Work Text:
Bilbo crept out of the Thain's smial, his feet silent on the warm, worn floors of his cousin's home. The hour was early enough that only the sun-keepers were up, though their usual rituals had been stymied by the position of their people so deep inside the mountain. As he eased the door shut, shivering a little in the chill of the in between, he thought he could hear Fortinbras' snoring coming down the hall. His cousin was not going to be pleased that Bilbo left so early and without breakfast but he had already stayed long enough with them and did not want to stress their stores even though he knew that the Thain and his family would never go without, not with the Took family's reserves still in place.
Bilbo straightened once the door was closed and he found himself alone in the strange tunnels of the in between. He glanced around, noting for the first time how a strange, angular pattern had started to appear along the curved top of the tunnel and also near ankle-height above the ground. The decoration looked almost like the ones he saw inside Erebor, since most hobbit decoration tended to more natural, flowing lines or flowers and the like. Even their scarecrows were made plump and curved by thick stuffing and sturdy clothes. The pattern was not clear as some of the other decorations in the tunnels were, though, so Bilbo did not know just what it all meant. Was it because they were in Erebor? Was it something he had done? It was frustrating not having any answers.
With that thought top of mind Bilbo turned to wind his way through the tunnels towards Bag End. Walking was not particularly pleasant – even with Lalia's herbs and the cleansing bath he'd gotten for them last night the soles of his feet felt sore and tender, as if the merest pressure would split open that healing skin. Still they were healing, so that was a blessing, even if Bilbo could scarce believe it himself.
Never in all his life did he think his Company would forgive him. Not enough to lift such a judgment as had been passed down onto him. He'd wanted it lifted – of course he did – but more for his people than he, himself. Bilbo still thought he held much of the blame with his dwarves going mad. He had seen it, hadn't he? He had seen how strange they'd all become but what did he do? Nothing. Just held onto that silly mathom as if it were a worry stone and hoped that everything would turn out well.
Look where that had got him.
Bilbo winced as he shifted his broken arm, trying to tuck it closer to his body as he made his slow way through the halls. He could feel his stomach growling and promised himself a nice cup of tea and some thick toast once he was home. But when he got there he found that most of his stores were gone – of course they were, his Company had eaten most of it up – and not a bite of bread to be seen in the entire smial. He did get his cup of tea, though, and a bit of hard cheese to ease some of the grumbles coming from his middle. As much as he disliked it he would have to see the Thain – not Fortinbras when it came to things like this, he wouldn't abuse that connection, not now – about some stores of his own. He would not be able to make it through winter with what he alone had and he wasn't about to touch the Baggins' reserves. No, that was for their people first, then him. He'd find his own way through this. He had to.
Shaking off those dark thoughts Bilbo set himself to rights as best he could, rearranging the straps about his arm so that he lay across his chest in a secure hold. He had to find Gandalf today. He had to. The ravens would only be a place to start. He would need to be at his most sneaky in order to speak to Gandalf if the wizard was somewhere in the maze of tents outside Erebor's front gates. If Gandalf was inside...that would prove both easier and harder. Easier for he could slip in between easier inside Erebor. Harder because...well. There were a lot of dwarves already inside the mountain and more coming every day. Their people had already learned that while they could slip in between to avoid a killing blow, some measure of such an injury would still mark them once they came back out of that strange place. And sometimes...sometimes the wounds were quite grievous, though none yet had died from them.
Bilbo ran his one good hand through his hair in an attempt to tame it and had to sigh. The things he would do for a bath. Then he gave himself a shake and squared his shoulders. He had procrastinated long enough. The sun was surely up and the ravens at Ravenhill would soon be talking with one another about all sorts of things. It was time for him to get out and see what he could learn.
Not long after his being Outcast from the Company and the arrival of his people to their new situation, Bilbo had found a path that went from a half collapsed door on the side of the mountain – that same entrance their people used to get sun – straight to Ravenhill. Bilbo was unsure why his dwarves had not used this door and instead been so intent on the passage with the key that needed exact conditions in place to be able to be seen and used. Perhaps they had not known of it? Either way it was better for him that none of the dwarves so far had seemed to remember this door or this path at all. With the amount that their people were starting to use that little door and that area it would soon become apparent that something was happening on that side of the mountain. It was just their luck that it was the south side of the mountain, the most sunny and warm, so that their farmers could pick through the soil there and figure out what best to plant with the time they had remaining in the year.
Bilbo passed a few hobbits on his way out to the door. The tunnel they all used – the one not in the in between but the one all their smials connected to – had at least a few Bounders in it at all times, watching for any angry dwarves headed their way. A single whistle would get everyone into their homes or the closest doors available but it was the uncertainty of what would happen after that kept many of them up at night.
The half collapsed door was on the other side of the ridge that ran southwest along the base of the mountain. It made the back of Bilbo's neck prickle to be so close to the front gates of Erebor but at least no dwarves had been seen in this area yet. It was almost as if they were avoiding it but surely that was just his imagination.
Bilbo made his careful way along the narrow path, wincing from time to time as sharp rocks bit into the tender soles of his feet. He felt like a faunt coming out of growth spurt, the soft-soled they were called. He certainly felt like one. Every other step he was biting back curses as it felt like he'd found the sharpest, most pointy rocks he could possibly walk on. If a few of those curses were in his Company's secret tongue...well. Bifur never seemed to pay much attention to how often he used certain words in their language and Bilbo had heard Dori scolding him enough times to know that the words Bifur was using were of the more colorful kind. Using them now when it felt like every rock went out of its way to get under his feet...well. It felt fitting.
By the time he got to Ravenhill it was later in the morning than he'd meant to get there. The ravens were already up and fluffed up against the chill wind coming down off the mountainside. Bilbo kept to the the long shadows as he drew on the Old Skills, walking silent as a field mouse in a thick meadow, careful and slow and almost invisible. Most hobbits in the Shire had rarely used those old talents, except for faunts who were nipping pies off windowsills which had seemed the only use for them, then. Now, though, the skills were coming back faster than anyone had expected, even to the oldest of them, allowing them all to creep about Erebor's halls unseen.
Bilbo picked his way up through the ruins, crossing the icy river at the rocks and trying not to look at the scars in the ice where Thorin and Azog had fought their desperate duel. Bilbo had been so afraid Thorin was going to die. Azog was a terror, a giant monster swinging that massive mace with such force that it had caused the earth to tremble each time it hit the ground. Bilbo had kept to the in between, his feet still so tender to the new cuts opening on his soles that he had not been able to stay in the outside for long at all. That was when he had found a strange little tunnel going under the water and with some sort of strange luck on his side Bilbo had managed to collapse that ice under Azog's feet at just the right time for Thorin to cut off that monster's head with one clean blow of his sword.
Once he reached the top of the ruined tower he stared down at that river and courtyard for a long moment, lost in those memories. He'd been so desperate to do something – anything – to make up for his betrayal of his Company, of Thorin, of Dwalin. He'd wanted...well. He'd wanted many things. To apologize. To beg for forgiveness. To see them, one last time. To make sure that they would survive, even if it cost him his own life. He had never expected them to see him. Bilbo had stayed in between , where the bitter chill did not cut him to the bone and it did not hurt to move his feet. But they'd seen him. They had seen him, had...had...
An explosion of ravens made Bilbo flinch and his heel to slip on what felt like ice. He fell back, trying to keep his feet – and his body on the tower – only to feel the soles of his feet lance with pain. Bilbo ended up on his rear, cursing the ravens, the tower, pretty much everything around him as he flexed his toes, feeling warm blood slide down his soles from where he'd surely cut them open once again.
Lalia was going to cuff him about the ears and he'd deserve it this time. He should have been paying more attention. He needed to be stalking the ravens, not being startled by them. He needed to find out what was going on with Gandalf and the visitors that were coming to Erebor. He needed...he needed...
“Do you think...” The words came from a voice that Bilbo would know anywhere. “Do you think it worked? Do you think that Bilbo is at peace, now? That he is no longer...”
Bilbo crawled on his hands and knees, peering over the edge of the ruined tower ledge, looking down to see Thorin and Dwalin standing below in the courtyard. Bilbo could do nothing but stare, his heart beating high in his throat as he listened to them, as the words rang and repeated in his ears. He did not know when he had swung his feet over the edge, like he was about to jump off and into their arms. As if they would ever...
Then they were looking up, looking at him and Bilbo froze, forgetting that he was not in between. He saw the way their expressions crumpled. He saw Dwalin's lips move but no sound came. Bilbo did not mean to say what he did, but it just came out, his deepest fear and the terror that would chase him out of sleep five nights out of seven.
“You don't hate me?”
Thorin made some strange sound before he said, “No, never. I swear it. Bilbo, I am so, so sorry. I never...” He shook his head and Bilbo traced the way those beads by his face swung, almost as if they were moving through molasses. Bilbo barely heard Thorin say, “I will swear upon whatever you wish. I do not hate you. I could never hate you.”
Bilbo couldn't help but look at Dwalin. Dwalin, the first of the Company he had met. Dwalin, the one he had been a little bit afraid of, at least until the Carrock and the way Dwalin had hugged him so tight and picked Bilbo right up off the ground with it. “Never,” Dwalin breathed, staring up at him. Bilbo could not look away. “I could never hate you Bilbo. I swear it.”
“But you...” Bilbo shook his head, lips pressed tight together for a moment, all the words he wanted to say tangled up in his throat. “I saw you,” he whispered. “On the – the battlements. You were so angry .” He pulled his legs up and the movement caused more blood to splatter down over Thorin's arms and chest. Bilbo flushed with shame. “I'm sorry –”
“Bilbo, wait –”
“I betrayed you –”
“You didn't – Bilbo, I will swear to it, you didn't –”
“I was just so scared,” Bilbo whispered. He wanted to tell them that. He needed to tell them that. So they would understand. “You had all turned so strange and I couldn't stop it and I –”
“Bilbo, no, it wasn't your fault –”
Bilbo shook his head, biting at his lower lip. “But you're better now. I fixed it. We all did.” But at what price? He had never meant for any of it to happen. “At least a little. At least a bit. But now...now we – I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to –”
“Bilbo, wait –,” but just then the tower Bilbo was sitting on gave a thunderous crack and time seemed to slow.
“I love –,” Bilbo managed to get out before the floor beneath him gave way and it was all he could do to throw himself back, pulling with everything he had, feeling the tower turn to him like metal to a magnet. There was a roar and what sounded like Thorin screaming, a note to his voice Bilbo had never heard before and never wanted to hear again.
Then, between one blink and the next, Bilbo let his body fall in between and he was gone.