Work Text:
Bilbo tightened the straps of his pack as he hurried back to where he had left Erestor. He still had no idea where they were going or what exactly was going on in the world, but he knew he had to leave the Shire. It was not the whispers that followed him into sleep at night that told him so, or even the way the wind would murmur in his ears in a way it never had before, but something told him that he had to leave or all the Shire would suffer such losses as to make the Fell Winter look like a lark in the spring.
So leave Bilbo did, without a note or a goodbye. He could not do it. These hobbits...they had the face of his parents and he did love them, but the grief he had lived with for so many years in a different life made it difficult to look at them and see his parents. And add onto the Marks about his wrists and the strange differences in this Shire to the one he had grown up in...
Well. It was far easier to leave his home than he liked to think about.
The sun was just setting as he arrived in the small grove. He glanced around and felt a chill touch the back of his neck when he did not see Erestor. Then some whisper of sound made him turn to see his friend half up a different tree staring into the west, looking wild and fey as he crouched there, head cocked, as if he was listening to something only he could hear.
“Erestor?” Bilbo did not see the elf stir. He held his breath, trying to pick up what his old friend was so focused on. He could hear nothing but the wind rustling through the bushes. Then he watched as Erestor gave himself a great shake like a shaggy dog coming out of a lake and then dropped to the ground next to Bilbo, silent as a shadow.
“Forgive me,” his old friend said, eyes still a touch distant. “Something has happened but I cannot say what.”
Bilbo peered up at him, taking in the small lines of stress about Erestor's eyes and mouth. “It's Elrond, isn't it?”
His old friend glanced down at him, eyes wide and startled. “Yes, how did you know?”
Bilbo leveled a finger at him. “You'd always get like that,” he said. “Complete with that same nose wrinkle – yes, that one. It was like you always knew where he was or what he was up to.”
“I did not.”
“That time when Thranduil got him drunk and –”
Erestor grabbed Bilbo's hand and pulled him close. “We do not speak of that,” he hissed.
“Galadriel isn't anywhere near, she can't hear us,” then Bilbo had to think about that for a minute. “She can't, right? Erestor?”
Erestor glanced about them. “I do not know. Best not to chance it, though.”
“Did she ever find out about the closet and the...”
“We. Do not. Speak of that,” Erestor grit out. The absurdity of it made Bilbo laugh. A small chuckle at first and then another and another until he was all but crying from it, holding onto Erestor as his old friend just sighed and patted him on the shoulder.
“Ah, my dear Erestor, thank you,” Bilbo managed to get out as he sobered. “I do believe I needed that.”
“You're welcome.” The delivery was so dry it reminded Bilbo of the times when Erestor would meet with Glorfindel in his office, Bilbo stashed out of sight around the corner with the pot of tea they'd doctored with the whiskey Bilbo had blackmailed Aragorn into getting him. They were both rather sure no one in Imladris realized their thrice weekly tea party was really just a cover for getting as drunk as possible on the strongest liquor they could get their hands on. At least until Bilbo could not drink such spirits anymore and they'd switched to smoking the fermented Old Toby Bilbo got from the Shire.
(Though it was perhaps that a bottle of whiskey that they'd put some of that fermented Old Toby in that had started that whole Incident they Did Not Speak About. No one was supposed to drink that bottle but them and Bilbo still didn't know how Thranduil got his grubby little hands on it in the first place.)
Anyway.
As Bilbo patted himself down and looked about he realized that he did not have a single idea as to where to go next. All he could think about was getting out of the Shire as soon as possible, to hopefully break this strange weather that had come down on the area, when he knew full well the Fell Winter was yet to come. But where did they go? What could they do? They needed answers to many of their questions and if Imladris was not what it once was, then where...
Bilbo looked up at Erestor, who was watching him with those same dark eyes. “Where are we going to go?”
He saw Erestor take a breath and then look away, letting it out slowly. Elrond was the wisest elf Bilbo had ever known, and Glorfindel the most valiant, but Erestor was a close second to both, though his old friend would never claim such titles for himself. A whisper of wind slipped by them, moving the leaves along the ground with a rustling sound. Erestor's gaze tracked over something only he could see, a faint line appearing between his brows.
“Mithlond,” he said after a long moment. “Or Lothlórien. Those are our two choices.”
“The Grey Havens?” Bilbo thought about that for a moment. The Grey Havens had the largest population of elves outside of Imladris that Bilbo had known about, though their numbers had decreased mightily in the years that Bilbo had stayed in Elrond's Last Homely House. Bilbo had met Círdan once while traveling with Erestor early in his years at Imladris. Círdan had been the only elf Bilbo had ever seen with a beard. It had been quite the startling sight. “Why there?”
“From what I learned on my way to Imladris, Mithlond is still the home of King Angrod. Gil-galad yet lives, but as a prince in his father's house and not a king,” Erestor shook his head, gaze gone distant. “This world has changed in ways I cannot fathom, my friend. Just knowing that Beleriand exists...I have questions of my own that need be answered. We must find out the history of this world we have found ourselves in.”
“I agree,” Bilbo said. “Then if our two options are Mithlond or Lothlórien, then I would choose Galadriel, for I do not think much could change that indomitable lady, no matter what world we ended up in.”
“A wise choice,” Erestor had a faint smile on his face though it soon vanished. “It will be a long road over the mountains. It would perhaps suit us better to stop in Ost-in-Edhil for the worst of the winter months should the winter storms come down early.”
Bilbo thought back but in his youth he could not remember if he ever knew anything but snippets of the outside world before his Adventure. “If you deem it best. I do not wish to be trapped in those mountains, not with...” He looked down at his hand and the pale strip of flesh on his finger.
“Indeed – ah!”
Bilbo looked up to see Erestor holding his wrist, fingers wrapped tight about the bone, his fingers splayed out in front of him. Bilbo felt frozen in place as the wind whipped about them, stirring his clothes and hair. All Bilbo could hear was a strange whisper, almost like a song, crooning in his ears. It was like and unlike the whispers he would hear at night or when he was walking alone in the fields. Then, as he watched, Bilbo saw crimson flashes appear about Erestor's fingers, flickering through the space like tiny fireworks. He heard Erestor hiss out a word he could not understand before the whole world felt as though is dropped a foot out from under him. Bilbo gasped even as Erestor did and the tiny flashes about Erestor's fingers went bright enough to dazzle Bilbo's eyes...and then were gone. When Bilbo could see again he looked down at Erestor's hand and saw...
A single strip of lighter flesh about his finger, right in the shape of a ring.
Bilbo looked up at Erestor but his friend was staring down at his hand, frozen in shock. “I think we should hasten at once to Lothlórien,” Bilbo said into that silence. “No stopping. We'll go as fast as possible. Buy ponies if we must. We have to find Galadriel, as soon as possible.”
Erestor did not answer him. All he could do was nod. Bilbo still heard those same whispers on the wind though, crooning and soft as they made their way to the road without looking back.