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Thorin sat up at the fire, taking first watch as the rest of his Company settled down around him. Their Burglar, his Bilbo, was wrapped up tight in his bed roll, acting like he had slept in such places for most of his life, when they all knew that their hobbit had rarely left the confines of the Shire, much less his cozy home of Bag End. Dwalin had waited until Bilbo seemed asleep to pitch his roll next to the hobbit. All around camp Thorin had watched his Company settle, even his boys, to make sure Bilbo was protected at all times.
Since meeting his Bilbo Thorin's mind was at a loss. All of their dreams had not warned him of this. Of finding his One, their One, the other half of their souls in a hobbit who looked more haunted than they did. And to hear that their Bilbo had been having dreams as well, dreams of being dropped...
Thorin hated those dreams the most. For in those dreams he would drop the Betrayer, the Thief, the Outcast, and only sometimes would he regret it. Sometimes the gold-sickness won out in his dreams and Thorin would entomb his Company in Erebor as the great battle raged outside its gates. Sometimes Thorin would kill them all, saving Dwalin for last. Sometimes he and Dwalin would kill each other in their duel. Sometimes Thorin would let Dwalin win. Sometimes...sometimes Thorin would set the whole Mountain ablaze and kill them all just to spite the armies outside, ready and waiting to take their gold.
There were many dreams Thorin hated. Those most of all.
But never, in any of those hated dreams, did Thorin or Dwalin realize that Bilbo was their heart-mate. Their One. Sometimes in those dreams Thorin and Dwalin did not even share a One. Sometimes Dwalin would take up with Ori, or with Nori, or no one at all. Sometimes Thorin would wed a cousin from Dáin's family to cement his rule in the Mountain, forgoing any chance of meeting his One, whomever they might be. Sometimes – many times – Thorin did not make it through the battle that would rage at their doorstep, dying on the field of battle in some dreams, other times in the sick-tent from the wounds he had taken. Rarely did Thorin see Bilbo in those dreams, sometimes at his side, sometimes dying with him, sometimes dying under Thorin's sword, sometimes trying to save him. But Thorin's heart never called to the Bilbo in those dreams, not like it did now.
As such, Thorin still did not know what to do. A part of him wished to leave their Bilbo in the safe confines of the Shire, tucked away where no one could hurt him. Not even them. A larger part of Thorin wanted Bilbo at his side no matter what, so that he might watch over him, guard him, protect him. Court him, though how exactly Thorin was supposed to go about that on the road, with none of the societal necessities needed to perform such a grand task, not to mention that both he and Dwalin would need to do so – it was a problem. But Bilbo had signed the contract, even after Balin had been as explicit as possible about the dangers they faced. Bilbo had signed despite the clear chance of death that lay in front of him. As if it didn't even phase him.
That, above all else, worried Thorin the most.
A rustle from the bedrolls had Thorin looking over in time to see Bilbo sit up, his eyes wide open but unseeing. “Bilbo?” Thorin sat up, one hand going to his weapon.
“It's in the dark,” his Bilbo said. Thorin saw Gandalf come awake with a start, pushing his hat up with one hand as he stared at the hobbit. “It's in the dark but not for long. Wandering it goes. Wandering. What a little thing.” Then the hobbit's eyes rolled up and he fell backwards, boneless in his blankets.
Thorin was at his side in a flash. Dwalin had pushed up to one elbow, leaning over Bilbo. Gandalf was close on Thorin's heels. “What was that? Bilbo? Bilbo, can you hear me?”
“Do not shake him,” Gandalf's careful hold about Thorin's arm stopped his movements.
Thorin wanted to throw him off. “You just saw him! He was –”
“There is a long history to this Bilbo Baggins, one that I do not have permission to tell to you, Thorin Oakenshield. Know this, though. Bilbo would not be the first of his kind to speak such riddles as this.”
Thorin exchanged a look with Dwalin, unsettled by the grave expression on Gandalf's face. “What do you mean?”
Gandalf stayed silent for a long, long moment. Then, “Long ago,” he said as he knelt at Bilbo's side and brushed the hair off the hobbit's face, “a gift was given by a stranger brought by a fallen star. Bilbo's people, and Bilbo's ancestors in particular, were the recipient of that gift, some more than others. Bilbo's mother had such a gift, though she rarely spoke of it. Bilbo's father disliked even the mention of it. I had not thought the gift would breed true in Bilbo, but it looks as though it has.”
“More riddles?” Thorin glowered at the wizard, wanting an answer and not another vague tale.
“Be grateful I have said all that I can on the matter, Thorin Oakenshield,” Gandalf scowled back at him. “Anything more must come from Bilbo himself.” And that was that, at least on Gandalf's part, since the wizard refused to answer anymore questions for the rest of the night.
Thorin let a quiet Bofur take second shift, choosing to bed down on Bilbo's other side for the remainder of the night. Thorin caught sight of Nori's eyes as he stared at Thorin and then at Bilbo, and then away. Thorin tried to ignore it. They had all remembered the one dream where Nori had slit Bilbo's throat in the great hall of Erebor, bathing Thorin's throne and self with that warm blood. They had used it as a blessing to their Maker. Their Erebor had torn itself apart not five years later, all of them fighting each other to the death in a grand melee that had killed almost all the dwarrow in the Mountain.
Nori had not been able to even speak Bilbo's name after that particular dream. It seemed as though Thorin's thief and future spymaster still could not bear to look at Bilbo much at all.
When Thorin woke the next morning it was to a hobbit curled up to his chest and a Dwalin that was pressed against Bilbo's back, hemming him in. Bilbo, Thorin also noted, was awake and trembling, but from the paleness of his face and the haunted look in his eyes, it was not the kind of trembling Thorin would have liked to evoke in their hobbit.
“Your pardon,” Thorin said with as much gravity as he could muster. Their Bilbo just squeaked out something incomprehensible and the moment he had enough space to move the hobbit bolted from the blankets and was off towards the stream in a flash. Nori, Thorin noted, ghosted after him.
“Damn it all,” Dwalin muttered.
“A little decorum, laddies, would help,” said a rather unhelpful Balin.
It was the wizard who was the most peculiar. His eyes were glazed and it seemed as though he only woke up when all the Company was on their feet and fixing breakfast at the fire. “My, my,” said Gandalf, stroking his beard. “My, my,” he repeated, softer, a faint frown on his face. Then Bilbo came back, red faced and not looking anyone in the eye, but Bombur served up a hot porridge soon enough that had everyone's attention.
Thorin made sure to tie up Bilbo's pony behind his once more. A quick glance got his boys to ride on either side of Bilbo, both of them pestering the hobbit with stories and questions. It did not seem to bother their Bilbo – the opposite, in fact. For the longer Fíli and Kíli badgered him the more relaxed Bilbo became, a faint smile finally peeking out from time to time at some of their more outrageous antics.
Day after day they went on, through fair weather and foul, with each night both Dwalin and Thorin waiting until Bilbo went to sleep before bedding down on either side of him. Sadly they never did get a repeat of the first night – nor did Bilbo have any more strange moments of speaking in riddles – since every time Thorin or Dwalin woke up Bilbo had somehow managed to wiggle his way out from between them and found another spot by the fire, all by himself.
Thorin wanted to grumble about it but by the look both he and Dwalin were getting from Balin, their antics were going to come to an end if his old friend had anything to say about it. Proper Courting etiquette such encounters were not. Thorin would have worried that their attentions were not reciprocated, except...it felt like they were? For Bilbo would always talk to them, his gaze would follow them, and though he was nervous and a bit high-strung at times Bilbo never retreated when Thorin or Dwalin would sit on either side of him during dinners or during breaks on the trail.
Thus did Thorin and Dwalin keep trying to keep Bilbo close. And the hobbit seemed puzzled and almost...grateful for it at times, which made something in Thorin's chest ache each time that happened.
For a month such a dance went on, until one day when a rainstorm came in quite out of the blue and all but drowned them all on their ponies as they made their way ever closer towards the Misty Mountains. They had just crossed over an ancient stone bridge, the river cresting over its banks beneath them, white-capped in the wind from the storm and the waters dark with debris. Thorin had urged them on, thinking they would be able to out ride the storm – and they did, to an extent. They were all cold and shivering when they were finally forced to turn off the road and look for a dry spot to camp for the night.
That was when they realized the wizard was missing.
“Just when a wizard would have been most helpful too,” grumbled Dori.
Then Bilbo whipped around on his pony to stare at Dori. “What did you just say?”
All of them went still. Bilbo's eyes had turned...strange. Glassy and almost...glowing? “I just thought...since he's a wizard...” Dori stammered. “He could dry the logs or the ground. Something like that. We can make a fire just about anywhere but can't do much about damp earth.”
“You won't make a fire here,” Bilbo said and it felt like the words themselves echoed. “Oh, oh no,” then Bilbo blinked and that strangeness to his eyes were gone. “Oh, absolutely not. We can't camp here!”
“But why not?”
“Trolls ,” Bilbo made a face. “Three of them. I am not getting squished. Again.”
Again . Thorin didn't like the sound of that. “What do you mean again.”
Bilbo hunched his shoulders, head ducked low. “Did I say again? I meant ever. Of course. I would never ever liked to be squished. Or roasted. Or skinned alive. Or beaten to a pulp and fried over coals. Or...”
Thorin got to Bilbo first. “Easy, easy,” but the hobbit startled so hard he almost fell off his pony when Thorin put a hand on his knee. Dwalin steadied him on the other side. “We will not let such things happen to you.”
Bilbo blinked down at him and yes, his eyes were glowing. A faint blue sheen had come over them. “Not this time, perhaps,” their Bilbo had a faint smile on his face. It was not comforting. “But it's happened. Happening? Will happen? I'd rather it not happen. The pain is rather terrible.”
Then he fainted and Thorin managed to catch the hobbit in his arms. Thorin shared a worried look with Dwalin but the rest of their Company found a spot under a clump of trees that was drier than out in the open. True to Bilbo's words, none of them could get a fire started that night, not even Óin or Glóin, who had an even better knack for it than most dwarrow. They got Bilbo settled under their blankets when a sudden snap in the dark woods spooked their ponies and they all bolted towards the flooded riverbank. By the time they had wrangled their mounts back – losing all of the baggage on one of the ponies but luckily most of their food had been broken up between all of them, as per Bilbo's demand at the start of their trip – they returned back to camp tired, wet, freezing, and rather ready for something warm to eat.
Only to find Bilbo missing.
“Where can he have gone?” Thorin turned in a circle, scanning the ground. There was nary a print or scuff to show which way the hobbit had went.
“Nothing this way,” Dwalin called.
“Nor here,” Kíli said.
“It's like he disappeared,” Ori said. Thorin felt his shoulders go tight at the words. An uneasy silence settled over them. They'd all had dreams about the hobbit disappearing like this. The Bilbo in their dreams would turn strange, quieter, crueler. In some of the dreams their Bilbo had led them all to their death in the dragon's fire. In others a disappearing Bilbo would kill them all in Mirkwood, one after the other, like a game, giggling the entire time. But Bilbo would only start to disappear after their meeting with Elrond in Rivendell, never before.
So where could have the hobbit have gone?
“I see a light!” Kíli called out, pointing towards a hill some ways off through the trees.
“Wait,” Thorin said as more than one of his Company took a step towards the call of fire and warmth. “Trolls,” he said, looking at Dwalin.
“Y'don't think...”
“I think we best arm ourselves,” Thorin said, reaching for his sword and axe. He saw Dwalin shrug his own weapons off his shoulders, then all of the Company were soon following suit.
Kíli led the way, his skills as a hunter leading them around the curve of the hill. Thorin was close on his heels, and then Dwalin. All of them were spread out, as silent as they could be, approaching the crackling fire.
There were, indeed, trolls. Three of them, foul smelling and as hideous as the tales claimed. They were roasting mutton over the fire, but all three of them seemed asleep, heads nodded onto their chests, quiet and still as the meat sizzled and started to burn.
“Well,” came Bilbo's voice, startling them all. “Aren't you going to come out? The meat's almost done.”
“Bilbo,” Thorin breathed and burst forward...to find Bilbo standing in the center of the trolls, not a hair out of place but his eyes still faintly glowing as he blinked slowly at Thorin.
In his hand was a narrow dagger, still dripping blood.
“Food's burning,” their hobbit swayed on his feet. The trolls...the trolls were dead , Thorin realized, a chill working its way down his back, their entire shirts not dark by dirt or grime but by blood. The hobbit had slit their throats. “At least this way we'll be warm.”
Then Bilbo dropped where he stood, his dagger still clutched in one hand. Thorin went to his knees at Bilbo's side, while Dwalin tried to pry the weapon from his grasp. “Óin!” Thorin called out. By the time their healer had looked Bilbo over and pronounced him as well as he could be, Glóin, Bifur, and Bofur had cleared out the trolls while Bombur had taken over control of the spit.
“Somethin' ain't right,” Dwalin said under his breath as they settled in and got dry. Bilbo was tucked tight between them. Thorin was determined there would be no escape that night. “Where's the wizard? He's gotta tell us somethin' about this now.”
“We'll see,” Thorin muttered back. He saw Bilbo frown in his sleep and smoothed a hand over their hobbit's forehead, trying to soothe him back to sleep. It seemed to work. Nori took first watch that night, with Glóin and Balin taking second and third shifts respectively. Thorin settled down with Bilbo and Dwalin and tried to put the uneasy feeling in his gut aside and let sleep take him.
When he woke it was to empty arms and a wizard standing over them.
“What,” said Gandalf, “have you done?”
“Where is Bilbo?” Thorin surged up out of his blankets, making Gandalf step back.
“That is what I would like to know!”
“He – he killed the trolls,” Ori said. All eyes turned to him. Dori curled an arm over Ori's shoulders and glared at the wizard.
“He did,” Dori said. “Slit their throats. We didn't see him leave the camp. We found him here, with that dagger,” he nodded at the weapon Thorin had cleaned and set by the fire. “Don't know where he got it.”
“From the troll horde, of course,” said Bilbo from behind Gandalf. Thorin got the pleasure of seeing Gandalf jump and his hat come perilously close to falling off his head. “It's right over there. Come along,” Bilbo's eyes were glowing again. Then he turned and slipped into the trees and it was as if he had disappeared yet again.
“Tharkûn,” Thorin grabbed Gandalf before the wizard could move. The rest of his Company were hot on Bilbo's heels. “Something is wrong . No. No, stay with me,” Thorin shook the wizard, seeing the way Gandalf's eyes were starting to glaze over. “Stay with me,” Thorin breathed as that haziness cleared. “Do you remember what I just said?”
Gandalf stared at him. It felt like the whole forest went quiet and still with that look. All the air rushed from Thorin's lungs. For a moment...for a moment Thorin wanted to step back, step away from Gandalf, to arm himself...but from what? Then Gandalf blinked and the sounds of the forest rushed back in and the prickling feeling at the back of Thorin's neck went away.
“There is indeed something wrong, Thorin Oakenshield. Just how many times have I forgotten what you have said?”
“Many times,” Thorin told him. “Not so much on this journey, but before, when we would try to tell you of our dreams. You did not remember them. It was like we had not said a word at all.”
“Dreams,” Gandalf echoed. The world shivered around them. Thorin felt the hairs on his arms stand on end. “We need to make all haste to Imladris. I am in need of the council we can find there.”
“Elrond?” Bilbo spoke up from Thorin's elbow. Thorin felt a bit better about his yelp when he saw Gandalf jump just as badly as he. “What a lovely idea. I could use a spot of tea.”
“Bilbo Baggins,” Gandalf said. “What are you...what are you holding?”
“Your swords, silly,” said their Bilbo. Two elven swords were in each hand. Thorin felt his breath catch at the sight of them. He...he knew those swords. He had dreamed of them – of his Orcrist – for so long. He watched Bilbo hand over Glamdring to the wizard and then his heart leapt when Bilbo turned to him and offered up Orcrist with both hands, the sword laying flat on his palms.
Bilbo was a hobbit. There was no way he could understand the significance of that particular gesture. Still Thorin took the weapon from his One's hands, gifted to him with a pure heart and open hands. Thorin's own hands did not shake as he belted the weapon to his waist. His hands did not tremble as he reached out and took one of Bilbo's hands in his own. Their hobbit just blinked at him, eyes glassy but not glowing, as he glanced down at their linked hands and then back up Thorin.
“This will hurt so very much when I die again,” their hobbit said before he fainted. Yet again.
Then pandemonium erupted all around them.