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Bilbo let out a yelp when he landed on Bag End's hard floors, feeling the crack as his arm broke under his body. He let out a low groan, the pain making him queasy. His feet ached and stung and his head was still spinning from the fall and all the memories of the last time he was on that balcony. When he had last seen his – Bilbo closed his eyes and ignored the way something hot slipped down his temples and vanished into his hair. He let out a breath, feeling a hot curl of emotion lodged deep in his chest.
Bag End was silent about him. He was out of the in between, where the world felt cold and strange and back in his own front hall. He could smell the fire, see the ways the banked embers cast a faint warm glow to his sitting room. A part of him wished that he had never gone on this cursed Adventure. That he had not brought all this ruin onto himself and his people. That he was not...
The door to his smial creaked open, but it was the door that led to the in between , where all their smials were connected through the warren of tunnels that held all the Old Symbols painted and carved onto the walls. Once such a thing was the stuff of tales, or when faunts spoke in hushed whispers about the Fell Winter and what their people had to do to survive it. Now, though, their people moved in and out of the in between with an ease that shocked Bilbo.
A tall figure appeared over him when Bilbo managed to open his eyes. His cousin, Fortinbras Took II, Thain of the Shire, set his hands on his hips with a sigh that made Bilbo want to curl up into a ball and hide. “No wizard, then?”
Bilbo turned his face away and said nothing. He heard his cousin mutter a curse and then that tall presence was kneeling at his side, warm hands patting Bilbo down and pausing when he came to Bilbo's broken arm.
“Ah, lad,” Fortinbras sighed.
“I fell and broke it,” Bilbo muttered, still not able to face him. “It wasn't – it didn't snap. Not like,” he flicked his fingers, the half formed Sign there and gone. One did not speak of the Outcast in the Shire. Oathbreakers were shunned. Exiled. Blood betrayers were the worst of the lot, the ones that harmed their own families in their homes, in what should have been their safest place. When all this in between nonsense had started Bilbo had been taken aside by a mourning of widows, their golden scissors gleaming in the firelight, to be questioned about just what was going on. All of his people could see the blood trails he left and when the first of his people set foot out into Erebor's cold halls, their feet, too, began to bleed.
Bilbo had had to answer all their questions that evening. Lay forth all his shortcomings, everything about his silly ring, answer even the questions he had managed to avoid with Gandalf, to bear himself to their Judgment or be thrown out into the cold and the pain and the blood of Erebor's dark halls.
“Let's get you up, then,” Fortinbras said. Before Bilbo could do more than turn to face him, Fortinbras had an arm under his shoulders and another under Bilbo's knees and was lifting him like he was a faunt and not a grown adult.
“Fortinbras! Put me down!”
“Not on those feet, lad.”
“Don't lad me,” Bilbo sputtered. “You're only twelve years older than me!”
“A whole decade.”
“Oh, don't start with that again!”
“And I'm married,” Fortinbras continued despite Bilbo's protests. “Let's get Lalia to look you over, then. You can occupy Ferumbras at the same time.”
Bilbo grumbled but there was nothing for it. Once Fortinbras had a hold of someone it was only by his will alone that they would be let go. His cousin's strength had won many a prize at the summer fairs and before he had become Thain Fortinbras had worked at the Took family's smithy, doing all manner of things. Their people did – Bilbo had to stop and breathe through the pain of that thought. Their people had done most of their trade with the dwarves of the Blue Mountains and the Men about Bree for the things they could not make in their own lands. Their excess harvests sold at a pretty penny for them all, despite what they always put away in the emergency stores, and it was enough to keep the Shire's economy healthy through the years. The work Fortinbras had done was more repair work than anything else, plows and wheel rims for wagons and the like. But when his cousin had become Thain such work had stopped and now Fortinbras saw to their people, along with the Mayor, watching over them all as best he could.
Until the day the dragon fire came and wiped out the Shire and everything that did not get pulled in between when all of Bilbo's people answered his frantic call.
Bilbo shivered when Fortinbras stepped from the warmth of Bag End and into the in between . They could have taken the dwarven halls but the way was dark and their people had no wish to slice open their feet when they could simply go in between . His cousin's hold on Bilbo firmed as they walked down the old halls. The tunnels had been faint at first when their people had been pulled in between. A strange, half-formed place that many had trouble navigating at first, but the more their people used it the more stable these tunnels became. And, as they became more stable, more and more things began appearing in those strange halls.
Paintings had appeared on the walls, old hand prints in ocher and brick red and brown and black. A tall black pillar was drawn many times, sometimes cracked and falling down, sometimes blazing with crimson flames, sometimes drawn in an eerie blue that reminded Bilbo of how the world looked when he'd put on his little ring. Sometimes there were long trains of figures that many assumed were hobbits, most of them pulling some sort of wagon. Sometimes, in some of the finer drawings, they could see animals in those long trains, or flowers, or once what looked like a tall figure of a man.
In between the hallways were lit with some strange glow, warm and yellow like a muted sun. No one could figure out where the light came from. There were a handful of tunnels that connected them all, many of which had appeared like the roads that had crisscrossed the Shire, but the longer they stayed in this strange state the more tunnels began to appear. Some were ghostly pale and the widows had laid down the law that no one was to go exploring those. Some were like how the tunnels had first appeared but branching out at strange spots, sometimes showing carvings on the walls that none in the Shire recognized.
Bilbo had wondered, long ago, if there were more hobbits out in the world than just in the Shire. Their oldest tales told of how only some clans had braved the mountains and found their way across the Brandywine and into the lush bounty of the Shire. Some liked to whisper in the quarter cross days about the clans that might still be moving from one spot to the next in the Lost Lands beyond the Wilds. Some even whispered that the clans had chosen to go even further east, to where the lands were laid out like long undulating waves and the grasses were tall and the hunting was good.
Fortinbras was married to one Lalia Clayhanger. Lalia was feared by many in the Took line for her no-nonsense attitude and the way she had taken over the position of the Head Matriarch when Fortinbras had become Thain. It was Lalia who had led the mourning of widows at Bilbo's interrogation, even though she was not a widow herself. It was Lalia who had tended Bilbo's abused feet when he had gone out and done most of the scouting for their people in the first week of their predicament. Many in the greater Took family had Opinions about how Lalia ran her household but Bilbo appreciated her brusque manner and how she did not pander to the Baggins name or status. Lalia was not afraid to tell a body when they were being stupid and Bilbo had been called that a lot in the last few weeks when he was at their smial.
The Great Smials had formed like a labyrinth in the in between . Only the Took family seemed to know their way through it all. Not even Bilbo had been able to navigate it clearly. He rested his head on Fortinbras' shoulder as he cousin wove his way through the narrowing tunnels, no longer decorated with the old paintings and carvings, but now dotted with ghostly paintings that looked like the Shire they had all left. Bilbo did not know if these images were paintings the Tooks had in their own homes or if this was some conjuring of this strange in between.
Then they were at a large blue painted door, the color of faded periwinkle and not the eerie ghost light from Bilbo's ring. Fortinbras pushed it open with a foot and they both shivered as they passed from in between to out.
“Fortinbras?”
“Here,” his cousin called back. “I've got Bilbo with me as well.”
Bilbo winced when he heard Lalia crack something together in the kitchen. Fortinbras and Lalia's only child, one Ferumbras, peeked at them from around the edge of a door frame. Bilbo gave the lad a weak wave. Ferumbras went pink and ducked away, still so shy at his tender age.
Fortinbras took Bilbo into the sitting room, laying him out on the couch. Lalia was good with herbs and the like, more used to the birthing bed than a medic's tent but she and the others of the widows had taken care of all their people who had gone out into the thick of the fighting of the Battle of Five Armies. Or would it be Six Armies? Did Bilbo's people count as an army?
“You get that dreamer's look off your face, Bilbo Baggins,” Lalia said as she bustled in from the kitchen. “What have you done now?”
“I broke my arm.”
He saw her pause and give Fortinbras a look. His cousin shook his head. Bilbo watched as Lalia let out a breath and muttered something under her breath he could not catch. Then she was at the couch, her bag of herbs opening as she looked him over. “I can't do much for your arm but set it,” she told him. “Let's see those feet first, though.”
Bilbo looked away, not wanting to see the expression on her face when the ruin of his soles were exposed. It was a hobbit's greatest shame to bleed like this, to bear the marks of their failings for all to see with each step they took. Lalia was gentle as she turned his feet to the light and at her sound of surprise Bilbo forced himself to look at her.
“What is it? Is it worse?”
“No,” her brows were drawn tight together. Bilbo saw Fortinbras move so he could get his own look and from the way his cousin's expression eased Bilbo knew the wounds hadn't progressed to another level. At least not yet.
“Then what is it?”
“They're healing,” Lalia said, still bent to her task. “Fortinbras, be a dear and get me that candle. Thank you, dear.” More light was added as she ordered her family about, bringing in large wooden bowls for Bilbo to dip his feet into. To his relief the touch of water to the wounds did not hurt. But...
“What does it mean?” Bilbo looked between Fortinbras and Lalia. “They weren't healing before. If the curse is getting worse, then they shouldn't being healing, they should...” He gave a faint gesture to his arm.
“What exactly happened when you went out today?” Fortinbras asked after a long shared look with his wife.
Bilbo hesitated but under Lalia's sharp gaze he gave in and told them where he had gone and what he had seen.
“Strange,” Fortinbras said after he'd taken a seat and lit a pipe as Bilbo told his story. Lalia had finished cleaning Bilbo's feet and a simple splint was made for his arm and then the whole thing was strapped across his chest. “You're definitely healing. We can see it happening while you spoke.”
“But what...” Bilbo let the question trail off when Fortinbras held up a hand. His cousin's gaze was focused into the middle distance, brows drawn together as he puffed on his pipe.
“Usually such signs mean that whatever judgment was cast upon you has been lifted,” Fortinbras finally said. “But you said the dwarves still appeared angry?”
Bilbo burrowed down into the plush cushions of the couch. “Very,” he muttered.
“Strange,” Fortinbras murmured, gaze still on something only he could see. “Strange.”
“Perhaps they've come to their senses, then,” Lalia said as she came back in from the kitchen, where she'd gone to dispose of the bloody bowls and other utensils. “After all you did nothing wrong, Bilbo Baggins.”
He ducked his head at that pronouncement. He well knew that there were some of the widows who did not agree with Lalia but her position as Head Matriarch trumped them all. “I did drag you all here, though,” he pointed out.
Lalia leveled a spoon at him. “None of that. You gave the answers to a mourning wail of us and passed the tests. Whatever brought us here was no doing of you, Bilbo Baggins. Get that ego of yours under control or I'll do it for you.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Good.” Her spoon turned to point at her husband. “Have you checked on the Bounders yet? See if their feet are healing like Bilbo's?”
“Not yet,” Fortinbras gave himself a shake and that distance in his gaze as gone. “I'll do that in the morning. Most have come in from their explorations. Tommy Gilhock ran into a group of dwarves near the main tunnels, though he did not know why they were there. Said they looked a bit dodgy but they're dwarves,” Fortinbras made a face. “And it's black as pitch out there, so who knows what Tommy actually saw. I called all the Bounders back after that. We'll have a meeting tomorrow to figure out what we can do about the doors.” They all glanced over at the smial doors. All of them led to that one tunnel, even in the warren of the Great Smials. There was no where else they could fall back to if the dwarves of Erebor decided to break them down and eradicate them all smial by smial. They could retreat into the in between but then what? Where would they go? Where would they be safe?
“Remy Oldwalker said that the wizard did arrive today though,” Fortinbras continued. Bilbo perked up at that. “He came in as you were going out I believe Bilbo. Said something about how the dwarves outside are talking about some great party of others headed this way too.”
“Others?” Bilbo glanced between Fortinbras and Lalia. “Who else is coming?”
“Elves and Men,” Fortinbras made a face while Lalia made a rude sound in the back of her throat. “Seems like something's gone and happened Outside. We'll need more eyes and ears for when they come. Perhaps these elves can help us if that wizard can't.”
“Elrond is the wisest being I know,” Bilbo said. “I'm sure he'll have some idea of what to do if Gandalf doesn't.”
“He'd better,” Lalia muttered, her gaze darting to the door where Ferumbras had been put to bed. “The faunts need the sunlight. It's not good for them to be cooped up in here.”
Bilbo bit his tongue, looking down at his hands. He was well aware of that worry. They all were. Darkness did...strange things to hobbits. It made them fey. Wild. Violent. There were already rotas of hobbits going out to the mountainside through an old, half collapsed door they'd found, each a small party at a time, just so that they could get some sort of sun once a week. But their people needed full sun, needed to feel the wind in their hair, the soil worked between their fingers, the pulse of the earth beneath their feet.
“I'll go out tomorrow too,” Bilbo said as the silence dragged on. Fortinbras protested but held his tongue when Bilbo shook his head. “I know the widows cleared me of their own Judgments but I feel that this is something I must do. I'll go out to the tower of ravens and see what I can find out from the birds there. They don't seem to see us very well and they like to gossip. They'll know when the elves are going to show up and maybe Gandalf will be there and I can talk to him.”
Fortinbras looked to Lalia. Lalia made a face and stayed silent. “If you're sure,” his cousin said.
“I'm sure,” Bilbo said. Even though he was tired and all he wanted was Thorin and Dwalin and – he shut that thought down hard. His dwarves were gone. Even if...even if they had lifted the Judgment on him by some miracle how could he ever face them again? He had betrayed them. They were still all so angry. He let Lalia and Fortinbras fuss over him for that night, resolving to head out early in the morning once his feet had healed up more. If there was anything Bilbo had learned in these last long few weeks was that there was little rest for the weary. And Bilbo was weary down to the bones but things still had to be done.
One step at a time. Just one step at a time.