Chapter Text
Once upon a time…
No, no, no. That certainly didn't sound right, Bilbo thought, striking out the opening lines of his book. Well, what he hoped would be his book, anyway. He wasn't quite sure what it was since his journey wasn't yet over. After his business in Erebor was concluded, he would still need to travel back to the Shire, preferably before the frost set in. He set aside his quill, how could he write when it still felt as if something was missing from his adventure?
Speaking of his business in Erebor, things were getting worse by the day. The Arkenstone had still not been found and it had been almost a month since they had defeated Smaug. Since then, Thorin had Bilbo and all of the company searching for the gem, to little success.
While the new King Under the Mountain had never truly gotten along with him, Bilbo had at least expected him to treat his fellow dwarrow with more courtesy, rather than the harsh leash he kept them all on.
Bilbo closed his notebook. If he did not return to the search soon Thorin would begin asking questions, and now more than ever he did not want the crazed king questioning his loyalty. He just had to make it through the search and then he could go back to Bag End. By then he would have had his adventure. He was sure of it.
The halls echoed with Bilbo's footsteps as he rushed toward the treasure hall. He was late, yes, but what more could Thorin do to him? To any of them? As he neared his destination he heard muttering coming from behind the large door and, pushing it open, Bilbo saw all the dwarrow of the company gathered nervously, as if waiting for something, or someone.
Bilbo joined the group just as Bofur was whispering, "Do any of you know where this blasted stone is? Because if you do, fess up and we can have this whole thing over and done with!"
"Don't you know we would if we could!" Dori replied, hushed. "No one knows where it is!"
"That's not entirely true."
Bilbo would recognize that voice anywhere. It seemed that Thorin had entered the room as the company talked, his deep sonorous voice making himself known. At the intrusion many members of the company jumped or cursed under their breath, but Thorin paid them no mind. Instead, he began strolling down the length of the room, slowly pacing back and forth before the group.
"Thorin– Your Majesty," Balin started, "we swear, we don't know where it is. None of us would dare hide the stone from you."
Thorin strode over to Balin, and looking him in the eyes he replied, "Oh worry not, Balin. I trust that none of you are hiding the Arkenstone from me. None of you could possibly have it because it is in my possession."
At that, the group of gathered dwarrow muttered among themselves with confusion. It seemed no one was quite able to believe it, and frankly Bilbo agreed with them. "Where did you find it then?" Bilbo piped up from the back of the crowd.
As Thorin's gaze shifted to take him in, Bilbo felt smaller than ever. While at no point on their journey had Thorin need on good terms with him, Bilbo at least hoped he had done enough for Thorin to respect him, but it would seem that nothing was enough for the great King Under the Mountain.
"I should tell the burglar where I found it, should I?" Thorin questioned, his tone humourous as if prompting the Company to laugh, though no one was smiling. "Why, so you can sneak in and steal it back?" In the blink of an eye Thorin's face had hardened again, going still as stone. "As a matter of fact, none of you deserve to know. You all failed me in finding the stone, so it's rather fitting that your punishment should prevent you from ever looking upon its beauty again." And without another word he stormed out of the hall, dark cloak billowing behind him.
As soon as the door had closed behind Thorin, the Company let out a collective breath of relief, though what there was to be relieved about Bilbo didn't know.
"So, what do we do now?" Ori asked, fingers nervously playing with the frayed ends of his scarf.
Truthfully, none of them knew, but it was Dwalin who spoke up. "We await new orders from our King. That's all we can do."
—
Thorin's mood only worsened over the following weeks and Bilbo could feel the tension in the mountain worsen with it. Bilbo wanted to be rid of this blasted mountain and it's king with it, but he couldn't just leave the rest of the Company helpless with Thorin deteriorating by the day.
It would seem that Bilbo was not the only one to notice Thorin's foul temperament. In every hallway, Bilbo passed hushed conversations happening in the shadows—Bifur and Bombur having a whispered exchange in Khuzdûl, Nori and Bofur muttering worriedly to each other, even Fíli and Kíli were concerned. Bilbo only heard snippets, but it was enough for him to piece together what was happening.
Thorin was… changing. And not in any way that was easily explainable either. According to Dwalin, Thorin was acting more standoffish than usual, refusing even the most basic of requests and insisting on an insanely high degree of privacy. "He wouldn't even take his gloves off when we were sparring," Dwalin grumbled to Bilbo as he patrolled the ramparts. "It's just not like him."
But Dwalin wasn't the only one to notice the King's strange new behavior, no, Óin reported something even more peculiar. Apparently when Thorin let the healer into his chambers to change the dressing on his wounds Óin had noticed a strange pattern making its way up Thorin's arms, but before he could get a closer look Thorin had wrenched his arms away, quickly pulling down his sleeves.
"It looked almost like a chain mail pattern," Óin mused out loud late one night when a group of them had gathered in the kitchens. "But, that can't be it. That would be–"
Balin cut him off. "Impossible? Unfortunately it's more possible than you lot may believe." The old dwarf rose from where he was sitting across the table and made his way around to face the group. "Ori and I have been going through what remains of the library…"
"And we believe we've found something!" Ori said as he rummaged through his bag and produced the dustiest, densest volume Bilbo had ever laid eyes on.
The Company all eyed the book suspiciously. "And what exactly is that going to tell us?" Kíli questioned, apprehensive.
"Not 'going to,' lad," Balin corrected. "It's already told us much more than we ever expected to find in the ruins of that old library."
As Ori flipped through the pages and Balin got out his glasses, the whole Company waited with bated breath. "Now lets see here… Ah, yes. This ancient tome dates back to the first dwarven settlement in Erebor, and in it, they detail all the treasure mined from the mountain, including the Arkenstone."
Bilbo peered over Balin's shoulder at the book, and sure enough, there on the page was a striking likeness of the gem the Company had talked so much about. Balin continued, "Back then, in the time of Thráin I, they did not call it the Arkenstone. No, they had another name for it: the Frozen Heart of Erebor." From the looks of confusion on the faces of the dwarrow around the table, Bilbo could tell that they knew as little about this history as he did.
Fíli cleared his throat. "Balin, what exactly does this have to do with Uncle's condition?"
"I'm getting there my boy. As I was saying… The line of Durin has an unfortunate history with gold sickness, but it seems the Frozen Heart of Erebor has caused your uncle's gold sickness to progress further than it has in generations."
"What does this mean?" Kíli's voice shook.
"It means that Thorin is afflicted by what they call 'dragon sickness,'" Ori answered, voice faint.
"How is this any different from what he had before?" Glóin demanded.
"I can see your confusion," Balin said calmly, though his hands shook a little as he leafed through the pages. "The symptoms are much the same, except for one key difference: the transformation. This text outlines the symptoms of dragon sickness as such: hostility to those previously held dear; a heightened need for privacy; scale-like patterning on extremities; even blown out pupils can be a sign, an indication of the animalistic urges that will begin to emerge if he is not stopped."
Putting away his glasses Balin looked up at the blanched faces of the dwarrow before him. "You've seen this in him already, haven't you?" The grim faces of the Company told Bilbo all he needed to know.
"Well what do we do now?" Bilbo questioned. "How can we stop the spread of the dragon sickness? There must be something we can do."
"There is only one cure," Balin said sadly. "The power the Arkenstone has over him is too great, it is freezing his heart. The only way to stop all of this is to thaw it, before the monster inside him becomes stronger than his humanity."
The silence as the dwarrow filed out of the kitchen that night was deafening, each wrapped up in his own thoughts, none pleasant.
Bilbo waited until the last dwarf had gone before he approached Balin. "Is there really nothing that can be done?"
"I'm afraid not, lad." Balin responded, shaking his head. "And that's not even the worst of it…"
Bilbo felt like he was going to be sick. "How much worse can this get, Balin?"
The old dwarf sighed. "The Arkenstone came from deep within this very mountain and its power is connected to Erebor itself. This curse will not only affect Thorin. Soon, as citizens of this Kingdom, we will all be affected."
Bilbo let himself collapse back into a seat. "Why did you not tell them?"
"What good will it do?" Balin questioned. "The text says nothing of the effects this will have on us. Besides, there isn't anything to be done about it now." He made his way to the door and as he left he made one final comment. "Don't worry, Bilbo. You'll be fine, the curse will certainly leave you unaffected. You're not a dwarf after all."
Deep in the heart of the Lonely Mountain Bilbo sighed, utterly spent. Not a dwarf indeed.
—
Bilbo awoke the next morning to the sound of very insistent knocking on hi door.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," he muttered as he climbed out of bed and stumbled towards the sound. When he finally reached the door and pulled it open he found a very agitated Bifur standing on the other side.
"Bifur, what–" but he didn't have time to finish his thought because as soon as he'd opened his mouth, Bifur had grabbed him by the arm and began dragging him through the halls of Erebor all the while muttering in frenzied Khuzdûl.
By the time they rounded the third corner Bilbo had given up questioning and struggling against the dwarf for nothing was getting his arm out of Bifur's iron-clad grip. As they made there way down the grand staircase Bilbo finally saw another face.
"Bombur! Oi, Bombur!" Bilbo hollered. "What's going on?" Bombur was moving just as quickly as Bifur and Bilbo, a feat Bilbo couldn't quite believe, though he was rather red in the face.
Between puffs of air Bombur replied, "The King has summoned everyone to the throne room. No one knows why."
Oh Yavanna, that can't be good.
When they finally reached the heavy doors of the throne room and Bombur heaved them open, the sight that greeted Bilbo was startlingly familiar. The Company was inside, milling about anxiously, awaiting the presence of their king.
When Glóin spotted them entering, a breath of relief escaped him. "Thank Mahal you got here in time. Who knows what Thorin would've done if you'd disobeyed his summons. Now we're only missing Balin–"
But Glóin was cut off by movement at the other end of the throne room. Thorin had entered, Balin by his side, and was now pacing back and forth before his throne. Balin, for his part, did not look good. The poor dwarf looked rather like he was about to be sick.
But Thorin looked even worse, if that was possible. From where Bilbo stood, Thorin's eyes looked almost entirely black, the pupils having grown so wide that only a thin ring of blue remained along the outside. Bilbo could also make out a trail of what looked like scales snaking up Thorin's neck from under his heavy cloak.
"Silence!" Thorin growled, though no one was talking. "Something has recently been brought to my attention. It would seem as if you lot think me cursed, but you are wrong."
Balin had told Thorin of the dragon sickness? What had he been thinking? Bilbo had encouraged Balin to tell the rest of the Company of their involvement in the curse, not to tell the King himself! Gasps went up from the gathered dwarrow as they surely all thought back to Balin's pronouncement of Thorin's condition, but they quieted down with another glare from Thorin.
Thorin continued, prowling back and forth, "This so-called 'dragon sickness' is not a curse, but a blessing. It will permit me to properly protect all that is mine. That is why I have made the decision to close Erebor's gates. No thieves will be able to get into the mountain under my watch. Not one person will enter or exit this mountain without my express permission."
A chuckle broke through the tense silence of the throne room and all heads turned to see Bofur, curled over himself, laughing. "Sorry Your Majesty," Bofur wheezed, "but you see, it's really rather funny that you're paranoid about thieves while locking a burglar inside the mountain."
Bilbo halted, as did Thorin.
"Silence," the King commanded, but Bofur did not stop.
"It is really ironic tha–" Bofur cut himself off and froze, panicked look in his eye as he tried to speak and failed. The stillness that encased Bofur rendered him almost statue-like, as if he was frozen in stone. Bilbo went ice cold. So this was what the curse did to dwarrow who went against the orders of their king, they went still as stone, almost like they became part of the mountain themselves.
After a few tense seconds Bofur's body was released from his unnatural stillness and he fell to the ground. Shivering, the dwarf quickly picked himself up and quietly moved to stand behind Bombur who threw an arm around Bofur.
"Let that be an example to all of you who think to disobey me," Thorin thundered. "No one enters this mountain, and no one leaves!"
Now Bilbo was the one who froze.
He wouldn't be able to make it back to the Shire, he wouldn't even be able to leave the mountain to stay the winter with Bard and the men from Laketown.
Bilbo was trapped.