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Chapter Text

Of all the tales in Arda, there was none so tragic as the history of hobbits.

A gentle race, with affinity towards nature and all things living. Some believed this affinity to be magical, while others believed the Valar’s favor reflected in any land hobbits dwelled. They were small and soft creatures, with large feet and curled hair. They were called simple beings, though they were far from simple-minded. Clever and resourceful, their wit rivalled that of high elves. If rumor was true greed had no place in their hearts. You could not bribe a halfling with gold or jewels. They held no desire for power or position. A comfortable hearth and a happy home were all the hobbits needed.

This gentle and trusting nature was a source of affection and fear for a certain grey wizard. He’d watched over the children of Yavanna since the very beginning. Protected them from the evil things of the world that sought to destroy creatures so pure. Because of their gentleness and stature halflings were practically defenseless on their own, so the grey wizard made an arrangement between dwarrow and hobbits that benefitted them both.

Beside the great dwarrow mountain Erebor a city was built for the little creatures. An alliance was made between the Hobbit Thain and King Drerin son of Durin. The halflings would till the earth around the mountain, providing food, cloth, and medicine for the thousands of dwarrow within the mountain, and in exchange the hardy warriors would guard them against any and all threats.

The land around Erebor was rich and fruitful. The men of Dale and elves of Greenwood thrived off trade with the alliance, and the golden age of the north was something scholars would write about for centuries.

It would have continued if a shining white stone had not been unearthed within the mountain. They called it the King’s Jewel. The greatest stone ever crafted by Aule and the Heart of the Mountain. Lords of other Dwarrow kingdoms traveled to see the marvel of the stone. Even the lofty elves of the forests were besotted with the beauty of the glittering gem.

By the time the curse of such beauty was discovered, it was already too late.

A sickness fell upon the dwarrow of Erebor. Mad with greed and suspicion, they closed the grand gates and locked themselves away with their treasure. Taking the protection of the Hobbits with them. King Thror was the most heavily afflicted, going so far as to imprison his own son in paranoia. The halflings did their best to defend themselves against the opportunistic orcs and goblins, but the nature of evil was upon them quickly. Hundreds were dead before the Thain sent an envoy to the mountain gates to plead with the Mad King for entrance.

Driven by suspicion and greed, King Thror only saw enemies at his gate and made a decree that the race of dwarrow would languish over for centuries. The great army of dwarrow fell upon the hobbits that day. Perhaps if the grey wizard had not been away and the men of Dale had not been so ignorant, the halflings would have survived. As it were, the small beings fell by the thousands to dwarrow swords.

It wasn’t until a man named Girion snuck into the dwarrow King’s chambers and stole the stone, delivering it to the White council to be destroyed that the curse and madness were lifted. Free from the haze of sickness, the entire Kingdom of Erebor wept. King Thror ordered his own execution as penance.

But it was already too late.

In place of cheerful meals and a peaceful settlement was ash.

No living Hobbit was found.

For nearly a century the race of Dwarrow searched in hope for survivors. Pleading with Mahal that they didn’t extinguish an entire race in their madness. But they searched in vain.

Guilt and shame filled all dwarf hearts, and in a single day men and elves learned to hate the mountain dwellers. The very land around the mountain turned black in grief, and with no halflings to heal it, it seemed a new curse of Erebor befell them in revenge.

Hobbits became a thing of legend.

Hundreds of miles south, in a hidden hole in the ground, a hobbit was preparing his dinner.

_

Bilbo Baggins inspected the brambles covering the entrance to his home with a keen eye. The green leaves were young, just out of bloom. Not yet thick enough to completely hide the door behind them if one were to look close enough, but still dense enough an eye would pass over the unassuming plant at first glance. Satisfied, the young hobbit started his usual morning trek to the river to empty his fishing nets.

He had a simple life amid the Shire. Protected as it was by large hills and thick shrubbery, he lived in peace with nature. Filled his stomach by foraging and hunting, and always returning to the safe smial his father built his mother as soon as they settled here. Here in these hills hid the last hobbits of Arda. All descendants of the lucky who escaped the wrath of the dwarves over two centuries ago.

The hobbits had adapted much in that time. Instead of learning to culture fields, their precious few young were taught how to run quickly and hide silently. They taught themselves how to burrow underground and use nature to shield them from sight.

Bilbo was very good at these lessons, as he needed to be. His home was on the border closest to the town of Bree, a men’s settlement. His mother was one of the few hobbits that knew how to use a sword, and his understanding father had built the underground safe haven in its location so she could help warn and defend their kin. Belladonna had taught her son all she could before one harsh winter had stolen her from him. Bungo falling soon after.

The responsibility to protect his kin fell on the young Master Baggins before he reached his first majority. Now two years after, he had settled into his role and was praised for his hunting and sneaking skills. Despite being underage, he was already a respected member of the council and contributing member of their little band of refugees.

Now if only those skills and maturity would help him catch more fish.

Bilbo frowned at his empty nets. Cursing in the Green Tongue his downstream kin who no doubt copied his tactic and had full nets. Rolling his eyes, he marched toward his still blossoming raspberry bushes to make sure the heavy winter hadn’t killed his favorite fruit bush. The earth still felt happy and healthy around the young bush, so he continued on his way, smiling at the rabbit that decided to travel next to him.

This particular young brown hare had been following him around for several weeks now. He’d grown soft on the fluffy creature and ruefully admitted that it was too cute to make into dinner. He had enough stores anyway. Mother Yavanna always made sure he had just enough to keep his belly full. The rabbit, which he’d named Big Ears, bounced along in front of him, making him smile.

“Someone is in a good mood today.” He remarked, the flowing tongue of his people making his little friend flick its ears back. “Must be the pretty doe I saw yesterday. You make a new friend?”

He took the small nose twitch as a confirmation and laughed. “I’m sure she’s enchanted by such a handsome rabbit as you. You should go after her.”

Bilbo reached his hidden doorway, carefully lifting the bramble to uncover the entrance to his home. The sneaky rabbit shot into the smial and Bilbo followed soon after, making sure to properly cover the doorway behind him.

“Maybe I should cook you!” he called, smiling despite himself. It felt good to have company. Even if the said company was a fluffy rabbit. The smial was always too quiet and cold for his taste. He doubted he’d ever get used to it. All he had to entertain himself was the few books about hobbit traditions and family trees his father insisted were more valuable than anything else they owned.

It was lonely.

Bilbo sighed as he headed for the kitchen. It did no good to dwell on it. He should be grateful he never saw any excitement anymore. Being lonely meant the hobbits were still hidden. Lonely meant he was safe. If his solitude was the price he had to pay to keep his people safe, then it was worth it. Even if there was a constant ache in his chest and a childish plea for companionship on his tongue whenever he visited the great smial.

It was fine.

He liked being alone.

It barely felt like a lie.

-

Kili stared in awe at the unassuming bramble bush the little golden creature and his pet rabbit disappeared beneath. The thin branches he was hidden within obscured his view. He had to bite his tongue to stifle a cheer. They’d done it! They’d actually found one!

Chapter Text

Kili stared in awe at the unassuming bramble bush the little golden creature and his pet rabbit disappeared beneath.  The thin branches he was hidden within obscured his view.

He had to bite his tongue to stifle a cheer. They’d done it! They’d actually found one!

The company had been traveling for months in a desperate search for the halflings. Uncle Thorin was running himself ragged searching for even a hint of the hobbits. The pressure of his infamous legacy and their dying people pushed him into desperation. Uncle had gathered a company the moment he’d gotten leave from his father King Thrain with the promise of returning in two years if they were unsuccessful. Kili was sheltered, but he knew the kingdom would collapse due to starvation long before the two-year mark. The curse on their lands and the neighboring kingdoms' hostility left the dwarrow with mounds of gold, but nothing to spend it on.

As the old saying goes: You can’t eat gold.

He had a feeling it was a halfling that said it first.

But now they didn’t have to worry! There was a halfling right there! Surely King Bard and King Thandruil would start trading again when they saw the dwarrow with a halfling. They would prove that they were worthy of protecting a halfling again, then the curse would be lifted and Erebor could prosper again. Now they only had to capture the little miracle and bring it home with them. Or, less likely, convince it to come with them. Kili knew they all preferred the latter, but considering how long the hobbits had been in hiding he doubted one would tolerate their presence; much less travel with them to Erebor. 

He scooted back on his stomach, careful to make as little noise as possible. Fortunately, he’d left his heavy armor back at camp this morning after planning on taking a bath in the river Bofur had found. His thick leathers allowing him to move near silently unlike his rattling metal grieves. He committed the bush the halfling disappeared behind to memory and raced back toward his kin.

“It’s too early to be smiling like that.” His elder brother groaned at him from where he sat watch. Most of the company were just stirring, tired after their long journey. Ever the early riser, Kili didn’t pity them and proceeded the kick as many of them awake as he could.

“Kili!”

“Lad!”

“I’m gonna kill ‘em!”

“I found one! Wake up! Come one! Come one! I found one!”

“What’s the lad rambling about now?”

Kili danced around the camp, too cheerful to pay attention to his rumbling kin. He couldn’t believe it! It hadn’t even been a full day since they arrived here! “You should have seen it! All curly and small and practically hairless! It’s smaller than even Gimli! It was walking around barefoot, just like in the stories!”

“Kili?”

He stopped and looked at his bewildered kin, exasperated that they weren’t as excited as he was. Come on! This was everything their people hoped for! The very reason they were out here!

“Kili what are you saying?” his uncle demanded.

Frustrated and excited in equal measure, he ran a hand through his hair and repeated, “I said I found one! It had golden hair and green eyes and a pet rabbit and everything! It looked even cuter than the stories Amad told us!”

His brother jumped up, his mouth hanging open, “You... you found a hobbit? A real live hobbit?”

“Ye-es!” Kili went back to his dancing. Amad would be so pleased with them. They could return home within the year now! “You should have seen it Fili! All soft and small. I think it’s a male hobbit. Hard to tell really when they don’t have beards.”

Hands on his shoulders forced him to stop and face his flabbergasted uncle. “Are you absolutely sure you saw a halfling?”

He pouted. He had excellent eyesight, thank you very much. “I’m sure Uncle! I’ve never seen a man with that big of feet before, or ears shaped like that. A rabbit was following it around, and he was even talking to it in this strange language! Do you think Hobbits can understand animals?!”

“Focus. Where did you see it?”

He pointed south, a grin splitting his face, “Just past the river! I saw him when I was going to bath, and followed him all the way to his hiding place! It’s really clever, if I hadn’t seen him first, I’d never have found it.”

Kili paused as he looked at his uncle. For the first time, he almost thought he saw some hope in those dark blue eyes. His smile softened, he knew how important this was to his uncle, and to his people. Finding a halfling was the only hope for redemption for the dwarrow of Erebor, especially for the line of Durin. His uncle had done his best to shield him and his brother from the ridicule they faced because of King Thror’s actions, but they could see the strain the extinction of the gentle race caused his family. The guilt and shame it brought upon them.

Kili took his uncles calloused hand and smiled at him, “I swear it uncle. At least one hobbit still lives.”

“Well done lad!” Balin praised, patting Kili on the shoulder. As if it was a cue, the rest of the company started cheering and gathering round, demanding information.

“Enough!” Thorin shouted, “Show us where you saw it last.”

“Right!”

_

Bilbo shivered and glanced around his kitchen. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he went back to eating his breakfast. It was a simple meal, with a few fried eggs and bread his cousin made out of the wild growing wheat in the area. It was dry from being stored for so long, but he didn’t’ mind. After breakfast he cleaned up and prepared for a long day of being outside. With spring finally arrived he had a lot to do to prepare for summer harvest.

He threw his light green and brown cloak on, a gift from his father to help him blend in with his surroundings. Bilbo swore he could still smell the pipe weed Bungo favored in the fabric.

He left his smial, as always cautious of his surroundings. The warm sun on his too pale skin was like a caress. He smiled up at the yellow orb, grateful for the nice weather. Winter this year had seemed so long. It even snowed a bit. He turned east, fiddling with his small gardening tool bag. Another gift from his father.

He didn’t see the eyes watching him from afar.

_

“Mahal Kili. You did it.” Thorin breathed, his eyes not straying from the golden halfling that seemed to appear out of a bramble bush. All at once weight fell off his shoulders. They weren’t completely gone. His family hadn’t killed off an entire race of gentle creatures. That soft looking being was the key to redeeming his family and saving his kingdom.

“I don’t believe it.” Balin muttered, his brother grunting in agreement.

“Told ya my info was right.” Nori muttered quietly, “These parts used ta be barren. Only hobbits could make land flourish like this.”

Looking around, Thorin realized the Spy Master was right. It was very subtle, but the land was clearly blooming in both plant and animal life. He’d seen three rabbits and a marmot in just a few minutes they’d been watching. What looked like herbs and berry bushes were growing wild everywhere, including the honeyberry bush they were all hiding behind. What even looked like wheat patches spotted the hills. It was an obvious contrast to the blackened slopes around Erebor. It seemed the legends were true. Nature itself flourished where hobbits dwelt.

“Do you think there’s more of them?” Ori asked hopefully.

Bofur shrugged, “Probably. He looks young. It’d be easy for ‘em to hide in all these hills. Lad probably has kin scattered around.”

All eyes turned to Thorin as the halfling started walking away from them. He looked at his Spy Master, who nodded and silently crept after the small creature. “Let’s return to camp. Nori will keep track of the halfling for now.”

_

Despite the lovely weather and the pleasure of finding his basil plants sprouting already, Bilbo had a bad day. He was twitchy and uneasy. It felt like something was watching him, yet every time he turned around nothing was there. A few times he swore he heard twigs snapping, but every time it was just a rabbit or other critter emerging from a bush.

He decided to head home early for lunch and spend the rest of the day patching up a rip in his trousers.  A particularly angry rose bush had snagged them just below his knee. The small light from his candle did nothing to sooth his troubled nerves, even within the safety of his smial.

He took dinner without going outside again, despite his long list of chores to do, and went to bed early, sure that a good night’s rest would relax his mind.

_

“He still in there?” Thorin asked.

Dwalin nodded, not taking his eyes off the entrance to the Hobbit’s hiding hole. They’d taken turns keeping watch all night, unwilling to let the halfling escape before they even had a chance. The dwarrow were gathered around now, blinking away sleep from their eyes. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but none complained of waking up in the early hour. They were all too excited for today.

“I still don’t like this.” Dori muttered, fiddling with Ori’s scarf. Thorin sighed and patted his friend on the shoulder.

“Neither do I. But there is no other way.” The silver-haired dwarf grunted but didn’t disagree.

The prince turned to his company, regret and determination in his eye. His faithful friends and kin nodded back at him. “Wait for my signal. Be gentle and don’t hurt him. If you can convince him to come with us willingly do so. Mahal knows we owe his kind the courtesy.”

He turned back to watch the unmoving bramble. By the time he turned to take his own position the rest of the company was gone.

_

Bilbo woke up with determination. He’d seen what paranoia did to hobbits who were too afraid to step out of their door. The horror stories told to them since they were faunts were enough to convince any one of them that it wasn’t safe above ground.

Even though something still felt off, he shoved the feeling aside and prepared for the day. The sight of his mother’s sword hanging on the wall made him pause, but he bit his lip and walked past it toward the exit. He would not give in to this strange fear. It was safe in the Shire. Everything they did was just a precaution.

It was warm and sunny again today, something that for some reason only made him jumpier. Bilbo went about his morning tasks regardless, and as early morning bled into the afternoon he’d calmed down significantly. He’d caught three fish in the nets and unearthed a stash of potatoes by the river. Pleased with his bounty he started back for the smial for lunch. Bilbo climbed up one of the many hills and headed for home.

It was a small gleam that alerted him first. Like the glaring light the sun made off of a reflection. He twisted his head around to the source, but it was gone a moment later. He paused and looked around, clutching the sack of potatoes until his knuckles whitened.

“It’s alright. Don’t be alarmed.”

He whipped around and stumbled back, tripping over his own feet and landing on the ground. A dwarf (A dwarf!) stood behind him, standing just behind some thick bramble. He had thick white hair and a beard, and had his hands raised innocently. Bilbo looked at him with nothing but terror. A panicked squeak escaped his throat and he scrambled back, abandoning his spoils thoughtlessly.

No. No. No. No!

“I don’t mean you any harm.” The old dwarf said, his voice pitched low and soothing. He stepped over the bush, despite Bilbo mentally begging he’d get stuck in it. He shook his head, his heart battering against his ribs, and flipped around, scrambling to his feet.

He had to get away.

He had to hide!

“No don’t...!”

He ignored the dwarf's call and ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction. He only had a moment to wonder why the white dwarf wasn’t following him when an even larger dwarf was suddenly right in front of him. He yelped and scrambled to change directions, but soon realized that he was surrounded.

They were everywhere! How had they snuck up on him?!

Gasping, he looked around for any means of escape. The white one kept talking to him, but the blood pounding in his ears blocked the sound out. They were closing in fast. Think Bilbo, think! He was on one of the taller hills, one side of which was steeper and rockier than all the others. He’d accidentally tumbled down it two winters ago. A blond dwarf was just reaching the top of it.

He shot straight at the blonde, trying to dodge around him. Just as he thought he’d done it a hand snagged his cloak. His weight and momentum cause the dwarf to slip on the loose rocks and they both pitched over the ridge. The dwarf yelped but didn’t hesitate in wrapping his arms around Bilbo as they rolled.

He groaned as they finally stopped at the bottom. That hurt worse than he remembered. Didn’t help that a heavy dwarf landed on top of him.

Right, Dwarf.

He tried to roll out from under him, but arms as thick as his thighs were still wrapped around his waist.

“Ow.” The dwarf groaned. He rolled onto his side, thankfully taking his impressive weight off Bilbo before he was crushed. Bilbo twisted around and shoved at the dwarf’s chest, trying to break his grip. The blonde blinked down at him, realization making his eyes go wide. “Are you hurt? Please tell me you’re not hurt!”  

Bilbo ignored him, his struggles getting even more frantic as the other dwarves picked their way down the steep hillside. He kicked at the dwarf, but even his thick soles did nothing to the dwarf’s armor. Stupid arms! Why were dwarves so big and muscly!?

“Fili!”

Bilbo had never been so scared in his life. Trapped against this young dwarf while other dwarves approached. Stories of hobbits dying by the thousands at the hands of the oath breakers filled his heart with terror. He had to escape! He just had too!

“Hey. Hey it’s okay!” His captor shifted, using a leg to stop Bilbo’s kicking. Undeterred, he fought harder, even going to far as to bite him. “Ouch! Okay. Okay. I know your freaking out. It’s alright though!”

“Fili! Is he injured?”

“I. Don’t. Think so.” The dwarf panted, doing his best to stop the hobbit from wriggling free. He managed to wrap the hobbit’s middle and arms with one arm, and both of the hobbit's legs with his leg. He used his other hand to smush Bilbo’s face into his chest so he couldn’t bite him again.

Bilbo whined; something he hadn’t done since his parent’s death, trying to jerk his body away to no avail. His entire body trembled, and he dug his hands into the dwarf’s armor but found nothing he could scratch.

“Shhh. It’s okay little hobbit. I won’t hurt you.” The dwarf crooned into his ear, not at all fazed as Bilbo used his entire strength trying to push away.

“Yes! You got him Fili!”

“Well done lad!”

“Look at how small ‘e is! ‘e’s just a little guy.”

Bilbo felt faint at the voices surrounding him. He couldn’t see anyone, with his face pressed into the dwarf’s chest, but that did nothing to calm his panic. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, and that his heart was going to beat right out of his chest.

“All of you be quiet! You’re scaring him!” The blonde shouted, wrapping Bilbo up tighter. “Shhh. Just breathe. None of us are going to hurt you.”

Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut, tears leaking out of them. He managed to take a deep breath, which hitched at the end. The hand in his hair started lightly scratching his scalp. As terrifying as it was, it helped ground him. “That’s it. Calm down. Your safe now.”

For several minutes he just did his best to breathe, the dwarf holding him captive murmuring reassurances all the while. He eventually stopped whining, but he couldn’t get his limbs to stop trembling. This was bad. This was very, very bad.

“Oin he’s bleeding.”

Bilbo flinched when something touched his leg, the panic started to crawl up his throat again. He renewed his struggle despite his exhaustion. “Easy! You’re okay.” The dwarf soothed.

“Turn your head away laddie.” A rumbly voice requested.

“Do you have to?”

“It ain’t good for him to be so worked up. ‘sides ‘e won’t let me patch ‘im up without a fight.”

The hand holding his head down left. Bilbo lifted his head, blinking in the sudden light. Something was shoved under his nose. It smelled sour, and he tried to jerk away. The hand holding the strange white plant just followed the movement.

All of a sudden Bilbo's exhaustion doubled, then tripled. He blinked, sluggishly aware that he was being drugged. Vaguely he recalled the uses of the Clorodim flower, which his mother always warned him away from when he was young. Just one whiff could knock a grown hobbit out. They used it for surgeries and to knock out animals before slaughtering them. Sneaky dwarf must have found the patch of it growing near the river. Despite Bilbo's effort to stay awake, soon everything went black, and he drifted into unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

Fili sighed as the wee hobbit went limp against him. The flower Oin used were strong enough to keep him unconscious for at least a few hours. He untangled himself carefully, laying the sleeping creature on the ground. The wet spot on his chest from tears made him cringe guiltily. He’d felt terrible forcing the little thing to stay still.  It reminded him of when he and Kili had caught one of Dale’s stray kittens. The poor thing trembled just as much. He didn’t like being feared so much. It made him feel dirty and evil.

“Did he bite you?” Kili asked, coming to his side. He looked at the little teeth marks on his upper arm.

“He’s just scared Kili. I don’t like…I don’t like causing that.”

His little brother looked at him, slowly nodding, “Yeah. I don’t either. He’s so little and defenseless. But you heard what uncle said. We can keep him safe. “

Fili just frowned down at the hobbit as Oin started treating the minor cuts and scrapes on him. From the stories he’d heard, he knew hobbits were supposed to be fat and round, but this one was thin and pale. No doubt they were limited with what they could eat and grow while in hiding. “Your right Kili, we can keep him safe.”

_

Bilbo groaned as he came too, the pounding in his head making itself known before anything else.

“Easy laddie. The ‘eadache will pass in a momen’.”

He blinked his eyes open, surprised to see the dimming sky above him. It took a moment for his muddled mind to catch up to what had happened. He stiffened, his eyes widening on the grizzled dwarf sitting next to his side. Dwarf. There was a dwarf next to him!

He flinched and tried to sit up, but the dwarf pressed a hand to his shoulder. “Stay down lil’ one. Not gonna hurt ’cha.”

Bilbo twisted, trying to get his bearings. He was laying on something soft, and had a blanket thrown over him. His hands were bound in front of him, as were his ankles. He strained, trying to pry his hands free. The dwarf just chuckled. “Good luck with that. Nori tied those knots.”

Bilbo wrinkled his eyebrows. What was a ‘Nori’?

He looked around, surprised to find himself in some kind of camp. Dwarves were scattered around doing different chores. One large round one was tending to a large pot over a fire.

“Hey! Your awake!”

He jerked at the young voice, looking up at the blonde one who crouched next to him. He tried to subtly scoot away, ducking his nose under the blanket. Immediately the dwarf stilled, his smile freezing in place. “Sorry. I don’t mean to scare you. Though I guess I’ve already done that.” He sounded rueful.

“My name is Fili. I’m really sorry about all this. We wanted to talk to you, and explain things, but then you started running away and we couldn’t let that happen. You hobbits are really good at hiding. Like really good.” Apparently not good enough, Bilbo thought sullenly. “You don’t have to be afraid of us. I promise none of us will hurt you. I know you don’t believe me right now, but we’ll prove ourselves to you.”

He listened as the dwarf talked, still subtly shifting as far away as he could. He didn’t believe a word of it. Mother told him time and time again not to trust any non-kin. That anybody could break an oath, especially of protection. He needed to escape as quickly as possible before that happened.

Soon enough the large one said dinner was done, and all twelve dwarves gathered around. Bilbo curled into a ball and ducked under the blanket, shaking again. They all kept staring at him like he was some prize! Like he held the answer to all of their questions. Especially the tall dark haired one, with blue eyes. He didn’t understand what they wanted. Why capture him instead of immediately killing him? They obviously weren’t above drugging him.

“Fee scoot over.”

“Is that for me?”

“No. It’s for the hobbit! Get your own!”

Something tapped his back. “You can come out Mister Hobbit. My names Kili. I have some soup for you. Bombur is a great cook, so I’m sure you’ll like it.”

Bilbo just closed his eyes and curled into a tighter ball. He was too stressed to eat, and he didn’t trust them not to poison him.

After many attempts to draw him out, the dwarf eventually gave up. Bilbo lay as still as he could, trying to swallow his fear in order to listen to everything going on around him. He hadn’t seen any sharp objects or weapons near him, though he bet each dwarf carried some kind of weapon. If he could just snag something to cut the ropes binding his feet and hands, he could escape when darkness came. He knew the area enough he could lose them, even though he knew Dwarves had better night vision than hobbits. He’d tried to use his teeth to at least loosen the ropes, but nothing worked.

As the sun set the wind picked up, and he was grateful for the blanket no matter how badly it smelled.

He heard the others settling down around him and dared to peak out of his little nest. The fire had gone out, leaving behind glowing red coals. The moon was nearly full, meaning he could at least see the dwarves as they got into bed rolls. Bed rolls that looked remarkably like the one he was lying on top of. He shifted uncertainty. Did they have a spare one he was using? Or did they bring one along just for him? That would mean this was a preemptive attack. That they came here to capture him.

He shuttered and tried to pull his hands free again.

“Ya cold hobbit?” a voice drew his attention.

It was the one with the thick bushy red hair, who had pulled Kili away once he realized Bilbo wasn’t going to eat anything. He just stared back at him, unwilling to voice anything. He was too unnerved. These dwarves so far hadn’t exactly acted like the stories portrayed them, like bloodthirsty beasts, but that didn’t mean they weren’t.

The dwarf just chuckled and threw one of his own blankets on top of the one Bilbo already had. It was a ratty thing, with a few holes, but Bilbo stared at it in confusion anyway. Why were they being nice to him? He was their captive! They could want him for slavery for all he knew!

It was that thought that kept him awake nearly all night.

Once, when he was sure everyone was sleeping, he’d tried to roll away. He’d made it to the camp boundary before running into someone’s legs. He stiffened as the owner of those legs sighed and easily picked him up, moving to plop him back down on the bedroll. He tried to wiggle away, but the dwarf, who oddly enough had silver hair, proceeded to wrap him in the blankets so thoroughly and tightly that he had no chance of detangling himself. He pouted, earning a chuckle from the dwarf, and resigned himself for finding an escape during the day.

“Ah, he’s so cute!”

“Did he wrap himself up like that?”

“Nah, Dori did afta the idio’ nearly rolled himself offa the hill.”

“Ha! That’s a way to keep him still!”

Bilbo attempted to roll away from the noise but quickly discovered that he couldn’t. He frowned and opened his eyes, immediately disappointed. It hadn’t been a nightmare.

“Up and at ‘em halfling! Long day of walking ahead of us!”

He blinked at the partially risen sun, surprised that he’d actually managed to sleep at all. The dwarves were breaking camp, some munching on biscuits as they worked. The hatted dwarf, Bilbo had heard the fat one call him Bofur, approached with a cheerful grin. The dwarf easily unwrapped him from his blanket prison and hauled him into a sitting position.

A biscuit was shoved into his bound hands.

“Eat up half pint,” Bofur suggested, going so far as to ruffle his curls.

He stared at the food, exhaustion and shock making everything seem unreal. This was worse than a nightmare. Bilbo knew now that he'd been captured, he had a very small chance of escape. Dwarves were much larger and stronger than hobbits, and were designed for fighting. If only his mother was here. She would know what to do. A swell of emotions threatened to overwhelm him before he brutally shoved them down. He couldn't panic. Before his mind could catch up he was nibbling on the bisquit, too hungry to protest. How long has it been since he’d eaten? A few pieces of bread and smoked fish for breakfast yesterday was all he could recall. Eru, no wonder he was starving. 

All too soon the biscuit was gone and the dwarves seemed ready to go. Maybe the Valar would bless him and they’d forget all about him?

Just as the thought crossed his mind a dwarf approached him. He jerked back in surprise. He had an actual axe embedded in his skull! Bilbo was so surprised he didn’t even scramble away when the dwarf got close. The dwarf muttered something in a strange tongue, sitting all the way on the ground.

To his surprise, the dwarf pulled out a slightly crimpled flower out of his coat pocket and handed it to Bilbo. He inhaled sharply. It was a yellow rose, a symbol of friendship in his culture. As far as he was aware no other race saw any significance in flowers. But as he looked up at the kind brown eyes of the dwarf, he knew the dwarf understood what it meant.

He stared at the cheerful little flower. Nobody had given him a flower in years. Not since his parent’s funeral. He was too far away from his kin to see them regularly, and he had no one close to his age. The closest were Prim and Drogo, who were both ten years younger. 

He smiled softly at the flower, pushing a little green magic into it so the wilted petals sprung up again. “Th... thank you.” He said reflexively. Bungo would be rolling in his grave if he was here to see his son thanking a dwarf. The strange dwarf just smiled at him and got up to stand next to Bofur, who was staring at the flower in awe. Bilbo blushed and drew it towards his chest. Green Magic wasn’t a secret, not exactly. He’d been taught to hide it his entire life, to not draw attention to the Shire, but he figured there was no point hiding it now. Well, not completely anyway. The dwarves of Erebor had known about Green Magic, so it was safe to assume all dwarves did. Even if they didn't, the legends about hobbits were universal. He'd once overheard a human merchant boasting that his smoking weed was "so good you'd think a hobbit grew it" while Bilbo hastily pilfered the man's knife. The selling pitch obviously wasn't true, since no hobbit had been in contact with dwarves or humans for centuries, but it was frightening to know the world hadn't forgotten about them yet. As a rule, the hobbits rarely ventured near civilization except for once a year. They couldn't grow everything they needed, so every year Belladonna Baggins had been in charge of a small group of hobbits brave and tall enough to venture out of the Shire to sneak tools and seeds from the human village. It was the only year he'd been allowed to go along. The only time he'd seen other races. The Fell winter happened months later, and all Bree trips after were led by the Proudfoot's oldest son. Whom firmly believed Bilbo was too young.

Along with the knife, Bilbo had managed to sneak away an entire hoe on that trip. His cousin's had praised him for being the best burglar in the Shire.

The white-haired one started toward him, startling him out of his thoughts. the dwarf was caring a strange metal device connected to a string. Bilbo eyed him warily. The old dwarf smiled slightly at the flower in his hands and crouched in front of him.

“I know you are confused and frightened right now lad, but I need you to answer a question. Do you understand me?”

He stared back, warring with indecision. It felt pointless to say no, but somehow easier too. If they thought he didn’t understand common maybe they would let something slip? Or they’d just talk in their dwarven tongue instead. He slowly nodded. “Y... yes.”

The dwarf smiled gently at him, “That’s good. My name is Balin. As I said before, we mean you no harm.”

Bilbo looked down at his bound wrists and ankles meaningfully. The dwarf winced, “I know it isn’t comfortable, and we wouldn’t bind you if we thought you wouldn’t flee as soon as you could. You are someone we just can’t risk losing, you understand?” No, no he really didn’t.

Balin pulled out a small knife, but before he could completely panic the dwarf smoothly cut the ropes on his ankles. He immediately pulled his legs to his chest and used his hands to rub at the sensitive skin there. His ankles weren’t nearly as sensitive as the top of his feet, but the rough rope had definitely been unpleasant.

He eyed the knife still in Balin’s hand, wondering if the dwarf was going to cut him free before stabbing him. As if reading his mind the dwarf said, “Peace. I merely want to cut the ropes binding your hands. Why don’t you set that lovely flower down?”

It took a long moment for Bilbo to swallow his fear and gently set his flower beside him, extending his hands so Balin could easily cut the rope. It was a testament to dwarven craft that the little knife sliced the thick rope so easily. He shuttered to think what it could do to him. He rubbed at his sore wrists, very aware of the intense scrutiny on his person now that he was unbound.

Balin started fiddling with the metal device in his hands, keeping one eye on Bilbo all the while. Behind him, Fili started chasing after Kili. Bilbo watched warily as the dark-haired dwarf being chased accidentally shoved the redhead scraping out the last remains of the breakfast pot, making him yelp as he nearly landed in the still-warm fire bed. Balin had been ignoring the commotion with practiced ease until the blond dwarf lost his footing on the soft soil and rolled into his back. Distracted Balin glanced back to yell at the young dwarf.

Bilbo took his chance. He was on his feet and running in half a second.

He heard Balin shout, followed by what sounded like a mad scramble after him. But their heavy armor and bulk weighed them down, and hobbit legs were designed for sprinting from danger.

He grinned as he ran, weaving and jumping over the shrubbery. Dwarves may be strong and fierce, but Hobbits were fast and nimble. He could hear them chasing and cursing after him, but quickly falling behind. He sprinted faster, digging his toes into the sand for a better grip. He had to get out of sight, then he could sneak back to his smial and burrow down until they gave up looking for him. Or take one of the secret passages toward his kin. He could at least grab his mother’s sword. He regrets not having it now.

When he decided he was a sufficient distance away, he immediately lightened his steps and practiced every sneaking skill he had. His cloak he knew, helped him practically vanish against the hills. Confident in his ability, he snuck back in the direction of home. There was no possible way the dwarves had found his hidden home. It was invisible behind the bramble.

All of the terror and panic seemed to melt off of him at the sight of his smial’s guardian bush. Home. He could put this nightmare behind him and alert his kin of the danger. He had no doubt that the dwarves wouldn’t forget about his existence. They needed to move quickly to avoid the swarm of dwarves that would no doubt come looking for the elusive hobbits. He didn’t want to think about them capturing his little cousins, or elderly aunts and uncles.

Just as he lifted the bramble a hand shot out and wrapped around his wrist. He yelped and threw himself backward, but the hand remained firm. One of the dwarves, the big bald one covered in strange black markings exited his smial, (His hidden smial!) still keeping a firm grip on the sputtering hobbit.

“Figures the stone heads can’ even guard a halflin’.” The dwarf grumbled.

Bilbo tried to use his nails and free hand to pry the hand off his wrist, but it didn’t seem to faze the dwarf at all. Then he noticed the familiar pack thrown over the dwarf's shoulder. “That’s mine!” he growled, trying to snag his mother’s traveling pack. The dwarf just raised an eyebrow at him.

“Ya do talk.”

Another dwarf, this one with red hair shaped into three strange points appeared from his smial entrance. He took one look at the recaptured hobbit and snorted. He too was carrying a sack full of possessions, along with Bilbo's sword and scabbard, and the blanket from his bed.

“Dwalin! The hobbit escaped! We have to… oh.”

The dwarves turned to look at Kili, who stopped and stared. Bilbo ignored them all, too focused on trying to break this stupid dwarf’s fingers from his wrist!

“Uncle! Dwalin caught him!”

The rest of the company burst around the side of the hill, obviously out of breath. The big black-haired one breathed a sigh of relief at seeing the hobbit again. “Oh thank Mahal.”

Balin just huffed and approached, the strange metal and string in his hands again.

“Lose somethin’ brother?” Dwalin teased.

The old dwarf just rolled his eyes and leveled a glare at Bilbo. Bilbo dug his feet into the earth and yanked back as hard as he could, but the dwarf’s arm didn’t even budge.  “Just hold him still for a moment. It won’t happen again.”

Dwalin grunted but grabbed the hobbit's free elbow and held it steady regardless. Bilbo’s eyes widened as he realized the metal was shackles and started hyperventilating again. Chains were not as easy to escape as rope.

“Easy.” Balin crooned, locking the surprisingly light and thin metal around his wrist. The seam seemed to vanish completely, leaving a smooth, lockless band behind. In no time at all the old dwarf had both his wrists shackled. Bilbo inspected the strange string between them. It was thin but clearly made of metal. Almost like tiny chain links so tightly woven together you couldn’t see between them. It was connected to a longer string, which Balin still held. Puzzled, he spread his hands apart, watching as a small metal ring between his hands allowed the strange string to separate, at least until it was pulled taunt by the length in the dwarf’s hand.

Balin chuckled and stepped back, pulling until Bilbo’s hands were forced together again. The string merged back into a single strand seamlessly. Bilbo eyes followed the string up to Balin, looking betrayed.

Dwalin just chuckled and stepped away, handing Bilbo’s mother's pack to the older dark-haired one who stood nearby watching.

“Amazing isn’t it!” Kili said, bounding over to admire Bilbo’s new shackles and tiny chain. “It’s made of mithril. Grandfather had it crafted.  It’s the strongest metal in middle earth, and super rare.”

Bilbo just frowned. He found none of that encouraging. He’d hoped the thin chain would break easily, but it seemed his luck ran out sometime last week. He pulled his hands back, testing how tight the shackles were. To his surprise, they seemed to tighten the harder he pulled, but were never tight enough to cut into his skin. At rest he would barely notice them.

“Are you sure you don’t want boots?” Fili asked, following after his brother.  The young dwarf was staring at his bare feet uncertainly. “We have a long journey ahead of us.” Bilbo looked at him in surprise and no small amount of offense.

Journey? No! He couldn’t go on a journey with dwarves! He threw his weight away from them, aching with the need to break free. Surprised, but not unprepared, Balin merely tightened his grip on the string and watched as Bilbo did his best to wrench his shoulders out with his pulling. Bilbo felt a bit too much like a cornered animal than a hobbit, but he didn’t care. He had to get away! These dwarves were going to drag him who knows where!

The dwarves just watched sadly as he struggled in vain. Eventually, the dark-haired elder one started barking orders. Bilbo watched in despair as his things were distributed into several different dwarf packs. His sword was given to the intimidating dark-haired dwarf himself. The pointy-haired one had even raided his smial’s pantry, distributing the food out as well.

Much too soon they seemed ready to go.

Bilbo wasn’t.

“Let me go!” He shouted, dragging his feet. The end of his chain had been given to the dwarf who introduced himself as Dori. He was pulled along despite his protests, looking back at the home his father built. “No!”

Bilbo looked between his captors and the direction of his kin and closed his eyes. He had to warn them. Tell them that the Shire was no longer safe. They had to flee, to hide. To find a corner of the world that even he could not find them again.

He swallowed the overwhelming grief and opened his mouth.

The dwarves all jumped at the sound he made, a desperate ringing shriek of fear and urgency.  Bilbo took a deep breath and called again, laying as much meaning behind his tone as he could.

Run. Hide.

Don’t come back.

“What’s he doing?!” Kili demanded, covering his ears.

“I think…” the smallest dwarf he had yet to meet said.

Bilbo felt his breathing hitch and his ears twitch as his kin responded. Their own calls echo in the distance with fear and concern. A lump developed in his throat. He recognized Uncle Ferdinand’s cry, and Prim’s. He knew they would want to help him, no matter the risk. But he couldn’t let them. Hobbit kind was already so few. He cried back, urging them once again. Please, leave.

“He’s calling to his kin.” Fili realized, his expression heartbroken and hopeful in equal measure.

“Aye. I read that it’s a way for them to communicate long distances.” The smaller one agreed.

“He’s not the last one.” Balin sighed in relief.

“Do you think they will attack us?” The silver-haired dwarf asked.

“No.” the leader said, watching the tears form and fall down the halfling's face. “He’s telling them to run.”

All eyes turned to Bilbo, but he ignored them as he listened to his kin’s cries. Drogo had joined in, as well as his grandfather. It felt like his heart was breaking into little pieces as he listened to their fear, anger, and sorrow. He called back one last time. Begging them to escape while they could, expressing his sorrow at being forced to leave, and layering as much love into his cry as he could. He nearly collapsed with the sound of farewell he heard back. Grief and pain had him gasping. Prim was the last, her childlike cry filled with sorrow and love.

Despite his pain, he couldn’t help but feel glad. They were leaving. They’d be safe.

Chapter Text

Thorin glanced at his advisor when the old dwarf sighed for what felt like the thousandth time. He understood the feeling well. Listening and watching the young hobbit call to his kin was the most heartbreaking thing he had ever witnessed. While he was gladdened that this hobbit was not the last of his kind, he could easily hear the despair and urging in his voice. This hobbit wasn’t planning on seeing his kin again. Thorin had no doubt that the halflings would be long gone before anyone could be back for them.

“Did we just rip a child from his parents my prince?” Balin asked sadly, his eyes never leaving the halfling. “He looks so young.”

Thorin couldn’t help but agree. The hobbit was definitely small, and his beardless face left the impression of a young dwarfling. Ever since his kin had stopped calling back, the spirited halfling had gone silent, following after Dori with such a lost expression Thorin couldn’t help but want to hug him. And he wasn’t the type to give out hugs. Ever.

“He lived alone.” Dwalin rumbled quietly. His face was unreadable, but Thorin had no doubt his closest friend was feeling just as guilty as the rest of them. Even Fili and Kili had quieted, trudging after the group silently.

The fact that he lived alone did lift Thorin’s spirit, at least a little bit. It meant he was at least of age. He wracked his brain for a better way to do this, but he couldn’t think of anything. His people would die of hunger and sickness within a few years if they did not heal the land around Erebor, and that couldn’t happen until they had been forgiven by the Valar. For a much more personal reason, the Durin line could not redeem themselves until he was seen reunited with a halfling. He had to prove to the men, elves, and dwarves that the Durin line hadn’t killed off the most innocent, good creatures to have ever walked the land of Arda.

The small creature would never agree to go with them willingly, not with the fear Thorin had seen in his eyes. He couldn’t blame the hobbits either. His race, his people, had nearly killed them all.

He had no choice. The hobbit had to come with them.

No matter how guilty it made him feel.

They traveled for days before reaching the edge of the rolling Shire hills. Bilbo had followed along, as unwilling as he was, without protest. He had to give his kin a chance to escape before he could contemplate his own freedom. The numbing grief smothering his heart weighed down his thoughts and spirit as well.

Every day they switched which Dwarf was chained to him. Always one of the older ones. Most of them gave him enough slack he could trudge along behind them. It didn’t really matter. He was surrounded by the rest of the company at all times anyway. When they stopped for breaks, he was given small portions of food, and he was given his own water canteen to carry over his shoulder. He didn’t tell them it wasn’t enough, that he was starving. Even the hearty soup they served for dinner was in too small portions to satisfy his hobbit metabolism.

For all he knew, starving to death, as horrifying a prospect, was better than what they had in mind for him when they reached wherever they were going.  

At night he curled up in a ball under the blanket his mother made. It was dark blue and embroidered along the edges. They never took the shackles off. Simply having the dwarf he was tied to for that day lay next to him.  

He’s learned all of their names, thanks to Fili and Kili, who were always trying to lift his spirits. He tried to ignore them at first, but after the fourth day their jokes and games finally made him smile. They seemed to glow with pride after that and proceeded to tell him the funniest stories they could think of.  

It helped that they were young too. He could relate much better. Eventually, they dragged Ori into their stories, who was apparently the youngest out of the dwarrow (“Not dwarves, lil hobbit, dwarrow”). Despite the smiles during the day, he felt the urge to cry every night. He missed his home and his kin desperately. He didn’t tell them his name, despite their questions. Telling them meant getting familiar, which wasn’t something he could afford to do.

Despite their kindness he was still their captive.

They had still taken his family from him.

The only older Dwarf he could stand to be around consistently was Bifur. The dwarf had given him the yellow rose back, the only thing besides his water skin he was allowed to carry. He never understood a word the fellow said, but it didn’t matter. They mostly communicated in flowers.

Bifur would randomly approach him with a handful of flowers, each one fitted to his mood. During the tiring walks, Bifur would deliver flowers that represented strength and endurance. At night, when Bilbo felt so grief-stricken and scared, he couldn’t sleep the dwarf would bring messages of comfort and friendship.

He didn’t even know where the dwarf found the time to go flower-picking, but he was eternally grateful. He’d nearly caused a panic when he stretched as far as the string allowed him to the side of their path to gather a handful of Sweet Peas to say thank you. Bifur’s smile when he sheepishly handed them over was like a beam of sunshine. After that Bofur had lent him his waterproofed coat the ward off the drizzle, and Bombur had given him the biggest bowl of soup he’d had yet.

“Halfling?” Bilbo glanced up at his current guard and leader of the dwarrow, Thorin. The dwarf was holding out his thick fur coat to him, his blue eyes soft. “We’ll be resting here tonight. Sit and try to get warm while they get the fire started.”

Bilbo hesitantly took the massive coat, nearly stumbling forward with its weight. Thorin chuckled. Bilbo was grateful regardless. He’d been cold all day. Cold and wet. The spring rains had hit this region hard as they traveled, penetrating even the best waterproofed skins. He sat down next to the company leader and burrowed into the miraculously still dry heat inside the coat. He ducked his head down and breathed into his fingers. As sneakily as he could, he tried to find the internal pockets he knew existed, but to his disappointment didn’t find anything more useful than a spare bit of paper.

It wasn’t long before camp was set up, and a roaring fire boiling water for dinner. Kili had managed to shoot down a doe earlier in the day, so hopefully he’d get to eat his fill tonight.

He was right.

The roasted doe tasted delicious. He sent a muttered prayer up to Yavanna, thanking her for the sacrifice of the animal for his meal.

“What are you saying?” Ori asked, sitting next to him. Thorin had settled down on his other side, restricted by how far they could be separated.

He looked at the dwarf in consideration. Ori was both innocent and curious. He’d apparently read all he could about hobbits before the journey, though clearly, he didn’t know everything if their lack of feeding him enough was evident. “It’s a hunter’s prayer. It’s both sad and thankful. Thanking Yavanna for the life of the doe, and sorrow for its death.” He recited. Remembering the speech his mother gave him the first day he went hunting.

“Whose Yavanna?” Kili asked.

“She is the Great Mother.” He replied, noticing he was drawing the attention of the entire company. He shrank back within Thorin’s coat. “The creator of Hobbits and Patroness of nature. I thought all dwarrow knew of her. She is Mahal’s wife after all.”

Kili looked up at the hobbit in surprise. Before he could speak Balin whacked the back of the dwarf’s head. “Clearly this one didn’t pay attention during his lessons. The rest of the dwarrow race know and respect who she is, though we do not worship her.”

Bilbo fidgeted, “We don’t…we don’t exactly worship her either. We acknowledge her presence in the land, and do our best to nurture it, in return the land and its creatures care for us.”  

“Like the animals that are always following you around?” Ori asked. Bilbo nodded, blushing. Several birds and small critters had occasionally decided to tag along with the company. Bilbo had nearly attacked Kili when he tried to shoot them.

“Um. Yes.”

“So how come Hobbits eat meat? If you care about nature and living things so much.” Bofur suddenly paled, “Have we been feeding you your friends?”

“No. No.” Bilbo quickly shot down his horror, “We…we eat meat. We have to really. We just see an animal’s death as a sacrifice. Like...like the doe. Her life and meat are helping us sustain ourselves. While the little rabbits and birds wouldn’t be able to offer much, so killing them would be a waste. It’s all a balance. I do my best to sustain them, and in return, some are sacrificed to sustain me.”

“So…when you were praying, the hunter’s prayer…you were thanking Yavanna for the doe’s sacrifice,” Ori said hesitantly.

Bilbo nodded, “And thanking the doe too.”

All at once he became aware of the intense scrutiny he was under. Only Nori seemed unbothered by the revelations. He shrunk back, fear making itself known again. Foolish Bilbo, he chastised himself. These are your enemies, your captors. Maybe future enslavers. You can’t just tell them these things, even though it’s something all beings should understand. He shut his mouth with a click and refused to say more.  

If later, when he saw the younger dwarrow stumbling over a small prayer to Yavanna before they ate, he couldn’t stop a small smile.

_

They reached Bree the next day. The dwarrow were adamant that he stays as far away from the human settlement as possible. He couldn’t help but agree. As scary as dwarrow were, even with their terrible history, Bilbo had always feared men the most. He’d nearly been caught and killed by one when he was a faunt. He’d wandered too close to Bree as the traveling hobbits passed by and was mistaken for a homeless child. Instead of compassion and pity, he received bruises and the name “thief”. He’d been so hungry he’d tried to take bread from a street seller, and nearly died when the enraged shop owner had thrown him into the street.

If his mother hadn’t rushed to rescue him, wearing a hat to cover her ears and boots to hide her feet, he would have been one of the many casualties of their traveling days.

Dwalin, Dori, Fili, Bifur and Ori were assigned to stay with him, as the others went to gather supplies and buy ponies.

At the moment he was leashed to Dwalin, who sat on the ground using a wet stone to sharpen his axes. Bilbo was intimidated and stayed as far away from the display as possible, but couldn’t help but watch. He’d seen his mother do the same when he was younger and had done his best to copy her actions after her passing.

Dwalin grunted, meeting his eyes.

“Ya ever done this with tha’ wee sword of yours?”

“Y..yes. Every few months or so. I don’t…I don’t use it that often.”

“Ya know how ta use it?”

“The stone?”

“The lil’ sword.”

He fidgeted but didn’t answer. The short answer was yes. The long answer was no. He could point it at things, and use it to skin animals, but his battle training hadn’t lasted long. By the time his father agreed mother could teach him he only had a few months before she died. He knew the basics, but not much else.

The burly Dwarf just grunted and stood, jerking his head. “Come on then. Grab a stick.”

Bilbo hurried to his feet, not at all keen on getting dragged anywhere. “A stick?”

“Aye, a long one.”

Baffled, but too nervous to refuse, he grabbed the longest stick he could see, surprised when Dwalin did the same. The dwarf untied the string connected to his belt, then retied it, allowing Bilbo more moving room. He had about ten yards in total.

The others gathered around curiously.

“Ya sure this is a good idea?” Dori asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Shh. I want to watch.” Fili said.

“Righ’. Face me hobbit and pretend that lil’ stick is yer sword.” Bilbo looked between the stick and the dwarf. Was he really…?

“Dwalin don’t!”

Suddenly the dwarf charged at him, stick raised in the air. All the breath left Bilbo’s lungs in an instant. Terror and panic made the raised stick seem a much mightier weapon than it was. All at once he remembered why his kind feared the dwarrow. He scrambled away, dropping his own stick. A sudden, desperate idea had him jumping to the left, deliberately wrapping his chains around a large rock, then with the remaining slack dove to the right, just in time for the charging dwarrow to trip over the string.  

The force dragged Bilbo a foot forward, making his wrists burn, but he didn’t hesitate to spring up and wrapping the string around the fallen dwarf’s ankles as swiftly and tightly as he could.

Everything went quiet, except for the rapid breathing of the halfling.

“Did he just...?” Fili gasped in awe.

Trembling with adrenaline and fear, both by his actions and their cause, Bilbo leaned as far away from the downed and bound dwarf as he could. No doubt he’d be killed for this. Dwalin was their leader’s friend. He’d probably be at least whipped. He just couldn’t help himself. It all went so fast; he acted on pure instinct.

Laughing jerked him out of his thoughts. Dwalin pushed himself up by the arms and twisted so he could look at the Hobbit, still laughing. “I like ya halfling. Ya got cheek.”

“He did.” Ori breathed.

Dwalin quickly untangled his own legs, ignoring the stunned hobbit until he noticed his red wrists. “Ya hurt yerself.” He rumbled, and before Bilbo could move, he was scooped up and plopped directly in the dwarf’s lap. He tensed, leftover fear setting in again. Dwalin didn’t hurt him though, just took his left hand and started massaging his forearm.

“Clever move, tha’ one.” Dwalin said, not at all bothered by the terrified hobbit in his lap. “Didn’ even see ya move at first. Course I would’a stopped before I actually hit ya. Didn’ mean to scare ya. Turns out ya don’ even need a weapon ta take old me down.”

“You...you’re not mad?”

“Nah, yer braver than ya look halfling.”

“Dwalin takes bravery really seriously,” Ori commented, seemingly not at all surprised that Bilbo found himself in a dwarrow lap.

Fili nodded, “Yeah. He won’t respect anyone unless they can fight back. I’ve never seen anyone beat him so quickly though. On your first go too! You’re amazing lil’ hobbit! Wait until I tell Uncle!”

“Won’t he get mad?”

“Nah.” Dwalin reassured still digging his fingers into Bilbo’s tendons and muscles. It felt surprisingly good.

Dori chuckled. “I suppose this was bound to happen. Cute, brave and clever. Poor hobbit didn’t stand a chance.”

Bilbo looked up at the eldest Ri brother, his eyes wide.

“Oh yeah, Dwalin totally adopted you just now.” Fili agreed.

Bewildered, and still slightly afraid, he looked between the dwarrow. Bifur just walked over and ruffled his hair, offering him a single carnation. (Condolences)

When the company returned, a small herd of ponies with them, they found a dozing hobbit in the Prince’s Guard’s lap. Said guard was happily stroking the wee thing's head, grinning like a lunatic.

“Oh no.” Thorin groaned at the sight, while the other snickered.

“Uncle you won’t believe what happened!”

_

Bilbo stared at the ponies dubiously. The animals had all knickered happily when they saw him, waking him up from where he embarrassingly fell asleep in Dwalin’s lap. He couldn't believe he'd done that. The long day of walking and constant hunger must be lowering his inhibitions. His father would be so ashamed of him. 

The pony butted against his side, demanding attention. Bilbo had always liked ponies and had petted them happily, murmuring to them in his own tongue as he settled his own thoughts. The company had just stared at him, then shaken their heads and went about loading up their supplies.

They expected him to ride with one of the others since it wasn’t safe to be shackled to another in case either pony bolted. At the moment Dwalin was demanding the hobbit ride with him, which for some reason only Bilbo was surprised about. He looked between the pony and Dwalin. He'd obeyed whatever the dwarrow ordered him to do so far. Too afraid that they'd decide to turn around to track down his kin if he didn't behave. But the other hobbits were most likely already long gone by now, with their tracks hidden. And so far, none of the dwarrow had seemed even remotely savage like the stories said. He could afford to push his boundaries in order to escape. Just as long as he didn't push them too far. 

“I want to walk.” He said plaintively.

“No can do lil’ one,” Balin said, scooping him up from behind. Bilbo yelped as he was placed in front of Dwalin. “It’s a long way to the Misty Mountains. Your poor feet would blister right off.”

Bilbo clung to the pony’s mane, staring at the ground. It seemed so much further away than it should. Dwalin wrapped an arm around him, having wrapped the shackle string up so the slack didn’t get caught into anything. Leaving Bilbo with enough room to stretch his arms and Dwalin a hand to grip the reigns.

“Move out!” Thorin ordered, leading the way north. Dwalin twitched the reigns and Bilbo squeaked as the animal started moving beneath him.

“No. Nope. I want down!” He squirmed, trying to duck underneath Dwalin’s arm. Everything about riding a pony was wrong. He was too high off the ground, had no control over where he was going, and his connection to the earth was dulled. Why anyone chose to travel this way was a mystery.

“Calm.” Dwalin grunted, tightening his grip just enough that he couldn’t slide off. “Yer not gonna fall.”

Dubious, Bilbo clung to Dwalin’s arm since it was easier to reach than the pony itself. For the first half hour he sat stiff as a board, making small, alarmed noises whenever the pony shifted suddenly underneath him.

By the end of the day, he was sore and exhausted. He’d grown used to the sensation of riding a pony but definitely didn’t look forward to getting back on tomorrow. He did feel slightly bad for the pony. It can’t be easy carrying a huge dwarf and a hobbit all day. When Gloin helped him down once they stopped for the night, he scratched the pony’s ears and murmured thanks in the Green Tongue. The pony knickered at him and bobbed its head.

He turned to Dwalin. “Does he have a name?”

Pausing in taking the saddlebags off, the large Dwarf glanced over. “The pony? Nah. ‘nless Ori gave it one.”

“Oh.” Bilbo said. That wasn’t right. Animals deserved to have names too, especially if they worked for the common folk. He vowed to ask Ori about it later.

Sure enough, Bilbo, Ori, Fili, Kili, and Bofur spent most of the next morning naming all of the ponies much to the amusement of the older dwarrow. After they were named, Kili asked what a Poppy looked like, since they’d named Bombur’s horse Poppy. After failing to describe it, Bilbo spent the entire afternoon looking along the trail to show him. It wasn’t until the sun was beginning to set did he spot the tiny green plant.

“Nadi!” he shouted excitedly.

To his surprise, and everyone else's, all of the ponies stopped. Several dwarrow cursed at the abrupt halt. He waved excitedly to Kili and pointed at the flower. “That’s poppy. It hasn’t bloomed yet, so you can’t see any flowers. It’s good for medicine.”

Kili glanced between the plant, Bilbo, and the ponies. He nodded slowly. “R—ight. Did you just…”

“Good eye!” Oin interrupted, swinging down his saddle to gather the precious herb. “I was runnin’ low on Poppy.”

As soon as the healer was back in the saddle Thorin ordered everyone to move out. Kili stared at everyone like they were mad. “Are we just going to ignore that our hobbit’s a pony whisperer? Really?”

Fili just shrugged as he rode past. “Somehow it’s not that surprising.”

Kili sputtered. “You think he can actually like… talk to ponies? What about other animals? Is he an animal whisperer or just a pony whisperer?”

Fili frowned. “Huh.”

Bilbo just giggled when they spend the remaining hour of sunlight and travel making conspiracy theories.

It was two days of traveling before Bofur came to a sudden realization. He was riding near the front next to his kin and the royal heirs. Bifur had the halfling further back.

“Couldn’t the hobbit…I don’t know… just order his pony to run away?”

They all turned to stare at him, then twisted around to stare at the hobbit, who was for some reason getting fed flowers. “It’s a good thing he’s too afraid of falling off.” Nori remarked, drawing up to them.

Bombur grunted, then looked at his own pony. Like the animal would suddenly buck him off. Bofur and the young princes did the same, shivering. “Best not give him any ideas.”

Chapter Text

After what felt like years, but was only two weeks, Bilbo saw his chance. The dwarrow had been meticulous with his containment. Never leaving him unchained to anything other than a seasoned dwarf or allowing him near any sort of weapon. They’d set a watch each night, easily catching him whenever he tried to untie himself from whatever dwarf he was attached to. Unfortunately, the knots they used were foreign to him, and to elaborate for him to untie quickly, or at all.

They reached a partially destroyed farm house as evening approached. Thorin quickly declared it as their stopping point and swung down from his saddle to help the halfling get down from Dori’s pony. The moment his feet touched the ground Bilbo knew something was wrong. The earth felt sour, like something unpleasant and sick had trodden on it. He couldn’t sense any animals nearby either. He shifted from foot to foot,

“Somethin’ wrong hobbit?” Nori asked, the only dwarf who could sneak up on his keen hobbit ears. Well, sneak up in close quarters.

He frowned but didn’t reply. Trouble meant a distraction. A distraction meant a chance to escape.  Nori just frowned at him and looked around the area with a keener eye.

Camp was set up quickly just inside the half-burned-down house. Bofur had declared it stable enough, and it was a good shelter from the wind and drizzling weather. As usual, Bilbo sat down next to where the fire would be, his guard Dori sitting next to him. Apparently, the young ones complained that they couldn’t have a turn watching the hobbit, since apparently, it meant they were free from any chores while bound to him. Bilbo only wished they’d get a turn. They’d be much easier to trick into freeing him.

He only felt a little guilt watching everyone else work while he got to sit and do nothing. He reasoned that as a prisoner they wouldn’t trust him to do anything anyway. He wasn’t obligated to be helpful since he was faunt-napped anyway. It would be like deciding the dwarrow were right and just walking straight into a sacrificial pyre to save them the trouble of dragging him to it. Besides, even though all he did was sit all day he felt exhausted. And his bum hurt.

“Fili, Kili go keep an eye on the ponies.”

“Right!”

_

Ori had just gotten the fire started when Kili suddenly burst into camp, his face pale and his eyes wide. “Trolls have Fili!”

Thorin immediately took action, ordering everyone but Dori to grab a weapon and follow him. Dori stood by with his knuckles in fists as Ori ran out, sling in hand. “You watch him Nori!”

“Ya. Ya.” Nori said, sauntering by at a much slower pace than the others, his eyes on the halfling. “I’ll watch ‘im. You watch this one.”

Bilbo just hmphed and played with the flat stone he’d found under the sand. He could admit to being a little worried about Fili. The dwarf was funny and kind.

He and Dori waited in silence for an hour. The sun had set, chasing the long shadows away. Dori was getting significantly more agitated as every minute passed without news. He kept glancing between the hobbit and the direction of his companions, his war hammer already in hand.

For his part Bilbo stayed sitting, tending to the fire with a frown. What was taking them so long? Surely eleven dwarves could handle a few trolls. Trolls were stupid and gullible. His own mother had killed a few in her days. Another half hour passed, and the eldest Ri suddenly snapped.

“Right! I’m going after them.” To his surprise, the silver haired dwarf untied the string on his belt and hurriedly looped and tied it around one of the higher beams that used to hold the weight of an upstairs. It was too tall for Bilbo to reach. “And you are staying right here.”

Bilbo frowned as the dwarf rushed out of the delipidated house, then grinned. It was easy enough to reach the beam when he dragged a fallen cabinet underneath it. He inspected the knot, hoping in his rush Dori would make a mistake. Unfortunately, it was like all the others, somehow untie-able by anyone without dwarrow hands. He quickly moved on, and nearly cheered when he saw the rusted nails holding the beam against the inner wall. He leaped off his perch and grabbed the flat stone, then leaped back up and proceeded to pry the nails out of the wood with the stone. He only pinched his fingers once, but it was definitely worth it when the entire beam swung to the ground. Only supported on one side now. It took a bit of maneuvering and lots of dragging the cabinet around for him to wiggle the looped string toward the loose end.

“Yes!” He cheered as it finally slipped free. As quickly as he could he gathered a pack of supplies, regretful that he had to leave his personal effects behind in favor of speed. He was out of the house, the chains neatly shoved up his coat sleeve and a pack on his back within two minutes.

Mother would have been proud.

He started heading in the opposite direction the dwarrow had gone, but something in his heart made him pause. What if the dwarrow were hurt? If somehow the trolls had overpowered them, and that’s why they were gone so long.

He didn’t like them on principle, but he certainly didn’t want them to die. He groaned and turned back around. He’d only worry about it for the rest of his life if he didn’t at least check. He’d make sure they were not getting eaten by trolls while staying in the shadows, then leave and never look back.  

Right.

It took nearly twenty minutes for him to reach the troll's camp, and when he did, he couldn’t help a small groan. How? How could eleven dwarves, no, twelve there was Dori, get captured and stuffed into sacks by Arda’s dumbest race. It didn’t matter if they were as tall as trees, they were stupid and slow. Why did they even have such massive sacks?! Bilbo was almost ashamed he’d been outsmarted by dwarrow in the first place.

It looked like the three trolls were setting up a massive spit over a massive fire, no doubt to cook his captors on. He pinched his nose, regretting his life and his morals. He couldn’t leave them like this. His gentle nature didn’t allow it. They may be dwarrow, and the greatest cause of grief and destruction to his people, but they were still living creatures.

Guess he was going to have to save them.

_

Bilbo wiped down his travel cloak nervously. He could do this. Everything was ready, he just had to fool three trolls fourteen times bigger than him to kill themselves.

Without further ado he stepped into the clearing.

It took two minutes, a foot stomp, and a very loud and obnoxious throat clearing to get any attention.

“Halfling!”

“How did he get loose!?”

Bilbo ignored the dwarrow and looked at the trolls, crossing his arms. “You’re doing it wrong!”

The trolls all turned to him. He resisted the urge to back away, and preferably hide in a rabbit hole forever.

 “Whazzit?”

“Tom there’s another one!”

“That ain’t no Dwarf idiot!”

“You’re cooking them all wrong!” He called louder. The dwarrow all looked at him in sudden horror. No doubt realizing their predicament. Ha! See how they like being at a hobbit’s mercy.

“What’s the not dwarf saying? Cooking what wrong?”

“The dwarves! You’re not going to cook them right! I have a much better recipe.” His voice barely trembled, which he considered a success.

The one apparently named Tom gave him a considering look. “Ya have a recipe for cookin’ dwarf?”

Bilbo nodded and forced himself to smile. It was not a friendly smile. “Yes. It makes a fine dwarf soup. In fact, all you need to do is add a few ingredients to that lovely soup you’ve already started, then plop them in. In an hour you could all be enjoying the best dwarf soup you’ve ever had!”

 “Is tha’ so..” Tom mused, looking between the trapped dwarrow and his soup.

“Yer really gonna listen to it?” One of his companions asked.

“Shut up Bill. I haven’ ‘ad anythin’ good in years. Le’ the not dwarf give it a try.” The other one said.

“Halfling what are you doing!?’ Thorin hissed, struggling against the sack even harder than before. Bilbo could have snorted. Now they know how it felt to be trapped and helpless. It was rather comical to see such mighty beings contained by something so simple as a potato sack. Bilbo wondered how the trolls got them into the sacks to begin with.

“Wha’ ingredient’s?” Tom asked. Bilbo steeled his resolve and approached the troll and his massive pot. It was set up next to the mountain face, just below a high ledge.

“Just this.” He pulled out a rather small collection of leaves from his pocket. “It’s called Basil. It helps counteract that nasty dwarf aftertaste.”

“Hate tha’ taste.” Bill confirmed.

Tom looked at the leaves, then nodded and lowered his hand. Very aware of how close he was to fingers that could easily crush him into little pieces, he set the small collection in the troll’s hand and stepped back. Tom added the leaves to his soup and stirred it around.

“It even looks differn’!” He remarked, staring at his soup in awe.

Bilbo nodded knowingly, “Yes. Yes. Basil is a very strong herb. Give it a taste. All three of you, in case you like it differently.”

Tom did just that, his face splitting into a grin as he sipped his soup. Bill and the unnamed troll shoving him aside to taste it as well.

“That’s very good.” Bill said, stealing the makeshift spoon to get more.

“Hey! Yer supposed to wait until it has dwarf in it!” Tom complained.

Satisfied, and shaky with relief, Bilbo walked over to the trapped dwarrow, settling down just far enough away they couldn’t reach them.

“Ya mad hobbit! What are ya thinking!” Gloin roared, his face beet red.

“He’s getting his revenge on us!” Kili cried. “I don’t want to be soup!”

“Halfling!” Thorin growled.

Bilbo glanced at them nervously and turned back to watching the trolls fawning over the soup.

“He’s up to something.” Bombur murmured. “Those leaves weren’t basil.”

He tapped his fingers on his arm, counting the minutes. He had just passed a minute and a half when Tom suddenly choked, clutching his stomach.

Within three minutes all three trolls were on the ground, groaning in pain. Four minutes and they were all dead.  At five Bilbo finally stood and approached the dead trolls, muttering the hunter’s prayer over each of them.

“Mahal he killed ‘em.” Dwalin breathed. “Wee lil thing killed three trolls.”

“What kind of leaves were those?” Ori asked in awe.

“Um…simple birch leaves actually. Couldn’t find any real basil.” Bilbo admitted sheepishly as he walked hesitantly back toward them.

“Birch leaves aren’t poisonous,” Thorin said suspiciously.

Bilbo stopped, still very much out of reach of the sacked dwarrow. “No... No they are not.”

How is it that even tied up in food sacks the dwarrow were that intimidating? If he was a stronger hobbit Bilbo would be kicking them right now for ruining his life. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, unsure what to do next. Should he let them out? No, because then they’d just capture him again. But he couldn’t just leave them here to starve. He just… couldn’t. Bilbo knew they weren’t the bloodthirsty monsters the other hobbits believed them to be. No monster would play silly games in order to keep him entertained like Fili and Kili would. Or be as gentle as Ori. Right?

“Then wha’ did ya do?” Nori asked, looking more curious than anything.

Bilbo winced and pointed to the high ridge. “I… um… climbed up there and dropped a whole bushel of Belladonna into the pot. I just… just had to trick them into tasting it.”

Bombur, Nori, Dwalin, Oin and Thorin all knew what belladonna was if their paling faces were anything to go by. Fili and Kili looked between them all.

“What’s Belladonna?” they asked simultaneously.

“Did ya touch it laddie!?”  Oin shouted, straining to see the hobbit.

“It’s a very, very poisonous berry. It’ll seep into your skin and blood with a mere touch.” Bombur said, his eyes wide. “No wonder those trolls died so quickly.”

Bilbo shrugged and stuck his very obviously purple-stained finger in his mouth. Bofur and Bombur gasped in horror. “It’s okay.” He said, humming at the sweet taste, “Hobbits are immune. They’re actually one of my favorites. My mother was named after them, and my father used to make the best belladonna pies.”

Bilbo rather enjoyed their sputtering, glancing at the tree line. Surely, they could get out on their own eventually. He’d have to travel as quickly as he could in case they escaped sooner rather than later. Maybe he’d make them think he ran off, but actually hide closer to the troll clearing. Just in case they couldn’t get loose. Yeah, that would work. Probably.

Thorin’s eyes narrowed and he ordered, “Release us halfling.”

He met the dwarf’s blue eyes, but quickly dropped his gaze. It was one thing to stand against stupid creatures he knew he could beat. It was an entire other thing to stand up to a dwarrow leader. Even one in a smelly sack. He fidgeted.

“No. I… I don’t think I will.” He said, grabbing onto the straps to the pack on his back. The others seemed to notice the action, and what it meant. Bilbo stepped backward, away from them as they all started shouting and struggling again. A ripping sound reached his ears.

He immediately started running.

He knew it wouldn’t take long for them to break out of the sacks once one of them was free. He sprinted through the trees, picking directions at random. The thick pines and oak started to thin, and he realized if he continued in that direction he’d be stranded on an open plain. He veered left and kept going, the terrain slanting upwards. Something howled in the distance, but he wasn’t sure if it was a wolf or an enraged Thorin. He ran for what felt like hours, the steady incline making it significantly harder. Something howled again, this time much closer. He slowed and looked around. The trees were much thicker here, and taller too. They felt older and had an ancient echo of ash. A fire must have swept through the area a long time ago. He couldn’t hear the dwarrow shouting anymore, or the strange howling.

He couldn’t stop a small smile from appearing. He’d done it! He was free!

He looked out over the forest, delighted that he could pick any direction he wanted to travel. A pang of loneliness and despair hit him when he realized he couldn’t go home again. He would have to build his own home, away from everyone else. Or… could he find them? He was a great tracker, and he knew what to look for. Maybe…

A shiver ran up his spine, and he looked around. No way the dwarrow had caught up with him already. He was much faster than they were. Regardless he decided to keep going slightly to the right of the opposite direction they were in. It felt like the forest went along for a few more miles at least. He didn’t get far before the foreboding shiver transformed into a real forewarning.

A sense of something big and dangerous had him glancing back and nearly freezing in terror. A warg was prowling after him, its massive teeth bared and hungry. It was huge, wolflike, and covered in ugly scars. For half a second, he just stared at the crouched beast in exasperation. All of Valar must hate him. He didn’t just escape his captors just so he could be eaten! The beast must have been tracking him.

Wargs had a distinct unpleasant aura about them. Unlike regular wolves, wargs were corrupted and untouched by green magic. Rotten, as his father called it. He knew his mother had faced a few before, but he'd never realized just how scary and big they were in person. Or how ill being near one made him feel. Like he needed to take a bath to rid himself of evil.

A flashback to his mother’s voice reached his ears. “If you are ever being hunted by a warg sweet one, climb a tree as quickly as you can. They can outrun you, but they can’t climb.”

“Why not?”

“Simple really. They don’t have thumbs.”

He spun around and ran, ducking as the warg lunged. As quick as he could he leaped to grab a low-hanging branch on the nearest tree and started to climb as recklessly and quickly as he could. Just as the warg reached his tree and jumped up at him, he’d cleared his foot high enough to be out of the way. To be safe he went as high as the branches could support him, which was nearly the top.

The warg howled in frustration and continued to leap and claw at the tree. Bilbo looked at the sky and whispered a small thank you to his mother.

Only problem now was he was trapped. He couldn’t get down without getting eaten, and he had nothing he could kill a warg with. He clung to the tree as it swayed with the wargs leaps, praying the roots were deep enough to keep it upright.

He wedged himself as best he could, realizing that he had a decent number of scrapes from his mad climb all over his body.

 Now he just had to wait until something happened.

The sun was risen by the time he heard shouting beneath him. The warg had circled the tree for hours, determined to be ready when he was within reach. Bilbo’s hands and feet were cramping and blue with cold from clutching to the swaying treetop, but he refused to go even a foot lower.

The warg turned at the sound of the voices but didn’t move from its spot. Clearly smart enough to realize its prey would be gone the moment it left.

“There’s another warg!”

“Wha’s it doing away from the rest?”  

Bilbo closed his eyes and smacked his head against the tree trunk in frustration. Of course, his only hope of rescue was from bloody dwarrow!

It took his captors only a few moments to kill the warg, then a few moments more to spot the hobbit amid the leaves.

“Halfling come down!” Thorin bellowed.

“Nope. Not coming down.” Bilbo muttered and clung to his perch tighter. He’d never get free again if he was caught. They’d probably weld his chain to one of them. Making him a permanent pet.

He heard Thorin order Nori after him and pulled his own hair in frustration. It didn’t take long for the spry dwarf to reach just beneath him. The branches were too thin for someone of Nori’s weight to go higher.

“Come on hobbi’. More of those bastards are comin’. We gotta go.”

He shook his head. “Leave me alone.”

Nori sighed, and in one precise swing of his long knife cut halfway through the branches Bilbo was resting his feet on. They collapsed under his weight, and he yelped as he slid down the trunk. He scrambled for purchase but was already within Nori’s reach.

 The dwarf wrapped an arm around his waist, using his free hand to steady them. But Bilbo wouldn’t let it end there. He fought back valiantly, not carrying if he threw them both out of the tree. Nori cursed and held on to both Bilbo and the tree the best he could.

“Kili get up here! Stupid hobbi’! Yer gonna kill us both!”

Bilbo only fought harder, blinded by fear and a determination to be free.

“What should I do?” Kili demanded as soon as he reached them.

“Nori!” Ori shouted from the ground. “Rub the top of his feet!”

“Wha’?” He growled.

“Just try it!”

“I got it.” Kili said, reaching for the swinging hobbit's feet.

Neither of them expected the reaction they got. Bilbo stiffened at once, then went completely limp. Nori cursed and struggled to hold them both steady. Kili wrapped one hand firmly around the hobbits left foot and ran his fingers through the curly hair there. The halfling shuttered and sighed, his eyes closing.

“Huh.” Kili marveled.  

Well, Nori mused, a limp hobbit was easier than a wiggling one. “Help meh tie ‘im to my back.” They swiftly got the hobbit situated, using the mithril chain to secure him to Nori. Every time the hobbit started to perk up again Nori gently rubbed the top of his feet and he went limp again. He really hoped he wasn’t breaking some hobbity taboo, but at the moment he’d rather get them both down alive than uphold any kind of honor. Soon he was secure enough, and with Kili’s help carefully climbed down.

The company stared at the limp hobbit in confusion. “Nea’ trick Ori.” Nori said.

“Really?” Ori said, his eyebrows raising. “I knew the top of hobbit feet were sensitive, but not that sensitive. They really are vulnerable if a simple touch can make them faint.”

“He’s not passed out.” Kili said, frowning, “More like…drugged? See, he’s already coming around.”

Bilbo lifted his head from Nori’s shoulder, blinking sluggishly. Oin shoved his way in front of Nori and forced the halfling's eye open further. The healer hummed and let the eye droop again. “His pupils ‘re dilated. Interestin', I'll have ta do some research."

“We need to move.” Thorin said, glancing around them. They’d been attacked only minutes after escaping those Mahal cursed sacks by Wargs and Orcs. It was only a small scouting party, and they’d killed them off quickly. But Thorin knew they were in no position to fight off against more. Especially without risking the halfling. They’d been lucky to find him so quickly, especially since the little one was so defenseless and alone in the woods crawling with beasts. Nori nodded and looked at his elder brother.

“Quick. Secure ‘im to me best ya can. It’ll be easier to carry ‘im.”

Dori rushed to comply, and soon the Hobbit was wrapped up so tightly in torn cloth and rope he would barely be able to wiggle. By the time the halfling was aware of his surroundings, they were already running.

“What…?”

“Welcome back ya idio’ hobbi’.” Nori groused as he ran.

Bilbo groaned, shaking off the familiar feeling. It’d been years since he’d last been put under. He hadn’t been expecting it at all. It left him feeling limp and fuzzy, a pleasant experience if he wasn’t being held captive. He took in the dwarrow running alongside him, then the yards of cloth securing him to Nori.

Fantastic.

He was a prisoner once again.

He debated slamming his head into the dwarfs, but knew his skull was much more fragile than thick dwarrow skulls. Hopelessness filled him, a small whine making his dry throat hurt.

“Hush now.” Nori said, his voice surprisingly soft and even despite his steady running. “Yer alrigh’.”

Despite himself, Bilbo buried his face in the redheads neck, trying to reign in his bitterness and hopelessness. It just wasn’t fair. He’d already lost his family, why couldn’t they let him have his freedom? He knew how to survive on his own. He’d be fine.

They ran for what felt like miles. Bilbo was exhausted, but he couldn’t sleep. Too stressed and afraid of the future. It wasn’t exactly comfortable bouncing around on Nori’s back either. He was impressed with their endurance though. He may be quick, but he would have tired much sooner than they.

“Hardy dwarrow” He mumbled, earning a small chuckle from his dwarf pony.

“Yer a fool if ya think we wouldn’ta caught up to ya eventually. Even if we lost yer tracks for a while.” Nori commented. Bilbo had no doubt he was right. But that didn’t’ mean he couldn’t try if given the chance again.  

Just as the sun started to set into late afternoon the howling of wargs in pursuit sounded behind them. They’d long passed from amid the trees, and were on grassy plains now, leaving them exposed and vulnerable.  The younger dwarrow and Bombur were showing signs of fatigue, breathing heavily, and sweating. Which Bilbo thought was completely unfair, he’d have passed out from exhaustion hours ago! And hobbits were made to run!

“We got incoming!” Dwalin growled, unclipping his axes without breaking stride.

“Do we stop and fight?” Kili asked, unslinging his bow.

“No.” Thorin looked between his company and his captive halfling. “We’re in no position to defend ourselves.”

“There’s a cave around here somewhere.” Balin said, looking around at the towering boulders scattered around in front of them. “We should find it quickly.”

Thorin nodded curtly and started shouting in the dwarrow guttural language. Without slowing the company converged around Nori and Bilbo. Kili and Fili at the back with arrows and throwing knives at the ready.

Bilbo twisted his head to look behind them, stiffening when he saw dozens of wargs breaking the tree line. Orc riders urged the beasts forward, their weapons raised despite being at least two hundred yards away.  There was no way they could outrun them. He shivered. Feeling the oily blackness of a single warg made him feel queasy. Getting close to that many orcs and wargs was going to make him sick. If Bilbo didn't know they were evil just by looking at them, he'd have known by their aura. 

The dwarrow shouted to each other, navigating the large boulders that provided at least a little cover. Balin seemed to know where he was going. At least Bilbo hoped he did.  The wargs were closing quickly. Too quickly. Bilbo clung to Nori and he could hear his racing heartbeat in his ear.

The dwarrow split up to search. It was Bofur who found it, waving his hat to get everyone’s attention. Nori jogged over and peering into the steep rocky incline hidden beneath a large stone. Fili and Kili peeked around the large boulder to watch the warg and orc pack. Thankfully they had lost them in the maze of stone.

“Better get him down before the slide quickly.” Balin suggested. With many hands helping, the maze of ropes and string were removed and coiled quickly. As soon as his feet touched the ground Bilbo was practically surrounded, with firm hands on his shoulders and arms. He sighed but didn’t fight. There was no point, and it would only exhaust him further. He didn’t want to get eaten by a warg either. Thorin took his mithril chain but didn’t tie it to himself yet. Instead, the company leader picked him up easily and headed for the cave.

Bilbo’s eyes widened when he realized how steep and long the drop was. “Peace halfling.” Thorin said, “I won’t let you get hurt.”

True to his word the dwarf slid down the stone on his back, holding Bilbo to his chest to block his soft skin from the friction of the rock. The dwarf didn’t even seem phased and slid to a neat stop on the sandy bottom. Once down he still didn’t place Bilbo on his feet, instead just carried him out of the way as the rest of the company joined them. Above them a warg howled and its shadow could be seen sniffing at the entrance above them. Before Kili could fire an arrow the ward suddenly yelped, and a dead orc rolled into the cave. An arrow shaft in it's neck. 

Bilbo clung to Thorin in fright at the disgusting creature. Even dead it felt wrong. Shouts, horses, and screams were heard above them, as well as an elven horn. The orc pack must have been massacred quickly, because soon the sound of fighting stopped. Bilbo immediately opened his mouth the shout for help. The elves of Rivendell knew that hobbits still existed, though according to grandfather they didn't know where they lived. Grandfather spoke fondly of Lord Elrond. Hopefully, that meant the elves would free him from the dwarrow!

Before he could even make a squeak, his mouth was covered. Thorin didn't take his eyes off the entrance of the cave as he kept his hand over the hobbit's mouth. Bilbo huffed in frustration and tried to wiggle out of his grasp. Of all times for the dwarrow to be quiet and stealthy it had to be now! Nobody moved, or hardly dare breathe until long after the sound of elves and horses was gone. Dwalin near the front finally made a hand signal, and everyone sighed a breath of relief and finally moved further into the cave. Thorin moved his hand away from Bilbo's mouth, but instead of putting him down moved to the back of the cave on the opposite side of a tunnel leading further into the rock. Bilbo struggled, this time in frustration. They were so close! If only the elves had been one minute earlier! He could feel tears gathering in his eyes, but willed them away stubbornly.

Why couldn't they have come earlier?

“Oin!” Thorin called.

“Aye, I’m coming”

Bilbo found himself laying on a bedroll staring up at the dwarven healer. Thorin putting pressure on his shoulder to keep him still. “What are you doing?” he asked, his throat tight.

“You're hurt.” Thorin explained.

“It’s…it’s just some scratches.”

“Scratches that can get infected.”

“He’s right laddie. Best get them taken care of quickly. Take yer shirt and cloak off.”

Bilbo stared wide-eyed at them both. Thorin just sighed and fiddled with his left hand’s shackle. It suddenly released. He undid the right hand just as smoothly. With two intimidating dwarrow staring down at him, Bilbo admited defeat and tugged his cloak and shirt off. Bilbo blushed and squirmed in the cool are, but knew it was better to just get this over with. Aunt Prim never let him shirk out of yearly health checks and he'd learned long ago that a determined healer would not be dismissed. 

A dwarrow swear, or what he assumed was one, came out of Oin’s mouth the moment he laid eyes on Bilbo's chest, or more accurately his protruding ribs. Thorin followed the healers gaze and froze. Bilbo frowned. What was wrong? Did he somehow acquire a hideous bruise without him knowing? His clothing protected his chest from the majority of the branches. Only a shallow scrap on the back of his neck still burned.

“Bombur!”

The round dwarf scrambled over at his leaders call, his eyes widening as he spotted the hobbit as well.

“Mahal, he’s so thin.”

Oh.

Bilbo looked away from them, uncomfortable and uneasy. In all the excitement and fear he’d forgotten his own hunger. He hadn’t eaten since yesterdays mid walk snack, and he hadn’t been getting enough nourishment for weeks now. He had grown used to constant hunger. Just like he’s been forced to nearly every winter.

“Has he been eating?” Thorin demanded. Bombur nodded.

“Yes. Yes. Every meal. He finishes everything.”

Thorin frowned down at the halfling, but Oin spoke first. “Laddie how much do hobbits need ta eat? Cause obviously we’ve been starvin’ ya.”

Bilbo looked between the two, wishing desperately to be anywhere else but here. He swallowed and dropped his gaze. “Um…a lot?”

Thorin swore this time, making the rest of the company look over in surprise. “Why didn’t you tell us you were starving?” he growled.

Bilbo shrunk away from the fire in his eyes, a full body shudder going through his spine. He’d take the trolls again any day. A hand suddenly pushed Thorin away from towering over him. “Easy Thorin. You’re just scaring him.”

Bilbo looked at Dori gratefully but winced when black eyes narrowed on his clearly exposed ribs.

“He should be scared!” Thorin shouted, rising to his feet, “He’s been starving without telling us this entire time! We have done everything possible to keep him safe and cared for, and here he is wasting away! All he’s done is fight us and try to escape!”

“And would you be able to eat properly if you were being held captive by Orcs.” Dori demanded coldly. On the other side of the cave, someone muttered, “Here we go.”

“We aren’t Orcs!”

“We might as well be!” Dori shouted, rounding on his leader, “We all saw it today Thorin!”

“Saw what! Him running away!”

Bilbo stared up at the two furious dwarrow, scared stiff. He was unbound and free to move away, but he didn’t dare even breathe with the force of their wrath so nearby.

Dori growled, “I saw a halfling more afraid of a handful of dwarrow than three mountain trolls. I saw him rather stay stranded in a tree hunted by wargs and orcs than come with us. That is what I saw today.”

“We have tried to treat him with nothing but kindness, and all he has given us in return is scorn and suspicion!”

“With good reason!” Dori shouted, his voice echoing around the cave. “We are the monsters his mother warned him of to keep young feet from wandering, Thorin. We are the evil he has spent his entire life learning to fear. We are the reason his home was a hidden hole in the ground! Not orcs or trolls. Dwarrow. We have more than earned his suspicion and scorn. It is not enough that we have torn him from his home and his kin, most likely permanently. Just to drag him to a mountain that his kind no doubt dreads the most! Kindness is the least he deserves.”

Bilbo inhaled sharply, suddenly feeling very dizzy. The mountain that his kind dreads the most. Erebor. They were taking him to Erebor. To the burial grounds of his people. To the place every Hobbit was forbidden to go.

Ignorant of the hobbit’s alarm, Thorin rubbed at his forehead and sighed. “You…you are right Dori. I apologize. I… I should not have lost my temper.”

Dori hmphed and stood even straighter. "It is not me that deserves your apology."

“Um…Uncle? The hobbits turning purple.” Kili piped up, sounding nervous.

Thorin whipped around. Sure enough, Bilbo was curled into a small ball, gasping incomplete and too quick breaths. Steadily turning an alarming shade of purple.

Oin rushed to roll him onto his back and prop an extra bedroll behind him. “He’s panickin’. Get me a blanket and some clean water.” He tapped the hobbit’s cheek in a steady rhythm and softened his voice to a gentle croon. “Breathe with me laddie. In. Out. You can do it. Just focus on me.”

Bilbo clenched his hands into fists, his chest was burning, but he couldn’t seem to inhale properly. He latched onto the feeling of the tapping against his face, the only steady thing he knew at the moment. He tried to time his breathing to it and felt a rush of relief when he managed a full inhale what felt like an eternity later.

“That’s it. Jus’ like that. Do it again.”

It took an agonizing three breathes before he could finally control his own lungs. By then the soft instructions from the dwarf healer were filtering through his mind, the tapping on his cheek still present. His tensed muscles went limp all at once, and he couldn’t help but sigh in relief.

“Ya with me laddie?”

Bilbo couldn’t stop the helpless whine that erupted. He reached blindly for anything to grab ahold of and was grateful when a hand was presented to him. He clutched it to his chest, desperate for any source of grounding.

“Open yer mouth.” The finger on his cheek tapped insistently.

He sluggishly complied and was rewarded when fresh water hit his tongue. He gulped it down greedily. Something started running through the hair on his head. It was soothing.

“Get some rest now.”

The water didn’t even need to be laced, he was asleep before it could have set in anyway.

Chapter Text

Bilbo woke slowly. He was warm, and pleasant fingers were running through his hair. He arched into them, humming happily. Someone chuckled, and lightly scratched at his scalp.

“Ya awake half pint?”

It took him a moment, but eventually he convinced his eyes to open. The first thing he saw was Bofur’s smiling face. His head was in the dwarf’s lap, and for some reason his entire body ached, like he’d tried to wrestle with all of his cousins. He frowned and stretched, wincing as his tired muscles protested.

“Oin.” Bofur called.

Bilbo looked over as the healer approached, realizing all at once that his chest was bare aside from the blanket pulled up to his chin. Oin checked over him quickly, inspecting the scratches on his arms and neck. A strange paste had been spread over them, making the skin surrounding the abrasions seem shiny.

Oin grunted approvingly, and without a word went back to whatever he was doing before.

“Ya hungry?” Bofur asked.

Bilbo, now fully awake, sat up and looked around the large cave. It was dark, and most of the dwarrow were asleep. Only Bofur, Oin, and Dwalin were awake. The latter keeping watch just below the high entrance.

Was he hungry? Extremely so. Could he eat. No.

Not when the memory of yesterday’s events haunted his every thought. Erebor. They were taking him to Erebor. He hugged his knees and hid his head, unsurprised when tears filled his eyes. He hadn’t been sure before. Ignorantly hoping they were headed for one of the many other dwarrow kingdoms. The Blue Mountains were in the north as well.

It seemed obvious now though. Erebor was the only place hobbits used to call home. The only place a dwarf would be able to find information about them, as outdated as it is.

“What’s the matter half pint?”

Bofur moved in front of him and sighed when he saw the halfling's tears. He pulled Bilbo against him into a hug. It was something Bilbo didn’t want, and yet desperately needed. He buried his face in the dwarf’s chest and sobbed.

“Shhhh. Just let it out. I gotcha.”

Bilbo cried. He cried for his lost kin. His fear and anguish. He even cried because of the comfort he felt from this dwarf, that he shouldn’t. He missed his parents the most at the moment. He’d been alone for so long, just occasionally seeing his kin. But the pain of their deaths was as fresh on his mind as if Bungo had faded just yesterday.

Bofur went back to rubbing his head, and eventually, his tears slowed into aborted sniffles.

“I can’t...” Bilbo admitted, for some reason needing to explain this. Hoping they understood.

“Can’t what?”

“Erebor. I…I can’t. It’s forbidden for my... my people. It’s… it’s….”

Bofur’s arms around him tightened, but it didn’t feel threatening, just an act one would do to comfort another. “Ya mean it’s forbidden for hobbits to go ta the Lonely Mountain?”

Bilbo nodded, clutching at Bofur's coat.

“Why?”

The question brought him up short. Surely Bofur knew. If they were from Erebor then they should all know why hobbits refused to return to their lands. “It’s not safe.” He said, feeling defensive of his people’s customs. How dare Bofur try to undermine the tragedy that took place in the shadow of his kingdom.

“I understand why none of ya would want ta set foot near Erebor again.” Bofur said calmly, “But why do ya think it’s not safe now?”

Bilbo fidgeted, and tried to pull away. Bofur refused to let him though, still wrapped up in his arms. “Because dwarves aren’t safe.” He said, a hint of steel in his voice, “They’re oath breakers. They care more for greed than promises and people. They just pretend to be kind but kill people without reason.”

Bilbo was struggling to get away in earnest now, but Bofur was ten times stronger than he was. Despite the vitriol he was being spewed with, the dwarf was still infuriatingly calm.

“Do I seem sick ta ya?”

“Let go.”

“Answer the question and I will.”

Bilbo frowned up at the normally cheerful brown eyes. Did he seem sick? In a morally sick kind of way, or a sort of health sickness? “I don’t…”

Bofur hummed. “What do ya know about the Desolation of the Hobbits?”

Bilbo grits his teeth. What on Arda was he going with this? “I know your people slaughtered mine for no reason. That you were supposed to protect us. That we would be extinct if some didn’t manage to escape. That you’ve spent a century trying to hunt the rest of us down.” And apparently, drag them all the way to Erebor so they could finish the job.

“But ya don’t know why do ya? Ya don’t know the whole story.” Bofur said.

“I know enough!”

“The dwarrow of Erebor were sick, half pint.”

Bilbo blinked and stopped pushing against the dwarf’s chest. “What? All of them?”

“Aye. They were cursed. An evil stone was discovered several years before the Great Desolation. They called it the Arkenstone. Thought it was a blessin’ from Mahal. Turns out it was buried so deep to stop it from influencin’ anybody. It caused madness, see? King Thror was the worst infected. He started ramblin’ about threats and things that weren’ real. Within a few years the whole kingdom fell to the madness.”

“But…”

“Let meh finish. Back then the halflings were our friends and allies. Your people were… precious to us. Soft where dwarrow are hard. Gentle to our rough. It’s no wonder, see’in as our Maker’s married ta yer creator. This sickness made them confused, see? Yer friend became yer enemy. When the hobbit king went ta Erebor’s closed gates the mad king saw only threats. When… when the army attacked….”

Bilbo stared at his hands. Confusion and uncertainty are the most prominent of his emotions.

Bofur took a deep breath, “It wasn’t ‘til a man of Dale, Girion was his name, snuck into King Thror’s chambers, stole the stone and took it ta the grey wizard, who destroyed it, did the dwarrow realize what they’d done. It was…”

“The worst day in dwarrow history.”

They both looked up as Thorin settled in front of them, his expression grave. “And my people, my kin, have spent a century in remorse and shame because of it.”

“We haven’ been huntin’ your people half pint.” Bofur said, his voice nearly strangled, “We are… were desperate to prove we hadn’t killed all of ya. Tryin’ to redeem ourselves I suppose. Thought it was a lost cause… that our fathers killed all of the gentle race. Wasn’t til we found ya that we had any real hope.” Bofur tugged at his curls affectionately.

They sat in silence as Bilbo tried to wrap his head around it all. Granted, they could be lying. A stone that could cause some sort of mad sickness was strange to even consider. But… these were his captor’s ancestors. Probably fathers or grandfathers, and Thorin looked so… broken. Like a person burdened with a lifetime of regret. Or several lifetimes.

Suddenly he snorted. “So your first thought was the make me your prisoner?”

Both dwarrow winced. Thorin looked sheepish. “It is not what you deserve. Dori was correct when he said we have earned your scorn and suspicion. Even your hatred.”

Bilbo wouldn’t go that far. His captors had shown him kindness, something they didn’t need to do. He fiddled with his fingers, not meeting their eyes. He had to think on this. It didn’t truly change anything. He refused to go to Erebor, mad sickness or not. It wasn’t safe. The “Desolation of the Hobbit’s” as they called it, had burned any kind of bridge between their races. The hobbits could not forgive them for something so devastating. So horrible. It helped him understand the sadness behind all of their eyes though. Like they truly regretted the fate of the halflings.  

His stomach rumbled, and he stared at it in betrayal.

“You’ve missed dinner again,” Thorin said, standing. He came back with a sack full of biscuits and jerky. A water skin as well. “Eat as much as you can.”

Bilbo didn’t hesitate the comply, ripping into the jerky happily. Both dwarrow just watched in amazement as he finished off the entire sack.

“We’re going to need a lot more food.” Thorin mused. Bilbo just shrugged. If they were that determined to ‘care’ for him, then they’d have to adjust for hobbit appetites.

“We could always go to Rivendell.” He suggested, “They already know about me and my kin.”  

Thorin cursed under his breath, “Those bastards. You’d just use them to get free.”

He just hummed. He wasn’t wrong. Lord Elrond would take one look at his shackles and have the dwarrow beheaded. He looked at his wrists, surprised that the metal bands weren’t there.

“Don’t get used to it.” Thorin said, suddenly much grumpier.

Bilbo blushed when he realized he was still topless and reached for his mother’s blanket. He huddled into it, his full stomach lulling him to sleep.

He could let himself sleep before starting to think of another escape route.

_

The company moved out the next day. Easily lifting each other, and their prisoner, out of the cave. The shackles were place on his wrists again in the morning after he redressed. Uneasy being so close to elven territory, they kept his leash short, forcing him to walk just behind his guard. Dori knitted him a woolen hat, which they used to cover his ears. Bilbo didn’t see the point. He obviously wasn’t a dwarf, and no ear coverings could help mistake him as one.

It took twenty days to reach the base of the Misty Mountains. In that time the company did their best to feed him. Constantly sending Kili and Ori out to hunt for prairie rabbits. Bilbo felt a little guilty for eating out of their rations but figured if they got irritated enough, they would just let him go.

Just as he predicted escape had become impossible. They watched him like hawks. At least three pairs of eyes followed him at all times. Even embarrassingly when he relieved himself or washed up in the creek they walked along.

He learned much about his captors as they walked.

He learned Bifur was a toy maker, who specialized it carving wood. Ori was a scribe, and was in charge of documenting the journey, which he was horrified to learn had set out for the main purpose of capturing a hobbit. He learned Fili was an excellent swordsman, though he favored using small daggers, and Kili’s use of the bow was sometimes ridiculed.

He couldn’t let that stand. He liked Kili, and despite the circumstances, he’d made friends with the rambunctious brothers. He’d ranted for ten minutes about how archery was more than respectable, and dwarrow should be ashamed they belittled his skill. Kili was glowing at the end of it and had even managed to convince Thorin to let Bilbo have enough line to play a game with them. The days passed quicker than he would have liked.

The Misty Mountain was much more intimidating up close.

There was snow at the peaks, and it looked sheer and rocky.

 “It’s alrigh’ halflin’. We’ll take good care of ya.” Dwalin said as he bundled up Bilbo’s assigned bedroll.

“Yeah!” Fili and Kili bounded over. “We’ve got lots of food saved up, and Uncle and Balin know their way through the passes. Balin could probably do it with his eyes closed.”

Kili nodded. “Definitely. Our people do this all the time.”

Bilbo was only slightly reassured but followed along anyway. Dwalin was in charge of him today. He’d given him a lot more room to navigate the rocky, steep path. Bilbo was for once grateful the others carried his things because he was out of breath within the first hour.

It was a rigorous climb, but they went at his pace, shouting encouragements every once in a while. He needed help getting over the large boulders and steep inclines. The dwarrow learned many hobbitish curse words when that happened. Who in Arda decided this was a path?

They finally reached the canyon path, which to Bilbo looked more like a ledge next to a thousand-foot cliff. He stared at the ledge in disbelief as the dwarrow settled down against the mountain face for the night. Apparently, they were going to cross the canyon tomorrow.

“You can’t be serious.” He said, growing pale.

“Aye! It’s not as bad as it looks.” Bofur assured him. Bifur gave him a handful of poppies as if they were supposed to comfort him. Bilbo was very curious how the dwarf managed to find fresh flowers so far in elevation.

“You’re going to get me killed.”

“Nah. We like ya too much.” Bofur flicked his nose, since his hair was still covered by Dori’s hat. He found he liked how warm it was, and up here he definitely needed any warmth he could find. He was already wearing Ori’s gloves and one of Fili’s coats. Turns out dwarrow are much better at handling harsh climates than hobbits. They didn’t even look cold, while he spent every night curled in a ball convinced he was going to freeze to death, Thorin’s coat or not.

That night they had dry rations, which weren’t nearly fulfilling, but it was all they could have. The wind quickly blew out any fire. By the time the sun went down Bilbo was so stressed, scared, and cold he shamelessly curled up against Dwalin. The dwarf just grunted and wrapped him up tight in both of their blankets. Thorin draped his coat over the both of them. Fili and Kili curled up against his other side.

That night he slept in fits. The wind was loud, and he kept imagining himself falling. Every time he jerked awake Dwalin would mutter gruff reassurances and pull him closer. By the time morning came his fingers were stiff from clutching the dwarf’s tunic.

They ate a simple breakfast, Bombur apologizing profusely that he couldn’t give him more. Bilbo was too tense to do more than nibble on anything anyway. Thorin declared he’d stick with Dwalin again today. He didn’t even mind when the dwarf tied his chain tight, instructing him to hold onto the back of his coat.

The weather was poor, with black clouds in the sky. They didn’t seem deterred. Balin led the way, then the Ri family and Fili and Kili. Thorin walked just behind Bilbo, close enough to grab him if needed. Bilbo could hear the Ur’s joking and laughing along with Oin and Gloin. He had no idea how anyone could laugh while walking on such a narrow, treacherous path.

The wind picked up as they walked, and then the rain. Bilbo shuddered and pressed as close to Dwalin as he could without tripping. He was soaked and freezing. The wind kept snagging his coat, and he was terrified he’d get blown over the edge.

He didn’t think it could get any worse until he sensed something very much alive, and very large. He jerked to a stop, his head whipping up. He looked around but couldn’t see much through the rain. The feeling got clearer. Something was alive ahead of them, something he had only heard stories about.

“Stop!”

“Halfling?”

Thorn grabbed his shoulders, having to shout over the wind. “What is it?”

Bilbo ignored him and looked around Dwalin. Balin had stopped at his shout. He was standing on the ledge, on a piece that looked oddly lighter in color than the rest of the stone. His eyes widened. “Get back! That’s not stone!”

Balin just frowned, clearly not hearing him. Regardless he started walking back toward them. Just then thunder ripped through the canyon and lightning struck the opposite side of the canyon. Something roared, and the company watched in shock as a huge section of the mountain stood up.

“Stone Giants!” Thorin shouted. “Everyone get back!”

His voice carried much better than the hobbits. Balin, Fili, Kili and the Ri’s and raced back just in time. The lighter stone Balin had stood on suddenly moved, forming the knee to another stone giant. Bilbo watched in terror as the stone behemoths started to fight, throwing boulders and punches at each other. Dwalin spun and nearly crushed him against the stone face, using his own body to cover him.

The battle was short but intense. The entire canyon seems to rattle and groan, and Bilbo feared the ledge would suddenly give out under them. The giant that had previously made-up part of their path was the victor, sending its opponent to the canyon ground with a crash that rattled Bilbo’s teeth.

The victor just stood and roared.

“What do we do?!” Gloin shouted, “There’s no path!”

“We have to go back!”

“But we’re almost there!”

Bilbo could see that they were right. The end of the canyon was just ahead. What looked like a cave was dug into the mountain not 50 yards ahead of them. He looked behind them, at the miles of wet, slippery stone and shook his head. Nope, he wasn’t doing that again.

He looked at the stone giant. His mother said stone giants were impulsive and violent, but like all creatures of Yavanna, wouldn’t harm a hobbit. She’d even befriended one when she’d passed over the Misty Mountains.

He sighed. He had to at least try. He ducked out from under Dwalin.

“Friend!”

“What are ya doing!?” Dwalin demanded, reaching to grab at him. He dodged out of the way and looked at the giant, which was now staring at him. He waved his arms. “Hello!”

The giant walked up to them, each step making the ground rattle. Bilbo swallowed but didn’t step back. “Eru you are big. Very, very big. Mother did not exaggerate.” He rambled. The stone giant didn’t seem capable of making an expression, but it did make a strange rumbling sound and go on one knee, so they were almost eye level.

He couldn’t help the small smile at the curiosity he saw in those dark eyes. “Hello there. Can you speak?”

It made the rumbly sound again. Bilbo nodded. “I take that as a no. You know what I am though, which is good. You were very strong taking on the other giant. I was very impressed.” When in doubt, compliment.

“Is he talking with it?” Fili whispered.

The giant made a happy rumble this time, and his smile grew. “Oh yes. Very impressed. But you see, I have a bit of a problem now.” He pointed to the path. “I’m afraid we need to cross, but we can’t anymore. Could you possibly sit back down for a moment, just so we can go on our way?”

The giant just stared at him, and Bilbo wasn’t sure whether it understood or not. Then it moved its face closer and tilted its head down. Bilbo grinned and ignoring the shouts from his captors pressed his head to the stone giant’s forehead. He had to stand on his tippy toes and his arms were pressed together by the chain, but he wasn’t afraid anymore. The giant wouldn’t let him fall.

He pushed as much green magic into the connection as he could, delighted when he heard an even happier rumble. He grinned, nearly giddy. Nothing pleased a hobbit more than helping one of Yavanna’s creatures. And he could clearly tell he was helping. The giant was old, and a boost of green magic was just what it needed to rejuvenate itself. No doubt the poor thing had been sleeping for decades before being rudely woken.

“You are my friend now.” He declared. The giant rumbled and pulled back, standing back up.

The dwarrow scrambled to back away, but Bilbo just watched as the giant sat back down, its knees forming an unbroken path. He turned to his captors, still smiling.

“We can go now. He’ll let us pass in peace.”

“You reasoned with it!”           

Bilbo tugged on the chain still tied to Dwalin. “Yes. It’s very clever actually. Come on.”

Very warily, and with lots of cursing, they scrambled over the giants’ knees. Bilbo just patted the living stone and shouted his thanks.

They reached the cave without any trouble. Once there, they just stared at him. He pulled at his chain in irritation. It was too short to let him sit down comfortably, which he wanted to do, right now.

“I can’t decide whether our hobbit is mad, or brilliant,” Kili said. Fili nodded.

Bilbo just growled. He was cold, wet, and tired. The storm was still raging outside, and he figured nobody would want to go out into it. Which meant they were making camp right here. Dwalin grunted when he yanked as hard as he could. Then obliged and untied him, handing the end to his brother.

“Yer turn ta watch the crazy halflin’.”

Bilbo ignored them and made himself comfortable on the sand, then took his hat off and squeezed the water out of it. He took his soaked cloak off and did the same to it. The others seemed to take his cue and started settling down.

Bilbo was once again bundled up as much as possible and fed a meager dinner. With chattering teeth, he closed his eyes and tried to get some rest. It was exciting to meet a stone giant, but the stress of the day was getting to him. If he didn't fall asleep soon he'd end up crying again, and that's the last thing he wanted to do.

He didn’t get to rest long.

“Wake up!”

All the breath left his body when he was suddenly falling. He landed on his back hard, hitting his head against something, fortunately, softer than stone. He quickly realized he’d landed in a pile of dwarrow, fortunately near the top. A loud chattering and shrieks fill his ears, and his eyes widened when he realized they were surrounded by what had to be thousands of goblins. He rolled but couldn’t move far. Whoever he was chained to was at the bottom of the pile.  

The dwarrow quickly recovered from the fall, but it was already too late. With a speed Bilbo didn’t know they possessed the corrupted creatures had them all disarmed and bound. Bilbo was nearly killed when Balin’s sword and scabbard were thrown into a pile, taking him with it.

Unfortunately, that got the attention of the goblins. They poked at the mithril chain, looking between it, the knot on the scabbard, and himself. Bilbo did not like their forming smiles, or their flared nostrils.

“Halfling!”

Bilbo was yanked forward, away from the dwarrow, as the goblins started shrieking “Halfling!” over and over again. One of the bigger goblins had grabbed the scabbard, sword and all. The dwarrow were pushed and threatened forward in a line, Bilbo forced ahead of them. He dug in his heels and tried to resist, but only received a poke in the back from a rusted sword for his efforts.

If the wargs and orcs felt bad, the goblins made him want to curl into a little ball. Goosebumps covered his arms and he felt like throwing up.

They were taken to a wooden platform, where the biggest and fattest goblin he had even seen sat on a throne, a long staff in its hand. Trembling in fear, the goblins shoved Bilbo forward, there sharp nails scratching at his skin. He stumbled to his knees in front of the goblin king, a terrified whine crawling up his throat.

“What is this?” The king grumbled, blinking beady eyes down on them. “Spies! Thieves! Assassins! No… ” He sniffed deeply, then stared straight at Bilbo. He smiled, bearing yellow, broken teeth. “A halfling.”

Bilbo whimpered and tried to scramble away. He’d even go towards the dwarrow at this point.

“I haven’t tasted halfling flesh in years!” The king stood, stomping on the chains just above his hands. “We will feast tonight!” The goblin throng cheered.

“No!”

“That’s our hobbit! You can’t eat him!”

The goblin king turned to the dwarrow, then smirked and grabbed the mithril chains, and yanked them upwards. Bilbo cried out as he was lifted off the ground, dangling by his shackles. He kicked out, but it was useless. His wrists and arms burned, but the goblin didn’t seem to care.

“You care for him? Then you should not have brought him to me!” He taunted in a sickeningly sweet voice, shaking the hand holding Bilbo up. “You can watch us tear him apart!”

“Enough!” Thorin’s shout rang within the cavern, he stepped forward, somehow looking majestic even with his hands tied behind his back. “I am Thorin, son of Thrain son of Thror, Crown Prince of Erebor and I demand you release him.”

The goblin king let go, sending Bilbo to the ground. Harsh laughter washed over him. “Hah! You think you can command me little prince! This is my kingdom, and you are trespassing! Bring out the bone crusher! Bring out the mangler! Then we will see who makes demands here!”

Grateful he was momentarily forgotten, Bilbo moaned. His bruises had bruises at this point. He gathered the mithril chain up, not wanting it grabbed again. The wood creaked beneath them, obviously strained by the weight of the goblins.

“Psst. Lil’ hobbit!” He glanced over, where Fili was urging him to sneak over. He looked between the goblin king and the dwarrow. Right. Literally anything was better than getting eaten. He started to crawl over but was quickly noticed.

He screamed in pain when a massive foot stomped on his leg. The goblin king tutted at him as if he was somehow at fault. He withered, trying to escape the crushing pain. If his leg wasn’t already broken, it felt like it would be soon.

“Nori!”

“Aye!” Suddenly the red headed thief started cutting off ties with a hidden knife, and all at once the dwarrow charged. It quickly turned into chaos as they reached for their weapons. The goblin king roared, stepping away from the whimpering hobbit.

Thorin rushed straight at the massive goblin, slicing at his stomach. The great goblin stumbled back, nearly squishing Bilbo again. Thorin advanced again, raising his sword high, but the king swung his staff at him, forcing him to dodge. Bilbo watched as they battled, growing more and more concerned as they neared the end of the platform. The wood was groaning, and he could see some planks starting to give way.

The rest of the company was on the other side, trying to clear a path. Too far away.

“Thorin!” He shouted, just as the goblin king fell onto the ground, his weight too much for the wood. The planks split in half, dropping half the platform, a dead goblin, a hurt hobbit, and a frantic prince.

-

Thorin rubbed at his aching head, wondering what hit him.

He blinked open his eyes and was surprised they had to adjust to the darkness of a cave. He sat up and looked around. It was a large cavern, with strange massive glowing mushrooms and a lake. Everything hit him at once. The fight, the halflings panicked shout, and falling. He looked around desperately for the small creature, terrified his foolishness got him killed.

Mahal was watching out for him. It didn’t take long to find the halflings. He was on the ground, dragging himself away from Thorin. His leg was badly bruised, probably sprained or cracked, but the hobbit wasn’t letting it deter him. Thorin just sighed. This was the most stubborn creature he had ever met.

“Peace halfling. It’s alright.” The hobbit jumped, and he realized the little one hadn’t seen him approach. His hobbit eyes were too weak for this little light. He paused, unsettled that the hobbit was so desperate to get away from him. He thought they’d been making progress in gaining his trust.

“Your one of them!”

“What?” He asked, confused.

“You said you’re Crown Prince. Son of Thrain son of Thror!”

Oh.

Thorin crouched down in front of the hobbit, not wanting to intimidate him. He noticed the poor thing had a bleeding cut on his brow. “I know what I said.” He said evenly, “It changes nothing. You have nothing to fear from me, or my family.”

“Fili and Kili are your nephews…” The halfling said, his eyes wide. Thorin watched as he put together the pieces and decided to help out again.

“Yes. Fili is second in line for the crown. I am first. Balin is my advisor, Dwalin my guard. Nori my Spy Master and Dori my assistant.”

“And the others?”

Thorin sighed and sat all the way down. “Various friends and cousins.”

He watched patiently as the hobbit tried to figure it out. They’d kept it a secret for this very reason. No hobbit would react well to meeting the direct descendant of the one who ordered the destruction of their race.

“Why… why did they send you? What do you want with a hobbit?”

Thorin spotted the mithril chain on the ground next to the halfling but made no move to grab it. The little one was too hurt to stand at the moment anyway.

“Because Erebor is cursed.” He hurried to continue before the little one could get worked up again, “Not with madness. Not like before. It’s the land. The fields surrounding the Lonely Mountain have turned black, and nothing our farmers have done can save them. My people, the dwarrow of Erebor, are slowly starving. This quest…” He ran a hand through his hair, “was a desperate one. The wizard tells us the Valar are angry at us, because of our crimes against hobbits. That only a hobbit could heal the lands and appease the Valar.

My father, the King, asked me to search for one. It is my grandfather’s sins that killed your people, and it is my family’s responsibility to fix his mistakes. That is why I gathered this company and started this quest. You, my halfling, are the only way my family’s honor and my kingdom can recover.”

He let the hobbit chew on that, and turned his attention to his surroundings. It would be simple to find an escape. He wouldn’t be a dwarf if he couldn’t find his way around a mountain. He hoped his kin and friends had escaped unharmed.  

“So… you’re not just taking me to Erebor to kill me?”

A surprised laugh burst out of his mouth. “Kill you? Mahal halfling no. Is that what you’ve been thinking? No. You will be honored and cherished there. Safe and well-fed for the rest of your life.”

“Will you force me to heal the land?”

He met the hobbit's eyes, and softened when he saw fear there. “No. We would not force you. This all started because dwarrow sick with madness brought their wrath on your kind. Nothing would be solved by forcing you to do anything. We merely wish to prove to ourselves, the Valar, and all other races that we can fix our mistakes.”

“Then why take me there in the first place?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Would you come willingly?”

“No.”

“Then that is why. We cannot fix anything without given the chance. Though we regret causing you fear and anguish, I am bound to the service of my people. We have no choice.”

Bilbo chewed on his lip as he debated this. It made much more sense than his drag-the-halfling-a-thousand-miles-just-to-slay-him theory. Didn’t mean he liked it, but at least he could start to believe that the company’s kindness was genuine. They weren’t planning on dragging him to his death. It made being friends with Fili, Kili, and Ori much easier.

It would have been nice if someone had told him.

He looked at Thorin, the Crown Prince, and bit his lip harder. He looked calm and composed despite the goblin blood in his hair. Not at all like a shifty dwarf lying through his teeth. His resolve started to crumble. He could admit that he was sick of being hungry and lonely in the Shire. The last few weeks amid the company, chains and captivity aside, had been rather nice. He’d made friends, been hugged and comforted, and most importantly he’d seen the world without hiding from it. He’d… trusted them to look after him.

He hated himself for it.

He licked his now sore lip and met those deep blue eyes. “Bilbo.”

“What?”

“My name. It’s Bilbo.”

His eyes widened, then he smiled. It was a nice smile. “Nice to make your acquittance, Bilbo. I am Thorin, son of Thrain son of Thror, Crown Prince of Erebor, at your service.”  

They shared a small smile.

Bilbo fidgeted and suddenly scowled. “This does not mean I approve of you kidnapping hobbits. I don’t want to go with you. I value my freedom more than a pampered life. You’ve already taken my kin from me; I won’t let you take anything else.”

Thorin was expecting that, and he honestly couldn’t blame him. It didn’t matter how kind captors were, their captives would always want freedom more than anything else. He expected nothing less, especially from their brave, stubborn hobbit. He stood, holding his hands up innocently when Bilbo flinched.

“Easy. There is no use fighting me now. Not when you're injured and would only get lost wandering down here. I’m going to pick you up. We need to get that leg of yours to Oin.”

Bilbo sighed but didn’t argue. Thorin lifted him easily, cradling him in front of him. He rested his head on the dwarf’s shoulder, very aware of his aching leg and head. He’d woken up nearly an hour ago on top of a pile of wood, a dead creature crushed beneath him. He’d said a short, but earnest prayer for killing the creature. The light was so dim he could only barely make out vague shapes, but he could hear someone breathing. He'd spared half a moment to be grateful that Thorin also survived, before remembering the Goblin King's words. 

Bilbo must have drifted off because the next thing he knew the rest of the dwarrow were clambering around him. They were covered in goblin blood and dirt but wore bright smiles. They walked the rest of the way out of the mountain, where the morning sun was warming the mountainside. Once in the safety of the sun, Oin demanded to check up on him.

Bilbo tolerated it, and even let the grumpy healer wrap his calf after smearing a bruise salve all over it. Fortunately, it was only heavily bruised, and he’d sprained his ankle. Oin said he’d be up to walking short distances again in a few days. Luckily most of them retrieved their weapons and gear. All except for Bombur’s large cooking pot would be missed.

They moved on, wanting to get as far away from Goblin Town, as Kili named it, as possible. Bilbo was carried until the third day, when Oin had him walk short distances to stretch his leg muscles out. They had exited the mountain too far to the east apparently and were now walking in its shadow until Balin recognized where they were.

By the fifth day his leg was sore, but he was able to walk on his own. Oin still wanted to check on it when they stopped for lunch, something they did now for Bilbo’s sake. He laid on the ground as the healer ran his fingers up and down his leg, making sure his sprain hadn’t gotten any worse. After the healer was done, he just lay in the sunshine for a moment, happy to be warm again.

Something flitted in front of the sun above him, catching his eye. It looked like a bird, a large one at that. He sat up and used his hand to shield his eyes from the glare. Next to him Nori, the current owner of his leash, glanced over, but let him be. He tracked the movement of the birds, jealous that they could simply fly away whenever they wanted. They were probably the Eagles of Manwe. He knew they frequented this area. His father loved telling stories of them. It was his dream to meet one of them, since they were servants of Yavanna, just like Hobbits.

An idea started to form. He looked over at the company. Only Thorin was watching him, but he was on the opposite end of the small clearing. He wouldn’t be able to reach him in time to stop him. It didn’t matter that he was still shackled either, he just had to get their attention. He smirked at the prince and opened his mouth.

The dwarrow jumped up at his call, weapons in hand. He shrieked as loudly as he could, interlaying a simple, but fervent message into his voice. Help. He had no doubt the mighty eagles would be able to hear him. A hobbit’s cry carried in the air for miles.

He could have cackled when he heard a piercing eagles cry far, far above them. Thorin must have heard it too, because he immediately paled and started running for him.

“Keep him quiet!”

Nori tackled him, wrapping a hand around his mouth. Thorin started barking orders, telling everyone to hide. The Spy Master pulled the string taunt, forcing his hands together, and without releasing his mouth dragged him under a young, but thick pine tree. He squirmed but wasn’t deterred. He could still make quite a bit of noise even muffled. He took a deep breath but chocked when Nori dug his fingers into his throat, finding just the right place to stop his vocal cords from vibrating. It hurt, and he bucked against it, but the dwarf didn’t release him. Instead, he changed the grip over his mouth, using his fingers to force his jaw shut. Bilbo struggled, but Nori simply used his body weight to keep him still, practically squishing him into the fallen pine needles.

The eagle shrieked again, sounding much closer.

Bilbo took another deep breath. Determined to give a response.

“Don’t. It won’ do ya any good.” Nor hissed quietly, “It’ll jus’ hurt more.”

True enough, as soon as he tried to make a sound his throat burned with pain, making his eyes water. He quickly stopped, reflexively trying to swallow. The fingers digging into the tender flesh beneath his jaw made it impossible though, and he spasmed in pain.

“See?” Nori muttered into his ear, “Jus’ breathe through yer nose. Yer fine. I ain’t blockin’ anythin’ off.”

Bilbo did just that, breathing as best he could through his nose. True to his word Nori wasn’t choking him, though it rather felt like it. He listened as the eagle cried again, much closer. He didn’t have a hope of drawings it’s attention though, trapped as he was. The rest of the company was well hidden from keen eagle eyes. He llayin despair as the eagle’s cries sounded further and further away, taking his chance of freedom with it.

The dwarrow lay in tense silence for close to a half hour, just in case. Finally, Thorin called the all-clear. “And keep the halfling's mouth shut!”

“Don’ make a sound.” Nori warned, moving the hand with digging fingers away from his throat. Bilbo coughed as soon as his mouth and throat were completely released. Moving his hands to rub at his sore throat. Nori finally moved, dragging them both out from under the tree.

“That was close.” Ori said, still looking up at the sky.

“Were gonna have to be careful.” Gloin said, eyeing the hobbit darkly. “No doubt they’d attack us if they thought we were hurtin’ a halfling.”

Bilbo just pouted, disappointed his idea didn’t work, but not ready to give up on it just yet. It would take days of traveling before they were out of range of the eagles. At this point he just needed to make noise. He’d just have to wait until Nori’s digging fingers weren’t anywhere nearby. Eru that had hurt!

“We're going to have to keep him gagged.” Thorin said, glaring at Bilbo. He wasn’t particularly bothered by it. He’d warned the dwarf that he wasn’t going to give up. He was just more trouble than any of them expected. “Nori?”

“Aye. I got it.”

The Spy Master dragged him over to one of the packs. The dwarf rummaged around his pack one-handed.

“Dwalin come help meh with this.”

The guard came over, ruffling Bilbo’s curls. Bilbo got the strangest feeling that Dwalin liked when he tried to escape, just because it meant he was brave and a fighter. Or maybe because he was as stubborn as a dwarf and refused to give up. The guard took over holding the hobbits hands down, freeing Nori to start ripping up some cloth. 

“Sit.” Nori ordered, gesturing to the hobbit. Bilbo was 90% certain he wouldn’t like whatever the Spy Master was planning but wasn’t strong enough to resist when Dwalin shoved his shoulders down. He sat in front of the redhead nervously, his anxiety only growing when Dwalin sat down behind him, his burly arm wrapped around him to hold the hobbit's hands down.

Nori finished with the cloth and glanced over Bilbo’s head at Dwalin. “Hold ‘is head still. ‘e’s not gonna like this.” Bilbo officially started to panic when the guard held a hand to his forehead, forcing his head back into his armored chest. He made a muffled yelp and strained to get away, but Dwalin held him still.

“Relax, I ain't gonna hurt'cha.” Nori said, meeting Bilbo’s eyes. With that, the dwarf forced his mouth open and shoved the bits of cloth into his mouth. Bilbo immediately tried to spit it out, but Nori expertly shoved more in, then got the long strip of cloth to completely cover his mouth and tied it around his head. Effectively preventing Bilbo from spitting anything out or allowing any sound to escape. 

Dwalin released his head, and Bilbo tried to rub the cloth gag off with his shoulder. It was tied too tightly though. He tried to cry to the eagles again, but only a muffled hum escaped. Bilbo whined in distress, but even that was muffled. He couldn't breathe through his mouth, and the cloth grated against his teeth uncomfortably. He thrashed. He definitely didn't like this.

“Calm hobbi’. Don’t panic. Just breath threw your nose.” Nori soothed, running his fingers gently around the flesh on Bilbo's cheeks to check if it was too tight. Apparently, he was satisfied and looked at Dwalin. “Ya can let ‘im go. Jus’ keep his hands away. I’ll take it off when ‘e eats.”

“We’re good Thorin.” Nori said, standing and gathering his pack. Dwalin stood, pulling the distracted hobbit up with him. Dwalin tied the chain to his belt, not giving Bilbo more than an inch.

“Sorry lad.” The gruff warrior said, “Can’t have ya pullin’ it off.”

 Thorin ordered them to move out, and Bilbo was forced to walk right next to the guard. Fili and Kili stared at the hobbit uncertainly as the small creature scowled and dried fruitlessly to get the gag off.

“Is… is it hurting him?” Kili asked.

“Nah lad, jus’ uncomfortable. Nori knows what ‘e’s doin’.” Bofur said, watching the struggling halfling with sad eyes.

Fili and Kili shared a look.

“If you say so..” 

Chapter Text

Bilbo really, really hated the gag. It was a constant distraction and irritant. His mouth was so dry and chalky. The others just watched him with pity, not offering to help with the maddening cloth in his mouth and around his head. 

It felt like a small eternity before they made camp. No fire, in case the eagles were still on the lookout. Which meant dry rations again. Dwalin had him sit down in the middle of camp anyway and handed off the chain to Thorin’s Assistant.

Dori sat down in front of him and gave him a pointed look. “I am going to take it off. You promise to stay quiet?”  

Bilbo nodded and couldn’t help the sigh of relief when his was able to run his tongue over his dry teeth and flex his jaw. Dori handed him water, and he gratefully wet his mouth and throat. 

“Eat it slow.” Dori instructed, handing him jerky one piece at a time. He obeyed, wanting to delay getting silenced again for as long as possible. By the time he finished his eyes were half lidded. He was exhausted after all the panic and fighting of the day. Dori pursed his lips and stared at him.

“I’ll make you a deal.” He said, “You go to bed right now, without making a sound, and I’ll convince Nori you don’t need the gag tonight.” Bilbo nodded eagerly. That sounded lovely.

The dwarf helped settle him down on his bedroll, his mother’s blanket wrapped around him. Bilbo was asleep before Dori finished tucking him in.

The oldest Ri sighed. “Poor thing wore himself out.”

“He hasn’t gained any weight.” Bombur worried. The cook had done his best to give the hobbit as much as possible, but it seemed it still wasn’t enough. Kili always brought back game from the forest, but one small deer only went so far into feeding twelve dwarrow and a hungry hobbit.

“We’ll have to bring it up with Thorin.” Dori decided. “Spend more time hunting and gathering. I’d rather return with a healthy hobbit in the fall than a half dead one in the summer.”

“Aye, me too.”

-

Bilbo fought tooth and nail to avoid Nori after breakfast. He’d hoped his good behavior would convince the dwarrow that he didn’t need to be gagged again. Both because it was unpleasant and because he wanted to escape. The crafty red head saw right through him though. He’d nearly managed to evade him too. He’d seen the dwarf coming as soon as he swallowed his last bite. He’d scrambled to his feet and jumped straight over a sleeping Bifur. Surprised, Oin, who had been holding his chain, let it slip from his grasp.

Delighted, Bilbo ran straight for the trees, his mouth opening. Someone tackled him, cutting him off. He was surprised to realize it had been Ori. The young dwarf was being praised as Nori and a sheepish Bofur got him fitted with the cloth gag again.  

It was just as uncomfortable as the day before, and he scowled. Nori just winked at him after making sure it wasn’t too tight. The following two days was pure torture. He even had to sleep with the stupid thing. If you could call it sleep. Dori had wrapped the hobbit’s chain around his own waist, so he couldn’t tear the offending metal away, then proceeded to bundle him up like the first night. He couldn’t move an inch or make even a squeak.  Being bound so tightly and muted made him constantly anxious. He spent nearly the entire night awake, theoretically tossing and turning.

The next day was just as bad. He trailed along tiredly, feeling slightly dizzy. Nori and Oin kept checking on him, but he did his best to ignore them. When evening came, he ate dinner sluggishly, relieved when Thorin decided they were far enough away from the eagles he didn’t need to be gagged anymore. He dragged his bedroll as far as Gloin allowed and fell asleep.

Balin sat next to his prince, a deep frown on his face. “I fear this has not endeared us to him.”

“I know.” Thorin agreed. They’d all noticed the halfling scoot as far away from them as he could.

“I know you are eager to return home Thorin but hear me out. I think we should stop here for at least a week. The hobbit has been going slower every day. He’s clearly exhausted. We’ve pushed him too hard too fast and haven’t supplied him with nearly enough food. His body isn’t built like ours. He can’t keep going like this.”

“I know.”

Balin turned to his usually stubborn prince in surprise. “You do?”

Thorin rolled his eyes. “Yes. Contrary to popular belief, I do have a heart.”

Balin shoved at him, “Hush you. I was merely expressing my surprise. It’s not often you take my advice.”

“And yet you are my advisor.”

They both looked at the hobbit again, watching as the golden-haired creature rolled in his sleep, mumbling in his strange, rolling tongue.

“One more day, then we’ll let him rest.” Thorin decided. Balin nodded.

-

Bilbo had always been proud of his hobbit feet. They were sturdy and large, with a healthy spread of curls covering them. Right now, though, they only ached. He walked along after Bofur, speeding up slightly when the chain was getting pulled taunt. He’d woken up tired again this morning, and was dragging his feet, his dizziness worsening with every step. This forest seemed to go on forever.

He was in no mood to talk. Fili and Kili had tried to engage him in a conversation, but he shied away. For some reason Fili had started glaring at Nori after that.

They reached a narrow river in the early afternoon. It was easy to cross once they found a shallow stretch, even if he did nearly slip on some loose stones. To his surprise Thorin called them to a stop in a small clearing near the water. It was grassy and looked peaceful.

“Why are we stopping?” He asked no-one in particular.

“Bofur, Bifur, Dori and Ori start working on a shelter. Fili and Kili go hunting. Bombur gather as much edible plants as you can. Nori scout out the area.” Thorin ordered, taking Bilbo’s chain from the miner.  He led the hobbit under a large shaded tree, and set his pack down. To Bilbo’s surprise he tied the chain around the thick tree trunk, then proceeded to lay out a bed roll. They hadn’t tied him to anything not connected to a dwarf since the Troll Shaw incident.

“You, my halfling, are going to get some rest.”

Bilbo just blinked at him. What...? It was the middle of the day. He plopped down anyway, too tired to refuse a chance to sit down. Dwarrow were so confusing sometimes.

“Is it improper to touch a hobbit’s foot?” Thorin suddenly asked.

“Hmm? Sorry?”

Thorin gestured to the tops of his feet. “Your feet. They are sensitive to touch. Is it improper for someone to touch them outside of an intimate setting?”

It took a moment for him to realize what the prince was saying. He blushed and shook his head. “Oh! Um… no. That’s not….” His blush deepened. Thorin just stared at him patiently. “It’s not like that. It’s just a comfort thing. Hobbits…hobbits run at a higher pace than the other races. It’s why we have to eat so much. The… foot sensitivity is a way to… slow down. It’s relaxing.”

“Are their restrictions to who may help you… relax?”

For a moment Bilbo wanted to lie and say it was only done among parents or very close kin. But… it had been so long since he’d had his feet rubbed. He’d been tired and stressed for so long it felt like his hair was going white prematurely. It would feel really, really nice to let his anxiety and fear go, if just for one evening.

Part of himself hated Thorin and didn't want the Dwarf Prince anywhere near him. But hobbits weren't designed to hate or hold grudges. And despite Thorin's many, many flaws the dwarf had never hurt him. If Bilbo had any close familial bonds with any of the other hobbits, then letting a dwarf touch his feet would have felt like betrayal. 

And yet...

He didn't have any bonds anymore. The dwarrow captured, faunt-napped, and gagged him. They we're dragging Bilbo to a place he'd told them he didn't want to go. He should despise them. But they were there in a way no hobbit had been in years. Despite everything they were so nice. 

It was infuriating.

It would be so much easier if they were cruel. If Bombur didn't spend every moment they stopped cooking for Bilbo. If Bifur didn't gift him flowers. If Dwalin didn't just sit quietly with him when he was sad. The dwarves were selfish, brash, and never thought beyond step one of a plan. Bilbo wasn't even sure if they knew the meaning of the word: plan! But they were full of life, laughter, and bravery. They valued honor unlike the men, and they weren't afraid of living, unlike the hobbits.

Thorin was waiting patiently for his answer. Bilbo sighed and picked at his nails. 

“N... no. It doesn’t matter." Bilbo admitted. "It only really works when we feel safe though, or else it’s just alarming. Kili just caught me by surprise last time. It’s been a while since I’ve let anyone touch my feet.” Not when he felt responsible for protecting his kin. He couldn’t afford to relax when he lived on the Shire border.

Thorin studied him for a moment. “Do you feel safe enough now? With us?”

Bilbo looked around at the dwarrow, who were all working on various jobs. He was surprised to see a halfway finished leaning shelter already. Dwarrow work fast. He looked back at Thorin. That was a loaded question. Did he feel safe with them? His gut reaction was to say no. They were his captors. The reason for all of his anxiety and frustration. They’d gagged him and thwarted every chance of freedom. But they had also been compassionate. Friendly and protective too.

Bilbo knew now that they did honestly just want to keep him safe. They made him laugh and comforted him when he cried. He could already feel the attachment growing, no matter how much he fought it. He was just so tired. They wouldn’t hurt him; they just wouldn’t let him get away either.

Thorin asked if he felt safe in their presence though, not whether or not he would choose to stay with them if given the choice. He nodded slowly. Yes. He supposed he did feel safe with them.

“May I?” Thorin had one hand extended, hovering over his bare foot. Bilbo met those blue eyes but didn’t see any ulterior motives. He nodded his consent and sighed in relief when calloused dwarf fingers started rubbing the top of his foot. He practically melted into the bed roll, letting the gentle strokes soothe the anxiety and stress away. He could feel his rapid heartbeat slow just slightly. It felt wonderful.

He went boneless and fell quickly asleep.

-

They roused him for a large dinner of roasted boar. He devoured it quickly, his mind calm and his body relaxed in a way it hasn’t been in years. Thorin must have sat and rubbed his feet for hours to get him this settled. The dwarrow’s chatter flowed through his ears like a pleasant hum. He didn’t even care when they retied his chain to a large rock Dori and Gloin had rolled next to the shelter. Bofur had somehow chipped a hole through it, so the mithril string could be attached.

Bilbo curled up on the cushioned ground next to the Crown Prince, who was just finishing his own dinner. Bilbo kicked at his knee beseechingly. Doing it again when the dwarf ignored him.

Finally, he looked over, his eyes flickering between Bilbo’s pleading eyes and his foot. Thorin snorted and started massaging his foot. Bilbo stretched without dislodging it, a happy sound leaving his lips.

“Needy little thing.” Thorin mused, but he didn’t sound annoyed.

Bilbo spent the entire next day alternating between eating and sleeping. Between Bifur and Bombur’s scavenging, and Fili and Kili’s hunting the dwarrow were pushing food and snacks at him constantly. He hadn’t realized how worn out he was until he finally had a chance to rest.

By evening he felt rejuvenated and relaxed enough to play a game with Fili and Kili. The older brother had set up a target just outside of camp made out of a small piece of bark, while Kili gathered as many stones as he could. They each took a turn spinning three times, then throwing a stone at the target. If someone missed, the person after them tried to quickly spin and throw their stone before the person before them could spine and throw again. If they hit their target, then the person before them was out.

Bilbo was delighted to find out he had great aim.

“He’s cheating!” Kili whined when Bilbo beat both of them again.

Bilbo scoffed, “I did not! I’m just better at it than you!”

“But I’m an archer! I have great aim! I always win this game!”

Fili just laughed and shoved his brother.

“I bet the hobbit would be really good at using a sling.” Ori mused from where the majority of the company had been watching. He was sitting on the ground now, pleased with his accomplishment. They’d let Bilbo have free reign around camp after making sure his chain was secured to the boulder. He wasn’t near strong enough to move the large rock, so they were satisfied that he couldn’t leave. He had twenty feet of walking room, something that he delighted in.

Bilbo smiled at Ori. “I know how to use one. My mother was really good at it. Even da could use one to get dinner if he really needed to.”

Several dwarrow exchanged glances, but Ori just looked more curious. “Is that how you got food?”

Bilbo cocked his head to the side. “No. At least not often. I’ve never been very good at hunting. I mostly used traps or fishing nets after they died. Or traded with my cousins when I saw them.”

“Did you see them often?”

“No. It… wasn’t safe. My smial was too far away to make the trip often. My kin wouldn’t risk coming to me, since I lived on the outskirts of the Shire. So, I had to go to them. “

“Did you have many cousins?”

The question was innocent enough, but the bleeding hope in the young dwarf’s eyes gave him away. The rest of the company had gathered around while they’d been talking and were listening eagerly.

He didn’t see any harm in telling them. His kin were long gone by now. Hopefully in the most obscure corner of the world. “None my age.” He said, “But I have four younger cousins, and six that are much older than me. A few aunts and uncles as well. My grandfather had twelve children, but only five of them are still alive.”

The dwarrow looked gutted. “Is that all that’s left?” Bofur asked, his face white. “Just 15 hobbits?”

He widened his eyes in horror. “Goodness no! Those are just my closer relatives, from the Took side. There are around 60 of us in total. Most of them Brandybucks or Proudfoots. I’m the last of the Baggins line. Quite a few hobbits escaped from Erebor you know. An entire caravan had left just the day before to seek aid from the bear-man.”

“A caravan!” Gloin gaped.

Bilbo fidgeted uncomfortably. He probably shouldn't have told them that. He didn't really see any harm in them knowing. They already knew hobbits still existed.

“Well, yes. At least according to the stories.” Bilbo said reluctantly. “About two hundred in total escaped, but most of them didn’t survive the wandering days, or the journey to the Shire. Hobbits aren’t built for extreme weather, and it was winter when they had to first leave. Most died of sickness or hunger within the first year.”

“Is…is that how your parents died?” Ori asked timidly. A few weeks prior Bilbo had mentioned that his parents were gone after Bofur had asked him if his stubbornness was hereditary. The dwarrow had gone quiet after that, and hadn't asked anything more. 

Bilbo bit his lip. “Yes and no. I was just a faunt, a child hobbit, when the survivors settled in the Shire. I was the only faunt that survived the trip after they were forced to abandon their third sanctuary in midwinter when a man discovered them. My father built our smial when I was 10. It was hard, trying to survive and hide at the same time, but we managed. Then 4 years ago there was a really bad winter.” He shuttered and curled his shoulders forward at the memory. “There was too much snow to reach any of our kin, and it was too cold to stay above ground long. We tried to ration food, but we didn’t have enough. Father sacrificed his portions so mother and I could eat more, but he kept getting weaker and sicker. So, mother… she went hunting.”

He took a deep breath and let it out. “She was gone for hours. It… it wasn’t until we heard the wolves howling outside that we knew something was wrong. My father grabbed his sling, forbid me from going outside, and left.” He squeezed his eyes closed as the memories washed over him. “I waited. I waited all day. But neither of them had come back by the time it was dark, so I decided to go after them. I was only 22, and the snow was very tall. It took ages to find them.” Tears filled his eyes and he sniffled. “They were lying next to each other in the snow. Mother was already dead. The wolves had gotten to her. He… he must have chased them off or something, then refused to leave her like that. He was too weak to move her though and collapsed.”

Bofur handed him a handkerchief, well more of a torn piece of cloth, but he took it gratefully, nonetheless. “I managed to get father home… but he was too cold. He died a few hours later.” Bilbo ducked his head into his knees, tears falling down his cheeks. He hadn’t told anyone the whole story before. It had hurt too bad before. It felt like he was ripping a bandage off a still bleeding wound.

He flinched when a hand touched his shoulder and looked up at Balin’s kind face. The dwarf opened his arms, and he automatically pitched forward into the hug. Balin rubbed his back soothingly, murmuring reassurances. It took a while for him to calm down, but eventually his tears slowed. The others just sat in solemn silence.

“Have you been on your own since?” Balin asked gently.

He swallowed and slowly nodded, hurrying to explain why before they thought poorly of his kin. “Yes. I managed to survive until the snow melted, though just barely. By then it was already mid-summer. 42 hobbits had died, from cold, hunger or the wolves. There wasn’t enough food in any one place for all of us. It was decided that since I knew how to sustain myself, I could live on my own.”

“Are ya of age lad?”

Bilbo looked over at Dwalin, surprised at how angry he looked. Apparently, they knew less about hobbits than he assumed. Did dwarrow keep records at all? “Well, no. I haven’t even reached my first majority yet.”

Balin’s arms suddenly tightened, and he winced.

“How old?” Thorin demanded, his eyes intense.

He squirmed uncomfortably at the scrutiny. “Um… hobbits reach first majority at 27, which is when we can start taking on responsibilities. Like hosting guests or learning how to manage a smial. We don’t stop maturing until 34, which is when we’re officially adults. I was really fortunate my mother wanted me to teach me how to survive as soon as she could. I was learning how to hunt and find food by the time I was 15. The elders weren’t happy, but we really didn’t have much choice.”

“Mahal. Your jus’ a child!” Bofur said, gaping.

Thorin dropped his head into his hands, while Fili and Kili looked at him like he was a ghost.

“Wait… so your only 26?” Ori asked, doing the math.

Bilbo confirmed it, and suddenly found himself in Balin’s lap. The dwarf had previously been on his knees, but fell back to the ground, taking the halfling with him. He didn’t know why they were all so concerned. Him being of age or not didn’t change anything. No matter how many more inches he had to grow, they would always be stronger than he was.

“We took a wee babe.” Dwalin groaned.

“I’m not a babe!” He sputtered, offended. He wasn’t even a faunt anymore, technically! Faunts couldn’t live on their own, so the elders declared him a young hobbit and left it at that. His father had always told him he was the most mature faunt in all of hobbit history. He took pride in that.

“We thought ya were at least of age.” Gloin said, staring at Bilbo guiltily.

“Aye. You lived alone, so we just assumed you were an adult.” Dori said, looking like he’d just been told his knitting needles broke.

“So that’s why you’re so small!” Fili realized. “I just thought all hobbits were ridiculously tiny!”

He glared at the young prince, “I’m the perfect size for my age thank you very much! I only have a few inches left to grow before I’m as tall as my father was.”

The rest of the dwarrow were either staring at him in horror, or shock. Nori was the only exception; he had a peculiar look on his face.

“So yer of the line of Baggins?” Nori asked, changing the subject. “That yer name?”

Bilbo looked at Thorin, surprised he hadn’t told them all already. “Last name actually. Bilbo is my first.”

“Bilbo.” Bofur said, smiling, “It suits ya.”

“Bilbo Baggins, a hobbitling of the Shire.” Kili said.

“Dis is going to kill me.” Thorin suddenly groaned. Dwalin patted the Crown Prince on the back in consolidation.

“Whose Dis?” Bilbo asked.

“Our Amad.” Fili said, as if that explained anything. “Uncle Thorin’s younger sister. She’s real protective of kids. She’ll love you.”

Bilbo mulled that over. Amad must mean mother. She was most likely still at Erebor, waiting for their arrival. For a moment he let himself imagine actually reaching Erebor. Seeing the reactions of the dwarrow. He imagined it would be quite the spectacle. A hobbit finally returned to the Lonely Mountain. Would he get to stay with Thorin and his family? Or anyone else in the company? Surely not. They were the royal family, or connected to them in some way. He’d probably be placed in his own room, that locked from the outside, and require a small handful of guards whenever he went anywhere.

That is if they let him wander the mountain at all. They could just lock him in a room and throw away the key. He shuttered. He would not do well forever locked in a room, no matter how big or grand it was. Hobbits were creatures of nature and sunlight. He’d waste away.

He was torn out of his sinking thoughts when Bifur crouched down in front of him, a single White Hyacinth extended toward him. Bilbo took it, a soft, pleased smile on his face. For some reason Bifur seemed more innocent of the whole faunt-napping business. He had an innocent aura around him in general. “You didn't know Bifur. I’ve been an acting adult for a long time.”

The rugged, yet wise dwarf just shook his head and gestured to the flower again, then at Bilbo. Then put up three fingers, only to drop two of them. “Oh.” Bilbo smiled sadly, realizing that the dwarf wasn’t apologizing, he was expressing his sorrow for the loss of Bilbo’s parents. Tears sprung up in his eyes as he stared at the fragile petals. He never got to have a funeral for them. Most hobbits these days didn’t get funerals, but they at least got flower patches grown where they were killed. To honor their life. Bilbo hadn’t visited his mother and father’s flower graves in a long time.

“They would have liked you Bifur.” Bilbo said, meeting those warm chocolate eyes. Bifur was smart, sweet, and so unlike the other dwarrow. Bifur wasn’t bothered by their differences, or the language barrier, he just wanted to be Bilbo’s friend. The knowledge that someone else understood something so important to hobbit culture was priceless to Bilbo.

He reached his arms forward, and Balin thankfully got the message and let go, so Bilbo could wrap his arms around Bifur. He buried his face in the dwarf’s vest, soaking up the comfort when Bifur returned the hug.

Things changed after that.

After their hug, Bifur neatly tucked Bilbo under his arm and they both watched as the sun sunk into the trees. They’d already eaten dinner, but Bombur kept sneaking him bit sized snacks he happily accepted. The other dwarrow went about their nightly ablutions and tasks, but all of their eyes would occasionally wander to the small hobbit. Somehow, there gazes felt much less constricting than they had before. As if they weren’t checking to make sure their prisoner had escaped, but rather their charge was being looked after.

Bilbo didn't know what to think about that. 

As dusk turned to darkness the hobbit found himself herded into the shelter. Gloin and Oin had piled even more blankets on his bedroll, and the young princes had claimed both spots on either side of him. He looked at the faded red blanket on top in confusion and looked around until he spotted Bofur sitting on the ground just outside the shelter whittling.

“Isn’t that your blanket?”

He glanced up, “Yessir it is. But you can have it tonight half pint.”

“But won’t you get cold?” He didn’t think Bofur had any other blankets.

“Nah. Bombur gotta spare. Go get comfy between the princes.”

Bilbo bit his lip, but finally decided that the happy dwarf wouldn’t have let him borrow his blanket if he truly didn’t need it. He was grateful for it anyway. They may be off the mountain, but they were much further north than he was used to. The air was colder and dryer. He’d managed so far, but he wouldn’t say no to the extra warmth.

He crawled into his makeshift bed, mindful of the thin chain. Dori approached as soon as he was laying down, two small stones in his hands.

“Heated stones.” He explained, tucking them on either side of Bilbo before he had a chance to refuse. They were just hot enough not to burn him, and felt wonderful on his sore muscles. Dori left without another word, heading straight for his sewing kit. Still slightly confused by the sudden coddling, but happy to accept it, Bilbo snuggled into his bedding.

The princes laid down on either side, for once not saying a word before going to sleep. It didn’t take long for the soothing heat and comforting presences around him to lull him into the gentle blackness between awareness and true sleep. It was just as he drifted in oblivion that he heard whispering above his head.

“Fili? I want to declare Bilbo as kin.”

“Me to. He’ll be our nadadith. He kind of is already anyway.”

“I thought so too. Our little baby brother. Do you think Uncle will let us make it official?”

A soft snort. “I’ll think we’ll have to fight him for it. He’ll want our hobbit to be his declared son at this rate.”

“But then he’d only be our cousin!”

“Shhh. We’ll just have to declare him first.”

“Right. Tomorrow, let’s do it tomorrow.”

“We don’t have the beads. We can’t do it tomorrow.”

“Let’s make some then. I think Bilbo would appreciate wooden beads more than metal ones anyway.”

“Good idea Kili. We’ll start working on them tomorrow. Uncle won’t let us present them unless they’re perfect.”

“I’ll ask Bifur for advice.”

“But then he’ll want to adopt him too!”

“Never mind. We can do it on our own. It’ll be the best declaration bead ever!”

“Kili! Shhh!”

Chapter Text

Bilbo wasn’t sure what woke him, but he was rebelling against it immediately. He was warm and comfy and not willing at all to wake up yet. He nuzzled closer to the warm thing pressed to his face and relaxed, determined to go back to sleep.

He drifted off again, rousing when weak sunlight struck his face. He peeled open his eyes, and was surprised to find himself staring at a dark blue cotton tunic. All at once he realized he was squished between two dwarrow princes, who were happily snoring away. He had somehow ended up resting his head on Fili’s shoulder while the prince wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Kili was pressed up against his back, with his arm thrown over Bilbo. He could feel Kili’s breathe on the back of his neck. All three of them were practically smothered in blankets.

He lifted his head, and made a small grunt when Fili’s hand almost immediately pushed it back down.

“Go back t’sleep.” The blonde slurred without opening his eyes.

Bilbo wiggled. Kili’s arm tightened around him on instinct, but the brunette didn’t wake.

“But…” Bilbo complained quietly, not wanting to wake anyone else. Fili cut him off, his voice gruff with sleep.

“Restin’ day. Sleep nadadith.” The dwarf started running his fingers through Bilbo’s hair, which the hobbit thought was definitely cheating. He couldn’t help but melt under the touch, and somehow fell back asleep. 

By the time he woke, the sun was already climbing the sky and he felt like he was melting. Both furnaces on either side of him hadn’t moved, in fact they somehow seemed closer. This time, they were awake and… cooing?

“Do you think all hobbit babe’s look like Bilbo?”

“No. We got the best one.”

“Imagine what he looked like as an even smaller babe.”

“Bet he’d fit in the palm of your hand.”

Bilbo opened his eyes, and they immediately widened. Fili’s light blue eyes were only a few inches away. He made an embarrassing squeak and jerked back, right into Kili. His mind immediately considered flailing around, but his thoughts quickly caught up. He just blinked at them, then shook his head at the ridiculousness of dwarrow and pried himself from between them. All around the company was relaxing or performing chores. Some had damp hair and beards.  He rubbed at his eyes, and decided that if they were going to stay here than he was definitely demanding a bath.

He frowned at his chain. It was long, but not long enough to reach the river.

“Bilbo?” He looked over at Ori, who was knitting next to his eldest brother. “Are you alright?”

He picked at his stained and dirty shirt. “I want a bath.”

At the word “bath” Dori’s head shot up. He stood up, dumping his project into Ori’s lap. “Right! Dwalin, Nori, Bifur come along!” The dwarf gathered up in own pack and snagged a blanket. “Fili, Kili you better come as well. Thorin!”

“Yes. Yes.” The crown prince approached the flustered hobbit. Before Bilbo knew it, he was unshackled and being bustled towards the river with half the company surrounding him. Dori kept a firm hand on his shoulder, but the others didn’t seem concerned about him running. He didn’t feel very inclined to run at the moment. He just wanted a bath and breakfast.

They reached the river, where Gloin was just finishing washing up. Bilbo blushed at the amount of hairy skin in front of him, and averted his eyes. He’d learned a long time ago that dwarrow weren’t the most modest of folk. Nudity didn’t bother them at all. He’d slowly become accustomed to it. Journeying without any privacy didn’t allow him much modesty.

“Hand me your clothes and I’ll wash them.” Dori ordered. Bilbo undressed and handed the worn clothing over, then waded into the water. Fili and Kili followed right behind. Fili handed him small thing of soap, and he nearly cried at the sight of it. Oh Eru, he was going to be clean!

How long has it been since his last bath? Other than quick wash downs with a wet cloth every other day they hadn’t stopped long enough for a proper cleaning in weeks! He scrubbed rigorously, dunking his head in the water over and over again until he was sure every particle of dirt was gone. Fili and Kili had started a mock water war, drifting into the current instead of the shallower still water by the bank. Bilbo did his best to ignore them and the pairs of eyes watching him. Dori was crouched in the sand doing the laundry nearby, his eyes glancing over at the hobbit. If Bilbo knew anything about the mother-henning dwarrow, Dori was probably making sure he was washing properly.

Water splashed over his head, and he sputtered. “Bilbo! Come help me!” Kili called. The dwarf was trying to take down his bulkier brother. Bilbo looked at them, and immediately shook his head.

“Um… no?”

“Ha! I knew he liked me better!”

“What!” Kili protested, getting dunked himself.

Bilbo waded to where the water only reached his ankles and sat down, content to watch them. Someone touched his shoulders, and he looked over. Bifur was holding out a wooden… thing. It was carved smooth, and could easily fit into the palm of his hand. He took it and couldn’t help a cry of delight when he realized it was a rabbit with floppy ears. It looked just like the hare that invaded his father’s smial the day before the dwarrow found him. It even had divots showing off the wooden rabbit’s fluffy scruff and overly large ears.

“Big Ears!” he said, a warm feeling filling his chest. “Did you make this?” Bifur grunted an affirmative. Bilbo inspected the wooden carving. It was very detailed and must have taken Bifur hours to carve.

He grinned at his friend, “Thank you!”

A glee he hadn’t felt since before the Fell Winter filled him. After that winter, he didn’t feel like playing. He had to be responsible, he couldn’t act like a child after that. The elders counted on him.

He dunked the rabbit in the water, delighted when it floated evenly on top of the water. He marveled at the craftmanship. Father had been a good carpenter, and he'd made Bilbo similar carvings when he was little. Holding the wooden rabbit now brought cheerful memories back. Memories that were only slightly dimmed with grief and time. He heard some chuckles behind him, but shamelessly played with the wooden rabbit. He could let his guard down at least a little bit. The dwarrow were watching out for danger, and he didn’t have any chores to do.

He could be a faunt, at least for a few minutes.

He let the carving float, being careful it didn’t drift off. A melancholy feeling filled his chest as he manipulated the water underneath it, making it move without touching it. Like his father used to do to entertain a young Bilbo during bath time. Bilbo used to hate baths as a faunt, and oftentimes luring him with toys was the only way his parents could convince him to get in the water.

A wave suddenly knocked the wooden rabbit out of his reach, and he looked up to see Fili and Kili both come out of the water coughing and laughing. Bilbo watched in horror as the rabbit caught the current. He scrambled to his feet and ran after it, but stopped when the water reached his stomach.

“Fili grab it!”

The blonde prince looked over, but it was Kili who snagged the toy rabbit before it could get too far. He held it up tauntingly. “Come get it!”

Bilbo frowned. “I can’t. Give it back!”

“Oh.” Kili blinked, no doubt noticing how anxious the hobbit looked. “You can’t swim.”

Bilbo flushed. “It’s not my fault! Most hobbits can’t swim, and I never learned. We try to avoid deep water as much as we can.”

Kili nodded as if confirming a deep truth. “Then we’ll teach you!” He waded up to the hobbit. Bilbo took a step back.

“No. No.”

“Come on! It’ll be fun! Besides you really should learn. We wouldn’t want our hobbit to drown.” Bilbo stared at the soaking wet dwarf, dread crawling up his throat. The serious look on the normally placid jester’s face stopped it in its track. Kili looked… of age at that moment. He was still smiling, but his maturity was shining through his blue eyes. “I promise it’ll be alright.”

Kili extended his arm. Bilbo took it with a heavy amount of trepidation and allowed himself to be pulled into the deeper water. He clung to Kili’s arm the deeper they went, and his breathing hitched when he couldn’t reach the riverbed.

“Kili!” he cried, trying to climb the dwarf.

“I’ve got you. It’s okay.” Kili said calmly, holding Bilbo’s upper arm securely. “Let yourself relax and float. Swimming is actually really easy. Just don’t panic and try kicking your feet. Watch Fili.”

Bilbo spent the next twenty minutes learning how to swim. Kili and Fili were patient, and surprisingly good teachers. By the time Dori called them out he had managed to tread for a few seconds, something he was ridiculously proud of. He wasn’t afraid to tell everybody about it as he dressed in fresh clothes and returned to camp.

“I bet I’m the youngest hobbit to ever swim, well, for a few seconds at least.”

“I bet you are.” Balin agreed indulgently next to him.

Bilbo ran his fingers through his drying hair. He was wearing a clean pair of clothes, his previous shirt, trousers, and cloak were hanging to dry on a low branch along with several other articles of clothing from the Dwarrow. He was sitting on the ground just outside the makeshift shelter, the shackles still off.

Bifur’s gift rabbit lay next to him, and an idea was forming of how to give the kind dwarf a gift in return. “My mother could swim. She was a Took after all.” He said, for once not feeling the familiar sting of sorrow when mentioning her. “She was famous for it, since she saved grandfather from drowning in the Brandybuck river once. I was only a young fauntling, so I don’t remember it, but I’ve heard stories. They had just arrived in the Shire and were exploring when Grandfather leaned up against some cattails and fell in the river. Mother handed me off to father and jumped in to save him. Ever since then he’s been known as the Cattail Thain.”

Balin sputtered. “Thain? Your related to the Hobbit Thain?”

Bilbo looked over at him. “Yes? He is my grandfather, Geriatrus Took. My mother, Belladonna Took was his youngest daughter and I’m his only living grandson. I was his heir you know, before all this nasty traveling. My uncles all turned the position down. Which I can understand. Lots of pressure trying to lead wandering folk is. They aren’t very young anymore either, and I was the only one both young and old enough to fill the position.”

The old dwarf groaned and rubbed his eyes, muttering about kidnapping royalty and how condemned they all are. “Thorin!”

-

Thorin rose early, too accustomed to waking early to begin his duties to slack off now. Most of the company were still snoring around him, while the sun was just peeking above the horizon. He looked over them all and felt a jolt of panic when he realized the hobbit wasn’t among them. He scrambled to his feet and glanced around the camp. He'd decided to keep the hobbit unshackled. He knew he wasn't a good dwarf, but even he couldn't condone restraining an actual child. His dwarrow knew to be on the lookout if Bilbo tried to run, but lately the young one didn't seem that interested in leaving. 

Or Bilbo was just clever enough to hide it.

Thorin knew he could never be forgiven for all the pain and anguish he'd put Bilbo through. He doubted he'd ever be allowed entrance to the Halls of Durin. Learning that the halfling they captured was a literal child only confirmed his condemnation. Speaking with Balin about Bilbo's status as an heir to the hobbit king only made things worse. Not for the first time he regretted how they went about this. They should have waited. Approached the hobbits with countless gifts and apologies, then politely invite one of them, or even all of them, to travel to Erebor. Was it likely to have worked? Before he'd gotten to meet Bilbo he would have said no. Afterall, if he was in their place, he would have attacked the company on sight. But he was slowly learning that hobbits were much more forgiving than dwarrow. Bilbo might have even said yes if he had been given the time and explanations he deserved. 

It was too late now though. He wasn't a complete fool. He knew how much damage they'd already done to Bilbo's mentality. The poor hobbit didn't know what was right or wrong anymore. 

Curse his own pride and fear. He'd been so caught up in his own people's problems and impending destruction that he didn't even stop to consider if he was only making things worse. The Valar punished Erebor because they killed the hobbits. Who was he to fight against their rightfully received wrath? Pebble-napping Bilbo would only anger the Valar further. This foolish plan was going to get them all killed. 

And yet.

He couldn't let Bilbo leave. For so long finding a hobbit meant redemption and hope. He'd risked everything in this rash attempt at finding one. He knew it was selfish. If he were an honorable dwarf they'd turn back around and deliver Bilbo back to his kin, or even the elves if he so wished. But even the thought of the hobbit vanishing in the night caused sweat to break out on his brow and his hands to shake.

Bombur, who was in charge of third shift, was leaning against a tree watching something just out of view.

“Morning ‘highness.” The large dwarf greeted when Thorin walked over to him.

“Where is… Oh.” Thorin stared in surprise. Ten feet in front of him Bifur and Bilbo sat amid a small field of multicolored flowers. Both of them were giggling and had neat flower crowns on their heads. Bilbo had a chipmunk perched on his shoulder. Seeing Bifur and the halfling with flowers wasn’t out of the ordinary, it was the field itself that defied logic.

“Those… those were not their yesterday.” He was completely positive he’d walked through this flat clearing just yesterday, and it definitely was not full of exotic looking flowers then.

“Aye.” Bombur grunted, sounding amused.

Thorin just stared at the smiling hobbit, completely baffled. “The rumors were true.”

“Aye.”

Thorin swallowed hard. Blessed by the Valar indeed. "We've made a mistake."

"...Aye."

-

Bilbo weaved the finishing touches on the third crown. It was larger than he was used to making flower crowns, but dwarrow had big heads. This one was full of purple iris’, yellow mums, and a variety of different colored daisies. Intelligence, friendship, innocence and gentleness. Perfect. He lifted it to inspect his work, fiddling with a few stems.

“I finished. Are you done with yours?’

Bifur nodded, holding up the crowns he wanted to gift to his brother and cousin. The others had just started gathering around the fire for breakfast. Bilbo carefully grabbed his projects and happily presented them to their intended bearers.

“Ori this one is yours.” He handed over the daisy crown.

“What! I want one!” Kili complained. Bilbo huffed and handed over the one with orange Gladiolus flowers and yellow Freesia’s. Fili got one with Gerbera Daisies and pink Lilies. The dwarrow placed them on their heads. Kili and Fili were grinning, while Ori looked bashful. Bifur unceremoniously set Bofur and Bombur’s crowns on their heads. The elder dwarrow just took it in stride.

“Uh, thanks Bilbo.” The scribe said shyly, “They are really lovely. What are they for?”

Bilbo just shrugged and smiled. He went back to his flower garden. He’d make Dwalin one next. He went back to his clearing and was surprised when the entire company followed him. He averted his eyes from their gaping and sat back down to get to work again.

“I want to make one!” Kili declared and plopped himself down. It took a few tries for Kili to get a hang of the braids the crowns used, but soon enough he was building his own flower crown, teaching his brother the process as he went. Bilbo polished off two more crowns by the time the princes finished their crowns. He couldn’t help but laugh when he saw what flowers they’d decided to use.

“What?” Fili squawked, inspecting his admittedly very well-made crown. “Did I do it wrong?”

Bilbo laughed harder and nudged Bifur to look too. “It’s perfect.” The older dwarrow chuckled and gave Fili a thumbs up.

“Then why are you laughing!?”

“You should give that one to Dwalin.” Bilbo said, trying and failing to contain his grin. “I think the Hibiscus suits him.”

“Does Hibiscus mean something?” Ori, as ever, asked curiously.

Bilbo nodded, “Yes. Hobbits have a whole language based on flowers.”

“Really! What does my crown say?” Kili demanded, holding up his multicolored crown.

Bilbo giggled, “That you are stubborn, lazy, energetic, sorrowful, and very wise.” Several snorts were made behind them.

“Woah.” Kili said, looking at his weaved flowers like they were a gift from Mahal.

“What about mine?” Fili asked.

He snickered and answered, “The Daisies mean innocence. And the Lavender means serenity. Marigold means delicate beauty.” There was a loud scoff from the peanut gallery, and several bursts of laughter as Dwalin growled lowly.

“Wait! So you’ve been communicatin’ with Bifur this whole time?” Bofur asked. “In yer own secret language.”

Bilbo twisted around to look at the gathered company. He nodded and blushed. “He’s really nice.”

“That he is! Good on ya cousin!” Bombur said, slapping Bifur on the back. “Where’d you learn hobbitty language anyway?”

Bilbo perked up, that was a great question. He doubted the dwarrow had record of the meaning of flowers and the stone race hadn’t had contact with hobbits in centuries. There was no way Bifur could know unless he’d somehow met a hobbit and kept it a secret or was personally blessed by Yavannah. Intrigued, Bilbo climbed to his feet and stood directly in front of the dwarf, his head tilted in a silent question. Bifur grunted his consent, and stayed still as Bilbo pressed his hands to either side of his face. Feeling bold, he kept leaning until they were touching forehead to brow. Bilbo stared into the dark brown eyes of his friend, willing his magic to touch him.

He hadn't done this since his parents died. Sharing magic with another sentient being was a gift given to hobbits from Yavanna. A way for them to make connections and determine truthfulness. It was similar to how they connected and were able to heal the land. Touching soul to soul like this Bilbo was able to see Bifur in the way Mahal saw Bifur; to the very roots of his personality and being.

He couldn’t stop the smile. Bifur felt so pure. Like an innocent child and wise elder at the same time. He felt so much like a hobbit it brought a wave of nostalgia to the halfling. Without breaking eye contact he pushed deeper, and gasped when he felt the remnant of green magic. He inspected the feeling. It was familiar, like a relative’s signature, but too faded to pinpoint exactly who Bifur had been familiar with enough the hobbit left an imprint on his very soul. Something hobbits did only with people they were very close to. Mostly only direct family. It meant Bifur had met a hobbit before and kept it a secret. It was a very long time ago, maybe even when Bifur was a child. Bilbo stared at his friend in awe.

“What’s he doing?” Dori asked. Bilbo ignored the audience.

Bifur was living proof that a dwarf and a hobbit could connect again. That a dwarf could choose to protect the little people’s interests instead of his own races. Bilbo didn’t hesitate to smooth his magic over his friend, soothing the dwarfs near constant pain from the axe in his head. Afterall, if Bifur was trustworthy enough for a previous hobbit, he was good enough for Bilbo.

“Friend.” Bilbo declared softly in his own tongue. Bifur stared at him, his eyes swimming with something warm. While the word itself was simple, the inflection behind the language was so much more meaningful. Bilbo could trust this dwarf like he’d trust his kin. They were friends in body and spirit.

With that declaration Bilbo pulled back, then sat down and cuddled up to Bifur’s side, kidnapping his scarred and calloused hand to let his magic flow between them. Bifur made a pleased rumbling sound and relaxed, his muscles releasing tension they’d been carrying for decades.

Bombur called them all for breakfast, and Bilbo was perfectly content when Bifur tucked him under his arm as they headed back to camp.

-

They stayed in the clearing for six days. Resting, eating, and in the dwarrows case, training. Bilbo would sit and cheer them on, usually munching on his constant supply of snacks. He was still wary of some of the dwarrow, like Nori and Gloin. The red heads weren’t threatening in anyway, but the gag experience soured his opinion of Nori, while Gloin was so brash and outspoken Bilbo couldn’t help but feel unsettled around him. Gloin kept comparing him to his son Gimli and calling him a babe, which the hobbit didn’t appreciate at all.

Dori somehow got even more motherly, but for once Bilbo didn’t mind the treatment. Every time the silver haired dwarf gave him freshly sown clothing or draped blankets over him Bilbo got a warm feeling in his chest. He allowed himself to participate in the dwarrow’s silly games and competitions and was delighted when he won the thinking games Balin favored. He laughed until his stomach ached when Kili lost so horrendously the old advisor lectured him for an hour.

The shackles were never put back on, which made thinking of escape somehow even less appealing. If he wasn't their prisoner anymore, that meant he shouldn't feel guilty about wanting to stay with them. Afterall, it was dangerous in the wilderness. He couldn't risk leaving by himself. Right? Part of him knew it was still wrong. That just because he wasn't physically restrained didn't mean he wasn't mentally still a captive. They always had someone on watch duty afterall. Would they stop him if he tried to leave? He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to that question.

When they set off again, he had his own small pack stuffed full of food he could snack on as they walked. It mostly consisted of smoked meat from Bombur and vegetables Kili and Fili had found. He found himself often walking in silence, trying to sort out the complicated feelings going on in his head.

He'd already accepted that he felt safe with the dwarrow, and that they didn’t mean him any harm. Most of them were becoming close friends. He’d even dare call them kin. They took better care of him than his own kin. He shot down the thought immediately, but the bitterness and guilt lingered. He knew he was left on his own out of necessity. He wasn’t abandoned and outcasted to Bag End out of spite, but the loneliness in his heart didn’t comprehend the difference between intent and action.

Why did it feel like he was betraying his own race by accepting the dwarrow?

He shuddered to think what his parents would have thought of him. Here he was cuddling up to the people they spent their entire lives despising and running from. His grandfather would be appalled with him, right?

He watched as Bofur flapped his hands around as he told one of his many thrilling stories enthusiastically, the majority of the company listening with big smiles and loud laughter. The sight made him happy.  Surely the other hobbits wouldn’t begrudge him happiness. He’d been surviving for so long, he forgotten what it was like to live. Maybe… maybe it was possible to heal the rift between dwarrow and hobbits. If the gruff gentleness and fierce protectiveness of this company could heal his damaged spirit who's to say his kin couldn’t benefit from the same thing?

“Something on your mind little one?”

Bilbo looked over in surprise at Balin, who was walking calmly at his side. How long had he been here? He just shrugged and stared at the ground. They walked in silence for a while, Bilbo still lost in thought.

“It’s not a bad thing.” Balin said. Bilbo looked over, confused. “Enjoying their company.” Balin expounded. Bilbo gaped, at once wondering if this dwarf had mind reading abilities. Balin merely chuckled and continued, “You no longer fear us. Instead, you feel comfortable and safe in our presence. That isn’t something anybody could hold against you; in fact, we are delighted to have earned your trust.”

Trust. For some reason that sounded like a lot bigger word than “safe with”.

“It feels wrong.” Bilbo muttered, "and right." Balin waited patiently. Eventually the hobbit cracked and admitted, “Like I’m betraying my parents and the other hobbits. I shouldn’t like being around you all, but I do.”

Balin hummed. “Would your parents rather you be alone?”

That question brought Bilbo up short. His parents definitely didn’t want him to be alone. Hobbits were social creatures. They thrived in communities and relationships and faded when isolated. If the company was anything but dwarrow he had no doubt that Ma and Pa would be happy he made new friends, especially if they knew how he was left to fend for himself when they died. If they could see how nice the company was… maybe they wouldn’t care that they were dwarrow, just that they made him happy.

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

He said the words, but he didn’t believe them. He knew that his parents would want him to be happy no matter what or who he found friendship with. He looked over at Balin, whose lips were slightly pursed in thought, but he didn’t respond. They walked in silence until Ori wandered over to talk about the library of Erebor.

As the day went on, he was lulled out of his dim mood and decided that he might as well not worry about it. He couldn’t do anything about it anyway. He didn't know where his kin were, and now that goblins were aware that he existed he wouldn't feel safe in the wilderness by himself.

It was near midday when Bilbo paused mid step and tilted his head. He could hear something, almost like very gentle movement through the thick trees around them. It was really faint, but was a lot closer than he would like. The land was weary too, like something dangerous was here. He twisted around, which drew Ori's attention.

“Somethings coming.” He said, looking around warily. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact location of the sound, it seemed like it was coming from everywhere. The company stopped, unsheathing their weapons in alert. Thankfully they’d learned to heed the halfling early alert capabilities. Bilbo cast his magic out lightly, and was surprised to get a sense of…

“…dogs?” He twisted his head around when he heard something snap. “Or wolves?”

Suddenly the careful stalking sounds changed into rushed pursuit, and he yelped moments before a massive beast burst towards them. It was huge, easily as tall as him, with short black and grey spotted fur and massive teeth. He fumbled backwards as the rest of the company all charged. He found himself stranded in the middle as five of the biggest dogs he had ever seen attacked on all sides.

Dwalin quickly killed one with his axe, but Dori had gotten knocked flat on his back and was struggling not to get his face bitten off. The sounds of yelling filled his ears and Bilbo watched in horror as men started swarming the path, all wielding weapons. He fumbled for cover, but couldn't move much without leaving the circle of dwarrow defending him from the humans.

“Bandits!” Nori shouted.

Bilbo did his best to stay out of the way, and dodged when the protective circle broke and a savage dog leapt at him. The animals felt wrong, almost like wargs. What had the humans done to them? He ended up just behind Thorin as the prince fought off two men at once.

“There’s too many of ‘em!” Bofur grunted near them, trying to get one of the dogs to release its jaw from the handle of his mattock. Bilbo dove to the ground as a man ran straight for him with his rusted sword raised high. He managed to trip him, but he had nothing to tie his legs together.

“Get Bilbo ta safety!” Dwalin growled.

“I’m trying!” Thorin stabbed one of the bandits in the shoulder and shoved the other hard enough to make him topped over, but before he could clear a path two more took their place. Scared, Bilbo tugged on the back of Thorin's pants, knowing that it was pointless. His instincts to run and hide were making him frantic with panic. He didn’t stand a chance in a fight, especially against men. He barely reached their waists, and even if he picked up a weapon, he didn’t know how to use it.

Suddenly Thorin was right in front of him. “I can’t leave them, and you can’t stay.” He said, sounding pained. He lightly shoved Bilbo with one hand, lifting his sword to block a man’s sword swing with the other. “Run Bilbo!”

When the hobbit refused to budge, frozen in shock and horror, the crown prince shoved him harder toward the space in between where Dwalin and Balin were engaged in battle. “Go!”

Kickstarted into action Bilbo took off, ducking past the men and using his small stature to slip out of the raid and into the trees. He ran through the trees, glancing back to make sure he wasn’t followed. When he decided he was far enough away he climbed a tree, knowing that if the dwarrow didn’t win he couldn’t outrun or outsmart the dog’s sense of smell.

Clutching the topmost branches, he looked in the direction of fighting, feeling feint. Everything had happened so quickly! Was this normal? People just attacking out of nowhere for no reason?! No wonder hobbits always travelled with utmost discretion and silence. You couldn’t get attacked or discovered if nobody knew you were there. He gulped.

What was going to happen to the company? Were they okay? He knew they were all really good fighters, but that was a lot of men, and those dogs were vicious. Tears filled his eyes. He couldn’t bear it if anything happened to Fili or Kili, or Ori, or Bofur, or… any of them. They couldn’t die like this! So close to their home!

He racked his brain for anything he could do. He wasn’t strong enough to physically fight, and even if he got his hands on a sling, he couldn’t do more than cause some bruising. The dogs wouldn’t listen to him, they wouldn’t have attacked if their natural affinity wasn’t trained out of them.

He stayed and waited, straining to listen and praying to Yavanna that the company was okay.

Several minutes later he heard something moving below him. He peered down through the trees, barely daring to breath, and caught sight of brown fur.

A bear.

A really, really large and mangy bear.

It lumbered toward him, directly to his tree until it stopped right below him and stretched up the trunk. Its black eyes staring directly at Bilbo.

“Hello.” Bilbo whispered, wondering what the bizarre beast was and what it wanted. The bear flexed its massive claws into the bark, its beady eyes staring directly at him with a focus he didn’t often see in animals. The bear twitched its ears in a friendly manner, looking like it was pleading. Bilbo sighed, “Shoo. It’s not safe here and I can’t come down to visit you. My friends…”

He looked towards the direction of the fighting and gulped. The bear made a low rumbling sound, but didn’t let up it’s pleading. Its bottom lip stuck out in a very human like pout. “You have to go… before they attack you too.”

The bear made an impatient little roar and batted at the tree again, as if saying, Yes. Yes. I know. Get down here already. Bilbo looked between the bear and the direction of the attack, conflicted. He shouldn’t get down in case the dogs and men came this way, but the bear was massive. He doubted any non-rabid dog would dare attack it, and it’d surely give even the men pause. He sighed anxiously and climbed down. The bear stepped back and went back to all four paws, it’s eyes shining with intelligence.

Bilbo ran his fingers through the bears fur, earning a pleased rumble. He bit his lip, feeling both exposed and utterly useless and afraid all at once. He looked up at the frankly humongous bear, a flicker of recognition swept through him as he met the black eyes. Mother loved to tell stories, and the guardian of beasts was one of the few happy stories she could tell about the early wandering days. It was about a giant man that could turn into a…

“Beorn?” The bear licked his hand, well, it tried to. His entire arm ended up covered in slobber. He smiled. That was a yes.

“Can you help me?”

Chapter Text

Thorin growled as his sword arm was cut. Fortunately, it wasn’t deep, but the blood loss was going to weaken him. The fighting wasn’t slowing down. The party of men, despite their superior number, were evenly matched with the battle trained dwarrow. He hated to admit it, but he wasn’t sure what the outcome of this fight would be. Gloin was limping, Kili was out of arrows, and one of Bofur’s mattocks was broken. He sliced a man down, not having time to ensure he was dead before spinning to block a spear aimed at his chest.

“This isn’t going well.” Dori grunted from his right. The poor dwarf was doing his best to defend himself and Ori, who didn’t actually need defending if the screams and crunching sounds from his position had anything to say.

Across from the fight men and dwarrow starting yelling, a roaring sound overpowering the sound of metal on metal. Thorin glanced in that direction. Either the men had a pet bear, or Dwalin had gone berserker.  

The men started screaming, many of them abandoning the fight. Thorin saw why a moment later. A massive bear was attacking, slashing down men left and right. Its long teeth bared in fury.

“Yeah! Get him!”

The high-pitched cheer drew his eyes to the small figure attached to the back of the bear; the golden curls unmistakable.

“Bilbo!?”

Thorin scrambled out of the way as bear charged straight past him.  

He was forced to fight when the few brave men who didn’t flee tried to take advantage of his distraction. By the time he was able to dispatch his attackers the sound of battle had decreased significantly.

In fact, only two humans remained, and they were quickly cut down.

Thorin looked at the bear, which had stopped near the tree line. It was the largest animal he had ever seen, with thick fur and a scarred muzzle. Bilbo was sitting on its back, his tiny frame almost comically small on the huge beast.

“Oh.” Bilbo said, looking at the downed men. His eyes were wide. “I don’t… don’t like that.”

“Bilbo!” Thorin cautiously approached the beast. He knew the hobbit had an affinity for creatures, but taming a bear seemed impossible. The beast could swallow Bilbo in one bite. “Can you get down? Safely?”

Bilbo looked over at him. The bear growled lowly.

“Thorin this is Beorn. He’s my friend.” Bilbo said, though his eyes were wandering back to the dead or dying men.

Thorin’s gulped when he heard the name.

Oh Mahal.

He’d never met the man-beast in person, but his father has on occasion. Beorn was primarily solitary, and one of the many who hated Ereborian dwarrow because of the Desolation of the Hobbits. King Thrain was the only one Beorn tolerated on his land; most likely because Thrain had been the only one who tried to convince King Thror that the Arkenstone was cursed. Being imprisoned and helpless to defend the hobbits.

The bear made a grumbling noise and started lumbering into the forest, his passenger going along for the ride.

“Wait! I have to make sure their okay!” Bilbo protested.

Beorn stopped and turned around, but only long enough for Bilbo to look over the gathering company before turning around and walking again.

“It’s stealing our hobbit!”

“Stop him!”

“Do not attack!” Thorin shouted, stopping his dwarrow in their tracts. They looked at him in surprise. Even the bear stopped and looked at him, its intelligent eyes gleaming. Thorin sighed.

He could not condone putting Bilbo at further risk by trying to attack Beorn, and…

It was time he fixed his folly.

Seeing the halfling’s terrified face during the men’s attack had shifted something inside of him. He’d never meant to put any hobbit in danger. He’d known for a while now that they’d gone about this all wrong, but he hadn’t seen the means of putting it right. It would be cruel to bring Bilbo to Erebor, no matter how willing the hobbit seemed now. Not only because of the great tragedy that took place there, but because hobbits were creatures of nature and life.

Bilbo would be spoiled in the mountain. In lavish rooms and given the best prizes the throne could offer. All his needs met.

Except his need for freedom.

Safety concerns alone would restrict Bilbo from going anywhere without an armed escort. And he didn’t trust the elves or men not to pebble-nap him if they allowed him outside the walls of the mountain.

Bilbo didn’t deserve that sort of life.

He deserved safe land, where he could grow a garden without fear of being recognized and targeted. To go where he wished without fear. Thorin couldn’t bear to watch the little one wither away in Erebor. Like a sunflower wilting without the sun. And it would happen. Thorin knew it would. Bilbo would be crushed under diplomacy and politics the moment he stepped foot inside the mountain. The council would place the weight of their falling kingdom on the shoulders of a traumatized child.

Just like he had.

Thorin swallowed hard and met Beorn’s black eyes.

“You will protect him.” Thorin said, his voice strained.

The bear stared at him for a long moment, then slowly dipped its head.

“Wait, what?” Bilbo asked. He scrambled off the bear, who crouched low, so he didn’t fall too far. Bilbo walked up to Thorin, his little face pale.

There was blood on his cheek.

“I want you to go with Beorn.” Thorin said softly. 

“What!” Kili cried.

“Have you gone mad! That’s our hobbit!” Gloin demanded.

“Thorin what are ya thinkin’?” Balin gaped.

The prince only had ears for Bilbo’s small voice.

“What do you mean? Go… go with him?”

Thorin knelt in front of Bilbo. To think not so long ago he would have cut off his own arm before letting the halfling go. He wished he’d seen reason before they tore Bilbo from his kin and dragged him across Arda. He wiped the drying blood off Bilbo’s cheek.

“I can never apologize enough for the hardships I have brought you.” Thorin said, “We were wrong to take you from your home. Wrong to expect you to solve the problems of our own making. I cannot offer you a life of freedom, but Beorn can.”

Bilbo’s green eyes were wide and beginning to fill with tears. His voice wobbled when he asked, “You’re not going to make me go to Erebor?”

Thorin shook his head. “No. I should have never tried to force you in the first place. Erebor would only offer you cold walls and crushing expectations. Beorn’s land is safe though. Where you can roam outside freely for the first time in your life. Or you can choose to find your kin.”

Bilbo was crying now.

“But we came so far.” Kili said, “We can’t just… he’s our… “

“Uncles right Kili.” Fili said, taking Thorin by surprise. “Bilbo can’t go to Erebor.”

The young prince stepped forward, a maturity on his face Thorin had never seen before. The blond dwarf knelt next to Thorin and put his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “Go plant that garden you were telling me about.” Fili said gently. “Full of flowers and funny looking squashes.”

Bilbo giggled, but then sobbed and tackled Fili in a hug.

Thorin watched with a proud and aching heart as his sister-son hugged Bilbo back. Soon enough Kili joined the hug.

The crown prince stood and approached Baeorn, who was watching everything with keen and curious eyes. “My father speaks highly of you, and your love of hobbits.”

The bear rumbled in agreement, his eyes glancing at the crying halfling and back.

“Can I entrust you with his safety and wellbeing?”

A nod.

“And if he wishes to return to his kin?”

The bear gave him a deadpan look. Thorin understood it clearly though. Beorn would escort Bilbo to his family or die trying if the hobbit wished it.

The prince looked over at his hobbit. No. The hobbit. He had no right to claim him. Bilbo was giving everyone hugs, a handful of Bifur’s flowers in his hand. There wasn’t a dry eye in the company. Even Dwalin had tears in his eyes, though he was smiling softly when he wrapped his arms around Bilbo.

After they’d all said their goodbyes, Bilbo came over and wrapped his arms around Thorin; whispering into the prince’s ear. Far too soon Thorin had to let go. Dori handed Bilbo a pack full of snacks and the toy carving of a bunny. Bilbo then wandered over to Beorn, who laid down so the hobbit could climb on his back.

Far too soon Bilbo was waving them goodbye.

Far too soon the bear and hobbit were out of sight.

“Is he going to be alright?” Dori asked fretfully. “Does Beorn even know how to care for a child?”

“He’s older than all of us combined.” Balin said, “I am sure he is more than capable.”

After a moment of silence Ori asked, “What did we just do?”

“What we should have done a long time ago.” Thorin said, “Let him go.”

“But what about Erebor? With no hobbit…” Gloin said, no doubt his own pebble and wife on his mind.

“We’ll find a way.” Bofur said. “We always do.”

Thorin stood for a long time watching the last place he’d seen Bilbo Baggins disappear. The words whispered to him repeating in his mind.

“Thank you.”

-

Bilbo wiped his eyes, but more tears fell anyway. Underneath him Beorn rumbled soothingly as they travelled through the forest.

He hadn’t imagined it would hurt so much leaving the dwarrow. He’d spend so long trying to escape he thought he’d be happy when he got away, or in this case was let go. But now all he could think about was how much he was going to miss them.

He’d debated not leaving at all. And perhaps he would have been content with them for the rest of his life. But then he remembered the chackles, and the gag, and the sword hanging over his head of how far would they go to keep me? He also really, really didn’t want to go to Erebor. It didn’t matter how many stories Ori had told him about the grand halls or massive feasts, it was a mountain of death.

So here he was. Crying because he didn’t understand his own emotions. He sniffled, and Beorn twisted his massive head back to look at him.

He realized he was being rude all at once. “I’m… I’m sorry Beorn. I didn’t even ask if I could go with you.”

The bear snorted, and a rush of Green Magic rushed over him. Pushing feelings of peace-happiness-protection along with it. It’d taken him by surprise when the skin-changer first interacted this way before the fight, though he shouldn’t be surprised. Beorn had to have access to at least some magic to change between a bear and a man.

“My mother used to tell me stories about you. How you saved the caravan and trained the survivors. Hobbits owe you our very existence. I don’t think any of us would have survived this long if you hadn’t helped them.”

More Green Magic touched him, this time accompanied with love-responsibility-pride. Bilbo played with the thick fur on Beorn’s neck.

“It’s not your responsibility to protect me though.”

pride-joy-purpose-loneliness

“Oh. Well I’m glad I can keep you company. Thank you for helping me.”

Beorn huffed and shook out his coat. Bilbo laughed and clung on. In the distance a massive wooden house came into view. Bilbo could already feel the healthy Green Magic filling the air. He was sure once his feet touched the ground it would be even stronger. Almost like he was back in the Shire.

He hoped his dwarrow were okay.

Chapter Text

Thorin regretted his decision.

Sitting in a barren cell, half starved, and terrified for his kin: it was hard to approve of any of his past decisions.

They’d left the hobbit behind with Beorn three weeks ago, and the world must have realized their little golden good luck charm was no longer with them, because everything had gone downhill from there. As soon as they’d gotten back on the road after burying the dead bandits the company had spent hours arguing, though Thorin had been surprised at the subject of the argument.

They all agreed that setting Bilbo free was the right thing to do, and that it wasn’t fair to subject the halfling to the collapsing empire that is Erebor. Fili was particularly vocal about it, listing all the things King Thrain and the Council would demand Bilbo do, no matter the promises Thorin had made the young hobbit. Eventually even Kili caught on and admitted that Bilbo leaving was for the best.

No, the company was conflicted about something entirely different.

“I should have gone with him.” Dori said as he walked, wringing a half-finished scarf in his hands.

“Beorn wouldn’ta have let ya.” Nori said, for probably the tenth time.

“What if he doesn’t like living with that beast?” Dori continued as if he hadn’t heard his brother, “Or his needs aren’t met? He’s still so skinny. Beorn probably doesn’t know he needs to eat so much.”

“I could catch up to them!” Kili offered, “I bet the bear-man would let me stay if I promised to protect Bilbo.”

“Did you forget you’re a prince?” Fili asked, sounding tired. “You have responsibilities at home.”

“Like it matters at this point.” Kili said, then winced.

The company fell silent. Thorin didn’t know how to reassure them because he didn’t have any answers for them. Without a hobbit they would return home in defeat. Sure, they could tell everyone about Bilbo and his kins existence, but then they would ask questions. Thorin trusted that his father was compassionate enough that he’d leave Bilbo in peace, but the King was old, and the council held more power than ever. They could demand a search party retrieve the halfling by any means necessary.

No. It was safer to tell the people that they hadn’t found a hobbit at all. They would be disappointed, but Thorin considered that a very small price to pay for the wellbeing of the brave hobbit child. Besides, he doubted anybody really thought this journey would be successful anyway. Hundreds had attempted it before. Thorin hadn’t wanted to admit it, but he knew half the reason King Thrain permitted the quest was to remove Thorin and his nephews from the increasing dangers in the palace.

Fili and Kili were sheltered from a lot of the truth, but even they knew of the multitude of assassination attempts made on the royal family. Before they’d left Nori and Dwalin had their hands full trying to contain the spreading rumor that Erebor was falling because a Durin still sat on the throne. Thorin knew his father would have stepped down in an instant if he thought their problems could be solved by electing a new King.

But stepping down would only put a popular, but greedy dwarrow guild master on the throne, and that would only make things worse.

Their best chance was to continue to seek aid from neighboring kingdoms. By the time the company reached the mountain Thorin hoped the envoys from Eren Luid and Rivendell would have returned. With Mahal's blessings, they would carry good news. He couldn’t count on that though.

No. He had to forget about miracles and hobbits. Erebor would be saved through hard work and the loyalty of his people. Which meant he had to ask his company to follow him one more time.

“My friends,” He said, drawing the attention of his faithful friends and family. He stopped walking and faced all of them. “You have followed me even when I have been a fool. I know I do not warrant your loyalty and I cannot blame you if you choose to leave, but…” he sighed. “I will never abandon Erebor, and I cannot save her alone. I ask for your aid once again.”

He met the eyes of every member of his company, feeling the loss of innocent green eyes amid the gathering.

“Like I’d leave ya on yer own.” Dwalin grunted. Thorin felt a swell of gratitude for his best friend and guard.

“Uncle’s right.” Fili declared, “We can’t just give up. Like Bofur said, we’ll find a way to save Erebor. Even if it takes an entire lifetime!”

“Right. How?” Gloin asked gruffly, “In case you forgot, Erebor’s cursed.”

“It’s not cursed.” Kili argued. “We’ve just been doing the wrong things. We’ll be smarter!”

“Smarter!” Oin said angrily, “We’ve been righ’ fools as of late! What makes ya think we can ge’ smarter!?”

Thorin felt those words like a sword to the gut. He had been a fool. What made him think he could stop his own foolishness now?

Balin stepped forward and to everyone’s surprise dropped in a deep bow before Thorin. All the arguing stopped, and Thorin stiffened.

At the beginning of the journey, he’d requested his identity as Crown Prince be concealed for the sake of the halfling and their own safety. He’d grown to enjoy the camaraderie of being treated as an equal instead of a prince and outside the mountain it was easy to forget his own station. Balin’s actions were a startling reminder of the reality they all faced once they reached home.

“My Prince, you have known that from the beginning I have doubted the purpose of this quest.” He said, “I questioned how a single hobbit could save thousands of people from starvation and destitution. I thought it was a fool’s errand but went along because it seemed the only choice.”

Thorin felt anger starting to swell in his chest. Balin was prideful, but he usually was much more subtle about bragging about when he was proven right.  And he’d never been one to grovel, so what was this?

“I was wrong.” Balin came out of his bow and met Thorin’s eyes. “We may not be returning with a hobbit, but we are returning with something much more valuable.”

“What?” Ori asked. Thorin could have echoed the question. What was more valuable than a hobbit? Than Bilbo?

Balin smiled. “Hope, my young scribe, hope. Bilbo Baggins of the Shire has proven that anything is possible. And for the first time in a long time, I’m feeling hopeful.”

It took a moment, but then the company started to smile.

“Balin’s right.” Bofur declared. “If the hobbits can survive, so can the dwarrow!”

“We’ll do it for Bilbo.” Bombur said.

Thorin, for the first time in a very long time, smiled. “For Bilbo.”

With renewed energy and determination, they set off along the path towards Erebor. The original plan was to skirt around Mirkwood and take the long route home, but that was when they had a vulnerable halfling in tow. A halfling that they couldn’t risk getting anywhere near Thrandruil. Now they weighed the risk of facing the diseased forest in favor of a shorter journey. After much discussion, Thorin led them into the dark trees.

A mistake he greatly regretted.

They got lost.

They starved.

Then the elves came.

Thorin banged his head against the metal wall of his cell. Thrandruil, in all his spite and hubris, had declared the company trespassers and arrested them despite Thorin’s very loud, very vulgar protests. With communication between kingdoms being non-existent, Thorin doubted Thrandruil would even tell King Thrain that his son had been imprisoned. Or he would tell King Thrain to hang Thorin’s life over the dwarrow King’s head. With Erebor in dire straits, he doubted he and his kin were getting rescued any time soon.

-

Life at Beorn’s home was simple.

Wake up to the smell of breakfast.

Spend the morning helping Beorn around the house.

Spend the afternoon exploring and interacting with the friendly animals that liked to follow him around.

Then in the evening after supper sit by the fire and either read one of the few books that the skinchanger had or draw with charcoal while Boaern patrolled his territory.

It was peaceful, and relaxing.

It was tedious.

Beorn had given him his own room, and after two days of Bilbo’s presence in his home presented a handmade bed and shelf for Bilbo. Which the hobbit was incredibly grateful for. The skinchanger was massive!  He had to get help if he wanted to climb on one of the dining room chairs. That is until Bilbo managed to make his own little ladder out of sticks and rope.  

Bilbo learned that while Beorn was able to influence magic, he was limited in how he could use it. The skin changer could communicate with it and use it to change into a bear, but he couldn’t direct it. Beorn himself didn’t talk very much, but that was okay. They mostly communicate through magic intent.

Eru the magic. While similar to the Green Magic found around his hobbit kin and the Shire, the magic in the little valley Beorn called home was wild. Like Yavannah herself had spilled magic into the valley but neglected to give it any kind of direction. The Green Magic dancing around the valley was unrestrained.

As a result, Bilbo felt jittery with energy the longer he stayed at the massive house.

Weeks passed, and Bilbo had managed to gain a stone of weight. For all his gruffness, Beorn was an excellent host. There was always plenty of food, though no meat. Bilbo spent more and more time wandering around outside than he did staying inside the house. Debating what he wanted to do.

Stay here with Beorn.

Try to find his hobbit kin.

Or…

Well, he spent too much of his time worrying about potential option three.

When he tried to explain his increasing concern about his dwarrow friends to Beorn, the skinchanger was unsympathetic. He didn’t like dwarrow, and firmly believed that Bilbo was better off without them. Three months ago, Bilbo would have completely agreed, but now…

He missed them.

Like a constant ache in his heart. During the second week of his stay, he’d woken up from a pleasant dream about playing a game with Fili and Kili and promptly burst into tears. He knew he shouldn’t want them, but he did. And as more time passed and he was able to parse through his own mind, he realized that he stopped caring about what was right or wrong a long time ago.

He wanted them back. And more importantly, he wanted to help them.

But it was risky. He was self-aware enough to know that he didn’t know what the consequences would be if he chose option three. For himself and for his fleeing hobbit kin. He only knew that he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t try.

At the end of his third week living in Beorn’s safe haven, he looked from his mediocre drawing of Bifur holding a flower and caught Beorn’s eye.

“I think I know what I want to do.”

Beorn tilted his head to show he was listening.

“Will you come with me?”

For the first time since Bilbo has met him, Beorn smiled.

-

The walk to Mirkwood was uneventful, mostly because Bilbo spent the days sitting atop Beorn's back being jolted by the multitude of packs strapped around him as the bear lumbered forward. When he'd first suggested his plan, Bilbo had been terrified that his new friend wouldn't agree, or worse, try to keep him in the valley. Instead, Beorn seemed to have an uncanny ability to understand Bilbo, because the bear man had simply nodded in agreement and started packing. 

He really, really hoped he wasn't making a mistake. 

"Are you sure this is the direction they went?" Bilbo asked, staring nervously at the eerie dark forest in front of them. They hadn't even stepped foot inside and he already felt ill from the feeling the trees were emitting. disease-decay-wrong

Beorn grunted and replied using magic to express question-promise-protect.

Long used to parsing out what the quiet man meant, Bilbo replied, "I still want to go. I mean, we already came all this way. Are you sure you still want to come with me? I could probably make it on my own." 

Bilbo was almost offended at the disbelief-determined-protect he got back. Bilbo just sighed and pet the coarse hair in front of him. Sending waves of gratitude to his friend. Beorn was probably right. He didn't stand a chance on his own, especially if it meant navigating the dense forest in front of him. Would he even be able to breathe in there?

He shook himself and fiddled with the gloves Dori had made him. He could do this.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Without protest Beorn walked into the forest. Bilbo ducked low on his back, feeling irrationally exposed under the tall trees. It immediately got darker, and Bilbo almost hurled as the feeling of disease-decay-evil washed over him. Beorn growled lowly but didn’t stop walking. Bilbo closed his eyes and buried his face in the bear’s neck, trying to block out the sick feeling.

Oh Eru, this was awful.

What had happened to this place?

It seemed like the sun had never touched the forest floor here, though the unnaturally colored vegetation suggested otherwise. It took a while for Bilbo to realize that Beorn was following a path at all. The bear had his ears pinned to the side of his head and growled every once in a while.

“We can go back?” Bilbo offered, sure that touching the ground would be a thousand times worse. “This place is horrible. I didn’t know there was a place in Arda that was so full of dark magic.”

Beorn shook his massive head and kept going.

“Do elves really live in this?” he wondered out loud. “I thought they had magic, well, kind of. Why haven’t they done anything to fix it?”

neglect-danger

“But that’s not really a good excuse. I mean, the corruption and danger are only going to get worse the longer it festers. I can’t imagine the elves like living with this feeling.” Bilbo shuttered. It’d barely been an hour and he already felt dirty and ill. Like he needed to go lay down in a field of wildflowers for a day just to feel clean again.

Beorn grunted in agreement.

The rest of the day passed slowly. Bilbo had no idea how Beorn followed the near invisible path, but the bear seemed to head in the same direction all day. Bilbo had offered to get down to give the skinchanger a chance to stop and eat or drink, but Bilbo had been told to just eat where he was. They didn’t stop until long after Bilbo’s weak eyes couldn’t see in the dark. He’d just laid down and tried to ignore the building feeling of illness.

A snapping sound had him sitting up, and Beorn stopped. The bear growled, much deeper and more menacing than Bilbo had ever heard before. To Bilbo’s horror something growled back.

He curled in on himself and futilely looked around. “Beorn?”

The skinchanger remained stiff and Bilbo squeaked when the bear roared. He heard something to his left make a small whine, then everything went silent again.

“Beorn?”

safe-gone-protect

“What was it?”

The skinchanger huffed and kept walking. Yeah, Bilbo wasn’t really sure he wanted to know.

They walked for another hour, but even Beorn eventually got tired. Bilbo had fallen into a fitful doze on his back and was startled when he felt the bear lie down. He rubbed his eyes and without thinking slid off his friend’s back.

The instant his bare feet touched the ground he panicked as the feeling of wrong-wrong-wrong swept over him. His head went fuzzy and he would have collapsed if Beorn hadn’t used his massive head to scoop him back towards the bear’s back.

Weak and feeling sick Bilbo climbed back onto Beorn’s back and went limp, panting heavily.

His friend made a concerned rumble, and Bilbo patted his neck. “Sorry, didn’t realize it would be that bad.”

It took several more minutes for the feeling of wrongness to recede enough for him to sit up and grab the blanket from one of the many packs. He curled into a little ball, immensely grateful for the warmth radiating off Beorn.

That night he slept in fits. Every sound had him shooting awake in terror, only to be soothed by Beorn’s rumbling. By morning he felt even more tired than when he’d fallen asleep, and his body ached like he’d been the one walking through half the night.

He lifted his heavy head and stared at the ground in mild terror. He didn’t want to feel wrong like that ever again, but it wasn’t fair for Beorn. He had to get his friend water and food. When he shifted to slide down Boern growled in admonishment and to Bilbo’s confusion started to roll onto his side.

Bilbo yelped, but before he was thrown off the bear snagged Bilbo in one of his massive forearms, then stood up on his hind legs. Moments later it was a hairy, but clearly human-like arm holding him up off the ground.

“Foolish little bunny.”

Bilbo wiggled, but Beorn just readjusted his arm so he was cradled in the crook of his elbow. Then Beorn reached for the backs still tied to his back and grabbed a bag that held food rations. Flushing in embarrassment at the infantile treatment, but not complaining about staying far away from the ground, Bilbo let himself be held and fed.

Boern rumbled in pleasure as Bilbo ate, submitting to eating himself when Bilbo requested it. After they’d both finished, they took turned drinking out of the frankly massive jug of water Beorn had insisted they needed. Considering Bilbo doubted it was safe to drink any of the water in this diseased forest, he was grateful. The jug was so big Boern had to hold it up for him, since he wasn’t strong enough to do it for himself.

“m'not a baby you know. I’m practically an adult.” Bilbo protested, feeling particularly tiny cradled in the massive skinchanger’s arms.

Beorn just grunted and said, “Little Bunny.”

Bilbo had long since given up protesting that nickname.

Soon enough they were back on their way. Boern back in his bear form lumbering through the trees. Bilbo tried to nap, but he was feeling weaker the longer they spent in the forest. He lay listlessly on his friends back for most of the day, only moving when Beorn demanded he eat. By nighttime he was dizzy and weaker than a newborn, not even lifting his head when another creature growled at them from the dark.

That night Boern stopped earlier and shifted back to his more human form, maneuvering Bilbo so he never touched the ground.

worry-sick-worry

Bilbo tried to pat his friend’s arm, but instead the limb just flopped uselessly. He felt like his body weighed a thousand pounds, but he hated worrying Boern.

“m’ fine. Just tired.”

Boern growled in disagreement. Moments later Bilbo felt something touch his lips and opened his mouth to drink water. He turned his head when he had his fill, and curled into Boern as best as he could. It was cold, and being near Boern helped the feeling of disease-decay-wrong lessen.

“Little Bunny needs to eat.”

Bilbo shook his head. “’m not hungry.” He said, his voice slurred.

“Little Bunny eat.”

Big fingers pushed at his head until he resigned himself to lifting it enough to eat the sweet berries that were pushed into his mouth. He chewed them mechanically, the sweet tartness waking him up marginally. He ate several more mouthfuls of berries, and a bite of soft bread before turning his head and refusing to eat more.

He couldn’t wait to get out of this horrible forest.