Chapter Text
Bilbo was worried, though worried was a bit of an understatement. If he was being honest with himself, he was terrified. A sickness was sweeping through Erebor. It had left him and Tauriel alone, meaning it only affected the dwarves.
It had been almost 10 years since they had reclaimed Erebor.
This, in turn, led Bilbo to worry more, as it meant they now had older and younger dwarves in their population. It wasn’t just the hardcore, healthy adult dwarves. It was an entire population of dwarves now, from the children to the elderly, who had thought they would never return to their home. There had already been at least 8 deaths that Bilbo was aware of. The Mountain was in constant mourning, the funeral dirge of the Ereborian people ringing out day and night, especially as they were having to burn the bodies.
It wasn’t something that dwarves liked or wanted to do, but a plague in the Mountain was a death sentence for so many people. So a cleansing fire was needed, and what they used.
Once again, Bilbo was amazed at the strength of not just his dwarves but dwarves in general. They got up and carried on whilst mourning and singing and crying. Letting nothing stop their grit and determination.
Bilbo remembered hiding after the Fell Winter. Of course, he hadn’t even been an adult yet. But even then, the young dwarves who had lost elderly relatives carried on, ever stopping. Unlike the surviving hobbits who had hidden from one another and the reality surrounding them.
Bilbo remarked upon this to Thorin, explaining how he was in awe of his people. Thorin had looked at Bilbo sadly. “We have never been able to do anything else. We are the stunted ones, Bilbo. We get up and carry on as we have never been given the luxury to do anything else. It’s now part of who we are, deep in our bones. Dwarves carry on, no matter what.”
Bilbo had looked at the sorrow deep in Thorin’s eyes and hugged him with all his might, murmuring words of love and appreciation in his husband’s ears. Refusing to let him go until they were absurdly late for a meeting.
Bilbo had watched as more and more dwarves succumbed to what Oin had dubbed the “Dragon Rot”. More from all walks and stages of life ending up bedbound, many not leaving their beds alive.
He watched as those left got increasingly exhausted, trying to do the tasks of those who now couldn’t.
The sickness was supposed to have come from pockets of dragon vapour coming back up. Ones that had been stuck in the caverns and ruins they had slowly been reclaiming. Unknowing that it was harming them, poisoning the population slowly.
Bilbo was standing on the battlements, getting some much-needed air as he looked at the sky and prayed. Hobbits, whilst loving Yavanna, weren’t as worshipful as dwarves. They thanked Yavanna and then carried on with their lives. Now Bilbo found himself praying with everything inside of him. Praying to every Valar going to help his family, his people.
He took one last deep breath of the fresh mountain air and returned to the claustrophobic atmosphere inside. Heading for a nap before he did another long shift in the dwellings of Erebor, helping those who didn’t have any hardy relatives left to help. There were too many who were ill to go to the healing halls. Medicines were distributed, but most were not doing too much good other than easing pain.
Bilbo walked into the royal sitting rooms with a heavy heart. There, he saw Kili sitting in Bilbo’s armchair, his eyes red and his look absent.
Bilbo rushed over, pushing Kili’s hair out of his eyes. He felt his breath catch as Kili coughed into his shoulder, away from Bilbo.
“Sorry, Uncle Bilbo.” Kili croaked out.
“Oh, Kili,” Bilbo said, his heart in his throat as he saw one of his beloved nephews sick. “You should be in bed, sweetheart,” he said as he ran a cool hand over Kili’s forehead.
“Can’t, it’s my fault,” Kili said as tears started falling down his face.
Bilbo looked at him, suddenly terrified. “What is love? Tell me so I can send you to bed to rest,” he ordered.
“There was a babe. We were finally going to have a babe, but I made it sick. I passed whatever this is on to Tauriel. It didn’t hurt her, well, not the way it has the other dwarfs, but it hurt the babe. I killed my unborn baby, Uncle Bilbo.” Kili said, suddenly sliding into Bilbo’s arms as he sobbed his heart break out.
Bilbo just held the lad, shushing him and running a hand over his hair. “It isn’t your fault, lad. It will never be your fault. It’s the bloody dragon’s fault, bastard that he was. I’m so sorry, Kili. You both deserve better than this,’’ he said as he ushered Kili up and walked him back to his room.
“I can’t face her,” Kili said sadly, tears still streaming down his face as he stood before his door.
Bilbo made a sad sound as he pulled Kili down into his arms. “I know it will be hard, Kili, but it isn’t your fault. It also isn’t Tauriel’s either and she is in there, waiting for her husband after you lost your faunt. Don’t make her face it alone, Kili, when she has already been run ragged around the mountain. You have to support one another, ok, son?” Bilbo asked gently as he wiped Kili’s tears away.
“Alright, Uncle Bilbo,” Kili murmured, sounding like a lost child, not the grown dwarf he was. Bilbo watched with a sad sigh as Kili shuffled into his rooms. Head low, heartbroken.
Bilbo’s own heart broke for him, for Tauriel and the babe that would never be born.
He returned to his own room for a few moments of peace before running all over the mountain again. The moment he heard a cough in his own private chambers, he felt his heart stop.
“Thorin,” he said as he rushed into the room to see a very red-faced dwarven king sitting in his armchair, trying hard to breathe.
“Bilbo ...” he whispered as he looked up at Bilbo. “I’m just sitting for a moment, just a nap, and then I will return to my duties,” Thorin said as he stood with a groan.
“No, you will not. You will go to bed, Thorin. I will not allow you to make yourself sicker. You’re already burning up. I can see it. I refuse to lose you because you won’t use what little common sense Mahal gave you. NOW BED!” Bilbo ordered.
He waited until Thorin was settled in bed, with a glass of water beside him. “I will get some fever reducer brought to you, my love. Stay here.” Bilbo ordered. Hoping against all hope that Thorin would actually not be an idiot and stay in bed. The thought of losing Thorin was now rooted in Bilbo’s mind. Ready to pull him down if he allowed it.
He stood outside their closed chamber door, breathing deeply. Enough was enough. He knew the dwarves often felt like they were alone. Bilbo also knew Thorin found it hard to remember he wasn’t. But Bilbo knew, Bilbo remembered their friends.
He was a hobbit amongst dwarves, and he had learnt to hoard his own friends outside of his family. Now, now he needed their help.
Bilbo sent a runner to inform Oin that the King was ill. The look of fear on the boy’s face sent a chill down Bilbo’s spine. But no, two of his immediate family were ill. He was going to make sure they, and as many others as possible, survived this.
Bilbo stopped in Thorin’s office to write a few quick missives. He would have done it in his own office, but it was in their chambers after that fiasco a few years ago. Bilbo presumed his presence would be enough to make Thorin pretend he was well enough so as not to worry Bilbo, the bloody numpty, Bilbo thought with fond exasperation.
Missives completed, he braced himself for the frigid air outside. Autumn was a chill, cold time around Erebor, enough that Bilbo often potted in his sheltered garden rather than leave the mountain. Now though, he needed to head to Ravenhill. He took a few moments to brace himself before all but running there, not stopping before he was in front of one of the braziers that were constantly lit for the birds and dwarves assigned to them.
Bilbo smiled at the ruckus created when he stepped in there. Face frowning when he realised he had forgotten to bring something to reward them with. Hopefully, they understood.
“Roack?” he called into the aviary.
Roack came straight down, looking as majestic as Thorin often did when holding court.
“Roack,” Bilbo said softly as his hand stroked the birds’ feathers, not realising he was crying from fear and trepidation as he did so. The repetitive movement helping soothe the hobbit.
“Bilbo sad?” Roack croaked out.
Bilbo gave a watery laugh. “Bilbo’s scared Roack,” he said softly. “There are so many ill, so many sick. Thorin and Kili both, Tauriel has lost a babe. We lost the first dwarfling yesterday. There were only 6 in the entire mountain, Roack. We may lose so many more,” he said between sobs.
He had held the baby as their mother prepared them, held them close as the mother prepared their last outfit, stone-faced, trying to survive the last thing she could do for her child. Bilbo had then left them as a family, promising all the support the crown could offer. He had heard the wailing funeral dirge as he left. Could hear the pain and sadness, the plea to Mahal that ran through it as he walked away, to then find out his own family had lost a babe in a different, but just as painful way.
“We need help, Roack, and I’m going to try and get it. How long would your fastest fliers take to make it from here to The Shire? That is the farthest point I need to reach.” Bilbo asked.
He watched as Roack cocked his head, thinking. “Green hills take 4 days.” He finally settled on.
Bilbo’s face lit up. “Four days? That’s wonderful. I need two ravens to go to The Shire. I have a list of herbs I need. If you take this missive to Hamfast, the hobbit who lives near my smial, he will organise it. They will have to wait a day or so, if that’s alright?” Bilbo asked Roack, worried he would say no.
“Anything for stone feet,” he said, using his affectionate insult for the dwarves. Some of whom were the raven’s friends, especially Thorin, who he had known since he was a chickling. “Teese, Marluk,” he called out to two much younger ravens. “Chicklings of my chicklings, fast, strong, clever,” Roack assured Bilbo, who looked at Roack with nothing but admiration.
“Thank you for sending your family to help mine, Roack; I can never repay this,” he said, blinking back more tears.
Roack was uncharacteristically gentle as he rubbed his plumage over Bilbo’s wet cheek. “Bilbo saved King, Bilbo saved Mountain, Bilbo gave home,” Roack said as he jumped away and bobbed his head as if that was the end of it. Suddenly looking at Bilbo’s hand. “More?” he asked.
Bilbo nodded, looking at his hands. “I have one for Lord Elrond. I don’t know if he can help, but he should at least have some advice of some sort. He has been around since there were more dragons, so I’m hopeful he has some idea. Maybe Gandalf is in Rivendell, too. I don’t know, Roack, I’m clutching at straws here, my friend.”
“Elf land near Green Hills?” Roack checked.
Bilbo just nodded as Roack hopped up, looking at his nest.
“Chickling, best speaker. Julus,” he called into the air. A raven who was undoubtedly Roack’s child came down and bowed to Bilbo, who bobbed his head in return. “Heard?” Roack asked her before croaking in their own language. Julus rose, grabbed the missive and was gone before Bilbo could even thank them.
“Next?” Roack asked.
Bilbo swallowed back his sobs. Even if it did no good, they had friends and allies here under the mountain, trying to do whatever they could, in whatever way they could. “The Line of Durin and myself are Valar blessed that you are our friend Roack. Thank you,” Bilbo said quietly, pouring as much gratitude as he could into his voice.
“Roack help, Roack and family help good hobbit. Happy Mountain, happy eerie.” Roack cackled at Bilbo, making him smile. “More?”
“Yes, there are a few more, but they are much closer, my friend. This is for Beorn. He may not make it, but if he can, his honey will be so helpful. I don’t know how much he has in storage, but there should be at least enough to help the most at risk, even if it just makes the medicine taste better for the young ones. Could you send someone to ask him?”
“Bear man?” Roack asked to check.
“Yes,” Bilbo said with a small smile. “Bear man, tell him bunny asked for help,” he said with a soft laugh, Roack throwing his head back in laughter, too.
“There’s two more Roack, much easier. I need help from Dale, the missive assures Bard that humans are immune. It’s a Dragon Rot that is only affecting dwarves. His children were here when it first started, and I’m sure we would have heard about it if they were no longer well.” Bilbo said, biting his bottom lip. They needed help immediately, hands-on help. There weren’t enough able dwarves to go around at the moment. They needed extra caregivers for one thing, and that was before you added all the other tasks that kept a community working.
“Dale. Roack Mate, go,” Roack said as he cawed something up into the rafters. A beautiful female raven came down, one of a similar age to Roack, with even more intelligence shining in her eyes, if that was possible. “Solurm,” Roack said, with a look that Bilbo had often seen on Thorin’s face when looking at him.
“Thank you, Roack, Solurm.” Bilbo breathed in awe at the help Roack and his flock willingly provided.
“Roack, take to Elf King. Mountain elf want family, family good when sad,” Roack said, guessing perfectly well what Bilbo wanted for the last missive and why.
“Oh, thank you, Roack. Thranduil needs to know. Tauriel needs the support, Yavanna bless her. And if he knows anything to help, well, I won’t sneeze at that opportunity.” Bilbo said as he handed Roack the final missive. Watching in relief as the ravens all flew away.
Dale and Mirkwood, he expected answers by the next day at most. Beorn would probably be two or three. The Shire, as Roack said, would be maybe 10/11 days and Rivendell maybe 8 if he was lucky. All he had to do was keep as many dwarves as possible alive until then, he thought glumly as he wandered back into the mountain to do what he could with what he had on hand.