Archive of Our Own ^beta

The view of the mountain was clear today. New leaves on the trees marked the passage of time, a picture-perfect vision of mid spring. Not that Thorin needed the trees to know what day it was. He kept meticulous track on a calendar, as he had done every day since he was 24.
Thorin turned away from the window and looked at his grandfather, snoring in a chair by the fireplace. The fire had died and the breeze blowing through the window made the room much colder than it should be. Thorin shrugged his jacket off and covered the old dwarf, whose only response was to let out a particularly loud snore. Thorin looked at him again, face void of emotion, before turning away once more to his spot at the window. His grandfather had seen so much of the world, met so many people… thinking about it, Thorin almost had the urge to smash something. Would he ever see anything beyond the walls of the tower? Beyond this fucking window? He was already 102, and the days seemed to be passing faster and faster in their endless monotony. Before he knew it, he would be as old as the king behind him.
Thorin's heart ached at the thought of missing out on his own life. He thought of leaving his people wandering, homeless, for centuries while he was shut away in here. He leaned out over the rock windowsill as far as he could go without falling and screwed his eyes shut. Not for the first time, he debated climbing down and running, running as far as his feet would take him, all the way to his mountain where he could stab that dragon right in its cold heart. Running away from this tower, where his only company was himself, his books, and a decrepit, aged king.
The wind whistled in Thorin's ears. According to his grandfather, the wind got stronger the higher you went. Thorin wished he knew for himself that it were true. He lay on the windowsill for a while, breathing deeply. If he tried hard enough, maybe he could hear a voice that wasn't his own. Or smell a scent that didn't come from the tower.
But time passed. Thorin was eventually torn from his unhappy thoughts by the sound of a cut-off snore from behind him and a quick hacking cough.
"...Thorin? Thorin, dear boy, stand up. You might fall," the king said between coughs. "And then where would we be?"
Thorin was tempted to say in opposite positions, but held it back in favor of,
"Coming, grandfather." He straightened up and stretched, back tense from holding that position for so long. "Did you have a nice nap?"
Thrór returned Thorin’s jacket as he padded over.
"Even better. A dreamless one. You will learn in time, dreamless sleep is better. It fends off thoughts of regrets and mistakes made in youth." Thrór smiled privately. The comment sent a flash of hot anger through Thorin’s body. He’d never been able to make those mistakes or have those “regrets of youth”. Time was slipping through his fingers more with every passing day.
"I am afraid, my boy, that I must leave again. For a while this time, maybe a few weeks. I’ve got to find work in Dale, and not many places will give well-paying work to someone as old as I." The king smiled wistfully. "Oh, if only you could've seen the treasury in Erebor! Huge halls, with rubies the size of your fist and-"
"-and piles of gold as tall as the tower, yes, I know. It sounds… wonderful," Thorin said, cutting him off. He had heard the descriptions before. His grandfather never tired of retelling old tales, whether they needed retelling or not.
"Grandfather… The mountain is just there, and the whole town of Dale has already been rebuilt since the dragon attack. People live there. It must be safe. I- I know this is a tired question but- may I go with you? Just into town? I could wear a hood, and bring a sword for protection, and no one would ever know a thing. I need to see the world, grandfather, I need to see my people. They are wandering out there, homeless and in need of a king, and you're just in here with me-!"
Thrór held up a hand and stared Thorin fiercely in the eyes. His hand clutched the edge of the chair in a white-knuckle grip.
"You know my answer, why must you pain me by making me say no again and again? Do you enjoy tormenting me? Our people have work, and they have built a small community outside Dale." He pushed himself shakily to his feet, though he kept one hand on the armrest. "I've told you this before. Dwarves are hardy, we can rebuild. It is not safe for you outside. Besides," Thrór reached out and lifted some of Thorin's long silver hair with two fingers, "You could never tie this up. Not really."
Thorin recoiled and turned away, pushing his hair out of his face with both hands. He squeezed his head tightly, letting out a groan of frustration. When he looked up, he gazed helplessly at the long coils of hair draped over the furniture in the room. Right. The reason for his imprisonment all these years. He flinched when a firm hand came down on his shoulder. Thrór turned him around and looked deep into his eyes.
"I'm sorry it has to be this way. Truly, I am." He broke eye contact and looked down. "There's so much I wish I could show you. The world is a vast place, and it can be wonderful. A dream, even. A good one." His voice took a bitter tone. "...but more often than not, it is cruel. It is a cruel, unforgiving, thieving place that will rip what you hold most dear right from your hands and smash it to pieces in front of you. I won't have that for you, Thorin. I won't."
Thorin heard real fear in Thrór's voice and saw desperation in the old man’s eyes. Thorin gasped in surprise as his grandfather grabbed two fistfuls of his hair and held it tight.
"You won't leave me, will you?" His voice shook and every cell in Thorin's body was screaming ‘get away!’. Thorin's wide eyes took in his grandfather's shaky stance, and how the desperate way he clung to Thorin's hair seemed partially because he needed support to stand. It hurt.
Thorin took a deep breath, then gently removed the king's trembling hands from his hair and held him upright. Fair or not, the old man was still his grandfather. He couldn't leave him all alone.
"I… I will never leave you," Thorin spoke quietly to the floor. Thrór visibly relaxed.
"...I knew you would say that. You're a good boy. Now, before I leave, will you heal me a bit? Enough that I don't have to use the cane."
Thrór's hand fumbled to find the armrest of the chair as he sat back down. Thorin nodded and hummed a yes, bending down and picking up a length of his hair. He didn't trust himself to open his mouth yet. Whether for fear of tears or of anger, he didn't know. He wrapped the coil of hair gently around the king's frail-looking hand and took a deep breath, in and out. Healing his grandfather always took a lot out of him, especially if it was a longer trip. He concentrated, squeezing Thrór's hand.
A breath.
Another breath.
Then, a tingling sensation, and a heavy satisfied sigh issued from the man in front of him. Thorin looked up at his now not-so-ancient grandfather. Instead of looking near 250, Thrór appeared for all accounts barely reaching 200. Still older, but a definite improvement. Thorin let go of his grandfather and leaned back on the floor, panting. Pulling some of his hair close, he buried his face in it, fighting to take deep breaths. He turned his head up when Thrór gently nudged him with a foot. The King could easily stand on his own now, and the drastic change was jarring. He bent down and gently pulled Thorin up, nudging him towards the chair. His face wore a look of sympathy as he snagged Thorin's jacket off the floor and covered him with it.
"You're such a good grandson, Thorin. I know I can depend on you," he murmured, brushing Thorin's hair out of his face and smiling again. "Is there anything in particular you want while I'm out?"
Thorin weakly shook his head. He didn't need anything restocked or new for a little while, and he wasn't in the mood to ask for anything even if he did need it. Thrór nodded and straightened.
"Right. I'll see you in a few weeks." He walked over to the door to the stairs and began undoing the various locks. When the last one was undone and the heavy door swung open, he looked back at Thorin, who was still trying to catch his breath. "...may Mahal be with you, my boy."
Thorin managed a small nod.
"Mahal be with you." he murmured. Thrór nodded and stepped into the downwards-spiralling corridor, pushing the door shut behind him. Thorin was asleep before the last lock clicked back into place. The last thought he had before losing consciousness entirely was, if Mahal were with me, he would get me out of here.

Mahal may not have been there, but about 170 miles or so away was a hobbit. There were several, actually, but only one that really mattered to the story.
"-Of course, of course, come right with me and we'll see about that nasty stain- oh Yavanna help me," Bilbo muttered as he noticed the tall figure striding towards him, rubbing the furrow of his brows. More likely than not, whatever this was would add to his stress instead of decreasing it.
"Daisy, love, head to the laundry room, I'll be with you in a moment."
Daisy nodded hurriedly and dashed off. Probably anxiously hoping that no one had seen her with half a bowl of soup overturned in her lap, poor girl. Bilbo's internal sympathies were cut off when the tall figure sat down loudly at the table behind him.
"Mister Bilbo Baggins!" Gandalf smiled in that curious way of his as Bilbo faced his (uninvited) party guest. "Not every day one turns 49." He punctuated the sentence with a long puff from his pipe. Bilbo gave him a slightly tired smile. (Though it wasn't entirely Gandalf's fault for Bilbo being tired, having a party where a few of the guests happened to be a little light fingered tended to wear one out after a few hours …But on the other hand Gandalf had been rather more cryptic than usual in his letters, and Bilbo was getting rather sick of it. One should be straightforward with friends, especially in letters.)
"Hello there, Gandalf. I didn't think you would make it. Weren't you off selling fireworks to men and other such important business? Something… oh, what was it, 'worthwhile' and 'most intriguing'?" Bilbo quipped, quoting Gandalf's own words back to him. Gandalf raised an eyebrow and took his pipe out of his mouth.
"If I did not know better, I would say you didn't respect my business, Mister Baggins. Or whatever else I may be doing."
The wizard's voice seemed gruffer than usual, although from what, Bilbo could not say. Perhaps he was getting over a cold. Gandalf's calculating eyes took Bilbo up and down, and he made several appraising sounds that did nothing for Bilbo's patience.
"Gandalf, what in Yavanna's name is so important that you had to interrupt my birthday party?" Bilbo planted his hands on his pudgy waist and he fixed Gandalf with a vaguely threatening look. The corner of Gandalf's mouth twitched upwards, and he patted the empty table across from him, indicating that he wanted Bilbo to sit down. Bilbo sat and raised an eyebrow.
"I merely wanted to chat with a friend, and discuss a thought that I had. I think you will find it quite interesting."
Gandalf shifted into a more comfortable position, his over-large legs unable to fit beneath the hobbit-sized table.
"This better be whatever you've been hinting at so evasively in your correspondence, Gandalf. I have a guest to attend to and petty thieves to keep an eye on."
"I will try to make this quick, then, and we can talk after the party if you are so inclined. What do you know of Erebor?" Gandalf's voice turned serious, and Bilbo blinked.
"Only of the dragon attack and subsequent death of said dragon. That man with the arrow got very lucky. Where is this going?"
"Well, you may know of the Arkenstone, then?"
"The what?" The conversation was becoming more and more perplexing the longer it went on. "Gandalf, get to the point."
The grey old wizard huffed and leaned forward. His eyes were bright and intense, and Bilbo almost leaned back in response.
"The Arkenstone was the heart of the mountain. Before Smaug's attack, King Thrór was beginning to show signs of obsession with it, and all the riches of Erebor. That strain of disease is, rather ironically, called dragon sickness. But after the attack, the King disappeared with the Arkenstone and his young grandson, Prince Thorin. King Thrór claims the boy did not survive the attack and was burned to dust."
"...Gandalf, this is a terribly depressing story. Why must you tell me this on my birthday?"
"Because I have reason to believe that the prince is not dead."
The two were dead quiet for a moment, Bilbo stunned into silence. The party still raged around them, oblivious to the host's sudden sobriety.
"Gandalf, are you suggesting… I don't even know! What are you implying?" Bilbo's voice rose and fell dramatically in a whisper as he placed his hands on the table. "What happened to the prince? A-and that stone?"
"The king reported that the Arkenstone was lost with the prince, melted to nothing. But… dwarves have long lifespans, about 250 years give or take. By now, the king should be 246. Yet as soon as he shows signs of serious aging he leaves, alone, and returns much younger and stronger. He claims the… sweet, clean air heals him." Gandalf continued in a distasteful tone. The sense of unease that had been forming in Bilbo's chest since the beginning of the conversation solidified into a solid ball.
"That's ridiculous. Mountain air cannot reverse aging, something else is going on. Gandalf, for my sake, please get to the point!"
"It is ridiculous. Dwarves also hate living above ground. If the king were to regain his youth due to his surroundings like his tale suggests, there would be no better place to be than Erebor itself. I have been informed he spends much of his time away from his kingdom, in a forest not too far from here. What's more, a stone like the Arkenstone would have a strong element of magic power, and it is my theory that the king is somehow using it to maintain some semblance of youth. As for the prince, would be a young man now, around your age in dwarven years. I do not know for sure if he is alive, but the circumstances surrounding his disappearance and that of the arkenstone are too close to dismiss him as a factor."
Bilbo's oldest friend (both literally and figuratively) lifted back to an upright position and looked around at the birthday celebrations. A collection of flagons, full to the brim with mead, sat farther down the table. Gandalf reached over with his long arms and snagged two, passing one to Bilbo, who was staring at the table and frowning. His eyebrows furrowed again and his lower lip stuck out in a little pout. Gandalf sipped from his cup slowly, eyes on the hobbit.
Bilbo suddenly snatched his drink and downed a solid third of it, ignoring the fact that he was the host and should be modeling good behavior. Propriety be damned, he thought, slamming the cup back down. (Although still gently enough as to not spill anything or damage the table. It had cost a pretty penny.) But the thought reminded him of little Daisy waiting in the laundry room, and it jolted him back to the present. The slightly overwhelmed hobbit stood abruptly and excitedly drummed his fingers on his stomach.
"Alright, Gandalf, I must go attend to my duties as host. I still have a guest who's in need of my assistance, and I most likely have multiple people running around who 'forgot' to put my things back down after inspecting them."
Bilbo's head was hurting a bit from all the noise and the insane story he had just been fed. The laundry room was a quiet enough place to be, and he could grab a glass of water while inside. Surely his trinkets could survive a few more minutes without him hunting them down. Gandalf nodded and stood, taking another sip from his flagon.
"That is quite alright, my dear fellow. That was rather a lot to process, and hobbits are nothing if not models of hospitality. Go, maintain your family's good name." Gandalf smiled at him, and Bilbo couldn't quite read the emotion in his eyes. Fondness certainly played a part though, and he was certainly happy to see his friend after so long. So, he hesitated for a moment and rocked awkwardly on his furry heels.
"I haven't seen you in almost a year. I'm glad to see you, Gandalf. Even if you talk entirely too much in riddles and secrets."
"I'll still be here after the party. Go, deal with your party, and have fun. It's your birthday!" Gandalf reached down and patted him on the shoulder and nudged him towards the house. "Go."
With a parting smile, the hobbit turned and finally headed into the house, where Daisy was most likely getting rather upset. Time to see if that dress could be salvaged, or if he'd have to pull out one of his mother's old party numbers.
While Bilbo was consumed with his thoughts of stain removers and old dresses, Gandalf turned around and finished off his cup of mead. The most outrageous part of the story was yet to come. Giving the hobbit a moment to absorb the information would hopefully encourage him to be more amenable to the idea.
Across the yard, a particularly loud squeal ruptured the constant roar of the crowd, followed by cheering and indistinguishable commentary. It was still a party, after all, and a rather good one at that. Gandalf chuckled to himself as he pulled Bilbo's mostly full cup from earlier towards himself and made his way towards a mostly empty spot in the yard. Any truly good party needed fireworks.

Several hours passed, and most of the guests had gone home. A few stragglers wandered around, drunks who were too out of it to find the gate, and those occasional guests wonderful enough to start picking up some of the party debris. Bilbo scanned the yard in the darkness and sighed when he saw Gandalf leaning up against the front of Bag End, smoking a long, thin pipe. He leaned up against the grassy wall next to the wizard and quietly watched the guests from a distance.
Bilbo and Gandalf remained just like that for some time in silence. At some point Gandalf handed Bilbo his pipe, and they took turns blowing smoke shapes into the air. With the riotous noise of a hobbit party no longer overpowering the air and the bright fires put out, replaced by soft cricket chirps and dull starlight, Bilbo was able to really relax for the first time all week. The whole month had been stressful, in fact. Passing a pipe with an old friend in complete and utter silence was just what he needed.
Which was why, of course, Gandalf had to push off the wall and nod his head towards the round green door.
"I fear if we do not begin this conversation again now, we may both fall asleep right here."
Bilbo smiled at the ground and straightened up to join him, stifling a yawn.
"Right you are. Those children had you making fireworks for hours, didn't they, you must be tired."
Gandalf shook his head and the corners of his mouth twitched up.
"Those children did more for my spirits than anything. My travels have been exhausting at best, and I do so look forward to a cup of that delicious peppermint tea I recall from my last visit."
Bilbo raised an eyebrow humorously.
"That was a rather abrupt topic change. And, if you recall anything else, which you should because I reminded you earlier, your last visit was almost a year ago. Who's to say if I even have that tea anymore?"
Gandalf bent low and swung the door open. Warm yellow light spilled outside and Bilbo blinked quickly, his eyes having adjusted to the darkness.
"It was wonderful, of course you bought more." Bilbo fixed the wizard with a squint, holding it for a few seconds before shaking his head and chuckling,
"Yes, I have more. Come inside, you oversized freeloader." Gandalf was ushered inside by a wave of Bilbo's hand and they moved to the sitting room, (which bore the signs of a well-executed party) where Gandalf claimed the chair across from his host's. Said host went about preparing the kettle and pulling out the peppermint tea. He had bought it from a seasonal stand at the Sunday market a few months ago. The owner was only there in the fall, so this tea was only brought out on semi-special occasions.
Gandalf delicately tucked his pipe away in a pocket of his robes. The fire was warm, and he smiled at the comfort of hobbits’ houses. Their lives were so much neater than what he saw out in the world. Here, people valued the comforts of home, and everything was simpler for it.
The thought made him only slightly regret what he was going to ask of his friend. Thankfully, Gandalf had already preemptively gone through most of his regrets regarding this situation on the road and had no time for more regretting now. When Bilbo sat down across from him and looked at him expectantly, Gandalf had minimal internal debating and got straight to it.
"I would like you to go find the Arkenstone, and, perhaps, the prince."
The response was immediate.
"Why?"
Gandalf sighed.
"I believe I know where the stone may be, and normally I would have no problem going there myself." Gandalf held up a finger at Bilbo's mouth opening. "But I am needed elsewhere. I do not have time to do it myself. What's more, hobbits are excellent at moving silently and efficiently. Depending on the situation you find, you may need that advantage." His face softened. "Also, my friend… you need it. You need something to get you out of your house. It is a lovely place to be, yes, but you are wasting away. I remember that little fauntling who would come home after a day of playing make-believe that you fought elven kings, or vanquished a mighty beast, all covered in mus… and I remember you were happy."
Bilbo interjected here, clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking.
"Gandalf, I was a child. Of course I was happy all the time, I had no reason not to be." Bilbo shifted in his seat and gazed into the fire, curled in on himself and hugging his arms to his chest.
The wizard nodded. "That is exactly my point. Right now, you have your books and your garden. But that's it. You have no one to share it with, no friends or relatives dropping by. You say you are a writer, yet you have nothing but a collection of sonnets and short stories to prove it. Do this, go on a small adventure that could have some real impact in the world, and you will have something to write about. You will have a reason to see people." Gandalf's hand twitched almost imperceptibly and the fire roared. Bilbo's mouth screwed up defensively.
"Did you miss all the people outside? Me, hosting a birthday party? In what way am I sad and lonely? Do not presume to tell me what my social life is or isn't lacking, especially when you haven't been here to witness it."
At that, Gandalf winced almost imperceptibly. Bilbo's head up to look at him. "Gandalf, I am so sorry, I didn't mean-"
The wizard held up a wizened hand.
"No, no, I deserved that. I have not been the most dependable friend."
The kettle began to whistle, and he walked, bent down like a hunchback to accommodate the low ceiling, over to the stovetop.
"But… my dear fellow,” he continued, “I do think a small adventure would be good for you. A touch of danger, yes, and no sure reward, but in that case you shall have a lovely trip."
The sharp scent of peppermint filled the room and Gandalf turned around, holding two cups balanced on saucers. In his hands, the hobbit-sized teacups almost looked like children's toys.
"And I cannot ignore the strange feeling that you must do this. It has been nagging me for quite some time."
Bilbo scoffed quietly as he accepted the cup.
"Oh, well, in that case."
Steam from his teacup curled around his smooth face and Gandalf huffed in amusement. They sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping tea and staring off into nothing.
"What would it mean if I said yes?" Bilbo asked abruptly. Gandalf looked up and set his nearly empty cup back in its saucer.
"Well, you would have to pack for a trip lasting several days. A week, week and a half, maybe."
"It's that close?" Bilbo interrupted incredulously. Gandalf nodded and continued,
"About 172 miles, much of it uphill. And, of course, in the event that you said yes, I prepared a couple of travelling companions who know the dangers of travelling through the woods, and should be able to assist you with any questions you may have. They are the brothers Balin and Dwalin, and are staying at an inn in Bree."
Bilbo perked up at the mention of companions.
"So, if we were to be attacked, they would be able to fight?" he asked
Gandalf chuckled.
"I see the youthful imagination has not yet left you completely, Bilbo Baggins. I doubt you shall find anything much more dangerous than a wild animal, but yes, if it shall come to blows, they are more than sufficient."
Bilbo flushed at the comment and set his cup and saucer down on a doily. He stood up, stretching his arms up over his head and yawning. With a slow look around the room and a moment of contemplative quiet, Bilbo sighed to himself and shrugged.
"Alright then."
Although he tried his hardest not to show it, Gandalf thought he could see the hint of a grin in the tired, fed-up expression on Bilbo's face. Gandalf's heart lightened as he stood up, visibly pleased.
"I must tell you, it brings me no small happiness to hear you say that, my friend."
"Oh, do shut up, Gandalf." Bilbo's efforts to conceal his smile were failing miserably. "So, when would I meet these two fellows?" He stuck his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets and looked up, having schooled his expression into something more professional.
"Seeing as they are paid by the day, you'll want to leave bright and early tomorrow. They have arranged to arrive around 6 o'clock."
Gandalf thought his small friend's eyes would nearly bug out of his head as he choked out,
"6? In the morning?"
"The fate of the Arkenstone is no small matter, especially to dwarves of Erebor. They are anxious that it may be returned, if it is, in fact, still in one piece."
Bilbo squinted up at his tall friend, who seemed to be enjoying his future suffering.
"You smarmy wizard, you've left me with only a few hours to pack!" He whirled around and strode towards the hallway, muttering to himself. At the door, he turned around again and jabbed his finger at Gandalf. "And clean up the tea! It is the very least you can do. I assume you've left payment of these 'travel companions' to me?"
Gandalf laughed and said,
"Why, you were rather keen on the idea of travel companions a few minutes ago."
"That was before- augh! I don't have time to argue with you, just clean up the tea!"
The wizard listened to the soft sound of hobbit feet moving quickly away. He had only just picked up both teacups in their saucers when the feet came back.
"You may spend the night in the guest bedroom two doors down on the left hallway." The hobbit hurried away again.
Gandalf huffed another little laugh as he carried the cups to the kitchen. He had missed Bilbo's strange personality. He quickly sobered, though, as he thought about possible outcomes for the journey, and what could happen to his small friend. The road was safe, but… If the Arkenstone had nothing to do with the king's reverse aging, and Gandalf was about to send Bilbo in way over his head and he got hurt or worse- and if the wizard was right, the royal family would be plunged into chaos. Yes, he had gone through his regrets already, but if anything happened to the cheery little fellow because of an oversight on his part… Gandalf would never forgive himself. He placed the cups and their saucers into the sink and stood there, (as much has he could in a hobbit-hole) breathing deeply. Everything would be fine. Of course it would. Bilbo, though sheltered, was no fool; and Balin and Dwalin were quite capable.
A voice pulled Gandalf from his thoughts and he looked up to see the hobbit speed from one room to another, carting what looked like a large pile of clothes. He smiled to himself and felt some of the tension leak out of his shoulders. Yes, everything would turn out all right in the end.

Early the next morning, the sun shone down brightly on the front lawn of Bag End, while a distressed Bilbo scurried around picking up his possessions.
"What are you- hey! No! Those are my- sir, please put that down!" Bilbo cried out.
The white-haired dwarf (Balin, Bilbo had learned) conceded and handed Bilbo the delicate cup instead of tossing it into the grass. Bilbo snatched it from him and stacked it on top of an armful of other such discarded items.
The brothers Balin and Dwalin had arrived on horseback at precisely 6 o'clock, just as Gandalf had said. Bilbo had been sat outside, ready to greet them and invite them in for a spot of breakfast before departing, already having moved his bags outside for convenience. He had felt rather proud of himself for being a gracious host and a considerate travel partner, until the strange pair showed up and began taking apart his luggage with barely more than a few grunts of acknowledgment from the larger one, and a brief introduction from the elder.
"What in Yavanna's name are you doing with my things?" cried Bilbo, rather frustrated with the brusque greeting.
"We can't be taking… lacy handkerchiefs on a journey like this, laddie. Necessities only." The younger one (What was his name… Dwaven? Dwaln? This was the problem with impolite introductions, Bilbo groused mentally) said as he tossed a small handful of doilies into the grass. Bilbo rushed to pick them up and whirled around, his bad attitude from the previous night beginning to make a comeback. Just as he opened his mouth to protest such a statement Balin picked up one of the few bags the pair hadn't decided to scrap and attached it to the pony they had brought along. Bilbo placed his things down on the front stoop and made his way over to the old dwarf, who seemed the more reasonable of the two. Balin glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and smiled, patting the pony on her rump.
"I'm afraid Dwalin is right, lad. Our mounts can only carry so much, and besides, better to leave certain things at home. They may be ruined on the road." He turned around and looked at the dwindling pileup that was left of Bilbo's luggage. "Some clothes, food, weapons, basic survival tools, a bedroll; you're not going to want much more than that."
Bilbo frowned.
"But what about handkerchiefs? Changes of night clothes, proper drinking cups proper utensils for eating?" He asked as he watched the other dwarf (Dwalin, he reminded himself) heft his bags of food and small bag of absolute essentials and carried them over. He was mindful not to step on any of the flowers, though, which the hobbit was grateful for. Distractedly, Bilbo admired the strength apparent in Dwalin's body even under the thick coat and coverings, his eyes flitting appreciatively across Dwalin's form. Were all dwarves like that?
Coming back to himself, Bilbo's face flushed red and he coughed. He may not have travelled like this before but it was certainly bad journeying etiquette to eye up one of your companions.
Balin let out a small laugh and looked at him again. "Not unless you want to lose them. Or break them. Not necessary on a quest."
A quest.
Huh.
He and Balin moved out of the way as Dwalin attached the bags to the pony's saddle. Bilbo was momentarily captivated by the fearsome battleaxes strapped to Dwalin's broad back. (Which Bilbo purposefully avoided looking at for too long) They looked well cared for, but had clearly been used at some point in the past. The early-morning sun glinted on the blades, and he almost missed the dwarf asking him a question. Bilbo shook his head to clear it.
"S-sorry, will you repeat that?" He blushed at being caught staring.
"I said, where's the food?" Bilbo blinked and looked back and forth between the two expectant dwarves for a second before jumping out of his daze.
"Oh! Oh yes of course, follow me. Boots off please, gentlemen." He called over his shoulder as he spun back towards the house. On his way in, he grabbed as many of his discarded items as possible, gently laying them down on top of the buffet for reorganization upon returning. The brothers followed him in, although Balin had to nudge his brother before the latter removed his muddy boots.
In the dining room, Bilbo had prepared a full breakfast. Plates stacked high with large marionberry pancakes, thick sausages in a plate of their own grease, scrambled eggs, grilled tomato slices, towers of buttered toast, crispy hashbrowns, and a bowl of garden-grown strawberries lay across the table.
Both brothers rushed to the table and began stacking their already set out plates high with food, one of them even dragging a whole plate of hashbrowns over. Bilbo resisted the urge to make a face as he quietly and politely stacked his plate with a perfectly reasonable amount of food(4 pancakes, 3 sausages, a serving of eggs, 3 tomato slices, 2 pieces of toast, two servings of hashbrowns, and several strawberries). Gandalf had not warned him that these two had the worst table manners he had ever seen. It was horrifying, honestly. The one saving grace of their atrocious behavior was that there was no need to make conversation.
Bilbo was awkwardly cutting up his 3rd pancake in his 2nd helping when Dwalin sat up and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "So, you don't look like much of an adventurer, but I'm beginning to think us journeying together might be more for our comfort than your safety if all the meals are like this."
Bilbo winced at the action and let out a weak chuckle.
"I'm sure this partnership will turn out to be… mutually beneficial," he said diplomatically as Balin ripped apart a sausage and scooped the insides onto a piece of toast. "Thank you, very much, for accompanying me. Quite honestly, I have no idea what I'm doing. The only reason I said yes is because Gandalf convinced me." Although looking at Dwalin's strong arms was certainly a perk.
"Dear fellow, I am sure that our friendship is not the only reason you said yes," Gandalf said, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. Bilbo jumped in his seat and closed his eyes, groaning a little. Dwalin stood up and nodded to Gandalf
"Mithrandir," he said in a much more serious tone, "it is good to see you."
Gandalf nodded back and sat down at the head of the table, grabbing a plate.
"It is always good to see you and mister Balin in good health," replied Gandalf, and Bilbo offered him the plate of tomatoes. Neither of the dwarves had even looked at the tomatoes or the strawberries, and good food should not go to waste. Gandalf accepted and took several.
"These are most unusual circumstances, so I thank you for being willing. It is no small thing, to suspect your king of something as impactful at this."
At that, Balin slowed down and both dwarves looked somber. Balin cleared his throat and spoke.
"Aye, well. The king has not looked or acted himself these past years. He's not the same person he was, and his strange changes in appearance are not going unnoticed. I only wish to uncover the truth." He looked directly at Bilbo, who pursed his lips at the sudden direct attention. "I knew the prince, you know. When he was a wee lad. If there's a chance he's still alive, I need to go check."
Dwalin nodded and leaned back against the doorframe. Bilbo cleared his throat and shifted.
"It you knew him, what- what can you tell me about him? Prince Thorin, yes?"
Both Dwalin and Balin nodded.
"He would be about your age, laddie." Balin said. "He was… oh, he was stubborn. If he got something into his head, well, there just wasn't anything you would do to change it. He was a sweet boy, and smart too. He showed a proficiency in sword fighting," he added at the end. Bilbo nodded and began clearing some of the empty plates, chewing on his lower lip. Dwalin handed him his empty plate as Bilbo walked past, trying to create an image of the prince in his mind. Would he be tall or short for a dwarf? Would his hands be smooth or rough? Would he be muscled and thick like Dwalin was? Balin was old enough that Bilbo could not tell if that was a shared trait with all dwarves, but if it was, he greatly looked forward to meeting the Prince.
Calm down, Bilbo reminded himself as his face burned, you don't even know if he's alive.
"And… what did he look like?" he asked as nonchalantly as he could manage when he returned to the table to fetch more plates. The dwarves had gotten the hint and begun stacking empty plates, which Balin stacked in Bilbo's arms.
"Well, the last I saw him he was very young, almost 24. But he had dark brown hair, bright grey eyes ...or were they blue? I can't remember. And even as a child, he had a strong nose. When he was a small he looked rather elven, poor lad." Balin chuckled at the memory.
"Is that not considered handsome among dwarves? I was under the impression that elves were quite beautiful." Both Balin and Dwalin froze and glared at him with such ferocity that Bilbo almost dropped his mother's favorite china. Gandalf looked as though he were trying not to laugh as he quickly shoved a piece of tomato in his mouth.
"I- s-" Bilbo backpedaled towards the kitchen, fumbling a bit with the plates. "After I finish washing the dishes, we'll leave! Bathroom is the second door on the left." He dumped the plates in the sink and began furiously scrubbing, making a note to never bring up elves again.
Once he heard the brothers shuffle off to the bathroom, Bilbo's thoughts wandered back to the Prince. Based off of Balin's description, he was able to vaguely form an idea of what Thorin would look like at this age. Any way he put it, the Prince was certainly handsome, regardless of the strange aversion to elves. Bilbo bit his lip, shook his head furiously, and scrubbed with a renewed vigor.

Bilbo gazed out at the hills of the Shire one last time before they entered the forest. Their small party was stopped for a moment, taking in the view. Far off in the distance, almost blending in with the sky, was the mountain of Erebor. It was more of a vague outline, really. The vibrant greens, reds and yellows of the Shire looked bright under the early morning sun. All of a sudden, Bilbo felt overcome with a strange feeling, as if this were the last time he would see his home. No matter what, he would come back from this quest different than he had started.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Dwalin spoke from somewhere to his right. Bilbo frowned.
"The Shire?"
It was rather beautiful, but it didn't seem like Dwalin would have the same appreciation for it that he did. Dwalin laughed once, a rough sound like rocks tumbling down a hill.
"Nah, laddie. The mountain." Bilbo glanced over and found both dwarves staring at the barely perceptible image of the mountain. He put on a smile and nodded.
"Yes, yes, uh- sure," he responded, and decided not to point out that it was nearly not even there. Taking one last intense look at the Shire, and then more intensely Bag End, Bilbo whirled his pony around and moved towards the trailhead. They would follow it for 7 miles before going off the beaten path and onto animal paths and along rivers and creeks, all highlighted by Gandalf on their map. Clearing his throat, he raised his voice.
"Are we off, then?" His tiny hands gripped the pony's reins tightly, and Balin and Dwalin took a second before turning around to join Bilbo.
"We are off, Mister Baggins," Balin confirmed with a nod and, with a gentle kick to his horse's side, set off at a brisk pace. Bilbo went behind him, followed up by Dwalin.
They had said goodbye to Gandalf after breakfast. The wizard seemed strangely at peace, especially compared to his slightly anxious tone of yesterday. He gave Bilbo a smallish bag, strong, and embellished with dwarven designs. "If you find the Arkenstone." He had said, wrapping both of Bilbo's smaller hands in his own. They exchanged hugs and Bilbo had climbed onto his pony, Myrtle, for the first time.
"Now go." Gandalf had commanded. "It would not be polite to keep your companions waiting."
Now, staring up at the beautiful yet unfamiliar forest, Bilbo felt as if he were on the brink of a great cliff. No matter what, he knew he would not come back the same. Myrtle tossed her head as if agreeing with him. Bilbo gave an unsure smile and gently petted her neck. "Are you also nervous, girl?" he murmured, leaning forward.
"What was that?" Balin called back.
"The halfling is talking to his pony," Dwalin responded from behind him in a patronizing tone. Bilbo sat up straight and made an indignant noise.
"I am not half of anything, thank you very much! Hobbits are smaller than most creatures but we are wholly complete, praise Yavanna, and wholly capable of everything a man or dwarf can do."
Dwalin laughed raucously and Balin grinned back at Bilbo.
“Care to elaborate on that?" Balin's mirth-filled voice carried to both riders.
"Certainly. You see, when…"
The conversation continued from there for several miles, and by the time they stopped for lunch, Dwalin had taught Bilbo how to properly sit in the saddle for the minimal amount of soreness and Bilbo had run through all the local varieties of trees and their many uses. The three of them sat on rocks in a clearing, enjoying one of their pre-packed lunches.
"So this is why the wizard wanted a hobbit," Dwalin grunted through a bite of ham and cheese sandwich. Bilbo winced at the sight and laughed.
"I'm glad you appreciate my cooking."
He took another large bite of his sandwich and covered his mouth with the back of his hand, signaling Balin. "How- at this pace, how much longer do you think until we reach the spot?"
Balin, who was reviewing the map while eating, looked up and furrowed his brow.
"Gandalf's map isn't entirely clear, once we get to the end of his trail there's just a general area circled. And we don't really know what we're looking for. But right now? If nothing too drastic goes wrong, I'd say we reach the target area in 5 more days?"
Bilbo's shoulders sank as he thought of the surely aggravating search for the stone and the prince. Of course.
Much later, after the sun went down and the moon hung just over half-full in the sky, Bilbo lay in his bedroll, exhausted after a day of nothing but horse riding. The starry sky twinkled above their small party, and the horses and pony grazed off to the side. Something way down in Bilbo's being felt deeply pleased. The day had gone well, no feral animals or violent forest elves to speak of, and as tired as he was Bilbo's eyes sparkled right back at the stars.
The next few days went much the same, with the conversation becoming more and more friendly, and the scenery becoming more and more unfamiliar. The plants were hardier and many had thorns- Bilbo learned very quickly to not brush his hand through a passing bush. Over the course of a few days, Bilbo learned of Balin's love for poetry and song, and his uncanny sharp eyes, of Dwalin teaching young dwarven children how to fight, and how they both played the viol. Sometimes, periods of silence would break out, and Bilbo felt strangely connected with the two people so different from him. They were unlike any hobbit he had ever known, and certainly not like Gandalf, (though all three enjoyed good food and drink and parties that lasted through the night) and yet Bilbo had shared more of himself with the two of them than he had with any of his friends back home in a long time. It was… odd. But in a way that made Bilbo smile to think about.
On the fourth day Bilbo discovered why Gandalf had hired two seasoned warriors instead of a local guide. They had been riding all day, electing to eat on horseback to save time, and by the end of the day were exhausted. The road had been steadily growing steeper, and they had had to stop several times to pick rocks out of their mounts' hooves. So, a large flat grassy area with a few trees scattered in it at the top of a particularly uneven stretch seemed like a blessing. It was just before sunset and the sky was beginning to taint gold as Bilbo dismounted and groaned, shaking out his legs and stretching. He smiled wearily at Myrtle and rubbed her velvety nose, thanking her. As much as he ached, she was the one carrying him and several bags of supplies. She deserved several apples and lots of pets for her hard work. Bilbo led her over to where the others were dumping their stuff on the ground, preparing to make camp under the cover of a few large oak trees. The grassy area was surrounded by trees, and due to the lack of light, it was hard to see anything that may approach. Bilbo, filled with caution due to several of Balin and Dwalin's stories that he had heard over the course of the trip, removed Myrtle's saddle and glanced towards the edge of the woods. "I'm going to check the perimeter," he told Dwalin as he detached the bag of food from the saddle and left it by the other supplies. "If I don't come back, I would welcome a demonstration of your prowess in battle."
Dwalin huffed a laugh and waved him off, still working on setting up camp.
Bilbo padded towards the treeline, grabbing a medium-sized rock on the way. He was probably being paranoid, but if something did try to attack him, he wouldn't be defenseless. Feeling rather proud of himself for his courage and taking initiative on safety, (oh, if one of his neighbors could see what a few days with dwarves had done) the hobbit slowly walked around the circle, peering into the darkness. The low light wasn't doing him any favors, both practically and for his overeager imagination. He flinched at any sound, startling when Balin dropped a log on his foot and swore loudly.
Just over halfway through his circling of the perimeter, a strange noise and the sound of something large shuffling away in a hurry snapped Bilbo's head towards a particularly shaded spot. He stared at it unblinking for several moments. The strange noise had sounded like a cross between a honk and a grunt, and seemed surprised or startled. Whatever it was, Bilbo didn't like the idea of something big and unknown watching them at night. He had just taken a small step forward when a strong hand clapped down on his shoulder and he jumped, the hand clutching the rock swinging up defensively.
"Aah!"
To Bilbo's chagrin, it was Dwalin, who looked entirely unthreatened by Bilbo about to knock him in the face with a good size rock.
"You seemed very interested in what's over there, laddie. Hear something?"
Dwalin removed his hand from Bilbo's shoulder and nodded towards the spot the noise had come from. Bilbo straightened up and put his rock hand down, grasping both hands behind his back.
"Yes, actually," he said in a slightly irritated tone. (Was he not the least bit intimidating, even with a weapon? Yes, Dwalin was an experienced… well-muscled… warrior, but that bruised his already below average ego.) "I heard what sounded like something rather large moving away quickly, and it made a noise like- like I surprised it or something. But it did not sound like any race or animal I've heard of." Dwalin frowned at the woods, pondering for a second.
"Well, best leave it. No use going after something in this light, especially if it hasn't attacked us yet. I'd rather not give it reason to." Dwalin put a hand between Bilbo's shoulder blades and steered him around towards camp. Ignoring how large and rough Dwalin's hand was and how it sent a flash of warmth through his body, Bilbo pulled away and stepped backwards towards the forest.
"Alright, but I'd like to finish walking around. I should be done in a few minutes."
Dwalin fixed him with a curious look.
"What?" Bilbo asked.
"Oh, nothing, but from what I've heard of hobbits I wasn't expecting… you."
Bilbo laughed and shrugged. He took note of the lack of butterflies in his stomach at the backhanded compliment. Huh.
"I don't think many hobbits expect me to be the way I am either." And with that, he turned away. He heard Dwalin's heavy retreating footsteps as kept scanning the edge. The sun had mostly set, and a chill was beginning to take hold. Bilbo rubbed his arms as he walked along, speeding up a bit in an effort to join his companions by the fire. Around lunchtime yesterday he had elected to put on a light jacket, which was, unfortunately, the only additional covering he had brought. If they kept going up (and the map indicated that they would for about half of tomorrow) he would have to ask one of the dwarves for a spare coat. Bilbo was so lost in his thoughts of the weather and if etiquette demanded he know the brothers longer before presuming to ask for a coat that he no longer absorbed what his eyes were seeing, and walked straight into a wooden wall. Bilbo let out a small oomf as he fell on his ass and looked up in bewilderment. What he saw sent a chill right through his heart, coat be damned.
The wooden wall he had walked into was part of a small shed tucked back into the trees, hidden from view earlier by shadow. Well. Perhaps once upon a time it was a shed. Now, it was completely demolished on one side, as if someone had taken a large scoop out of it. The door was split in half. Tools and pieces of lumber were scattered around, and Bilbo's heart beat faster as he made out more details in the dusk light. His eyes followed the path of destruction, and on a jagged wooden upright, a spray of blood and- oh Yavanna, Bilbo was going to throw up- a human hand and forearm lay rotting at the base of it. The early spring air combined with the high altitude had probably kept it in good condition for a while, and tamped down the smell, but Bilbo covered his mouth anyway and scampered back, groaning. He turned away and covered his mouth, breathing heavily.
"Oh- oh my- mmph!" Bilbo gagged and scrambled to his feet, racing towards his friends. When he got there, shaking and out of breath, he no longer felt the immediate urge to throw up but the image of that decimated building and that bloody stump were forever burned into his memory. Balin and Dwalin looked up, alarmed.
"What is it?" Balin asked, standing up and going to bring Bilbo closer to the fire. Dwalin did not stand, but his hand went to the handle of one of his axes and he turned to look at where Bilbo had come from. Bilbo took a deep, shuddering breath and looked at Balin, grateful for the fire's warmth.
"There was a… I found a shed. It was destroyed. By something much, much bigger than it."
"That's not a good sign, but that wouldn't have warranted this reaction."
Bilbo nodded.
"There was a hand. A human hand. All the way up to the elbow. It looked like-" Bilbo paused and swallowed. "It l-looked like it was ripped off. We need to leave."
Balin sighed deeply and patted him on the back. He looked genuinely sad, but showed no sign of urgency.
"We can't stay here, I think- I think I heard whatever it was earlier!" Bilbo exclaimed.
"Bilbo, I'm sorry you had to see that," Balin spoke as he sat back down. "But we can't leave."
When he opened his mouth to protest, Balin held up a hand, cutting him off.
"We've already made camp and there's no light to see by. We know where we are right now, and if we move now, we might move into a more dangerous position. We stay here, and whoever's on watch can be on high alert. Hopefully whatever it was will ignore us, and by tomorrow, we should be far from here and out of the range of… it."
Bilbo opened his mouth and promptly shut it again. As his breathing evened out (hobbits were not made for flat out sprinting) he became calmer and had to admit Balin was right. Safer to be in a semi secure defensible position than pack up all their stuff and risk the unknown without any light. Refusing to look in the direction of the once-shed, Bilbo sat down facing the fire and warmed himself.
"I can take first watch," he offered. He would have a hard time sleeping now anyways, with adrenaline still pumping through him. Balin shook his head.
"You took last watch this morning, you've been awake the longest."
Dwalin, who had relaxed back into his slouched-over position, nodded.
"I'll wake you around midnight," he offered, and Bilbo nodded back, albeit reluctantly.
After an unusually quiet dinner of lembas and smoked ham, Bilbo and Balin settled into their bedrolls while Dwalin propped himself up on one of the lower branches of the tree hanging over their camp. Bilbo hazarded a look over at the place where the ruined shed hid, covered in deep shadow. The moon was half-full and provided just enough light for Bilbo to feel somewhat safer. Sighing, he turned to lie on his back and stared up at the stars through the twisted branches of the oak. The sound of nighttime insects and birds had a rather calming effect, and after a while, his mind was able to leave the shed over in its dark corner.
With his mind free, Bilbo's thoughts drifted to earlier, when Dwalin had checked on him. He hadn't felt any semblance of romantic attraction, which he was sure he would've felt due to his… observations about the dwarf's physique. Did he harbor feelings for Dwalin or not? Bilbo certainly felt something while looking at Dwalin's strong heavily tattooed arms (he had glimpsed the designs when they all stopped and took a bath in one of the rivers they passed; Bilbo had bathed behind a few rocks but it didn't seem like dwarves had any hangups about public nudity. This had caused Bilbo a great deal of distress. In many ways.) and the beads with which he adorned his beard were certainly beautiful. Bilbo thought about actually pursuing Dwalin, what it would be like, and the small flame sparking in his belly suddenly died. Did he enjoy Dwalin's company? Most certainly. Was he interested in a romantic relationship?
After several minutes pondering, Bilbo turned and squinted to see Dwalin perched in the tree. He cut a striking figure in the moonlight, sharpening one of his many blades. No, Bilbo thought to himself. He preferred to keep Dwalin as a friend. A rather attractive one, but a friend nevertheless.
With that sorted out, Bilbo found it rather easy to drift off to sleep.

Of course, that was where everything went wrong.
The sound of muffled yelling and frightened whinnying woke Bilbo from his slumber, and he nearly sat up before hearing a grunt and feeling something extremely large step over him. He could just barely hear both Balin and Dwalin struggling against something over the heart pounding in his chest. Burying his head further under the blanket, Bilbo held his breath and tried his hardest to look like a pile of supplies, or a sack of useless goods, though every instinct was screaming to get up and run.
"Piles of camping gear don't run," he thought. "Just stay down and wait for… wait until you're alone." He screwed up his face and gasped into his hand, trying not to make much noise or hyperventilate. It had to have been whatever took a swipe out of the shed. The sounds of struggling and heavy footsteps faded away, and Bilbo cautiously peeked out of his cocoon. Nothing grabbed him. Slowly, he sat up and looked around until he saw a massive silhouette- no, three massive silhouettes- carting away the dwarves, both horses, and tiny Myrtle, whose indignant neigh could be heard even from this distance. His heart melted at the sound and he jumped to his feet, watching the… things retreat into the woods. After a few moments of adrenaline and sleep fueled confusion, Bilbo shook himself and doubled over, hands on his knees. He let out a soft whimper and bit his lip. This wasn't supposed to happen! This was why Gandalf had hired warriors! Bilbo felt like he was going to be sick, this was not what he agreed to.
A loud gust of wind in the trees shook him out of his head. He had to go save his friends. Straightening up, Bilbo turned and surveyed the damage. Nearly everything was spilled or had been upset onto its side. He was well and truly alone. Bilbo spotted one of Dwalin's axes dropped by the dead fire. It didn't seem right to leave something so loved on the ground, so he picked it up and set it on Dwalin's bedroll. Next to the bedroll, however, Bilbo spotted a small, simple dagger. There were no designs, and the blade looked about 8 inches long, padded with a leather grip. Bilbo snatched it up and inspected it. It fit perfectly in his hand. He looked around and thought about grabbing something else to help him, but Myrtle's high-pitched neigh and Balin and Dwalin's shouts echoed in his head and stopped him. There was no time to dilly dally, the dagger would have to do. Bilbo grasped the handle so tightly he felt the leather grip imprint in his hand, and began following the trampled grass towards where the figures had disappeared into the woods.
When he reached the woods, it was clear where the creatures had gone- they had left a wide, broken path in their wake. Bilbo looked up at and saw the moon hanging low in the sky. Must've been around 3 in the morning. With a flash of annoyance, Bilbo realised neither dwarf had woken him to take watch at midnight.
Emboldened by his irritation and determination to chew them out for not waking him, Bilbo took a deep breath and stepped into the woods.
He must've followed the trail for at least half an hour, maybe 45 minutes, when he saw a warm light up ahead. Fire. He readjusted his grip on the dagger and crouched down, silently creeping forward for a better view.
"These humans are really small," squawked a scratchy voice. "I don't like the small ones. All bone, they is. Ow!" A yelp of pain, and then a deeper but just as scratchy voice said,
"Shut your mouth, we got two of 'em and three horses. There's plenty of meat for the pot."
Bilbo peered out from behind a tree and saw the three massive things from earlier. They had to have been at least 15 feet tall, and immensely ugly. Their skin was wrinkled and filthy, and Bilbo could see saggy, yellowish eyes, crusted from sleep, set deep into their skulls. In the center of the group was a huge cauldron, bubbling with some foul-smelling liquid. (Bilbo would not dignify that health hazard by calling it food.) The largest one lumbered around the blazing fire and picked up Balin's horse under her belly. She kicked and whinnied in protest, and the thing inspected her with a sniff. A voice Bilbo hadn't heard yet growled out "It's smaller than the horse that farmer had."
The smallest one whined wistfully, and Bilbo recognized it as the first voice. "I liked that meal. Easy to catch, too." A picture of the shed flashed in front of Bilbo's eyes and he almost revealed himself by crying out in outrage.
"So were these. It's much easier when they're sleepin'."
Bilbo's eyes searched in the darkness for the dwarves. He spotted them next to the horses, stuffed into sacks and whispering angrily at each other. Well, they had to be unhurt if they were arguing. Sighing in relief, Bilbo began creeping towards them, just behind the bushes. The things were absorbed in their conversation, arguing about something or other to do with meat (Bilbo really didn't want to know) so he felt safe enough to rush those last few steps. Crouching behind their heads, Bilbo tapped the dagger on the ground between them.
"Shh!" Bilbo hissed, holding a finger to his lips. "It's me." Balin and Dwalin jerked in surprise at the blade and craned their heads to look behind them, twin expressions of relief crossing their faces.
"Bilbo," whispered Balin. There was a fondness in his voice, as if he were genuinely happy that Bilbo hadn't been stepped on or eaten like a piece of candy. "What are you doing here? You should've run."
"Don't be ridiculous, I'm not leaving you to die at the hands of these… things." Bilbo tutted, flipping the dagger into a useful position to cut the bags. Balin got a strange smile on his face for a quiet moment and softly cleared his throat.
"Trolls. They're trolls." Balin murmured.
Bilbo nodded and looked up at the creatures. So these were trolls.
One of the trolls spoke up, "Can we add the meat now?" in reference to the cauldron of what was supposed to be stew. He reached a grubby hand forward to try and taste, and was promptly smacked across the knuckles by the one holding the spoon.
"Get your mitts off! It's not ready yet." grumbled the spoon-wielding one. Upon hearing that, the big one turned around and strode towards Bilbo, Balin, and Dwalin, presumably to put down the horse.
"Oh!" Bilbo quietly exclaimed and flattened himself against the ground behind the dwarves. The horse kicked and screamed, writhing about desperately. One of her hoofs must have struck a nerve (literally) and the big one roared, dropping her gracelessly onto the ground. She scampered up and rejoined the other horse and Myrtle. The troll clutched his hand and grunted in frustration. While his back was turned, Bilbo crawled back up and began sawing at the ropes holding Dwalin down.
"Can't we kill 'em now, though? I like that part the best."
They were the most sickly, evil words Bilbo had ever heard. (Though of course, hobbits didn't make a habit of discussing murder, so it wasn't as if he had a great deal of experience) Bilbo focused in on the rope, which was a bit over halfway cut. Just a little more sawing, and they would have a chance.
Bilbo had focused so much on the rope that he didn't hear Balin's choked-off cry of "-Bilbo!" until it was too late. His head snapped up and he yelped as a filthy hand closed around him, squeezing so tightly he thought he might be crushed. In the background, he could hear Balin and Dwalin yelling.
"Well now, what's this?" laughed the troll, shaking him a bit. Bilbo tried as hard as he could to use his dagger, but the troll's meaty, sweaty grip was much too tight.
"Looks like another one of those small humans. Give it to me!" crowed the smallest one, lunging for Bilbo. The one with the spoon knocked him on the head again.
"Oi! What did I say about the meat!" The smaller one rubbed his head and glared.
The largest one decided to speak up again. Shaking his fist one more time, he twisted his hand around to inspect Bilbo.
"What are you?" he asked.
Bilbo swallowed and gasped for breath against the punishing grip. "I'm- I'm a hobbit." he managed. The troll raised what would have been an eyebrow if he had hair and flipped Bilbo so he was holding him upside down by one foot.
"Never heard of a hobbit before," he said curiously, sniffing at Bilbo's belly. Bilbo yelped and jabbed his dagger wildly in the direction of the troll. "Are they good?" he asked. Bilbo harrumphed and crossed his arms as well as he could.
"Well, seeing as I've never eaten a cousin, I daresay I do not know," he retorted. He was proud of himself for his voice not wavering. Suddenly, he felt a strong poke at his back, and craned his head to reveal the middle troll had jabbed him with the spoon. Bilbo heard Dwalin yell particularly loudly.
"Shut it! We'll deal with you two next," barked the middle troll. "Turn him around for me." Bilbo felt himself be turned around and came face to face with a disgusting bag of skin masquerading as a living being. A living being that very much wanted to eat him, as it turns out, as the troll jabbed his stomach this time and hummed in approval. Bilbo yelped and kicked out with his free foot. "Toss him with the others."
Suddenly, an idea sparked. "No! No! You don't want to eat them!" he shouted, kicking the bottom of his captor's hand. The other hand came back and flipped Bilbo back to an upright position. Bilbo took a deep sigh and looked around at the trolls, all three of whom were looking back at him with various negative and hungry expressions. Bilbo looked back over at his friends and forced down a whimper.
"And why not?" demanded the middle one. Bilbo bit his lip.
"They… they have worms." Bilbo looked up and around, gaging the reaction. Seeing their nonplussed faces, Bilbo backtracked. "Well, no, dwarves just taste bad." He tried, hearing the raucous shouting getting louder. He whipped his head around to send a wide eyed glare, hoping to convey the words shut up and play along or we'll all die in a single look. Facing back to the trolls he continued, "Their meat is simply too tough, downright gamey. Eating them would be like chewing bark." None of the trolls said anything, and they all looked at him with a suspicious glare. A twitch of the hand crushing him reminded Bilbo that at any second, they could snap and bite his head off. Effortlessly. With pleasure.
"Why should we believe you?" growled the biggest. The smallest one nodded emphatically and shuffled on his feet.
"Be- Because hobbits are known for their cooking skills." Bilbo countered. "Trust me when I say something is bad." A yell came from behind him, but this time he didn't need to shush it.
"Oh yeah, dwarves are infamous for how terrible they taste!" shouted Dwalin. He sounded like the words were being tortured out of him. Balin's voice joined in.
"Eating us may even be poisonous for some," the grey old dwarf's voice called out. "I've heard tell of mightier creatures than yourselves fallen from eating a dwarf."
Bilbo could've sighed in relief, but that would give too much away. As dumb as these creatures were, they had survived this long. They had to have some semblance of a brain.
"And what d'you suppose we do? Let 'em run away?" The middle one (he appeared to be their leader) grabbed the larger one's wrist and pulled Bilbo in close. "I don't think so." Alright. A small brain, Bilbo conceded. Maybe. He blinked as he remembered he had to actually answer the question.
"Er… yes? Just let them go?" Bilbo squirmed again, trying to get some more breathing room. The smallest troll snarled and raised up, getting in Bilbo's face.
"It thinks it's so clever, doesn't it?" the troll hissed, spit flying. Bilbo scrunched up his eyes and tried to rub his face on his shoulder. "We ain't letting nothing go!"
Just as he was about to open his mouth to answer, a battleaxe whistled past his ear and sprung out of the troll's shoulder. The troll wailed in pain, and the two others began yelling. Bilbo gasped as the troll holding him dropped him in shock, grasping at his ribs. He scooted backwards frantically and clutched his dagger, trembling slightly from the force of the hold. He let out a rather undignified squeak as a heavy hand came down on his shoulder and he wildly slashed behind him with the dagger. Balin deftly caught his wrist and pulled him up, halfway behind a small boulder and out of the way of the trolls.
"How-?" Bilbo exclaimed, looking at the cut ropes and empty sacks where Balin and Dwalin had been stuck. Glancing over, he could see the horses had been cut loose as well. Dwalin pulled a short sword out of some fold of clothing or another and hefted it, looking at the hobbit.
"You cut just enough of the rope that I could gnaw through it." Dwalin said in a gravelly voice. He picked a strand of plant fiber out of his teeth and wiped it on his trousers. "Luckily."
Bilbo let out a small whine and nodded, rubbing at his sore upper body. His lungs felt like he had just run a mile uphill due to the pressure. An anguished scream came from the direction of the trolls, and Bilbo was horrified by himself for the warm rush of satisfaction that flowed through him. Clearing his throat, he took a few steps back.
"Sh-" he shook his head and rubbed his eyes. "Shouldn't we be running away now?" Dwalin's head turned back to where the trolls were beginning to notice that all their fresh meat had fled. Balin looked sharply at his brother.
"Dwalin, no, it's not worth it-" he began before Dwalin cut him off with a cheeky grin.
"Ukhlat and Umraz are a pair, I can't split them up. You know me better than that, brother." And with that Dwalin vaulted himself over the boulder and charged right into the center of the trolls, roaring. Bilbo yelped and threw himself against the boulder, Balin's colorful swearing as decorative background for the sounds of battle behind him. After a few moments, Balin (still cursing his brother's name) tugged a one-handed mace out of a pocket of his clothes (Bilbo could find a time to freak out about that later) and reached out, firmly readjusting Bilbo's grip on his dagger. A pained hiss followed by a joyous laugh from Dwalin reached their ears.
"Does he not realise that we were all just beaten by these beasts?" Bilbo cried desperately. Balin exclaimed a particularly nasty swear and nodded.
"That witless, elf-kissing pixie is going to get us all killed. Let's go get him." the dwarf heaved a heavy sigh, the kind that came from years of following his boneheaded little brother into easily-avoided scrapes. "C'mon, laddie!"
And with that Balin charged into the fray. Bilbo watched him as the dwarf sliced off the two littlest toes from the smallest one's right foot. With a small shudder, Bilbo took a deep breath and shook his head. He tottered around the edge of the boulder, just in time to look up and see the wide back of the largest troll falling towards him.
"Oh, no no no no no!" he exclaimed and ran back behind the boulder. The huge troll had fallen on his rear end, and Bilbo could see several deep slices and cuts all over him. He heard Dwalin's joyous laugh followed by a soft thunk, and a roar of pain erupting from the troll. The troll leaned forward, and an idea popped into Bilbo's head. A terrible, stupid, sure-to-get-him-killed, absolutely insane idea that just might work.
"Bilbo Baggins, you are a perfectly respectable hobbit, and right now, y-" the troll slammed back against the boulder and Bilbo steeled himself. "Your friends are in danger, so for their sake, do something!" He shimmied up the boulder and shoved his dagger between his teeth, climbing up the troll's (completely disgusting) back, which had enough dirt and filth and large tough skin bumps that he could climb up rather easily. Of course, as soon as he climbed on, the troll began thrashing his arms and trying to get up.
"Get it off o' me!" he shrieked, stumbling ungracefully to his feet. "Get it off!" Bilbo held on for dear life, dodging the meaty grasping hands of his ride. One of the hands managed to grab Bilbo's foot, and he instinctively snatched the dagger and sliced its thumb right where nail meets skin. The troll howled and grasped his hand, staggering about like a drunkard. Bilbo gripped the knife and climbed up some more. There was no way he was putting that back in his mouth now. He hoped neither Balin nor Dwalin were stepped on by the raging troll, but he had more pressing priorities at the moment.
Finally, Bilbo reached the troll's bulbous head and lumpy neck. Now for the hard part. The troll was still attempting to grab him with one hand, and as it descended right towards him, Bilbo held the dagger straight out and let the troll impale his palm on it. The troll outright screamed this time, doubling over, and fast as lightning Bilbo slid forwards and sat with his legs around either side of the troll's neck. He remembered when he and the other young hobbits in the Shire learned about basic anatomy, and how his cousin Adalgrim Took had leaned over and whispered, "An' if you stab something where the neck an' the head meet in the back, you'll kill it." Bilbo had felt a strange awareness of that part of his body for the rest of the day.
"Let's hope you knew what you were talking about, cousin," he whispered, and grunted as he shoved the dagger up into the troll's head.
The troll went very still, as if confused. Bilbo scrambled back off of his neck and held on tightly to his rocky back as the mammoth beast fell face forward, completely limp. The resounding thud grabbed the attention of both other trolls and the dwarves, who all stared for a moment. The biggest troll, felled by a tiny hobbit. Bilbo released his grip on the body and slid off, immediately collapsing to his hands and knees. Everyone in the clearing was still shocked silent, and the only sound came from Bilbo, who retched up his earlier lembas and smoked ham. He stayed there, dizzy and shivering. All was still.
Until Balin hefted his mace and whacked the second-largest troll in the groin. His agonized screech unfroze the air, and the smallest troll wailed, "You killed him! How could you?!" and he lunged for Dwalin.
Bilbo missed the rest of the battle, as he stayed in place with his head down, but the sounds of fighting provided nice background noise to the thoughts in Bilbo's head. But the fight seemed to have been the tipping point for the little hobbit, and the most eloquent thing he could think was, "Did I just make Adalgrim accomplice to murder?"

Eventually, Bilbo was pulled to his feet by Balin for the second time that night, and he blinked blearily against the soft light. Wait, what? Bilbo rubbed his eyes and looked up. The black sky was beginning to turn to blue, and he held onto Balin's arm for support. He must've looked completely lost, because Balin chuckled and dusted him off a bit.
"Without that big one to worry about, the other two were considerably easier to take out." Balin jerked his head in the direction of two other corpses. "Congratulations, lad! You survived your first real battle! You did very well." Balin smiled and patted Bilbo on the back. As he steered Bilbo away, Bilbo felt a strange sense of pride under the internal murder crisis and nausea. He saw Dwalin ripping an axe out of one of the bodies and smiled weakly as he faced them. He laughed at Bilbo's pallid face and handed him the knife he had used to take down the big troll.
"A memento," he said. "Something to remember with." Dwalin's eyes had a happy light to them, the satisfaction of a fight well fought.
Bilbo took the dagger, turned it over in his hands, and said, "I do not think I will ever, ever forget tonight, even if I wanted to." After pausing a moment, he jabbed the pointy end into Dwalin's face. "If you do something like that ever again, I shall give you a demonstration on how I… ended that beast." He fumbled when he got to the word 'ended' and shoved the dagger into his waistband. Balin guffawed with the glee of an older sibling being vindicated, and Dwalin nodded, rubbing his hands together.
"I understand," he said, but his voice betrayed his happy mood. "I would not dare go against the mighty troll-killer," he continued and rushed ahead, out of the reach of Bilbo's tiny (but sharp) fists. Balin laughed even harder, leaning a bit on the hobbit, and it was unclear whether he was supporting Bilbo or being supported. Bilbo sighed affectionately, walking after Dwalin. Everything was alright.
The walk back to camp was much easier without Bilbo's heart trying to beat out of his chest. Along the way, Dwalin kept whistling for the horses and pony, and found one horse and Myrtle. The third animal had run back to camp, and was calmly grazing when they broke through the treeline. Balin, Dwalin and Bilbo decided to take a few hours to rest and reorganize, deciding they would leave around midday. Bilbo insisted on taking watch for a few hours while the sun was still mostly hidden.
"This would not have happened if you had done as you promised and woken me up for watch!" he berated, hands on his hips. "They wouldn't have gotten close enough to grab you unless you were drowsy or asleep." Dwalin looked decently cowed at that as he reunited his axes.
"Aye, I'm… sorry for not waking you up," he said. "I suppose you wouldn't mind a bit of company, though?"
Bilbo sighed and tapped his foot against the ground near the tree.
"Bring your bedroll over here. I'm going to sit in the tree, but we can still talk."
"If you're going to do so, do so quietly," grumbled Balin, who was not an early riser and had crawled into his bedroll almost immediately, "or I'll make you carry the dirty laundry."
"Noted," Bilbo said with a small smile.
He and Dwalin sat in silence for a while, watching the stars slowly disappear, until Dwalin spoke up. His gruff voice held a hint of caution, as if he weren't sure how offensive his question would be.
"What did you mean earlier when you said other hobbits didn't expect you to be you?"
Bilbo exhaled through his nose.
"Well… we hobbits are usually very proper." Dwalin made a small hum, but Bilbo continued. "Parties and celebrations are different, but there are certain rules. Certain pieces of etiquette. And with no real problems like a food shortage or invaders or homelessness, other smaller, pettier issues surface. Like rival families." He paused and smiled. "My mother and father came from two families who could not have been more different, two families who hate each other. My mother, Belladonna, was adventurous and bold. Two very un-hobbitish traits, might I add. The whole Took family is known for that kind of behavior. On the other side is my father, Bungo Baggins, who was proper and reserved and polite. Very hobbitish traits. Yet somehow… they loved each other. It drove the families mad. But oh, they made each other happy. So very happy." Bilbo took a breath.
"No one knew how I'd turn out. When I was little, I would go on adventures in the fields and forests and come home having vanquished an elven king or mighty dragon. Absolutely filthy, I might add, covered in mud and berry juice and who knows what else. My poor father! My mother didn't care about the mud though, only that I was a great hero." He laughed quietly. "And as I grew up, I ran off less and less, and then after my parents died, I stopped. I didn't want to come home and not hear my father's admonishments about the rug, or- or a hug from my mother while she shoved food into my hands." He laughed again, but it was wetter.
"I settled down in Bag End and lived like that. I read all my father's books and then bought my own. I grew prize tomatoes and made the odd social excursion, if only to keep up the good Baggins name. But between my adventurous nature as a child and my self-imposed seclusion as an adult, I am not… most people in the Shire don't know what to make of it."
Bilbo rubbed his nose and sniffed. It wasn't a sensitive topic, but thinking of his mother and father always made him a bit misty-eyed.
Dwalin was quiet, and Bilbo wondered if he had fallen asleep when his gruff voice broke the silence.
"I am sorry for your loss. Your parents sound like good family."
Bilbo smiled.
"They were."
"I never knew my mother," Dwalin said in an unaffected voice. "My father, Fundin, said she died in battle soon after I was born. She was part of the guard. A raiding party of orcs, he said, while they were out on patrol."
Bilbo leaned forward and looked over the edge of the branch at his friend, a concerned expression on his face.
"Dwalin, I… I'm so sorry." He kept leaning over until Dwalin glanced up towards him.
He shook his head.
"Don't be," he said. "I don't remember and I'm proud she died fighting. Balin remembers her though, it's harder for him to talk about her death. He and our father loved to tell stories about her, though. I got enough of her from them to not be too sad about it." Dwalin had a slight smile in his voice.
"That sounds very nice." Bilbo said honestly. "If I had never known my mother I would want to be told everything I could about her."
They settled into a comfortable silence. The first rays of sunlight were peeking over the trees, and Bilbo yawned.
Taking down a troll sure made one tired.

Lunch was a pleasant affair, cranberry scones and some berries Balin had found when he went to relieve himself.
"You better have washed your hands," Bilbo warned, holding one in his fingertips.
"I used a leaf as a napkin and grabbed them like that," Balin said while chewing. Bilbo's face went from suspicion to relief to disgust in the span of a few seconds and he scooted away from Balin.
"I am never touching your hands again!" he exclaimed, popping the berry into his mouth. After chewing a moment, his eyes lit up. "Although I'm willing to put up with it if the food is that good, may I have some more?"
Breaking camp went quickly and before Bilbo knew it they were back on the road. They decided to stop by the trolls' camp and see what they could find, because dwarves love treasure, Bilbo was naturally curious, and trolls were known hoarders of curious treasures. The camp wasn't that far off the road either.
By the light of day, the trolls looked far less terrifying. Or maybe it was the fact that they were dead and turned to stone.
"Sunlight turns trolls to stone, laddie. I guess it still works after they die." Balin told Bilbo, rapping his knuckles on a stony shin. Bilbo gazed around in vague wonder.
"Which means their cave must be nearby." Dwalin continued, wheeling his horse around. "Let's find it."
They spent maybe 17, 18 minutes looking for a cave, and finally found it next to a tree with its limbs snapped off. Balin whistled low at the sight, dismounting.
"This is it."
Dwalin walked forward and recoiled, coughing and waving a hand at the cave.
"Clearly. It smells like-" he paused to gag, "-piss and shit and blood," he groaned. Bilbo wrinkled his nose and Balin nodded. Of course, of course the troll cave has to smell bad. Balin walked forward and stood with his arms crossed, leaning forward to peer into the cave. He turned to look at his brother and Bilbo. Gesturing towards the entrance with both arms, he smiled morbidly.
"Shall we?"
The inside of the cave was just as revolting as its owners, covered in strange stains and smells, the source of which Bilbo didn't want to know. The deeper they went, the more odd trinkets and things had been strewn about, like toys abandoned on a child's floor. Except these toys were tools, parts of houses, weapons, gold, and the odd bit of skeleton. Bilbo gently laid a hand on a small femur. He hoped that whoever it belonged to found peace.
"Over here!" called Dwalin, voice echoing slightly. "Seems they had favorites," he commented, pulling a small golden circlet off the top of an immense pile of treasure. Balin and Bilbo went over, all three mesmerized. Balin tugged a sword out of the side and pulled it out of its sheath, turning it in the low light.
"These are worthy of kings." he murmured after inspecting a few more. "Certainly not of any trollish or human make. These are elven swords." Dwalin scoffed, pushing the blade in Balin's hands away. He reached deep into the pile and pulled out a short sword, hefting it. He ran his fingers over the sheath and grinned.
"Not all. Look here, this is dwarvish," Dwalin said with no small degree of pride, puffing out his chest. Bilbo set down the gold coins he had been inspecting, enchanted by the short sword and its sheath's intricate geometric designs.
Dwalin looked at Bilbo out of the corner of his eye and turned to him. Thrusting the sword out, he said, "Take it."
Bilbo blinked and raised his hands.
"O-oh- no! No thank you! I don't- I mean, that is to say I-" he stopped and huffed, looking up at his still-grinning friend. "Firstly, don't dwarves hate sharing their culture? And secondly, I wouldn't even know how to use it. I'm not really a fighter. One victory doesn't mean anything." Bilbo scratched the side of his nose and crossed his arms, looking into Dwalin's eyes. Over Dwalin's shoulder Bilbo could see Balin trying to sneak a better look at the sword. "And I think you or your brother would appreciate it much better."
The corner of Dwalin's mouth twitched upwards, and he relaxed his arms.
"You saved our hides, I believe that entitles you to a bit of leeway. As long as you don't do anything disrespectful with it." Bilbo couldn't tell if he was joking. "And one victory in your first real fight and against three mountain trolls? I'd call that a good start." He thrust his arms back out again. "Take the sword, Bilbo."
Over Dwalin's shoulder, Balin muttered "A bit low for mountain trolls, wasn't it?"
Startled by the use of his first name, Bilbo flinched in surprise and hesitantly, oh so slowly, ever so gently, took the short sword from Dwalin. He held it in one hand, enchanted by the intertwining designs on the sheath. After a moment he gripped the sheath and pulled it off, revealing a shining metal blade. Balin gasped and nudged his brother out of the way, rubbing a thumb along the edge of the sword.
"Oh my… this is a real treasure. It's mithril and steel," Balin murmured. Dwalin looked sharply at his brother, then at the sword.
"How would that end up here?" Dwalin asked. Balin let go of the blade and nodded to Bilbo.
"The same way our weapons would have in different circumstances. Bilbo, mithril is an extremely rare and high-quality metal, you would do well not to lose that," Balin warned. "Now you have no excuse not to fight, not with a sword like that."
Bilbo swallowed and nodded, gazing at the gleam of the polished metal. It was beautiful, and very light. Of course, it being a dwarven short sword made it just a sword for him, but details, details. He sheathed it and attached the loop to his trousers.
"I won't. I promise," he said reverently. "I am honored that you would trust me with such a gift."
Balin's eyes crinkled up and he patted Bilbo on the shoulder.
"Of course, laddie." He straightened up and made eye contact with the other two. "Look around for another ten minutes, then we head out. The area we're supposed to search should be another day, day and a half's ride."
Balin turned around and kept digging through the large pile. Dwalin grunted and walked around to the other side, and Bilbo busied himself burying a small chest of gold. Without the trolls, who knows how many people would come looting, and this could buy the new chimney flue he'd been needing. Bilbo patted the ground and stood, hand going to the hilt of the sword. Its unfamiliar weight would take some getting used to.
"Ready to go?" he asked, standing near the entrance. The brothers, who had each collected a fair amount, gave one last look around the cave. Dwalin nodded and strode outside, followed by Balin, and Bilbo trailing behind.
Bilbo patted Myrtle's flank as he put a few handfuls of gold into a saddlebag. Sweet girl deserved an apple the next time they stopped, he decided.
The rest of the day was uneventful. Dwalin had gotten a chainmail shirt, a whetstone for his axes, and several beads. Balin grabbed a sword, a small flail, and also several beads. Bilbo didn't ask.
The farther they went, the more wild and beautiful the land became. Now that they were over the highest part, the descent brought strange new plants Bilbo had never seen before. The high part wasn't quite a huge mountain range, but tall enough to stop much of the rain from getting to this side of the range, so a lot of the plant life was much tougher than the delicate bright green Bilbo was used to. Not to say it wasn't just as beautiful, only… different. It actually led to a very interesting discussion about meteorology and biology and how they affect each other.
The small party came to the edge of a cliff overlooking a deep, green valley. The whole thing was full of old growth forest; it seemed as if someone had spread a beautiful dark green carpet over the landscape. Somewhere in there was the answer to their quest. Bilbo's eyes scanned the valley, wide-eyed in wonder. Balin caught his expression and smiled as if it amused him.
"What is it, lad?" he asked as he wheeled his horse around to head down the cliffside.
Bilbo followed, even though he kept looking out towards the forest.
"It's incredible. I've never seen anything like it. Books tell of old forests and the beauty of far-off places, but this is more than I ever imagined," he said softly. Then he blinked and brought himself back to the present. "And this isn't even that far away from the Shire, when you put it in perspective," he added. Dwalin hummed in acknowledgment from behind him, and Bilbo finally looked down at the trail to make sure Myrtle wouldn't fall.
"It does rather capture the mind, doesn't it. I've seen woods older and grander than these and yet it still takes my breath away," Balin agreed. "If the prince is here, this would not be a bad place to live. Of course, it's no mountain. But, not bad."
Bilbo's attention zeroed in on the comment about the prince. Between the excitement and the regret, he had almost forgotten why he had agreed to go on this journey in the first place, or that dwarves lived underground.
"Where do you think we should start? To look for the prince- or the stone, either of them. Or both?" Bilbo asked.
"Underground would be my first bet. And thankfully, the map leads us into the forest, to an area around four miles in. We comb the land, every branch, rock, and leaf, top to bottom, until we find anything," Balin said, pulling out the map. "The area we have to search is about three by six miles. I estimate a day to search? Maybe two, depending on how hard travel is."
Bilbo sighed tiredly at the thought of another day on horseback. He was very fond of Myrtle, but hobbits were not built to withstand several days on ponies. In fact, he severely doubted any race enjoyed riding horses or ponies for more than a few hours. His bum and thighs ached every single day, and it was getting old.
"We better find it quickly," Dwalin grumbled, and Bilbo nodded in agreement. Balin hummed and they all settled into silence. (As anyone who has been on a long outdoor trip can attest, sometimes silence is better.)
The trail led them down to the bottom of the small mountain and into the woods. The light grew dim, and small beams of sunlight broke through the trees like tiny spotlights. This forest felt different from the one they had already passed through, like it was more settled in the ground. The birdsong was different than any Bilbo had heard before and he though perhaps once he saw a red fox race through the undergrowth. He hadn't realised how long they had been riding until they stopped. He looked forward and saw Balin holding up a fist, examining the map.
"This is where we start looking," Balin said. His voice sounded heavy. Bilbo cleared his throat and shifted, looking around.
"How do you recommend we look?" he asked. Bilbo felt a bit unsteady. He had gotten used to following either Balin or Dwalin, not thinking about the purpose of their journey except in theory. He had been more occupied with their surroundings, making the best food he could out of their bag of nonperishables, and the fact that he killed a massive troll that Prince Thorin and the Arkenstone had taken a bit of a backseat.
Dwalin pulled his horse up to stand by Balin and Bilbo.
"We split up. It ain't a huge area, we can cover it in a day or two. Stay within earshot," he said in a brusque tone, and Bilbo really saw how his impolite, loud, burly friend could be a warrior. (It actually stirred up some of those old feelings that made him blush about a week ago.)
Balin's serious voice grabbed his attention.
"Here, we cannot afford any mistakes. If we find anything, this will have repercussions much bigger than any of us. Which means we cannot miss anything. Bilbo," he said, turning around in the saddle. "I know Gandalf wanted you to come, despite having… no experience or qualifications whatsoever, but this is where we cannot play around. If you see anything, anything at all, that might be something, yell for one of us right away."
Bilbo huffed a little bit at the comment about his lack of expertise, but it was in understanding. He still didn't fully grasp why he was there, despite Gandalf's plea that he go.
"Alright, I'll let you know if I find anything. At the end of the day, call out when to regroup." Bilbo said and trotted past them, breaking off to the right. He could almost hear Balin's long-suffering sigh as he disappeared into the trees. (Balin had a wide variety of sighs, and Bilbo had gotten well acquainted with many of them over the course of the journey. Particularly after Dwalin had done something dangerous, like fight a bear over rights to a river... but the salmon they had eaten that night was delicious.)
This part of the forest looked no different from what he had already seen, except that it began to slope down. After another fifteen minutes or so of walking and not seeing anything that could indicate a potentially kingdom-toppling rock or dwarf, Bilbo dismounted and led Myrtle by the reins. He might have been imagining it, but she seemed glad to have him off her back. He laughed as she tossed her head, and rubbed her velvety nose.
"You've been a very good girl," he crooned, moving his hand and scratching under her jaw. "Let's enjoy our alone time, okay?"
Bilbo smiled and they kept walking.

The sudden urge to leave hit Thorin on the high point of his lift. He laid the barbell on the rack and looked out the window. The spring breeze hit his bare chest, cooling him off as he panted for breath. He had felt the urge to leave before, especially when his grandfather was gone for a long time, but there was always some excuse holding him back. He wouldn't survive outside, he would get lost and killed within a day, or primarily, his grandfather would die without him, but… right now it felt so simple. Leave. A strange calm took over him as he regained his breath, seeing the soft blue sky outside. Two birds swooped through the air, utterly free, and it hardened his resolve. Today. Thorin stood up. He would leave today. He walked towards the closet and threw the door open, grabbing a bag off the top shelf. He felt a grin creeping onto his face and his heart beating faster as he began tossing things into the bag.
"I am leaving today," he proudly announced to the empty room. "I am taking control of my life, and I am leaving!" He didn't know whether talking to an empty room was normal, but seeing as he had no one else to tell and no one to see him, he didn't particularly care. He could learn whether it was normal and learn to care outside of this place, he thought giddily. Either way, Thorin would not be spending another night in the tower.

Bilbo wasn't bored, per se, but there had been an awful lot of fuss over what was, so far, more of the same wandering through the trees, and he was beginning to hope for one of the others to call out soon because he sure wasn't seeing anything. The ground grew steeper the further they walked, and eventually they had to start walking sideways so as to not fall. The ground kept sloping and by the end of it Bilbo's legs were exhausted. Thankfully, the ground evened out a fair bit and he and Myrtle were able to stop for a minute, attempting to catch their breath. Bilbo coughed and planted his hands on his knees. If anyone was trying to hide something, this would be a good place to do it.
"Listen," Bilbo panted, jabbing a finger at Myrtle's face. "If we do find the Arkenstone, I'd say we have more than earned the right to take it."
She tossed her head and nickered, pawing her little hoof as if in agreement. He laughed breathlessly and stood up fully, petting her shoulder. He put the reins over her head and let them hang.
"I trust you to follow me, please don't make me regret it and look like a fool."
Myrtle nudged his chest with her nose and her nostrils flared. Bilbo hugged her neck and patted it. He was surprised by how much he had grown to care for her, he would hate giving her back when the journey was over.
His smile died a little at the thought of the end and saying goodbye. When did he become so attached to their little band? And Bag End… he thought of his cozy little living room and all the memories there, and fondness welled up in him, but… he had grown so accustomed to sleeping under the stars. What would he do when it was all over?
Another nudge from Myrtle brought Bilbo back to reality. He shook himself and rubbed his face, laughing tiredly. He sounded like an elf from one of his father's poetry books. Best not to think about any of that now.
Now that he could breathe normally again, Bilbo clapped his hands together. Myrtle startled and glared at him, as much as a pony could glare. He scrunched up his nose at her and smiled, gently pulling her forwards by the bridle until she started to walk.
"Let's keep going, girl. The hard part is over."
They kept walking for a long time while the sun climbed higher and higher. The ground sloped up a little bit, then down some more, and finally straightened out as they came to a massive wall of rock.
It seemed to extend upwards for a hundred feet, like nature putting up a "DO NOT CROSS" sign. Moss and ferns and ivy grew out of the side, gently swaying in the cool spring breeze. Looking up, Bilbo saw a bird disappear into a crevice with a large worm, followed by a cacophony of high-pitched chirping. He exhaled through his nose and watched as the bird flew away again. Up above it, he noticed trees in different stages of growth emerging out of the wall. So that was why they didn't notice it earlier, looking from above.
Clearing his throat, he took a deep breath and yelled,
"Balin? Dwalin?" hoping one of them would answer.
From a ways off to his left, Dwalin called back
"Yeah?"
Bilbo put his hands on his hips and looked left and right. The wall extended in both directions with no end in sight. "It seems I've… found myself at a bit of a dead end."
He heard Dwalin laugh exasperatedly.
"Are you talking about this gargantuan hunk of rock? Yes, I noticed."
Balin's voice was fainter but still audible, somewhere to the left of Dwalin.
"It's right in the middle of the area we're searching. We'll have to find a way around it," he yelled, sounding every bit the defeated optimist. "We can't climb over it because of the horses, so start looking for a hole or… a way to get through."
Bilbo nodded (though no one could see) and approached the wall. The rock was light grey and smooth to the touch, worn down over the years. He wondered how long it had been standing here or what kind of geographic anomaly had to happen to create it. Bilbo hummed indecisively for a moment, tapping his lips with his index finger, and nodded firmly.
"We'll start by going right." he told Myrtle and began walking.
Bilbo walked along the wall for a while. A long while. The sun, while still high in the sky, had mostly disappeared behind the rock wall, so it was much colder. There was no end in sight and Bilbo was beginning to worry he had walked out of earshot or out of the rectangle they were searching. He didn't see any sign of any dwarf princes or hearts of mountains either.
Bilbo was about to give up and turn back in the other direction when Dwalin's distant voice reached him.
"Oi, Bilbo! We reckon we've found something!" Dwalin sounded just as relieved as Bilbo felt. "Get your arse back over here!"
Bilbo frowned and looked at Myrtle as they turned around.
"He is my friend, but he is so terribly rude sometimes. There was no need to be crass," Bilbo complained, running his hand along the wall. "I don't believe Balin is as old as he looks and I do believe that is entirely to do with his brother."
Myrtle huffed and walked on ahead, kicking a small pile of wet forest debris at him. Bilbo spluttered and began delicately pulling the dirt and half-decomposed leaves off.
"What was that for, you flea-ridden beast?" he cried. She responded by kicking more into his face, and Bilbo gagged as he spat it out. "Hey! I take it back, I don't trust you at all." He pulled a leaf off of his waistcoat. "I can't believe I'm arguing with a pony." he muttered.
They kept going for a while, past where they originally started, and began heading to the left. None of them had been around here yet, so Bilbo became more vigilant as they moved through the unexplored section of the wall. Myrtle trotted ahead, leaving Bilbo by himself. It felt strange to truly be alone for the first time in a week. It was rather nice, actually. The forest, although different from what he was used to, was still a rather lovely forest. He gasped quietly in delight as a red fox darted out of the bushes and paused ten feet in front of him. The fox looked at him, and they held eye contact. Bilbo had the strangest feeling that the fox was really seeing him, past his appearance. He held his breath, waiting for the fox to move.
It picked up a paw and hesitated a moment before tearing itself away and running into the wall and disappearing.
Wait-
What?
Bilbo rushed forward and looked at the wall where the fox had crawled through. Behind a swaying curtain of ivy and the underbrush, Bilbo could make out a light on the other side.
There was a way through.
It was a small hole, but someone had clearly put a lot of effort into making it usable. And hiding it. Bilbo grabbed a stick and hesitantly parted the ivy, waving the stick around to ensure no spiders dropped onto his face, and dropped the stick before crawling into the hole. It was damp and dark, and the yellow sunlight on the other end did little to illuminate most of the tunnel. He took a few tentative movements forwards, then stopped. Making a face, Bilbo shimmied back out of the hole and grabbed the stick, then crawled back in. He felt better with it in his hand. This was a perfect place for all sorts of nasty little bugs and creatures, and he wasn't taking any chances.
The hole looked like it was made by someone bigger than he was, since he could crawl freely through it, and anyone making a tunnel through a solid rock wall would only make it as big as necessary. Could it be the dwarf king? What was his name… Bilbo tried to recall his cryptic conversation with Gandalf. Thrór? That sounded like a dwarf's name.
Bilbo grunted as he pulled himself forwards. He was almost there, thank goodness, he didn't even want to imagine the state of his clothes. Between Myrtle's bullying and now this, he was in sore need of a bath. And new trousers.
The light coming from the end of the tunnel made crawling a little easier, as he didn't have to worry about what he was putting his weight on. He paused and took a deep breath, shaking his head.
"Almost there!" he muttered, pushing himself forward. Another fifteen seconds, and Bilbo tumbled out of the dark, dirty tunnel and onto soft green grass.
For a moment he just lay on his back, absorbing the warm sun and the softness of the spring turf. He smiled with his eyes closed, letting out a contented little hum. A hand went to his belly, and he mourned his filthy, second-favorite travel waistcoat as he brushed off some of the larger clumps of dirt. He was almost scared to open his eyes and see the damage.
After a moment he rolled his eyes at himself and sat up, opening his eyes and blinking against the sun. He could hear running water, and as his eyes adjusted to the brightness, he could see the fox from earlier a ways away in the grass, looking at him from where it stood next to three rowdy kits. His heart melted a bit at the sight of the little babies, and then his eyes focused on something behind them.
Bilbo's breath hitched as his eyes travelled up, up, up, to the top of a grey stone tower. The roof was covered in plants, probably seeds that had landed on it via the wind rather than intentionally put there. A window looked out over the small grassy field, and the whole area was enclosed by tree-covered cliffs just as tall as the wall. It looked like the whole area was sunk into the ground. A waterfall toppled over the edge of one of the cliffs behind the tower, and a small river wound around and disappeared into what looked like an underwater tunnel where it met the cliff.
This had to be it.
Bilbo got to his feet, stunned silent, and walked softly towards the tower. His eyes locked on the uppermost part, hoping to see movement inside the window. Unfortunately, the roof kept it in shadow, and Bilbo's eyes weren't unusually powerful, so he couldn't see anything. He made it to the base of the tower and walked around it. There had to be a door, or some way to get in and out.
Bilbo found a door on the back, and huffed as he examined the many locks, all requiring a key or a code of some kind. Some even had both! He rubbed the furrow of his brows. Of course, of course it was locked up safer than a vault. It couldn't just be a simple unlocked door. Or even a mild lock picking! Bilbo could resort to crime! Peering at one of the coded locks again, his frustration mounted as he realised it wasn't even a language he could understand. Of course they couldn't have used Westron. Too easy. Bilbo groaned as he stepped back, looking up for another way in. Nothing. He walked around to the front again, looking at the window.
An idea came to him, another crazy one like what he had done when fighting the trolls. Do it, his Tookish side whispered. It's the only way. Bilbo shook his head and started pacing back and forth.
"No. No! That's crazy! I have changed quite a bit this week, but hobbits belong on the ground! We don't scale walls like elves or- or- I don't know, but I am not climbing that tower!"
He paused for a moment as he remembered climbing onto the troll's back. That was off the ground, the Took side whispered again. You've done it before. Bilbo resumed pacing furiously, gesturing with his hands.
"That was different, there is a difference between climbing twenty feet to save your friends and climbing a monolithic tower!"
He paced back and forth a few more times, arguing with himself, until he stopped and looked up. The hobbit stared in silence at the tower, taking note of all the protruding rocks and safe places to grab on. He looked back up at the window.
"I'm going to break my neck," he said in a calm voice and walked towards the tower.
Bilbo hoisted himself up a few feet, gripping the rock protrusions for dear life. His knuckles were white as he climbed, pressing himself as much as he could against the tower. One of the handholds broke off in his hand and he slipped, crying out. He managed to catch himself on a nearly invisible crevice, and he pressed his cheek against the wall and whimpered. He took several deep breaths, squeezing his eyes shut.
"What was that I told Myrtle about the hard part being over?" he groused. He took another deep breath and blew it out slowly. "You can do this. You can do this." he chanted, like a mantra. "You can do this."
About halfway up, Bilbo zoned out and stopped thinking about the fall, focusing on the climb. He made quick progress and reached the spot where the tower went out at an angle, presumably where a room was. Bilbo looked around for some sort of way to climb it, and noticed a sprawl of ivy clinging to the rocks. Oh Yavanna. He muttered a quick prayer to the goddess and hoped he wouldn't die before reaching out and grabbing the ivy. It held. He moaned in relief. With luck, his gravestone wouldn't read "Bilbo Baggins, beloved friend and son: he died like an idiot, trying to climb upside down."
He pushed off of the wall and used the ivy as a rope, hurrying to pull himself around the side. Bilbo saw the window just above him and moved faster than he ever had in his life, hefting his upper body up to and then over the windowsill, flopping into the tower with a heavy grunt of effort. Heart beating wildly, he laughed in disbelief. He’d actually done it!
Bilbo finished laughing and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of a solid floor beneath him. It felt a bit strange, considering his bed for the past week had been dirt, and ran his hands on it as he came back to his senses and patted the floor. He stood up and rubbed his hands together, trying to get rid of the cramping from gripping the rocks. This was really it. Whatever the king was hiding would be in this tower.
...they. Bilbo winced as he remembered Balin and Dwalin, probably still on the other side of the wall, most likely looking for him. He would have to apologize, that was no way to treat your travel companions. (Who were, technically, hired to keep him safe.)
With that thought, Bilbo turned around and froze.
Halfway across the room, clutching a barbell, stood a dwarf. He was young, around Bilbo's age, with bright grey eyes and a thickly furred chest. Bilbo felt his face flushing as they stared at each other. A strong nose, strong eyebrows, strong arms, strong thighs- nope! Bilbo cut himself off there, eyes snapping back up to the dwarf's face. Blinking, he noticed something a bit odd. The dwarf had long hair, which wasn't unusual, but it was silver. His beard wasn't, his eyebrows weren't, and his body hair wasn't, but the hair on his head was silver like the purest metal. Bilbo's eyes followed the long hair, and his eyes widened as he realised how long it was. He didn't know how he had missed it- it was coiled across several surfaces in the room, taking up so much space Bilbo wondered how far it might reach down the tower. Perhaps to the bottom. The dwarf shifted nervously and Bilbo jolted back to his senses. Poor thing was probably terrified, and Bilbo could feel his hobbitish nature telling him to diffuse the situation.
"Oh my, I- I am so sorry, I have just barged into your home and now I'm staring at you, where are my manners? My name is Bilbo Baggins-" he strode forwards with his hand outstretched for a handshake when a fist collided with his face. So much for terrified, Bilbo thought as the world went dark.

Thorin was almost done packing his bag when he heard a strange noise. It sounded like heavy breathing, like when his grandfather returned before Thorin healed him. But that couldn't be right, his grandfather was supposed to be gone for weeks, and this sounded like it came from… outside. Thorin grabbed a barbell and stood there, tensely waiting. He almost called out to see who it was but held himself back. What if one of the people his grandfather had warned him about had finally found him? Someone who came to cut his hair and take him into a life of pain and labor far, far away.
That actually didn't sound too bad.
Thorin waited. It sounded like a man. (Not that he knew what a woman sounded like. Other than vague memories of his mother and sister, he hadn't seen a woman in years. Or other men, honestly. But the voice sounded like he and his grandfather, so it was probably a man.) His breath stopped as a small hand gripped the edge of the windowsill, quickly followed by another. A head of curly golden-brown hair popped over the edge and the unknown man swung himself over the sill, flopping into Thorin's room and seemingly not caring about the possibility of danger. Thorin stared wide-eyed at the stranger and took a few small steps forward. His heart raced as he approached the small figure, and his tongue burned with all the questions he wanted to ask. Who was this… man? How did he get here? Why did he come here? What was the grass like? Could Thorin touch the dirt on his jacket? What was his name? How was Erebor? What is the world like? What does it feel like to talk to someone?
The tiny man stood up and Thorin retreated a few steps. His hand tightened around the barbell and he realised he wasn't wearing a shirt. He always wore a shirt in front of his grandfather, even when it was hot or he was exercising.
The man turned around, and Thorin felt his heart spontaneously combust. Oh Mahal, he was cute.
The man was small, yes, but he looked near Thorin's age. He had wide brown eyes, no facial hair, (odd, Thorin noted, but he did not look like a child) and was pleasantly chubby. The short hair was foreign to Thorin, but in no way displeasing. They stared at each other for a long moment. He saw the stranger's eyes travel to his hair and widen in shock as he realised just how long it was, and Thorin shifted uncomfortably. What… what was he supposed to do? The movement seemed to startle the stranger back to himself, and he began talking very quickly. His voice was higher than Thorin had expected and he found himself simply staring at the stranger while he introduced himself. Suddenly the stranger rushed forwards, hand outstretched. Thorin jerked forward and punched him square in the face.
The small man went out like a light and Thorin covered his mouth, stifling a yelp. What else was he supposed to do?! He hadn't seen anyone other than his grandfather in almost as long as he could remember. He still didn't know what this stranger wanted, and cute or not, he could still be here to hurt Thorin. Punching someone who lunged for you was a perfectly reasonable reaction! Thorin stared at the body on his floor. What now?

Bilbo awoke to the sound of wind and the smell of something baking. He tried to rub his eyes, but was unable to lift his wrists, and he noticed the rope tying his arms down. What?
The room came into focus and everything came flooding back. The tower, the dwarf, the hair, getting punched. Oh… Yavanna. What the hell had he gotten himself into. He was sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, his wrists and ankles secured to its arms and legs. Leaning forward, Bilbo was able to rub his eyes that way. When he sat back up he spotted a pile of his weapons against the wall, with his dwarven sword sitting on top. He should really give it a name soon. According to Dwalin, unnamed weapons were bad luck.
"You're awake," said a voice from behind him, and Bilbo stiffened. It was a deep, low voice, much like Dwalin's, but oh so different. This voice felt smoother. Bilbo wanted to hear it forever. Schooling his face into something less affected, Bilbo prayed for his voice not to crack.
"Yes, I am," he responded. It came out strong and he internally thanked the goddess. "Why am I tied up?" he asked, tugging at his restraints.
The dwarf slowly walked into his line of sight.
"I have no reason to trust you." He scratched his ear and looked down. "Also, I am… sorry for punching you."
Bilbo's eyes scanned over him, taking in his defensive stance and crossed arms. He was wearing a shirt now, Bilbo noted, a nice dark blue that went with his eyes- stop it! "Apology accepted. Now, I must ask, just to be sure, since I've been travelling all this way and if I found the wrong dwarf I'm going to throw myself off this tower- are you Prince Thorin?" he asked tentatively. (And seriously, if this wasn't him, the window wasn't that far.)
The dwarf drew himself to his full height, and his crossed arms tightened.
"I am Prince Thorin Oakenshield of Erebor." He paused for a moment and pushed his hair out of his face. "What do you want."
It was more of a statement than a question.
Bilbo's mouth dropped open a little when Thorin stood tall, and he felt some very frantic butterflies underneath the cocktail of other emotions. Namely relief. His head flopped forward as he cried,
"Oh! Oh thank the Valar, it's you. Oh, the others will be so pleased-" He hesitated and swallowed, smiling up at Thorin. "Y-your highness, I am here to rescue you." He tried to look as heroic as possible while covered in dirt and tied to a chair.
The Prince raised his head as if the words had physically affected him and raised an eyebrow.
"Rescue me?" he repeated.
"Yes," Bilbo nodded emphatically. "My friends and I have been traveling for about a week to get here, we're supposed to find you and the Arkenstone- you wouldn't happen to know where that is? You're both terribly important."
Thorin's face was unreadable. He turned away and picked up a book lying on a dresser, and walked out of Bilbo's line of sight.
"Why." Another statement-question.
"You're not one to waste words, are you?" Bilbo muttered. "You're important because your survival means…" he quieted as he remembered what it meant. "The King has been lying for decades. Ever since the dragon took Erebor."
He heard the Prince rush forward and he yelped as Thorin spun his chair around. He was standing less than a foot away, bent over to be eye-to-eye with Bilbo.
"What do you mean lying?" he asked angrily, but just as quiet. "Lying about what."
In his eyes there seemed a hint of desperation, along with a fragile hope, but for what, Bilbo did not know. His face began to turn pink at the proximity, and those butterflies became more insistent.
"He said that you were dead and the Arkenstone melted in the attack." Bilbo said straightforwardly. Thorin inhaled quickly and stepped back, then began shaking his head.
"No, my family knows I'm alive, he- he said so. They just can't come here. It's too dangerous," he said, rubbing his hands. "They would if they could. But they can't."
Bilbo exhaled through his nose as he realised what had happened. Anger bubbled up as well, anger for the lies King had fed to his grandson, but he stored it away to deal with later.
"That doesn't make sense, Thorin," he said softly. The Prince glanced up at the use of his name. "You are presumed dead to, well, everyone except me."
He waited while Thorin processed. The Prince rubbed his mouth and wouldn't make eye contact.
"Where is the Arkenstone?" Bilbo continued after a minute. Thorin looked up at him sharply and grabbed his silvery hair.
"Here." He swept it over one shoulder.
Bilbo frowned in confusion.
"I'm sorry I'm going to need some explanation- your hair? I was told I was looking for a pretty rock, not a pretty dwarf." Thorin flushed red and Bilbo realised what he had said. He squeaked and sat up in his chair. "I am so sor-"
"After Smaug took Erebor," Thorin interrupted him, refusing to look in his direction. "I almost didn't make it. I inhaled too much smoke and half my body was burned. My grandfather made the stone into medicine, and now it is part of me." Thorin pursed his lips. "I cannot cut my hair or the Arkenstone's power dies." He quieted after that. Bilbo followed his hair around the room. The stone must have made it grow faster, hair didn't get that long naturally. "Grandfather hopes that once the dragon is gone I can return to Erebor and help with the rebuilding efforts."
Bilbo frowned and cocked his head. "But Smaug was killed years ago. Erebor is doing well."
Thorin made a sound like he had been punched and snatched a bag off the bed in the corner. It looked like Thorin was halfway done packing for a trip. "Are you going somewhere?"
Thorin paused for a second and began throwing clothes into the bag.
"I haven't left this tower in seventy eight years. I decided to leave today."
Bilbo blinked in surprise.
"Seventy eight- that's longer than I've been alive. Thorin, I'm so sorry," he said. "But I'm glad don't have to convince you to leave. Could you untie me now, please?"
Thorin turned and gave him a look.
"Why? You've given me no reason to trust you. All you've done is let yourself in and tell me things that mean my grandfather is a horrible liar," he said in a carefully neutral tone. "If what you say is true, most of my life thus far has been wasted for nothing. And if you're not telling the truth… well."
"I'm not lying! I have proof, my- my two traveling companions are dwarves of Erebor! They came because they believe there is something wrong with the King. He ages oddly, he disappears for random periods of time, the details surrounding your death are murky- and they were right! Well technically they were also hired, but- you're alive. You're alive, not burned to dust like he said," Bilbo finished with a heavy breath. He took in Thorin's shaking hands and tense back, and suspected he wasn't taking it as calmly as it seemed. He spoke in a gentle tone,
"I know this is a lot. Even just hearing the vague details was a lot for me. But you don't have to stay. Come with us, we can help you fix it. You can set the story straight." Bilbo suddenly recalled his conversation with Dwalin after the incident with the trolls. "You know, my mother and father are dead," he said. "I miss them very much. If there was a way to get them back, no matter what, I would do it. ...I'm sure your parents feel the same way about you."
The tension leaked out of Thorin's body and he rubbed his eyes. He faced Bilbo with a pained expression.
"And what's in it for you? You're… clearly not a dwarf," he said diplomatically.
Bilbo snorted and smiled.
"You're going to be a great politician. No, I'm not a dwarf, I am a hobbit. And honestly, I'm still not sure why I'm here, other than my friend the mystical and ever-frustrating wizard said he 'had a feeling' that I should go. And he told me I needed to get out more," he said.
Thorin laughed a little.
"I do too," he said warmly. A hint of a smile tugged at his lips and Bilbo had to physically remember to breathe. Those earlier feelings for Dwalin had hit as hard as a feather compared to what he was feeling right now. Could Gandalf secretly see the future? Did he know that the Prince would just happen to be very, very hot?
They both looked away at the same time, faces pink. You fool, he's probably uncomfortable, this is his first interaction with a stranger in almost eighty years! Bilbo yelled at himself. He cleared his throat and waved a little with his hand.
"Do you think you could untie me now?" he asked tentatively. Thorin hesitated, and then slowly nodded.
He walked over to Bilbo and knelt down to begin work on his feet.
"Promise not to try anything?" he asked, hands hovering over the rope.
Bilbo nodded.
"Yes, I promise."
Thorin made quick work of the knots. Bilbo stood up and rubbed his wrists, trying to get circulation working again. While Thorin packed, he strolled around the room, examining it from top to bottom. At one of the bookshelves he stopped and did a double take. He snatched a book off the shelf and flipped through it excitedly.
"You have The Story of Kullervo? I've been searching for a copy for years! Where did it come from?" he questioned. Thorin glanced up at him and gave a small smile.
"My grandfather brought it from Dale several years ago. I like it," he said a bit shyly. Bilbo nodded emphatically, hoping to get some more words out of him. After a moment of silence Thorin added, "I think I prefer the original poem, though."
Bilbo nodded and closed the book.
"Fair. I've only read the poem, and I enjoyed it very much."
Thorin glanced up at him again and lifted his chin at the book.
"You can have it if you want." He looked back at his bag again and fumbled with some already-folded clothes. He coughed. "As a- as a, uh, thank you. For helping me."
Bilbo was sure it was the light and the strange angle but it almost looked like Thorin was blushing.
"Well I haven't helped you yet. Are you sure? This is really the first copy I've ever seen and I would hate to take something so unique." Bilbo chewed his lip and looked down at the book. Oh, he wanted it badly, but not if Thorin would regret it.
"Take it, please. I haven't read it in a long time. And if it's bothering you," Thorin walked over to him and reached over Bilbo, inadvertently trapping him against the bookshelf. Bilbo stifled a small noise and stared at the way Thorin's shirt pulled across his chest and stomach. Oh goodness. Thorin pulled an older, slightly more worn copy of The Story of Kullervo down. "Grandfather forgot he had already gotten me a copy."
Bilbo nodded tightly, face bright red. He and Thorin made momentary eye contact and Thorin's eyes widened as he noticed how close he was standing to Bilbo.
"Oh," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I- sorry." He stammered, ears going pink. Bilbo nodded again, staring pointedly at the book.
"It's quite alright!" he said in a high-pitched voice. "Nothing to worry about, nothing at all."
They didn't talk after that, Thorin double checking he had everything he wanted while Bilbo curled up in the armchair by the fireplace to read his new book. In a strange way, the setup reminded him of Bag End. This was less cozy, of course, but not bad.
A few minutes later, Thorin cleared his throat.
"I'm ready to go." he said, looking a lot more nervous now that the time had actually come.
Bilbo looked up from his book and shut it, making a note of the page. "Alright then." He noted Thorin's single bag. "Just that?" he asked inquisitively.
Thorin hefted the bag.
"My whole life fits in this room that half the time I share with someone else. No, the bathroom doesn't count," he sighed exasperatedly when Bilbo gestured towards it. "I don't need many things."
Bilbo nodded and walked towards the window, only to trip on a piece of Thorin's hair. He yelped and landed on his side, groaning. He heard Thorin exclaim and run to him, leaning over him.
"Are you okay?" The dwarf asked, looking unsure of what to do. Bilbo sat up and nodded, rubbing his upper arm. He laughed lightly and tilted his head back to see Thorin.
"I'm fine, but that does give me an idea, could I braid your hair?" he sighed, trying not to betray how flustered he was at the idea of touching Thorin. (Just hair, but still.) "It'll be… difficult, travelling with all of… this." He gestured around vaguely. Thorin slumped a little bit.
"It's stopped me from leaving before. Go ahead, but hurry. I want to leave."
Thorin fished a large flat brush from his bag and sat down cross-legged on the floor, facing away from Bilbo. He wordlessly handed him the brush, and Bilbo got to work. As he separated the hair into three sections, Bilbo's fingers brushed the back of Thorin's neck and they both flinched.
"Sorry! I didn't mean to-"
"It's alright, it happens-"
"Y-yes- right." With a cough, Bilbo laser focused in on the braid, determinedly ignoring his beating heart.
It was a simple braid, no extra fanfare or tricks, but it got the job done. After twenty minutes and one wrestling match with the hairbrush, Thorin's inconceivably long hair was now contained in a thick braid that only lightly dragged on the floor. It was tied off with a piece of rope from earlier.
"All done!" Bilbo exclaimed cheerily, patting his thighs and standing up. Thorin gently touched the back of his head, sliding his hand down to feel the braid. He turned, pulling the braid into his hands so he could look at it. A closed mouth smile appeared on his face and Bilbo rubbed his chest to quiet the wild pitter-patter of his heart.
"I've tried to do this before. It always gets tangled or mixed up or starts hurting." Thorin said, running a hand over the smooth pattern. He looked up at Bilbo, completely unreserved for the first time since they met, and smiled again. "Thank you."
Bilbo blinked and took a deep breath, smiling back.
"You're welcome."
They stayed like that for a moment more, until Bilbo slowly pulled away and looked out the window.
"Shall we, then? Oh!" he exclaimed, running over to the wall. He quickly shoved his dagger back into his trousers and reattached the dwarven sword to his hip, and then ran back. "Shall we?"
Thorin snorted and nodded, grabbing his bag off the ground.
"How do we get down?" he asked.
"The same way I got up." Bilbo asked. "If this window were bigger, I would say we could push your mattress out of it and jump, but," he leaned forward and ran his hand along the edge of the window, "it’s too small. So we climb."
Bilbo hoisted himself onto the windowsill and closed his eyes, refusing to look down. With his eyes still closed, he swung one leg out over the edge and got to where he was just holding onto the windowsill with his hands.
"I grabbed the ivy and used it as a rope to get up, so here's hoping I can do it backwards." He began climbing down and was just getting a firm handful of the ivy when Thorin spoke up.
"Wait!" he called. "What if… what if my grandfather needs me?" he asked, sounding unsure.
"Are you ser-" Bilbo bit back a biting comment about having second thoughts now, as Bilbo was hanging at least a hundred feet in the air, and took a deep breath. "Then you'll see him in Erebor."
He kept climbing down, hoping Thorin would follow. Just as Bilbo finished navigating the angled part (which was, surprisingly, easier to do backwards) he heard the rustling sounds of a body climbing over the edge. "Great job!" he exclaimed, filling his voice with encouragement. Some of the encouragement might have been for himself, though. "You can do this. Starting is the hardest part!" Someone had told him that once. It sounded true enough.
"Mmph." Thorin moaned. "I- what if I fall?"
"You won't! Here, I'll guide you through it. You're lucky, you know, I had to figure this out on my own."
Bilbo kept talking through the entire way down, only pausing for Thorin to respond or to take a breath. Before he knew it, his furry feet made contact with the grass and he let go of the tower, sighing in relief. He looked back up at Thorin, about five feet above him. Thorin, who hadn't looked down since he first climbed out the window, had his forehead pressed to the wall.
"How are you so daring?" he mumbled, gripping tight to the rocks.
Without missing a beat, Bilbo responded,
"You make me feel daring." He froze, realizing what he said, and coughed loudly.
Thorin mumbled again,
"What did you say?" and Bilbo internally cheered. Clearing his throat, he spoke louder.
"Open your eyes," he said, taking a few steps back. He saw Thorin crack an eye open, and then gasp. He scrambled down the rest of the way and slowly, oh so slowly, put his bare foot in the grass. He let go of the wall and stood there, staring at the ground.
Suddenly, Thorin covered his mouth with his hand and sobbed, digging his toes into the soft dirt. He started laughing. A full-body doubled-over all-consuming laugh, and Bilbo splayed his fingers over his mouth, not really bothering to hide his delighted smile.
Thorin looked up at Bilbo and grinned as he rushed towards him.
"Ah- Thorin!" Bilbo yelped as the dwarf swung him up high, spinning around and pulling him into a hug. Bilbo full on giggled into Thorin's chest as he wrapped his arms around him. So the Prince was a hugger. They stayed like that for a few seconds until Thorin let go. Bilbo silently mourned the loss of his body heat and how strong Thorin's body had felt.
"Sorry, I- I got excited," he said, rubbing an arm.
Bilbo smiled.
"You have every right to be."
He grabbed Thorin's bag from where he had dropped it in the grass and began walking toward the hole in the wall. Thorin followed, walking backwards to try and absorb everything. He nodded towards the waterfall behind the tower.
"I've always heard the water but I was never able to see it. ...It's so pretty." he commented, taking it in before turning around to walk normally. "Where are we going?" he asked.
Bilbo pointed towards the small hole.
"That goes to the other side. After that, we need to find my friends." He grimaced as he thought of all the lecturing that was sure to come. "Which... might not be very pretty." Unlike you, he thought, and hurriedly pushed the thought out of his mind. "But I found you! So that should help."
Thorin chuckled.
"Are your friends very protective of you?" he asked. Bilbo shrugged.
"Yes and no. I've known them for a week, but I'm already closer to them than most people back home." He flushed in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, that was- ugh. Forget I said that."
Thorin laughed this time and took his bag from Bilbo.
"Don't be sorry. As of a few hours ago, you are my only friend. I'm worse than you." Bilbo laughed.
They arrived at the hole in the wall and Bilbo bit his lip. He had forgotten how small the hole was. Thorin would probably fit, but it wouldn't be comfortable.
"Oh," was all he said, walking around it and trying to figure out a way to make everything fit safely.
Thorin gently grabbed his arm (not now, butterflies) and rubbed his hands together.
"There's something I've been practicing, I can try it here. No promises that it'll work, though, I've never tried something this big before." He sounded nervous. Bilbo cocked his head, taking a step back.
Thorin glanced at him quickly before screwing his eyes shut and concentrating. After a second Bilbo gasped and took another startled step back. Starting from his head, Thorin's silver hair began to glow white, with a myriad of other colors dancing through. The way it lit his skin made him look ethereal, like a star or a god. A rumbling sound came from the rocks in front of them. Bilbo tore his gaze away from Thorin just in time to get coated in a cloud of dust.
When the dust settled, Bilbo started dusting (hah) himself off. If there had been any hope at all for his clothes, it was gone now. He and Thorin coughed, waving the dust away. When it settled, he heard Thorin whisper a victorious "Yes" from behind him, and the sight before him made him gasp again. (Which was stupid because of course he started coughing again.) Where the hole had been was a large circular tunnel, completely smooth. It was large enough for even Gandalf to walk through.
Bilbo whirled around to look at Thorin.
"What- oh my-" he paused and shook a small cloud of dust out of his hair. "What was that?!"
Thorin rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
"Something I've been practicing." When he didn't continue, Bilbo waved his hands about quickly, gesturing Thorin to keep going. Thorin began walking through the tunnel and Bilbo followed, looking at him expectantly. "The Arkenstone was the heart of Erebor. It kept the mountain alive. Somehow, that translates into me being able to affect the lives, the age, really, of other things. I mostly use it to keep my grandfather younger and stronger; but it works the other way as well."
Bilbo ran a hand along the wall as they walked through the tunnel. Perfectly smooth. "That's incredible." he said, smiling over at Thorin, who caught his eye and smiled back. They exited the tunnel and Thorin turned around, examining it. He stared straight through to the other side.
"A lot of animals are kept safe in there by how secluded it is." he commented. Bilbo was about to respond when Thorin concentrated again, filling the area with a pale light. Bilbo looked down and saw, to his delight, all the dust sticking to him floating back towards the tunnel. Ten seconds later and there was no difference to when Bilbo first saw it.
"Aren't we supposed to find your friends now?" Thorin asked, pulling himself away from the only home he could really remember. Bilbo closed his eyes in mild dread and nodded, leading Thorin in the direction of where Balin and Dwalin were supposed to be.
The two of them talked as they walked. Thorin turned out to be much more chatty once he was comfortable, so the conversation flowed evenly, and Bilbo was very pleased to discover that Thorin was, though a bit naive, incredibly smart. He told him so.
"You know, you could run mental circles around many of my neighbors," he said honestly. "And they grew up surrounded by people. It's refreshing."
"I'm… refreshing?" Thorin laughed.
Bilbo pouted.
"Oh, you know what I mean! It's nice to talk to you. Your opinions aren't regurgitated social norms, or stolen from something you half-heard. I like it."
"I like you too," Thorin said, and Bilbo blushed. He snuck a glance at Thorin, who was smiling and looking straight ahead. Bilbo ducked his head and allowed himself a grin.
A few minutes later, they heard loud arguing to their left.
"-got to be around here somewhere, we'll find him!"
"Not if some animal dragged him off! He's a wee thing, and a right tasty snack for a bear or a warg!"
Bilbo rubbed a hand over his face and pointed towards the arguing, nodding to the unasked question. The arguing got louder the closer they got, until Bilbo stepped over a bush and right in front of his friends. The brothers stared at him in shocked silence for a moment, before Balin yelled,
"Bilbo!" and pulled him into a hug. Dwalin joined in, and Bilbo laughed as well as he could while being squeezed to death. Maybe it was just a dwarf thing. When the hug ended, however, they both immediately began yelling at him.
"Where in the-"
"-if you even think about going-"
"-run off to?! It's been-"
"-filthy, what did-"
"-all alone, you absolute-"
"Okay!" Bilbo shouted. "Okay yes, I am very, very sorry. I didn't mean to scare you, and I do need a change of clothes, but just-" he sighed. He looked Balin and Dwalin in the eyes. "I found him."
They both shifted, and Dwalin stepped forward.
"You what?" he asked, as if he didn't dare get his hopes up. Bilbo looked up at him and smiled.
"I found him." He turned around and reached out, barely able to see Thorin's figure behind a tall bush. The Prince stepped out and silently looked at the two other dwarves. Bilbo could tell he was putting on a mask, his guard had gone up again. Balin dropped to one knee, quickly followed by Dwalin.
"Your highness," they said in unison. Bilbo watched, fascinated. Thorin glanced at Bilbo with wide eyes, raising his shoulders and shaking his head in the universal "I don't know" symbol. Bilbo, also not knowing royal etiquette, shrugged back and waved his hands around, palm up. Thorin made a face at him and cleared his throat.
"Ahem- please stand, do not kneel to me." His voice came out strong and deep, and Bilbo suppressed a shiver. Balin and Dwalin stood up and bowed low. Balin nodded.
"Yes, your highness," he said subserviently. Thorin stammered and looked at the ground, scratching his cheek.
"Just Thorin- please," he said. "I rule no one right now."
Dwalin nodded and Balin smiled sadly.
"Of course. Thorin." Balin waited until the Prince looked at him. "I am so glad you're alive," he said, and Thorin exhaled heavily. A bird twittered in the trees above them.
The four of them stood in strange silence until Dwalin reached forward and clapped Thorin on the shoulder.
"Thorin, I don't suppose you've ever tried mead?" he said, and he pulled him off to where Bilbo could see the horses and Myrtle grazing. As he passed Bilbo, Thorin sent him another wide-eyed look of panic. Bilbo laughed and waved him on. Balin and Bilbo watched them go, and Balin huffed a laugh. He put an arm around Bilbo's shoulders and smiled.
"Good job, laddie." Balin nodded towards Thorin. "He's going to do good, I feel."
Bilbo nodded, fondly watching Thorin unstick his braid from a fallen branch. "Should I ask about the hair?" he asked. Bilbo shrugged.
"I'll let him tell you," Bilbo said, and Balin hummed.
"He's not bad-looking, either," Balin continued, winking at him. Bilbo jerked up and opened his mouth to retort that that was none of Balin's business, but Balin kept going. "Also, our little journey just got much longer. You should probably let the wizard know he might want to renegotiate our contract."
Balin patted him on the back and went to join the others. Bilbo stood there for a moment, face pink, before sighing and walking forward. A much longer journey indeed. As he watched Dwalin roar with laughter at Thorin's reaction to the mead, he smiled to himself and leaned on Myrtle. That didn't sound too bad.