor.

"You could not wish for a finer blade," Gandalf said. Unwillingly, Thorin held on to the sword. It would be a waste to abandon the sword here, Elven-made or not.

"Let's get out of this foul place. Come on, let's go. Bofur! Gloin! Nori!" Gandalf called out. The dwarves were still burying the treasures they found.

On his way out, Gandalf stepped on something metallic. He brushed aside the leaves with his staff, revealing a shorter sword - more like a long dagger than an actual sword. Gandalf picked it up, scrutinizing it. It could fit Bilbo, he decided.

Outside, he handed Bilbo the sword.

"Bilbo, here. This is about your size."

Bilbo raised an eyebrow. "I don't need a sword, Gandalf. I have my arsenal of teeth, claws and dagger, remember?"

"Just take it," he insisted, "There is never enough weapons. Furthermore, the blade is of Elvish make which means it will glow blue when orcs or goblins are nearby."

"I can smell the danger before it arrived!"

"You may be too distracted to, or your nose clogged with the smell of dwarves."

"If I'm too distracted to pay attention to my surroundings, won't I be too distracted to look at the sword?"

Gandalf gave a long-suffering sigh. "Just take the sword, Bilbo! You're as stubborn as those dwarves!"

Bilbo bristled at that insult, and grudgingly took it. "I don't even know how to use it; it'll just be a burden. What's wrong with my daggers?" He grumbled.

"Your daggers are mostly for short-ranged fighting, unless you throw them, but then you'll risk losing them; the sword allows you to fight medium-ranged." Gandalf lectured.

Bilbo scoffed. He wanted to reply, but the sound of something racing through the forest reached his ears.

"Something's coming!" He warned.

"Stay together! Hurry now. Arm yourselves." Gandalf commanded.

Bilbo sniffed the air, ignoring the queer looks the dwarves were giving him. "It smells wizard-y, definitely not orcs, and rabbits?" He said confusedly.

A brown wizard on a rabbit sled promptly burst out of the forest.

"Thieves! Fire! Murder!" he screamed, seemingly to no one. An awkward pause of silence followed.

Gandalf was the first to react. "Radagast! Radagast the Brown. What on earth are you doing here?"

The wizard known as Radagast looked surprised. "I was looking for you, Gandalf. Something's wrong. Something's terribly wrong."

"Yes?"

Radagast opened his mouth to speak, but shut it. He opened his mouth again, then paused, looking bewildered. Bilbo rolled his eyes.

Radagast held up a finger. "Just give me a minute. Oh, I had a thought, and now I've lost it. It was right there, on the tip of my tongue."

He stuck out his tongue. A tiny stick insect rested on it.

"Oh, it's not the thought at all; it's just a little-"

Gandalf bent down to pull it out.

"-stick insect!"

The dwarves all had flustered expressions on their faces.

Bofur inched closer to Dori. "Great, a crazier one than Gandalf," Bilbo heard him whisper. Gandalf exchanged a few quite words with Radagast before dragging him off a few paces, motioning Bilbo to follow.

"Bilbo, meet Radagast. Radagast, meet Bilbo," Radagast looked at Bilbo curiously.

"One of the Dragonkin? It's been centuries seen I've last saw your kind, and the first time since one has taken the form of a hobbit, however temporary."

Bilbo fidgeted under the inquisitive, unblinking stare.

"Uh, I'm sure I'm very interesting, but what is this important issue you wanted to tell us?" Bilbo demanded. That snapped the brown wizard out of his staring. He turned his attention to Gandalf, the worried expression speaking volumes. From the eccentric mannerism and short exchange Bilbo had with him, he discerned that Radagast was normally a dreamy, flighty and happy-go-lucky person, usually lost in his own world and mostly an optimist. Only something extremely serious and terrifying could leave him so shaken.

"The Greenwood is sick, Gandalf. A darkness has fallen over it. Nothing grows any more, at least nothing good. The air is foul with decay. But worst are the webs," Radagast solemnly reported.

Gandalf tapped his fingers against his staff thoughtfully. "Webs? What do you mean?"

"Spiders, Gandalf. Giant ones. Some kind of spawn of Ungoliant, or I am not a Wizard. I followed their trail. They came from Dol Guldur."

"Dol Guldur? But the old fortress is abandoned." Gandalf insisted, but Radagast shook his head emphatically.

"No, Gandalf, it is not." The brown wizard took a deep breath.

"A dark power dwells there, such as I have never felt before. It is the shadow of an ancient horror. One that can summon the spirits of the dead." Radagast's voice took on an ethereal, trance-like quality as looked into the distance, lost in his memories. His hands shook slightly.

"I saw him, Gandalf. From out of the darkness, a Necromancer has come."

Radagast shuddered violently and blinked, He looked around nervously, wringing his hands, obviously distraught.

"Sorry." he squeaked.

Gandalf cleaned his pipe with his beard, and offered it to Radagast. "Try a little Old Toby. It'll help settle your nerves."

He inhaled deeply.

"And out."

With his eyes crossed and a blissful expression, he exhaled, looking much more relaxed.

"Now, a Necromancer. Are you sure?"

From within his cloak, Radagast pulled out a dagger wrapped in layers of oil cloths. Gandalf gaped ever so slightly, and Bilbo recoiled in shock. He took a step back; the contempt, evilness and undead aura the dagger oozed left him feeling sick. It was definitely sinister, as though dripping with poison.

"That is not from the world of the living," Radagast affirmed.

A howl from the distance stopped their conversation.

Bilbo tensed. "Incoming!"

From behind a nearby crag, a Warg leapt out. It barreled into the Company, knocking down one of the dwarves. Without so much as a pause, Thorin drew his sword in one smooth motion and struck. The warg fell with a howl.

Another Warg attacks from the other side; Kili shot it with an arrow. It staggered, readying itself to pounce again when Dwalin flung his battleaxe into the head of the warg. The warg fell, but this time it did not get up.

"Warg-Scouts! Which means an Orc pack is not far behind!" Thorin hollered.

Gandalf marched towards the dwarf king, eyes ablaze. "Who did you tell about your quest, beyond your kin?"

Thorin shot back, "No one."

Gandalf leaned forward. "Who did you tell?" he insisted.

Thorin took a step back, retorting, "No one, I swear. What in Durin's name is going on?"

"You are being hunted." Gandalf eyed the warg bodies warily.

"We have to get out of here," Dwalin very helpfully stated.

Ori spluttered slightly, "We can't! We have no ponies; they bolted."

Bilbo groaned.

"The orc pack is near," he warned. The dwarves broke out into an argument about whether they should fight or run, where to run to, and in which direction, punctuated with whispers of "we're gonna die" and "whatever should we do?"

They had forgotten the brown wizard in the commotion until he drew himself up. "I'll draw them off," he offered confidently and loudly over the Company. They paused at their discussion.

"These are Gundabad Wargs; they will outrun you," Gandalf cautioned.

Radagast smirked in reply. "These are Rhosgobel Rabbits; I'd like to see them try."

End of Chapter 4.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Radagast burst out of the forest at top speed, catching the wargs by surprise.

"Come and get me! Ha ha ha!" he crowed, waving his hand and cackling. At the sight of the rabbits, the wargs gave chase.

Within a mere span of a few seconds, both Radagast and the wargs were gone from sight.

The Company scrambled across a rocky plane, hiding behind a rock when a warg came too close. Luckily, the warg was preoccupied with chasing the rabbits. Tongue out and snarling happily, it bounded after the rabbits with its full attention.

Gandalf led the way, navigating through the rocks.

"Where are you leading us?" Thorin yelled.

Gandalf did not answer.

They were near the wage scouts when one of them halted halfway, sniffing the air. Turning away from the Brown wizard, it slowly began climbing on top of the rock where the Company was hiding.

The snuffling sounds were getting louder. Bilbo held his breath, the Company pressing themselves against the rock tightly. Thorin nodded at Kili; he nocked an arrow on his bow and readied himself.

Stepping out quickly, Kili released the arrow and the warg fell down the rock. The dwarves were onto them like a pack of wolves on a rabbit. Obviously, the screams of the dying orc caught the ears of other warg scouts, and there was moment of stilled silence.

Then the wargs scouts were onto them instead.

"Move - Run!"

They needed no further prompting as they ran for their lives, wargs hot on their trails, snarling and growling.

"Gandalf! The entrance!" Bilbo called out. Gandalf waved his hand in acknowledgement.

"This way! Quickly!" he stepped towards a rock, not slowing down even when it looked like he was about to collide with the rock. Gandalf continued walking - and simply disappeared into the rock.

The dwarves were too busy trying to keep the wargs away to react. The wargs had caught up, and was closing in on them. The orcs grinned, weapons ready, and wargs lusting for dwarf meat.

"We're surrounded!" Kili cried in alarm as he pelted the wargs with arrows.

"Why aren't you dwarves following Gandalf?" Bilbo yelled to be heard.

"He disappeared into a rock; That's impossible for us!" Fili shouted back.

"He has abandoned us!" Dwalin roared unnecessarily. Bilbo was tempted to leave the dwarves to die. Goodness, have they never heard of concealed entrances? Why was he always stuck with the dumb ones?

"You fools, follow me!" Bilbo snapped, shoving his way through the dwarves, and towards the rock. He stuck his hand into a crack of the rock as a demonstration. "It's a trick to hide an entrance."

Without waiting for a reply, he stepped into the crack which opened up to a dark, small, concealed cave with a tiny path as its only other exit. Sure enough, Gandalf was impatiently waiting for them.

"What took you so long?" He asked Bilbo impatiently.

"Dwarves' ignorance," he muttered as the dwarves slipped into the large crack, Thorin and Kili being the last. Just as they entered the cave, an Elvish horn sounded.

Bilbo had a glimpse of mounted elves catered into the fray, wiping out the remaining orcs. The orcs did not stand a chance.

Gandalf did a quick headcount before ushering them down the steep and narrow path. Having no other choices, they reluctantly walked down the path. It was dark - so dark, even the dwarves could not see past their hands. The dwarves grasped onto the shirt of the person in front of them, the other hand tracing the side of the wall.

"Where are we heading?" Thorin asked uneasily, the dwarves stumbling and murmuring under their breathes.

"Do not worry, this path is safe."

"Gandalf, where are we going?" Thorin repeated forcefully.

Gandalf was silent for a few seconds. "You'll see."

They walks in relative silence for a few minutes until there were hints of light.

"We're reaching the end!"

The tunnel gradually became brighter, and Bilbo felt a slight shift of temperature in the air. He sniffed the air surreptitiously; the smell of pine trees, and home, was getting stronger.

They could see the exit now, a door of light awaiting them. Bilbo quickened his footsteps - the smell, oh how he missed the smell, how he missed his home, he was finally here, finally -

They burst out of the exit. Below them, a valley spread wide. Houses, intricately designed, were built around the pine trees and hills, some even atop gushing waterfalls. Rivendell.

"The valley of Imraldis. The last Homely House east of the sea," Gandalf intoned.

Home, Bilbo thought nolstagically.

Thorin glared at Gandalf. "This was your plan all along, to seek refuge with our enemy."

"You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield. The only ill-will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself." Gandalf gently corrected.

"Do you think the Elves will give our quest their blessing? They will try to stop us." Thorin said.

"Of course they will. But we have questions that need to be answered. If we are to be successful, this will need to be handled with tact and respect and no small degree of charm. Which is why you will leave the talking to me."

Across the bridge they went, and into the heart of Rivendell. The elves hardly paid them any attention, but the dwarves were extremely uncomfortable, throwing the elves suspicious looks and huddling together with Bilbo in the centre. Bilbo could not care less; he was brimming with excitement. It had been too long, far too long!

It was Lindir who greeted them, much to Bilbo's surprise. Normally Lord Elrond greeted his guests personally.

"Mithrandir."

"Ah, Lindir!"

Lindir glanced through the dwarves and, catching sight of Bilbo, did a mini double-take.

"Cyadhon? It has been years; What brings you to Rivendell?" He asked in Sindarin.

The dwarves instantly took a step away from Bilbo. He sniffed slightly.

"Oh, this and that. Nice to see you too," he replied vaguely in Westron. The dwarves murmured in distrust.

"You know the elves?" Thorin's tone was dangerous. Bilbo hummed in agreement, barely sparing a glance at the fuming king. He had neither the time nor the mood to mollycoddle the dratted king. Thorn can stuff his prejudice and hatred up his ass, for all he cares.

"I must speak with Lord Elrond." Gandalf interrupted.

"My Lord Elrond is not here."

"Not here? Where is he?" Gandalf asked.

Once again, the Elvish horns sounded. The group of elves who had previously saved them entered

"Ifridî bekâr!" Thorin yelled, and the dwarves bunched up together into a tight circle with their weapons pointed outward. Bilbo rolled his eyes(he had been doing that a lot lately) and extracted himself from the unruly crowd. He would deny any relations with those rude guests, thank-you-very-much.

The elves rode around the dwarves before stopping, parting to allow Lord Elrond to pass through. "Gandalf," he greeted warmly. Gandalf bowed gracefully.

"Mellonnen! Where have you been?" Gandalf asked.

"We've been hunting a pack of Orcs that came up from the South. We slew a number near the Hidden Pass," was the reply in Sindarin. Lord Elrond dismounted, and hugged Gandalf briefly.

"Bilbo," Lord Elrond smiled widely and bent down, and Bilbo totally did not run towards his open arms.

"Elrond! It's been far too long!" Bilbo replied happily in Sindarin. Elrond nodded, scrutinizing Bilbo.

"How have you been, boy? Why are you in the company of dwarves?" His voice was laced with concern.

Bilbo waved his hand nonchalantly. "Long story, will tell you later," he replied airily.

"Indeed. Strange for Orcs to come so close to our borders. Something, or someone, has drawn them near," Lord Elrond stood up and looked at the dwarves, one eyebrow arched elegantly, as he passed an Orc sword to Lindir.

"Ah, that may have been us," Gandalf coughed slightly.

Thorin stepped forward, and the Elven Lord's eyes lit in recognition.

"Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain," he greeted.

Thorin narrowed his eyes at Elrond. "I do not believe we have met," he said curtly. Bilbo hissed softly through his teeth. Such utter disrespect - the dwarf king is such a horrible guest!

"You have your grandfather's bearing. I knew Thror when he ruled over the Mountain." Elrond was hardly perturbed by the hostility.

"Indeed; he made no mention of you."

Elrond ignored him, turning got Bilbo instead. "You pick up fine company, Bilbo, but guests they still are, so they are welcomed here," he drawled in Sindarin.

"What is he saying? Does he offer us insult?" Gloin growled.

Bilbo resisted the urge to roll his eyes again.

"No, master Gloin, he's offering you food." In a way, Bilbo guessed he was. The dwarves immediately settled down, looking appeased.

"Ah well, in that case, lead on."

This time, Bilbo openly rolled his eyes.

Lord Elrond had dragged Gandalf away, promising to talk to Bilbo later. Lindir was supposed to bring the dwarves to the dining hall, but Bilbo suggested doing so instead to save Lindir the trouble, and he gratefully agreed.

Bilbo entered the palace with the dwarves, who were casting distrustful glances in his direction but otherwise remained silent. He tried not to let it affect him as he led the way to the dining hall, occasionally greeting the elves passing by. The elves, most having known Bilbo for years, greeted back warmly. The dwarves, however, were ignored. The elves were cool, composed, and elegant; they seemingly glide instead of walk, and they never run through the corridors.

Which was why when he heard the sound of running footstep, and groaned loudly. Currently he knew of only one person who would run in the corridors.

From the far end of the corridor, a tall female elf was racing towards him. She had dark brown hair, sharp blue eyes ringed with gold just like his, and was dressed in a body-hugging, turquoise dress with the usual absurd long sleeves that was Elven fashion. Her hair, almost reaching her waist, was deftly pinned to keep out of her face.

The grinning mad-elf charged towards him like a bull, hands overstretched.

"Cyadhon! Hanar! Oh, how I missed you!" She cried in Sindarin, bending down and flinging her arms around Bilbo, burying her face into his hair. The dwarves gaped openly at them. Bilbo stumbled back slightly and patted her back, brimming with happiness until she pulled away hurriedly.

"Ewww, you smell putrid; Whatever have you been doing?" She scrunched up her nose in mock disgust.

"Ah, Ryadher nîth, I missed you too." He tweaked at her pointy ears and she shoved him away lightly, pouting.

"That's how you greet me, after not seeing me for years?"

"It's just two years, you melodramatic girl, and you're the one who greeted me with 'you smell bad"," Bilbo replied fondly.

She looked at the dwarves as her (slow) brain finally registered their presence. Her eyes widened slightly.

"You and this elf...?" Bofur stuttered awkwardly, gesturing towards them vaguely as his cheeks burned a bright red. He noticed that the other dwarves were also averting their gazes pointedly. Ah. He smirked.

Bilbo tugged her ear, and she wailed before smacking his hand away.

"This uncouth, ill-mannered elf? I treat her like my sister."

"Oh." The dwarves looked less awkward.

Ryadher scrutinised him: "They don't know, do they?" She spoke lowly in Sindarin.

He nodded. "If they had known, would I still be allowed to be in their presence?"

She growled softly.

"It's okay," he reassured her gently, giving her a look that said tell you later. She narrowed her eyes slightly. You better. His sister was wary of dwarves, but at least she did not loathe them.

Then, in a louder voice, he tutted, "Goodness, Ryad, whatever in the world are you doing? Running down the corridor? Kneeling on the floor? Lord Elrond would be distraught."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," she grumbled, but she instantly stood up. Smoothing out her rumpled dress and patting her hair, she cleared her throat and adopted a cool, composed expression.

"Pardon my rudeness. I'm Ryadher, a very close friend of Cyadhon, whom you know as Bilbo. You must be hungry; follow me, i'll lead you to the dining hall," she smiled demurely before spinning around and gliding down the corridor without so much as a backward glance. The dwarves exchanged confused looks and looked at Thorin expectantly. He nodded; they followed her quickly, leaving Bilbo behind.

Bilbo spluttered. "Wait up! Hey! My legs are shorter than yours!" He said and jogged after them.

"You're slower than a snail!" She called out, but slowed down her pace for them after that. Walking beside her, Bilbo finally felt a sense of calm and tranquillity. Rivendell had been his home for at least a century, and even after spending a good thirty years as a hobbit, it still felt like home.

Bilbo laughed until his sides hurt when he saw that all the dishes were vegetables.

"Lord Elrond can be so spiteful sometimes," he commented softly to his sister. He was seated next to Balin, at the further end of the table, with his sister beside him. She smirked at him in response. "I want meat, though," he declared, before requesting to the nearest server for actual, cooked meat in fluent Sindarin.

Ryadher sniffed, "You're spoiling our fun." Bilbo wisely ignored her.

The dwarves were ecstatic to see the cooked meat, and shot grateful looks to Bilbo. Good food can go a long way to make people forget about unpleasant things, Bilbo thought; it seemed like most of the dwarves had gotten over their initial distrust and shock of realising that Bilbo was chummy with their nemesis, the elves. Thorin, Dwalin, and a few others still looked doubtful of him, his abilities, and his trustworthiness, but it could not be helped.

Elrond looked slightly put off when he finally joined the feast and saw the dwarves enjoying themselves. He smiled sheepishly when Bilbo stared knowingly at the Elven Lord.

The dwarves discussed their epic swords over their plates piled high with meat, with Bilbo opting to catch up with his sister instead. They spoke in low voices, using Sindarin, to ensure that none of the dwarves would understand even if they eavesdropped.

"How are you, sister? Is everything fine? You look exhausted."

"Everything is okay, although there seems to be evil stirring. Lord Elrond is worried about something, but he refused to tell me," Ryadher frowned in worry.

Bilbo touched her shoulder comfortingly. "He doesn't want to burden you," he explained. His sister sighed impatiently.

"I'm not a child anymore. I'm also one of his fighters!"

"That's what worries me," Bilbo admitted and bit his lower lip. His baby sister was already grown up, but to him she would always require his protection. Although she was probably a better fighter than him, in a non-dragon form.

"Enough about me. Why are you with dwarves? I was so shocked; I never knew you liked them!"

"I don't. But they're on a quest, see, and I'm very interested in it."

His sister perked up. "Oh? So it was not the handsome leader that made you change your mind?"

He scoffed. "You find him handsome? Ooh, is my little sister interested in the Dwarf King? Mind you, he's very stubborn," Bilbo wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at her and she flushed, shaking her head vigorously.

"Just tell me what happened."

Bilbo gave a brief run through of the events that had occurred so far, his tone serious. Ryadher was deep in thought at the end of it.

"Does Lord Elrond know of this?" Bilbo shook his head; he hadn't had the chance to talk to Elrond yet.

"Anyway, I'm glad you're here!" She exclaimed. Bilbo smiled indulgently; she was 29 in human years, yet sometimes acted as though she was 9. Brimming of life, seemingly happy-go-lucky, she also wielded daggers with an ease and possessed a tongue as sharp as her elvish daggers.

"How long will you be staying?"

Bilbo shrugged. "If the dwarves behave and we aren't thrown out, hopefully we'll stay for a week," He mused.

They lapsed into silence for a while, his sister toying with her food and Bilbo relishing in finally having a proper and delicious meal. Bilbo watched the interactions of the dwarves with open amusement; they were occasionally throwing scraps of vegetable at each other, talking and laughing loudly, and letting their guards down. The Elven music had long stopped playing (they were probably feeling under-appreciated and left in a huff, Bilbo mused). The good food and prospect of a good night's rest boosted everyone's mood and created a light atmosphere filled with merriment. It was relaxing.

At least the dwarves were well-behaved enough(or not intoxicated enough) to not belt out bawdy songs in an obnoxiously loud voice.

"They're a rowdy batch, aren't they?" Balin, who was next to him, commented. Bilbo agreed whole-heartedly. Balin scrutinised him like he was a puzzle he could not solve; Bilbo tried to ignore him, and instead focused on the dwarves.

Kili and Fili were arm wrestling on the table as the rest egged them on; Thorin, Elrond and Gandalf wisely ignored them.

Balin was staring at him. He could feel it.

Kili's chair toppled, and both siblings fell into the floor.

Balin was still staring.

The dwarves guffawed loudly as the siblings re-emerged from under the table, rubbing their bruised heads sheepishly.

Bilbo glanced at Balin from the corner of his eyes. Yes, still staring, in that unblinking manner. It was frankly getting a bit disconcerting.

Bilbo sighed, and asked him with thinly veiled annoyance, "Can I help you with anything, or are you just admiring my good looks?"

The entire table fell silent and stared at him.

Oh dear. He may have said that a little too loudly. Awkward. Bilbo flushed, and his lovely sister snorted.

Balin laughed, taking no offense. "Pardon me, Master Bilbo. I was simply wondering how you knew of the elves, if you don't mind me asking?"

Oh.

"My mother, Belladonna Took-Baggins, was very adventurous. She often brought me to Rivendell for visits. That's when I met Ryadher, and we played together. I grew up with her, and we became close friends. In fact, I think I spent practically half my childhood here, under Lord Elrond's care," Bilbo fibbed smoothly. Ryadher, going with the flow; Bilbo felt a rush of gratitude for them. Most, if not all, of the dwarves were listening to him. Even Thorin, with that piercing gaze of his.

Balin looked thoughtful. "Forgive me if I'm being rude, but I heard the elves address you by another name?"

Bilbo nodded. "Yes, it's 'Cyadhon'; that's my name, in another language." It was not an outright lie; that was his name since birth, in his own native language. 'Bilbo' was but another name he had picked so he would fit in with the hobbits.

"Oh, no wonder you can speak Sindarin fluently, you practically grew up here, right?" Ori exclaimed. Bilbo nodded.

"That's why you move like an elf, all graceful and girly - no offense to Lord Elrond," Kili mused out loud, backtracking quickly when he realised he had just insulted the elves in front of their lord. Elrond inclined his head in understanding.

"Um," Bilbo said very eloquently, "Girly?"

"Yes, the elves can pull off the glide-walk thing they do since they're tall, but you only manage to look a bit girly, because you're, you know," Kili gestured vaguely at Bilbo, "a lot less, uh, tall?"

There was a sudden silence. Ryadher looked as though her birthday was here early, Lord Elrond and Gandalf were smirking, and Thorin was groaning in a very unkingly manner while burying his face into his hands.

Bilbo was too stunned to reply.

"Um," he eloquently repeated, cheeks flaming.

Ryadher kept a straight face for about 10 seconds before her badly muffled giggles gave way to full-blown, hysterical laughter which set off the dwarves into tiny giggling fits as well. Soon enough, the entire table except Kili, Thorin and him were chuckling. Even Elrond was smiling secretly.

Kili was pleased with himself for his 'witty' remark. Their uncle, on the other hand, looked genuinely mortified. "Kili! Apologise!" He chided. Kili did, sounding very solemn, but the impish twinkle in his eyes just screamed 'insincere'.

Bilbo sank into his seat and hoped he could find a hole in the floor to hide. What did he ever do to deserve this?

"Brother, you're already 'a lot less tall', if you try to slouch down even more I'm afraid you'll simply cease to exist," his sister crowed.

Bilbo shoved her, hard, off the chair. She toppled to the ground, but continued laughing at his expense.

Evil, evil sister.

End of Chapter 5

Chapter Text

On the dwarves' insistence, three dwarves were to share a guest room, while Bilbo was bunking in with his sister in their old room.

"Elrond, Where's Elrohir and Elladan?" Bilbo asked curiously, as he jogged slightly to walk with Lord Elrond. Both of them lead the way, with Ryadher close behind and the dwarves with Gandalf a few steps back.

"They went to visit Galadriel's elves there to learn from them. They won't be back for a few months," Lord Elrond replied. Bilbo deflated slightly; he was looking forward to seeing them again.

"The dwarves do not know your... identity, I presume," Lord Elrond said quietly, piercing eyes searching.

"No, they don't, and I don't intend to tell them any time soon."

Elrond glanced at him. "They'll be furious when they found out."

"They hate dragons, they would never have let me come along if they knew about me, and you know I can't just fly there without them as the other races would probably shoot me from the sky when they see me," Bilbo sighed.

Elrond nodded, and replied with a hint of a smile, "Maybe their views can be changed, ion. It's easier to start with the younger ones; young minds are the most impressionable." Bilbo followed his gaze to Ori, and hummed thoughtfully.

"Anyway, how have you been?" They exchanged pleasantries, with Bilbo quickly recounting the events that had happened.

"You'll probably only hear the edited version, but I think you should know the full thing," Bilbo admitted.

Elrond frowned. "This venture is very risky."

"Smaug needs to be taken down," he quietly said.

Elrond sighed. "Revenge has never suited you, my child."

"It's not just about my revenge," Bilbe protested, "Gandalf fears that something dark is stirring; they will find Smaug, and will gain an ally in him. It is better to stop him now than to face him in a war. He would wake up sooner or later," Bilbo insisted as they reached their rooms. Elrond looked unconvinced.

"We will talk more later, Bilbo. For now, have a good rest." Elrond squeezed his shoulder lightly. "It is good to see you, my child, despite the grave news you bring," he smiled warmly before departing.

It has been years since he had shared a room with his sister, so he was not surprised to find his bed rudely shoved aside. Instruments of all kinds from all races - drums, harps, flutes and more - filled the entire room, invading his side of the room instead. A few books were stacked atop his bed, but aside from that, nothing in the room belonged to him. There was barely enough space to walk. His sister kept an expensive hoard.

She blushed and grudgingly cleared a small space for Bilbo to place his bag, and books from the bed. "Isn't this a bit too much?" Bilbo asked.

Ryadher shook her head solemnly. "There is never too much," she declared. Bilbo thought of the rooms filled of books he had back in the Shire, and agreed.

"Oh, I almost forgot." Bilbo pulled out a small, carved wooden flute from his bag. Ryadher gasped, cradling the instrument with reverence. "It's not much, but I couldn't carry anything too bulky. The hobbits back at the Shire made it, they love to play this sort of flute during celebrations. Thought it would be good to add into your collection."

Ryadher cradled the instrument lovingly and with reverence. "Thank you!" She squealed, running her down the smooth surface. She blew into it a few times, reveling in the sweet, melodious notes the flute produced. It was the Dragonkin's custom to occasionally bring a gift to add to the host's hoard when visiting. Since Bilbo was imposing on his sister and disturbing her hoard, he could not not give her anything. Furthermore, Bilbo loved doting on his sister, even if he would never admit that out loud.

"I would hug you, but you stink. Do go shower, brother dear, you're making my room smelly."

Bilbo grumbled, but trudged into the showers. After a fantastic and much-needed bath, he was feeling civil enough to visit the dwarves. If luck was on his side, they would be settling in just fine and not causing any property damage.

The dwarves' room were in the farthest corridor, isolated from the rest of the elves. The guest room was spacious, with a toilet and three comfortable and soft beds in each room. The decorations were to a bare minimum, but Bilbo doubted the dwarves would notice such details. Thorin and his nephews shared a room; Bofur, Bifur and Bombur to one; Nori, Dori, Ori shared another, and Dwalin, Balin, Gloin and Oin occupied the last one. Most or the dwarves had already showered, and was lounging around in Thorin's room, the biggest room, making small talks with one another or tidying up their bags. Bilbo sat in a corner of the room, away from the rest, observing them as always (they were a curious and amusing bunch) From the corner of his eyes, he saw Ori approach him, a thick hand made book pressed tightly onto his chest.

Ori tapped his shoulder lightly, asking shyly, "Mister Bilbo? If, if you're free, can I ask a few questions about hobbit culture? There are barely any books or information on hobbits."

The dragon quirked his eyebrow in surprise, and wiped his palm onto his shirt; despite having spent 30 years with the hobbits, he was not all that familiar with the culture. But he could not turn down Ori, especially not when he was looking at him with those sad puppy eyes.

"What would you like to know?"

"Well... why don't you wear shoes?" Ori first asked. That was easy. Patiently, Bilbo explained about the toughness of hobbits' feet, which had surprised even him at first, as Ori dutifully jot down the information. The dwarves were also listening, occasionally adding their own input to each answer. Question after question, Bilbo answered without an ounce of annoyance. Yes, hobbits do eat seven meals a day ("where do they even put all of it?") but even normally he only have 3 which is unusual ("Thank Mahal, I thought we have been starving you."); yes, hobbits only live until 100 years old if they are lucky ("but that's so short!" Kili protested); hobbits fear water, yes; no, we're not half-anything and definitely not related to elves.

"Why do you and Ryadher have the same eyes, then?" Bilbo was stumped. However was he going to explain this, without revealing anything?

"As a wee child, I loved Bilbo's eyes, so with a little bit of magic I changed my eye colour to imitate his." Ryadher leaned against the door frame, casually flipping a dagger in her hand as she answered dryly. Bilbo gave her a grateful smile; that was a total lie, as elven magic do not work that way, but he hoped that none of the dwarves knew that. They lapped up her explanation like cats to milk.

"What was your initial eye colour?"

"Oh, turquoise, I believe," came the cheeky answer. Bilbo rolled his eyes at her; her scales were turquoise in colour.

"What do you want, Ryad?" Bilbo asked.

She batted her eyelashes at him innocently. "I want to test your skills with those daggers, hanar. You used to be proficient at it."

That started a new bout of questions from the dwarves.

"You know how to use daggers?"

"Oh! I almost forgot; you fought the trolls with a dagger!" That was Kili.

"You can fight? I thought you're a grocer!" Not surprisingly, that was Fili. Bilbo stifled a laugh: like uncle, like nephew.

"Come on, Bilbo, demonstrate your prowess to us!" Coaxed Bofur.

"Prowess? He's more like a kitten than a formidable foe," Dwalin rumbled.

Bilbo groaned as the dwarves chortled. There was an urge to prove the dwarves wrong, and wipe those smirks off their faces.

"Very well, nîth, you leave me no choice. Let's go to the courtyard."

It probably looked peculiar; a hobbit versus an elf. But the elves of Rivendell were used to the peculiarities of the siblings of the Dragonkin, for they had stayed in Rivendell for a few centuries, and spared no second glance to them. The dwarves, however, were placing bets on how long Bilbo would last.

Bilbo held out two daggers, one in each hand, and crouched down. Ryadher mirrored his stance before nodding.

"Begin."

They circled one another slowly, assessing their opponent's physique. Ryadher towered over him now, body lithe and lean. It would be hard for her to stoop down to attack, just as it was difficult for Bilbo to target her upper body. She, as usual, was the first to strike; Bilbo blocked her with ease and slashed at her with his dagger. She jumped back nimbly, the dagger narrowly missing her.

Once more they circled each other. She tried again, rushing to him without warning, aiming for his shoulder. He nimbly stepped aside, taking the opportunity to slash her leg. She let out a sharp hiss as the cold metal blade came into contact with her flesh. The dagger barely nicked her, yet there was a line of red. He had drawn the first blood.

He grinned. "Getting rusty, sister dear?" She snarled at him, and attacked with more ferocity. Bilbo calmly side-stepped each attack. Sweat trickled down his face while Ryadher showed no signs of slowing down; although Bilbo had always been better than Ryadher, she had been training while Bilbo had been slacking, and the difference in stamina was showing.

Bilbo knew he would lose if this continued. He had to end this quick. Quick as a flash, he feinted, coming close to his sister before disarming her. Then, taking advantage of her stunned silence, Bilbo threw his daggers aside and launched himself onto her. They tumbled onto the ground, with Bilbo grappling her down.

"What - are - you - doing!" She protested, trying to wrestle the heavier hobbit off. Bilbo grinned, and tickled her mercilessly. She choked, laughing uncontrollably.

"Hahaha... Evil! Evil... Stop! I yield! I yield!" She finally gasped. Bilbo smirked, giving her one last tickle before stopping. He stood up, brushing the dirt off his clothes noncholantly.

"Still doubting my abilities?"

"That was a lucky shot. I could have won," Ryadher sat up and pouted. Bilbo chuckled, ruffling her hair affectionately.

"You improved! Well done!" He said sincerely.

She beamed. "You're getting fat and lazy, brother dear. Some exercise would do you good," she drawled with a wicked smile.

"Oh, shut up."

The thunderous applause reminded them of their dwarf audience, and they blinked as the dwarves surrounded them.

"Not bad, hobbit," Thorin nodded his approval. Bilbo shrugged, a more neutral smile replacing his wild grin.

"Where have you learnt to use the dagger like that?" Bofur asked excitedly. Bifur, behind him, patted Bilbo and muttered in Khuzdul - probably some sort of praise.

"Here and there." was the vague answer Bilbo gave. Thorin eyed him suspiciously.

"Are you as skilled with the sword?" Balin asked.

Bilbo ignored Ryadher's sudden laughter at that question. "No, I have never learnt how to use the sword."

"He did, but he was just so bad at it," His sister stage-whispered. Bilbo elbowed her in the stomach and she merely grinned back. Revenge, she mouthed to him, and he sighed.

Bilbo paled at the bright looks Kili and Fill gave him.

"We can teach you!"

"Oh, no no no, I am very happy with my daggers, thank you-" he backed away hastily.

"Rubbish, it's good to learn another weapon, Bilbo dear, and why have a sword if you don't use it?" Ryadher said sweetly, instantly siding Fili and Kili. That traitor. He would never ever buy her another instrument again.

The Durin siblings traded mischievous grins with Ryadher, and Bilbo felt his stomach sink. The three of them would be a nightmare to deal with.

"We can train him from tomorrow onwards, at noon."

"Yes, he'll do it, it's a fantastic idea," Ryadher continued, striding over to the twins before shaking their hands enthusiastically, a maniacal glint in her eyes.

Fili's grin widened slowly. "I think we're going to become great friends," he promised, and firmly shook Ryadher's hand.

Bilbo felt an ominous air surrounding that one simple sentence. I'm truly doomed, he thought.

The next day was another relaxing day. Ryadher had scouting duties to perform, Gandalf was privately seeking counsel from Elrond, leaving Bilbo and the dwarves free for the day. Some of the dwarves decided to explore the area, going in pairs due to Thorin and his suspicion towards all things Elven. Others decided to care for their weapons or mend their clothes. Bilbo went to visit the library instead.

"Ori, do you want to come along? The library here is majestic; you may find ancient scrolls and forgotten tales," Bilbo offered. Ori leapt to the chance, and his brothers grudgingly allowed him to.

The walk to the library was one in comfortable silence. Which was broken by Ori and his inquisitive mind.

"Bilbo?"

"Hmmm?"

"Are you searching for anything in particular in the library?"

Bilbo smiled languidly at him, trying to hide his glee; he had been waiting for that question.

"Yes. I would like to research more about dragons. Know your enemies before the battle, after all." Bilbo paused for a short while, seemingly deep in thought. "I've heard tales about good dragons, dragons who do not plunder cities or kill without being provoked; I wonder if that's true?" He half-wondered to himself, pretending to not notice Ori's bright eyes staring at him.

"Good dragons?" He was dying of curiosity; Bilbo could hear it in Ori's voice. Bilbo smiled slyly.

"Indeed. I may have read it somewhere in a book in the library. Elrond said it's true, but he may just be pulling my leg. Forget about what I said," Bilbo laughed awkwardly and looked away, as though embarrassed to have said anything at all. From the corner of his eyes, he saw the indecision hardening into resolve in Ori's eyes.

Bilbo would bet half his hoard of books that Ori would be on a mad hunt about the existence of "Good dragons" for the rest of the day, and would be passed a small book with a short introduction about the Dragonkin's existence by the librarian at the end of the day. He would be enthralled, would drink in every word, would verify its reliability with the librarian("of course it's true"), and would be the first among the dwarves to begin believing in "good dragons".

Young minds are the most impressionable.

His plan was in motion.

Learning a sword was a pain in the ass, Bilbo realised. He was initally supposed to be taught by Kili and Fili, but apparently Thorin had his doubts about their teaching skills, and entrusted Dwalin with the task instead. Truthfully, Bilbo was relieved. He did not trust his life with the Durin siblings, not when there were "sword", "teaching" and "Ryadher" involved. Maybe if Dwalin taught him, he could actually improve, Bilbo thought hopefully. Of course, he was wrong. Of course.

Since young he had shown absolutely no proficiency in sword-fighting, which he was painfully reminded of during his lesson with Dwalin. Every other second the strict instructor would yell at him for his foothold, or gripe about his holding of the sword ("it's a sword, not a snake, don't look so afraid of it!"). The dwarves, and his kind dear sister, took great joy in watching him suffer.

"Always be prepared!" Dwalin barked as he feinted a stab towards Bilbo. The hobbit cursed colourfully, stumbled, and flung the sword towards Dwalin as one would throw a spear. The wooden sword hit his leg and clattered noisily onto the ground. Dwalin hopped around in pain for a few seconds, much to Bilbo's chagrin. It was an accident, he claimed.

The dwarves howled with laughter.

Dwalin, however, was not amused.

"We will try again next time," he declared after two pathetic hours, and left, disgruntled.

Bilbo was battered, bruised, and dirty, and he barely restrained himself from lunging for his sister's throat when she approached him.

She grinned at him. "I don't understand, how can someone be so bad at a sword even after years of practice? You can wield a dagger, a spear, and can even shoot decently, but you can't use a sword?"

"I only tried sword fighting for a month before giving it up entirely, and that was decades ago," Bilbo protested.

She snorted, "You're impossible."

"You're infuriating, and if you don't shut up, your beloved harp may magically disappear," Bilbo warned.

She snapped her mouth shut and spoke not a word to him after that, but her mischievous smiles still got on his nerves for the rest of the day.

End of Chapter 6

Chapter Text

Gandalf finally appeared during dinner, looking older and more world-weary.

"Where have you been?" Thorin demanded as soon as Gandalf sat down opposite him.

The wizard raised an eyebrow. "I've been discussing matters of the Middle-Earth with Lord Elrond Thorin. What put you in such a foul mood?"

"He's just upset that his nephews found a new playmate," Bilbo slid into the seat next to Gandalf, amusement colouring his voice. He nodded towards the end of the table, where Kili and Fili were engaged in deep discussion with Ryadher, heads bowed together. Occasionally, they would stifle a giggle and glance at an unsuspecting Bombur.

Thorin glowered silently.

Gandalf chuckled. "Ah, Thorin, I would be more worried about the tricks the three of them would pull." With that, he excused himself to visit the library.

"I do not like them interacting with those tree-shaggers," Thorin muttered darkly under his breath. Bilbo glared daggers at Thorin.

"At least the elves are kind enough to welcome us," he sniped.

Thorin glowered at Bilbo. "What is with your interest with them? Do you fancy the tree-shagger lass so much that you always defend them instead of us?"

Bilbo glared back at Thorin. "Her name is Ryadher! She's like my sister, there's nothing between us! Plus the Elves have been nothing but warm and welcoming, yet you're still holding a grudge against them. How petty," he drawled.

"Me? Petty? They refused to help us years ago!" Thorin growled.

"Yes, petty! That was years ago, like you said! Years ago! It's very clear to me who's the petty one! It was also the Greenwood Elves' fault, not Lord Elrond's!" Bilbo snarled back.

Thorin slammed his goblet onto the table, eyes burning with anger. "You're but a elf-loving burden who will surely cause more trouble than you're worth! If you enjoy their company so much, stay here with your lass!"

Bilbo narrowed his eyes dangerously at Thorin. The candles flared; his sister looked at him in alarm. "Maybe I will," he hissed.

The dining hall hushed. Tension hung heavy in the air, everyone looking at the scene unfurling before them. Deathly silence.

Thorin stood up and leant forward, bringing his face closer to Bilbo's. "Run along, then, little halfling."

Bilbo sneered, shoving his chair backwards as he stood up. "I'm done with dinner anyway. Have fun attempting to reclaim your precious Erebor without me, Your Highness," he said tauntingly. Fists uncurling and curling, Bilbo folded his arms to hide his elongated nails. Ryadher made to stand, but he subtly shook his head. He wanted to be alone. With a mock bow to Thorin, he stormed out of the dining hall. No one tried to stop him.

His footsteps resounded through the hallway, harsh and angry. The lights flickered as he took in deep breaths, trying to control his fraying temper. He had never been the most patient dragon.

Bilbo headed towards the library; books never failed to calm him down. Surrounded by books and utterly alone, he felt his anger ebb away slowly. A feeling of calm settled, and his claws retracted. He suddenly felt foolish for his loss of temper just now; it was unwarranted. To accuse Thorin as petty was rash and foolish as well; the dwarf leader could be a bit extreme and unreasonable, but he had his reasons. Bilbo had dismissed all those and simply blamed Thorin as being petty; that was childish and he was in the wrong as well. Bilbo groaned. He was probably not welcomed among the dwarves now; what was he going to do? He supposed he could still travel to Erebor alone to deal with Smaug, but that would be too risky for him alone.

Another pair of footsteps - too heavy to be elves' - joined his in the otherwise silent library. There goes his silence, he thought unhappily.

"Knew I'll find you here. Free for a chat?" Bofur whispered, looking terribly out-of-place in the library. Bilbo sighed, nodded, and allowed himself to be pulled out of the library. Goodbye books, he thought mournfully.

Bofur exhaled loudly once they exited the extremely silent library. "Are you alright?" He asked Bilbo carefully. Bilbo sighed internally; much as he wanted to, he could not simply snarl at Bofur to get lost. He had become closer to Bofur recently, and regarded him as a friend. Furthermore, knowing Bofur, he would really get lost, and Bilbo did not need that weighing onto his conscious now. And maybe Bofur could convince the others to allow him along. Sad as it was, it would be safer for a hobbit/dragon to travel in the company of warrior-dwarves. He just had to play this right.

First, gain sympathy.

Bilbo laughed haltingly. "Not really."

Bofur sighed. "Pardon his harsh words; I'm sure Thorin did not mean what he said."

"I'm not part of the Company anymore, am I? Isn't it treason to talk to me?"

Bofur snorted. "I'll like to see Thorin try and convict Balin of treason."

"Of course, it was Balin who sent you," Bilbo said flatly. The tiny flare of warmth in his heart that had sparked when Bofur approached him dimmed. Yet; Balin wanted to salvage this? There was still hope for Bilbo after all.

Bofur held up his hands placatingly. "Don't get me wrong, lad. Balin wanted someone to talk to you. Me, being the great friend I am, volunteered." He bowed with a flourish. "Of course, I was also worried for you," he added with concern. Bilbo was surprised; he didn't expect any of them to actually care.

The tiny flame of warmth re-ignited.

Bilbo cocked his head slightly to one side. "Doesn't Balin think I should leave as well?"

Bofur looked at him in utter disbelief. "Bilbo, you're our burglar! Why would we want you to leave?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because some of you don't trust me or even like me?"

Bofur frowned slightly. "Trust is hard to come by these days, especially for us, Bilbo lad. That doesn't mean we dislike you or want you to leave; we do still care." Bilbo scrutinised his expression, but sincerity oozed out of Bofur's every pore. Either he was an exceptionally gifted liar, or he truly believed that.

Bilbo shrugged. "That may be true, but it doesn't change the fact that I'm kicked out of the Company." A thread of bitterness crept into his voice; when that happened, Bilbo was not sure.

"Well, I know that you're my friend, and neither Ori, nor Kili and Fili, nor Bombur, nor me, would want you to leave. Nori too; he would be moaning about the loss of a fellow burglar," Bofur said firmly. "But it may not have been a wisest decision to call him petty. The wounds run deep, and those take ages to heal, if ever," Bofur added cautiously.

Then, apologise and accept part of the blame.

Bilbo threw his hands up. "I know! I lost my temper, and I'm sorry - I shouldn't have said he was petty. His anger and hatred towards the elves may be justified, but at that moment I just couldn't-" he made a frustrated sound at the back of his throat and gestured wildly.

"Your temper got the better of you?" Bofur suggested wryly. Bilbo nodded miserably. Gaining more sympathy would be in his favour.

Bofur patted Bilbo's back. "Aye, lad, it happens to the best of us," he said wisely. Ignoring Bilbo's mutter of "I'm not a lad", he continued, "Just now, Thorin was being brash as well. Currently Balin and Dwalin are knocking some sense into Thorin as well. He won't kick you out."

Lastly, flattery.

"Thorin's quite an efficient leader, else he wouldn't have such a loyal band of strong warrior supporters" Bilbo admitted. Bofur puffed up slightly. "He's strong and determined, but..." Bilbo hesitated, "...can be a bit too head-strong at times." Bilbo added the last bit softly, as though afraid that some on may overhear them.

Bofur chuckled. "Aye, he's a good king despite his flaws. I know Thorin can be frustrating and stubborn at times, lad, but he had suffered much. A heavy burden he has to bear. The grudges have been held on for century; it's impossible for him to get over it overnight. Do not hold it against him, Bilbo," he advised gently.

They really wanted him to stay? This was going better than expected, Bilbo thought to himself in surprise. He did not even need to try and 'play it right'; they were coaxing him to stay, not the other way round. Wonderful. Oh, right, he needed an appropriate response.

"You think I should just forgive him, with a snap of my fingers?" Bilbo asked incredulously.

"All we're asking is to listen to him, and give him another chance. He's a good king, despite his bad sense of directions and occasional bad choices. Maybe not waxing poetry about elves would be great too."

Yes! They really wanted him to stay. This was simply perfect.

Bilbo gave Bofur a rueful smile. "I wasn't that bad, I didn't flatter the elves at all."

Bofur raised an eyebrow, "But you've made your preference of elven company over dwarven company very clear. You're also very chummy with the Elf lass; we thought she was your engaged. It's vexing; the Company's worried that you would leave us. Now Thorin may just have blown it."

Bilbo wrinkled his nose. "Oh, you dwarves and your insecurities. I'm just closer to them; it doesn't mean I'm leaving all of you for the elves. I'm not having any relationship with my sister either. That's just gross."

Balin tilted his head sideways, eyes narrowed slightly. "Sister?"

Oh shit. That was an accidental slip.

Bilbo made a cutting gesture with his hand. " Friend. Friend, I mean that Ryadher is just a close friend. No relationship. Family. That's all."

His gaze was skeptical. "I see."

There was a long stretch of silence.

"If it comforts you, Thorin is being given a harsher version of this talk at this very moment," Bofur added with a grin.

Bilbo frowned in mock contemplation. "I can't imagine Dwalin giving Thorin a talk similar to this."

Bofur laughed gleefully. "Nay, Dwalin has always preferred the straight-forward method of knocking sense into Thorin's head - literally!"

Bilbo gave a short bark of laughter, and any remaining tension dissipated. Bilbo straightened, a grateful grin on his face, and Bofur let out a small sigh of relief, thankful that his friend was relatively back to normal now.

"Thanks, Bofur. You're a good friend," Bilbo said sincerely. His butt was half-saved; hope rekindled in his chest. Jokingly, he added, "When have you gotten so wise?"

Bofur winked. "I've always been this wise, Bilbo, you just never noticed my charm."

Bilbo agreed to walk back to the Gathering Room (aka Thorin's room) with Bofur. Bofur, being the great friend he was, shoved Bilbo into the room unceremoniously.

The dwarves stared at him for an awkward moment, which dissipated when Bofur cleared his throat pointedly. They soon returned to their previous conversations, and Bilbo decided to ignore the fact that he could feel their curiosity and their not-so-subtle glances. At least they were trying.

Bilbo sat next to Bofur at a corner, chatting away about pointless and harmless subjects, such as whether chicken meat or mutton tasted better. Bilbo was all for mutton; chickens are so small and could hardly fill his belly in his natural form. Not that he could mention that to Bofur.

Within five minutes, Fili and Kili were next to him, each on both side. They looked glum and mildly guilty behind their forced, wide smiles.

"Mister Boggins! I'm glad to see you're still here!" Kili declared.

"We thought Uncle had scared you away-" Fili continued.

"-and we were so sad for a moment," Kili ended, grasping his chest dramatically with a fake sigh. They paused, uncertain as to how Bilbo would react now.

Bilbo smiled crookedly. "Just for a moment? How touching," he said teasingly.

They pounced onto his answer like a cat on a mouse.

"Of course not! We were devastated-"

"-I lost my appetite-"

"-The thought of parting with you breaks my heart!" They clambered, relief shining in their eyes. Bilbo laughed loudly, and they exchanged hopeful looks.

"You're... you're not leaving, are you?" Kili asked tentatively.

Bilbo grinned. "Not unless your Uncle chases me away." They visibly relaxed.

"That's good. We need our burglar," Fili said, and Kili nodded vigorously.

"Sorry... for... well, causing you and Missus Ryadher trouble..." Fili apologised haltingly.

"We should have been more careful," Kili said awkwardly, looking everywhere except at Bilbo. Bilbo's heart warmed.

"It's not any of your faults at all," he told them gently. They hesitated.

"But..."

"No buts. Not your fault, alright?" Bilbo said firmly. They brightened, and nodded, smiling.

"Balin's calling. Kili, we have to go," Fili sounded vaguely disappointed as he stood to leave. Kili nodded, and leant forward to give Bilbo a quick one-arm hug.

"I'm glad you're staying," Kili confided softly, and stood as well. Nodding to Bofur and Bilbo, the Durin siblings straightened and left.

Five minutes later, Bilbo watched warily as Thorin made his way towards him. He stood awkwardly over Bilbo and Bofur for a few seconds. Bilbo sighed, and motioned him to take a seat. Thorin sat a few feet away from Bilbo, scowling at the rest of the dwarves until they looked away.

Bofur lingered, unsure if he should stay. Thorin motioned him to go; reluctantly, he parted them. Bilbo straightened instinctively, body tense as he mentally steeled himself for whatever Thorin would say. Thorin cleared his throat.

"Master Burglar, it has come to my attention," he began stiffly, "That my behaviour may have been unfair towards you." He grimaced. "I apologise."

Bilbo choked down his laughter; Thorin looked constipated with the effort to say a simple "sorry", his face contorted as though he was sucking on a sour lemon. But he was trying so hard to be civil, and it would be highly inappropriate to laugh at him. The knot of tension in his stomach that he did not know was there loosened.

"I also shouldn't have lost my temper, or called you petty. You aren't petty. Sorry," Bilbo said graciously. Thorin relaxed minutely.

"Once again, I'll like to extend an invitation for you to join our Company. You have not been...kicked out," his face twisted at those words, "but should you choose to leave, it is understandable." No, no it is not, his expression said. Bilbo took in a deep breath, trying to hide his sudden relief and joy. He was still accepted! Amazing - his plans need not change now.

He deliberately paused and tilted his head to one side, as though seriously considering that option. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Thorin's jaw clench. Since he had nothing to worry about now, why not tease the dwarves a little? All in good fun.

"Unfortunately..." he dragged. The dwarves held their breaths. "...I'm staying," he gave a Cheshire grin and giggled. They sighed audibly, and there were shouts of outrages of "you stinky burglar, you did that on purpose!" and "sneaky hobbit!". Bilbo snickered and smiled innocently.

"My, were all of you eavesdropping? That's such a rude thing to do," he said sweetly. Instantly there was a clamour of "no Mister Baggins we were not", "what were you both discussing?", and "I misplaced my ear horn, couldn't hear anything to begin with." Bilbo snorted disbelievingly.

He turned to Thorin, serious once more. "Alright, we should set some things straight. Firstly, there's nothing between Ryadher and me. Secondly, I get that you loathe the elves. Sure, go on and hate them; who am I to tell you otherwise? But I like them and they're like my family, so let's just steer clear of any elf-hating remarks. In fact, let's just not have any elf-related conversation, so there'll be less pain for everyone, and no potential bloodshed. Thirdly, please do try to be polite to your hosts! Being rude is such a turn-off, and extremely un-kingly, and I won't hesitate to replace all your pipe-weed with random leaves if I feel that you're offending my Baggins Sensibilities. Alright?"

Thorin looked amused at his rant. "Sounds reasonable," he admitted gruffly.

Bilbo hesitantly added, "It would be a bonus if you could allow Ryadher to interact with your nephews. She's different from the rest, less condescending and all. It'll be good for them." Seeing Thorin's scowl re-emerge, Bilbo hurriedly added, "Your Highness."

Thorin sighed resignedly, wrinkling his nose as he agreed. "I have been told to try and be more accepting," he grumbled, glowering towards a pleased-looking Balin and a smug Dwalin while rubbing a bruise on his forearm. Huh, Bilbo was sure that bruise was not there this morning. Not that he was scrutinizing the Dwarven King this morning, no. He just happened to occasionally notice details like that.

Bilbo stuck out his hand. "Deal?"

Thorin considered him for a moment before taking his hand. Thorin's hand was rough with calluses, but warm and strong. It engulfed Bilbo's entirely. "Deal," his low baritone voice rumbled. Then he smiled.

Oh Yavanna, that smile. The corners of Thorin's eyes crinkled, his blue eyes sparkling as his lips curled upwards invitingly, making Thorin look years younger and much more handsome. Bilbo blinked a few times before remembering to respond.

"Uh," he mumbled. Thorin raised an elegant eyebrow at him, his previous smile disappearing behind his usual stoic expression. "You should smile more, it makes you even more handsome," he blurted out, before turning an interesting shade of red. Why, oh why, did his mouth feel the need to say that? Oh Yavanna, oh Yavanna, that was embarrassing.

The dwarves, who were still eavesdropping, roared with laughter. Thorin's lips twitched upwards minutely. "I take it that we're alright now?" He said as he stood.

Bilbo nodded vigorously, his ears still red. "Yes we are," he said quickly, and covered his face with his hands.

"Also, thanks," Thorin said. Bilbo looked up inquisitively. "For the compliment," Thorin elaborated, "Never knew you found me handsome." The laughter amplified tenfold. Thorin grinned wickedly, a quick flash of white, as Bilbo buried his face into his arms. This was not good for his poor, poor, heart.

End of Chapter 7

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

Lindir knocked on the door. Immediately, the dwarves were on alert, the previous celebratory mood gone.

"What do you want?" Dwalin asked suspiciously.

Lindir bowed slightly. "Lord Elrond is ready to meet Mister Oakenshield. Mithrandir is already waiting."

The dwarves exchanged glances. Without a word, Balin and Thorin stood. Dwalin made to follow them, but Thorin motioned him to stay. He whispered a few sentence in Khuzdul and Dwalin reluctantly sat down again. Thorin looked at Bilbo expectantly. With a jolt, he realised he was supposed to follow them. Bemusedly, Bilbo shrugged and followed them to Elrond's study.

Bilbo was bored. Thorin had been, and still was, in deep argument with Gandalf for the past few minutes, occasionally shooting Elrond suspicious glances that Elrond pretended not to notice. It had been barely half an hour since they stepped in, and not only were they going nowhere, it was getting tediously repetitive.

Occasionally, Thorin would consult Balin in Khuzdur, much to the ire of Bilbo - he knew a few languages, and the occasional phrase in Khuzdur, but had never actually studies that language before since it was a dwarvern language. Mostly, Bilbo was ignored. Why bother asking him along if he would have no contribution to this? He had better things to do, like read a book, or sleep.

Gandalf tapped his staff on the floor impatiently, but he was ignored by the dwarves. Balin nodded at Thorin and patted his arm, and a guarded and slightly hostile expression replaced his usually warm smile. Whatever Balin had said probably gave Thorin the confirmation he needed.

Thorin straightened, and clutched the map more tightly, "Our business is no concern of the Elves." Bilbo groaned. This again.

Gandalf thumped his staff impatiently. "For goodness sake, Thorin, show him the map."

"It is the legacy of my people; it is mine to protect, as are its secrets," he insisted. Balin nodded and crossed his arms defensively.

Gandalf rolled his eyes. "Save me from the stubbornness of Dwarves. Your pride will be your downfall. You stand here in the presence of one of the few in Middle-earth who can read that map. Show it to Lord Elrond."

Thorin hesitated.

"You either show it to Lord Elrond or have no other hopes of reclaiming back Erebor," Gandalf warned. The wizard had tried different persuasion methods for the past few times: coaxing, logical explanation, and even emotionally blackmailing ("would you want all these efforts to go to waste?"). None had worked. He had enough of the dwarves. He would not, could not, help them if they were too prideful and stubborn to accept help.

Thorin's jaws clenched. His eyes bore into Gandalf's, no doubt weighing the risks and searching for any hint of lies in Gandalf's words. He found none. Reluctantly, he slowly held up the map to Lord Elrond. Balin's eyes widened, and he grabbed onto Thorin's arm. He shook his head. Thorin's eyes flickered towards Bilbo, who gave him an imperceptible nod, and then at Elrond, who had his do-trust-me-I'm-wise-and-friendly-and-great-and-i-only-want-to-help smile. (Bilbo hated that smile, it always seemed patronising to him, but others always fell for it, so points for effectiveness.)

Thorin lowered his eyes, face riddled with guilt before becoming a blank mask again. Dismay flashed through Balin's eyes. Thorin shrugged off Balin's hand, straightened his back, and handed the map to Lord Elrond.

Lord Elrond inclined his head respectfully, approval in his eyes. Lifting the map delicately, he studied it for a moment.

The corner of his mouth tightened.

"Erebor. What is your interest in this map?"

Bilbo snorted at the poor fib Gandalf made - Gandalf probably guessed that Bilbo would have told Lord Elrond everything, and did not bother weaving a better excuse.

Elrond could read the runes, and also managed to "guess" the real purpose of possessing the map. Not that it was much of a mystery: map plus king plus small band of warriors equals to? Academic interest, obviously! It definitely isn't because they want to reclaim their old homeland. No, kings truly have so much time to be chasing old runes for academic interest. Of course.

Please, even a young hobbitling could see through that.

Elrond passed the map back to Thorin, who hastily kept the map, looking satisfied to have the answer, yet disgruntled to be owing the Elven Lord some sort of debt. Lord Elrond said cautiously, "There are some who would not deem it wise to try and enter the mountain."

"What do you mean?" Gandalf asked, leaning onto his staff.

Elrond stared at Gandalf evenly, his lips pressed tightly. "You are not the only guardian to stand watch over Middle-earth."

Gandalf's eyes widened minutely.

Elrond turned to Bilbo. "Take a walk with me, Bilbo? I believe we have much to discuss."

They strolled around the garden, listening to the quiet of the night. Elrond was unusually sombre, looking more tired than usual.

Finally, Bilbo could not stand the suspense anymore. "Lord Elrond? What's wrong?"

Elrond sighed, tilting his head up and admiring the stars glittering in the sky.

"My elves have encountered a problem, Bilbo. Regarding your people," he said softly.

His pulse quickened, and he took in a sharp intake of breath. "My sister and my... Kin?"

Elrond nodded. "Some of the young under our care have been reported missing."

A dull pressure Bilbo registered as panic grew slowly in his chest. "How... The elves were supposed to keep them safe! Who took them? Where... Why?"

Elrond looked troubled. "It is unclear as to who took them. They had help from a higher being, someone older, more dangerous and powerful. I had the elves track the remaining tracks, but the trail ends in Dol Guldur."

"Dol Guldur!" Bilbo hissed in alarm. His eyes narrowed. "The Necromancer."

"We fear so. I have discussed this with Gandalf; this is no mere coincidence."

"Obviously," Bilbo muttered under his breath as he began pacing.

"Cyadhon, there is nothing we can do now," Elrond said gently.

He spun angrily. "They were supposed to be safe! Not taken, and possibly forced to serve and do evil deeds! Who knows what would happen to them! They're only children, Elrond. Children." A desperate plea entered his voice.

Elrond placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I know," he only said, and Bilbo knew that he truly understood his pain. "We're trying our best, my child."

"I would help, but I have to continue on this quest. Smaug-"

"I know," Elrond cut in, soothing. "He has to be taken care of before he becomes a bigger threat. But, Cyadhon," Elrond knelt so that he was face level with Bilbo, "Are you ready to face him? He is your kin-"

"None of the accursed wyrms are part of the Dragonkin!" He snarled. Taking a deep breath, he stared straight into Elrond's worried eyes, determination filling his own. "I have to do this," he replied quietly.

Elrond looked sad, mournful even. "Oh, my child. Your burden is heavy to bear," he murmured. Bilbo snorted.

"Don't make it seem like I'm about to die," He grumbled.

Elrond smiled sadly. "We pray for the best," he whispered. Bilbo pretended not to hear it.

"Have you told Ryadher?" Bilbo asked as Elrond walked him back to his room.

Elrond shook his head. "We do not deem it wise to do so. She can be even brasher than you." The corners of Elrond's mouth tugging upwards into a fond but exasperated smile.

"I think you should consider it, Elrond. She's one of your warriors as well; does she not deserve to know?"

Elrond raised his eyebrow. "Are you saying all these because you've grown tired of her whining?"

"No. Well, partly," Bilbo admitted sheepishly, "But also because she has a right to know; it involves our kind, after all."

Elrond sighed. "It is considerable. I worry for her as well, Bilbo. I fear involving her to may not bode well."

"Consider it?" Bilbo pressed.

The Elven Lord sighed and finally agreed that yes, he would give it some thought. Bilbo bade Elrond goodbye and slipped into his room; Ryadher was, unsurprisingly, awake and waiting for him.

"Where have you been?" She asked, eyes shining inquisitively.

Bilbo grinned. "Not your business," he sang.

Ryadher growled and sprawled herself across her bed like a giant cat. "You were talking to Elrond. What did he say?" Seeing the beginning of a frown forming, she hastily added, "Not that I was spying, I simply happened to uh, saw both of you while plotting with Kili and Fili."

"Plotting? Should I be worried? When have you even become on first name terms with them?"

"No, no, we aren't planning anything bad. Just a few little tricks here and there, nothing to be worried about," Ryadher flashed Bilbo a toothy smile that did nothing to soothe his growing alarm. She definitely was up to something. He had a feeling he would not like it. At all.

"Plus, we bond quickly, once their great oaf of an uncle stops looming over us." She flopped onto her belly and dangled half her body off the bed, reaching out to idly strum her harp with one hand. She scrunched up her nose in distaste. "You were right. Their uncle may be handsome but he's so stubborn and stiff. No fun at all."

"Dont antagonise him, Ryad, he already disapproves of you," Bilbo admonished.

"I know, I know. I'll keep my distance from his darling nephews so I wouldn't corrupt them with my Elven ways or something," she scoffed.

Bilbo hummed. "What else did you do today, besides playing tricks on unsuspecting victims?"

Ryad waved a hand through the air languidly. "Oh, nothing much. Scouting as usual, and- wait, you've been trying to distract me!" She shot up, glaring at Bilbo furiously. "I saw what you did there, hanar. Sneaky sneaky, you. Don't think I'll let you get away with it." She flayed her arms to emphasize her point, before settling to glaring at him.

He smiled blandly. "Get away with what? Are you on scouting duty tomorrow?"

She firmly shook her head. "Stop trying to change topics. Answer the question, brother dear: what were you and Elrond discussing just now?"

Bilbo pursed his lips. "We discussed about Smaug," he reluctantly replied. Ryadher tensed instinctively. She pushed herself up and leant against the bedframe. Hugging her pillow tightly, with a blank expression on her face, she resembled a little girl, lost and afraid. Bilbo was momentarily reminded of a younger Ryadher, sobbing and shaking, her small frame pressed tightly against his side. He wrenched himself from that memory; he so did not need to go there now.

"What about him?" She asked quietly.

"He merely asked if I was ready."

"And are you?"

Bilbo smiled wearily. "I have to be, don't I?"

Ryadher said nothing for a few seconds. Her grip on her pillow tightened, left hand shaking imperceptibly, eyes hollow and expressionless. Previously, when Bilbo had mentioned his part in the quest, she flinched but changed the topic quickly, unwilling to give much thought about it. There were many distracting factors at that point of time. Now, however, with nothing to distract her, her fears and concerns manifested. Bilbo could see that she was straying towards delicate memories best left untouched.

"Don't worry, I'll whack him extra hard for you," Bilbo forced a light-hearted tone, hoping to gain a reaction from his sister. She shook the dazed look out of her eyes and smiled wanly.

"Anyway," she said in a strained voice, "I'm sure that's not all both of you discussed about. What else did he say?"

"Can't say, really can't, sorry," he said apologetically. "Maybe he'll tell you soon. If you behave yourself," he added.

Ryadher made an undignified squawk and threw her pillow at him. "I'm always well-behaved!" She protested, sounding more like herself.

Bilbo snorted derisively. "Oh, sure, since wire-tripping Elven ambassadors from Greenwood is a sign of being well-behaved."

She scrunched her nose in distaste.

"That was a few years back! And they were haughty and condescending. Maybe if they did not have their noses stuck so high up in the air, they would see the wire and evade it like Lord Elrond did."

He shot her an exasperated look. "He just happened to know your tricks, Ryad. Still denying that the incident was your fault?"

"Of course. I'm innocent. And well-behaved as always."

"Keep telling yourself that," he muttered. Snagging the pillow she had thrown at him, he rolled over and pulled his blanket over his head, resolutely ignoring his sister and her sputtering protests. She could get another pillow; hers was officially his hostage, and in no way would he give it up now. Too bad for her.

End of Chapter 8

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

"Pack up soon. We're leaving tonight," Thorin informed the Company during breakfast.

"Why?"

Thorin glared at Bilbo. "We have our answer, and should not dally anymore. Have you changed your mind, hobbit?"

Bilbo raised an eyebrow. "What put you in such a foul mood again?" Thorin glowered silently but did not reply.

"Uncle's just not a morning person," Kili whispered to Bilbo. With his mouth stuffed with bread, Fili nodded sagely.

Bilbo shrugged, thoughts preoccupied. His sister had left early, and had not reappeared since then; he wanted to speak to her before leaving, at least.

"Gandalf won't be joining us," Balin said.

Now that was puzzling. "Why not?"

"He said he'll be held up by some White Council, but he'll meet us at the Mountain Passage."

Ah, the White Council, which composed of Saruman, Elrond, Galadriel, and Gandalf. Maybe it was a good thing they would be leaving tonight, since Bilbo had no desire to meet Saruman, or answer his barrage of questions. He never liked that wizard, who always seemed too fascinated in his sister and him, but recently being around him gave Bilbo a strange, crawling feeling of wrongwrongwrong; his age-old instincts screaming at him to get away. Bilbo learnt always to listen to his instincts, and this time was no exception.

They spent the day restocking their food as surreptitiously as possible: Thorin did not want to alert Lord Elrond that they were leaving, for fear of being stopped. Personally, Bilbo thought that was dumb since Lord Elrond knew the importance of this journey, despite being disapproving towards it. And the dwarves, with the exception of Nori, totally sucked at subterfuge. Reason they gave for wanting more bread: "I, uhhh, want to feed the ducks in the garden". Bilbo almost banged his head against the nearest wall when he heard that; ducks? What ducks? Last time he checked (which was yesterday), there were no ducks in the garden. It was fortunate that the elves decided to peg it as dwarves being dwarves(basically, dwarves being weird) and gave it to them without much thought. Or maybe they were just secretly helping them; he was not sure.

They stuffed their packs with as much non-perishable food items as possible, polished their blades, mending their clothes and did all necessity things. None saw Gandalf throughout the whole day, and from what Balin heard, he would not be able to see them off. Saruman would probably arrive at night, and the dwarves were planning to take advantage of his arrival as a distraction to leave.

Night fell soon enough. The elves were unaware of their oncoming departure(or maybe they chose to feign ignorance, Bilbo still wasn't so sure; they had amazing poker faces). Ryadher finally appeared after dinner, face red with anger as she stomped into her room.

"Elrond finally deem it fit to tell me what's going on," she snapped.

"Oh."

She paced around the room(or tried to pace since her room barely had enough space), her eyes glittering with anger as she glared at the floor as if it had personally insulted her. "Why didn't he-"

"Ryadher, I'm leaving tonight," Bilbo informed her suddenly. That stopped her rant. Her head jerked up and looked at him in dismay.

"Why tonight?"

"Thorin's orders. Saruman is also coming tonight," Bilbo explained simply.

His sister took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Alright," she said, "I'm leaving tomorrow anyway; Scouting at Dol Guldur."

"That's dangerous!"

"And going after Smaug isn't?" She shot back. Bilbo opened his mouth, and promptly shut it again.

"I'm one of the best scouters here, remember? Thanks to the enhanced smell and hearing." Her left hand trembled slightly. "I can't not help, Bilbo."

He grimaced. "Fine. But be carefully, Ryad."

"I will." Her expression was serious, with none of her usual joking laughter present. She sighed. "I won't be able to send you off; briefing is tonight."

Bilbo smiled reassuringly. "It's fine; I didn't expect you to anyway."

His sister crossed the room and knelt down, pulling Bilbo into a hug.

"Take care, hanar. Whack the wyrm bastard extra hard, alright?"

Bilbo patted her back. "I will."

"May the winds guide you home," she whispered in an ancient language; a language Bilbo had not heard for decades; a language he only spoke to his sister with: their native language.

Bilbo gently pressed his forehead onto his sister's. "May your fire burn bright," he finished the second part of the traditional blessing for farewells, the long-unused language slightly foreign and awkward to him. He was dreadfully rusty.

They sat next to each other in silence for a few minutes, savouring the last few moments of peace.

Bofur knocked on the door and poked his head into the room. "Bilbo? It's time to go."

He swung on his green cloak, hefted up his bag and nodded to his sister.

"Farewell, nîth."

Her eyes flashed with sadness. "Stay safe. Namáriëor Navaer, hanar."

Bilbo took a last look around the room, straightened, and left.

The White Council gathered in the pavilion. Streaks of sunlight seemed into the sky, stretching out towards them. Dawn was breaking.

Saruman frowned at Gandalf. "Tell me, Gandalf, did you think these plans and schemes of yours would go unnoticed?"

"Unnoticed? No, I'm simply doing what I feel to be right," Gandalf said.

Galadriel watched the darkness of the sky fade away, hands clasped in front of her."The dragon has long been on your mind."

Gandalf inclined his head."This is true, my lady. Smaug had not been a worry before. But if he should side with the enemy - and he will - a dragon could be used to terrible effect."

Saruman rolled his eyes. "What enemy? Gandalf, the enemy is defeated. Sauron is vanquished. He can never regain his full strength," he said. "For four hundred years, we have lived in peace. A hard-won, watchful peace."

"Are we? Are we at peace? Trolls have come down from the mountains. They are raiding villages, destroying farms. Orcs have attacked us on the road," Gandalf shot back.

"Hardly a prelude to war."

"Saruman, something is stirring. Something evil. We cannot simply ignore the signs," Elrond said.

Saruman eyed Elrond suspiciously. "You? You side Gandalf? Your precious Dragonkin have been affected, I presume."

Elrond straightened. "They are under the Elves' care. It is our duty to protect them, yet strange things have also been happening to them."

Saruman waved his hand dismissively. "They are but a burden, a forgotten race. Or have you forgotten their arrogance?"

"Yet that does not mean we should abandon them, Saruman," Elrond replied sharply, chidingly.

Saruman looked away. He focused on Gandalf instead. "Always you must meddle, looking for trouble where none exists."

Galadriel frowned down on Saruman. "Let him speak."

"There is something at work beyond the evil of Smaug. Something far more powerful. We can remain blind, but it will not be ignoring us, that I can promise you. A sickness lies over the Greenwood. The woodsmen who live there now call it 'Mirkwood'. and they say..." Gandalf paused expectantly, one eyebrow crooked upwards.

"Well, don't stop now. Tell us about the woodsmen say," Saruman said impatiently.

Hiding a smile, Gandalf continued. "They speak of a Necromancer living in Dol Guldur, a sorcerer who can summon the dead."

"That's absurd. No such power exists in the world. This... Necromancer is nothing more than a mortal man. A conjurer dabbling in black magic," Saruman scoffed.

Gandalf drove on. "And so I thought too. But, Radagast has seen-"

"Radagast? Do not speak to me about Radagast the Brown. He is a foolish fellow."

"Well, he's odd, I grant you. He lives a solitary life."

"It's not that. It's his excessive consumption of mushrooms. They've addled his brain and yellowed his teeth. I warned him, it is unbefitting of the Istari to be wander in the woods..."Saruman insisted, then paused and shook his head.

Gandalf picked up Radagast's package, which was on his lap, and tossed it onto the table. It landed with a thud.

Saruman paused his mini-rant. "What is that?"

"A relic of Mordor," Galadriel replied softly.

Elrond slowly unwrapped the package, taking care not to touch it. Gandalf had shown it to him to convince him a few days before, so he was not surprised by it.

There was a shocked silence from Galadriel and Saruman.

"A Morgul blade," Elrond intoned.

Galadriel moved forward to get a better look of it. "Made for the Witch-king of Angmar, and buried with him. When Angmar fell, men of the North took his body and all that he possessed and sealed it within the High-Fells of Rhudaur. Deep within the rock they buried them, in a tomb so dark it would never come to light."

"This is not possible. A powerful spells lies upon those tombs; they cannot be opened," Saruman said with a frown."What proof do we have this weapon came from Angmar's grave?"

Gandalf turned his palms upwards.

"I have none."

The White Wizard jumped onto that immediately."Because there is none. Let us examine what we know. A single Orc pack has dared to cross the Bruinen. A dagger from a bygone age has been found. And a human sorcerer, who calls himself the Necromancer, has taken up residence in a ruined fortress. It's not so very much, after all. The question of this dwarvish company, however, troubles me deeply. I'm not convinced, Gandalf; I do not feel I can condone such a quest. If they'd come to me, I might have spared them this disappointment. I do not pretend to understand your reasons for raising their hopes. I am afraid there is nothing else for it."

A slight noise broke Saruman's mini-rant; they turned around. Lindir stepped out from the shadows and bowed.

"My Lord Elrond; the dwarves, they've gone."

A ghost of a smile could be seen gracing Elrond and Gandalf's faces; Saruman's furious expression, on the other hand, was priceless.

Sunlight filtered through the pine trees, showering everything with a glow of light. The Company hiked along the path away from Rivendell.

Thorin surveyed the Company. "Be on your guard; we're about to step over the edge of the Wild. Balin, you know these paths; lead on."

Bilbo glanced behind his shoulders at the diminishing Rivendell. The last of the homely homes. He felt a twinge of sadness, as he always did when he left Rivendell.

"Master Baggins, I suggest that you keep up."

Looking at the path ahead of him, uneasiness settled in his gut. Despite the beautiful day, he felt something ominous stirring in the air. The winds were changing, and he did not like it.

The Company trudged on, way until evening. The dwarves were in a hearty mood after leaving Rivendell behind, celebrating and cheering since they no longer had to see any of those "tree-shaggers". (Bilbo pointedly cleared his throat and they hastily amended their sentences. "Elves, I mean. We don't have to see any more elves.")

The ominous feeling in Bilbo's gut ebbed away, until it was just a faint trickle of anxiousness. He could not help turning around every other hour to check over his shoulders though.

"What's wrong, Mister Baggins? Missing Miss Ryadher already?" Fili commented with a lopsided smile the sixth time after they saw him look over his shoulders.

"It is understandable if you did; I miss charming Miss Ryadher too," Kili chimed, wiping fake tears away from his eyes.

Bilbo flashed them a grin. "No, she was starting to get on my nerves with her giggling and sly smiles. What were you three planning, anyway?"

They coughed pointedly. "Nothing, really," they said a little too quickly. Suddenly, Kili pointed ahead.

"Fili, I think I saw a deer ahead. Maybe we should scout there," he said. Then, both of them hastily urged their ponies forward.

"They're definitely planning something," Bofur chuckled. Bilbo sniffed and gave him a you-don't-say expression.

"Hopefully nothing too traumatizing," he replied.

End of Chapter 9

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

They soon reached the Misty Mountains. A torrent of rain poured from the sky; lightning flashed and thunder boomed. The Company was soaked once again, (the smell of wet dwarves still unpleasant to Bilbo's nose) and they were struggling to see past the storm. Bilbo could hardly make out the shape of the dwarf in front of him. The trail ahead was dangerous; to their left, a cliff with an uneven and narrow path; to their right, a steep and sheer drop into darkness. The stone path was slippery and crumbling.

"Hold on!" Thorin shouted. Bombur almost slipped; Dwalin hauled him up swiftly before he fell into the chasm.

"We must find shelter!" Thorin said smartly. No shit, Bilbo screamed internally.

"Watch out!"

Dwalin's sudden shout caused the dwarves to look up in alarm: a massive boulder hurled through the air towards them. Eyes wide, they watched as it struck the mountainside above them. The mountain shook; rocks crumbled down, huge boulders tumbling around them.

The Company pressed themselves against the mountains, the tiny edge they were perched precariously on vibrating vigorously as the boulders narrowly missed them.

"This is no thunderstorm; it's a thunder battle! Look!" Balin proclaimed. From a nearby mountain emerged a stone giant. Ripping a massive boulder from the top of the mountain, the giant hurled it into the air towards the Company. Another Stone Giant reared up from behind them, and was struck by the boulder.

The rocks beneath their feet vibrated violently.

"Brace yourself!"

The ground started to give way, the entire cliff shuddering and shaking as rocks tumbled down around them. The ground splits, separating the company into two. They clung desperately onto the cliff behind them as they were flung around. The stone giants began fighting, their actions slow and lumbering but powerful. Each punch sent an impact through the cliff, causing their teeth to rattle and hands scrambling for a stronger hold.

Stone Giant Number 3 appeared, throwing a boulder at the head of Stone Giant Number 1. It fell, lost its footing and fell down the chasm.

With abject horror, half the Company watched helplessly as the dwarves near Number 1 was almost crushed.

Thorin bellowed. "No, no! Kili!"

Rushing to the spot, Thorin breathed a sigh of relief at seeing the others perched safely on the edge, none injured.

"Where's Bilbo? Where's the Hobbit? There!" Dori said, eyes wide with panic. On the edge of the cliff dangled Bilbo with just his fingertips. Internally, Bilbo was cussing everything for his godforsaken bad luck - he was accidentally knocked over (thank-you-very-much, dwarves). Ori dived onto the ground and tried futilely to grab onto Bilbo's arm, but Bilbo slipped. He scrambled for another handhold, fingers clawing and slipping. I so do not want to die here, he screamed internally. A heartbeat later, he found a strong handhold and sighed in relief.

Thorin swung down to help him up, but Bilbo pulled himself up, and with the rest of the dwarves, was hefted back up to safety.

"I thought we'd lost our burglar," Dwalin rumbled.

"Not - so - easy - to lose me," Bilbo panted. Thorin merely sniffed derisively and led them on a search to find shelter.

They entered one soon enough - a very convenient, totally empty cave.

Dwalin gave the area a cursory glance. "Looks safe enough."

"Search to the back; caves in mountains are seldom unoccupied."

After an inspection, Dwalin deemed the cave safe and the Company entered. Bilbo sniffed the air; something felt off(i), but he could not pinpoint what.

"Maybe we shouldn't stay here, it could be a trap," Bilbo cautioned uneasily.

"A trap by? There's nothing here," Dwalin said.

"There's traces of goblin scent," Bilbo insisted.

"Do hobbits have an enhanced sense of smell?" Fili asked, half amusedly and half seriously.

"Yes, we're like rabbits," Bilbo deadpanned.

"Soft, and cuddly," Kili quipped. Bilbo glared at him as the dwarves snickered.

"Enough," Thorin said, "We are taking shelter here. Mister Hobbit, if you wish to camp outside the cave tonight, you are free to do so."

The dwarves looked out at the still pouring weather and muttered their dissent at such a horrid thought. Reluctantly, Bilbo set his bag down - he hated getting soaked.

Gloin dropped a bundle of wood on the floor and rubs his hands. "Alright then! Let's get a fire started."

"No fires, not in this place. Get some sleep. We start at first light," Thorin ordered. Gloin visibly drooped, but nodded his head. Orders were orders, no matter how much he yearned to feel the heat of a fire.

Balin shook his head. "We were to wait in the mountains until Gandalf joined us. That was the plan."

Thorin barely glanced at his advisor. "Plans change. Bofur, take the first watch."

The Company were asleep. Bilbo, pretending to be asleep, was on high alert. Something was definitely off about this cave, but the dwarves would not listen to him anyway. He stealthily opened his eyes and looked around. Maybe he should investigate the cave. Maybe Dwalin missed something; for all his fighting prowess, the huge dwarf did not have the sharpest eyes. He surveyed the room; no one was watching. Quietly, he slipped out of his blanket and threaded carefully around, eyes trying to spot anything weird on the ground. Unfortunately, the dwarves were sprawled all over the ground and obstructed his view. Giving up, he decided to join Bofur on his watch instead.

"What are you doing?" Bofur whispered when Bilbo sat down next to him.

"Can't sleep," he whispered back.

Bofur was silent for a moment. "Homesick?"

Bilbo snorted. "Not really; Gandalf dragged me to longer adventures before." Which home was he referring to? The Shire? That was only his temporary home. Rivendell? He left years ago; even though he occasionally felt a dull ache of longing to go back there, it was not his true home. To his old village? Destroyed.

Bofur looked interested. "You've known Gandalf since young. How did both of you meet?"

"He came to the Shire occasionally, to set off fireworks and visit the hobbits. Gandalf has a thing for spiriting away young hobbits for adventures; my mother was no different. He brought her along, and after I was born, brought me along as well. Although it had been years since I left the Shire," Bilbo recited the old cover they had came up with when Belladonna Took was still alive. Ahh, Belladonna. Bilbo missed her; she was the mother he never had. When she had first come to Rivendell, Bilbo was fascinated with her kind - They were so peaceful, so secluded, yet still hardy and lively; it reminded him of his own family. Belladonna and Bungo were kind enough to take him in, loving him as though he was truly their son. Their deaths were another wound in his heart that would never fully heal.

Bilbo shook himself out of his musings "The elder hobbits scorn on adventuring; I would probably be more isolated and deemed "crazy" if I go back," he admitted. Bofur gaped. "That, that's not fair!" He sputtered.

Bilbo shrugged. "It's the way it is." Not that he really cared - okay, that was a lie. He did care, just a little. The Shire had been his home for years, after all. Leaving it would be painful.

"No matter what happene, you're part of the Company. You're one of us now, we'll always welcome you even if you're not accepted back in the Shire," Bofur said warmly. Thorin, who was awake, stared thoughtfully at the wall as he eavesdropped on the conversation.

Bilbo snorted. Yeah, right - as if you would still welcome me after knowing the truth. A pang of sadness struck him at the thought of the dwarves hunting him down. He pushed that away - not now, he told himself.

Bilbo smiled sadly at Bofur. "I'll take your word for it."

Bofur was about to say something, but Bilbo halted him. His eyes narrowed, nostrils dilated. He smelt something - Goblins.

Bilbo partly unsheathed his sword - It was glowing. "Wake up!" He shouted, quickly stepping backwards. A weird whirring, machinery sound filled the cave as cracks formed in the sand on the ground.

Thorin leapt up immediately (was he even asleep, Bilbo wondered at the back of his mind). "Wake up! Wake up!" He shouted, as dwarves around him scrambled to stand, still drowsy from sleep.

Before anyone can react, the floor started crumbling. The Company exchanged horrified looks, none daring to move. Bilbo took a tiny step forward, hand outstretched to pull Bofur away from a crack, but he was too late.

The floor of the cave collapsed downwards. Then they were falling.

The Company slid through a tunnel, yelling, and landed in a huge wooden cage. A horde of goblins were upon them as they tried to struggle to get up, taking away their weapons before they could react and dragging them away. Kicking and yelling, the dwarves tried but failed to get away. Bilbo was at the back; Bofur shoved him away before the goblins reached him. He stumbled and fell onto the floor; for some reason, none of the goblins noticed him. He stared at his hands in wonder: the elders back at the Shire always spoke of hobbits having the ability to remain unseen, but he never thought it was actually true. Bilbo snuck behind some railing, hiding as he watched the goblins push and shove the dwarvws through the tunnels. Slowly, he followed the goblins. Bats flew out of the darkness without warning; startled, he drew out a dagger and slashed at one of the bats. It fell with a squeak.

A nearby goblin turned toward him. Bilbo cursed. The goblin screamed at him, and leapt towards him as it tried to stab Bilbo with its rusty sword. Struggling, Bilbo jostled with the goblin. The goblin pushed him off the platform; Bilbo reached forward to grab onto its arm. The goblin stumbled, and both of them fell over the edge of the platform, plunging into the darkness.

Bilbo groaned and pushed himself up. The first thing he registered was the darkness around him. The second, the putrid, rotting smell. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, and adjusted his eyes to the darkness. The goblin who fell with him was near him, his dagger within arm reach. He could detect a faint rise and fall of its body; it was still alive, barely. Bilbo blinked his cat-like eyes; another being was about. A strange, bent being made its way to the goblin. He grabbed his dagger and stooped low, hiding in the shadows. The thing smelt old, musky, and dangerous.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes! Gollum, gollum." Bilbo heard it croon as the thing circled the goblin. Gollum? He had heard of that somewhere before. It was in an old book he had read, a name in passing. A feeling of dread crept up his spine. The area felt dark, murky, and wrong, like the blade Radagast had. Evil.

He watched closely as the thing (which had a hint of a hobbit smell, which was weird - it cannot be a hobbit, can it?) began dragging the goblin by its feet. The goblin woke up, and began flailing around. Quickly, the thing grabbed a rock, lifted it high above its head, and with astounding brutality, pounded its head repeatedly. Again and again, until the goblin fell limp. Dark liquid pooled around its head, and the faint smell of blood wafted through the air. It was dead.

With keen eyes, Bilbo watched as a golden ring, oddly shiny and glittering, fell from the thing's loincloth and onto the floor. The thing did not notice it and resumed tugging the now dead goblin away.

"Nasty goblinses. Better than old bones, Precious; better than nothing," it muttered. Slowly, Bilho edged towards the ring, crouched low. The thing noticed nothing and was moving away from him. Bilbo turned his attention to the ring; a dark aura emitted from it, faint whispers that barely reached his ears. He debated over taking the ring or leaving it there; His gut sense screamed at him to leave it there, since whatever that thing had probably bode evil, but his curiosity urged him to just take it. Curiosity won.

He bent, hand outstretched. His fingers brushed against the sides of the ring; instantly, his senses flared. Bilbo withdrew his hand immediately, hackles raised and teeth pulled back into a snarl.

The ring was definitely evil. It smelt evil, it felt evil, it probably tasted evil (Bilbo really did not want to try that out). It whispered to him: promises, temptations, desires. It promised of power, it promised of riches, it promised of trouble and corruption that would definitely follow.

Use me, it whispered, I can grant you endless power. I can give you revenge, I can give you protection, I can give you anything you sought for. Use me, it teased, we will make everyone bend to our will. We will achieve greatness together. Use me, it coaxed, use me, use me, use me.

It would be too easy to succumb. A part of him wavered, a part of him wanted to do as the ring said.

It scared him.

He gritted his teeth.

What are you afraid of, dragon? It teased, you have so much potential, we can be unstoppable, like Ancagalon. Wouldn't you like that?

He snarled at it, canines elongated and eyes dilated. Fingers dig into his palms, hands shaking. No, he growled back vehemently.

Why not, why not, it hummed, we can defeat all your enemies, no one will ever hurt you again.

Bilbo hesitated. The ring was so bright, so shiny, so promising; why not keep it, and use it? He can make Smaug suffer, he can make all those who wronged him pay; he would be powerful, no one would be able to stop him. Ryadher would be safe, he would be safe, and what's the harm?

Yes, yes, what's the harm? The ring said. The whispering got louder.

He reached for the ring.

And halted.

Wait, the more logical part of him ordered. Wait a minute. The ring was talking to him. No normal ring can do that (obviously). That means-

That means what? His mind was sluggish.

Ah. It means - the ring may be one of the Rings of Power created by Sauron.

Right?

Yes. Yes, of course.

Yes, he was starting to remember. Evil ring, with powers of temptation and persuasion.

Of course it was evil. What sort of good ring could communicate? It sounded like one of those tainted dragons, those wyrms with great ambition and hunger for power.

He would never be like that.

Bilbo tore his eyes away from the ring, and forced himself to take a step back. The ring fell silent. He inwardly cursed himself: he didn't expect himself fall to the allure of the ring so easily. Did he seriously just ignored his screaming gut sense to get out of there in favour of listening to the ring?

It was dangerous, too dangerous to leave it lying around.

Gandalf. Gandalf would know what to do with it.

He pulled out his handy handkerchief from his pocket, and carefully wrapped the ring with it. No way would he want it to touch his skin; who knows what corrupt thoughts it would plant in its head. After wrapping up the ring, he slipped it into a pocket in his coat. Finally, the ring spoke no more.

Bilbo exhaled, sweat dripping down his forehead. What was he doing just now? His mind cleared, as though a curtain had been obstructing his thoughts without him noticing. From the distance, he could hear the thing singing. Ah, the thing. It was Smeagol, a hobbit who gave in to the temptation of dark magic, forever being its servant. He remembered now: he read about it before in an ancient book.

Bilbo crept towards Smeagol, unsheathing another dagger. Just in case.

"Too many boneses, Precious! Nothing of flesh!" Smeagol wailed with a pitiful expression, before turning the other direction, face contorted into a scowl. "Shut up! Get its skin off. Start with its head."

Smeagol's expression turned submissive and happy once again as he began smashing the goblin's body with a rock. "The cold hard lands, they bites our hands, they gnaws our feet. The rocks and stones, they're like old bones, all bare of meat. Cold as death, they have no breath, it's good to eat!" He sang. Bilbo attempted to go closer to it. Eyes glued on Smeagol, his foot stepped onto bone. Crack. Gollum looked up.

Bilbo quickly darted behind a rock, silently cursing his carelessness. He counted to ten. Silence. Gripping his dagger tightly, he peeked out from behind the rock.

But Gollum was already gone.

The air was still; he smelt nothing. A soft hiss; he turned as Gollum crawled out from the shadows. It's mouth stretched painfully wide into a parody of a smile. "Blesses and splashes, Precious! That's a meaty mouthful," it cooed. Snarling, Bilbo held his daggers protectively in front of him. Gollum halted. Fear flickered across its face.

"Back off. I'm warning you, don't come any closer," Bilbo growled. Gollum retreated, expression wary. "What is it, Precious? What is it?"

"I'm from Hobbiton."

Gollum looked excited. "Oh! You is a hobbitses! We like Goblinses, batses, and fishes, but we hasn't tried Hobbitses before. Is it soft? Is it juicy?"

Bilbo narrowed his eyes at it. "Stay back. Don't even think about it, Smeagol of the River-folk."

Gollum froze. "How... how does he know who I is, Precious? How?"

"I know a lot of things." He knew that this thing was stubborn and persistent, and would not leave him alone until he's dead. He knew that he could not risk lighting a fire to chase Gollum off, for that may attract bigger and worse enemies. He also knew that Gollum loved riddles and games, and all he had to do was outwit it.

"Smart hobbitses, init, Precious? What shall we do, Precious, what shall we do?" Gollum circled him.

"How about we play a game?" Bilbo's smile was all teeth.

Gollum perked up. "Games? We loves games, doesn't we, Precious? Does it like games? Does it? Does it? Does it like to play?"

"Yes."

Holding up his hands, he began reciting."What has roots as nobody sees, is taller than trees. Up, up, up it goes, and yet, never grows?"

"The mountain," Bilbo replied without missing a beat. Smeagol began chuckling; it was not a pretty sound. "Yess, yess, oh, let's have another one. Yes, come on, do it, do it again. Ask us," Smeagol pleaded, eyes wide and hopeful. He then turned to the other side, expression suddenly fierce. "No! No more riddles. Finish him off, finish him now. Gollum! Gollum!"

Bilbo flashed his daggers menacingly, and Gollum halted in his steps.

"No! I want to play. I can see you are very good at this, so why don't we have a game of riddles?" Bilbo tried a smile. "If I win," he said, "you leave me alone forever."

"Yes. Yes -" Smeagol nodded eagerly. Turning around, Gollum snarled. "And if it loses? What then? Well, if it loses, Precious, we will eats it!" It laughed quietly to itself before addressing Bilbo, a wicked grin on his face.

"If hobbitses loses, we eats it whole."

Bilbo shrugged. "Fair enough."

Slowly, he sheathed his daggers and forced his body to relax into a casual stance.

"Well, hobbitses first," Gollum said, resting his hands and chin on the edge of a rock.

Bilbo thought for a moment. "Thirty white horses on a red hill. First they champ, then they stamp, then they stand still."

"Teeth?" Gollum replied after a few seconds. Bilbo wrinkled his nose in annoyance (not that it was unexpected) and nodded. It laughed gleefully.

"Our turn. Voiceless it cries, wingless flutters, toothless bites, mouthless mutters."

On and on, they traded riddles. Both solved the other's riddles, and they soon reached the last riddle.

"Last question. Last chance. Ask us a question. Ask us!" Gollum chanted.

Last question? his mind whispered. Question, Gollum said question. A sly smile formed on his face. Oh, yes.

"What am I?" He asked. Gollum looked disgusted and angry."That's not fair. It's not fair! It's against the rules!" In frustration, it threw down the rock it had been clutching.

"Ask us another one," it demanded.

Bilbo smirked. "No way. You said 'Ask me a question.' Well, that is my question. What am I?"

Gollum jumped off its rock and approached Bilbo. He stood his ground.

"Ooh, ooh, Precious, I knows!" He crackles, "I knows, I knows! Easy!"

Bilbo quirked up his eyebrow. "Your answer is?"

"He told us just now, didn't he, Precious, didn't he? You is a hobbitses!" Gollum crowed.

Bilbo snorted. "I said I was from Hobbiton, I didn't say I was a hobbit. So no, wrong answer. I'm not actually a hobbit, too bad."

Gollum's eyes widened in shock. "Liar! You is lying! Prove it, prove it!"

Bilbo took a risk, cupped his hands together, and with a slight huff oh his hands, produced a warm glow of fire. "There. Hobbits can't so this. So I'm not a real hobbit."

Gollum reared back. "Liar. Hobbitses is a liar," it whispered angrily.

Calmly, Bilbo extinguised his flame and unsheathed a dagger. "Like Isaid, I'm not a hobbit. And it was a half-truth, not a lie. Anyway, you lost. Now, leave me alone forever."

"Liar, liar, hobbitses is a liar!" Gollum snarled. It glared hatefully at Bilbo. "What isit, Precious, what isit?"

"None of your business."

Gollum grinned as it slowly approached Bilbo. He recognized that look: Gollum was planning to kill him. Gollum reached for something hidden at its side. It stilled. Whatever it was finding for was not there. Frantically, it began groping all over itself, trying to find it, trying to find the ring.

"Where is it? Where is it? No! Where is it? No!"

Bilbo took his chance and took a few steps away from Gollum. He could find his way out of this shithole, no problem. Hopefully, it would take Gollum a few minutes of searching before accusing Bilbo. Or better, if he was lucky, Gollum would not even think about him and just continue its fruitless, miserable search for something that was not there. But first, he had to get away from it, and fast.

A minute after he slipped into a tunnel most likely to be the exit, Gollum's heartbroken wail echoed through the cave."He stole it. The liar stole it!"

Well. Damn his luck.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

Time to scram, time to scram, Bilbo's mind chanted helpfully as he stumbled over stones, skulls and Yavanna-knows-what. There! There was a hint of light — barely visible, but for his keen eyes it was enough. He hastened his steps. The sounds of footsteps drew closer; Gollum was catching up to him.

"Wait, my Precious, wait!"

The light is getting brighter! Hurry, hurry! 

He squeezed through a narrow gap, blinded for a moment by a strong ray of light. He heard the rustling of grass, and a small smile grazed his face. He had found the exit.

Oh, thank Yavanna.

The upperworld was so bright and colourful, unlike this goblin shithole. He allowed his eyes to adjust as he scanned the upperworld. Wait, what is that in the distance? He squinted — was that…he could recognise that axe embedded in the head any time - yes, yes! That was definitely Bifur! The dwarves, they made it, they made it! Somehow. No time to waste! He should be joining them now. The sound of footsteps reached his ears; instinctively, he turned.

"Thief! Lying hobbitses! A liar and a thief!" From behind a rock crawled Gollum, snarling desperately. Was that a glimmer of a tear in its eye? Great, now Bilbo felt like a big playtime bully.

"Return me my Precious, thief! My Precious!" it screamed.

Bilbo casted glance over his shoulder, at where the Company was resting. He had no time to entertain Gollum. Flashing a toothy smile at the creature, he cheerfully said, "Nope." Without waiting for a reply, he sprinted out of the cave, into the bright daylight, and towards Gandalf the Grey and his merry band of dwarf-warriors.

Gollum was many things, but it was not entirely a fool. It did not follow Bilbo, that would be suicidal; its howls of agony and fury, however, did. "Thief! Curse it and crush it, we hates it! We hates it forever!"

Bilbo reached the Company, panting lightly. He snuck behind behind a tree while the unobservant dwarves fussed over their weapons. Ryadher's right, I really need to exercise, he thought sourly as he rested against the tree trunk.

"Five, six, seven, eight...Bifur, Bofur...that's ten...Fili, Kili...that's twelve...and Bombur - that makes thirteen. Where's Bilbo? Where is our Hobbit?" Gandalf shouted over the din. There was a momentary silence, followed by a string of curses so foul, Gollum seemed clean and pristine in comparison.

"Curse the the halfling! Now he's lost?" Dwalin groaned.

"But where did you last see him?"

"I think I saw him slip away, when they first captured us," Nori said.

Gandalf's eyes widened. The dwarves cringed, waiting for Gandalf's outburst.

One heartbeat.

Two heartbeats.

"Huh," Gandalf muttered, "What is that snake up to?"

The jaws of half the Company dropped wide open. Bilbo sniggered. Oh, their expressions were so hilarious when...

Wait a minute. A snake? Did Gandalf just call him a snake? He, "Bilbo", was a proud Child of the Sky! How dare Gandalf! He was not, not, a preposterous wingless snake. What a horror.

"I'm not a snake," he protested indignantly as he stomped out from behind the tree, secretly very satisfied with the high-pitched yelps some of the dwarves emitted and the whispers of ‘where did he come from?’

"I came up from a rabbit-hole. It's a special hobbit skill," Bilbo deadpanned. The dwarves looked highly confused, and Ori started nodding and jotting it down. Ah well, he'd deal with that later.

Gandalf was smiling smugly down at him. "So there you are!"

Bilbo glared up at Gandalf. “You — you doddering, salivating old man with creaky knees, I am not a snake!"

Gandalf raised an eyebrow at him. "You're slippery as one."

Bilbo glared at him and did not deign him a reply. Instead, he turned his attention to the dwarves, beamed, and patted Balin on the shoulder. "Thought I lost all of you."

"Bilbo, we thought we lost you! We had given you up!" Kili exclaimed in relief.

"How on earth did you get past the Goblins?" Fili wondered.

"How, indeed," Dwalin rumbled dangerously.

Bilbo shrugged. "I fell, and luckily, no goblins came after me. I was almost lost in some tunnels, trying to find my way out. Then, in my darkest moment—" he paused dramatically— “I smelt it.”

"It?" The twins echoed.

Bilbo grinned. "Aye, it. I smelt…the familiar odour of dwarves." There was a pause. "It's really, really strong in a bad way, you know." He made a big show of pinching his nose and waving a hand in front of it, fixing a serious frown on his face.

Dead silence.

"You're not serious.”

Bilbo looked as though someone had insulted his mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother all in one breath. "Of course I was! All I had to do was follow the odour — and tada! It led me right to you!"

The dwarves stared at him as though he had grown a pair of wings. Bilbo checked, just to be sure — nope, no accidental wings sprouted. Gandalf leaned on his staff and watched amusedly, as though his favourite play had just begun.

"Oin," Bofur said with a concerned expression, "we may need to check Mister Bilbo for head injuries."

Bilbo adopted a suitably affronted look. "I'm not injured, I'm telling the truth."

Kili sniffed his shirt. "We don't stink," he protested.

"Much," his brother added.

"As I said before, my nose is very sensitive," Bilbo said, "I can pick up scents of trolls, and goblins, and other dangerous things." He stared pointedly at Thorin, who had found a sudden interest in the sky.

"Aye, I remember," Fili said, equally solemnly, tapping the side of his nose, "Rabbit's nose. Very delicate."

Bilbo glared half-heartedly at Fili as the twins collapsed into uncontrollable laughter. The rest of the dwarves momentarily developed coughing fits.

"Master Burglar, if I may ask you a question." Thorin's tone was serious, subduing the light-hearted atmosphere. Bilbo cocked his head to one side and motioned the Prince to continue.

"I want to know — why did you come back?"

Bilbo groaned aloud. "You're still doubting me? Goodness, you have serious trust issues." When Thorin's face darkened, Bilbo hastily added, "Not that…all of it is your fault. Heh. Heh. Heh.”

Bilbo's laughter trailed off awkwardly, amidst the staring dwarves. He sighed. "Look, maybe you still have doubts about me, but I don't even know why. Have I not reassured you that I'm not going to abandon all of you, and the quest, halfway through? No, never mind — don’t answer that, I don't want to know. The point is, I signed a contract. I made a deal, I made a promise. Us hobbits don't go back on our promises. And, even without all of that, I would have followed you. Cause you don't have a home; it was taken from you. And everyone deserves a home. So I will help you take it back if I can.”

The dwarves looked pensive after his mini-speech. Bofur gave him a thumbs up, and both Gandalf and Balin smiled encouragingly at him. He relaxed minutely.

And tensed.

The howling came a second later. The orcs were here.

The Company exchanged worried glances. "Out of the frying pan..." Thorin began.

"...and into the fire! Run, run!" Gandalf roared.

They ran.

The Company sprinted down the mountain. However, with no distractions, the wargs were gaining on them, snapping at their heels. One warg leapt at Bilbo; quick as lightning, he slipped out a dagger and threw it. It hit the creature’s eye, and the warg fell right next to Bilbo, dead. He hastily retrieved his dagger as the rest of the dwarves dealt with the remaining orcs. Bilbo looked up, and felt his heart drop to his stomach.

They were cornered at the edge of a cliff. They were doomed.

"Up into the trees, all of you! Come on, climb!" Gandalf commanded. They clambered up the trees, anxiously waiting as more warg riders surrounded them. We're like sitting ducks, perfect prey for the wolves, Bilbo thought. He hated it, he hated it. He wanted to spread his wings and roar, to crush those orgs and show them who's boss. They should cower in his presence, not the other way around! He was a mighty Dragon, and they should all perish in his fire.

He was powerful. Every single one of his enemies should just die.

A heavy weight on his shoulder startled him from his thoughts. Bilbo looked up, staring into the worried eyes of the Wizard. "Bilbo, are you alright? You're growling — it's rare that you lose control," Gandalf whispered. With a start, Bilbo realised the deep-throated growl was from him. He glanced at the dwarves; no one seemed to have noticed. Thank goodness. Bilbo smiled weakly.

"I just... felt like destroying all of the orcs," his voice rasped. He frowned; he felt so weird. What if—

Oh, no.

A feeling of dread settled in his gut as he unconsciously reached for the ring in his cloak. "Gandalf, I may have — I need to talk to you later. It's important.” Bilbo gripped the wizard's arm tightly.

The wizard glanced at the wargs snapping and growling at them from below.

"Later would be nice," the Wizard commented dryly.

The wargs ceased their growling and parted, making way for a White Warg. The White Warg was larger than the rest, with a menacing snarl and battle scars all over its body. On its back sat an orc, pale and white. Scars marred his face, and his left hand was missing. Bilbo remembered him from Thorin's description: Azog.

Thorin's face was pale, eyes wide in shock. "It cannot be," he muttered, "Azog?"

The White Warg growled at the dwarves as Azog stroked its fur. The orc eyed them as a predator eyed its cornered victim, and began speaking in Black Speech. "Do you smell it? The scent of fear? I remember your father reeked of it," he drawled, "Thorin, Son of Thrain."

Bilbo was unsure if Thorin actually understood Black Speech, but he looked stricken with pain and grief. "It cannot be."

Azog bared his teeth at the dwarves. Pointing to Thorin, he commanded, "That one is mine. Kill the others!"

Instantly, the wargs flung themselves at the trees. Jumping as high as they could, they scratched at the tree trunks and snapped at the branches. The trees shook violently, groaning and creaking, as the dwarves struggled to hold on. The wargs persisted; the first tree, no longer able to stand firm against the strain, was uprooted and fell towards the other trees. The tree tipped over and crashed into the tree next to it; the Company jumped onto the next tree just in time. The tree shuddered and tipped over.

Like dominoes, the trees began falling onto each other. The Company lunged from tree to tree, and with sheer luck, managed to make it to the last tree standing. It leaned towards the edge of the tree, but held firm. Bilbo could see the downwards drop of the cliff from between the sparse leaves of the tree. Unless all of them could magically fly, they were doomed.

Azog threw his head back and laughed gleefully, arrogance in his posture as he nudged his White Warg forward.

Desperately, Bilbo grabbed a pinecone and thrusted it at Gandalf. "Set it on fire!"

The wizard set the pinecone on fire and flung it at the wargs. With a discreet flick of Bilbo's hand, the fire flared as the pinecone landed. The wargs yelped in fear, retreating to avoid the sudden burst of flames. Some were too slow and their fur caught on fire; they began howling, convulsing as they tried to put out the flames on their backs.

Bilbo encouraged the fire to burn faster, and more; the fire on the wargs spread swiftly. The dwarves quickly caught on and began flinging more flaming pinecones at the wargs. Bilbo simply made the flames burn brighter. If the dwarves saw his fingers twitch as he coaxed the fire to burn, burn, burn, but not to the trees, they said nothing.

The shocked and furious expression on Azog's face almost made Bilbo laugh.

A ring of fire soon surrounded the trees. Almost all of the wargs had retreated; Azog was another matter altogether. The orc roared, and the dwarves cheered. The cheers, however, turned into screams of fear as the tree groaned and leaned precariously over the edge of the cliff. The Company struggled to hold onto the branches as the tree gave another jerk. Suddenly, Ori's hands slipped. Bilbo watched in horror as the young dwarf’s eyes widened in fear, a strangled gasp escaping his lips as his hands scrambled to hold onto something. Hands flinging wildly, he managed to grab hold of Dori's leg before he fell.

"Ori!"

"Hold on tight!"

"Mister Gandalf!" Dori cried, hands slowly slipping from its grip under the extra weight.

Gandalf quickly swung his staff down just as Dori fell, enough time for Dori to cling onto it.

The Company breathed a small sigh of relief. Imminent death? Delayed. Thank Yavanna for small miracles.

Azog, who apparently disliked being ignored, growled. Thorin looked up with loathing in his eyes. As if in a trance, Thorin slowly pulled himself up and drew his sword. Eyes narrowed, shield held up, he charged across the burning ground at Azog with a battle cry. Azog sneered at him. With a roar, the orc launched his mount at Thorin. The warg swatted Thorin aside with a paw, as if Thorin was but a measly fly. Like a measly fly, the Prince was flung onto the ground. The dwarves looked on with horror.

His Royal Stubborness hefted himself onto his feet with a determined expression. But he was too slow. Azog was upon him before he could react, mace crushing his face. Once again, Thorin embraced the ground.

A wail cut through the air. "No!" Balin screamed.

Dwalin was stuck on the tree, unable to reach his Prince. The warg circled its prey, and chomped onto him. Thorin cried out in pain as the warg lifted him up in the air. With a last burst of energy, Thorin struck the warg with the pommel of his sword. Roaring, the warg flung him into the air. He rolled onto the floor and ended a few feet away, his sword rolling out of his hand, barely conscious.

Azog surveyed the injured Prince coldly. "Bring me his head," he ordered a warg rider. The orc slid off his warg and approached Thorin, sword in hand. Bilbo balanced precariously on the tree, reaching for his own weapons. That dwarf was not dying on his watch.

The orc approached Thorin until he was standing just before him. He raised his sword above his head, ready for the deadly strike.

And stopped.

The orc jerked suddenly. Stumbled back a few steps. Without warning, his sword clattered harmlessly next to Thorin as he emitted a gurgling, choking sound. From his neck sprouted a dagger. The orc's hands fumbled weakly against the dagger's handle for a few seconds before he fell onto the ground, dead.

Calmly, Bilbo jumped off the tree, landing beside Thorin. He effortlessly yanked his dagger out of the orc's throat, unsheathing another dagger with his free hand. He crouched in front of Thorin, daggers poised defensively. The dwarves looked at him in awe; Thorin fainted.

"If you want to kill the dwarves, you'll have to get through me first," Bilbo said. His tongue fumbled over the rarely used Black Speech as he grinned, feral. Azog looked at him appraisingly, taking in the forked tongue, slit pupils and sharp fangs. His lips pulled back into a smirk.

"I see you, Child of the Sky. Do the dwarves know a wyrm, their most hated enemy, travels with them?" he taunted, laughing.

Bilbo tightened his hold on his daggers. "I am no Servant of Mordor, Azog," he hissed.

The Orc scrutinised him amusedly, and smirked. "Not yet. It is a matter of time, wyrm. A dark aura surrounds you."

"I would never serve Sauron willingly."

Azog bared his teeth at him. "Willingly?" He chuckled darkly. "You foolish child. Your betrayal, willing or not, would rip your Prince apart. I almost want to spare his life just to see it happen.”

Bilbo slashed one dagger threateningly. "Get lost. I won't let you hurt him."

His lips curled upwards. "How cute," he said mockingly, before addressing his minions. "Kill him.”

The wargs and orcs leapt at him. Snarling, Bilbo tore them apart with daggers as substitute for claws and teeth. He slashed and danced among them, too nimble for the wargs' snapping jaws and too quick for the orcs' clumsy movements. Despite his current hobbit form, he was still a seasoned fighter, with decades of training and experience. No one underestimated a dragon and lived to tell the tale. They did not stand a chance.

Fili, Kili and Dwalin joined him as they attacked the horde of minions from all sides. Bilbo fought his way through to Azog. The White Warg tackled him; he sidestepped it and sank his dagger into its hind leg. It howled. Azog yanked out the dagger and threw it aside in disgust, face contorted with hatred as he swung his mace at Bilbo. He barely ducked in time. Heart thumping wildly, he considered his odds.

Can't reach him, his mace is lethal. I can throw my dagger at him, but he can block it. I can't kill him, that's for sure - not today. What should I do?

While his mind was racing for ideas, Azog shouted out a command to his warg. The White Warg leapt at him again, powerful jaws aimed for his throat. Bilbo tried to dodge but was still knocked to the ground. His cloak softened his fall. He tried to throw the Warg off, but the beast was at least twice his weight. The warg was heavy; it was suffocating him. He dug his claws into the warg's neck and tried to hold its maw away, legs kicking to get the warg off him. It struggled to reach his throat, growling and just not giving up. Drool slobbered onto his face; some entered his eyes. it stank, and it hurt. His vision blurred, and panic filled him.

Guess I have no choice.

Bilbo took in a deep breath. He gauged the general direction of the warg's face — and exhaled fire.

"No!" Azog roared. The warg screamed in pain and stumbled off Bilbo, half its face on fire. It soon disappeared from his line of vision. If it even survived, its eyesight would never be the same again.

Bilbo groaned and tried to get up. He blinked at its surroundings; the stupid drool got into his eyes and he could not see clearly. Where are the dwarves? Where is Thorin? Where are my daggers?

A boot kicked him in the stomach. He groaned. Another vicious kick was delivered

"How dare you," seethed Azog, momentarily blinded by his anger to kill Bilbo quickly and efficiently. He blinked at the sky; everywhere hurt. He needed to get away from Azog -

Flames. There were still flames around. Bilbo reached towards the flames near him, and grasped them. He flung them at Azog, fuelling the flames with his precious reserve of energy and magic.

The tiny ball of fire exploded in his face.

Although it did not deal much damage, it blinded Azog long enough for Bilbo to roll away from him.

Azog growled in frustration as he tried to see, a piercing eagle cry filling the sky. The Eagles are here, Bilbo thought in relief. Gentle claws gripped his shirt and tossed him onto a bed of warm feathers. Bilbo wiped away the last of the drool from his eyes to see the dwarves being rescued by the Eagles of Manwë. Wargs and orcs were tossed off the cliff, or crushed by the falling trees courtesy of the Eagles.

They soared through the sky, away from the orcs.

They were saved.

End of Chapter 11.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12

Bilbo spread his arms wide, the feeling of the wind rushing past him bringing a wild grin to his face. It had been too long since he last soared through the sky. This paled in comparison to spreading his own wings, but it was so much better than nothing.

The Eagle he was sitting on gave a warning squawk when he tried to stand. Don't you dare fall off, Child of the Sky.

He laughed. I won't, O Great Eagle. I just wanted to feel the wind again.

The Eagle shook its head. I have no idea how you can bear to trade away your wings, Dragon. Don't you miss the freedom of the Sky?

A pang of sorrow struck Bilbo. Every day, Eagle. Every day.

"Bilbo! Bilbo!" He turned and squinted at the Eagle next to them. Gloin was gripping its feathers tightly with one hand, the other waving frantically in the air.

"What?" he called back.

Gloin shouted something to him, but most words were lost to the wind. Bilbo strained his ears and caught "Get down - idiot! - fall - dangerous-"

Bilbo smiled mischievously at him. "I can't hear you!" He stood and waved at Gloin with both arms. The dwarf paled considerably and shook his head as Bilbo's Eagle trilled, its version of a laugh. That dwarf looks ready to faint from worry, Dragon-in-hobbit-skin. Get down before you really fall off.

Dutifully, Bilbo gave Gloin one last wave and sat down. He gently grasped the feathers on his Eagle's back, snuggling into the softly warm down. His thoughts flitted to Thorin, who was currently caged by one of the Eagle's talons. The Prince was still unconscious, and everyone was worried. For now, since Bilbo could not do anything, he might as well enjoy the ride.

The Eagles soon descended to the Carrock, a rock structure that resembled an immense bear, and Thorin was gently deposited on a flat surface. Gandalf was already hurrying towards the dwarf, murmuring a spell beneath his breath.

Bilbo slid off his Eagle and bowed to it. Thank you, Great Eagle, for your assistance.

The Eagle nuzzled Bilbo's hair with his beak. It was a pleasure. We miss flying with your kind, Dragon-in-hobbit-skin. Hopefully, we will meet again.

May we meet again. Safe winds, Eagle.

The Eagle tilted his head, eyes lit with laughter. Safe winds, Child of the Sky. With a powerful thrust of his wings, he launched himself into the air. Bilbo watched enviously as he circled the sky with his kin, gliding with the wind.

Thorin. Right, he should check on Thorin.

The dwarf was already awake, barely. "The halfling?" His voice was hoarse and weak.

"I'm here. Safe and sound. The dwarves are all fine too - Well, except you. Are you alright?"

Thorin struggled to sit up as the other dwarves disembarked from the Eagles' backs and surrounded him, anxiety written all over their faces. Dwalin and Kili immediately stepped forward to help their Prince up, but were shrugged off. Thorin hefted himself up and scrutinised the Company, checking them for injuries. His eyes came to a stop at Bilbo.

"Are you alright?" Bilbo repeated.

Thorin ignored his question again. Instead, he slid off the rock and took two steps towards Bilbo, narrowing his eyes at him. "You! What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed!"

Bilbo gaped at him. "I saved your life, you were almost killed! And look, wow, I'm not dead! Is this how you show your gratitude?"

"You could have - You could have died!"

"I can fight, Thorin. You could have died too." Bilbo crossed his arms and glared at him. "Which brings me to my next point: what were you doing, rushing to Azog like that? Do you secretly have a death wish?"

"What? No! I was defending the Company!" Thorin protested.

Bilbo levelled him a glare. "That was absolutely unnecessary and you know it. You could have died."

"Well, so could you!"

"You were closer to dying than me!"

"But you could have died as well!" Thorin shot back.

Gandalf heaved a sigh. "Enough!" he shouted, shoving himself between both of them. "Stop squabbling like children. Both of you could have died. What is important is that all of you survived."

"But he was really closer to dying than me," Bilbo fumed. Gandalf gave him the Look.

"Fine," he grumbled, "We could all have died. I do not regret saving you, though."

The dwarf huffed. "Very well. Placing yourself between me and the enemy was an act of great courage. To have ever imply you were weak... I was wrong."

"Basically," Fili whispered, "He means 'thank you'."

The sides of Bilbo's lips tugged upwards.

"You could have just said 'thank you for saving my life'."

"Then, Master Baggins, thank you for saving my life." Thorin smiled at him, blue eyes sparkling. Without warning, he grabbed Bilbo and pulled him into a hug.

Bilbo squeaked in a very undignified manner when he found himself pressed on Thorin's chest. His coat is soft, his mind supplied dreamily as he inhaled a whiff of Thorin. Heat radiated from the dwarf, giving Bilbo a warm and cosy feeling. Bilbo awkwardly hugged him back, sure that his face was red as a tomato. Slowly, he relaxed and relished in the feel of Thorin's warm hug.

This is definitely not good for his heart.

The other dwarves cheered and whistled loudly.

"I am sorry I doubted you." Bilbo could feel the vibrations from Thorin's chest.

"Uhm, that's alright," he managed to say. Thorin gave him another light squeeze before letting go. His eyes were filled with happiness and gratitude, making him look years younger. Bilbo tried not to stare.

The dwarf looked past Bilbo, and his expression changed to one of awe and delight. Turning around, Bilbo's eyes widened. "Is that what I think it is?"

Far in the distance, a solitary mountain stood, its silhouette just barely visible through the clouds.

Gandalf stood next to Bilbo, puffing his pipe. "Erebor - The Lonely Mountain. The last of the great dwarf kingdoms of Middle-earth."

Thorin's voice was quiet. "Our home."

The dwarves moved on with renewed energy, but they did not make it far before night fell. A fire was quickly started, and dinner was soon served. The atmosphere was more rowdy, with the dwarves belting out bawdy tavern songs. Oin was cleaning his earhorn, Bifur was carving a toy, and Thorin leaned against a tree with a small smirk as he watched his nephews fool around with Gloin, Bombur and Dwalin.

Across the fire, Balin watched as Bofur and Bilbo conversed. The hobbit was an enigma. He had proven himself to be resilient, brave, a good fighter, and basically a good ally with a weird sense of humour. Balin should be trusting him, really - even Thorin trusted the hobbit.

Yet, Bilbo knew the Black Speech. He spoke the Black Speech. How did a hobbit came to learn that? He could have learnt it from the elves, but instinct told Balin that it was not just that. Black Speech was feared; even the elves did not like it. Only a select few learned it, in order to better understand the orcs. Why would they teach a hobbit the language?

Balin himself had picked up an odd phrase or two, for after all the years of fighting and experience, it would be prudent to learn some of the enemy's language. He did not fully understood what Azog had said, but he had caught some phrases.

Azog had recognized Bilbo. Azog had referred Bilbo as Child. Child of what? That was a mystery. The orc had also mentioned something about the dwarves' worst enemy, about Bilbo being Sauron's servant (to which he vehemently denied), and about betrayal. What was going on?

Balin did not like this. This hobbit was more dangerous that he seemed.

Bilbo eyed Balin from the other side of the campfire as he polished his daggers.

"Bofur, is it me or is Balin looking at me suspiciously?"

Bofur barely glanced at the older dwarf. "Oh, aye, Balin's scrutinizing you."

"Why?" Bilbo was high on alert. Did he have some suspicions about him? Maybe- Maybe he knows-

Nonsense, the logical side of his brain scoffed. He can't possibly know anything about dragons, or about me. It can't be.

Bofur shrugged. "Dunno. Mayhap you should ask him?"

"Maybe later."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. Kili and Fili were reenacting the "Heroic Battle Where Bilbo Whopped Azog's Ass", as they had so named it. Bilbo laughed sheepishly, ears red, as Kili darted around with exaggerated movements.

"And then," the Prince excitedly recounted, "He used his special Hobbit-magic!"

Bilbo's laughter died off in his throat. Panic seized him as he tightened his grip on the handle of his dagger.

"Hobbit-magic? What's that?"

"He can control fire! He shot out fire from his hand and burnt the ugly warg's face!"

They saw that. They saw that.

The dwarves turned to stare at him.

"Impossible."

Well, he didn't shoot flames out of his hands, but in no way was he about to correct them. That seemed more believable than "Oh, I breathed fire actually".

"I saw it, and Dwalin too!" Kili protested, and the huge dwarf nodded solemnly.

"Aye, lad ain't lying."

"Is it true, Mister Bilbo? Can hobbits do magic?"

What should he say? Oh Yavanna, this is disastrous.

They were looking at him expectantly.

Bilbo reluctantly put away his dagger and opened his mouth, but found that his throat was not working. Clearing it awkwardly, he tried again. "Uh... Yes, hobbits do have some sort of magic that they can utilise in... dire situations when they're stressed. How else can we protect ourselves?" He laughed nervously.

"We didn't know of this," Balin noted, scrutinising him.

"It's a hobbit secret. Not a lot is known about hobbits anyway."

"So can you do a bit of magic now?" Dori asked.

Gandalf sighed. "Master Baggins has already said that the magic can only be performed under extremely stressful and life-threatening situations. Which he was under when facing Azog, I'm sure. It is a... taboo... to speak of it to outsiders."

Bilbo could have kissed Gandalf.

The dwarves were silent for a moment.

"We understand," Thorin said at last, "and apologise for our prodding. Some things are not meant to be shared to outsiders."

"Like Khuzdul," Bofur piped out and the rest nodded.

Bilbo relaxed, and smiled. "No, no, it's alright. You weren't to know anyway."

"What about the part where he spoke the Black Speech? Was that taught to hobbits as well?" Balin asked, sharply and without warning.

Silence. The only sound was the crackling of fire. Bilbo blinked slowly, staring into the distance and refusing to meet the dwarves' eyes. He knew this would be coming, but he was dreading it.

"No, it, ahhh, wasn't taught to us. I merely happened to have learned it before. From the elves. In Rivendell."

"And what of use would Black Speech be, to a peaceful hobbit?"

Bilbo swallowed. His throat suddenly felt very, very dry. "Nothing but a young hobbitling's curiosity, Master Balin. I was an inquisitive, and persistent, child... I pestered the elves until they relented to teach me the Black Speech. Why do you ask?"

Balin narrowed his eyes at him. "Most learn the Black Speech out of necessity, and necessity only, for it is said to be evil."

The flames spiked slightly. Slowly, Dori pulled Ori away from him. The dwarves' postures were wary, guarded. He winced.

Told you, you can't trust them, in his mind, a voice akin to Gollum's whispered to him. They'll stab you in the back the moment they can. Nasty things, dwarvesses.

Shut up, he told it.

"That's just a rumour. The Black Speech isn't evil; it is merely spoken by a race that committed evil deeds. Gandalf knows it. Are you implying that he's evil?" Bilbo tried to sound casual.

They looked at the casually smoking wizard, who nonchalantly puffed out rings of smokes in response, blinking innocently at them.

"Gandalf isn't evil," Gloin snorted, and the dwarves nodded hastily.

"Truly? You know the Black Speech?" asked Bofur.

Gandalf nodded. "Yes, some elves and wizards learn it. It is not a taboo, just odd."

"When I learned it, I didn't expect to ever use it. What a coincidence that I just happened to learn the language Azog spoke," Bilbo forced a smile.

Balin's stare could cut through glass. "Yes, what a coincidence."

"Where our Master Burglar has learnt the language does not matter. What is important," Thorin strode over and clasped Bilbo's shoulder lightly, "is that he saved my life with it. I will forever be in his debt." Nodding at Bilbo, Thorin went back to his tree, cleaning his sword as if he had never spoken a word. Balin frowned minutely - his Prince had declared the topic closed, much to his ire.

"Bilbo, can we learn the Black Speech?" Ori asked hopefully.

Bilbo hesitated.

"That may not be such a good idea, Mister Ori. Although the Black Speech isn't really evil, it is still best to avoid it," Gandalf warned. Ori visibly deflated.

"However," Bilbo said carefully, "I can teach you some phrases - simple army commands such as "attack" and "retreat", which may come in handy."

"Curses, too," Fili added. Bilbo cracked a smile.

"That too."

The dwarves returned to their rowdy, rambunctious behaviour, and although the atmosphere was not as comfortable as it was previously, at least Balin was no longer staring distrustfully at him.

End of Chapter 12

Chapter Text

Chapter 13

Bilbo peeked out nervously from behind a rock. Not even two feet away was an orc and its Warg. The animal lifted its head to sniff the air and Bilbo crouched down quickly. He held his breath.

The warg sniffed a few times before trotting away, the sound of its footsteps gradually fading away.

Exhaling softly, Bilbo made his way back to the campsite.

"How close is the pack?" was the first question the Company asked.

Bilbo shook his head. "Too close. A couple of leagues, no more. But that's not the worst of it."

"Have the Wargs picked up our scent?" Dwalin asked.

"Not yet. But they will do. We have another problem," Bilbo began.

Gandalf quirked an eyebrow. "Did they see you?"

"They saw you!" exclaimed Ori, horrified.

"No, that's not it," Bilbo replied impatiently.

The wizard turned towards the dwarrows with a smug expression. "What did I tell you? Quiet as a mouse. Excellent burglar material."

Some murmured their appreciation. Bofur rolled his eyes. "We know, Gandalf."

Impatiently, Bilbo stomped his foot and folded his arms crossly. "Will you listen? Will you just listen?"

They looked to him.

"I'm trying to tell you, there is something else out there!"

"What form did it take? Like a bear?" Gandalf asked, not looking in the least surprised.

"Yes, but bigger. Much bigger."

"You knew about this beast?" Dori asked incredulously.

"I say we double back," Bofur muttered.

"And be run down by a pack of Orcs?" Thorin demanded. Gloin whacked Bofur on the head, receiving a soft "ow" in response.

"There is a house," Gandalf interrupted the scuffle, "not far from here, where we might take refuge." Thorin squinted at Gandalf dubiously.

"Whose house? Are they friend or foe?"

"Neither. He will help us or he will kill us," the wizard answered cryptically. Bilbo rolled his eyes.

"What choice do we have?"

"None."

They were silent.

"Well, that settles it, then. To a suspicious house and uncertain future do we venture forth! It's not like we have a choice, or that our future hasn't been, you know, uncertain all along," Bilbo concluded with fake cheerfulness. No one deigned him a response. Thorin did, however, scowl furiously at him.

Gandalf gave them a brief overview about Beorn, their potential host and skin-changer.

"He changes his skin: sometimes he's a huge black bear. Sometimes he's a great strong man. I cannot tell you much more, though that ought to be enough. The bear is unpredictable, but the man can be reasoned with. However," Gandalf paused. "He is not overfond of dwarrows."

"Just our luck," muttered Kili.

"At any rate, he is under no enchantment but his own. He lives in an oak-wood and has a great wooden house; he keeps cattle and horses who work for him and talk to him, and hives of great fierce bees. He lives most on cream and honey."

"What's the plan?" Bilbo asked.

"You must all be very polite when I introduce you," Gandalf took a moment to stare sternly at Thorin. "I shall do so slowly, two by two, I think; be careful not to irritate him. He can be appalling when angry, though he is kind enough if humoured. Still, I warn you he gets angry easily."

Their leader grumbled inaudibly under his breath and but nodded.

That settled, they followed Gandalf as he navigated his way to the house. They trudged past trees and more pastures; Bilbo observed that more flowers were visible each time in the pasture ahead.

"We are getting near," Gandalf told them. "We are on the edge of his bee-pastures." An oddly immense bee buzzed close to them; all it took was a threatening wave of a wooden spoon by Bombur to send it on its merry way in the other direction. After a while, the trees thickened into tall, ancient oaks so gigantic that it would take at least six dwarves holding hands to surround its trunk. Gandalf stopped there. Bilbo fidgeted uneasily; the scent left by this shape-shifter screamed to him of danger. Only foolish animals would dare tread, without permission, on these lands. It was another alpha male's territory he ventured, in an almost harmless, small form, with barely any natural form of defence or intimidation factor. It was inevitable that he would be nervous.

What if Beorn decided to attack and kill him?

What if he decided not to help the dwarves?

Worse, what if Bilbo blew his cover?

Behind the trees was a high thorn-hedge which towered over even Gandalf. A few horses trotted over, eyes shining with intelligence surveying them inquisitively. One or two broke off from the crowd and cantered into the area; Gandalf claimed that their task was to inform Beorn of the Company's presence. The rest of the horses lost interest quickly after deeming them sufficiently non-threatening, and milled around the area, grazing.

"You had better wait here," said the wizard to the dwarves; "and when I call or whistle, begin to come after me, but only in pairs, mind; about five minutes between each of you." Gandalf beckoned to the hobbit. "You'll come with me first, Bilbo."

And should things go wrong - and I pray it does not - you would have the best chance to survive, and can flee quickly if need be.

Bilbo understood.

Onwards they went, a ball of nervousness writhing and twisting in his gut. His hands were sweaty, clammy. They soon came to a wooden gate, high and broad, beyond which they could see gardens and a large, thatched house. Bilbo caught sight of these, and instantly ducked behind the gate, out of sight.

"This is a bad idea, wizard." Bilbo breathed, voice urgent and low.

"Relax, Bilbo," Gandalf soothed. "Beorn is a reasonable man…I hope."

Bilbo turned to him incredulously. "You don't know him?"

"Well." Gandalf looked away awkwardly. "I know of him, from Radagast the Brown. However, I cannot claim to know him personally."

Bilbo groaned and slapped his forehead. "This is not going to go well."

The wizard shrugged. "I pray it will go well. Let us not make our host wait any longer, Bilbo; I'm sure he is already expecting us. Surely this is not anything more dangerous than what we've encountered before?"

It's true, Bilbo reflected, I am a dragon. I have survived the numerous ordeals, challenges and hardships that Life loves to throw to me (and Gandalf likes to aggravate the situation). I will not be fearful of such an encounter.

So Bilbo straightened his back, calmed his jittery nerves, and strode through the wooden gate.

Inside were rows and rows of hives. The first thing to catch his attention were the unnaturally massive bees bumbling about, emitting an awfully loud buzzing noise. The second was the size of the thatched house; constructed of solid wood, it was evidently meant for a tall, broad man - or a huge, lumbering bear. It likely had enough space to house a dragonling. Bilbo bet that in his current hobbit form, he could not even reach the doorknob even if he jumped.

Standing near was a huge man with thick black beard and hair, with great bare arms and legs knotted with muscles. He wore a tunic of wool down to his knees and was leaning casually on a large axe planted onto the ground; Bilbo could easily walk through his legs without ducking his head to miss the fringe of the man's brown tunic.

The man took one glance at Gandalf, and let loose a booming laugh.

"He doesn't look dangerous!" he told his horses, who were nuzzling his waist. In two steps, he covered the distance between them and stared down at the wizard. Bilbo shuffled behind Gandalf before Beorn could notice him."Who are you and what do you want?"

"I am Gandalf, a wizard and cousin of Radagast, who lives near the Southern borders of Mirkwood."

"Never heard of you. But I know Radagast; not a bad fellow as wizards go, I believe. Well, now I know who you are, or who you say you are. What do you want?"

Gandalf was about to answer when Beorn lifted up his hand to silence him. His eyes narrowed.

"You have a dark scent lingering around you, yet it is not your scent that I smell. What are you hiding?"

Here goes nothing.

Hesitantly, Bilbo stepped out from behind.

Beorn's expression darkened instantly.

"You're one of them," he growled, and his hand shot out towards Bilbo. The hobbit shifted his feet, ready to dodge the oncoming blow.

Gandalf moved faster than either of them. The Grey Wizard knocked Beorn's hand aside with his staff while simultaneously shoving Bilbo behind him. He stepped protectively in front of the hobbit, and struck his staff onto the ground. "Stop!"

Beorn, more out of shock than fear, froze.

Gandalf took this chance to talk. "He is not what you think he is, Beorn."

"A child of the wyrm! Abomination! He has to be destroyed!" Beorn hissed; but he did not move to attack the wizard, wary of his radiating power.

"Not Sauron's wyrm, Beorn. Has time addled your memory so much that you fail to distinguish those pitiful creatures from the Lost Race?"

"My nose never fails me-" Beorn paused. He inhaled deeply. A strange, intrigued expression crossed his face. "Indeed, he smells different. But it cannot be true. Let me have a closer look, wizard."

Gandalf looked to him sternly. "Your word that he is not to be harmed."

"You have my word," Beorn pledged. Cautiously, Bilbo stepped forwards once more. True to his word, Beorn did not attack. His eyes widened.

"He smells of warm fires, a subtle difference from the fires of destruction - aye, a subtle difference, but an important one." Beorn knelt down to address Bilbo. "I thought that all the Children of the Sky has perished, centuries ago."

"Not all of us," Bilbo replied softly, "Not all of us. We scattered, we went into hiding - it was not safe to stay together. The elves hid us, raised us separately - I don't even know where the rest of my kin are." He looked down. "I suppose that's for the best."

A heavy hand rested comfortably on his shoulder. "You will meet them again, young one," Beorn smiled kindly down at him.

Bilbo scowled. "I'm not young."

Beorn merely smiled, amused. "Compared to me, you still are."

Bilbo huffed. Beorn turned to Gandalf

"If the Children of the Sky live - is it possible-" His voice held a tendril of wonderment, of hope… Not daring to hope, but wanting to. Gandalf shook his head sadly.

"For decades I have travelled, far and wide, and none of your kind have I seen. I am afraid that you are truly..."

"The last of my kind," Beorn continued in resignation. He looked up at the sky and sighed. "It would be foolish to hope."

The bees buzzed, filling the silence that had fallen among them. Beorn shook himself from his despair. "I did not remember dragons having the ability to take on the form of another. That makes us distant cousins, skin-changer." He grinned.

Bilbo smiled sheepishly. "I'm not really a skin-changer, it's just an enchantment the elves cast so that we can blend in quickly."

"It matters not. It has been far too long since I've talked to your kind, and your story is of great interest. Come, I have food, and a place for you to rest. In exchange, you must tell me your tale."

End of Chapter 13.

Chapter Text

Chapter 14

Beorn's house was unique. It was absolutely devoid of partitions, more resembling one gigantic living room. A long and tall oak table stood sturdily in the middle of the hall, surrounded by chairs with seats which reached chin level for a hobbit. At the end of the room, tucked away in a quiet corner, was a simple bed meant for someone of Beorn's size.

"So who are you, little shapeshifter?" Beorn finally asked, sitting down on a bench near the door.

"I'm Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins, hobbit, from the Shire." The answer slipped easily from his tongue.

The bear-man squinted at the hobbit. "That's who you're pretending to be. Who are you, dragon?"

Bilbo plopped his travel bag down on the floor and busied himself with searching for a proper gift for the guest. (How could he have forgotten? He knew he should have packed a little something extra, damn it!)

"Cyadhon."

Looking up, he saw Beorn staring expectantly at him. "Yes? Can I help you with something?"

Beorn made an impatient motion. "Your story. You are to tell me your story," he elaborated.

"Oh." Bilbo stopped his frantic searching for a gift to give his host his fullest attention. "Well…"

"I would ask to put this storytelling on hold, Master Beorn," Gandalf interrupted politely (or as politely as a Gandalf would get). "We're travelling with others and they're waiting for us to give them a signal to enter."

Beorn raised a bushy eyebrow. "Who are they? Why did they not come together with you?"

Gandalf and Bilbo exchanged glances.

"About that... We were unsure as to how you would react towards us," Bilbo admitted.

The shape-shifter scoffed. "Would they not have provided additional protection if you feared being attacked by me? Or," he frowned, misinterpreting Gandalf's awkward coughs, "are they children you sought to protect? I will never hurt children, no matter the race!"

"No, no," Gandalf denied, "it's not that. It's just…" he trailed off and looked at Bilbo meaningfully — obviously expecting the more favoured hobbit to break the bad news to the bear-man. He glared back at the wizard, who only nodded encouragingly. He rolled his eyes but obliged the wizard anyway.

"They're dwarves," Bilbo sighed. "They're dwarves, we know you don't like them, and we're unsure if you'll simply be rid of us all rather than hear us out."

Beorn scowled at the wizard. "Dwarves! Why have you brought dwarves to my doorstep?"

The wizard stared calmly back. "The orcs are upon us, Beorn. We —"

"Orgs are chasing you," Beorn interjected flatly, voice low.

"Yes, Azog the Defiler has been hunting Thorin Oakenshield—"

"The homeless prince, I've heard of him." Beorn straightened. "Tell me, wizard. Why is he, of all the orcs, hunting you?" he asked relentlessly, eyes hard. His tone was fierce, and Bilbo sensed that he was not asking merely out of worry for his safety. Beorn seemed extremely perturbed by the mention of Azog — clenched fists, narrowed eyes, stiff stance. There definitely was some history and bad experiences between them.

"Wait, wait. We'll get to that later, I'm sure. But — You know of Azog? How?" The hobbit questioned.

"Aye, I know of him." Beorn's eyes gained a misty, distant look about them as he gazed at the wall, reliving a past which only he could see. "My people were the first to live in the mountains, before the Orcs came down from the north. The Defiler killed most of my family, but some he enslaved."

His fists clenched, rattling the remnants of the manacles on his wrists. The skin around the area was chafed and scarred, as though he had tried numerous times to tug it out yet failed miserably, and the metal was rusty yet still unyielding. Bilbo wondered what special sort of metal it was, to be able to withstand the shapeshifter's immense strength.

"Not for work, you understand, but for sport. Caging skin-changers and torturing them seemed to amuse him." He exhaled tiredly. "There used to be many of us. Now, there is only one."

Sorrow and grief filled his eyes, his face contorted into a slight grimace.

Gandalf looked away.

The huge man turned his attention towards Bilbo. "And what possesses you to travel with these dwarves when there are dangerous foes pursuing them, Cousin? Did they coerce you into this?"

"I joined them on a quest out of my own free will, and they treat me well, Beorn," Bilbo replied, crossing his arms defensively, unimpressed with his demanding and authoritative tone.

"I don't remember dwarves to be so accepting towards others. Especially towards dragons. Have times really changed so much that dwarves and dragons are working together now?" he rumbled, intrigued. Bilbo laughed scornfully and shook his head.

"Actually," he clarified, "they don't know they're travelling with, uh, a dragon. I…may have withheld that bit of information from them?"

Beorn stared at him in bewilderment. "You..." He gave a short bark of laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. "You are a very bold and sly dragon, Bilbo."

"Hobbit, as of now I'm a hobbit." He shifted uncomfortably.

"I do not know whether to applaud you for your bravery, or to cuff you about the head for your recklessness," Beorn mused, half serious. Bilbo eyed the huge, muscular hands which could probably crush his head effortlessly.

"Honestly? I would prefer the former."

Beorn snorted. "Signal your travelling companions, little rabbit. I shall listen your story first before deciding if your company can stay the night."

No one paid any attention to Bilbo's muttered "I'm not a rabbit!"

Gandalf whistled, and within five minutes the first two has arrived: Thorin and Balin.

The dwarven prince entered the lodge cautiously, eyes instantly marking possible exits and seeking the potential host. Balin wore a benign smile, the perfect epitome of a wise advisor with no prior battle skills (how very deceptive). Immediately, they approached Beorn - who still towered over them, even while seated - and bowed. Bilbo gasped in the background, whispering "What great respect! The high and mighty prince, bowing? I am so shocked!", inciting a sharp hiss of "quiet!" and a painful jab of Gandalf's staff on his foot. Thorin, who had somewhat gotten used to Bilbo's shit by now, did not even bother glancing at his direction.

"Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror. At at your service."

The shapeshifter leaned forwards in interest. "So you are the one they call Oakenshield. Tell me, why is Azog the Defiler hunting you?"

Thorin's brows lifted. "You know of Azog? How?"

These happened to be the exact words Bilbo had uttered, much to the amusement of Gandalf — and Beorn, if the twitch at the side of his mouth was any indication.

"He enslaved and killed my family," Beorn said plainly, obviously unbothered about explaining his entire story again. Thorin glanced at the remains of the manacles around Beorn's wrist and wisely held his tongue.

"Then that makes the two of us, Master Beorn. Azog killed my father, my grandfather, and ravaged my entire kingdom, burning our city to the ground and rendering us homeless for decades." Thorin inclined his head politely. Slowly, Beorn returned the gesture. The anxiety Bilbo was not even aware he felt ebbed like a receding tide, leaving him with a profound relief. The two had met each other, and survived! In fact, they seemed to be on almost cordial terms. This was most certainly a cause of celebration.

"Is this the extent of your travelling companions?" Beorn inquired, raising an eyebrow. "I was expecting more."

"No," Bilbo admitted, "but they'll be coming soon." He stared pointedly at Gandalf.

Gandalf huffed and whistled again.

While waiting for the rest of the Company to slowly make their way to the lodge, Bilbo occupied Beorn with tales of their adventure thus far (ensuring to carefully omit some certain details which would be sure to incite inconvenient questions from the dwarves). Gandalf seemed fond of interjecting and sharing his version of the story, and together they wove a tale worthy of a historian's book… Nevermind that they exaggerated certain parts; stories always require some dramatic flair, after all.

Once arrived, the dwarves would bow, introduce themselves to a suitably distracted Beorn, and settle down next to Bilbo to join in the storytelling. The shapeshifter would just wave at them and demand Bilbo to continue the story, ever the perfect audience — laughing at the right parts and being very responsive.

The hobbit was very proud of himself, truth to be told. He managed to maintain Beorn's relaxed mood despite the growing number of dwarves sharing his lodge with him and his (entertaining) recount had even coaxed a rare smile out of Thorin. Mentally, Bilbo gave himself a pat on the back.

By time they drew near the end of their tale the sun had fallen behind the peaks of the mountain and the shadows were long in Beorn's garden.

When Gandalf at last finished recounting their final few eventful days, Beorn sat back with a satisfied smile. "Your tale has been entertaining, and I thank you," he rumbled. "It is by far the best I have heard for in a long while. You may be making it up, but it is a good tale nonetheless. You may rest for tonight while I verify your tale."

Bilbo gave Beorn a scandalised look. "Make it up? I would never! Every moment was true!"

The skin-changer smiled, amused. "Even the part where you…what was it…cut down hundreds of orcs with scarcely an injury, when the whole battlefield was on fire, the flickering flames the colour of the sunset, with the entire battlefield stained red by the blood of your foes; and you flew off victorious to the sunset on the backs of your allies, the Great Eagles as the defeated orcs screamed in frustration behind you?"

"… Fine, maybe I exaggerated it — a little."

The dwarves guffawed. Beorn's eyes crinkled.

"All of you must be hungry; I shall prepare dinner."

At the mention of food, the dwarves gave a hearty cheer and made their way to the dining table.

Bilbo encountered some difficulty clambering up onto the infuriatingly tall bench. The dwarves hoisted each other up with a simple boost and haul. The Prince, as expected, required no assistance. Thorin simply gripped the sides of the bench and effortlessly pulled himself up in one smooth movement, all the while still maintaining his composure and looking graceful and stately - how that was possible, Bilbo did not know. He never had possessed much grace. (No, he was not envious, not at all; whatever had given that idea?)

At any rate, the point was that everyone else barely had any problem overcoming the slight vertical challenge. The way they worked with each other was like a well-oiled machine, fast and efficient.

Then there was Bilbo.

Bofur kindly extended his hand towards the hobbit, ready to haul him up as well. However, Bilbo shook his head stubbornly, glaring at the bench. Thrice he had attempted to climb up, even using his bag pack as a booster, and thrice he had failed. Yet he still refused to accept Bofur's help. His pridewas in the way.

"I will not be defeated by this...this wooden horror," he fumed, rejecting the offer once more. The dwarves watched on with badly veiled amusement.

"Bilbo, stop actin' like such a stubborn git and let me help, willya?" Bofur asked finally. Bilbo merely scowled in response, bearing an unfortunate resemblance to a cross bunny. The Company snickered. He glanced up and was met with Thorin's unnerving, piercing stare. A small smirk played at the edges of the prince's lips as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs. He quirked an eyebrow up, a silent challenge of "Well? What are you waiting for?".

The hobbit shot him an unamused look before giving full attention to his latest adversary. Taking in a deep breath, he leapt, using the momentum of the jump to push himself forward. Instead of landing neatly on his seat only his torso connected painfully with the hard wood beneath him, with his legs dangling in the air. A loud thud could be heard from the impact. His eyes widened and the dwarves winced.

Ouch.

For a moment, Bilbo thought that he had succeeded. A triumphant smile grazed his face, which then promptly became a look of horror when he felt himself slowly sliding down the chair. Immediately his hands grasped for something to cling onto, feet scrambling for a foothold, but gravity was working against him and the well-polished wood was utterly and traitorously smooth. He closed his eyes and groaned. Slowly, painfully and squeakily, he slid down from his pathetic position and into a heap on the floor.

Raucous laughter met his ears. It was not a friendly acquaintance.

Bilbo spat out a few colourful curses and, in a fit of frustration, leapt up and hit the bench. The wood was unfortunately much harder than he thought and he yelped and stumbled back, nursing his reddened hand. It did nothing but fuel the howling guffaws. Thorin covered his face with one hand, his entire frame shaking; Bofur was cackling; even Gandalf, that useless sodding wizard, took his pipe out of his mouth in order to properly chuckle at his expense. Balin managed an amused smile, though his expression still looked a tad too forced.

Fine, Bilbo huffed inwardly, fine. Let them laugh. With injured dignity, he plopped into the floor cross-legged and folded his arms, staring accusingly at Thorin. Eventually, the laughter died out.

"C'mon, lad," Bofur tried again with an easy smile, "Don't sulk so, we were only jesting." Once more, his friend extended his hand.

With a resigned sigh, Bilbo gripped Bofur's hand and finally allowed himself to be hauled unceremoniously onto his chair. The bench creaked, Bofur cursed a fair few times, and he had a sneaking suspicion that his body would have a few more bruises by the end of dinner…but finally he was up on that dratted bench.

Panting slightly, he glowered down at the table, daring any of them to laugh again. They wisely kept their silence.

It was at that moment that Beorn strode in and took his seat at the head of the table. Thorin flanked his left, while Gandalf sat on his right. Beorn clapped his hands, and in trotted some snow-white sheep led by a large coal-black ram. They bore on their broad backs trays with bowls and platters and knives and wooden spoons and plates of food, which Beorn then took and laid it on the table. It consisted of honey - loads of honey, actually - and bread, and some meat, which seemed to be venison.

The dwarves gawked at the unusual sight.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" Beorn asked, unperturbed. Shaking themselves out of their shock, they dug in.

The food cleared, their stomach happily stuffed, the Company readied themselves for the night. Beorn was kind enough to provide them with several quilt blankets (not fur) which were old but comfortable and warm. Without the matter of the orcs hanging over their heads, without the same mistrust against their host that the dwarves had against the elves, it was the best sleep most of them had for a long time.

Bilbo woke in the middle of the night. The fire had sunk to a few mutely glinting embers; the dwarves and Gandalf were fast asleep, judging by their heavy breathing. The room was not entirely dark, gifted with splashes of soft white from the crescent moon peering in the windows.

A bass growl sounded outside, followed by the scuffling of a large animal at the door. Bilbo wondered if that was Beorn. If he truly took the form of a massive bear. Briefly weighing his curiosity against his exhaustion, he decided that it was not worth the effort tonight and rolled over, allowing the tendrils of drowsiness to lull him back into the embrace of sleep.

It was full morning when he awoke. Bofur was standing over him, an unapologetic grin on his face as he roughly shook Bilbo by his shoulders. Bilbo groaned. "I have half a mind to maim you seriously right now, Bofur."

Bofur grinned good-naturedly. "Nah, that'd take too much effort for you. Get up, lazybones, or there'll be no breakfast left for you."

Bilbo perked up at the mention of food. "Breakfast? Where's food? I want food!"

"Mostly inside us, but there's more on the table," Gloin rumbled as he went past. Bilbo eagerly made his way to the table, where most of the dwarves and Gandalf were already seated with Beorn. The massive skin-changer poured milk into Fili's cup for him.

"So, the little rabbit has finally deemed it fit to join us," he said when he saw Bilbo. Bilbo bristled.

"I'm not a rabbit, Beorn!"

Fili whispered something to his brother, and they burst into laughter. Bilbo rolled his eyes at their antics and allowed Dori to heft him up. Beorn turned to a characteristically brooding Thorin, his expression becoming serious. "It was a good story, that of yours. I like it still better now that I am sure it is true." He remained silent for a moment. "You need to reach the mountain before the last days of autumn?"

"Before Durin's Day, yes," Gandalf chipped in as he buttered his toast. Beorn shook his head.

"You are running out of time."

"Which is why we must go through Mirkwood."

The shapeshifter leant his elbows on the table, eyebrows furrowed together. "A darkness lies upon that forest. Fell things creep beneath those trees. There is an alliance between the Orcs of Moria and the Necromancer in Dol Guldur; I would not venture there except in great need."

Bilbo felt a sudden weight in his pocket. Reaching for the oddity, his fingers met the smooth surface of the ring. The ring. He had almost forgotten about it. It vibrated beneath his fingers, hissing softly to his mind. Unconsciously he caressed the ring between his fingers. He needed to tell Gandalf about this…soon.

He was jolted from his pondering when Ori's swinging feet accidentally kicked his.

"These land are crawling with Orcs. Their numbers are growing, and you are on foot. You will never reach the forest alive," Beorn was saying. Thorin looked worried, his expression solemn. "I don't like dwarves. They're greedy and blind, blind to the lives of those they deem lesser than their own. They hold onto grudges and prejudice, and greatly wrong those who wish to help them." Beorn's eyes found Bilbo. The corners of his eyes crinkled sadly, and the shapeshifter's ancient gaze became immensely tired.

Beorn diverted his attention back to a frowning Thorin. "But Orcs I hate more, and I would not turn away a cousin in need." The dwarves were murmuring among themselves — cousin? Bilbo's lips tugged up into a wry smile. Beorn looked to him and smiled.

"You should stay for another three days. The journey ahead is more strenuous than you are prepared for, both in mind and body. You are not yet ready." Beorn gently picked up a mouse which had been scampering across the table. "Tell me, what do you need?"

Bilbo excused himself when Thorin and Beorn began to sort out the more mundane issues, such as distribution of firewood and preservation of resources. He wound his way leisurely through the garden, marvelling at the wide variety of plants and flowers that blossomed under Beorn's care, the sweet scent of flowers drifting through the air. Huge bees bumbled about in lazy circles, not a threat to anything unless provoked. The symphony of crickets and insects blended harmoniously with the light rusting of the trees. Horses were milling about, and dogs romped cheerily. Bilbo curled his toes into the soil and sighed, bliss washing over him as he savoured this precious moment of peace.

Which had to be ruined, of course, by screams and peals of laughter from the Company's two resident pranksters. Bilbo raised an unimpressed eyebrow as he saw Fili and Kili running about in the meadow next the the garden, a hyperactive young pup chasing them, its tail wagging furiously. The rest of the Company had stayed a safe distance away from the disastrous pair and were spending some time relaxing as well. Ori sat among the wild grasses, perusing a book on his lap. Some decided to wrestle for sport, while the rest were simply snoozed beneath the sun's warmth. Thorin would surely disapprove, but at that moment he was busy. So who cared? Certainly not Bilbo.

The hobbit approached the noisiest duo, who were much too busy entertaining the dog to pay him any attention.

The dog was a retriever with silky saffron-coloured fur. His tongue lolled out of his mouth as he panted, racing after the two dwarrows and scampering in circles around them. It barely reached Kili's knees. The pup pounced onto Fili, knocking him down, and promptly proceeded to lick his face with a vigour. Laughing, the young dwarf shoved the dog off. "No, bad Foo Foo! Down, Foo Foo!"

"Foo Foo?" Bilbo could not help but exclaim in disbelief. "Dear Yavanna, Fili, did you just name that dog 'Foo Foo'?"

"It was Kili's idea!" the older brother instantly answered, much to the consternation of a spluttering Kili.

"We decided it together! His full name is 'Foo Foo Cuddlypoops', but for short we call him 'Foo Foo'!"

"Whatever on Yavanna's sweet Middle Earth possessed you to name the dog that?"

"It's a good name!"

Bilbo snorted in disbelief. "Are you even allowed to go around naming animals that aren't yours, Kili?"

"it is no matter," Beorn replied as he sat next to Bilbo, "I had yet to name this dog." Bilbo started; for one so large, the skin-changer certainly could move quietly. Behind him trailed Thorin, who was giving the rest of the Company the evil eye. Immediately they leapt up and began pretending that they had been training, though even a half-blind orc could see that they had just been fooling around like children in the spring. Thorin shook his head at them.

"Why haven't you?"

"He responded to none of the names I had give him, yet chose to answer to 'Foo Foo'." Beorn observed the trio romping about in the grass, a contemplative expression on his face. "'Foo Foo' he is, then."

Bilbo paused, then shrugged. "It's still an awful name."

Beorn laughed out loud.

"Still, he seems to be quite taken with the dwarves."

"That is so," Beorn agreed. "He is smaller than the other dogs — a runt among his brood, one might even say. I was afraid that he would feel lonely. He apparently prefers playing with dwarves." The hobbit nodded. They watched as Kili and Fili bade farewell to 'Foo Foo' and joined the Company, where Thorin was apparently lecturing the Company about making wise use of their time.

"How long have it been since you stretched those wings of yours, Cousin?"

Bilbo cocked his head and thought. "About two years? Maybe longer." He rubbed his shoulder sheepishly. "They're, ah, probably not in their best condition right now."

Beorn stared at him incredulously. "How are you expecting to fight against another dragon if you've not been maintaining your wings, much less practicing?"

The hobbit winced. "Uh, I was quite possibly planning to kill Smaug without revealing myself."

The shapeshifter gave him a deadpan look. Bilbo threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine! I'll train, I'll train. How I'm going to do that with the dwarves so near, I haven't a clue."

"Why do you think I asked your dwarves to stay for three more days, Bilbo? You have those nights to train at least."

Bilbo raised a brow at the skin-changer, who was smiling quite proudly. He chuckled wryly despite himself. "Oh, who's the sly one now, Beorn?"

The dwarves had worked out some sort of schedule, where they trained for two hours and then took an hour's break. Bilbo had decided to sit out of training, claiming that he had more important things to do, such as learning about the different varieties of flower species. The Company waved him away; yet old Balin's eyes followed him sharply as he pretended to be wandering towards the garden. Once out of sight, he changed his direction and sought out Gandalf instead. The wizard was sitting on a bench near the beehives, eyes closed as he lazily blew rings of smoke into the air. Bilbo sat down next to him and fidgeted.

"Is something bothering you, Bilbo?" The wizard asked without bothering to open his eyes.

"No. No, well, yes. No. I mean—"

"What is the matter with you today, Bilbo?" the wizard opened one eye to squint at him quizzically. "Speak properly, boy!"

Bilbo tucked his hands under his arms. "I mean to say, yes, there's something I need to talk to you about. It's important — very important."

The wizard straightened. "Is it the same issue that was on your mind while Azog was behind us?"

"Yes," Bilbo replied quietly. "I couldn't discuss it in front of the dwarves. But now, now might be the best chance we have." Gandalf motioned for Bilbo to continue. "In the cave, when the goblins were chasing us, I met a… creature." Bilbo took in a deep breath. "I met Golllum."

The wizard's eyes widened, but he held his silence.

"From him, I took something… precious. A golden ring that gleamed even in the dark, that Gollum crooned over and swore to kill me to retrieve it back." Hands trembling, Bilbo tugged the ring from his pocket. It gleamed eerily; the surroundings quietened, as if holding their breath in its presence. Even the drone of the bumblebees muted.

"The ring spoke to me. It promised power — immense power, greater than you can ever have imagined — and vengeance. It felt wrong, Gandalf. Corrupted, dark, poisonous — it felt like what had twisted in the minds of those tainted dragons."

He passed the ring to Gandalf, who hissed when he touched it. The wizard's face was grave and weary as he held the small thing up and scrutinised it. "This ring is indeed powerful. It is soaked with dark magic; its very essence is sinister." Gandalf placed the ring on the bench and pointed at it. Foreign words fell from his mouth, words of power and ancient magic.

The ring burst into flames and rattled violently, before cursive inscriptions which were most certainly not visible before appeared on the glowing gold:

One ring to rule them all,

One Ring to find them,

One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them.

Bilbo gasped. He sagged against the bench. "Then that means…"

"Truly. This is the One Ring, forged in Mount Doom and the key to Sauron's rise."

End of Chapter 14.

Chapter Text

Chapter 15

The words on the ring faded off, the ring finally falling still. Eventually, the hum of agitated bees filled the garden once again. But there was still a slight edge of tension in the air, a hint of a lingering darkness which not even the bright afternoon sun could disperse.

Bilbo's skin prickled. Taking in a few shaky breaths, he raked a hand through his sweat-matted curls. "Gandalf. What should we do?"

The wizard closed his eyes, his fingers clenching around his wooden staff tightly. "I had feared that something in the shadows is stirring, but such an evil force - no, I did not foresee this. The situation is even graver than expected."

"All the more reason to be rid of Smaug. We have to kill him before whatever evil force this is gets to him," Bilbo argued fiercely. The the old hatred boiling under his skin was devouring most of the remnants of cold fear curling around his heart.

Gandalf's eyes, so old and tired, weighed Bilbo critically. "Are you saying that for the sake of Middle-Earth, or is that your own thirst for revenge talking, young lad?"

He scowled ferociously. "Both."

Gandalf shook his head, but knew better than to lecture him. It was an old argument, used too often and fought over for years. Tedious and unnecessary, since both knew that the other would refuse to change their opinion or come to some form of compromise, especially after years of disagreement. Stubborn, prideful old fools, they were.

Bilbo shoved the ring to him. "Keep it. I don't want it near me."

The wizard's eyebrow went up. "A wise choice, but I'm afraid I shall have to decline. I cannot hold on to this, Bilbo. You have a stronger will than most, and can resist its temptation for a longer period of time."

"Are you serious?" he demanded hysterically. "I almost gave in to the temptation and killed Gollum - Gandalf, it made me want to brutally slaughter Azog and every single one of his orcs! Not that they don't deserve it, but this- this is different!" His voice rose to an impressive pitch. Gandalf shushed him quickly.

"Calm down, Bilbo. You resisted the temptation, and that is what matters. That in your darkest moment, you held strong - that is why you are far more suited to carry the ring than I."

"But—"

Gandalf held up a staying hand. "Consider this: which is more dangerous, a dark wizard or a dark dragon?"

The hobbit pressed his lips tightly together. "So what you're saying is that you're more important and I can risk becoming evil, while you can't," he said bitterly.

Gandalf threw him a sharp look. "Do not be a fool, Bilbo. You know well what I mean."

Bilbo stared at the buzzing bees and refused to answer.

The wizard relit his pipe, sighing once more. "Bilbo."

"…Very well," the hobbit muttered.

The wizard nodded, leaning forward. "Good. Remember, do not wear the ring. Never wear it, for it may corrupt your mind - even make you do its bidding - should you attempt to wield it."

"I know, I know, I'm not stupid."

"No you are not, but you are impulsive, and such recklessness is oft more dangerous than being obtuse," Gandalf told him as he produced a few handkerchiefs from one of his hidden pockets. Careful not to touch the ring, he wrapped it several times until it became a tiny bundle of layered cloth.

Bilbo crossed his arms. "I'll try not to use it," he hedged.

The wizard scrutinised him and nodded. "Not very convincing, but that will do. Now, Bilbo, be very careful. The ring may amplify your anger, your hatred, any negative emotions it can latch on to - so watch your temper. Do not be tricked by it, don't listen to it. You of all people should know the consequences of a twisted mind."

Bilbo grimaced but nodded shortly. "Anything else?"

The wizard's piercing blue eyes drilled into him. "Tell no one about this."

He held the wizard's gaze for a few seconds. Slowly, he inclined his head. Should Thorin find out about the potential of the ring - Bilbo would like to think that the dwarf would never abuse its powers, but to believe so would be naive. It was too risky, and he would rather not find out just what the dwarf might do. "Of course."

The wizard pressed the bundle of cloth into Bilbo's hand. "I'll have to leave sooner that expected," Gandalf said, eyebrows pinched together. Gently, he clasped Bilbo's shoulder. "All will be well, young one. I have faith in you; it is about time you gained some faith in yourself as well."

His fingers curling around the well-wrapped ring, Bilbo looked away and did not answer.

He was not sure that he agreed with Gandalf's statement.

Ori

When it was finally their break time, Ori trudged exhausted to his spot under the shaded oak tree. Brightening slightly, he tugged the old, heavy book onto his lap, gently caressing the leather cover. It had no outward design - no title, no illustrations, nothing. Seemingly inconspicuous, yet within its pages it held a world of knowledge and wisdom. Foolish as it seemed, he felt a sense of connection to the plainly-bounded book. Overlooked due to his simple appearance, but (hopefully) filled with wisdom and colour inside.

Taking care not to tear any of the yellowed, wrinkled pages, he flipped to the spot at which he had last stopped. The eleven librarian back at Rivendell had assured him that it would not sustain any damage or tear by ordinary means, but it looked so fragile that Ori did not quite believe him. Within a few seconds, he was immersed in the wealth of knowledge offered by the text. Such information! He had never found any book as rich in content as this in the old archives of the dwarves - but then again, most of the treasured books were held in Erebor and never retrieved. Maybe - if the quest was accomplished and he survived - just maybe, he could find the old archives, could catalogue the-

"You're reading? During break time! Really, Ori?" A teasing voice cut through his musings. He wrenched himself back to the present and peered over his book to see two cheeky faces looking at him. Kili and Fili, of course. He sighed mentally.

He flushed. "It's an interesting book, I was hoping to…"

"What's it about? Ooh," Kili interrupted him, making a grabbing motion towards the book.

Ori slammed it shut and yanked it back, chest heaving slightly as he hugged it. "Nothi- Nothing of your interest, I'm sure," he assured him.

The two gave him identical smirks. "Something you don't want us to see?" Fili said. "A secret description of the dwarf-girl of your dreams?"

"No-"

"A guilty pleasure?" Kili chimed, as they took a step closer to him.

"Wha-"

"Or maybe, something sensual, perhaps?" Fili wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. The smirks on their faces grew wider as they closed on him. Ori gaped at them, eyes darting from sibling to sibling frantically.

"No, no, uh—"

They pounced.

In the ensuing scuffle between the two well-trained princes and the one scholarly dwarf, it is to no one's surprise that the princes would emerge as victors. Triumphantly, Kili held up the book as Fili wrestled to pin Ori under him. Grinning widely, he flipped opened the book at the middle.

His maniacal grin dropped. Instead of a certain sort of images he had expected, illustrations of dragons greeted him. He blinked. A sinking feeling in his heart, he turned to the first page of the book.

In intricate calligraphy read the words: The Forgotten Tales of the Dragonkin.

"Ori," Kili's voice, quiet and serious, cut through the noises of the friendly wrestling next to him. "Ori, why are you reading a book about dragons?"

They stilled.

"I... I was curious." Ori took advantage of Fili's surprise to push the heavier dwarf off him. He stood up, folded his arms to hide his trembling hands and jutted out his chin defiantly.

"Dragons," Kili repeated. Their conversation garnered the attention of the older dwarves.

"It's a book about their history! What's wrong with that?" he protested.

"But it's about dragons. Our enemy." Fili shook his head.

"Should we not have a better understanding about our enemy before a battle? Their motivations, their past?"

Dori stepped forward from among the circle of dwarves surrounding the youngsters and rolled his eyes. "Ori, we've talked about this. What is there to know? What motivations? Dragons are bad, they're born bad, they do bad things for the thrill of it. There's nothing there to sympathise with, Ori!"

"According to this book, that's not true! They said that dragons were once noble beasts of the sky!"

The dwarves were shocked into silence.

"Durin's beard, that's the worse shit I've ever heard."

"Where did you even get that book from?" demanded Dwalin.

Ori flushed. "The elves."

The dwarves exploded into shouts and yells.

"The elves!" Gloin shouted in outrage.

"You trust the elves on this?"

"Healing books are better reading materials, Ori—"

"O Mahal, Dori, what have you been allowing Ori to read?"

"Well, I think he can read whatever he wants, unlike you uneducated dwarves, Dwalin!"

"How dare you—!"

"Lay a finger on Dori or Ori and I will gut you like a fish, Dwalin," Nori threatened.

"Where is my ear horn! What is going on!"

"I say, that's a load of bull!"

"The elves are as trustworthy as Bifur is proficient at translating Black Speech!"

"—and this is why you should have read books about the healing properties of using mandrakes as ointments, now those are actually helpful—"

Ori shrunk inwards and flinched as the dwarves moved closer towards him, their voices increasing in volume. Beorn, Balin and Thorin, who had been in discussion a few feet away, looked up as the dwarves' raised voices reached them.

"Your kin is squabbling again," Beorn growled, "unsurprisingly." Thorin and Balin exchanged exasperated glances.

"I told them to behave."

Fuming, Thorin marched towards the rowdy crowd of dwarves, with Beorn following behind.

"Silence!" Thorin roared as he shoved his way to the front of the crowd of red-faced dwarves. Immediately, the cacophony subsided. He glowered at them. "What is going on? Why are you yelling at poor Ori? Dwalin, explain this behaviour."

Dwalin, who has been close to blows with Dori, scowled. "Young Ori's been reading a book about the history of dragons. It defends the beasts, paint them as 'noble beasts of the sky.'" Dwalin made quotation marks in the air and grimaced. "The foul, lies-ridden book is written by elves."

"Then I'm sure he knows it to be filled with lies, and would take it as a tale of fiction and nothing more," Thorin growled.

"What?" Ori squeaked.

The dwarven prince stared at him. "It seems that you have something to say, Master Ori?"

"Y-your highness, forgive my impertinence, but why would it be lies?"

"This is the elves' doing. I wouldn't put it past them to write an entire book filled with lies defending the dragons as a mere mockery to the dwarven race." Thorin clenched his fist, his voice escalating. "Making a joke out of our suffering was not enough, it seems; now they seek to corrupt our young with their lies!"

Ori shuddered.

Someone snorted. In the silence that ensued, the almost-forgotten Beorn rumbled, "With all due respect, that makes even less sense, Master Oakenshield. This book holds the truth. It is also beneath the elves to waste something precious as a book with lies just to spite you, Oakenshield; despite what you think, it is not you that their world revolves around."

Thorin turned on the shapeshifter with a thunderous expression. "So you're saying it's not the elven's doing, that dragons are indeed noble beasts that are just and fair? That there's a good reason for the dragons attacking our cities, slaughtering our young and pillaging our gold? So you're saying," he took an intimidating step towards the bear-man, "that there's a reason for the deaths of the thousands of dwarves, the thousand of dwarves who did nothing to the dragons? So you're saying—" another step— "that our homelessness is our own fault? That the dragons are blameless? Is that what you are saying, Master Beorn?"

He raised his voice at the last few words, eyes lit with fury and one hand falling onto the hilt of his sword. It would have been extremely intimidating if not for the absurd height difference.

Beorn raised an eyebrow, not in the least perturbed. "I'm saying that you should not be so blinded by your hatred towards them. The dragons' history is surprisingly rich, and unfortunately less known. They are at fault for destroying your city, Master Oakenshield, and for that you have my utmost sympathy," Beorn inclined his head towards the dwarf, "but I would urge you to be less blind towards the plights of others. As Young Ori would know," he turned towards the trembling dwarf still stubbornly clinging onto his book, "the dragon race may be more a victim than you are aware."

The bear-man stared at the sky in yearning and regret. "Such noble beasts they were, reduced to such a pitiful state." Shaking his head, he tucked his hands onto his belt and wandered towards the woods. A few strides was all it took before he disappeared among the trees.

Thorin gritted his teeth, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword.

Dwalin growled. "I will challen—"

"No, Dwalin," Balin placed a wrinkled hand onto his shoulder soothingly. "For all of your fighting prowess, you stand no chance. Do not shame us further, especially not in the eyes of our host."

"But-"

"He has kindly offered us shelter in our times of need, brother. It is unwise to earn his ire now."

Dwalin slowly exhaled through his nostrils. He nodded reluctantly. "Aye, Balin."

The aged dwarf turned towards his prince. "His words hold some wisdom, Your Majesty."

The prince's face darkened. "How can you—"

"He has no reason to offer us false information. I would advise you not to dismiss it so quickly, Thorin. Master Beorn could have ignored both ourselves and our concerns, but instead took the time to explain himself."

"Nonsense, you read far too much into it, Balin. Master Beorn was merely flaunting his wealth of knowledge before us."

Balin shot him a sharp look. "No, Thorin, I do not believe such were his intentions. It would be prudent to keep an open mind. Aye, it seemed to me that he mentioned dragons as noble beasts for a reason. The question is, why?"

Bilbo stared at the scene before him. "Whoa," he said, "What is going on?"

Ori was crying in a corner, with Dori comforting him and Nori sharpening his knives threateningly. The pranksters carried expressions of disbelief, anger and embarrassment all mashed together that looked quite ridiculous as they apologised to Ori for causing all this fuss. Most of the dwarves had looks of outrage, although some such as Oin and Bofur looked more pensive instead. Slightly separated from the rest of the dwarves was the prince, whose face was turning an alarming shade of purple, arguing with the calm advisor of his.

"What," he repeated, "is going on?" The dwarves, upon noticing Gandalf and his presence, looked mortified. "We were gone for one hour," he fumed. "One hour."

"Fear not, Master Hobbit," Thorin said gruffly. "It does not concern you."

Gandalf coughed lightly and leaned on his staff. "I'm afraid it does, for we just saw Beorn storm off. What happened, Master Thorin?"

The enquiry was met by a sullen silence. Finally, it was Ori who recounted all that happened so far, with the other dwarves occasionally throwing in a comment or a snide remark until Nori began sharpening his blades with renewed vigour, glaring. They shut up quickly after that.

Bilbo blinked. "Oh."

"Actually, the book tells the truth, Master Thorin," Gandalf sighed. "The elves pride themselves in keeping accurate recounts of historical events, and for all your animosity against them, they would not dare tamper with the truth in history. It would do you good to remember so, Master Thorin; you would not wish to offend the entire Elven Race by accusing them of keeping false records."

Thorin grimaced and ignored Gandalf, turning to Bilbo instead. "What about you, Master Hobbit? What do you think?"

Bilbo hesitated. Yes, I believe the book, for it writes the history of my people, and it is all true, the suffering is all true, he wanted to say. I know, because it is my race that suffered. But he bit his tongue before those treacherous words could slip free. Choosing his reply carefully, he said slowly, "I believe that even stories have an essence of truth in them worth investigating."

With bated breath, he waited for Thorin's response. The dwarf bore a contemplative expression. "Hmm," he hummed, and paused. "We will discuss this later." Abruptly, he turned towards the rest of the dwarves and yelled, "Get back to your training!"

They hurried to do as he told.

Balin watched Bilbo with narrowed eyes, noting his uneasiness and nervousness. What are you hiding, Master Bilbo?

Later, he pulled Ori aside and requested to borrow the book.

Dinner was a quiet, albeit slightly awkward, affair. Eventually Beorn brought out ale and before the end of dinner, any remaining tension was gone. The Company was relaxed and trading stories.

Thorin looked to Gandalf. "So, Master Gandalf, what is this myth about dragons—" he grimaced at the word— "which you spoke about just now?"

Gandalf raised one eyebrow. "Surely you must know of it, Master Thorin."

The prince glowered, an edge of sarcasm to his voice. "I do not. Would you care to enlighten us?"

"I'm sure Master Ori, with his book, can do better."

Thorin beckoned Ori to read, and he did so with a trembling voice. When he was done reciting the brief overview of dragons, Thorin sat back with a pensive expression.

"As a prince, I would have expected you to have heard of it before at least, although believing it is an entirely different matter," the wizard commented.

Thorin paused. "Stories of dragons were rare even before the fall of Erebor. After Smaug- to speak of dragons so fondly, even briefly in tales and lies, is quite literally unheard of. No, it was not spoken of among my people."

"Master Wizard, you have lived for a long time and experienced more than you let on. Tell us honestly: were you there when the dragons fell? Is there truth to this myth?" Balin asked.

Gandalf flushed slightly and relit his pipe. "I was preoccupied with other things - greater evils which haunted the world then - so I did nothing to help the dragons." He shot Bilbo an apologetic look, but Bilbo merely rolled his eyes. "But I believe that there is truth to this."

The dwarves shifted uncomfortably.

"So what you're saying is that there's good and bad dragons out there."

"Of course, Master Fili. There's two sides to everything," Gandalf lectured gently. "Like there are good dwarrows and there's the evil sort - not necessarily thieves and cheats, but those with a dark heart and ill intentions."

Fili nodded slowly. "That's a lot to take in, especially when all dragons did was decimate our race. We have never seen them do anything benevolent or beneficial, much less for us," he pointed out.

"That's true," Gandalf admitted. "Well-"

"So why should we care about that? Any dragons that approach us mean us harm; it is our right to kill them before they destroy us once more," Thorin cut him off, frowning. Bilbo stiffened minutely.

Gandalf sighed. "Yes, should dragons seek to destroy you, by all means, defend yourselves. But that does not mean that you should kill off all dragons on sight, does it? It is my hope that one day, the dragon race will rise again, and that this time they will offer diplomatic ties to other species. What I'm saying, you stubborn-headed dwarves, is to not be so quick to condemn. Keep an open mind! Is that too much to ask?" He shook his head in disappointment.

"I make no promises," Thorin said stonily, and spoke no more. Gandalf harrumphed and glowered at the prince. Awkward silence pervaded the air.

"Since we're on the topic of dragons, I can share a story I've heard of too," Bilbo said on impulse, mostly to break the awful tension. The moment the words left his mouth, he winced and cursed inwardly. What was he thinking?

It was rare that Bilbo offered a story, so all of them were surprised. "You know a story about dragons, Master Burglar?" Thorin's eyes, piercing. "You insist on corrupting the young with false tales?"

Bilbo shakily licked his lips. The ale filled him with liquid courage that muffled his senses and inhibitions. At the back of his mind, he registered a niggling thought that he would sorely regret this later on, but hang it, this seems like a great idea right now and he's going to do it because he can. Gandalf shot him a look of caution and thinly veiled panic, which he ignored.

"It seems relevant to today's topic of dragons. It was an old tale told to me by my grandda... A rumour, really. All this talk about dragons reminded me of it," he rambled on before taking a sip of ale.

"Bilbo, I think you've had one too many to drink," Bofur quietly told him as he tried to prise the cup away from his hand.

"Nonsense," Bilbo scoffed. "This is nothing." Hobbit wine was much, much more potent and ten times worse. He knew this from past experiences. One had included him waking in a horribly out-dated and frilly frock dress that was a painfully garish shade of orange, in an unknown barn and with no inkling as to how he'd came to be there beside some vague memories of dancing farmers and flying cows. He shuddered and pushed the traumatic memory from his mind.

"We will hear this story, then," Thorin consented even though the dwarves wore dubious, sceptical expressions.

Bilbo cleared his throat. "Once upon a time," his voice was barely above a whisper, "there was a young dragon, brave and bold. He had the sharpest mind the elders had seen, and they believed that he was destined for greatness. He had a thirst for knowledge and adventure, and one day, he and his group of friends decided to venture from the safety of their village and out into the world. The elders were against it, for they knew that Middle-Earth was not a safe place for roaming dragons, but they were young and foolish and stubborn, and heed the elders they would not. They left, with a promise to return after a year's span. But a year went past, and they did not come back. The elders grew worried, and were oh the brink of sending for help when one of them returned. It was their young prodigy, the leader of the group. He came back alone, and he had changed. He was more wicked than intelligent, more cruel and harsh. He said that the men had taken the lives of his friends away from him in an unsuspected attack - and that he was the only survivor."

"I bet he actually killed all his friends," muttered Dwalin, and Oin shushed him loudly.

"The elders thought he simply needed more time to grieve for his lost ones, and so pardoned him for his behaviour. They did not know that the rot was already spreading through the mind of this brilliant dragon. One day, he slaughtered an innocent village of men and claimed to be avenging those taken from him. His bright red scales were darkened to the colour of blood."

"What's the significance of that?" asked Kili.

"Dark scales are a sign that the dragon has fallen to the side of evil," Gandalf quietly told the dwarves. There was a pause before Bilbo decided to continue.

"The elders, finally realising that something was wrong, panicked. Borrowing the magic from the elves — for dragons did not have magic of their own besides their Gift for Fire — they forced themselves into his mind, cruelly reading his memories to see what had transpired the year he was away. They found out that the young dragons had met with someone dark - likely a minion of Sauron or the like - who had planted some ideas into their minds and twisted their morals. For all his brilliance, their prodigy had a weak will, and he fell prey to the promises of power and riches. It was men who killed his friends, yes, but it was them who attacked the city first. The elders allowed fear to override logic and they banished him from the village. They left him to die at the hands of the humans. It was said that the wyrms themselves stepped in and helped him. It was said that he turned mad, that he allowed the darkness to twist his mind."

Bilbo took a sip, his mouth suddenly very dry. "A year later, this dragon amassed a group of corrupted wyrms and swooped down upon the dragon village that abandoned him, and decimated them. He," Bilbo gulped, eyes hooded, "killed his relatives." The screams. The shouts. The blood on the ground, red like rubies, like the glowing eyes of- "Two dragonlings watched as the corrupted dragon, their cousin, wrecked their home." He took deep breaths.

They were at the mouth of the cave, the smell of blood heavy in the air, the cackling of his laughter a painful stab to their hearts. Then the wyrms fell upon them and it was too late, their brood mates were brutally mauled and where are mamma and papa. Ryad was there, a wyvern had its sharp claws into her side and he bit and screamed and kicked but it won't let her go, and mamma appeared.

But it was too late, the damage has been done, and her left side was bloody and clawed and oh gods it looks so bad can she survive — Run, mamma had cried when Cousin (he's not here for a game, what happened to his warm smile he's not Cousin anymore) appeared, take Ryad and run! So he did, the screams of mamma being torn apart following him as he fled. He ran and ran and ran, half-dragging a bleeding and sobbing Ryad, begging her to go on, telling her that they could not stop, they had to keep moving—

"They barely managed to escape, and sought shelter from the elves." Bilbo paused, a choked sob in his throat. "The corrupted dragon still runs free. The end."

The hobbit closed his eyes, trembling fists clenching and unclenching. The screams were loud in his mind, screams of terror and disbelief and run, run, he had to run, grab Ryad and run —

"Wait, what happened to the dragonlings?" Nori asked, jerking him out of his past. His eyes flew open, heart palpitating. Calm down, he told himself as he stared blankly at Nori.

The dwarf squinted at him. "You alright?" He asked, noting Bilbo's clammy palms and the sweat beading down his forehead. Beorn was watching him with a frown, Balin was staring at him sharply and Gandalf was shaking his head.

"Ah…yes, perhaps I did have one too many drinks." Bilbo laughed shakily, raking his sharp nails through his scalp, the motion calming. "Sorry, what did you ask?"

Nori repeated his question, to which Bilbo shrugged. "Wandering here and there, I presume. No one knows." He spread his palms out.

"I am curious, Master Bilbo," Balin drawled, eyes piercing. "Why would such a story be passed down through your family?"

Bilbo stared steadily back at Balin, not flinching. "It was a warning. A warning that even noble beasts can be corrupted by power, and one must always guard one's heart carefully against evil."

The storytelling ended on a sombre note.

In his bedroll, Ori surreptitiously slipped out his book to continue his reading. Most of the dwarves were thankfully asleep and it was mostly silent. The snores of Gloin and the soft mumbling of his prince and the advisor were a constant background murmur. Flipping to the page where he last left off, he gently traced the title of the chapter, "Description and Skills," scripted in beautiful calligraphy.

The elves taught them a special trait, blessed with magic: one to take the form of another being. Some may call them shapeshifters, but true shapeshifters they are not, but merely make use of a complex spell cast by the elves to hide themselves in plain side. Unfortunately, not all traits of theirs can be hidden. The dragon-shifters still hoard treasures. They retain their sharp claws and their affinity with Fire, enabling them to both create and manipulate it. Most dragons have strange eyes, which manifests in their different forms as unique irises rimmed with gold. They are able to shift between their forms, but it is to note than when they experience strong emotions, especially anger, their hold on the spell may falter. This can lead to their dragon traits making more of an appearance, if not causing them to revert entirely back to their original dragon form.

Shapeshifter. Ori's mind was blank. "We could have met a dragon and not know about it?" he whispered to himself, terror clenching his heart. They were so much more dangerous than he expected - he had to tell his prince!

The image of a laughing Ryadher came to mind and he froze. Ryadher- that she-elf, she had eyes rimmed with gold. That means... That means... Can it be…?

"Oh Mahal," whispered Ori, "Does Bilbo know?"

Ryadher's dry tone whispered through his mind. As a wee child, I loved Bilbo's eyes, so with a little bit of magic I changed my eye colour to imitate his.

His blood ran cold. No, nonononono, he was wrong. He had to be wrong. But…

Bilbo who loves books to the extent of hoarding them. Bilbo who defends the dragons and elves. Bilbo and his knowledge about sacred and obscure information about dragons. Bilbo and his eyes rimmed with gold, which Ryadher had imitated.

Bilbo, who may be a dragon in a hobbit form.

But Gandalf trusts him, an insistent part of Ori's mind reminded him. And he's with us to destroy Smaug, who is a dragon. Bilbo is his friend, who stood up for him even though they did not know each other well. He could not be evil, could he?

What if he secretly has his own vendetta to gain Erebor as his own? What if Gandalf was fooled? What if... What if…

Ori slammed the book shut.

I can think about it tomorrow, he decided. As of now, I should not tell anyone. Not yet. Maybe... Maybe next week or something when I'm sure. Just not yet.

(If the dwarves find out, they will kill Bilbo.)

His treacherous mind whispered, "But if he finds out that you know, he may kill you."

Ori ignored the voice and went to sleep.

End.

Chapter Text

Chapter 16

Dol Guldur.

Bats screeched. The moon was hidden behind the clouds; darkness lurked in the shadows. Azog strode out onto a raised pathway, towards the mess of throbbing shadow in the middle of the fortress. He bowed his head slightly. "You have summoned me, Master?"

The figure of darkness twisted and glided to Azog. It has no discerning features within its dark black silhouette.

"We grow in number. We grow in strength. You will lead my armies," it rasped.

Azog growled lowly. "What of Oakenshield?"

He could feel the Necromancer's weighted stare on him. "War is coming."

The Pale Orc snarled.

"You promised me his head!"

The Necromancer glided closer towards him. Azog tried to hide his discomfort, the close proximity with the darkness prickling beneath his skin.

"Death will come to all."

Unwilling to show weakness, the orc bared his teeth slightly, but he jerked his chin downwards in an almost imperceptible sign of submission. Satisfied that its message seemed to sink in, the Darkness turned around and glided away. "When I rise again, my commanders will need new steeds."

"Wargs?"

"No," the Necromancer paused, "mightier beasts than those dogs."

From the shadows, two struggling dragonlings appeared.

Beorn's.

He sat up. Around him clustered the figures of the sleeping dwarves. Slow snores filled the room. A mouse scampered across a chessboard with bear-shaped pieces; some goats were chewing on hay.

When he was certain that most, if not all, of the dwarves were asleep, he crept out of his bedroll and inched towards the door. Carefully, he held his breath as he nudged at the heavy wooden door. It shifted without a creak, creating a gap barely large enough for him. He glanced back at the sleeping Company again. A sliver of dusty moonlight from the door fell across the room. All was still; the only movement were the flies hovering around a snoring Bombur.

Soundless as a shadow, Bilbo slipped out of the house.

Simultaneously, three pair of eyes stared as his shadow flitted past the window.

Dol Guldur.

Azog's eyes widened. "Dragons," he hissed. "Where...?"

"Not even the elves can protect what the darkness seeks." The Necromancer drifted closer to the dragons. One particularly brave dragon with a swollen eye and light brown scales twisted furiously and resisted its chains to snap its jaws at him. "The old Servants of Mordor are rousing."

"Most are dead. The others, like Smaug, hide away like the cowards they are!"

"They will come," the Necromancer said, gliding away. "They cannot resist the power."

The darkness dissipated, leaving a snarling Azog and the dragons in its wake.

Azog turned his attention to the previously ignored Orc holding onto the other end of the chains. "Who are you?" He demanded, glaring at him aggressively.

The orc was not massive in stature, but he looked sturdy enough and had a cunning look about him. Burns and long scars resembling claw marks marred the left side of his face and down his arms to his hands. He held the larger orc's gaze for a few seconds before glancing down slightly, not cowering but acknowledging Azog's superiority. "Nargulg."

The white orc stepped closer to him intimidatingly. "What is it that you do, Nargulg?"

The orc held his ground even as the agitated dragonlings once again tugged at their chains. Azog stopped a few steps before them, warily scrutinising them. "I specialise in capturing and training the dragons."

He appraised the sturdy orc. Azog was unaware that the dragons were still in existence, let alone thriving under the care of the elves and hidden away. Capturing them under the noses of the elves required stealth, cunning and guts.

Without warning, Azog spat on the dragons. The brown-scaled one squealed in outrage as the glop landed on its back. Its belly glowed lightly and he made to open its mouth, but before he could do anything, a metal whip struck against his scales. Nargulg whipped him several more times as the dragon thrashed about, inciting the other dragon to cry in outrage until its chain were brutally tugged till it subsided and retreated.

The whip struck the sides of the brown-scaled dragon's underbelly and once on its swollen eye. Whimpering, the dragon curled around itself and shuddered. Nargulg yanked at the chains a few more times until the only response from the dragons were their defeated, limp heads and whimpers before he looked up, smiling smugly.

Azog nodded his satisfaction.

"They'll be ready in a few months," Nargulg promised.

He bared his teeth. "Very well. In the meantime - " turning around, he roared, "Bolg!"

The orcs behind him were shoved aside as a pale and bulky-looking orc stepped up, glaring at anyone in his way. He was massive - almost the height of Azog - and towered over many of the orcs. His left eye was cloudy and blind. Iron plates were embedded in his skull and chest, and in his hand was a sharp spinal-looking weapon.

"I have a task for you," Azog said. "Do you still thirst for dwarf blood?"

Bolg growled in agreement.

Beorn's.

Truth to be told, Bilbo felt like the burglar the Company thought him to be. Sneaking out of his own lodging like a common thief, indeed! But it was infinitely better than facing awkward questions and possibly having a dwarven guard follow him - oh, how that would ruin things - so sneaking it was.

The cold air prickled his skin as he made his way through the garden. The sky was a patchwork of blues and blacks, topped by a crescent moon that hung crookedly, as if added in an afterthought. Stars sprinkled throughout the sky, little glowing worlds of their own, sparkling like tiny gemstones. Quietly, he stepped through the garden where Beorn was sitting on the bench, his massive back facing him, and stood behind him.

"Finally managed to escape the dwarves' clutches?" Beorn's deep voice rumbled, eyes still staring ahead at his forest.

"Yes." Bilbo wondered how Beorn knew he was there even without him making a single sound. Did his bear-senses tingle when someone was near him? Then, spotting the mouse quietly hidden under Beorn's collar, its beady eyes shining up at him, he thought, maybe not.

The mouse squeaked, nimbly clambering down Beorn's arm and onto his palm. There, it sat on its haunches and cleaned its face with its tiny paws before squeaking again. Beorn caressed its fur with a single finger before gently placing it on the bench.

The mouse scurried off as he turned around to look at Bilbo. "Ready to go?"

Bilbo grinned and nodded, half-anxious and half-excited by what their night excursion would entail.

With Beorn leading the way, they stepped into the darkness of the forest.

Ten minutes was all it took before Bilbo ran out of patience. "Where will we be going? How will we be going there?"

Beorn chuckled. "You will see, Little Rabbit. I had to find somewhere large enough to accommodate you. It will take some time, maybe an hour or so."

The hobbit watched his steps carefully, but still winced every now and then when his foot snapped a twig. "'Little Rabbit'? Beorn, you do know rabbits are about as tiny as a single scale?"

"Yes I do, Little Rabbit." The bear-man sounded amused. Bilbo sulked, before a horrendous thoughts crossed his mind.

"We are not walking all the way there, are we?"

Beorn turned back to smirk at him. "You do need the exercise." Bilbo sputtered and smacked Beorn, which was the equivalence of hitting a rock.

"I do not."

"Believe what you will, but you look a little... pudgy."

"You and my sister both. I hate all of you," Bilbo moaned.

Beorn shrugged, unbothered. "Nay, if we walk there, it will take us all night. Or even longer, taking your short legs into account."

"Is it Insult-Bilbo-Day? It feels just like it - I'll have you know, I did not sign up for this," he muttered under his breath.

Beorn looked amused as he came to a stop at a small clearing.

"It was a mere jest, little rabbit. It'll be much faster for me to give you a ride." Skin rippling, he took a few steps back. Bilbo's eyes widened.

Brown bristles poked through Beorn's skin, and Bilbo could hear the sound of bones cracking and shifting. A second later, a huge bear replaced the man in the middle of the forest. It snuffled around the leaves, barely glancing at Bilbo.

If Bilbo had thought that Beorn-Man was a giant, then Beorn-bear was a Titan-bear. Crouched down, his height was still two-thirds the size of a man. He estimated that if Beorn-bear stood on his hind legs, he would almost be twice the height of Beorn-man. Of course, Bilbo's dragon form still dwarfs Beorn-bear, but well, dragon.

"Uh, okay," Bilbo said, rubbing his hands together. He felt a little foolish addressing a bear. "How are we going to do this?"

The bear turned to him, lifted its head and bared its fangs.

Bilbo took a tiny step back. "Beorn?" He asked uncertainly.

Slowly, menacingly, the dark brown bear lumbered closer. It growled, slightly threateningly. Bilbo gulped, not daring to move. The bear snuffled and advanced towards Bilbo until it was looming over him.

"Beorn?" Bilbo squeaked. The bear's snout was right in front of his face - he could see those gleaming white teeth and the thread of saliva between his canines. Beorn's breath puffed onto his forehead.

The bear growled. Then, without warning, it's tongue flickered out and licked Bilbo's face.

Bilbo squealed and stumbled backwards, tripping over a tree root and landing on his bum. Vigorously, he scrubbed his face with his sleeve. "Beorn!" He protested.

A pair of obsidian eyes glittered amusingly at him. Sitting back on its haunches and no longer as menacing, Beorn-bear snorted, looking smug. Bilbo scowled sternly. "That, that was mean."

Beorn snorted again (apologetically this time around, Bilbo hoped) and nudged him up. Tossing his head impatiently, he crouched down lowly. Bilbo took it as his cue to climb on his broad back.

With a bit of grumbling and jumping, he managed to pull himself onto Beorn's broad back. He shifted a few times, trying to get comfortable. He clung gently onto the shaggy fur, its texture coarse and bristly. It smelt like a wild animal, and a bit like a wet dwarf - not too pleasing to his sensitive hobbit nose. Leaning forward, he said loudly, "I'm ready."

There was a pause, in which Bilbo thought he went unheard. Then, Beorn's muscles tensed underneath his legs, a split-second warning before he took off. He shot through the forest, leaping between trees with great lumbering steps. Trees blurred past them and the wind whistled sharply. Instinctively, Bilbo crouched closer to his fur.

Bilbo lost track of time, but they rode till the thick vegetation trees melded into empty plains with a smattering of rocks and some trees. Beorn's house was far behind them. Finally, Beorn slowed to a halt at the edge of a small hill with a wide clearing, safe from any prying eyes.

Bilbo groaned and slid off his back, grimacing.

Beorn-bear snuffled at him in concern and he patted the bear's nose. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he told the bear. Reassured, Beorn reverted back into his man form and sat down on the grass next to Bilbo.

"There aren't any orcs around, right?"

Beorn gave him a sidelong glance. "You know very well I wouldn't risk your safety in such a way, Cousin. No, this area is still untouched by the vile orcs. I checked just now as well - curiously, my animals report that none of the orcs seem to be about."

Bilbo paused. "None at all?"

"Aye."

He gave a puzzled look and shrugged. "Maybe they gave up."

Beorn shot him a dark look. "Orcs don't simply give up."

He shrugged. "Maybe their leader died?" Even then, he knew it was almost impossible for that to be true. "I'll mention it to Gandalf. Hopefully it's not something bigger. He should know what to do."

Beorn nodded. "Little Rabbit," he began, then hesitated.

"Yes?"

"I have a question, if you don't mind?" Came the cautious response.

Bilbo waved his hand. "No, no, of course I won't. Ask away, Beorn, don't need to stand on ceremony." He felt Beorn scrutinising him, seemingly weighing him before he asked his question.

"That story. It was your story, was it not?"

He blinked. "Yes. Yes, yes it was. Was it... Was it very obvious?"

"Aye. We're lucky the dwarves are unobservant as they are. That was reckless of you - they may become suspicious," rumbled Beorn. Bilbo merely sighed.

"I know. I shouldn't have but I couldn't stop myself." He looked up to the stars. "I'll deal with the repercussions at a later time. Assuming, of course, that the dwarves are smart enough to notice it in the first place."

Beorn snorted. "You underestimate them, Cousin. Some are observant and shrewd underneath their brawl and rude behaviour."

"Thorin sure doesn't show it," muttered Bilbo under his breath. Beorn laughed.

"Anyway," continued Bilbo, "I haven't yet gave you a proper gift!"

"Gift?"

"Yes, yes, it's only polite to present hosts with a door gift." Digging through the numerous pockets sewn inside his cloak, he gave a triumphant cry as he pulled out a cylindrical object wrapped snugly in a few layers of cloth. "My sister's flute, made of the finest Elven wood," he declared proudly with a tint of wistfulness, proffering the gift to the shapeshifter.

Beorn squinted at it before carefully picking it up. Peeling the layers of cloth apart, he held up the wooden flute, gently running his fingers across its smoothly polished surface. The flute was about as long as Bilbo's forearm and dwarfed in Beorn's hand. Elven words of a burnt umber were deeply etched around the ends of the gleaming, sepia flute.

Beorn shook his scraggly head, touching the words reverently once more before delicately placing the flute back on Bilbo's lap. "I cannot accept this, Cousin. It's your sister's gift to you."

"I have loads at home, but nothing else to offer you right now," Bilbo dismissed.

"But you are not at home now, young one, and any comfort or token from your loved ones will mean a lot."

"I think the chances of the flute breaking during the journey is higher," Bilbo protested. "At least you can keep it safe." Dismayed, he looked at the flute, his face slowly turning red. Is the flute an insufficient gift? Does it have flaws, does Beorn dislike it?

"But I do not want it," he rumbled softly. "I know these Elven words as well: it's Elven magic. The flute is less fragile than you think."

Bilbo's fingers curled around the flute. With narrowed eyes, Bilbo's voice dipped lowly, his tone opting a sharp edge. "Are you rejecting my act of goodwill?"

"No, but you have already given me a gift. You told me your stories; that is more than I can ask for. This - I don't need it, Bilbo, but you, you may need it more than me," Beorn pacified.

Bilbo stared at him incredulously. "What can it do, serenade the orcs to death?"

Beorn laughed. "You have a unique way of thinking, Little Rabbit. I was referring to keeping you grounded, reminding you of who you are. But if you want to play soft music to the orcs in the hopes that they die from the beauty of the music, I will not stop you."

Bilbo gave a huff and shook his head in disbelieve. "Fine, Beorn, I'll listen to your wise council." Wrapping up the flute once again, he tucked it into a pocket, secretly relieved.

After Bilbo had stopped fiddling, he stared nervously at Beorn. The bear-man, who was still seated on the grass, raised his bushy eyebrows at him. "I believe we're here for a reason?"

Bilbo looked around anxiously. "Is there enough space?"

"Aye."

"No one can see us?"

"Indeed."

"Are you very sure no dwarves followed us here? That there's absolutely no chance of anyone spotting us?"

The bear-man growled. "Yes! We are hills away and the clouds and this hillside, if not the distance, provide more than sufficient cover! We don't have all night, dragon."

"Fine," Bilbo huffed. Overly self-conscious, he removed his waistcoat and folded it neatly before placing it on a rock.

Beorn watched expectantly. Bilbo flushed. He turned towards him, hands on hips and scowling fiercely. "It's not polite to stare."

He barely looked unperturbed. "Does my staring bother you, little rabbit? Forgive me; It is not everyday I get to see a transformation from a little rabbit to a... Ferocious dragon." As if in an afterthought, he added, "or are you a tiny dragon?"

"Tiny? I'll show you tiny," muttered Bilbo. Turning around and still grumbling under his breath, he removed his other layers and added them neatly into the pile. He tried to ignore the looming presence of Beorn behind.

"You may want to stand back," he warned. Without waiting for a reply, he closed his eyes, toes digging into the soil.

The Elven Magic thrummed beneath his skin's surface, the magic that pacified the dragon yearning to break free. In his mind's eye, he reached for that pull, the deep pull within his heart that ached for claws and wings and the freedom of the sky, and tugged.

The magic shifted; his skin rippled, a hum resonating through his bones. He felt them shift, elongating so rapidly it hurt. His skin hardened as tiny green scales pokes out of his skin and knitted together, forming an almost impenetrable armour. He could feel his jaws elongating into his snout, teeth sharpening into canines which he swiped his forked tongue over.

His folded wings, previously tightly pressed against his back and protruding ever so slightly like some discoloured, bumpy patch of birthmark, wrenched themselves free with a sickening rip. New skin stretched over his extra limbs, the pale pink darkening rapidly to a deep green and hardening as he stretched and flexed his cramped wings.

The fire in his belly reignited, the warmth a comforting heat he had not felt in years. His spine cracked into place as the last of his spikes jutted out from his hide.

Bilbo landed on all fours, the impact causing the ground to shake, his tail swishing behind him.

The plains fell silent.

Beorn looked a mix of impressed and mildly ill. "That was more gruesome than I thought it would be," he commented faintly.

Bilbo pulled his lips back in annoyance. The man was significantly shorter, maybe about the height of Bilbo's knee when the dragon was crouched down. Bilbo swivelled his head as he tried to get used to his widened and sharpened vision once again. He inhaled, savouring the smell of the fresh grass, the sweet waft of honey, the enticing scent of the wild sheep meandering at the other side of the hill and - eugh, the faint traces of orcs. He could hear the fluttering of the owls overhead, the soft rustling of the trees, the even tempo of Beorn's breaths. He tasted the air; it was cool but slightly humid, promising a night of cloudy skies with a high possibility of rain. A slight glow emitted from his underbelly, attributed by the fire all fire-drakes have.

Bilbo turned back to Beorn. "It's been far too long," he admitted, the 's' drawn out and snakelike. Rearing up, he sat on his haunches and surveyed his claws. Most were chipped and broken, yellowed and with dirt stuck underneath the nails. His scales were in an awful state as well - some were chipped or overlapping, making movement awkward and stiff. Worse still, some of his originally beautiful forest green scales had turned dull or were loose. Dismally, he pulled at one and it fell out with a 'chink'. He sighed.

Beorn tutted. "Been a long time since you've groomed yourself, haven't it?"

Bilbo snorted, embarrassed, and ducked his head. Grumbling intelligibly, he flexed his wings, careful to give it the good stretch it deserved. He was in a sorry state, as yes, his dragon's physical beauty had been the last thing on his mind for these few years. The elves had cautioned him against changing while he stayed in Hobbiton, so he only allowed himself a trip to Rivendell every five years or so to change back to his form. It was rather inconvenient, and he did not like to leave his home empty for the likes of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins to prey on, so as much as he loved his original form, he usually put it off whenever he could. (Plus, the elves were always cautioning him about humans and not flying too far or too high or too whatever and it was, honestly, rather stifling.) However, due to certain circumstances, it has been nearly a decade since he shifted and properly groomed himself. Apparently, ten years were more than enough time to accumulate such a negative outcome.

"Tiny?" He challenged.

Beorn threw his head back and laughed. "Nay, not at all. But you look a mess!"

The next two hours were spent on grooming: pulling out the bad scales and polishing the rest (Beorn assisted by giving them a rub down with special leaves), stretching his stiff limbs, scraping off whatever dirt he could, and cleaning his nails and canines. He bent down to inspect his soft underbelly, noting to himself that some of his scales looked darker than usual. It was probably the lighting, he thought.

When he was finally looking more presentable, he stretched out all the kinks in his neck and yawned, tongue lolling out.

Beorn had collected a pile of sticks in front of him while he had been sharpening his claws against a rock. He set down his bundle of twigs onto the already huge pile and dusted his hands. "Try setting this pile of sticks on fire," Beorn suggested.

Tail swishing lazily, Bilbo ambled over and scrutinised the pile of twigs. He inhaled deeply, gently coaxing the flames from within. A sliver of flames was breathed out onto the pile of twigs.

Fire crackled. The pile of twigs was soon merrily burning away.

He smiled triumphantly, feeling more empowered than he did for ages. Beorn and Bilbo watched the fire for a few moments in a comfortable silence, listening to the forest and the crackling sounds of the fire.

Bilbo stood up suddenly, flexing his wings. Wordlessly, he looked at the sky, then at Beorn.

Beorn nodded to him. "I'll wait here. The sky awaits." Bilbo dipped his head slightly to show his gratefulness. With a few massive strokes of his wings, the dragon launched himself into the air. Every fibre of his being sang, indescribably pleased to be back in the sky.

He glided with the wind; danced among the clouds, twisting and swooping; flew as high as he could, as close to the moon and stars as possible. He listened to the rustling trees and the singing wind, and the perfect blend of harmony which only nature could bring. The land stretched below him, far and wide. He could go anywhere he wanted to; could fly as high as he wished. The clouds were the perfect cover. There were no elves whispering in his mind to "watch out", there were no constraints. It was just him and the sky.

It had been a decade since he flew. But for the first time in more years than he could remember, he was free.

Bilbo stumbled through the garden, yawning. The moon was already halfway through its descent by the time Beorn had reached his house. He stretched his sore shoulders as he stifled another yawn. An hour of flying was enough to make his wings - and when he shed his skin, shoulders - ache with every movement.

"Thanks, Beorn," he murmured.

"It was my pleasure, little rabbit."

Bidding goodbye to the huge man, the hobbit slipped through the door, carefully tip-toeing across the snoring dwarves.

Unbeknownst to him, three pairs of eyes watched once more as he sank into his bedroll and into a deep slumber.

Bilbo was the last of the Company to wake up.

"Long night?" Bofur asked knowingly.

He grunted as he noisily stirred his tea.

Thorin raised his eyebrows. "Last night. You sneaked out."

Bilbo paused mid-sip and shot him a bewildered look. "Were you watching me?"

Thorin rolled his eyes. "It's hard to miss a person, no matter how quiet, sneaking out of the door, Master Burglar."

"Huh," he said non-committedly. He sipped his cup of tea.

"So where did you go, Master Burglar?" Thorin pressed, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.

"I was in the woods with Beorn." A sip. "We were talking." Bilbo busied himself with slathering a bread with a generous layer of honey, unbothered by the interrogation. "He was showing me some plants that only blossomed at night. Fascinating, really," he continued, looking up as he munched on his bread.

Thorin looked unimpressed.

Bilbo stretched towards the bowl of apples, wincing as his sore shoulders protested against the simple action.

"Strenuous, was it?" Nori winked. "The walk in the dark? Him showing you some flowers... And maybe something else of his?"

Kili burst into laughters. Thorin's look of disapproval was directed towards Nori.

Bilbo frowned in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, nothing," Nori smirked. Behind him, Kili made an obscene and suggestive gesture with both hands, laughing silently. The other dwarves chortled; Ori started blushing. Thorin's disapproving frown deepened.

Bilbo stared blankly at him before his mind clicked. Oh. Embarrassment crept up his cheeks. "What- no. No, no, ew! Nori!" He spluttered. "That did not happen! Nothing happened! It was just a hike, truly."

"What did not happen?" Nori had the gall to ask innocently.

Thorin snorted. "Enough. Nori, stop corrupting the young ones."

Nori's smile grew sharp. "Whatever you say, your highness."

"And Bilbo," the dwarven prince continued to a still-red hobbit, "I would prefer it if you stay with one dwarf at all times. Should our burglar get injured-"

Bilbo rolled his eyes and bit into his apple, effectively tuning out the rest of Thorin's predictable speech.

End of Chapter 16

Chapter Text

Chapter 17

Ori had woken up with the resolution to act perfectly normal around Bilbo. No sense in alarming the possible-dragon that Ori, the youngest dwarf of all, knew of his potentially dangerous secret. He had went for breakfast with a forced but determined smile to be Just Another Ignorant Dwarf. He thought it might even be easy to behave as such - all he had to do was act stupid.

Then Bilbo walked in, and his resolve dissolved.

The potential-dragon barely glanced at his direction after a nod of greeting, but Ori's wild imagination was providing him with images of Bilbo morphing into a dragon there and then and burning everyone into a crisp.

Was that not what dragons do? Pillage and kill and destroy - rinse and repeat?

Maybe it was all in his mind, but Bilbo seemed to have exceptionally sharp canines and long, lethal fingernail. His glances under his eyelashes looked more cunning than innocently cute, and was that a wicked smirk in the slight lopsided curve of his lips?

(Ori was sure the last observation was just a figment of his imagination. Or maybe not. He really could not discern the difference right now, not since he found out that the supposedly most innocent and harmful one in the Company could actually be the most dangerous and ruthless of them all. Such realisations were a shocker, to put it lightly.)

He hid his trembling hands under the table and tore his eyes away from Potential-Dragon. He still had not decide what to do.

He still could not look Bilbo in the eye without flinching.

What was he to do?

Nori knew something was up with the secretive way Ori was acting. His little brother was bad at keeping secrets, and even worse at concealing his emotions. But what could possibly be bothering Ori?

He cornered his brother right after breakfast. Ori found himself tugged to a corner of the room, back against the wall. "Speak," Nori demanded.

Ori tried a smile. "I'm fine, Nori! What's the matter?"

Nori pinned him with a glare.

Ori eyes slowly lowered. "I can't tell you."

Nori hid a wince. "You don't trust me," he stated flatly. He knew he was deemed untrustworthy by the other dwarves, but by his own little brother, whom he'll give anything for?

Ori's hands flew up into a gesture of denial. "It's not that! It's just, I don't know if I can say it. How to say it," he admitted.

The older dwarf relaxed minutely. He scrutinised every movement of Ori's. "What's it about? A clue, at least?"

Ori's eyes strayed towards the dining table, where their hobbit sat with a few others, eating.

"Bofur? Bifur? Thorin?" Nori guessed wildly. Ori shook his head. "Dwalin? Tell me, is Dwalin too pushy?" Nori leant forward, grasped Ori's shoulder and squeezed tightly. If Dwalin managed to do anything that bothered(?) his little brother, he would, he would…

Ori shrugged his hands away. "It's not Dwalin! Why would it be Dwalin?"

The snarling monster in his chest settled. No castrating Dwalin, then. He had thought that - it does not matter, he was merely glad he was proven wrong. "Never you mind. Who is it?"

Ori shrugged. "I can't say." Unconsciously, he glanced towards their hobbit again.

Nori narrowed his eyes at Ori. "Bilbo. It's our hobbit, isn't it?"

Ori's eyes widened and he pressed his lips together, refusing to answer, but not denying either. Nori leant back, satisfied.

"Care to share?" He asked carelessly.

"I can't, Nori! I don't know if I can and I don't want to accidentally implicate things, or, or..."

His brother blinked at his outburst. He was silent for a few seconds.

"Very well," he said slowly. "Don't tell me. It's not my secret to know. But," he paused, "if it's bothering you, tell someone, aye?"

Ori opened, then closed, his mouth.

"Agreed?"

"Who can I tell?" Ori asked glumly.

Nori shrugged. "We have a patient, wise, old dwarf with plenty of experience and cunning. He's more than willing to listen to the woes of any dwarf. Especially when it concerns our dear hobbit."

Ori's eyes brightened. He straightened, and nodded. Nori patted him on the back and got ready to leave when Ori stopped him. "Thanks, Nori. You're a great brother."

He smiled wryly. "I try."

Bilbo sat at his usual bench by the garden, puffing smoke rings in the air. His two legs, suspended in air, swung idly. From his peripheral vision, he saw Ori attempting to creep past him.

"Good morning, Ori," Bilbo said jovially, pipe in hand. "How are you?"

Ori flinched at his voice, eyes staring determinedly on the ground. "I'm... I'm fine, thanks for asking." His tone was wary and apprehensive, as if Bilbo would suddenly turn into a monster and devour him there and then, bones and all.

His brows furrowed. "Are you sure? You seem... Jumpy today." He reached out to Ori's shaking fists. The dwarf jerked away from Bilbo's grasp.

Bilbo froze.

"Aye, I'm fine," he insisted, taking a step back, head still ducked down. "Really. Thank... Thank you for the concern, Bilbo. I'm, I'm on my way to find Balin, that's all. Alone. Dwarven matters." He gulped.

Bilbo stared at Ori. "Okay," he said faintly.

Ori finally looked up. His gaze was one of a stranger's - hooded, fearful, and mistrusting. Never had he garnered such a gaze from anyone in his hobbit form, not even when he broke twenty of Lobellia Sackville's antique plates the first time he went to her house when he was thirty. Even the dwarves did not shoot him one of this intensity at the beginning of the journey.

Ori's gaze snapped away. "So... sorry," he gasped. Without further explanation, he turned and ran.

As Ori fled from him, he wondered what he had done to cause such fear from the dwarf.

Ori approached Balin nervously, clutching a book tightly to his chest. The room was empty; he had made sure that no one was about when he decided to approach the old advisor.

"Ori?" The other dwarf asked in concern, "how can I help you?"

This is the right choice, he told himself. Balin could keep a secret. Like what Nori had said, Balin was the oldest, the wisest, the most rationale - he would not hurt Bilbo unless the latter pose as a threat. He was very shrewd and would be able to tell if something was truly amiss with Bilbo.

Taking a shuddering breath, Ori calmed his jittering nerves.

"Balin," he said, voice wavering, "Can... Can I ask you something?"

"What is it, Ori?"

Ori took a step forward. "It's about Bilbo."

Balin's sharp gaze seemingly pierce through Ori's soul. "And?" he prodded.

Ori prayed that he was making the right decision. Without another word, Ori pressed the book into Balin's hands.

Bilbo leant back against the bench. Why was Ori avoiding him? Did he do anything wrong? He ran the list of events that happened through his mind, but he could not remember any actions or his that could have possibly frighten, offend or hurt the young dwarf. Was he missing something?

Maybe he was simply thinking too much?

Bilbo genuinely like Ori. He like teasing Ori, talking to Ori, discussing history and culture (even though most may not be the most accurate recount). Ori was his friend, and Bilbo would sorely like to remain as such.

Putting aside his worries about Ori, there were even more worries to thing about. How was he going to deal with Smaug? When the elves had asked, he had said with utter conviction that he would defeat him, but a plan was still needed. Weeks it had been, yet here he was still procrastinating coming up with a working, solid strategy!

Not only that, but the issue of missing dragonlings greatly vexed him. Worse still, he could not discuss this with anyone. Gandalf knew nothing, and he knew the grey wizard was already doing everything in his abilities to assist Bilbo, along with juggling his own set of problems: the Necromancer, the orgs, the White Council, and the horrendously stubborn Company. No, this was something he probably had to deal with alone - it was his family (extended), so it was his problem.

There was also the issue of the ring.

He blew smoke rings from his pipe, watching idly as they floated up and dispersed to the air. If only his worries could disappear like the smoke.

He sighed.

"Why the long face?" Bofur asked as he sat down next to Bilbo. He grimaced.

"No, nothing."

"Uh huh." A skeptical expression crossed Bofur's face.

Bilbo straightened. "Really. I'm fine, I'm really, really good. Fine morning, don't you think?" He commented abruptly, pointing to the sky.

The skeptical expression remained.

Bilbo let his arm drop and sighed. "I don't know," he said.

"Are you homesick again?" Bofur asked.

"No. No, I'm really not, Bofur, stop looking so skeptical."

Bofur grinned knowingly. "It must be something of a more... Amorous nature, then?"

Bilbo choked on his pipe. Of all his concerns, that was the least of it. All the way to the bottom. Chucked out of his mind. Why was Bofur even considering that to be part of his problems?

"I knew it," Bofur said sagely. "Now, tell Uncle Bofur your woes: who is this lucky lass? Or lad, if you swing that way," he amended.

His mind drew a blank. "Uh."

"Don't be shy," Bofur coaxed. "Is it someone back home? Or," he paused dramatically, "someone from our Company?"

Bilbo gaped.

"It is?" Bofur exclaimed. "Someone from our Company?" His voice rose an octave excitedly.

The reality of what Bofur just claimed hit Bilbo like a sack of rice. "What? What, no! Whatever gave you that idea?"

Bofur smirked. "It's our prince, isn't it. Thorin caught your eye."

He flushed. Maybe he did admire the dwarf from afar once or twice, but that did not mean he was enamoured with him! "It's not a statement, don't make it sound like the truth. Yavanna help me."

Bofur waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Bilbo laughed at the absurdity of the entire scenario, shaking his head.

The dwarf leant back, satisfied. "There. You laughed."

"That was what it's about? Making me laugh?" Bilbo exclaimed, chuckling even harder.

Nabbing his pipe, he took a puff. "You looked like you needed it. Plus, maybe I was really trying to find out the truth." Bofur winked.

The hobbit paused. He did feel better, the burden on his shoulder much lighter. He cracked a smile. "Oh. Thanks, Bofur."

Nori watched the exchange between Bofur and Bilbo closely.

He had always known something was off about Bilbo. It was something in his demeanour, something he tried very hard to conceal. For all his claims of being a hobbit with supposedly no experience in anything related to fighting or 'adventuring', his behaviour spoke otherwise. When fighting, his movements were too graceful, too smooth, and his footwork were confident. The others may peg that to training with the elves, but Nori knew better. That surety could only come from experience gained from real situations, not from the training grounds.

His gaze was sometimes heavy and older than he claimed to be, with something sharp hidden lurking underneath. The hobbit covered it very well with his bluster and laughter, but Nori had been dealing with liars and cheaters for longer than he could remember. He could spot a disguise, no matter how well-worn, when he sees one.

If Nori has to describe Bilbo, it would be: a wolf in layers upon layers of bunny fur.

He had seen Balin's reaction towards the hobbit as well, and it surprised him.

That was not saying that Bilbo was not to be trusted. Maybe he could, maybe he could not. Nori hoped that it was the former, as the hobbit has grown on him. He liked Bilbo, liked his spunk, especially towards the prince. There were dedication and an innate kindness in the hobbit that cannot be faked, as he had observed from Bilbo and Ori's interactions.

But even the kindest person would turn around and attack when their secrets and lives were at stake. Nori did not care what secrets Bilbo was hiding, as long as it does not compromise the dwarves. As long as he got the job done, the how was less important.

But if Bilbo hurt Ori, Nori would not hesitate to cut him down, friend or not.

Balin closed the book with a grave expression. He was silent for a few seconds, face more weary than Ori had ever seen. "Thank you for the information, Ori," he finally said. "Your worries have some truth in it, I'm afraid."

Ori's eyes widened. "Should we inform Thorin right away, then?"

"No. The prince is hot-headed. I believe the wizard knows of this as well. No, we shall keep this between us. Speak of this no more to anyone."

"Aye. What of Bilbo?"

Balin hesitated. "We observe, for now. I'll like to keep this book for a few days, if you don't mind?"

The scholar agreed without hesitation. "Balin," he said, "is Bilbo to be trusted?"

Balin's tired expression reflected his own. "I wish I can say yes, Ori, but I do not know."

"But the wizard trusts him."

"Sometimes what the wizard wants, for the good of the whole of Middle-Earth, is not what is favourable for us. Do you understand, Ori?"

He was quiet. "I do."

The remaining day passed fairly quickly. They woke up earlier the next day, brimming and bustling with energy. The Company is to resume its journey.

Perched atop a pony, Bilbo watched as they stacked more food into the ponies. Beorn hovered around, supervising the dwarves. "Remember: there is one stream in Mirkwood that I know of, black and strong which crosses the path. Never drink of, or bathe in it,for I have heard that it carries enchantment and a great drowsiness and forgetfulness. Never stray from the path."

Beorn looked around his compound. "Go now, when there is still light. There is no sign of your hunters; you should be safe, but do not tarry. I wish you all speed."

Thorin gripped Beorn's hand tightly. "Thank you," he said gruffly, "the dwarves of Erebor are in your debt."

Beorn snorted. "Take care of Bilbo."

Thorin nodded grimly and joined his Company, giving them some space to talk.

Bilbo stretched his sore shoulders, relishing in the pain. At night, Bilbo had grabbed the chance to practice his flying, dwarves be damned. They had caught him sneaking out and almost insisted on tagging along, but a growling Beorn and Gandalf's grumbling finally dissuaded them from that Terrible Suggestion. Bilbo was sure that Balin was eyeing him even more suspiciously after that, but he did not care.

"Thanks, Beorn," Bilbo said gratefully. "Thanks for everything." The tall man shrugged his shoulders as he hefted his axe over his shoulder.

"Anytime, little rabbit." Leaning forward, he whispered, "Are you sure you want to go with those dwarves?"

The hobbit nodded. "Signed a contract and all that."

He sighed. "Very well. Fair winds, Cousin. Tear that Smaug apart, alright?"

Bilbo gave a feral grin. "Oh, I will." Hand raised in a farewell, he nudged his pony forward to join the dwarves.

Then they were off.

The company rode rapidly across the land, slowing to a stop before a looming forest. The trees stretched upwards sinisterly, the trunks huge and gnarled, their branches twisted, their pine-coloured leaves dark and long. A slight mist wafted out from within; Ivy were draped all over the branches and trailed along the ground. The path in front of them was dark and almost hidden by fallen leaves. Gandalf dismounted and walked to the edge of the forest. He glanced at an ancient archway.

"The Elven Gate." Turning around, he called out, "Here lies our path through Mirkwood."

No sign of the orcs. We have luck on our side," Dwalin commented as he dismounted.

Bilbo squinted at the distance and saw Beorn-bear watching them from a distant ridge. He waved.

"Set the ponies loose. let them return to their master."

They dismounted, grabbing their supplies off the ponies before doing as Gandalf said.

Bilbo took a step towards the edge of the forest, almost beneath the great overhanging boughs of the trees. He had came here before when he was still a wee lad, when travelling with the Rivendell Elves. It was still called Greenwood then, and the forest then was brimming with life, the air clean and fresh. He took a tentative sniff. The overpowering pungent of rot and sickness hit him squarely. He choked, reeling, stomach churning. "This forest feels sick, as if a disease lies upon it. Is there no way around?" He asked.

Gandalf shook his head. "Not unless we go two hundred miles north, or twice that distance south."

Thorin shook his head. "We've tarried long enough at Beorn's. No, we go forth, through the forest."

Bilbo pursed his lips unhappily and shrugged.

Gandalf followed a path a few feet further into the shadows, towards a statue covered in moss and creeping plants.

In his mind, he heard chanting.

The chanting intensified as he took another step towards the statue.

One ring to rule them all,

One Ring to find them,

One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them.

In his pocket, Bilbo felt the ring, all wrapped in a handkerchief, vibrate. The handkerchief grew warmer.

Beware the Necromancer. He is not what he seems.

Gandalf leapt forward and ripped off the vines on the statue. On the old statue was the painted Eye of Sauron.

His heart sank.

They were letting all the ponies go when Gandalf stopped them with a shout. "Not my horse! I need it."

As Gandalf strode forward, the Company looked up and murmured in surprise.

Bilbo came up to stand next to him. "You're leaving."

"I would not do this unless I had to. The darkness that is stirring. We must know if our enemy has truly arrived."

"You're going to the High Fells?

Gandalf nodded. Turning to Thorin, he said, "I'll be waiting for you at the overlook, before the slopes of Erebor. Keep the map and the key safe, and do not enter that mountain without me." He paused and looked hard at the dwarves prince. Thorin stared back stoutly with a semi-defiant expression. The Grey Wizard sighed and moved on.

"This is not the greenwood of old. The very air in the forest is heavy with illusion. It will set to enter your mind and lead you astray."

Dori whispered to Dwalin, "What does that even mean?" Dwalin hushed him.

"You must stay on the path do not leave it. If you do, you will never find it again." The wizard nodded to Bilbo. "Take care of the dwarves for me."

As he rode gallantly away, hair whipping behind him, he shouted, "No matter what may come, stay on the path!"

The Company turned towards forest. "Come on. we must reach the mountain before the sun sets on Durin's Day," Thorin said.

"Durin's day," Dwalin echoed. "Let's go!"

They followed the paved path, with Thorin leading in front. The path twisted and turned sharply, through bare ground and high ledges, over fallen tree trunks and under tangled branches. The quiet was so deep that their feet seemed to thump along while all the trees leaned over them, watching and listening. With hardly any light streaming in, everything was washed in shades of grey and blue. The air was still and stuffy. Gloomy was an understatement.

Bilbo felt like everything was closing in on him and he was suffocating. He tampered down the urge to tear free and burn all the wrongness into ashes. The elves always told him that burning was not the solution to all his problems.

The more they walked, the more disorientated they were. But they pushed on. For days they stayed in the accursed forest, forging ahead even when the path ahead was dark ad barely visible, and they narrowly avoid being stabbed by sharp twigs in their path. They rationed their provisions carefully, but even then they were running out of food, fast. Bilbo mourned the times when he could have seven meals a day and feast like a king. They tried hunting for the black squirrels that ran around the forest.

Kili had the most luck in catching a few of those squirrels, but they tasted so putrid that no one wanted another bite. "I'll rather starve," Bomber had declared, along with a few nodding dwarves, after spitting out his first mouthful of squirrel meat. The black squirrels were left alone from then on.

The nights were the worst, when not even their fingers were visible to them. Bilbo would always make a small fire out of tinders, but the smoke produced was even more suffocating due to the stifling air, despite its warmth and light. Moths were also attracted to the light and would flock to their fire in tens and dozens. Finally, when everyone was coughing and flapping at the overgrown, black moths, Oin had had enough and placed a ban on setting a fire 'unless especially necessary'.

At certain pauses during the day, however, Bilbo could hear a few other pairs of footsteps alongside theirs, shadowing them, following them closely. Even at night, he saw the glint of eyes appearing and disappearing into the darkness, surveying them from afar.

Bilbo knew the Elven Guards were watching them, but he was starting to feel creeped out by their silent, stalker-tendencies. Could they not have simply announced their presence? Their constant, subtle presence was a niggling twinge on his instinct, like an itch on the back of his neck that he could not scratch. The dwarves noticed nothing, so he said nothing.

Sometimes, he caught sight of huge, dense cobwebs gleaming on the branches overhead. Spiders. He shuddered. Occasionally, bulbous yellow eyes would stare at him at night — he would hiss at them and they would fade back into the darkness. He hoped the spiders sensed the presence of another predator in the forest, and had the sense to back off.

They were at their wit's end when they finally came across a river, flowing fast and strong but narrow enough to be crossed. In the glom, the water appeared to be black.

"Water!"

"Thank Mahal."

"Wait!" Thorin's sharp voice cut through their excitement, halting them in their race towards the water source. "Beorn mentioned this before. Do not touch the water."

Reluctantly, they stepped away from the river edge.

"How are we going to cross this river?"

Fili pointed to a rotting, broken post near the bank. "There used to be a wooden bridge across it, but it's gone now."

Bilbo knelt on the brink and peered forward. In the distance, his eyes could make out a boat against the far bank. "There, there's a boat at the other end," he said.

"Sharp eyes," Nori noted appreciatively.

"How far away do you think it is?" Thorin asked.

Bilbo surveyed the river. "Maybe about twelve yards."

Kili nodded. "We can reach it with a grappling rope."

The pair of siblings worked together with Oin and Gloin to pull the boat across the river to their side of the bank.

"Who'll cross first?" Bofur asked. It was then decided by the Head Dwarf that Bilbo, Fili and Balin would cross with him, followed by Kili, Oin, and Gloin, with the dwarves taking turns doing the ferrying. The third trip would consist of Dori, Ori and Nori, then Bifur, Bomfur and Dwalin, with Bombur (ferried by Dwalin) being the last.

"I'm always the last and I don't like it," Bomber complained. "Let someone else be the last today."

"Well too bad," Bofur snorted, and left it at that. They crossed the river quickly, without much mishap. As Dwalin was scrambling out onto the far bank, hooves sounds were suddenly heard. Without warning, a stag shot out of a bush and towards the dwarves. Bowling them over, the stag readied itself for a leap. It sprang across the river, kicking Bombur in the process.

Thorin reacted quickly, fitting a bow swiftly and lifting it up to aim.

"Thorin, no!" Bilbo shouted. But it was too late. The arrow flew straight and true, embedding itself onto the side of the stag. The stag faltered as it landed on the other side of the bank, stumbling. The shadows swallowed it up, but they heard the sound of hooves falter to a stop.

Bilbo moaned in dismay. Stags and deer were the Elven King's favoured animals, and they may have just offended him in his own domain. Especially since the Elven King and the dwarves were on bad terms.

A shout of help pushed all political affairs of any sort to the back of Bilbo's mind.

"Bombur has fallen in!" Bofur shouted. Bombur flailed around, one leg in the dark water and one leg on the river bank, hands slipping off the slimy roots at the edge. Hastily, they flung a rope to him and pulled him off. Bomber's entire being was soaked by then. Worse still, the effects of the enchantment water had gotten to him — he fell asleep the moment they managed to pull him to safety.

"Half our supplies are gone," lamented Oin.

"What are we going to do now?"

Thorin looked up. It seemed as though it was already nearing evening, but it was hard to tell with all the gloom about. He sighed. "We set up camp here today. Tomorrow, we press on."

End of Chapter 17

Chapter Text

Chapter 18

Bilbo nestled deeper into his thin sleeping bag. The sharp edges of pebbles dug through the sleeping bag and into his back and he shifted uncomfortably. Finally, after what felt like hours, the sound of water slapping against the rocks lulled him into an uneasy sleep.

When he opened his eyes again, Smaug was looming down on him, sprawled over sea of gold artifacts that covered covered half the Great Hall. He blinked. How did he get here? Last time he checked, he was in a forest - somewhere.

"Bilbo," Smaug crooned, "how kind of you to join me."

He reached for a sword that was not there. "Why - how did I get here?"

"We came to a mutual understanding, once we realised our goal was the same: the gold." Smaug swept a claw over his majestic hoard.

A sickening feeling filled his heart. "I never said that. I don't want the gold."

"Don't want it?" Smaug drawled out slowly, dangerously.

"No."

"Don't want the riches, or the power? All the power in the world, Bilbo. All yours to take." Smaug uncoiled himself, the metal around him chinking.

The gold was alluring, Bilbo conceded. It glimmered, whispering sweet nothings to him and enticing him to bury himself in—

"No," he said instead, voice hollow.

Smaug fixed a single red eye on him. "You'll want it soon enough." It lunged, maws wide opened and spewing fire. Bilbo flung his hand up. He tensed, bracing himself for the inevitable pain. But the flames never reached him.

He lifted his head up in confusion. Both fire and dragon had vanished. Haunting, mocking laughter rumbled through the ground. The Great Hall was devoid of life, just the cold, glittering gold around him. The laughter died down to an echo; a slow, grinding noise took its place instead.

He looked up. Little pieces of the walls chipped off and crumbled into dust before it even hit the ground. The pillars groaned under the weight of the ceiling. The ground shook and cracked, splitting into two right at the middle.

Then everything was falling.

As Bilbo turned and ran, he could still hear the laughter echoing after him.

Then the landscape melted away and there were dark, murky shapes reaching towards him, twisting and twisting and engulfing everything in its way. And he was running, running and running and running away from those sinister hands, but his feet were stones and refused to move.

The darkness was gaining behind him. He pushed himself forward, but it was like wading through sludge. He stumbled and fell, scrambling backwards on his rear when his legs failed him. The long shadows were nipping at his feet, finally retracting when he was all but cornered.

Slowly, a figure emerged from the dark mess - first the outline of a hand crawling its way out of the darkness, followed by an entire shadow that detached itself from the darkness. It lifted its head in Bilbo's direction.

The figure was staring at him, a figure with one eye much like a cyclops. A red eye that throbbed. It extended one boney fist in his direction. The hand unclenched to reveal a golden ring.

"Take it. Take it."

Everything was dark except for its one glowing eye. It was entrancing. Unconsciously, his hand reached out slowly towards the golden ring. He could see a red eye, a single red eye and it was staring and staring and burning through him —

Bilbo jerked awake. He gasped, pulling himself upright. The dwarves barely stirred. The crashing of waves rolling over rocks filled the eerie silence that blanketed over the forest. Panting, he dragged the back of his hand across his sweat matted forehead. There was no evil red eye in sight, nor were there any shadow figures as far as he could tell. His hand went into the pocket in his waistcoat, and the tension drained out of his shoulders when his fingers brushed against the bundle of cloth still there. The ring was safe. Briefly considering wearing the ring and checking if he would spot anything different with the odd monochrome vision the ring provided, he dismissed it and withdrew his hand instead.

Exhaling slowly, he eased back down and forced his heartbeat to slow down. There was no cause of caution here, besides the forest playing with their minds again. It was just a nightmare, that was all.

Carrying Bombur slowed them down immensely. The dwarves grumbled the entire way as they took turns lugging the plus-sized dwarf on their backs. When he did finally wake up, confused and bewildered as to why his head was sporting more than a few bumps, a mighty cheer rose through the forest and the dwarves' burden was immediately lightened. Literally.

Their good spirits, however, did not last. A strange mist wafted around them, thick and strange-smelling and promising trouble. Everyone moved lethargically, their only motivation being Thorin's wrath if they even suggested taking a break. They trudged on and on, Bilbo noting the confusion on Dwalin's face and the muttered counsel between the dwarves few. Uneasiness rose through the ranks when it became apparent that they were lost.

Finally, when they circled back to a trunk Bilbo was sure they had walked past at least thrice, he decided that enough was enough.

"Thorin, let's stop. I'm going to climb a tree," he said, "and see if I can spot our location."

Thorin consented, and after a few considerations, Bilbo was scaling up a tree with ease. The climb seem to go forever before he reached the leaves. Pulling himself up, he broke through the foliage. He gasped.

For as far as he could see stretched the endless green forest, leaves of a multitude of shades. A kaleidoscope of luminescent blue butterflies danced in the air. He threw his head back and laughed, delight bubbling in his chest. The sky, the first clear sight of the sky he had in days, was streaked with hues of oranges and reds and pink, the colour of sunset intermingling with the original hues of blues.

The wind swirled through the leaves, and oh, how he missed the breeze in the stifling forest below. This was almost as good as flying. He breathed in deeply. Fresh, clean air filled his lungs as he inhaled deeply, his mind clearer than it had been for days.

"I can see a lake! And a river. And the Lonely Mountain. We're almost there!"

He almost did not want to go down to the muted, lying world below. But duty called and he must answer, so it was a reluctant Bilbo that finally scrambled down the tree. There was a grin on his face and his heart was much lighter than it had been before. They do not have far to go - a few more days of travel and they would be out of this cursed forest.

But instead of coming back to his Company of disgruntled dwarves, he was met with packs. Bags strewn all over the floor, without his dwarves. Floor with traces of web and fighting all over, with the heavy, musky, discernible scent of spiders.

He narrowed his eyes dangerously.

How dare they.

The spiders were not difficult to track.

They felt before they saw him; the intense pressure of the presence of a major, pissed-off predator that had come to play.

Eyes with slitted pupils unbidden with fury, canines bared in a silent snarl, fire dancing in one hand while the other held a dagger in its grip. They immediately tried to scuttle away, but it was too late. Oh, they were going to burn, forest be damned. The wrath of a dragon was a fearsome thing.

He bore them down mercilessly.

The spiders did not stand a chance.

BOFUR

When Bofur opened his eyes, the first thing that hit him was the smell of fried flesh, damp wood on fire, and basically fried things and smokes and things on fire. There was the underlining stench of rotting carcasses as well, and a slight buzz of background noise. That was, of course, a cause of concern, but it was not a major one. Not yet, in light of what he was facing. Or "in dark", since he could not see very well in the almost non-existent light.

The second thing he realised not long after regaining conscious was that he could not move his limbs, even though he was lying on his back.

Now, that — that was definitely a major cause of concern. Also, he did not know where his other friends were, but that was no problem - he would simply have to find them somehow. After he worked himself free.

He was wrapped in some form of sticky web, wrapped so tightly that he almost could not breathe. He could not even turn his head, goodness. Whenever trapped him here didn't seem to have the time to finish their job - he was still lying on the ground, as if forgotten. There was also another wriggling white form above him, right in his line of view. It was tied firmly to a tree branch. Whoever or whatever it was, it seemed as stuck as he was, although at least he was not tied to a branch, thank Mahal.

He struggled and squirmed and generally felt like a gigantic caterpillar in a cocoon. The difference was that an average caterpillar wants to be in a cocoon, while he? He did not. It was never on his list of Things Bofur Wants To Experience Before He Kicks It. Never had been, never would be. But alas, sometimes you get things you never asked for and certainly didn't want, but that was how life rolled, and he just sort of learnt to roll with it.

With this new epiphany, Bofur decided that he should fully embrace his inner caterpillar-in-a-cocoon (what was the right word? Pupae?) self. To do that, he mused, he could roll. Roll away as far as he could from this Dangerous Yet Unknown Area.

So he did. Maybe doing so would get him away from whatever was holding him captive. Which was probably a spider, since Bofur had brains and he could put two and two together.

The creepy giant-ass thing that attacked had eight legs. Eight legs plus webs meant creepy giant-ass spiders that attacked peaceful passer-by without warning. Rude. Creepy, giant-ass, rude, and hungry spiders, if those watery gooey thing that felt like saliva on his face was any indication.

Ugh, spider-drool. Also not on his list of Bofur Things. While he was processing all these, Bofur was still rolling away, channeling his inner caterpillar-cocoon-pupae very nicely, and attempting to work his way out of this white, suppressive prison. He did not know where his jailers were, but their lack of presence was very convenient and he was not about to speculate or question this stroke of dumb, well-needed and well-appreciated luck. Thank you, Mahal. Thank you, amad, for making him pray and worship to Mahal when he was a wee kid.

He thought he had it all under control.

Then, the third thing hit him. Was that shrill noises - those slight background buzzing noises - he heard the screams of spiders(i)? Also, who was the one laughing manically among all that?

STILL BOFUR

Bofur finally managed to tear himself free from the mess after another stroke of dumb luck blessed him and some twigs and branches snagged his cocoon. Not long after, he had wiggled enough to have some space in his cocoon. His hands could finally reach the emergency knife strapped on his thigh, and after much struggling, he tore through the spiderwebs and - yes! He was free!

With some difficulty, he climbed ip the tree to the dwarf-sized white mess hanging above ground. It wiggled a little, soft furious curses emitting from its inside. Without hesitation, he ripped through the webs with his trusty emergency knife. Oin's furious red face instantly morphed into a relieved expression.

"Bofur!"

They exchanged boisterous greetings as he freed Oin. While Oin struggled to rid himself of the remnants of the webs, Bofur decided that he should scout ahead first.

Armed with nothing but his wits and his trusty emergency knife, Bofur ventured apprehensively towards the screaming and hysterical laughter, resolved to find his companions and brutally maim, if not kill, anything in his way.

What he did not expect to find was Bilbo. Bilbo, bathed in blood that Bofur fervently hoped was neither his nor any dwarves', with a dagger in hand and fire in another, with a cowering, screaming spider at his feet.

Sweet Bilbo, who was still smiling sweetly as he pressed his ball of flames onto the incapacitated spider and watching it convulse and shudder and scream shrilly.

Kind Bilbo, who was currently not very kind as he laughed and plunged his dagger into one of the spider's eyes - not deep enough to kill, just enough to inflict pain. The spider's legs were bent in odd angles under it, and it died a slow, cruel death, its yellow bulbous eyes blown wide and darting everywhere as its body gave minute jerks of pain. The spider gave one last shudder before it fell still.

His breath hitched. O Sweet Merciful Mahal, what was he witnessing?

Bofur tried to stop himself, he really did, but the sight was so, so disturbing and on so many levels of wrong. The smell of overcooked spider husk did nothing to help him. He turned around and heaved and retched.

Bilbo did not even notice him. Bofur noticed that, wow, there was already an impressive and yet still growing pile of spider carcasses of varying degrees of causes of death. He never knew Bilbo had it in him. This was a side of his friend he wished he never stumbled upon.

Another spider launched itself out of the forest and onto Bilbo, hissing wildly. Bilbo almost looked bored as he side-stepped, then cleanly slashed off one of its hind legs. The spider stumbled, head-down, and momentum caused it to flip, landing on its back. Bilbo wasted no time at all in incapacitating another two legs before setting it on fire. The licks of flame spread slowly, very slowly - almost unnaturally slowly. The spider was kicking and trying get up but with no avail. It squirmed and twisted, the spider's legs flailing wildly in midair.

Okay, Bofur thought, now Bilbo's going to end the poor creature's sorry existence quickly and move on.

But the hobbit did no such thing. Instead, still giggling and coated with that layer of vile spider blood, he sat on his haunches and watched, with a wide-stretched smile that looked quite mad, really, as the spider struggled and bled and shrivelled as it was burnt alive.

Bofur was convinced his Bilbo was possessed. For how could his sweet, kind, friend behave in such a cruel and sadistic manner?

Oh, he could stand it no more.

"Bilbo," Bofur said. There was no response. "Bilbo!" He repeated more sharply. This time, his friend's head jerked up and unfocused eyes met his.

Unfocused eyes glazed with bloodlust and madness and the desire to hurt and protect, with pointy teeth bared. Bofur ached at the sight. "Bilbo! Stop it this instant!"

When the hobbit did not reply, Bofur ended the spider's misery with a well-aimed flick of his knife. After the sizzling died out and the forest was silent once more, the cloudy look in Bilbo's eyes lessened. "Bofur?" He asked hazily.

Bofur grinned forcefully. "Hello, Bilbo. Come on, lad, stop this. You're scaring me."

Bilbo's stare was still blank. Bofur barely took a step towards the hobbit when the bushes shifted a little behind Bilbo. Even faster than he could track, Bilbo threw one dagger through the bushes, already armed with one more.

There was a startled 'eep' and more cursing before Oin's head warily peeked out from the bushes. His eyes widened. "Wha-"

Bilbo blinked. "Oin?" He shook his head, as of waking from a trance. "I don't-" oh, how Bofur was glad to see that spark of intelligence once more. The feral look was gone. "I don't understand?" Bilbo looked down on his sticky, blood-matted self, to Bofur's shaky smile, to the piles of still spiders around them, then back to the blood-soaked dagger in his hand.

The dagger clattered to the ground.

"What have I done?" Bilbo whispered.

Bofur tried to smile cheerfully, he really did, but it ended up looking more like a grimace. "Don't worry about it, Bilbo lad! You go what you gotta do - just with, with a lot more enthusiasm than one would expect from you, eh?"

Bilbo barely reacted and instead turned towards the other dwarf. "Oin, did I hurt you? Tell me, did I hurt you?" Bilbo asked, urgently and desperately.

Oin tried for a reassuring grin even as he shifted a half step away. "Nay, hobbit you did not. Dagger din even scrape me. But good reflexes, you've got." He clapped Bilbo on the shoulder, then grimaced once more when his hand came back sticky and red. "Fret not, lad. C'mon, let's find the others first, aye?"

Bilbo let them lead the way.

Bilbo was not sure what exactly transpired. He was furious at the spiders and he wanted to make them pay. He knew he had the urge to protect, to ruin those who dared hurt the ones under his protection, to hurt those creatures and make them suffer. Then the desire clouded his vision and throbbed and he needed to hear them scream, needed them to acknowledge him as the superior one, needed to watch them bleed and beg and die. He was their predator, he was the most powerful one among them, and they would regret not respecting that.

The next thing he knew, Bofur was standing before him, an ill expression on his face, and he had almost injured Oin. The scent of blood and burnt carcasses was pungent and heavy in the air, and he was covered in blood. He was dripping in blood - the blood of his prey.

He felt revolted. What had he done?

Bofur was scared (for him? of him? Of what he could do? Of what he witnessed? Bilbo did not know.) and unsettled, even though he tried to hide it behind his smiles and general cheer. Oin - Oin was definitely afraid of him, he could smell the fear off him. Then again, he had tried to kill him, although purely by accident.

He had no idea how he lost control. It had never happened before. This bloodlust, this mad desire to destroy, this hunger for power and acknowledgement - what was he thinking?

He truly did not know. All he hoped was that it never happened again.

BOFUR AGAIN

He was shocked and aghast, Bofur was. But maybe Bilbo was merely driven by fear and bloodlust and it went to his head. Regardless, Bofur would stand by him, because Bilbo had proven himself as trustworthy. Indeed, was this not a prove that Bilbo cared, albeit a more bloody one?

If it was truly Bilbo being possessed, or some form of mind-sickness that had overtaken Bilbo without anyone noticing, Bofur would do his best to help Bilbo fight it. No way was his friend going to struggle alone.

But if it was merely Bilbo being Bilbo, Bofur was fine with that as well. (Maybe - not really. He would have a chat with the lad to make sure everything was fine. Then maybe he would try to make the lad more merciful and less - bloodthirsty, but he was not going to shun the lad. Nope, Bilbo was stuck with him, like it or not.)

He knew that Bilbo was hiding things from the Company. It was obvious in his shifty glances and the hushed, quiet conversations he had with the wizard. Bilbo claimed that fire-control was a Hobbit Thing, but he really doubted the flickers of flames that danced docilely in his palms to be a natural hobbit thing. Weren't hobbits all about earth and plants? Maybe it was a presumption, but were fire and earth not a wee bit contradicting?

Whatever it was, he believed Bilbo had his reasons to keep his secrets as, ah, secrets. If the wizard knew of the secrets but did not feel inclined to enlighten the rest of the dwarves - well, it must be really personal, or not pertaining to the quest, or both, or something.

The wizard trusts Bilbo. He trusts the wizard. So he trusts Bilbo. (Plus Bilbo never did anything to betray his trust thus far.)

Bilbo seemed more high-strung lately, and he wished his friend would tell him whatever was bothering him. Bofur did not pry though, for his secrets were his to keep and his to share as he deemed fit. As long as it was not detrimental to the quest or to the Company. (Then again, if it was kept as a secret, it was not like Bofur would know if it was harmful until it was too late.)

Even if Bilbo was secretly a ninja from a hidden village, or a fire-breathing purple dinosaur, it did not matter to him. All it mattered was that Bilbo was his friend, and Bilbo would not hurt Bofur. He was sure of it. (The day that happened - well, something must really be terribly wrong.)

Till then, Bofur would return the favour and place his trust in him.

They found the other dwarves nearby. Bofur saw one or two carcasses nearby; it seemed they had managed to take down a few of their enemies and cut themselves free. Those who managed to set themselves free were was working the others out of their own webs. Many were still brushing off the remnants of the webs or searching for their friends. Dwalin seemed to be the one in charge, knife in hand as he cut Ori loose while barking orders to the other dwarves. The other spiders had mysteriously, or not-mysteriously, vanished from sight.

The dwarves belted a warm and delighted welcome when they saw them. There were Dwalin, Bombur, Bifur, Gloin, Dori, and Ori. The royal family were nowhere in sight.

"We thought you were goners!" Gloin had the gall to exclaim.

When they caught a sight of Bilbo, they did a collective double-take that would had been funny had Bilbo not been so shaken. Dwalin had shook his head in awe and clasped his shoulder in approval. "You fight bravely, little wolf. It is not unusual to be caught in the heat of the moment. We'll make a warrior out of you yet!"

If anyone noticed the uneasiness mirrored on both Bofur and Oin's faces, they said nothing.

The Company waited a bit more as they retrieved their weapons, but mutterings began to broke out when no Thorin made a dramatic and glorious entrance with the remaining dwarves trailing after him.

"Are they not coming?"

"Maybe they need our help!"

"But-"

"Afraid? You call yourself a warrior, Dori?"

"No, but perchance it is a safer bet to remain together—"

"Oh, perchance it would have been safer had you remained at Blue Mountains, you incompetent fool. By Durin's beard, we're all doomed."

"Enough!" Dwalin bellowed. He glowered at everyone until they fell silent. "We will search for the rest of our Company. Split into two groups." He glared some more when none reacted. "What are yer lazy fellas waiting for? Get moving!"

He barked out something that, judging by the expressions of some, was a sharp retort in Khuzdul. Dwalin herded Ori, Bombur and Bifur together and declared all four of them to be a team. Naturally, the other three grouped together. Their backs were stiff and their expressions were grim but determined as they appraised the forest.

Dwalin turned to face Bilbo awkwardly. "Now, hobbit…"

He gave a reassuring smile. "I'll stay here with Bofur, just in case-" He paused mid-sentence. Tensing, his head snapped toward the forest. His hand flew up, halting them. Dwalin already had his axe halfway drawn out of its strap.

He pressed an index finger onto his lips. Narrowed eyes were trained at the trees, at nothing the dwarves could see, but still they obeyed. Bilbo's lips twisted into a taunting smile.

Slowly, mockingly, his voice slid through the silence. "I know you're there, elves. Don't you know it's rude to spy?"

He had barely finished his sentence when the first elf appeared. Before Dwalin could fully draw out his axe, he felt a cold, sharp tip pressed against his neck.

"Move even an inch and you'll find this arrow through your throat," a soft voice hissed venomously. Wisely, Dwalin did not move. They were surrounded by twice as many elves as they were, arrows pointing directly in their faces. Their expressions were cold and stony.

Bilbo eyes widened as he stared up a very familiar dark ochre bow. Its owner had sharp, aristocratic features and blond hair that reached mid-back.

"State your name and your business," he said flatly.

Bilbo stared some more. "Legolas? Is that you?" he asked incredulously.

"How do you know me?" was the terse response. Bilbo stifled a laugh.

"Don't you recognise me? I know I've changed my appearance, but really, don't you recognise me at all?" He said, the melodic elven language flowing from his lips.

Legolas eyes widened. His stance shifted and immediately, his bow relaxed.

"Cyadhon? I thought - oh, it's been years!" Laughing, his arrow disappeared and the bow was slung onto his back. "Apologies for the rude welcome, friend. I did not recognise you." A sharp command, and the elves around dwarves mirrored their prince's actions, although their faces were pinched and wary. In the background, he heard Dwalin grumble, "does he know every single tree-hugger we meet?"

Legolas sat on his heels and squinted at him. "What in the world is that form you're wearing?"

Bilbo snorted. Need Legolas sound so disbelieving? "It's a hobbit. Long story." He wrinkled his nose. "Really, are hobbits so bad? Also, before you ask, yes the dwarves are with me."

"No, no, of course not," he demurred politely, although Bilbo could see the hint of a smile toying at the corner of his lip. All humour fled his face when he studied the dwarves at the corner of his eyes. "Then that means those dwarves we captured, they are with you as well."

Bilbo grimaced. "Ah. Captured? That's - ah, that's bad. Can you take me to your father, friend? I'll tell you while we get there."

As they hiked towards the Elves' Kingdom, Bilbo walked with the Elven Prince at the back as the rest of the dwarves marched on in front, under the supervision of the rest of the unhappy elves.

"You were watching us for days?" He pouted, faux-petulantly. "You could have helped with the spiders."

Legolas snorted. "You didn't seem to need our help. And," he smirked as he mimed clumsily dropping an axe, "it was entertaining to see the short, loud dwarves bumbling and fumbling around like fools."

Bilbo cleared his throat meaningfully. The elf straightened and hastily added, "except you, of course."

Their conversation lapsed as Legolas darted under a particularly low tree branch. Bilbo had no such problems.

"Tell me, how's Elladan and Elrohir? And little Ryadher, she's still following them around like a lost puppy?"

He gave a low chuckle. "Elladan and Elrohir are busy as usual, with the Dúnedain and the Rangers of the North. Ryad's all grown up, she's a scout now. She's, ah, planning to follow their footsteps."

Legolas hummed. "It's been almost a few decades since I've been to Rivendell."

"Far too long since we've met. We miss you, too."

"And I to you." The elf hesitated. "Things been tough at Mirkwood. Darkness - and the spiders, they're growing bolder, multiplying. They're bidding their time, but we know not what. Ada has been more paranoid than usual." His stare was piercing. "He has never liked you, and I know the feeling's mutual, but now... When you do speak to him, tread very carefully, Bilbo."

End of Chapter 18

Chapter Text

Chapter 19

They crossed the bridge across a swift and dark river to the doors of Woodland Realm, entrance half-hidden in a cave. Part of the kingdom was underground and built out of tree roots. At the far end were the stone gates, towering to the height of the tallest trees and intricately carved with depictions of stags, elves and twisting trees.

They were marched through the raised wooden walkways until they came upon the closed doors to the Thranduil's Hall. The elves stripped them of their weapons, even those hidden. Dori grumbled when they found those in his boots.

Finally, the doors to the Great Hall swung wide. Pillars hewn out of living stone supported the tall ceilings of the Great Hall. King Thranduil sat on a chair of carven wood polished to a light brown, with expansive antlers adorning the his head was a crown of berries and red leaves. In one hand held a staff of wood, his other arm carelessly slung over the armrest of his throne. his expression was cold and aloof, posture slouched diagonally across the chair and legs crossed confidently.

Those familiar with the ways of the Elven King could spot the almost imperceptible straightening of his posture the moment Bilbo stepped into the throne room. His voice, cold and hostile, cut through the air. "Why are you here? My kingdom do not welcome your kind, lócë."

Bilbo stiffened. "What are you talking about?" Dwalin demanded.

King Thranduil's eyes narrowed. He surveyed them for a moment before relaxing back into a slouch with an amused smirk.

"They know not, do they?" His expression flickered into one of vindictive glee before it morphed back into a facade of boredom. "No matter. I will deal with you later." He directed his piercing gaze towards the dwarves. "Dwarves, state your purpose." He said, pronouncing dwarves as one would to scum. There were dissent, but Dwalin silenced them with a raised hand and stepped forward.

"We heard King Thorin has joined your halls. Where is he?" Dwalin said.

Thranduil smirked. "With the Prince, are you? State your purpose to coming to my kingdom, dwarves, and my elves shall bring you to your Prince."

"How do we know you're not lying?" Dwalin said suspiciously.

He lounged on his throne. "In his possession was a rather unique weapon, don't you think? One of Elven make?" From behind his throne, he pulled out a familiar silver sword with a jewelled helm: Orcrist.

Gloin gave a shout and had to be held back by other dwarves. Dwalin remained stout. "What did you do to him?"

Thranduil caressed the sheath of the sword. "Such a beautiful sword, made by the Elven smiths of old."

"What did you do to him?" Dwalin repeated.

His eyes flashed. "I missed not the rude behaviour of dwarves," he said. "I gave him food and water, and offered him resources and assistance if he told me his true purpose for being here." He passed the sword back to the guards and rested his elbow on the armrest of his throne. "He spat on my kindness. But I shall extend the same offer to you." He leant forward. "Tell me your purpose, and I'll consider letting you go."

Dwalin's jaw was set. "If my king deigned telling you why we are here, then you will hear not a word of it from us."

"You choose to be difficult? Very well," he sighed, faux-disappointedly. Lazily, he waved his hand towards the dwarves. "Throw them into the dungeons with the rest of their motley crew."

The dwarves shouted and reached for weapons that were not there. The elves closed in on them, movement fluid and rapid. Bilbo tensed, expecting hands to reach out to him, but they bypassed him completely. They pushed past him until Bilbo was standing a few feet forward, in the middle of the throne room, while the rest of the dwarves were herded towards the door.

They stared at each other in shock for a few seconds, the elves between them, before the dwarves began shoving against their captors, shouting with increasing volume.

"Why are we being thrown into the dungeons? We did nothing!"

"Why are you separating us from Bilbo!"

Don't you do anything to him!"

"What do you want from our hobbit?"

"It is not of your concern, dwarves," came the King's silky voice as the elves herded them away. "You should worry about your own fates instead."

Bilbo casted one last look at the dwarves, yearning to go with them instead of dealing with the king. Bofur was furiously arguing with the elves as he was tugged along. With a last push, the last dwarf was dragged out of the throne room and the great doors slammed shut.

The air turned colder. "Declare yourself, lócë."

Bilbo schooled his expression to one of neutrality. He bowed stiffly, tapping on almost-forgotten lessons on Elven formality. "Âr-Thranduil. I'm Cyadhon of the Vilyahíni; Elf-friend and Lord Elrond's Ward. Currently known as Bilbo Baggins, hobbit from the Shire." The Elvenking stared him down like a predator to a mouse. Bilbo resisted the urge to fidget, figurative hackles raised.

Danger, a part of him whispered. Run. Destroy. Run. Destroy. Ru-

Stay calm, he berated himself.

"You." Thranduil rose fluidly from his throne, silver clothes rustling as he glided towards the hobbit. Slowly, he circled the hobbit. Bilbo twitched every time the elf disappeared from his peripheral view, resisting the urge to turn and face the elf.

"I tolerated your presence last time, when Lord Elrond assured me you would bring no harm, and that he would be fully responsible for your actions. But now, you came without him, instead bringing dwarves in tow and disrupting the peace in my kingdom."

The periodic muffled thumps of his staff against the wooden floor were the only sounds in the throne room. Goosebumps crawled up Bilbo's skin as the king stepped closer to him, eyes like glaciers. His skin itched. Threat, the voice in his mind growled. Destroy? It said hopefully.

Shut up, he told it as he stared back into the cold eyes of the king.

The elf stopped when he was a step away, and leant forward. His face was unnaturally smooth and symmetric. Hand caressing the hilt of his sword, he purred, "Tell me, what are you doing here, Child of Wyrm? Why shouldn't I just kill you on the spot right here and save myself the trouble in the future?"

Bilbo stiffened, expression stoic. He smelt danger, like the thin wisps of smoke in the air. King Thranduil was danger he could not predict or fight. His hands itched and burnt, but he resisted the temptation to look at them.

The Elvenking paused. He wrinkled his nose slightly and his eyes darted downwards. Instantly, he took a step back, almost in a stumble. His eyes widened before his expression turned cold. The thrum of nocked bows rippled through the air.

Bilbo's mouth went dry. He could see the glint on the tip of the arrows. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. Thranduil made to speak again, but Bilbo beat him to it, speaking rapidly. "The elves have pledged assistance to those of the Dragonkin. I'm, ah, also under the care and protection of Lord Elrond himself." He swallowed dryly, sounding more confident than he felt. "You can't kill me."

He sensed, more than see, the arrows aimed at him. Sweat matted his hair and his hands felt even hotter than before. His palms itched with the sensation of rocks poking out of his skin.

Thranduil took a few paces back. Elven Guards, usually hidden, stepped out from the shadows. He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword strapped at his waist as he appraised the hobbit warily. "I will be merely ridding the world of another wayward dragon. Lord Elrond is a fool for taking you in." He sneered. "Does he know of your lapses in control?"

"I've never lost control before!" Bilbo spat out. His nerves hummed, high-strung and fragile like a spider's web.

The Elvenking's laughter was high and mocking. "Then, hobbit, explain the state of your hands. Or... Is it a deliberate confrontational attempt on the life of the Elvenking?"

Bilbo froze.

His skin itched. His palms burnt. He did not want to look at his hands. He had to look at his hands.

He lifted his hands up.

The fear in his stomach curdled. His fingers were claws, with talons and almost black. They were covered with defined, dark green scales. The scales ran down his fingers until the knuckles, where they melded with his skin into a rough texture, similar to calluses. The back of his hands were darker than pine, and hardened. Patched of small scales poked out from beneath his skin. They speckled up his forearms, becoming more sparse and ending at his elbows.

Coiled between his fingers were wisps of flames, blue and almost invisible.

"I... This..."

"Have never happened before?" Thranduil's lips twisted into an ugly smile. "How convenient it happened in my court, lócë."

The flames extinguished the moment he noticed them. The scales faded off as well, some simply falling off while others melted back into his skin until his arms returned to its unblemished state it once was. He held up his very hobbit, very fleshy hands non-threateningly.

"It has never happened before. I deeply apologise for the unintended offence."

"You fool no one." Thranduil turned away. "I may not be able to do anything you yet, but I will not let your kind bring any more harm to my kingdom." He strode towards his throne, passing his staff to one of the guards. "Throw him into the deepest dungeons, far away from the rest of the dwarves."

"Wait!" He cried. "I came to give word. Gandalf sent me." Everything came rushing out, as quick as he could before Thranduil decided to silence him once and for all. "Something dark is stirring, far in the North. Gandalf fears that the darkness will spread. It will spread, all the way to Erebor, to Smaug. When the dragon awakes - it will be the end of Mirkwood and the other kingdoms around."

Thranduil halted.

"It is spreading, fast. Gandalf had to leave mid-journey. Radagast the Brown reported the spread of the poison within the forest. Spiders, dark creatures - are they not the same thing that Mirkwood has been experiencing? It will only get worse!"

"We have been experiencing spiders for the past decade. It is nothing new."

"And," Bilbo said, "orcs. Azog the White has reappeared. They were —"

There was a blur of movement before he finished his sentence. He felt a sharp prick at his neck. Bilbo stared up the tip of a sword, into the eyes of a furious Elven King.

"— chasing us."

"You brought orcs to my kingdom." His voice was dangerous, low.

"N-no! We lost them before we even reached Beorn's lodge—"

The cold pressure at his neck increased ever so slightly. A bead of blood formed. He gulped. "They aren't chasing us anymore."

Thranduil stared suspiciously into his eyes for a moment. In a fluid movement, his sword was sheathed as through he had not threatened to run it through Bilbo just seconds ago.

"It is still not of our concern. My concern is of my people."

"It will concern you, when your kingdom's burning down and you lose everything you love!" He shouted. Instantly, the guards drew their swords. Bilbo exhaled slowly, anger dissociating. He held his hands up in an exaggerated manner. "Look. Hobbit hands. Still in control."

Thranduil remained unfazed. "You will do well to remember that this is not Lord Elrond' court, lócë," he said coldly. "I do not tolerate such insolence."

"Vilyahína, King Thranduil," he snapped, "I am one of the Vilyahíni. We hate being addressed as a lócë, you know that."

The King's very demeanour was challenging as he towered over the hobbit. "You are a lócë, a serpent, a wyrm. All your kind do is destroy and burn, bringing death and calamity wherever you walk."

Bilbo swallowed and looked away. Thranduil took it as a sign to continue his speech.

"Lose everything I love, you say? You know nothing." Thranduil tilted his head sideways, tucking his long fringe behind his left ear. Right before Bilbo's eyes, the porcelain appearance of the left side of his face crumbled and dissolved.

Bilbo flinched.

The skin stretching across Thranduil's left half was red and angry. Ridges marred his complexion, small chunks of flesh missing. His hairline and eyebrow was burnt off, eye cloudy.

"Do you think I know nothing of loss?" He said quietly as he leant forward. The other half of his face, still smooth and perfect, was icy. "I risked everything once. I will not risk it again." Satisfied at the hobbit's reaction, he pulled back, features once more rearranging into perfection

"Unless..." He drawled out.

Bilbo caught on quickly. "You want something in return."

He spread his arms wide. "Such is only fair, for the risk I am taking. What am I to gain, then?"

Bilbo's shoulders dropping minutely in resignation. Power, treasure, a trade for a trade — this, he knew. "Very well. What have you?"

He smirked like a cat who had caught its prey. "A share of the treasure," he said.

Bilbo blinked. "What?"

"There are gems in the mountain that I desire. White gems of pure starlight," he said calmly, even steps clicking on the polished ground, cloak swishing behind him. "Centuries ago, I entrusted King Thror to make my Queen a necklace of my design. I provided all the materials - the finest raw gold, silver and the White Gems of Lasgalen — " at this, Bilbo's eyes widened. "— but it was never returned to me." Thranduil narrowed his eyes. "It is finished, somewhere in the mountain. I offer my help, if they but return what is mine."

"Middle Earth is in jeopardy and you worry over a few gems?"

Thranduil's glare could have frozen over a volcano. Stiffly, he said, "the dwarves broke a deal, then blame my people for it. We will not tolerate any more slandering while they hoard our treasures."

Bilbo's mind whirled. The white Gems of Lasgalen were famous even in Hobbiton. Famed for its beauty and value, he was not surprised that Thranduil would hold a grudge against the dwarves if it was not returned to them. To the elves, it was thievery. Finally, he huffed. "Alright, I'll see what I can do. Let me negotiate with Thorin."

He inclined his head gracefully as Bilbo was escorted out. "You have a day, Vilyahína." He smirked. "I wish you all the best."

The doors slammed shut.

Bilbo, flanked by two elves on each side, strode through the narrow and winding halls. Underground, the only light was the soft glows of enchanted lamps bordering the corridors. He tilted his head slightly, ears twitching. He halted. Without turning around, he said, "I know you're behind me, Prince Legolas. Why don't you join me proper?"

The Prince detached himself from the shadows at his right instead. "Not so sharp this time, Vilyahína," he teased.

Bilbo wrinkled his nose in disappointment. "Eh, close enough."

Legolas fell into step next to the hobbit, seamlessly replacing one of his guards. "I told you to be more careful, Cyadhon."

"Wasn't I polite enough? I was polite!"

He snorted softly. "Yet you were manipulated into an situation out of your control."

Bilbo shrugged. "It could have gone worse."

Legolas hummed noncommittally. "Your temper seems a bit… frayed, lately. In the Throne Room—"

The hobbit quickened his pace, pretending not to have heard.

"Hey — Cyadhon!" he grabbed Bilbo's wrist, halting him entirely in his tracks. All traces of good humour was wiped clean from his expression. "Don't try to evade this. That lost of control, what was it about?"

Bilbo tugged at his wrist half-heartedly. The grip around his hand tightened. "I don't know, it just happened."

"It has never happened before," Legolas pressed. "How could it have happened now?"

Bilbo yanked his arm away angrily. "I don't know, alright?" he said as he cradled his arm. "Maybe that's because your ada is—"

"Watch your words," he warned, eyes darkening. "He's still my ada."

"I don't know, truly. I'm terribly sorry, Legolas, I don't know what has come across me lately." He wiped a hand across his face, fatigue heavy in his actions. "I'm just so tired and angry, and that was a mistake. Coming here was a mistake." Accepting the ring was a mistake. "I didn't mean to. Can you drop it now?"

Legolas studied him for a few seconds. A flash of worry marred his expression before it was wiped clean. "Fine," he said abruptly. "We can talk later. I'll leave you to deal with your dwarf."

Bilbo blinked blankly. "We're here?"

"Turn left down the corridor and take the stairs down. That's where Prince Thorin is held." He smiled crookedly. "I have to go back now. All the best, Cyadhon. Something tells me it won't be easy."

"To be honest, with Thorin, nothing really is."

The doors leading to the dungeon clanged open and warily, Bilbo stepped in. The dungeons were cold, not unbearably so but uncomfortable enough to make the hairs on Bilbo's skin stand. Each cell was spacious m enough to house at least seven dwarves, the bars wrought from thick elven metal that even the strongest dwarf cannot bend or break with an axe. A single lamp dangled from the ceiling, emitting a soft orange light.

The dwarves were separated into three different cells, yet Thorin was given one entirely to himself. 'Special Royalty Treatment', Bilbo guessed. He was worried for his friends, for everyone of the Company. Was anyone hurt? He hoped not - or at least, that the elves were sympathetic enough to offer treatment, and the dwarves practical enough to accept it.

Bilbo was escorted past the three cells containing the rest of the dwarves. Their heads lifted when they saw him and they began shouting, banging the bars, calling out his name.

"Bilbo?"

"No, Bilbo! Not you too!"

"Bilbo, yer fine? They din touch yer, did they?"

"Why is he here? Let him go, or I'll bash yer heads when I'm outta—"

He felt touched, truly, that they cared for him in their endearing, gruff ways. It was also a relief to see them, all still in one piece despite being locked up. He grinned widely, shook his head to signify he was fine, and tried to reassure them of their predicament when he himself was not feeling very assured. His guy twisted at the thought of seeing Thorin again. How would the prince react? What should Bilbo say to him?

They halted at the far end of the dungeon. Thorin sat facing the furthest wall of his cell, under the wane moonlight casted through the tiny window. A blanket was strewn on the floor, next to a tray consisting of an apple and a jug of water. Both were untouched. Wordlessly, the guards excused themselves. Their presence were unwanted here, they knew.

The elves' footsteps faded away.

"Thorin?" Bilbo said quietly. He wrapped one hand around the cold metal bar, smooth and solid and unbreakable even to him. His nails clicked against the metal, creating a dull ringing vibrating under his palm.

The captive spun around rapidly. "Bilbo? Is that really you?"

He was already moving as he spoke. Dwarven eyes were sharp and the darkness of the cell was insufficient to even hinder their sight.

Thorin shifted closer, away from under the faint moonlight. His features were hidden in darkness until he stepped under the light, the lamp above chased away the shadows on his face.

"Yeah," Bilbo said nonetheless, a beam breaking out on his face. Prince Thorin stood before him, delight crinkling the corners of his eyes despite the cautious twist of his mouth, posture still regal despite his environment.

"Why are you here? Did you find a way out? The Company told me you were free, and safe," he said hoarsely. One hand gripped the gate tightly, his eyes inspecting the hobbit anxiously.

Bilbo took the opportunity to do the same. Relief flooded through his body, and it was as if a heavy burden finally dissolved. His Company was fine. All of them were uninjured. They were safe and here, there were no enemies to tear through, and everything would be fine.

Thorin was relatively unscathed, albeit haggard. Strands of hair that were once neatly braided and held back by the beads were matted and hung loosely across his face. A small cut on his cheek had scabbed over. Flecks of brown still speckled his face and clothes.

"I'm fine. Well... Relatively."

Instantly, Thorin's eyes snapped up, burning with fury and worry. His hands shot out and grabbed Bilbo by the shoulders, pulling him closer and examining him intensely. "Tell me, where are you hurt? Did they do anything? If they dared...!" He growled.

Bilbo laughed sheepishly and gently batted at Thorin's arms. "Ah, no, don't worry. It's this tight fix we're in that I'm worried about. I talked to the Elvenking and, well... " he sat down, expression becoming sombre, "he has a proposition for you."

Immediately, Thorin moved half a step back. His lips thinned into a line as he sat on the floor, crossing his legs and folded his arms. "I see you've been busy. You have some explaining to do, Bilbo."

Bilbo hugged his knees. He felt like a wee lad again. Oh, Thorin was not going to be happy. "I know."

By the time Bilbo was done explaining his part of the story, Thorin's expression had curdled from Mildly Displeased to Outright Sour, as if someone had stuck a rotting fish under his nose.

"You told him about our quest!" he fumed.

Bilbo held up his hands defensively. "Gandalf's orders. Sorry, Thorin."

"And he wants a part of our treasure," he continued, ignoring Bilbo, voice slowly rising, "in exchange for our freedom and for his assistance?" His expression twisted unpleasantly at the last word. Thorin struck his fist against the ground. "What right does he have to lay a claim on our inheritance? None!"

"But, Thorin, can't you take it as part of my-" Bilbo tried again.

"No," Thorin refused. I refuse to give our rightful treasure to the murderers of my people! They stood by and did nothing, and now they seek to take our gold? You want me to forgive the greedy elves? My kingdom was burnt down!" He rounded Bilbo. "What do you understand?" He accused. "You've never seen your people burn!"

Bilbo's expression shuttered. So it was back to this again. It was always back to this.

Instantly, his expression morphed into one of alarm and guilt. "Bilbo, I didn't mean— "

"Save your words, Prince Dwarf," Bilbo said, sharp yet weary as he stood up. "I get it. You've made up your mind."

Thorin's eyes widened. "Wait, Bilbo! Where are you going?"

"I have nothing left to say," he said numbly. "There is no alternative I could find. There is no one else to help you, and no way to. What more do you want me to do?"

Thorin squared his shoulders. "We must find another way. My decision remains final."

"Of course, Prince Thorin," he said derisively. "If only it is as easy as you make it seem. But it seems that, to you, the past outweighs future, and holding onto your pride and sense of righteousness is more important than the quest to reclaim your homeland." Thorin froze. "You will lose everything because you can't bear to sacrifice a part of it. Think about that."

With a perfunctory bow, Bilbo stalked out, leaving the prince behind. The phantom screams of his kin and the stench of burning corpses lingered with him for the rest of the day.

He sent word to King Thranduil that Thorin would need a day to think it through. Then, he was escorted to a palatial room (Legolas' doing, he supposed) to freshen up. Bilbo scrubbed at his face, trying to block off memories of anger and pain, of helplessness and fear. The ring was having a wider than expected effect on him. It sent a chill down his spine, just thinking about the confrontation with King Thranduil, and the battle with the spid—

He pushed it to the back of his mind. The idea that he was responsible for such - such slaughter, for it was not even much of a battle, and he had enjoyed it — he shuddered. There was still a part of him, suppressed and hastily locked away, crooning in pride at the memory and savouring the feel of the fear their enemies. That part was pleased they had protected the ones precious to them, and wasn't that all that mattered?

He scrubbed his face roughly. Throwing the towel into the basin, he pulled on fresh clothes of a darker colour. Elven style it might be, it fitted and the mottled colours of green and grey were perfect.

What was he to do with Thorin, as well? Bilbo could sympathise, but there was no time, damnit, why could he not understand that? There were so much at stakes in this quest, much more than he possibly know and hopefully would never know. Maybe he should speak to Ballin about it? Stubborn Thorin might be, but maybe the advisor could persuade him to see reason?

He could give it a shot later. For now, he had some sneaking around to do.

Thorin brooded over Bilbo's harsh words. There was a thread of truth through them, but how could Bilbo understand? That elf had no honour, and the deal was one he planned not to uphold. The hobbit, the naive, innocent burglar of theirs, did not see the trap for what it was. Maybe he was coerced or threatened into the deal. He would not put it past the lying, thieving elves.

His thoughts warred against each other. Were he truly living in the past? He held onto the past for strength - he had to, else there would be nothing left, nothing left for him, and Thorin was afraid he would lose his will to press on if that happened. He could not let go of his distrust and grudges - how could he, when he watched his people suffer so, and that was all due to the elves cold-heartedness? The elves could do it again, and they would similarly be at their mercy once more.

Yet Bilbo raised a valid point that they were stuck and needed the help if they wanted a chance of reclaiming Erebor and surviving to tell the tale. Thorin just did not want to give the smug tree-bastards any more leverage against them, nor give them a reward they did not deserve.

He had hurt the hobbit with his accusations again. He was careless - he knew Bilbo had lost as well, and regardless of the extent, grief was still grief, and old scars should not be ripped open as heedlessly as he did to Bilbo.

He scrutinised the elven guards standing before his cell. Bilbo could wait - it seemed that he had an audience with King Thranduil again.

"What do you want?" he demanded gruffly.

The Elvenking scoffed. "Cyadhon had told me all about your little quest." He smirked. "You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule. A King's jewel. The Arkenstone. It is precious to you beyond measure, I understand that. You see," he leant forward, "there is something of mine in the mountain that I too desire."

"A favour for a favour," Thorin said darkly. "Bilbo told me about it."

"You have my word," promised Thranduil. "One King to another."

Thorin seemed contemplative for a few seconds. Then, his face morphed into one of derision. "Your word? I would not trust, Thranduil, the great King, to only his word."

Thranduil's eyes widened, stunned.

'You, lack all honor! I have seen how you treat your friends! We came to you once, starving, homeless; seeking your help. But you turned your back! You, turned away from the suffering of my people and the inferno that destroyed us!"

The Elvenking quickly regained his composure. "It was a losing battle, one we could not afford. Our people was struggling as well; we could not have supported your people."

"You never even try!" he spat.

"My people come first," Thranduil repeated without a trace of remorse. "Do not say I did nothing; I warned your grandfather of what his greed would summon, but he would not listen." He leant back and steepled his fingers together. "You are just like him."

He motioned for his guards to grab hold of Thorin. The dwarf struggled as they grabbed his shoulders roughly.

"Stay here if you will, and rot. A hundred years is a mere blink in a life of an Elf. I'm patient. I can wait."

"Wait!" Thorin shouted. He wrenched himself free of the guards. They hesitated when he glared at them before he folded his arms and faced Thranduil once more. When he made no move to escape or attack, the guards relented.

Thorin glowered. "What did you do to our hobbit? Coerce him? Threaten him? He —"

"I did nothing to your hobbit, except speak to him. The deal was one of mutual agreement, when we saw it was to both of our benefits. In fact, what interests me," he said with intentional flippancy, "is your familiarity to your 14th member. Yet do you truly know him?"

Thorin shifted imperceptibly, caught off-guard by the sudden change of focus. "What do you mean?"

Thranduil's smile was cruel. "I will say this only once. You asked if I would honour our deal. I would, because it would be foolish to break a deal made with a Vilyahína. Only a fool would seek to evoke their wrath so carelessly."

"A what? You're scared of a hobbit?"

He laughed mockingly. "Your esteemed 14th member is so, so, much more than just a mere hobbit." he paused and pursed his lips in faux pity. "Unfortunately, it's not my secret to tell."

"You lie," Thorin said, shaking his head in dread. Had Bilbo — had the hobbit truly been lying all these while?

"I do not," he said, tone icy. "It is no one's fault but your own that you are blind, Thorin Oakenshield. Just like your Grandfather, you do not see the truth, or rather, would not admit it. Mark my words: the curse will befall you as well."

"How dare you, Elven scum!" Thorin shouted and started forward. Immediately, the guards were restraining him again.

Thranduil inspected his nails as he made a dismissive gesture. "I tire of speaking to you. Take him away."

From a corner of the Throne Room crouched Bilbo, ring around his finger and eyes wide in fear at what the Elvenking had just revealed to the dwarven prince.

End of Chapter 19.

Chapter Text

Bilbo slipped away before it was too late, thoughts whirring and emotions fluctuating. Thranduil told on him. Thorin would suspect. He would be exposed, they would hate him, turn his back on him, kill him-

He slipped off his ring, face pale as he shuddered. Smaug would be left undefeated, and who would avenge his family now? Who would protect Ryadher if he came after her?

He was going to die, she was going to die, they were all going to diediediediedie--

He can't breathe. He can't breathe.

He lurched towards a wall and slid down to the ground. His heart hammered erratically against his rib cage, too fast and too loud and too, too, much. His lungs screamed for air; throat constricting, breaths coming out in short, shallow pants.

He was going to fail and everyone was going to die and it would all be his fault.

The noise hollowed out until all he could hear was his heartbeat that was still too fast. Pressing a palm against his chest, he closed his eyes and tried to calm himself down.

His senses were overwhelming-

He muffled a low moan, and instead tried to tether himself to the fire that was ever-present in all Vilyahíni.

He is fire. He is of the Vilyahíni. The Children of the Sky never gives up - not even when their birthright forsook them and the skies were stained with the colour of their suffering.

He took a few shuddering breaths. When he dragged a hand across his face, his palm came back glistening with sweat and tears. He tried to think of his family, Ryad, Elrond, and the Baggins. He tried to think of the peace of Rivendell, the feel of fire, and the sweet rush of wind and air. Bit by bit, his muscles relaxed.

He is fire. Fire is life. Fire burns, hot and bright and deadly, burning a literal path when there is none for it. Fire thrums and fights and never, ever, gives up.

He continued taking deep breaths even as his breathing evened out. Everything was going to be alright. It was just the ring's effect, the ring's games; it was all lies, and it was going to be alright. They accepted hobbit-him, so maybe they could accept dragon-him? Bofur said he would. Bofur does not lie. Even if they found out (which he would do whatever in his control to prevent), even if they ostracised him, it was okay, because he is fire and he will bear it out.

He is fire. Fire survives.

Finally, his heart no longer felt like it was trying to leap out of his skin. His surroundings came back into focus. The corridor was still empty, and he was hit with intense relief at having no witnesses. Exhaustion and nostalgia crept up to him. Slowly, he exhaled.

Reaching for the fire deep within, he drew out a sliver, wrapping it around his fingers. The flame was comforting, like the warmth under his (mother's) wing, snuggled up next to his brood-mates. It was a remnant of all he once had. It was a reminder of all he stood for.

(He missed them. He missed them oh, so, much.)

He closed his fist, allowing the flame to extinguish. Bilbo let his head drop back against the wall and sighed, familiar weariness settling deep within his heart. This time, however, it was kept at bay by an almost-forgotten warmth that felt like his mother's lullaby.

He is fire, and he will be fine.

He will be fine.

Chapter Text

Bilbo pushed his sweat matted hair out of his face. Shakily, he hauled himself to his feet and tried to centre on himself. He didn't know how long he had spent sitting at the corridor, but he needed to get moving.

He needed to come up with an explanation, needed to find Thorin and - and Balin.

Thank Yavanna that Balin and Thorin were held in different cells. He needed to convince Balin before Thorin had a chance to speak to him. A shiver ran up his spine. He clutched his ring and steeled his nerves.

He is fire. He could do this.

He snuck past the guards until he was standing in front of the dungeon cell that held Balin, Bofur, Gloin and Bombur. Kili, Fili, Bifur and Nori were in the cell next to them. The last cell opposite the others consisted of Dori, Dwalin, Ori, and Oin.

The dwarves shouted in joy when he appeared. They crowded at the bars; as close to Bilbo as they could get, pleas of "find a way out, hobbit" falling from their lips. It was a surprise the guards did not come running.

"Shush!" He hissed, looking over his shoulder. He hunched into himself and whispered, "they don't know I'm here. I need to speak with Balin."

Balin stared at him expectantly. "Well? I'm waiting," he said. The rest of the dwarves nodded eagerly, none budging from their positions.

"In private," he added.

The dwarves exchanged glances. "Very well," Balin finally replied. He gently pushed Bofur, Gloin and Bombur away from the metal bars. "You heard him. Move it."

Grumbling, the other three retreated to the other end of the dungeon, as far as they possibly could. The dwarves in the other cells also gave up trying to eavesdrop. They could barely hear anything due to the walls of the dungeons separating them. Ballin would share the details with them later if it was necessary. It was only Bombur and Gloin that edged closer every second, stopping and whistling innocently whenever Balin glared at them.

"Yes, Mister Baggins? Have you found a way out of our predicament?"

He hesitated for a second, before ploughing on. "Yes," he confided.

Gloin gave a shout, startling all of them. He thumped the floor gleefully. "That's our burglar!"

The dwarves shushed him noisily; Bilbo and Balin gave him the stink-eye.

"Sorry," he muttered, shuffling away slightly. "I wasn't listening at all. Carry on."

The hobbit gave him a suspicious glance before lowering his volume until it was barely audible. "But I need your help, Balin. Thorin's stubborn and I just know he won't listen to me."

The white-haired hobbit raised an eyebrow. "I think you should start from the beginning."

At the end of his narration, Balin was looking deeply conflicted. "I don't know if I can do anything, but for the sake of this mission, I'll try," he said.

Bilbo smiled nervously. "Also," he added, "don't trust what King Thranduil says. He often twist truths. I get the feeling that he'll lie to cause more problems."

Balin's eyes sharpened onto him uncomfortably. "There's something you're not saying."

The hobbit glanced away. "No, no, there's nothing," he laughed sheepishly. His eyes darted away. "Just a bad premonition. Another one of my gut feelings, you know."

Balin said nothing for a few seconds. "Very well. Do you have a back up plan in the event a second negotiation does not go well?"

He shrugged helplessly. "Steal the keys? I'll find another way for us to escape."

At the word "escape", the rest of the dwarves scuttled forward. "Do you," Gloin said in a very bad stage whisper, "need our help?"

"We can't be of any help now," Bofur pointed out. "Hey, Bilbo, why can't you get us out with your Hobbit Magic?"

"It doesn't work like that," the hobbit protested. "I only know fire, uh, spells."

"Oh." Their downcast expressions were both amusing and heart-tugging. "Any way we can help?" Bofur asked hopefully. Gloin punched his shoulder as he shouted a gruff "Hey! I asked that first!".

A small burst of laughter fell from his lips unexpectedly. His eyes went wide in surprise, mouth uncontrollably tugging upwards as he watched the banter between Gloin and Bofur. A bubble of happiness made itself known in his chest, relaxing some of the tension knotted inside. "I'll try my best," he said.

"We're not worried," Bofur said, winking. "We know you won't let us down."

His smile faltered. The pressure was back. He took a step back and looked at his feet. "Yeah," he said, tone odd and falsely upbeat. "Yeah."

Tauriel and her team rode through the gates of Mirkwood, nodding to the guards as the great gates clanged shut behind them. Legolas was leaning against the pillar, watching them.

"Captain Tauriel."

"Prince Legolas," she nodded as she dismissed her team. "We have verified the findings of our scouts to be true."

"Thank you," he said softly. She shrugged; it was her job, there was no need to thank her with such gratitude shining in his eyes. They made their way down the winding hallways, steps light and relaxed. "Have you met Cyadhon?"

"The Vilyahina? Can't say I have. How's the situation with the dwarves?"

He shrugged. "Uncooperative, as usual. I 'm on my way to report to Ada. Would you like to come along?"

She deliberated her choices: a visit to the dwarves, or standing stiff and attention for another meeting with the king? The previous meeting with the taller archer dwarf had only served to spark her curiosity.

"If there's no need for me to be there, I'll rather check on the dwarves instead," she finally said.

Legolas wrinkled his nose. She laughed heartily and nudged him with a shoulder. "Are you scared of King Thranduil now?" she teased.

"Of course not, he is my ada," legolas demurred. "It's just a bit boring."

Her grin was cheeky. "I know."

He shot her a dirty look at her obvious amusement. "I can use my authority to make this part of your duty."

"You won't; you love me too much."

He punched her in the arm. She dodged it, cackling.

After bidding goodbye to her childhood friend, Tauriel made her way to the dungeons where the dwarves were held. Her mind was preoccupied with musings about the taller-than-expected dwarf, the handsome archer with dark brown hair and a dazzling smile. From what she had read, archers were a rarity in dwarven culture. He was interesting. That was all, she told herself, even though her cheeks had a light dusting of red.

Down the steps, she saw their hobbit — the Vilyahina, but it's a secret, Legolas had whispered — heading towards her. He was alone, footsteps silent and head down, seemingly deep in thought. What was his name again?

She slowed down and waited for him approach. There was something fluid and twisting in the way he moved, like a coiled serpent in water. When he was on the steps in front of her, she spoke out. "Cyadhon?" she guessed.

He froze mid-step. An expression of guilt and panic crossed his face, like Legolas' the one time Tauriel caught him with his hand in her hidden cookie stash. His abrupt standstill set him off-balance and he pitched backwards dangerously. Tauriel grabbed his forearm before he could fall. his eyes, blown wide, made contact with hers. His irises were slitted, pupils vividly coloured. Those were definitely un-hobbit-like, and that was coming from someone who had only seen hobbits in drawings. there were dark eye-bags like bruises under his eyes, and he looked drawn-out and harried.

Regaining his balance, he gave a huff of relief tinged with embarrassment. "Thanks," he said as he gave a shaky bow. "Bilbo Baggins, at your service. you are…?"

"Captain Tauriel, friend of Legolas'." she inclined her head. "Pardon me; I was very sure Legolas said your name was Cyadhon."

"No, no, it's fine," he said immediately. "He's not wrong. I, er, my name, that's also my name. It's just that I'm currently Bilbo Baggins, the hobbit."

While he was talking, she took note of his other draconic traits: unnaturally sharp fangs, a forked tongue, clawed and blackened fingernails, a palm that seemed to be hardened by something more than just calluses, and scales on the underside of his wrists. He was emitting an inordinate amount of heat. She recalled lessons of pudgy, weak hobbits with a soft and gentle disposition and a penchant to avoid violence and danger. In comparison, he was rather un-hobbit.

Tauriel could see why Thranduil would detest him. He was a wolf in sheep's clothing, a skin-stealer, hiding his true nature behind a placid facade. The dark, swirling colours of his slitted eyes were knowing and ancient, and the way that forked tongue flicked out to lick his lips brought forth bad memories.

A cold shiver went up her spine.

She repressed it and gave him a bright smile. It wasn't right to judge him by his nature. "I'm sorry for the earlier mishap in the forest. I trust Mirkwood have treated you well since then?"

He grimaced and ducked his head down sheepishly. She wanted to laugh; there were the hobbit mannerisms she had expected. "It could have been better. Have you just gotten back from patrols, Captain Tauriel?"

"Just Tauriel is fine. Yes; I was tracking the orcs." she smiled soothingly. "Do not worry, Vilyahina. They are not near our borders."

"I don't know," he muttered, "something feels suspicious."

She shrugged. She was a soldier, not a seer. "Where are you heading to now, Vilyahina?"

"Don't call me that, please. Bilbo Baggins will do. Or hobbit." he shifted uncomfortably. "I'm, er, heading back to my rooms for now."

"Do you require assistance?"

"No, no, it's okay. I know my way around," he said. "Thank you for your help. It's nice to meet you, Tauriel."

She nodded, bemused by this short creature. "It's nice to meet you too," she said perfunctorily, and he hurried past, once again lost in his own world. Were dragon-hobbits meant to have so many distinguishing non-hobbit traits? It seemed a bit too obvious.

Oh well. It was time to see the dwarves.

The dwarves were quiet, but cheerful despite being locked away. She had expected them to be desolate or furious as they had been when they were first thrown into the dungeons, but once again, she was proven wrong. In his cell, Kili was inspecting a shiny black stone with an engraving in his hand. He flipped it in the air and caught it on the back of his hand. Tauriel paused to watch his actions.

Curiously, she inquired, "the stone in your hand, what is it?"

Kili looked up and smirked, a mischievous light sparkling in his eyes. "It's a talisman. A powerful spell lies upon it. If any but a dwarf reads the runes on this stone, they will be forever cursed." He quickly held up the stone up, offering it to her. Instinctively, she took a step back. Kili guffawed and she flushed.

"Or not, depending on whether you believe that kind of thing. It's just a token." He smiled cheekily and she relaxed, returning his infectious grin with a tentative smile.

A second later, he said, "a runestone. My mother gave it to me so I'd remember my promise."

"What promise?"

His smile was nostalgic as he turned the stone in his hand. "That I will come back to her. She worries. She thinks I'm reckless."

"Are you?" she asked teasingly.

The dwarf gave a cocky grin. "Nah." He tossed his stone upwards again, but this time, instead of catching it perfectly, his finger stumbled and the token rolled out of his cell. Tauriel stopped it with her foot before it could roll further away. She handed it back to him and sat down next to his cell.

"Have you met our hobbit?" There was pride and underlying concern in his tone. "He says he's fine, but…"

"He is a guest in our halls. He is treated well." She paused, then stated, "there's something special about him."

"Our hobbit? Yeah, he's one of a kind."

Ah, they were really clueless. Her laughter was slightly melancholic. "Well said. There's more layers to him than you know of. But he's strong. Do you trust him?"

Kili hummed. "I guess so, why?"

Tauriel looked both rueful and pleased at the same time. Oh, Cyadhon, what a heartbreak this would be. "I see. Such an unorthodox friendship you have."

"You're speaking in riddles."

Tauriel coughed into her hand. "Maybe you'll understand someday, dwarf, or maybe you're too dumb to."

He shot up indignantly. "Hey!"

She threw her head back and laughed, this time cheerfully.

"…and orc scouts have been reported to be at the edge of Mirkwood, but there are no further signs of the orc army. We have basis to believe that they have chosen to avoid Mirkwood entirely," Prince Legolas reported. He stood at attention in the middle of the throne room.

"As is prudent for them," King Thranduil drawled in a lazy tone.

"The lack of any sightings of the orc army, contrary to the dwarves' claims, is suspicious. As a precaution, I shall dispatched an additional patrol and increase our security for the next few days."

He scoffed dryly. "No need. The dwarves are known to exaggerate their plight. Do not take them for their word. Focus on the spiders' nests instead."

"Yes, Ada." His head dipped slightly.

"Very good, Legolas." Thranduil sounded pleased; his son felt a swell of pride rise in his chest. "Ensure that the dwarves are locked up properly. If there are nothing else, you may take your leave."

He was already walking towards the door when he hesitated, then turned around. While he was still searching his words, his father sighed and leant his cheek against a fist.

"What is it, Legolas. Speak."

"Ada, about Gandalf and Bilbo's warning…"

"I've made up my mind, Legolas. Are you questioning my judgment now?"

He ducked his head respectfully. "No, ada. I was just wondering if there are no better ways to deal with the dwarves."

He raised an eyebrow coldly. "You are too close to that wyrm. Have I not advised you to stay away from it?"

"His name is Cyadhon and he's a Vilyahina. He's not the one that killed—"

"Enough," King Thranduil cut off sharply. He straightened, back too stiff and fists clenched around the hand-rest of his throne in agitation. His demeanour was frigid as he went from father to the King of the Mirkwood. "This matter is closed. Is there anything else, Prince Legolas?"

The prince bit the insides of his cheek. "No, my king. That is all."

Bilbo heaved a sigh of relief as soon as Tauriel disappeared around the corner. When she had called out to him, he was so sure that she would point out his obvious lack of guards, yet she didn't mention anything. Thinking back, she wasn't there when Thranduil had ordered him to be escorted at all times. He had been careless, and so, very, lucky.

Bilbo slipped back into his rooms just in time, for barely five minutes later, Legolas walked in.

"Have you been in the room all along?" He asked suspiciously.

"The guards didn't see me leave," he said vaguely. Legolas raised an eyebrow and shook his head.

"We both know you can be as evasive as a snake when you want to Cyadhon," he grumbled before letting the topic drop. "Come, let's go for dinner. I'll introduce you to my friend, Tauriel."

Oh. Bilbo smiled nervously, casting for a valid reason to refuse and finding none.

Not so lucky now.

Legolas, as befitting a prince, had his own suite that included a drawing room and a private dining hall. He led them straight to the latter. A round walnut table with intricate details sat delicately in the middle of the room. Carvings of the Mirkwood forest in its prime adorned the walls, but generally the design of the room was minimalistic. There were plates of lush vegetables and bread, artfully arranged, carefully placed on the table, and no servants or guards in sight. Bilbo appreciated the privacy.

Tauriel was already waiting for them, gently swirling her glass of water from where she sat on the seat furthest away from the door. Her eyes lit up at the sight of them and she stood up gracefully.

"Cyadhon! Legolas didn't tell me we're dining together," Tauriel greeted warmly.

Bilbo could feel the other elf drill holes into the side of his head with his eyes. He resolved to avoid eye contact with him. "I didn't know either," he said weakly.

"You've met?" Legolas asked suspiciously. He folded his arms, radiating Disappointment.

Tauriel frowned. "He was coming up from the dungeons. Is there something wrong?"

"He was supposed to stay away from the dwarves and be escorted at all times," Legolas replied, smile strained. "Bilbo-"

"I'm sorry, I was worried," the hobbit grumbled, ears turning red. "And I didn't lie, I told you the guards didn't see me leave."

The elf shook his head. "Do you need me to follow your every footstep?" He chided.

"No," muttered the hobbit with a huff. "I'm not a child, I've been saying that since… Since more than a decade ago."

"Huh." The elf paused, then snorted. "Fancy that; a decade, and you're still childish as ever. Perhaps you really do need the supervision."

"You're one to say!" Protested Bilbo weakly. "I think it is you who needs supervision. What about that time you decided to pull-"

The prince flushed ever so lightly before he smacked the back of Bilbo's head. "We promised never to speak of that again."

The hobbit stuck his tongue out at him childishly. Legolas ruffled his hair. Bilbo tried to dodge and failed, cursing profanities as his hair stuck up in different directions. The elf smirked. "I like this height of yours."

Bilbo growled, a low thrum vibrating from his chest, as he patted his hair down. "Stop doing that. And really, I didn't lie," the hobbit complaint as he folded his arms. "I merely omitted the truth."

Legolas was highly unimpressed. "Lie by omission?"

"Doesn't count," Bilbo stubbornly insisted.

"Very well, technically, you didn't lie," Legolas finally contended."I'm still siccing a guard on you at all times from now onwards, even when you sleep."

There went his plans to find alternative escape paths. Legolas was like a Mother Hen, hemming and hawing at his heels when he wanted to be exceedingly irritating. The elf may have grown in terms of appearances and skill since they had last met, but he was as naggy as ever. Bilbo would never be free.

Tauriel watched the exchange in amusement. "Don't be overdramatic, Legolas. You both are acting like children. I'm sure Bilbo knows better now."

Legolas quirked an eyebrow up, expression skeptical. Bilbo didn't blame him; if he was the elf, he wouldn't be convinced either. The elf knew him too well after all their years of friendship.

She clasped her hands together. "Shall we eat?"

Although Legolas did not sic a guard onto Bilbo at all times, he might as well have. The guards checked in on him every hour, even when he finally acquiesced and sworn to stay in his room. Nanny elf and his overbearing, mothering tendencies, Bilbo thought sourly as he hacked away viciously at a block of wood he was supposed to work on while whittling the time away. A few more angry stabs annihilated the perfectly good wood into sawdust. So much for exploring his artistic talents - screw you, Legolas.

Finally, he tossed his tools aside noisily and threw himself into the fluffy bed. What was he to do? The temptation to sneak out was strong.

His door creaked open and a guard peeked in. "Sir, is everything..."

A deep growl resonating from his throat. Bilbo directed a beady-eyed, narrowed glare from a single slitted pupil at the poor guard.

"Apologies for the intrusion," the guard said quickly. The door snapped shut.

It was never wise to anger a dragon.

Midday, the air was unnaturally still. Legolas paced the corridors, having just checked on Bilbo to ensure that the hobbit hadn't went on a snooping trip again. He had been met with an unfriendly snarl and what would have constituted as an attempt on his life had it been anyone else, but besides that, the sneaky hobbit was still behaving.

He pondered Bilbo's words and Gandalf's ominous (and rather melodramatic) letter: the dark forces are stirring. Doom will descend upon us all. There were less than subtle hints for them to pledge their support to the Grey Wizard's cause - and by extension, to the dwarves' quest. Ada had been far from pleased. It was partially due to pride. Yet, pride was but a secondary matter in Legolas' eyes.

As for the safety of their home - He knew Ada placed their kingdom first, but what is Mirkwood without Middle-Earth? Forces of evil hell-bent on destroying the peace of the whole Middle-Earth would indubitably affect them as well.

He had to think of another way to assist Cyadhon and his less-than-pleasant friends, and quickly. He still disliked dwarves - specifically that archer Tauriel had taken a shine on - but for the sake of his home and his people, even if it went against Ada's orders, he had to find a way to help. He felt dread pool in his gut, the thought of going behind Ada's back bitter on his tongue, but it had to be done. Mind made up despite the uncomfortable prickling it made him feel, his thoughts were in a whirl as he concocted various plans and back-ups to be sieved later for the optimum one.

Down a secluded corridor, Legolas suddenly felt a shift in the air current. He stilled, head sharply jerking to the left. All thoughts of the Dwarf Plan fled his mind, replaced by a suspicion that only grew. There was nobody there, only dark shadows casted by the twisting wood frames that made up the foundations of his home. His brows furrowed as he palmed his dagger. "Who's there?"

There was no answer. There was an underlying current of electricity in the air, a prickling that heralded a storm.

Something was wrong.

A scream tore through the air. Legolas sprinted towards the scream without hesitation.

"Orcs! Orcs in the-!" The shout was cut off by a growl and the sound of a spear tearing through flesh. Legolas pushed himself harder, but it was too late. He skidded to the scene and watched as an elven body toppled off the platform. A dull thud could be heard from below. There were a handful of orcs on the floor, but their surprise attack had given them a momentary edge over the elves. He filtered out the grunts and growls of the fights surrounding him, the familiar battle calm settling into his nerves.

He didn't stop, instincts kicking in as he let an arrow fly. It hit the orc in the forehead and sent it to a similar fate. "Infiltration! Soldiers, to me! Stop the orcs!" Nocking another arrow, he released it, already knowing it would hit its mark as he turned to wrench another pesky orc scout off an elven soldier. Blood splattered the smooth, wooden floors of their kingdom, seeping into the seams, dark stains that he suspected would not be removed easily.

After the initial shock had died out, the orcs were subdued with little trouble. He wasn't too concerned about the damage they wrought; instead, a single question ran through his mind: how had they gotten in?

The smell of blood, and the stench of orcs, permeated the air, pungent and heavy. The sour, bitter smell intermingled with the metallic one, creating a stench that had no place within the halls of Mirkwood. Legolas hated how it overpowered the natural, faint scent of wood and flowers that usually reminded him of home. He stared at the dark, mutilated flesh of the orcs' corpses, feeling oddly dissociated from his body.

They were told that the orcs had turned away from Mirkwood. How could the information have been so grossly wrong? Was it the dwarves-? No, it couldn't be, there were no way for them to escape, much less sneak them in. Bilbo hated the orcs, there was no reason for him to help them.

A second later, echoes of thundering feet and weapons clashing resonated from the lower regions of the palace, where the river ran through. His sensitive ears twitched, picking up cries of battles that was interspersed with screams and grunts. He cursed colourfully, already sprinting towards the skirmish even as the horn call was sounded.

"Attack!" The guards' voices echoed from corridors away. "From the river! The orcs have attacked!"

The moment Bilbo had heard of the orcs' attack, he had barrelled out of his room and towards the dungeons, the guards be damned. His Elven guards dithered for a moment before answering their brethren's call to join into the fray. The vilyahina could wait; their home was under attack.

He had to seek out Legolas. The prince would understand. Barely five minutes later, it was the elf that found him first.

The prince dragged him to a corner, as far away from the potential prying ears of the soldiers surging past them as possible. "You need to leave now," he said tersely.

Bilbo gaped. "But... Your father..."

"-is still in his grief. The orcs are here for the dwarves, aren't they? You need to leave," he said as he pressed a set of keys into Bilbo's palm. "We'll escape through the river. Meet me at the lower exit near the third kitchen. You know where it is."

"The river's where the orcs are coming from!"

"That's the only way!" He retorted, lifting his head up to bark out orders at the rushing guards around them before turning anxious eyes back at Bilbo. "Go!"

He ran. He shoved his way past the soldiers, trusting his instinct more than anything to lead him to the dungeons.

It was unguarded when he pelted into the dungeons. Panting, his fingers fumbled as he tried to find the correct keys for the cell.

"Bilbo! What's going on?"

"We need to leave," he said, sweat beading down his temple, fingers trembling. The lock clicked; he gave a triumphant cry and moved onto the next one. "Orcs are attacking!"

"Shit," Dwalin swore. "Where are our weapons?"

He stilled. Shit, he had forgotten about that. Shaking his head, Bilbo doubled up his efforts to free the dwarves as quickly as he could. "Let's get out first."

Thorin's cell was still a level below. Cursing his luck, he ordered the dwarves to stay put as he bolted down the stairs.

"Bilbo?" The low baritone of the dwarven prince was soft and surprised.

"Need to go, talk later, attack, can't you hear?" His words stumbled together in a rush as he made quick work with the last cell. "The others are already released, let's go!"

Thirteen dwarves hurtled their way down the hallways, following Bilbo's lead to the kitchens. They were met with sharp shouts, most which they ignored. Some elves tried to stop them but they were roughly shoved aside. An arrow whizzed past their heads. The dwarves ignored it all, focusing on following their quick-footed hobbit darting ahead. They left the crowd of soldiers behind as they wove through corridors until the only sound were the panting of the dwarves and fourteen pairs of feet.

At the agreed-upon kitchen, Bilbo slowed to a halt.

"Bilbo? The kitchens? What's the plan, where's the exit?"

"Wait," Bilbo said.

"What do you mean wait?" Growled Thorin, storming forward. "You lead us here, but you don't know how to proceed? Where are our weapons? What's next, hobbit?"

"Wait," he said tersely. "He's supposed to be here. He's late, late, where's he?"

"Where's who?" The dwarves were anxious; shouts of "dwarves!" were gaining louder by the second. The elves had caught up with them, and they were weaponless, almost defenceless.

"Ready yourself," Dwalin rumbled as they shifted into a fighting stance, albeit without weapons.

A few tense seconds passed. Archers finally slid in view from around the corner, arrows already nocked. "The dwarves-"

"Leave it," a commanding voice ordered, halting all motion at once. The Company turned to see Prince Legolas appear from behind them, breath quickened from exertion. In his hand held a short sword.

The archers wavered, slackening their bows. "But... Prince Le-"

"What are you doing here! Find the orcs, protect our home!" He snapped. "Forget you saw the dwarves. That's an order." They hesitated again, before jerking their heads downwards with a reluctant "sir" and disappearing from view once more.

"You were waiting for the Elven Prince?" Thorin spluttered in disbelieve. He looked betrayed.

Legolas shushed them and motioned for them to hurry up. Bilbo was sure he was the only one who witnessed the eye roll the elf did. "There's a route by the river that you can take. This way." He continued leading them through the labyrinth of corridors, occasionally pausing to check for people before moving on.

"What about weapons?" Fili asked.

The elf offered the sword - it looked more like an over long dagger in his hands - to their leader. It was Orcrist. "I've taken as much as I can. It's in the boat."

Stiffly, future King accepted his sword. "Thank you, Prince Legolas," he said, inclining his head. His expression was nonetheless still sour. "Why are you helping us?"

"I fear Gandalf's words hold true." He eyed Bilbo, stride silent and not slowing even as he spoke. "And someone has to look out for Cyadhon."

Bilbo threw both hands up in exasperation. "This again! We've talked about this, Legolas: I don't need supervision!"

"There's no point denying it," the prince said, expression slightly mischievous. He opened his mouth to say more, then paused. Suddenly, he jerked his head up, a brown marring his previously teasing expression.

He lifted his hand up to signal a halt, before twisting his hand into the gesture the dwarves had began to recognise as an order for silence. They instantly quietened down, but even their soft huffs for breaths were painfully loud in the still silence.

Legolas pressed his ear onto the wall. A second later, he cursed viciously and spun around. "Turn back," he hissed at the dwarves. "Turn the other direction and run now!"

"Why?" Balin asked suspiciously.

Bilbo tried to hear what the elf had heard, but to no avail. Hobbit ears, even those enhanced by the blood of a dragon, were no match for an elves'.

"Hurry," he insisted, shoving them back the way they came as if he were herding sheep. "It's-"

"Prince Legolas." A voice, frigid as ice and dripping with fury, cut through the air. The prince halted mid-step, his back becoming ramrod straight as if he had been struck by lightning. Thranduil slowly strolled into view, alongside his entourage of archers.

The sound of arrows nocked on bows thrummed through the air. "Explain yourself this instant."

The dwarves stiffened.

"One move and you die," the King flippantly. They held their breath, motionless as stones. They knew he was waiting eagerly for them to make a misstep so that he could shoot them. His features were carefully arranged into one of nonchalance. It was too calm and cold, like the stillness of a cobra before it struck.

Legolas approached his king, distress written clearly on his face. "Ada, they have to go. You know why," he said in Sindarin.

"You dare side with the wyrm and his entourage, Legolas?" Thranduil replied in Westron as he spun to face his son fiercely, prowling like a panther. His eyes were livid, mouth twisted into a snarl.

Bilbo interrupted before Legolas could reply. "King Thranduil." He forced himself to step forward despite his instincts screaming at him to stop. All the arrows turned towards him. He ignored the cries of "Bilbo, what are you doing" and "stop, you'll get shot" as he took another step forward. He had amnesty, he wouldn't be shot at, he would be fine, he prayed.

Thranduil lifted his hand to stop the release of the volley of arrows on the hobbit. He shifted his seething gaze onto the hobbit. Bilbo could feel the extent of his fury radiating off him, all currently directed at him. Courage, he told himself. He dared a peek at the King.

The elf raised his eyebrow; an unspoken order to speak.

Cold sweat prickling his back as Bilbo gave a low bow and let the Sindarin words flow smoothly from his tongue. "Please, let us go, King Thranduil. Time is running out."

In one swift motion, Thranduil had unsheathed his sword and rested the tip of the blade at Bilbo's neck. The dwarves shouted, but none dared rush forward for fear that the sword would impale their hobbit's throat instantly in retaliation.

"You brought the orcs to my door. You coerced my son and guard captain into assisting you. And now you dare ask for assistance? Why should I help you?" His tone was accusative, his words harsh. It did not fail to escape Bilbo's notice that Thranduil was deliberately speaking in Common. Even when they spoke in Sindarin, he responded in the language everyone understood. There would be no hiding of secrets; not even from the dwarves, it seemed.

Legolas looked devastated. "Ada, I choose this. Cyadhon didn't-"

"Be quiet, Prince Legolas. Let the wyrm speak."

A look of angry frustration crossed his features before it was carefully wiped out. He inclined his head quietly, but moved to stand protectively next to Bilbo.

The hobbit swallowed. "I-If you don't, things worse than orcs may come knocking." He paused, then, closing his eyes, made a split-second decision. "We'll reward you handsomely. The gems you desire will be yours. I swear on it."

"No! He has no-" Thorin's cry was muffled by Balin and Dwalin. He looked murderous, but finally acquiesced.

Thranduil gave a cold smile. "Swear on it on your name."

"I swear on my name, Cyadh-"

"No," he interrupted. "I want the Vilyahini's Oath."

A sharp intake of breath could be heard from Legolas. Bilbo's eyes widened. Shakily, he looked up, not quite daring to meet Thranduil's triumphant and smug expression. The ancient oath? He had the audacity to to ask for an ancient oath, especially in front of the dwarves? A feeling of doom sunk in his gut as he realised he was trapped. Trapped, with only one way out of this mess.

"I..."

The sword pressed slightly into his neck. "Having second thoughts?"

"Ada. Please," Legolas pleaded. "You are aski-"

"Silence, Legolas." Thranduil's tone softened by a smidgen. "An oath, wyrm. That is all."

Bilbo gulped. He weighed his choices, but what other alternatives were there? This was their best bet and he was unwilling to give it up. He was cornered. The king was sly and extremely bold to ask this from him - from a vilyahina - but if it was a binding contract he wanted, a binding contract he would get.

He never said anything about adding his own clause.

"I will swear the oath to return you your gems, on the condition that you swear neither to threaten nor attack the Company - including Gandalf the Grey, all thirteen dwarves, and myself," he said slowly, deliberately.

Thranduil barely took a moment to consider it before nodding impatiently. "Very well; I agree to your terms."

Bilbo's smile stretched upwards wickedly before he exhaled slowly and wiped all traces of emotions from his face. With a serious demeanour, he brought his left hand to his mouth and gently sank his fang into the softer underside of his palm. He held his hand out and the blood that slowly welt up dripped to the ground, fist clenched. As another drop of red stained the ground, he muttered in Sindarin, "I swear to return the White Gems of Lasgalen to Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm of Mirkwood. I swear by the Fire of my Heart, and it shall burn me from within should I renege; I swear by my nest to honour the word of the Vilyahina even after the embers of my heart have burnt out, as he swears not to attack, threaten or betray those under my care. This oath I swear in front of all present, and to Manwë, King of the Valar and Lord of the Breath of Arda."

The air around them stilled, a primordial presence weighing down on them. Without warning, a gust of wind buffeted through the corridor, strong and fierce and whirling around their hobbit. It howled loudly, like the screams of a thousand voices echoing down the narrow space and deafening all other sounds. None dared to move, stifling their cries as the bellowing of the wind became louder and louder, until it was unbearable, when suddenly - as suddenly as it started - it was gone.

The spectators were pale-faced and shivering. The silence was ringing. Bilbo unclenched his fist, and a small flame flickered upwards from the small graze on his fingers. it danced in his palm before spreading up his arm, twisting and coiling its way up to his shoulders. The mesmerising trail of flame hung in the air for a moment before it settled into his flesh without burning him, leaving a red tattoo in its wake.

The blood sank to the ground, dissipating into nothingness.

The oath was heard.

Legolas looked dazed and pained, brows furrowed together and head shaking slightly. It was as if someone had slapped him by surprise. "Cyadhon, that-" It was a serious vow to make; to think that his friend would go to that extent, risk his name and his every fibre for the sake of this quest...

Bilbo closed his eyes with an air of finality. "It is done."

Thranduil looked satisfied as he sheathed his sword. His smile was slow and smug, like a cat with a canary in between its paws.

Finally, he stepped aside. "Take the side exit to the river. Legolas will escort you." His smile stretched from ear to ear, but it was far from pleasant. "I expect you to uphold your end of the bargain. Do not make me regret this."

Bilbo's back stiffened at the insinuation. 'We do not break our oaths," he hissed. Forgetting himself for a moment, his fingers curled into claws as he slipped back into his old tongue. "Or have you forgotten, King Thranduil," he purred, voice low and silky and dangerous, "the severity of our binding oaths?" His eyes glowed bright as he bared his fangs. "We are not a forgiving race, much less a benevolent one, when our values are threatened. It will do you well to remember that."

The king looked away. A moment later, he stepped aside and his elves parted way for the Company. The dwarves hesitated.

"Go," Bilbo said, the word stiff and awkward on his forked tongue. The dwarves left, hurrying past with worried and wary glances thrown past their shoulders. The dragon-hobbit's eyes flickered red - under the lighting, they presumed - his gaze fixated on the king. When all the dwarves were accounted for and a safe distance away from the elves, Bilbo jerked his head downwards and made to leave.

"I'll hold you to your oath, Viyahina," Thranduil drawled.

Bilbo gave a mock bow. "As I to you."

As Legolas hurried past Thranduil, the king reached out and grabbed his forearm. Legolas stiffened minutely before he relaxed. Thranduil's face was lined with worry, his eyes flickering around his son's face and roving his physique for any signs of injury. After gauging his health and fatigue level, he gave a tired sigh.

"I hope you know what you're doing," his ada murmured in Sindarin, eyebrows creased in concern and annoyance at being defied. Annoyance, then a quiet acceptance and perhaps even sadness.

The prince nodded. "I do."

Finally, he tore his searching gaze away from his son. His face was blank save for the slight furrow of his eyebrows belying his worry and agitation. "Come back safely. Good hunting, my son."

Legolas gripped his arm tightly, forcing his father to look at him. For a lack of a better word, Thranduil looked - Sorrowful. Legolas gave his arm a reassuring squeeze: an unspoken promise to come back. "Thank you, Ada. Good hunting."

They parted.

Chapter Text

Chapter 21

They sprinted, unheeding of the other elves. Legolas led them through a narrow door near the kitchen. They burst out of the doors to find themselves standing at the rocky banks of a river with a wooden boat tethered to a wooden post.

For the first time since they stepped into Mirkwood, they could see the sky. Light filtered in from the dense foliage above them. Huge oak trees lined the banks of the river, which was narrow and winding, with sharp rocks jutting out randomly. The gush of the river was loud, but the harsh exhales of the Company was even louder. A sharp inhale of the fresh air - very unlike the misty, poisonous air in Mirkwood - cleared Bilbo's mind. Thranduil's kingdom must have been at the edge of the rotted forest.

The moss-spotted boat strained against its rope, bobbing wildly atop the gushing river. Water sloshed in occasionally as they hastily clambered on board, legs trembling. They barely fit in the tiny boat.

"Dwarves aren't water folks," Dori yelped as he clutched the sides of the flimsy boat with white hands. A small piece of the semi-rotted, damp wood broke off. He held it up, face ashen. "Is this boat even safe?"

"Yes; it's held together by elven spells. Hurry," Legolas hissed and shoved the remaining dwarves in, each of them piled unceremoniously atop another, before tossing their weapons after them. "I'll join you later," he said. "I have to find Tauriel."

"Be safe," Bilbo said, tossing him a dagger. Legolas pocketed it with a nod. He made to untie the rope tethering the creaking vessel to the wooden post.

"Elven prince," Thorin said suddenly. Legolas stilled, hand clenching onto the rope tightly.

Maintaining eye contact with the blond warrior, the dwarven prince dipped his head. "Thank you."

The elf gave a lopsided smile. He let the rope in his hand drop. The creaky dinghy, held together purely by the magic of the Elven craftsmen, swung wildly with the currents down the rapid river in a second. In another second, Legolas was gone.

They swerved dangerously through the river dragged to and fro by the erratic current. They barely managed to evade the half visible rocks in their path.

Orcs began appearing at the banks; hunting them on swift feet. Some threw themselves at the boat; those who missed were tossed to the churning current. The few who clung onto the boat were speared by swords and daggers. Elves darted overhead above the banks, paying the Company no heed. The orcs were swarming the guards in a seemingly never ending wave; for every orc downed with three arrows protruding from its neck, two more orcs appeared in its place.

The boat slowed for a second before rocking ominously.

"Brace yourself!"

Off the boat swerved again, wildly and uncontrollably. It veered dangerously near the banks and slowed down remarkably. The orcs were beginning to focus on them once more, dark eyes tracking them and weapons turning towards them.

"Paddle! Paddle!" Hurriedly, the dwarves took whatever long items they could use, plunging them into the river to propel themselves forward.

Orcs armed with bows came in sight. "Shields up!" Dwalin ordered. They held whatever they could above their head and ducked down.

Arrows, black wooden arrows tipped with metal heads, rained down on their heads. They thudded against the wooden shields in the forms of deep gorges. The arrows grazed past the surface of the boat, leaving not a mark on the Elven wood.

Bifur let out a cry. He made a face, grunting as he lifted up his arm. An arrow had left a deep gash on his arm. Blood oozed out from the wound. Bofur inspected his injury. He tied a cloth around it swiftly and tightly. "No poison, flesh wound, will scar nicely," he said. There was a collective sigh of relief.

"Be careful!" Thorin shouted again, and they all ducked down. The next volley of arrows rained down as they furiously tried to both shield themselves and paddle away.

Both Dori and Gloin were grazed by arrows; the latter's was tipped with a dripping black poison. Oin slapped a makeshift herb and bandage on it. "Start praying!" He shouted to Gloin. The paling dwarf started muttering religiously under his breath.

The craft floated forward. Caught once more by the undercurrent, it spun uncontrollably in a circle before rapidly taking off down the river, amidst the screams of shocks and arrows all around them.

"Gates! The river gates!" Bombur shouted, pointing at the great metal gates barring their way. It loomed over them, water rushing through the gaps too small to fit a boat. The boat slammed into the gates. They stumbled, the momentum almost throwing everyone off. They cursed, holding onto the sides of the boat as it rocked violently from side to side. Fragments of wood from the edge of the dinghy broke off.

"It's not opening!" Shouted Dwalin. His fist clanged against the metal bars futilely. "Where is the godforsaken prince elf when we need him!"

"Wait!" Bilbo said. "Wait! I see Tauriel coming!"

One unmistakeable she-elf was running along the banks in tandem with the boat. Lightning-fast, arrow after arrow shot out of her bow. She ruthlessly took down tho orcs that were specifically targeting the dwarves. Her braided hair flew behind her as she stabbed one orc in the thigh with her arrow. In one smooth action, she yanked it out and sent the same arrow flying into the eye of another orc behind her.

An orc jumped her from behind, forearm locking her throat. She was pulled backwards. Her bow clattered onto the ground, arms instinctively reached up to claw at the arm choking her, fingers scrambling for purchase at the hands holding her down. As she locked a hold on the orc behind her and tossed him in an overhead throw, another ulking figure slammed into her from the side and sank its rotten black teeth into her shoulder. She screamed.

"Tauriel!" Bilbo yelled. The onslaught of orcs increased. Her head snapped forward painfully as her hair was dragged down brutally by a gnarled fist, greasy fingers tangled in her auburn locks. Tauriel screamed again. Her lithe figure disappeared behind the bulky frames of her assaulters.

Kili cursed. The shields were obstructing his vision of Tauriel. He stood up and knocked Nori's shield out of the way, nocked his arrow, and took aim.

One orc went down.

"Kili! Get back behind the shield!" Thorin roared. Kili ignored him. Freed, Tauriel kicked an offending attacker into the ground.

"Your ten o'clock!" Bilbo shouted. She whirled around and punched the orc in the throat before unsheathing a dagger and sinking it into his gut. The orc gurgled as she twisted it, then yanked it out. The orc's twitching body disappeared underneath the feet of its comrades.

"Duck," Kili yelled. Without hesitation, she dipped downwards as the dwarf sent an arrow over her head and into an orc's throat. Kili picked off those coming at her from her blind angle. Slowly but steadily, the orcs surrounding her greatly decreased. Finally, she tore free from the onslaught of orcs. She broke out into a run towards the lever.

Tensing, she leapt. Using her momentum, she hit it midair, rolling as she landed.

The gates began to open. They grated sideways, those metal spikes dragging through mud and soil excruciatingly slowly. Too slowly.

"Kili! Get back down, now!"

The dwarf ignored his uncle. All his attention was still trained on the elf. Upon seeing Tauriel back on her feet, he exhaled shakily. Her clothes were covered with bits of innards and soaked in blood, her braided hair was drenched in sweat and tangled, and there was a bruise darkening the tanned skin of her cheeks. Kili had never seen a more beautiful person.

Their eyes met. They shared a smile.

Then, her attention shifted to focus on something behind Kili. Instantly, her grateful expression morphed into horror. Her eyes snapped back to his.

Time slowed. Her brows were drawn together in frantic worry. Kili could see her lunging bodily for her bow, could see her lips moving, but the words were drowned out by another voice.

"Kili! Watch out!"

A body crashed into him. He toppled, vision upturned. The ringing was loud in his ears and he found himself staring at the wooden boards of the boat. There was a familiar heavy weight atop him — it was Fili, Fili had tackled him down. He shoved his brother off, full expecting him to leap to his feet quickly, as he was prone to do. Confusion quickly turned into panic when Fili merely groaned.

"Fili? Fili, what-" his sentence stopped abruptly when Fili finally rolled over. A fist held up a broken shaft. To an arrow. That was embedded to his leg.

His breath hitched. All he could see was the remnants of the arrow buried deep in Fili's thigh. It was black, black and red and black, and the skin underneath all the red looked tinged with grey, was it supposed to look grey?

His hands trembled as he knelt next to his brother. "Fili, no," he whispered.

His brother let the broken half of the arrow drop and covered his wound with a hand, as if by removing it from Kili's immediate sight, he could erase the knowledge already present. He pushed his brother away half-heartedly. "It's just a normal arrow wound, Kee."

"It's poisoned, the arrow is poisoned, we have to treat it immediately, where's Oin—" Kili's hands were shaking. This was all his fault, his brother had saved him, had taken his place, had been injured because of him, and now—

Anger coursed through him, burning rage that filled his veins and his mind and his eyes until all he saw was red. He gripped his bow tightly, enough to hurt. His eyes narrowed in determination. How dare they hurt his family! He would make them bleed, just like how they had made Fili bleed. He would make them scream, he would make them suffer, until they regret incurring the wrath of a Durin's son. They would pay. The orcs would pay.

Then he saw Bilbo, and his vengeance-driven mind faltered.

Bilbo saw FIli go down, saw the panic that ensued, saw Kili kneeling next to his brother, dwarves yelling, half distracted due to their injured prince. He saw it all, and felt oddly dissociated from his body. It was like he was watching from above.

Fili - bleeding. Fili was - hurt?

A set of feet thudded onto their boat next to the brothers; another orc, presumably to finish off the dwarf.

His senses returned to him with everything in sharp resolution; from the golden strands of Fili's hair to the stench of rotted meat in the orc's breath.

Fili was hurt.

And Bilbo saw red.

He lunged at the orc, claws ready to tear and hurt and rip apart those that try to harm what is his. "You - have - done - enough!" He snarled. Fire coursed through his veins, seared his soul, blinded his eyes, until all he saw was red and revenge and protect and hurt.

The world exploded into a dizzying rush of colours and scents and touch. Talons tore through the orc - screaming, screaming, so much screaming - the muscles giving way like wet paper. It was so easy, spearing its heart with a single talon, feeling it squelch, then setting fire in its very core until it was reduced to blood and ashes. Copper and raw flesh hung heavy in the air, but the taste of coppery victory was so sweet on his tongue. There were hands pulling at him, terrified voices asking him to calm down.

Bilbo panted. His vision stabilised. He looked down on his attire; blood-splattered, soaked in the stench and ooze of the orc. He looked at the dwarves; the terrified faces of Bofur and Kili; the awed expression of the others at his brute strength. It was Bofur that was calling out his name, eyes afraid and begging but resolute and strong. He was covering Bilbo's hands - claws, with scales that crawled all the way up to his elbows - with his.

"Bilbo," Bofur said, over and over, "Bilbo. Calm down. Please."

Kili eyed his hands with growing horror. Bofur shook his head, a silent plea for him to hold his tongue.

The scales melted back into nothing. The dwarves around him failed to see his hands. They were silent. Some were wary; some suspicious; some in awe.

Finally, Gloin nodded. "Warrior," he said. "Didn't know you have it in you." His tone was carefully neutral, expression guarded, even as the tilt of his head spoke of awe and acknowledgement.

Bilbo looked away, looked at tiny Ori at the other end of the boat. Ori, with a resigned expression and a bitter, horrified twist at the edge of his mouth. Ori, who seemed to know what exactly had happened, although he was too far to witness it clearly.

Monster, he seemed to say.

"The gates!" In the ensuing commotion, they had almost missed the moment when the gate had finally shifted enough for the boat to slip through. With barely any notice, their boat veered off again. The currents were calmer, easier to control. The remaining orcs were being cleaned up by the rest of the soldiers.

Legolas and Tauriel raced after them, keeping pace with the rapidly-flowing river.

"Make way," Legolas yelled as he ran in tandem with the boat, which were looking more battered than ever. The dwarves reacted to his order without thinking, moving quickly and clearing as much space as they could. Without warning, the elves jumped into the already full boat, which rocked dangerously for a moment. The dwarves protested, but the boat finally calmed. For a brief moment, they had respite.

Then, their dinghy creaked ominously. The wooden boards visibly strained under their combined weight. The Elven spells that once been etched into the sides of the boat were dulled and scratched. For one pathetic moment, they glowed, seemingly trying to work its magic and hold the boat together.

A second later, they faded into nothingness.

Everyone was silent as they watched the words etched on the boat disappear, the only sound being the creaking wood.

"Oh, no," Legolas said quietly. Slowly, very slowly, water filled the boat, seeping in from between the planks.

"At least it's still functioning. It's not sinking or breaking just yet," Dwalin reasoned. The moment the words left his mouth, the plank under his feet gave way. He gave a shout and scrambled backwards into Gloin. A loud crack, followed by multiple, softer snapping noises, filled the air. Everyone stilled. Another crack, and the plank underneath Dori snapped into two. He went down, one foot stuck in the wood. Nori and Ori hurriedly pulled him out. More water soaked their boots.

"Durin save us," Bombur whispered. Then all hell broke loose. There was a frenzied scramble to hold onto weapons and paddle, quickly!

"To where?" Dori screeched.

"Land! There's land ahead!" They paddled madly, even as the dwarves cursed the elves.

"This is all your fault! Why did you jump in?" Yelled Thorin. "And why did you give us such a decrepit boat!"

"We were pressed for time! Just - paddle!" Legolas said through gritted teeth. Bilbo wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Luck was on their side, for ahead were the river banks with soft waves ebbing at the shore. The ship disintegrated beyond repair when they were nearing the shore. It was close enough to swim. They dragged their tired bodies out, spluttering and swimming the remaining distance to safety.

"So much for elven-spelt boats," muttered Nori. Legolas shot him a glare. Tauriel shushed them both, attention honed on the injured. Thorin, Oin and Kili were hoisting Fili and supporting him to dry ground.

Oin hurried forward, fumbling for his medical kit as he directed Fili to the soft grass ahead. "Let me see your wound," he ordered.

The dwarf was already shaking, face pale and hands cold. The edges of the wound were tipped with black. The rest if the dwarves rushed forward, surrounding their fallen prince in a loose circle.

"Dig out the arrowhead first," Thorin said, voice tight. Without grimacing, Oin did so carefully. The prince gurgled at the back of his throat, strangled cries that refused to become yells as the knife dug deeper into his flesh. Black blood and pus oozed out. Finally, the black metal tip fell out onto the sand.

Tauriel picked it up and careful wrapped it with a cloth. "We need to analyse its poison," she said by way of an explanation.

Bilbo craned his neck worriedly, trying to see over the shoulders of the dwarves surrounding Fili. Bofur turned to Bilbo and winced slightly at his appearance. "Your hands and clothes," he whispered, then motioned to the river.

Bilbo looked down at his hands to find them shaking. His nails were still lined with brown, and streaks of red that had not been washed away by their impromptu dip in the water, dripped down his arms. "I," he said to no one in particular, "I, uh, I'm going to wash my hands."

He scrubbed, scrubbed until all the red ran out and his skin felt raw, as though removing a layer of skin would remove the imagery in his mind. His hands, ripping through the Orc. Hobbit hands with dragon claws. The Orc, organs spilling out and eyes rolled back in shock as he felt the rage of a dragon in another form. His gleefulness when he sank his claws in, celebrating the triumph of making his enemy fall.

He had marred this form's nature and innocence with his old, bloody, ways.

Bilbo shook his head and shoved the memory aside. He had to focus.

"Bilbo," Legolas said. The hobbit started; he had not heard the elf approach. The elf shot him a concerned look, which he waved away.

The elf jerked his head towards the huddle of dwarves. "If you're done, Tauriel needs your flames to cauterise Fili's wound."

Bilbo looked down at his hands. There were still blood dripping down his fingers. "My hands are still dirty."

"Your hands," Legolas said carefully, "are raw from all the scrubbing. They're spotless."

He rubbed at a particularly bloody-looking stain on his palm. "It's still red," he insisted.

A hand tapped his shoulders. "Bilbo," Legolas said, brows drawn together tightly. "Are you okay?"

He hunched his shoulders together, hands dangling between his knees. He stared at his hands, and for a moment, the world swayed. As he watched, the red on his hands evaporated. Another blink, and he was staring at hobbit hands. Stubby hobbit hands with slightly sharper nails, but still had calluses from gardening. Very normal hands that were painfully raw and shaking, but conspicuously clean of blood.

"Oh," he whispered. Shoulders hunched up, he rubbed his face. Legolas gave him a moment to compose himself. "Sorry, 'las. Just tired." Bilbo straightened his posture and gave him a strained smile. "What did you say again?"

The elf drew back reluctantly, knowing a dismissal when he saw one. The skeptical look Bilbo received in return promised a talk for later. "I said, Tauriel could use your flames."

Bilbo paled. He swallowed and clenched his fists to stop the trembling. "Okay, I'll try."

He called upon his flames. Nothing happened. He tried again. A small burst of flames lit his fingers, before extinguishing into smoke. He frowned; it felt like coaxing life from a pit of cold ashes. Unyielding, impossible, nonexistent. This had never happened before. What was happening? A sob escaped him, hysterical and desperate.

He shivered. Something felt missing, a vital part of him like the embers in his blood. He felt cold. What was going on?

A warm, heavy hand settled on his shoulder. "Deep breaths, then try again," the soothing voice of Legolas was the sole voice of reason. He closed his eyes, then counted to ten.

Lessons with Elrond blended with the almost-forgotten voice of his mother, coaxing up a memory he thought long-forgotten.

Deep breaths, in, out, in, out. Let the fire breathe with you, and it'll heed your call. That's it, Cyadhon! There, the flame's all yours now. The pride in his mother's rumble was unmistakable. I know you can do it, he remembered Elrond saying that, equally pleased. Or was it his mother? Funny; he couldn't quite remember anymore.

But it didn't matter; the warmth in his veins were back.

He opened his eyes; cupped in his hands were flames. His flames, the usual orange-blue glow. For a brief second Bilbo thought he saw black flames mingled with his own. It was his imagination, Bilbo told himself. Legolas' look of unease was probably for Fili.

He shivered again.

"Okay," he said. "Let's get to Fili." The pair joined the rest, and the crowd parted to let them through. Kili was crouched over Fili, muttering consolations as Tauriel gently dabbed the wound with some kind of clear liquid.

"Bilbo, good," Tauriel said. "Come here; I need you to cauterise the wound."

Kili's entire being stiffened. His eyes snapped upwards towards Bilbo, narrowed and suspicious. Bilbo faltered ever so slightly before he shook it off. Kili was probably just worried for Fili. He reached a hand out and took a step towards the injured dwarf.

Kili hit his hand away. "Don't touch him!" His words were sharp and caustic. He shifted position such that his body was between Bilbo and Fili's.

Bilbo faltered. "What?"

"You heard me," Kili growled, but his eyes slid away from Bilbo's every few seconds. Nervous. Wary. "Don't touch him."

"What's wrong?" Fili's words slurred slightly. "Let him, Kili, it's fine."

"Kili," Thorin said warningly. "What is the meaning of that? Cease this foolishness at once."

Kili tensed but said nothing.

"I won't hurt him; closing the wound will help it heal." He tried to make his cadence low and smooth.

Kili's expression was filled with distrust. "Swear it."

"What?"

"Swear it," he repeated, "like how you swore to the Elven King that you won't hurt Fili!"

Everyone stilled. The oath was fresh in their minds, more proof of secrets their hobbit kept. Bilbo knew it was a matter of time before they would demand an answer from him and turn suspicious gazes his way. His heart ached.

"An oath," Kili repeated -half a plea, half a challenging.

"No." It was Legolas who spoke. Everyone looked at him in shock and he crossed his arms and stood in front of Bilbo. The defensive message was clear. "Those oaths are sacred and not to be used on such trivialities."

"My brother's life is trivial?" Snarled Kili, reaching for his knife. "Say that again, tree-hugger!"

"Kili!" Tauriel said, outraged.

"If you've listened to your hobbit, whom you claim to trust," Legolas said, "then you would know that such a promise is trivial, because Cya - Bilbo has no such intentions of hurting your brother, rendering the oath unnecessary."

"Kili, enough," ordered Thorin. "You are prolonging Fili's treatment with your squabbling."

The dwarven prince faltered. "I-"

"I trust Bilbo," Fili said, face now glistened with sweat. "Let him."

"Kili." Bilbo swallowed. "I know it's hard to believe me, but what you saw - what I did - I did it to protect Fili." Bilbo locked eyes with him. "I cannot give you The Oath, but I swear it on my sister's name and my love for her."

Kili lowered his eyes in acceptance.

"Okay," he said quietly. "Help him, Bilbo." He stepped away. "Please."

Bilbo approached Fili slowly, hands up to show he meant no harm. He willed his flames back and placed both hands - quaking slightly - above the wound. Fili flinched, but did not shy away from his fire. He gritted his teeth in pain as the wound hissed. Finally, the hobbit withdrew his hands and shook his head. The wound was only partially cauterised.

"That's all I can do. I'm afraid I've only slowed down the poison."

Thorin's fist clenched. He turned to the elves with a pinched expression. After a moment of deliberation, he inclined his head towards them. "Prince Legolas, Captain Tauriel," he addressed them formally; gritting his teeth. "Do you know how to cure him?" His eyes were lowered; his pride, placed aside, for the life of his nephew.

The elves exchanged looks. "Yes," Legolas finally said. "But it is long, and difficult, and painful."

"And we need a proper treatment place. At least a table, and clean cloth," Tauriel added on.

"We'll find both as soon as we can," Balin said.

"We'll be in your debt," Thorin vowed, "if you can save his life."

The Elven prince's stares held the weight of stars. "We'll hold your word to it."

Thorin's jaw clenched as he turned away. He dragged his his kingly persona around his shoulders, wearing it as if one would wear a cloak, heavy and unyielding as he shed the image of a concerned Uncle. "Meanwhile, there's an orc pack on our tail; we need keep moving."

"To where?" Balin said.

"To the mountain, of course," Bilbo said. "We're near."

He could feel it; feel the thrum in the air, the unspoken anticipation and danger of nearing another Great Beast's territory.

"There's a town nearby," spoke Legolas. "A human settlement. Lake town. We can go through it." He stilled, then lifted his head. "I hear someone about."

The dwarves reached for their weapons. "Who's there?" Barked Dwalin.

A pause; nothing moved. Then, a beat later, from behind a tree emerged a man. He held a crossbow, already loaded, held pointed off of the ground. It was ready to be fired at a moment's notice.

"What do you want?" He said.

Balin glanced behind the man to a barge floating discreetly down the river. Raising his hands up in a universal gesture of peace and surrender, he took one step forward.

The crossbow snapped up to Balin's direction. Everyone tensed, but did not draw their weapons. "What do you want?" The man repeated tersely.

"Pardon me, but, uh, you're from Laketown, if I'm not mistaken? That barge over there, it wouldn't be available for hire, by any chance?" Balin said pleasantly.

The bow remained transfixed on Balin. "Your word that I am not to come to harm."

"You have my word," Thorin said immediately, stepping up and giving a slight bow. "As long as no harm is done to my company," he added.

"And my word," Legolas added, stepping up as well. Thorin shot the elf a glare, the latter who pretended not to notice.

The bow lowered. The bargeman, seemingly losing interest in them, climbed back into his boat. "What makes you think I will help you?"

Balin said slyly, "Those boots have seen better days."

Bard begun counting the barrels in his barge, paying the dwarf no heed.

"As has that coat. No doubt you have some hungry mouths to feed. How many bairns?" Balin asked.

Bard tensed before shrugging. "A boy and two girls."

"And your wife, I'd imagine she's a beauty," Balin said. His smile was pleased and nostalgic. The Company nudged each other, smiling at the appearance of Balin the Romantic. It was no secret that Balin would sigh at the sight of young love, and weave ballads about love stories spanning centuries and lifetimes.

The man's look was wistful as he stared into the distance. Aye. She was."

The dwarves' expressions morphed to dismay. Balin's smile faded. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Oh, come on, come on, enough with the niceties." Dwalin grumbled loudly to Thorin.

Bard faced him with arms propped at his hips. "What's your hurry?"

"What's it to you?" The gruff dwarf shot back. For all that he was tall among his race, the human was still taller; he glared up at the man.

"I would like to know who you are and what you are doing in these lands," Bard said. "A company of dwarves... And two elves. Makes for an odd gathering indeed."

"We are simple merchants from the Blue Mountains journeying to see our kin in the Iron Hills," Balin lied glibly. "The elves have decided to follow us on our last leg of journey as a sign of goodwill."

Bargeman raised an eyebrow. "Simple merchants, you say? Is that right, your highness, Prince Legolas?"

All the dwarves groaned. Some even threw up their hand in despair. "Always the elves! Always!" Gloin grumbled.

Legolas merely tilted his head. "You recognise me." It was a statement, a simple observation.

"The Prince of the Woodland Realm," the bargeman bowed slightly. "It is hard not to. No one enters Laketown but by leave of the Master. All his wealth comes from trade with the Woodland Realm. We all recognise Prince Legolas and King Thranduil by sight."

"Then why didn't you say anything beforehand?" Demanded Dori.

"I wanted to hear what you would have to say," he said, eyeing Balin distrustfully.

The elder dwarf shrugged, unperturbed. "We say what we must."

"What is it that you actually need?" The bargeman asked.

"Supplies. Food. A place to rest," Bilbo supplied. "We need to lay low for a few days.

"The reputation of elves can get you anything in the town," said the bargeman.

"No," Legolas said. "They must not know we are here. We need to lay low." It was not safe to let many know about the Woodland Elves' involvement. The enemies need not know that the Elves were aware and prepared as well.

"Why?" The man eaised an eyebrow, then shrugged. "Never mind; I don't want to know." He boarded his barge and tossed a rope out.

"I'll wager there are ways to enter that town unseen," Balin said.

"Aye. But for that, you will need a smuggler," the bargeman said, eyeing them suspiciously.

"For which we will pay," the white-haired dwarf said. His smile was sharp and promising. "Double."

The Prince of the Woodland Realms nodding his assent played a big part in persuading the man. He scrutinised them, weighing them, before coming to a decision. Wiping his hands on the back of his trousers, he turned to face them fully.

"I'm Bard, at your service," he finally said grinning. "Now, you'll do exactly as I say."

In the woodland realm, a captured orc knelt tied-up in Thranduil's throneroom. "You had orders to kill the dwarves - Why? What is Thorin Oakenshield to you?"

"The dwarf runt will never be king," the Orc slurred through a mouthful of blood.

"King? There is no king under the mountain nor will there ever be. None would dare enter Erebor, whilst the dragon lives."

The Orc sneered. "You know nothing! Your world will burn! Our time has come again. My master serves the One. Do you understand now, Elfling? Death is upon you. The flames of war are upon you-"

Thranduil's eyes widened. Without warning, he whipped out his sword and beheaded the orc. The head rolled onto the floor, eyes still wide opened, only halting at the entrance of the room. The room was deathly silent.

The silence was broken by the quickened footsteps. Two guards ran into the room, hair tangled, faces ashen and blood staining their clothes. Both bowed, barely sparing a glance at the orc's head on the floor.

"My King," one said, panting slightly. "we have urgent news."

"What is it now?" Thranduil snapped.

He gulped. "We found scorch trails at the entrances of the attacks, Your Majesty. We followed them, and found, we found…" He hesitated looking to his partner.

Thranduil felt a chill down his back. Oh, no.

"Dragons," the other guard supplied, face pale. "We found dragonlings, broken and chained."

"Dragon mounts," Thranduil repeated expressionlessly. He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his years catch up with him. "What colour are their scales?"

The elf deepened his bow sorrow etched on his face. "Almost black. Some are pitch black, and their eyes…" He visibly shuddered. "It was too late for them."

The king took a moment to collect himself. When he opened his eyes, it was as though the fate of the world rested on his shoulders. He paced the room once before he swept across the throne room. All elves despised cruelty to children - innocent, young children that had no part in any of this. Even Thranduil himself could not ignore the suffering of these juvenile dragons.

"Take me to the remaining dragons. Send a message to both Elrond and Gandalf immediately."

"My King?" The guard asked hesitantly. "The message?"

Thranduil's jaws clenched. "We have found the dragonlings."

End of Chap 21

Chapter Text

Rivendell

Ryadher attacked the training dummy brutally. Her past few searches around the human settlements where the dragonlings were last seen had led her nowhere. They were often cold trails that were reported weeks too late. Lord Elrond promised to send her on the latest expedition the moment they had more news, but for now, it was just a waiting game.

Who snitched on them? The Dragonkin was supposed to remain hidden for a few more decades, at least. Only the Maiar, the Elves, and a small group of humans had been entrusted with this secret. It was very suspicious. Lord Elrond had spoken of an expedition to check in on all the dragon hideouts scattered throughout Middle-Earth, tedious as it might be. It could be their only way to track all the missing dragonlings from the source. Recently, their letters had not been responded to, which was even more worrisome. 

Yet it had been days and he had not yet confirmed anything with her. Years of dealing with that sneaky elf and tingling dragon senses gleefully alerted her that he’s withholding information from her. Not that that was anything new, although it sure did not make it any less aggravating.

She gritted her teeth and stabbed the mannequin for good measure. It had been a week! Enough waiting; she was going to corner Lord Elrond until he caved.

“Lord Elrond! Lord Elrond!” 

The Elven Lord swept past and continued his path towards the Council Room.

“Lord Elrond! I know you heard me, so stop avoiding me!”

He slowed to a halt and sighed. There was no escaping this time, it seemed. Ryadher had been especially persistent the past few days. It was a blessing that he had managed to avoid her for as long as he had so far. 

Bracing himself, he turned around and smiled at the simmering dragon-elf. “Yes, Ryadher? It hasn’t been my intention to avoid you. You know that I have many important matters to attend to at this time of the year.”

You haven’t told me everything yet,” Ryadher accused.

He raised an eyebrow. “Regarding?”

“The Dragonkin!” she said impatiently. “The humans. You said I would be allowed to go on a tracking expedition to find them.”

“Yes,” he said, “I do remember promising that.” 

“So when can I leave? I’m ready,” she said, propping her hands on her hip and jutting her chin out. Her eyes glowed fiercely with determination.

Lord Elrond felt fondness and exasperation stir within him. What a spitfire his daughters were, both the adopted dragon-elf and Arwen. He was so proud of them. “Not yet,” he said.

Her ears twitched irritably. “Why not?” 

“We’ve received more pertinent information and are verifying them,” he said. “And you won’t be going alone.  A scout will be returning to Imladris to follow you on your journey.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Fine. Who?”

He hesitated, then exhaled softly. “Nestriel.”

Ryadher recoiled. “Nestriel? As in ruthlessly logical Nestriel who decided to up and leave m- leave Imladris to explore the world indefinitely?”

“Yes,” Lord Elrond said patiently, “and I was the one who sent her to the indefinite scouting expedition.”

“On her request,” she muttered. She shook her head. “Nevermind. Why are we waiting so long for her? I can do without her, or go with another scout!”

Lord Elrond smiled indulgently. “She’s one of our best scouts, and both of you are familiar with each other’s tracking and fighting style.”

“It’s been years since we’ve worked together.”

“Then learn that teamwork, again,” he said. 

She crossed her arms, her foot tapping impatiently. “Fine,” she said. “For the dragonlings.”

Lord Elrond smiled approvingly. “Very well. She will arrive tomorrow; be prepared to leave the day after.”

“You’re still withholding information from me,” she accused.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried not to think of the meeting with Galadriel about the Necromancer that he was currently late for. “It’ll be easier to brief both of you together. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really do have to go.” Without waiting for a response, he swept off, hurrying his pace. Gandalf would not be happy if he were any later.

The Dragonkin were always a handful, even one who grew up with an Elven education.

Fine, Ryadher huffed. If being paired with Nestriel was the price to pay for going on this expedition, so be it. The Dragonkin was her utmost priority, especially when it comes to the lives and well-being of her people. To let some petty drama from the past hinder her at this crucial timing was childish. 

Nestriel excelled in navigation, scouting, and gathering information through espionage; Ryadher had a solid sixth sense and was good at tracking and hunting. They had good chemistry, but that was before their fall-out. She could see why Lord Elrond would pair both of them together. Despite what Elrond clearly thought, she was capable of separating these matters and working together with Nestriel. Even if she dreaded the idea of seeing her again.

The next day, Ryadher was inspecting her daggers by the fountain when she heard two sets of footsteps approach. Soft murmurs followed down the corridor: Lord Elrond’s, and another lilting voice that, despite having not heard in years, was still instantly recognisable. She tensed.

The conversation died down as the footsteps grew louder, only stopping a few steps away from her. Ryadher pointedly continued inspecting the edges of her daggers. She remembered seeing a nick on one of them a few days before.

Lord Elrond gently cleared his throat. “Ryadher, we have a guest.”

She looked up. “Oh!” she said, feigning surprise. “Sorry, I didn’t notice you were there.”

His baleful expression spoke lengths. 

Ryadher turned her attention onto the lithe she-elf standing slightly behind Lord Elrond. She was half a head shorter than Lord Elrond, with defined muscles that could be discerned through her green-and-brown riding clothes. Blonde hair let loose in the style favoured by the other elves reached mid-back, shorter than Ryadher remembered them to be. Her nose was crooked - the result of a scuffle with a bear gone wrong, Ryadher remembered - and three jagged scars that were almost parallel to each other curved downwards across her left cheek, narrowly missing her eye. 

Ryadher looked at the faded scars with a twinge of remorse before dragging her eyes upwards. 

Green slanted eyes stared back at her. “Ryadher,” the she-elf said, bowing slightly. “Well met.” 

“Nestriel.” An acknowledgment was all that she said. She looked well. Despite herself, Ryadher felt a sense of relief at that.

“It has been years since we last saw each other. How have you been?”

Ryadher wrinkled her nose slightly, already forming a snide response when she saw Lord Elrond’s sideways glance and caught herself. Even though she had told herself that she was mentally prepared to see Nestriel again, actually seeing her after two decades of absence had knocked her off-kilter. “Good,” she said. 

Silence.

Lord Elrond cleared his throat. Ask her back, he mouthed from behind Nestriel.

Ryadher’s smile stretched stiffly. “And you?”

“The same, thank you for asking,” Nestriel said with a slight inclination of his head. “I have a gift for you.” She dug into her pocket, retrieving an ocarina. With a slight bow, she presented it to Ryadher. “You love instruments, do you not?”

Ryadher‘s smile faltered slightly before coming back in full force. That’s it? She felt disappointed. Her throat constricted uncomfortably. “Thank you, but I cannot accept it,” she said, words strangled. “Perhaps another time.”

The silence was painful.

“Very well,” Nestriel said. If her tone was icier than before, no one commented on it. “I shall hold onto this gift until that time comes. If you’ll pardon me, Lord Elrond, I shall take my leave first to freshen up. Shall we meet later at the Dining Hall?”

The Elven Lord, looking exhausted, took a moment to respond. He nodded. “We can discuss the mission in detail over dinner.”

Nestriel bowed once more and left.

Lord Elrond turned to face Ryadher, his eyebrows drawn tightly together in mild distress. The significance of a Dragonkin rejecting a gift, especially one known to belong to their hoard, was not lost to him. “Ryadher, you said you would be cordial towards her.”

“I was.” She said, her voice wavering. “But if she thinks she can just waltz in here and present me with an instrument, and that everything will just be fine after that-”

“Ryadher.”

“I promised to be cordial towards her, but I did not promise to welcome her. I - cannot. But rest assured,” she gave a lopsided smile, “I won’t let it affect my mission.”

He pressed his lips together. “I see.” Gently, he tilted her chin upwards with one hand and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes flitted downwards, away from Lord Elrond’s concerned gaze. “It pains me to see both of you like that, Ryad. I hope both of you will finally be able to put the past behind.”

She turned away. “Only time will tell.”

So much for not getting emotional in Nestriel’s presence.

During dinner, Lord Elrond skipped the pleasantries and went straight to the issue at hand. “For the past few months, there have been reports of missing Dragonkin. At first, it was sporadic and infrequent - one dragon per month, in random places. We couldn’t find any trends, and they were assumed to be lost, or killed in a freak accident. Rain, flood, fire - it happens.”

“No dragon will die in a freak fire,” said Ryadher. “That’s irony at its finest.”

“In human form, even a dragon is susceptible. Especially when they once chose not to reveal the existence of their race. Or, in these cases, unable to.” Lord Elrond finished the last of his meal and placed his utensils aside. “They’re dragonlings. Young ones, so young that the elven magic of shapeshifting is more binding than on adults. They don’t have a choice; they can’t shift to their true form at all.” 

Her grip on her fork tightened.

“The last few cases have been of dragonlings, young enough to shapeshift at will, but still susceptible and malleable at mind. It is mostly the orphans, or those whose caregivers are not of the Dragonkin, that are taken. Dragonlings that are not as well-missed.”

Ryadher’s expression tightened. The mention of susceptibility of the mind alludes to the worst possible scenario. “You think…”

He raised his hand and she stopped. “Listen first before your mind runs wild, young one. There are three possibilities from here. The first, which had been our guess all along, is that the dragonlings were being captured to become sacrificial beasts for dark magic.”

“Yet there have not been signs of dragon remnants - they were just kidnapped, and vanished entirely from the surface of Middle-Earth,” Ryadher said. “I tell you, this is unlikely!”

Lord Elrond inclined his head.  “Which leads us to the second possibility, which is also one that we’ve been looking into recently. There is an underground trafficking trade engaging in dragonling trafficking for their prized organs and bones. They capture the most vulnerable ones that can still shapeshift, force them in situations where they’re forced to shapeshift...”

“Then gouge out their hearts, skin them for their hide, and eat their liver,” said Ryadher flatly. “The bones are used for false oracles, or attempts at dark magic.” She pushed away her plate. No matter how many times she had heard it, it still made her sick. 

Lord Elrond nodded. This was an old practice, one that he had hoped had become obsolete, but he knew there were still groups who practiced dragon hunting. Even though the existence of dragons were under wraps and they were basically non-existent, some still managed to get their hands on the dragons. The black market was a terrible place, and even Elves could be corrupted if bribed at the correct price. Hiding an entire race, and one so big (literally) was a huge secret that would indubitably be leaked. 

“Is there any evidence of this?” Nestriel questioned.

Lord Elrond looked as though he aged a decade. “We found the remnants of some dragonlings in several human settlements,” he said, “and traced it to a group of traders who sold fresh dragon innards to several towns, claiming that they have miraculous healing powers. We do not know where they had obtained the meat from, but we can confirm that they had been providing a regular flow of dragon innards to the town.”

Ryadher hissed and clenched her fists. “Despicable. How could this have happened? They were supposed to be safe!”

“We do not know-”

“Didn’t you interrogate them?”

“They’re dead. The dragon-elf who found the group lost his temper and set the place ablaze before we could find out more. Other members, if alive, have not been found.” Lord Elrond eyed her. “I trust you will not make the same mistakes, Ryadher.” An unspoken “this is why we don’t trust the Dragonkin on missions” hung in the air. 

She fell silent. 

Nestriel gently cleared her throat. “Ryadher has been under your tutelage for years, Lord Elrond. I’m sure she has a better grip on her temper.” She kicked Ryadher under the table, and Ryadher nodded sullenly.

“I hope so,” he said drily. “There is a third possibility, and a more worrisome one.” He hesitated. “This, we do not have concrete evidence yet, but things have not been adding up.” He cleared his throat. “We have found the remnants of chains specially made for dragons at orc camps.”

“No,” whispered Ryadher.

“It is possible,” Elrond continued, “that there might be evil forces who are trying to manipulate the dragonlings to do their bidding. The Necromancer is rising, and dark forces are stirring. Morgoth’s Servants It is not so far-fetched to believe that their attention has been turned to the Dragonkin, one of Morgoth’s Servat

“They want to turn them into mindless, blood-thirsty mounts,” Nestriel said, eyes wide.

“It would be like the War all over again,” Lord Elrond said.

Slowly, Ryadher set aside her fork. The metal was heating up uncomfortably in her grasp. She clenched her fists, fingernails elongating to talons and digging into her palm. The wooden table under her arm sizzled slightly. She closed her eyes and counted to ten. Her anger ebbed away as quickly as it arrived, leaving her feeling exhausted and drained.

“They’re only children,” she said.

“I’m sorry.” 

“Children. Why are they doing this to them?”

“There would always be those who seek to harm others for their own gain. This is the worst scenario. I hope it does not come to pass - mainly, for the dragonlings, but also because if it is true, it heralds the rise of greater evil. I fear that it would mean the start of Sauron’s reign once again.” 

“But this is less likely?”

“Speculations, my child, but one that we cannot take lightly.” Lord Elrond placed a hand on Ryadher’s shoulder, jolting her out of her thoughts. “Take heart, Ryadher. There is still time to save the young ones.”

Ryadher lifted her head. “That’s why you’re sending Nestriel and me on a scouting expedition.”

Lord Elrond nodded. “Find out what happened to the dragonlings. Track down the smugglers, find out how they retrieved their information, who they serve, and what happens to the missing dragonlings. Obtain all information necessary, then eliminate them.”

“After that?” asked Nestiel.

“After that, you track down the dragonlings, and bring them home.” he gently took Ryadher’s calloused hands in his. “You come home with them, safely.”

“What about those that we cannot save?” her voice was small.

He was silent. “Do what you must,” he finally said. “We will have back-up, of course. We are gathering a group of our most trusted elves, dragons and human rangers to assist in this task. However, it would take some time, which is why we need both of you to step in first to gather the information. Send the information back immediately before engaging directly with the enemy,” he instructed. “More importantly, fall back if it’s too much to handle. Back-up will come.”

They exchanged glances and silently agreed to ignore the last part.

Ryadher squared her shoulders. “We leave tomorrow, at first light.”

Nestriel and Ryadher rode continuously, only stopping to rest their horses. For the first two days, they ate their meals on the horses’ backs. When night arrived, they rested in the open under the stars, snacking on their lembas.

It felt just like before, when they would go hunting and star-gaze together after. It felt just like before, if you replaced comfortable silence with awkward ones, and flowing conversations with stilted, forced small talks.

“I’ll keep the first watch, then wake you up three hours later,” Nestriel offered. Ryadher agreed and set out her bedroll, praying that Nestriel was not in the mood to chat. Unfortunately, she was.

“How have you been recently?”

“The same, still under Lord Elrond’s care.”

Nestriel gazed at her. “You’ve grown.”

Ryadher rolled her eyes and turned the other way. “We haven’t met in more than twenty years, what did you expect?”

“But dragons age slower, right?”

She considered ignoring Nestriel but decided that would be quite rude indeed. “Yes; 15 human years to one dragon year.”

“Yet you look the same.”

“Thanks. You too.”

The conversation died there. 

Ryadher pretended to sleep. It worked. 

The next morning was quiet. After breakfast, Ryadher felt bad and decided to reciprocate Nestriel’s efforts of talking again.

As they walked their horses through the forest, Ryadher asked, “Is this forest like anything you’ve visited in the past twenty years?”

If Nestriel was happy that Ryadher was talking to her, she did not show it. “This is but a normal forest, Ryad.”

Ryad rolled her eyes, but Nestriel continued before she could come up with a quip.

“I’ve been to countless gorgeous ones. Woodlands, still brimming with life and green energy. Birds of all colours; waterfalls hidden in the deepest forests; and gentle mammals that move slowly through the woodlands. There was a whole forest filled with moss; one with flowers; and another that seemed to rain eternally.” 

When she turned around, Ryadher’s breath hitched. Nestiel eyes were bright and filled with a dreamy wonder. 

Ryadher wondered when was the last time she had seen Nestriel look so alive. When they had both stayed in Imladris all those years ago, the change in Nestriel had been so gradual. She didn’t even realise how much quieter and reserved Nestriel had become over the years until the elf had asked to leave. Yet, in that moment, talking about her travels as a scout, she looked years younger, just like the young lass she had met a century ago. 

“Middle-earth is huge, Ryad,” Nestriel continued. “We can explore until we’re tired and there’ll still be new things to discover. Eriador, it’s-” she shook her head. “It’s old, and tired, and stifling. The Woodlands are drained, and we, along with it. Someday, I'd like to bring you there. Come with me next time, Ryad.” Her expression was so earnest that Ryadher almost felt bad for the words already forming in her mind.

“Eriador is past its prime, and so you chose to run away to greener pastures and prettier woodlands, away from your responsibilities, instead of reviving what we have?” Ryadher raised an eyebrow.

The ecstatic expression on Nestriel’s face fell immediately. It shuttered, and she put on the formal, stiff facade of an elf again. “No. I chose to explore while still serving my duties as a Ranger. I chose to see for myself the difference between the Woodlands, and then understand what can be done for Eriador. And how to maintain Imladris.”

“You chose to leave,” Ryadher said quietly. “I can’t begrudge you for leaving, nor can I blame you for not reaching out. I’m glad that you love what you’re doing now, and I’m glad that you’re well. But I wish you didn’t come back after two decades of absence and pretend that you never left. To slip yourself back into my life like that, as if you still have a place in it - that’s cruel, Nestriel.”

Without waiting for an answer, she pulled her cowl down over her head and rode ahead.

It was awkward at night. Ryadher took the first watch, and she lay on the grass, watching the stars and listening to the insects around them. Her senses were attuned to detect abnormal movements or sounds.

As such, she was hyper-aware when Nestriel got up and sat next to her.

“I’m sorry,” Ryadher said. “For responding to your honest sharing with such negativity.”

Nestriel sighed. “You were right though. We never addressed what happened, and I didn’t think about how you would feel about me appearing now, attempting to be cordial again, without addressing everything in between. I just-” she exhaled. “I’m sorry. I understand if you want to stay away from me, but I hope we can be friends again, or at least part on better terms.” 

Ryadher softened, but twenty years of grudge kept her tone stiff. She kept her eyes glued to the stars. “After everything that we said and everything that was done, I don’t know if we can ever go back to how we were. Nor is this the right time to talk about it now.”

Silence, then Nestriel laughed wryly. “Right once again. You’ve indeed grown, Ryadher.” Her tone was formal once more, no longer as open and honest as it was before. Ryadher felt a tinge of sadness at that - she had liked this open version of Nestriel more than the uptight one. “I apologise. This definitely isn’t the time to talk about our personal matters. Goodnight, Ryadher.”

Before Nestriel could leave, Ryadher said, “It’s not the time to discuss these matters, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be cordial to each other.” She laughed drily. What was she doing? She had loathed the elf for what she had said and done all those years ago. What Nestriel had said, even if they were merely words out of anger, was not acceptable. Yet she, too, had hurt Nestriel with her words and more. And she still lived with the guilt whenever she looked at her old friend.

Twenty years was a long time for a grudge to be held, especially against a friendship that lasted more than half a century. She had thought that it would be more painful to constantly be in Nestriel’s company, but now that it was happening, it wasn’t as bad as she had imagined it to be. After actually seeing Nestriel again, her grudge felt weak, and to her surprise, her anger was diluted. In fact, her anger had slowly subsided, especially after Nestriel had taken the effort to reach out several times this journey. 

It no longer hurt as much as it used to. Perhaps making amends was not a bad idea.

“Maybe we can be friends again, maybe not, but I'd like to find out too, slowly.” A pause, then a quiet admittance, “I’ll like to get to know you again, and maybe learn about your adventures too.”

Nestriel’s expression softened. “I would be honoured to exchange stories and knowledge with you.”

An olive branch extended, their journey was a lot smoother and enjoyable. Ryadher hated to admit when Lord Elrond was right, but if this was his secret plan to get them to reconcile, it was working.

It took them three more days before they reached their first destination: a human village where several Elven children were reportedly last seen.

Even with her hood up to mask her ears, Nestriel’s height and boots attracted attention at the inn. This was no normal lady, the men muttered, and kept their distance from her. She sat at the counter, talking in low whispers to the innkeeper.

“They were trying to be sneaky, that they did,” the innkeeper said, “said they’re just ferrying their children to visit ‘sum relatives in the next town over. But my waiter bumped into one of them and the hoods to one of their charges dropped. And,” the innkeeper leaned in conspiratorially, “those were Elven children, that they were. Beaten up, upset looking children. No way they could be normal charges, much less their children.”

“And?” Nestriel asked.

The barkeeper blinked. “And what? I can’t do sumthin’ to stop ‘em, especially since they bring business where business ain’t often abound. Bad times now, I tell ya. The tides are changing again, things are getting darker. We do what we can to get by.”

“Sir told me to tell Gabsy to write to the Elven post to tell you,” quipped the waiter. “That’s sumthin’, if ya ask me.” The barkeeper glared at the waiter. “Not that anyone asked me, of course, I misspoke, excuse me missus.”

Nestriel flipped the waiter a coin. “For your silence.” 

The boy scrambled forward to catch it, stuffing it into his pockets before bowing deeply. “Many thanks, Madam, of course Madam, my lips are sealed.”

The barkeeper cleared his throat and the waiter took his cue to flee. “Aye, I did send the Elves a letter,” he said. “Such information should come at a price... yes?”

Her gloved hand reached into the cloak and the innkeeper rubbed his hands together in anticipation, eyes wide and searching.

“For the dangers taken to pass on the message,” he added, and licked his chapped lips. “A huge risk I took.”

Nestriel slid a golden coin on the table. “For your efforts,” she acquiesced. She added another silver coin on top. “And for your silence.”

The innkeeper’s eyes bulged out of his head. He almost fell over himself bowing to her over the countertop, hurriedly pocketing the money. “Of course, of course, I saw nothing and said nothing. Not to you, not to anyone, of course, this innkeeper ain’t got anything to do besides his business.”

“Keep it that way,” Nestriel said sharply. “Or else...” Gleaming eyes pierced through the darkness of her cowl and into the innkeeper’s soul.

He swallowed. 

She leaned forward and tapped her nails against the tabletop. “We’ll overlook your inaction just this once.” Her voice was almost a purr. “But we won’t take kindly to it a second time, Innkeeper Brev, Son of Gar.”

The innkeeper paled. He left that name behind a decade ago when he left his hometown. 

“Do not try to withhold pertinent information from us for a bribe again, Brev,” she continued. “And if you speak a word of this to anyone else...” the threat hung in the air.

“Of course,” he said weakly, “anything you say, Madam. I wouldn’t dare.”

She locked eyes with him for a beat longer. 

He tried to hold eye contact but his legs were growing weaker by the second. Finally, he looked down.

“Good. Thank you, Brev, it was a pleasure dealing with you.” Her chair barely scraped the floor as she pushed it back.

His eyes remained downcast until he heard the telltale sound of the inn door closing. Then, after confirming that the elf had left, he collapsed on the nearest chair. He gasped and wiped the sheen of sweat coating his brows. His legs were still shaking.

“You good, Sir?” His waiter shouted from a few metres away.

The innkeeper thought of the darkness that lurked in the elf’s eyes, a promise of pain if he did not keep his word. He shivered, goosebumps prickling. “I ain’t see nuthin’, I ain’t said nuthin’. Just another day of work, aye, Morris?”

“Aye, Sir.” A beat of silence before his waiter replied again, feebly. “Just another day of work.”

Nestriel left the inn and approached Ryadher, who stood opposite the inn. Ryadher tilted her head expectantly. “So?”

“Human smugglers with a dozen or more children, heading to the next town.” Nestriel pointed to the forest. “They went that way.”

Without another word, they were off, tracking their quarry.

As they went through the forest, they saw signs of camps. There were scuffle marks as well, and a few broken chains. Ryadher gritted her teeth and kept moving.

It was a day later when Nestriel and Ryadher finally caught up with the smugglers in the next town.

The smugglers were walking around town, cowls down and masquerading as travellers. Ryadher recognised them by the descriptions given by the innkeeper. She sniffed the air, but she was standing downwind and could not pick up their scents. Something was amiss though. She frowned: where were the dragonlings?

The smugglers seemed to be in a good mood, laughing jovially and shoving each other. When one of their cloaks parted, Ryadher could see a whip, knife and a suspiciously fat coinpurse stuffed into their belts. 

They were speaking in low voices, so Ryadher and Nestriel slid closer to eavesdrop on their conversations. 

"-good haul-"

"-pesky elven children, almost not worth the trouble-"

"-scary, won't want to deal with them again-"

"-no idea why elven children-"

"-good riddance, I'll say, I hate-"

A shiver ran down Ryadher's spine. With horror, she watched as the smuggler leader called them together. "Good work. Let's celebrate at The Wicked Girl later. Drinks on me! Finally rid of 'em, aye?" With a hearty cheer, they broke apart and went separate ways.

"They sold the dragonlings! We were too late," Nestriel whispered. 

“Shit.” Ryadher bared her teeth. “I’ll catch the leader and interrogate him. Their guards will be down tonight.”

Nestriel agreed, and as they turned to follow the leader, the wind shifted.

And on the wind was a whiff of -

Ryadher halted.

Her breath hitched. Blood drained from her face, eyes widening in horror, as she recognised the scent.

Orcs. Dragonlings. Blood, and fear.

The smugglers had sold the dragonlings to orcs.

Their worst fears were confirmed.