Hobbit 1. Chapter 1

Sorry again for my terrible summaries. So, here's a new fic (multi-chapter this time-lookie there, I'm steppin' up my game), but I don't expect this one to be too terribly long. But who knows, it might develop into a biggie. Can't promise regular updates, though I'll try to be good about them, but right now I got 18hrs at school including 2 studio classes which means a lot of extra work for me-hurray! But not really... So, thought I'd give fair warning if I go three weeks without updating or something...

Anywho, hope y'all enjoy and as always I own none of the characters!

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He stretched, the hobbit groaning when something popped in his back before he settled once more, eyes not moving away from the form laying in front of him. It was but a day or so after the battle (Biblo wasn't exactly sure—he was having some difficulty keeping track of the time). What he did know though was that it was late into the night; he could feel the press of sleep against his lids, but he resolutely shooed the feeling away, unwilling to leave the dwarf just yet. He tracked his eyes over the linen bound torso, some areas stained with blood and whatever ointments Óin had thought it necessary to apply. While not a great sight, it definitely was an improvement over the last time Bilbo had seen the dwarf—all of his parts were securely where they were meant to be this time and not spilling out everywhere on the battlefield. Bilbo shuddered at the memory, ripping his eyes away from the chest to stare at the blood and dirt covered face.

He nearly tutted at the sight, and of the matted hair full of the grime of battle. But he supposed he couldn't blame the others for not cleaning him up—they _had_ been rather busy with just piecing him back together to worry about a bit of dirt. But all the same. He sighed as he stood up, walking over to the side of the tent where some water and rags had been left. Carefully, he brought a bowl of water over, dipping one of the rags in before gently running it across the far too pale face, doing his best to remove at least some of the muck.

"Oh Thorin."

He wasn't stupid. He knew what the possibilities of this hare-brained scheme had been, knew what fate could've awaited him, all of them. But for some reason, he had never included Thorin into any of those gruesome ends. It just had not seemed like a possibility. He couldn't say why, but the dwarf had seemed untouchable to him. Which, really, he should've known better after what happened during their first run-in with Azog. But no matter how much he had fretted and worried over the end to this journey (if he even got to see it's end), Thorin, by the end of it, was always sitting on his newly reclaimed throne. He certainly wasn't hanging on by a thread in some hurriedly put-together tent that looked as if the wind blew too hard it would certainly topple over. Then again, Bilbo had never thought the dwarf would try and kill him.

Bilbo cringed at the thought, hand stilling as he rung out the rag. He couldn't imagine what state Thorin would be in if he knew Bilbo was here right now. Certainly, he hopped what had happened with the Arkenstone was just the gold-sickness, but the lead weight in his stomach kept telling him otherwise.

He shook his head at the train of thought, not willing to let it continue any further as he passed the damp cloth one more time over the now much cleaner that he stood again, returning the items to the side where he had fetched them earlier before he returned to the dwarf's side. He had not been sitting there long when Balin walked in.

Bilbo gave a little start as he heard the curtain flap, receiving a gentle smile from the older dwarf as his eyes landed on him. He breathed out slowly, willing his heart to slow down as Balin approached.

"You should rest laddie. We can call you if anything changes with him," he said softly, placing a hand on the tired hobbit's shoulder as he did so.

"I'm fine," was all Bilbo managed to get out, and he knew how unconvincing it sounded.

Balin turned to look at him, his eyes that had been studying his kings face now turned to him and Bilbo tried not to fidget under the look. "Now Master Baggins, you yourself have sustained injuries," he started, glaring sharply at Bilbo's snort, "and you've spent all day and night amongst the cold and the dead—you'd be good to rest."

There was a moment of silence before Bilbo spoke, words soft and nearly hesitant, body tight with tension. "Are you telling me to leave Master Balin?" and while over the course of the journey it had become Balin, and while he didn't seem too upset about the whole Arkenstone debacle, Bilbo all the same was unsure of his standing with the older dwarf.

Balin's eyes softened at the question. "Of course not laddie."

The tightness bleed out of Bilbo in an instant. "Good," he murmured a few second later. "All I would've done anyways was gone to Fíli and Kíli's tent."

There was a soft huff of laughter from behind him at the comment and then another pat on his shoulder. "Think about rest, laddie. You had us all rather worried."

Bilbo nodded, more for Balin's sake than his own willingness to acquiesce to the request. He was rather stiff though, and he supposed he could owe that to the uncomfortable arrangement he had found himself in when he had woken up a couple hours ago. He wasn't exactly sure what had happened, only that one moment he was stabbing an orc in the stomach and the next he was waking up to a litter of corpses around him and a pounding headache. After the initial nausea had worn off, he had finally gotten up and made his way to the nearest tent he could see (which had taken far more effort than he cared to admit). He had been terribly confused at first when no one had responded to him, nearly running over him a few times, that was until he remembered that the ring was still securely around his finger. After having enough sense to take the trinket off, he had been quickly pointed into the direction of the dwarf camp. He hadn't made it that much farther when in the distance he saw Bofur running his way. The dwarf had rightly knocked the wind out of him with the crushing hug he decided to bestow on the hobbit, not minding the grateful tears streaming down his face. _"We thought you dead," _was all he heard as way of explanation before he was lead to the rest of the company.

There, much to his relief, he had been met with smiles, and cheers of reliefs, and more rather forceful hugs and not the utter hatred he had half expected to be met with. After a quick look from Óin with the diagnosis of a mild concussion he was steered to Fíli and Kíli's tent (the sight of which had not been pretty), before finally being taken to see Thorin where he has not left since arriving.

"How are the boys?" he asked after another long stretch of silence between them.

The answer was a heavy sigh that Bilbo was certain the older dwarf had not meant to utter. "No worse, no better."

"That's not saying much. They've not got much worse to get," Bilbo said blandly, thinking back to their waxen, sweat covered bodies.

"There's always worse to get. And either way, they're still better off than Thorin."

"That's not saying much either," he pointed out.

There was more silence between them and Bilbo nearly cursed himself for his thoughtfulness, had he have had the energy to do so. The silence went on for some time before there was another pat to his shoulder and Balin was leaving the tent. Bilbo watched Balin leave, slightly reluctantly, and nearly apologized to the dwarf before he decided against it and he was watching the flap of the tent flutter with the other's exit.

He looked at that spot for a moment more before turning back to Thorin, his eyes scanning the other's form—for what he wasn't exactly sure, but he felt better for doing it. He shuffled again, stretching out his tired muscles (hearing another round of satisfying pops) before he settled himself in for a very long night.

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Well, there's chapter one for everybody! I hope peeps enjoyed it, and of course comments, critiques, etc. are always welcome and appreciated. Hope to get the next one out here quick!


	2. Chapter 2

Well, here's chapter two finally. Sorry it's not terribly long, especially as it took nearly a month to write, but chapters three and four are already partially written, so it shouldn't take that long for me to finish those two (that and spring break is finally here, so I actually have some time to write to this story).

Anyways, hope everyone enjoys the newest chapter.

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He sighed as he ran the cloth over Fíli's head again, his stomach twisting further at the heat he could feel through the damp cloth. It had been three days since Bilbo had woken up and so far, neither of the three injured dwarves had improved. Bilbo supposed he should be grateful they weren't getting worse (though he swore Thorin had felt hotter than usual today), but it was a hard thing to be grateful for when they all looked so positively dreadful. He knew these weren't injuries that they would all wake up from completely fine after a day of rest (Bilbo wasn't that naive), but he had thought there would be some signs of improvement by now. He sighed again as he repeated the motion with Kíli, glad to note that his fever was cooler than his brother's (though not by much).

He had long ago stopped asking the healers for updates about them, or "pester" (their words, not his) them about their condition after a severe glare from one of the older dwarves whose name he hadn't bothered remembering. Bilbo wasn't used to this though, this waiting after others. Nothing ever this severe happened in the Shire, and even his own parents' deaths had been quick and startling. At the time he had been upset about that, about his inability to be with them in those last moments (if not also the unusual early age that they had been taken from him). This though, this waiting by their bedsides day in and day out, waiting for something, some sign that they were getting better… Bilbo didn't think he quite had the strength to deal with this much longer. It was a selfish thought he knew, for the three dwarves were dealing with far worse, but he honestly couldn't help it. Oín kept reassuring him every chance he got (as well as the rest of the Company), telling Bilbo that it was normal for those with injuries this severe to be out for a while, but this was hardly normal for Bilbo.

And it wasn't that normal for dwarves either. Bilbo knew that although they were experienced in war (and everything that came with it), they weren't used to the type of poison that was coursing through his friends at this very moment. He knew it was worrying the healers and they were struggling to figure out how best to treat them, saw it in their pinched brows and dark expression whenever they checked in on the three. He had refrained from saying so though, not wanting to push his limits any further with any of them (he was still surprised he hadn't been booted from the dwarf camp altogether or arrested or something yet, not with his stunt with the Arkenstone). He probably had the rest of the Company to thank for his being relatively left alone; apparently Dwalin was still quite an imposing figure even among dwarves. That didn't stop them from kicking him out of Thorin's tent earlier though (apparently he was distracting to the healers changing Thorin's bandages). He wasn't that bothered by it—whenever he got kicked out of one tent he just went right to the other one (just as he had told Balin he would do). The others hadn't tried to stop him yet, beyond dragging him away to get food every now and then; they had long ago stopped trying to get him to sleep away from either Fíli, Kíli, or Thorin though, just leaving him to sleep at whomevers bedside he had finally passed out at (usually it was Thorin's).

He absentmindedly brushed some wayward strands out of Kíli's face, taking the cloth across the lad's face one more time before rinsing it it the bowl of water next to him. As he squeezed the cloth he looked back to Fíli's face, worrying his lip as he noted the deep, perpetual crease between his brow. He tried to tell himself that Fíli looked exactly the same, and their breathing hadn't gotten anymore laboured since he had last been with him, and Kíli certainly didn't look any paler. Honestly he did, but as he ran the cloth over Fíli's face again, he couldn't help thinking he hadn't been quite so hot yesterday.

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"How are the lads?"

Bilbo looked up from his bland soup to Bofur's smiling face, wondering how it was that he always managed to be so cheerful. Though, Bilbo supposed that wasn't quite so true, if the strain around his lips was anything to go by, and Bilbo idly wondered how much of the front was for him alone. He hesitated in answering the other before a reluctant, "About the same, I suppose," left his lips and with it another spoonful of soup.

"Ah, you didn't sound quite convinced on that," Bofur said as he plopped down in between Bilbo and Bifur (it had been his job this go around to force Bilbo to eat), a new bowl in his own hands now.

"They're no better, no worse," Bilbo repeated, staring resolutely at the bland mixture (he knew Bombur and the others were doing his best, but they had eaten better starving in the forest of Mirkwood—though he supposed when you're starving, anything tastes good). He honestly didn't mind that much, but he did wish there was something more to concentrate on as he ate than his own whirling thoughts (he was left alone with them quite often enough thank you).

Bofur just raised his brow at that. "You'll excuse me if I don't quite believe you," he said as he swallowed a spoonful, his face scrunching up in response right afterwards.

Bilbo struggled to form a response that didn't make him sound crazy when movement to his left caught his attention. Bilbo looked over as Bifur began making signs with his hands, letting out a stream of Khuzdul as he did so, watching Bofur's face enviously as he absorbed the words (blasted dwarves and their secret language).

"Ah, you don't quite believe the healers then," Bofur said as he settled back from where he had been leaning forward to look at Bifur.

"It's not as if I don't believe in their skills or that they're not doing their best," Bilbo was quick to say, to clear up any confusion that might arise. Bofur just quirked his lips at his quick stutterings. "I just don't quite believe they're telling me the whole truth is all," he finished with another spoonful of soup before he went on a tirade about secretive dwarf healers.

Bofur just chuckled, choosing to down his dinner in as few gulps as possible rather than drag out the tasteless experience. "And why would the healers lie to you?" Bilbo just gave him a significant look before turning forward again. "Come now, Bilbo, Oín wouldn't lie about them, not about something like this."

Bilbo's shoulders slumped as he let out a sigh. "I know," he said quietly, placing his bowl down on the floor before rubbing his hands down his face in an effort to wipe away some of the strain and tiredness. He could feel the weight of Bofur's and Bifur's gazes on him (and the weight of a hand from the latter) as he sighed one more time. "I know it's probably all in my head—it's exactly why I haven't said anything. I know."

There was another pat from Bifur's hand before he pulled back and a slight knocking of shoulders from Bofur (enough contact and pressure to let Bilbo know he was there). "If you need to talk Bilbo, you know I'm here—we all are," came Bofur's quiet voice the next second.

Bilbo smiled at the offer, even though he knew it was a strained one. "I know that my friend; I know," came his equally quiet response. He knew his friends would be there to hear him out, but he just couldn't do that to them. They all had enough to deal with without him heaping on his concerns. It was like he told Bofur, it was probably all in his head anyways. And he'd be more inclined to believe that, if it were not for the twisting in his gut that made him shaky and nauseous, and the fearful, warning tugging in his heart. But for all that he would feel better talking to someone about this, the feeling wouldn't last long, he knew. His concerns might finally be assuaged by whatever soothing words that were sure to follow his frantic outpouring of concerns, but he honestly doubted that. The only thing he would accomplish was a temporary lift of weight from his shoulders and dropping of his friends'. Whatever concerns he might temporarily shrug off would only land with his friends, and he could not do that to them, not now. So, although Bofur's offer was appreciated (far more than he thinks the dwarf realizes), he could never take him up on it, no matter how desperately he wanted to.

The other day he had briefly entertained the idea of finding Gandalf and talking with him of his concerns. The idea was quickly thrown away when he had caught sight of the wizard trudging through the dwarf camp. Once he had caught site of the slumped posture and haggard features (all cloaked in the same bloody clothes leftover from the battle), he had quickly disregarded the idea, and had only offered a weak smile and a nod when the wizard had noticed him. He had heard from the others of Gandalf's tireless shift between the different camps, offering his skills wherever they were needed as long as he could spare them. He had only been by once to see the three suffering dwarves from the Company, staying long enough the first day they had been dragged from the battlefield to stabilize them and hadn't been by since. Not that Bilbo could honestly blame the wizard. If anything, the prolonged time Gandalf spent away from the three worried Bilbo, for he knew if Gandalf could he would be with them. For him not to visit once meant worrying things and Bilbo felt concern for his friend, and hoped dearly he wasn't pushing himself too far. But he knew from the deep lines he saw on his friend's face that day that it was a baseless hope.

He sat with Bifur and Bofur a little while longer, relaxing, if only a little, between the solid warmth of the two, until need to check and look upon his ailing friends once more grew too great. Then, he bid them goodbye, settling himself besides Thorin's bed not too long after, beginning his long routine of wiping away as much of the day's dirt and grime as he could from him, cooling him as much as he could with the damp cloths (all the while telling himself Thorin didn't feel hotter than he had earlier today).

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Well, there it was. Hope it was worth the wait and as always reviews/comments/etc. are appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

**Well, I had less of this written than I previously thought (and even less for chapter 4). Finals are on their merry way to being here, so I'm not sure if I'll find time to write chapter 4 before the end of this month, but I will endeavor to do so. Thanks to all those reading and keeping up with this little story of mine and I hope you enjoy. **

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Bilbo gritted his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose in an effort to stave of the impending headache. It was a useless effort though, and before long his head was throbbing with a slow painful pounding that started at the back of his skull until it beat away to behind his eyes. He breathed out, attempting to keep it slow and steady, taking in (what was supposed to be) a calming breath afterwards. It was interrupted as a fist slammed into the table in front of him, Khuzdul curses pouring out the next instant (he knew enough from being in the company of thirteen, rowdy dwarves the sound of a few dwarven curses). The stream of cool, elven insults that he _could_ perfectly understand that were muttered in response didn't help calm him either, and he wondered how it was they all found it perfectly reasonable to behave in such a manner.

He finally lost it when another fist slammed into the table, startling the hobbit out of his thoughts. "Enough!" Bilbo cried, springing to his feet in the rush of his annoyance. "This is quite enough from the lot of you!" he continued when all eyes were firmly on him. "This is absolutely ridiculous! You lot are _kings_ and _rulers_ for Eru's sake and yet here you are bickering like little faultings! I have half a mind to twist your ears for your behavior as we do to children in the Shire that misbehave!" he ranted, wagging his finger disapprovingly at two particular people sitting before him.

He didn't fully understand why Balin had dragged him into this meeting, if only to be a voice of reason in a sea of tempers, but he didn't particularly appreciate the inclusion. Especially when Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli were still struggling in their tents. And as the days went on, the more worried for them Bilbo became. He absolutely knew now that the healer dwarves were keeping something from him (knew now that the flush in their faces and the extra heat that seemed to radiate off of them was not in his head), and he wondered if it was from him alone they were keeping the information from or if the rest of the company was as left out as he was. He had a feeling some of them knew, or at least suspected (if the increasingly worried looks they gave the still bodies were any indication), but, honestly, what good did it serve anyone to keep lying to him? He felt as useless as it was, now he felt absolutely pathetic that they did not even trust him with that sort of information (didn't trust him to be able to handle it, though he was sure some dwarves just plain didn't trust him). But didn't they realize how much he was fretting over them already—mostly due to the fact that he couldn't get straight answers out of anyone!

Bilbo took another deep breath before he completely lost focus, trying to reign himself back onto the topic at hand—there were already enough boiling tempers present that it wouldn't do for him to add his current frustrations with the dwarves. He took another breath as he surveyed the assembled group. He sat at the end of a simple, wooden table in between Balin and Dwalin. Across from him, slumped in his chair (and who looked just as pleased to be here as Bilbo did) was Bard, and to Bilbo's left and right Thranduil and Daín Ironfoot respectively. They were all here to discuss their current situation, for even though they had won against the orcs, there was another battle on their heels, one they had less of a chance of winning against: winter.

Already the temperature was beginning to drop, the nights turning more and more unbearable. And dangerous. They were at a precarious time now, and their survival was beginning to depend more and more on each other as the days passed. But that was soon going to be more difficult with the worsening weather—that and the ever shortening food supply. The only ones not in complete fear of starvation were the Elves, who at anytime could return to their own kingdom which had more than enough food to last them through the cold months. The dwarves too fared better than the men, for they at least had a mountain to run to when the snow began to fall, ruined though it was. The men though, they had neither food nor shelter, for Smaug had left nothing in his wake save for ash.

That's what they had convened to discuss, how to proceed with the threat of winter on their heels. Only, they had gotten as far as the 'hellos' (if that's what one wanted to call them) until the arguing began. Bard had tried to get the two to calm down and actually talk in the beginning, but he had given up quickly enough. And now they found themselves here, with Bilbo scolding grown adults as if they were nothing more than children.

Bilbo turned his attention to Daín when he heard a strangled noise leave the dwarf. In any other situation, Bilbo supposed he would be more nervous at the rage he found in the red faced dwarf, but at this point he was far too annoyed with them to care much.

"And who are you, halfling, to speak to me in such a way? Why is a _thief_ such as yourself even here at this meeting?"

Bilbo could feel the immediate tensing of Balin and Dwalin next to him, saw Bard straighten in his seat as he threw a heated look at Daín. Bilbo felt the urge to lay a hand on his friends' shoulders in an effort to calm them, but decided against the movement. Instead, he looked back at Daín with all the anger and frustration he could muster, feeling a slight bit of satisfaction as Daín moved back at the look (even if it was only slightly so).

"I am here, Master Ironfoot, because I am the only one that can tolerate you lot. I am here, Master Ironfoot, because you and King Thranduil cannot be trusted to not act like children and carry on an actual conversation. I am here, Master Ironfoot, because winter is coming and we cannot afford to waste time bickering when threat of starvation and freezing hangs over so many people. I am here, Master Ironfoot to tell you to _sit down_ and behave and act as your title bids you," he said, words and tone sharp and cutting in the face of this ridiculousness. "Those were not just words, Master Dwarf. _Sit. Down_," he repeated when Daín remained standing. He felt Balin and Dwalin settle back as Daín plopped obediently into his seat, and Bilbo nearly chastised Dwalin for the smug smirk he knew the dwarf would be currently adorning. Almost. "And do not think I do not know what those hand gestures mean," he barked when he noticed the movement from the dwarf. "I have been in the company of dwarves long enough to guess their meaning. And you, King Thranduil," he said, turning to the elven king when he noted the quirk in the other's lips, "_do not think I do not understand the insults you so freely throw around_," he said, switching to elvish to prove his point, not displeased in the least by the flash of surprise that swam over the other's features as the words left his mouth. "Now the both of you with cease this foolishness immediately and do what you came here to do or Eru help me!" he finished, giving the two one last stern glare before sitting back down in his seat in a huff (trying his best to ignore the approving smirk and nodd from Bard).

"How dare—"

"Be careful of what you say next Daín," Dwalin rumbled threateningly next to him.

When Daín threw his outraged look his way, his mouth open in rebuttal, Balin spoke up. "Whatever your thoughts about Master Baggins, his sound judgement has saved our Company countless times and is the only reason we are here today. You would be good to listen to him," and then, when Daín looked unconvinced, he let out a stream of Khuzdul that left Bilbo scrunching his brow up in confusion at the incomprehensible words. His confusion and frustration rose as a look of disbelief dawned on the dwarf's face, his eyes darting over to Bilbo as he studied him before being pulled back to Balin as the older dwarf continued to talk. When he was done, Dain settled back in his seat, if only by a fraction, looking slightly more mollified than he had a moment ago.

Bilbo studied him a moment longer, before looking at the elf king, finally letting out a sigh when he judged their tempers to be level enough to continue (though whether that would hold was another matter altogether). When the silence continued between them, Bilbo couldn't help but raise a brow and interject once more. "Well? Get on with it then!"

* * *

He breathed through his nose, again trying to soothe the headache that had been reigning for hours now. Bilbo didn't know why he bothered, it was a useless gesture at this point, but for some reason continued the action nonetheless. They had gotten absolutely no where. While he hadn't needed to break up anymore fights, it didn't mean the three had seen fit to actually get something accomplished. Two really (for Bard had been trying as much as he could stand to, before once again giving up about half-way through). Dain hadn't so much as yelled again afterwards, but that didn't mean he still didn't fight against the elven king—and Thranduil gave as good as he got. Though no outward insults were flung, subtle enough ones were so constantly slipped in that it made it impossible to get anything done. Both of them refused to budge, to show any sort kindness or camaraderie to the other, instead falling back on old grudges and tensions every chance they got. It had been exhausting to say the least.

Bilbo watched the slumped, tense shoulders of Bard as he left the tent for a second before something made him jump up and follow the surly man. It took a moment for the other to notice him trailing after him, but when he did, Bard adjusted his gait, slowing enough for the tired hobbit to catch up with him. "And what do I owe the honour, Master Baggins?" and Bilbo couldn't tell if there was sarcasm in that question or not. He raised a brow at the slightly bitter tone. Bard caught the look, his shoulder slumping a bit further as he mumbled an apology under his breath.

Bilbo merely nodded his head, he understood well enough the frustration the other must be feeling (enough for him to run after the other instead of running straight back to the three injured dwarves). "Bilbo is fine," he said absently, noting the slight twitch of the other's mouth as he studied the man.

"Bilbo then," he corrected, giving the other an unreadable look (though Bilbo guessed it was pleasant enough). He looked for a moment like he wanted to press something with Bilbo, but in the end decided against it as he faced forward again.

"Are you alright, Bard?" Bilbo finally asked.

A snort in reply. "My wounds were shallow enough—I am fine," he said gruffly, body going rigid as he picked up his pace by the barest amounts (though Bilbo wondered whether this was on purpose or an instinct of Bard's to shy away from the impending conversation).

"You know that is not what I meant," Bilbo replied sharply.

At once the the words made him slump and slow until they stood still at the edges of the camps (Bilbo unsure of where Bard had been heading other than away). "I am fine."

Bilbo gave him an unconvinced look, earning a smile that was a mix of appreciative and annoyed from Bard (a talented mix Bilbo thought). "I am…" and here he paused, eyes roaming over the bleak landscape before him, seeming to really consider his response this time before speaking. "I am managing," he answered with a slow carefulness.

Bilbo's lips twitched at the answer, and he did his best to keep the smile off his face (even though it would've been far from a happy one—all the same it didn't seem appropriate). "If it is any consolation, you seem to be managing fine," Bilbo said softly, and (he hoped) in a slightly encouraging manner.

Another twitch of the lips before his gaze became hardened again. "Winter is coming, Bilbo, and it will come hardest for my men and my people most of all. I'm not sure how I am to manage that."

Bilbo sighed softly, frustration with Dain and Thranduil surfacing all the stronger as he heard the thread of bone-deep weariness so apparent in the man's voice. It seemed Bard was mirroring his thoughts well enough as he let out a growl of frustration. "What do they think all of this is? Victory will mean nothing if we all die!" he all but yelled, kicking an unfortunate rock that lay near his feet. "I suppose they are content enough in their chances to give any thought to those who fought beside them," he continued, voice leveling with barely concealed desperation and bitterness and anger.

Bilbo ached for Bard and all his troubles, ached for the weight all of it put on him. "I will not even begin to try and understand the grudge that lies between dwarves and elves," he said tiredly, for he had dealt enough with the hate and bitterness that lied between those two races.

Before Bilbo could say anything else, Bard exploded again, Bilbo's comment only seeming to wind the man up further than he already had been. "So what? I am supposed to let it be and let my people die? There is nowhere for us to go, no lands we can reach safely before the coming of winter. And we cannot hope to rebuild enough to protect us all—and even if we could we have no food to keep us alive afterwards. I am I to sit idly by and let the grudges of dwarves and elves spell the end of my people?" he barked, turning accusing eyes to Bilbo.

"I was suggesting no such thing, Bard," he said calmly, body relaxing when Bard shifted back at the answer, his previous furious gaze leveling until it appeared just the barest amount sheepish. "Just that you will only drive yourself madder by trying to figure out their ways. Believe me," he said, attempting a smile. Either he succeeded or rather Bard just appreciated the gesture as his eyes softened in gratitude, body slumping as he turned his eyes to the ground, seeming reluctant to speak further now.

"What am I to do then?"

"You still have the Arkenstone."

At the mention of the stone, Bard's head shot up, a slightly incredulous look in his eyes. "Even after all of this, you would still have me use it?" he asked.

Bilbo gave him a perplexed look. "Why ever would I not?"

Bard shifted, scratching the back of his neck as he switched his weight from foot to foot slowly. "Just that you might've come to regret giving me the stone after what happened upon the rocks."

Bilbo's expression darkened and he let out an unbidden shiver at the memory of rough, calloused hands around his throat. But he could see the increasing guilt in Bard's eyes and for his sake, Bilbo planned his next words carefully. "I regret that I parted from them on such bad terms. I regret Thorin acting like that, of pushing him to such a state, that I could not think of a better way to ease the shock and the blow of me seemingly giving away the stone," and here he looked hard at Bard, for he wanted no misunderstanding here. "But I do not regret giving it to you, for trying to stop a senseless war though war found us anyways. And I do not begrudge you now for it or when you use it—in fact I encourage it. Dwarves are a stubborn lot and with Thorin's words, even during gold fever as they were, Dain is unlikely to easily go against him. And whatever friendship you had with the elves appears to be forgotten in the wake of battle and old grudges, though whether they mean to forget it I cannot say.

You have sway with the stone, Bard, for even if Dain refuses, Thranduil would not pass up such an item. With it, you'll have their attentions well enough; make them listen."

Bard stared at Bilbo for a long while, a new respect creeping into his features as he looked upon the small, unassuming creature. "Truly, Bilbo, I am in your debt, as are all the people of Laketown. You are too kind and generous and I wonder what honor I can bestow to repay all you give me freely."

Bilbo gave a huff of laughter. "I don't need anything Bard—you're thanks is enough." At Bard's disbelieving look Bilbo continued, "I'm a simple hobbit, I have no need of all the riches and honours you are more than likely thinking of. As long as I have good food and good smoke, and a fair bit of good drink I am more than content," he finished, smiling at the man.

"But surely there is something—"

Bilbo cut him off, shaking his head slightly. "You honor me enough by calling me friend."

At this Bard smiled, a true smile like Bilbo had not seen from him before, and Bilbo couldn't help but let his own spread in response. Bard chuckled as he turned forward and Bilbo could've sworn he heard the words, "simple indeed," muttered under his breath, but Bilbo paid them no mind. From the corner of his eye he saw Bard looking at him again, and Bilbo turned to him in question.

"You have asked after me, now it is my turn. How are you Bilbo? For you look much more tired than last I saw you, though it is not so unusual after everything," Bard said, giving the creature a once over.

Bilbo smiled crookedly at him. "I am managing," earning a small spark of amusement in the other man's eyes. Bilbo sighed, and it was heavy and long, pushing as much of his weary and strain into it as he could manage. "I am afraid."

Bard gave him a questioning look. "Of what?"

Here Bilbo laughed, but it was a humorless thing. "Better to ask the opposite, for I fear my answer is nearly everything. I fear more attacks. I fear the cold and the long nights and the freezing temperatures. I fear another war if the dwarves and elves cannot learn to stand each other better, but I also fear them leaving because what does that spell for everyone else? But most of all I fear death."

Bard gave him another questioning look, though didn't press further, leaving the decision of whether to share more up to Bilbo (for which he was grateful, more than Bard probably knew). He thought about it for a moment, of whether or not to say more, nearly decided against it until he felt all the anxieties and fears he had been keeping to himself bubble and rage within him until he feared he might burst. So he let it all pour out of him. "I fear for Thorin, and Fíli and Kíli. I fear their wounds are beyond the expertise of the dwarf healers. I fear sleep, for I feel like if I do I shall wake to find that they passed as I slept. I fear when I am with them, yet cannot seem to part from them for I think in the moment I take my eyes of their chests they will cease to rise. I fear the fever I know is taking them. And I fear there is nothing I can do for them, have done nothing more for them than worry," he said in a quick rush of breath, barely pausing to take a breath, it all pouring out of him, unstoppable even had he wanted to after keeping it to himself for so long. He took a long shuddering breath when he was done, sneaking a quick look at Bard after he did so.

The man's face was solemn, such an old look of grief and knowing swimming across his features that Bilbo's chest hurt. For a long moment Bard said nothing, just looked and shared as best he could with his face his understanding. Bilbo did not mind the silence in the least, greatly appreciative of the silent companionship that lay between them. "I know not what to say to make you feel better. The words 'keep strong at heart' are hollow and useless here, for this is not something persistence can cure. It is not easy when one's friends lay dying and I know all too well how terrible that is. But know this, Bilbo," and here Bilbo looked at him, and was slightly shocked to see the utter conviction on Bard's face, "you have done for them, honorably and well. You have struggled and fought with and for them and call them friend. You have done for them more than simply worry."

Bilbo stood, staring slightly wide-eyed at the other, throat thick all of the sudden and for a moment Bilbo had to blink away tears that came unbidden to his eyes. He looked away, eyes fleetingly and unseeingly roaming over the remains of the battle before them. "Thank you," was all he managed to get out, the words sounding horse and heavy even to him. But Bard seemed to appreciate them all the same if the small upturn in his mouth was anything to go by.

* * *

Bilbo wasn't sure how much longer he stood with Bard after that, only that it couldn't have been too long (or at least it had not felt it). Perhaps Balin and the others had been right about forcing him away from his three dwarves, for the longer he was away from them, the less his thoughts turned to them until for a split moment he could pretend none of this had happened and in that one moment there was peace. Bilbo felt a little guilty for the thoughts, but couldn't help them. And he felt better for talking with Bard—lighter in a way, and he was glad he had decided to follow the man earlier.

Still though, his worry with the three dwarves returned, so much until he was finally compelled to go back (it had already been hours since Balin had drug him away from them—nearly an entire day in fact). He made his way through the camps, trying to retrace his and Bard's steps as best he could, and even with that he got turned around a time or two. But finally he was among familiar sights, and he felt comforted by it.

It wasn't until he noticed the increasingly hurried speech of the dwarves around them, of the ever increasing tone of,—fear?, worry?—it was hard to tell, but all the same Bilbo sensed an urgency in it that made his pulse quicken. And as he crept closer to the familiar tents, the more the commotion rose. Finally, he caught something familiar being spoken by someone near him, and though he was unable to make out the rush of Khuzdul that followed, what he had been able to decipher sent his blood draining from his face, his heart seeming to stutter to a stop.

Thorin.

After a moment where everything seemed to stand still, before all at once seeming to blend and sway and bleed, Bilbo started to run, as fast as he could manage through the ever growing crowd of dwarves. He pushed and darted and squeezed as best he could, all of it seeming to take far longer than it should all the while thinking, praying, _'Please no. Please, please no.'_ until he caught sight of some of the company. He almost called out to them, until he made out the ashen, grim expressions on their faces, their looks stealing all the oxygen from his lungs. He stepped forward slowly, having suddenly lost the energy to run further, to barely keep himself upright as his heart hammered away brutally in his chest. In was Bofur again who saw him first, so many things swimming across his face as he caught sight of the hobbit that Bilbo couldn't even begin to decipher them.

He tentatively stepped forward, fear and worry clearly etched across his features even as he tried to look calm and comforting. He reached out (what Bilbo thought was meant to be a soothing) hand, but all it did was make his stomach drop further, as he called out his name carefully. The others turned to him then, all looking the same and just as dreadful as they passed looks between them that left Bilbo feeling cold.

"_No."_

* * *

**Hope the wait wasn't too long for that. Like I said earlier, with finals coming up, I'm not sure if I'll be able to crank out chapter 4 before that, but I will try my best! Hope everyone enjoyed.**


	4. Chapter 4

**I could've sworn I had already posted this (surprisingly I got this one done not too long after chapter 3), and when I was checking, realized I never actually posted the darn thing. So here's chapter 4 and hopefully chapter 5 won't be too far behind (but with finals coming up, I'm not too sure when I'll have time to write to this). Anyways, read and (hopefully) enjoy!**

* * *

Voices were raised, Khuzdul being thrown around so fast that Bilbo couldn't even discern any familiar sounds in the rush of things. Healers were running back and forth, passing along various supplies as they tried to keep up with Óin's harsh commands (at least that's what Bilbo thought they were). Bilbo watched all of them in a sort of detached fashion, unsure whether or not he should feel relieved (that Thorin wasn't dead), or simply terrified (that he wasn't far from being it by the look of things). In the end, he was stuck somewhere in between the two, feeling as though he had lost his equilibrium along the way.

When he had finally reached the dwarves after his talk with Bard, they had tried speaking with him, but for the life of him Bilbo had been unable to concentrate on any of the words they had said. Bofur had reached out to him, saying something, but the only thing Bilbo had caught was 'Thorin' and the fear in the other dwarf's voice. When he had made a move to enter the tent, Ori had tried to stand in his way, saying something along the lines of Bilbo didn't need to see this. It had been a weak attempt which Bilbo had easily shrugged off before slipping past the scribe, ducking Glóin when he too attempted to block him.

If he thought it had been mayhem outside the tent, it was nothing compared to the chaos happening within it. All the rushing, all the yelling—he had never seen the dwarfs look more frantic than they did at this moment. After the initial shock at seeing such activity wore off, he noticed Dwalin and Balin not to far in front of him. They both looked over at the sound of his entrance, before their gazes shot to the other, something crossing between them before Balin motioned him over. Bilbo, as quickly and best he could slipped between the rushing healers, managing to keep quite out of all their ways until he stood beside the other dwarfs. He was caught between needing to see Thorin, having some sort of visual cue of how the dwarf was faring (even though he could guess fairly well how he was based on everyone around him), and being too scared to look at him at all. Finally, between the rushing bodies he caught a glimpse of the dwarf, the air rushing out of his lungs as he did.

Thorin's skin was pale, far paler than even Bilbo himself and what wasn't nearly stark white was flushed so heavily Bilbo couldn't imagine the kind of fever that must be burning him up at the moment. He was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, the sheets already damp with the excess moisture. And then one of the healers shifted and Bilbo caught sight of the bandages wrapped around his torso, nearly stained black with what Bilbo couldn't fathom but the sight of which made him sick and weak at the knees."What happened?" he finally managed to croak out, after staring wide-eyed at the scene for some time.

There was a moment and another look passed between the brothers before Balin turned to him. "Thorin's fever spiked not too long after the meeting ended," and Bilbo's stomach dropped at this bit of information—oh why ever did he have to talk to Bard right then and there? "One of the healers came in to check on him when he noticed Thorin was having difficulty breathing. He called Óin, and then…" here Balin trailed off, looking to his king once more. "Then, we started to loose him," he finished quietly.

Bilbo blanched at the words, feeling as if all the blood drained out of him so quickly that it left the world grey and spinning. After swallowing for a couple of moments (not missing the concerned look from Dwalin as he did so) he managed to find his voice again, but "Why?" was all he could manage, and even then his voice broke.

"Poison," Dwalin said simply, gruffly.

Bilbo clenched his teeth as he felt the hot rush of anger flare up in him. He knew it! If only these dwarfs weren't so stubborn and just admit when they needed help! He swallowed the words that suddenly wanted to pour out of him, the hot, hateful words that would do no good right now (said too late to make any difference and at such the wrong time he would probably only succeed in hurting Thorin further). As he watched them though, watched the healers run around, watched the subtle fear and panic-stricken look in Óin's face, the slow bitter acceptance that was dawning on him and the other healers, Bilbo finally snapped.

He turned abruptly on his heel, rushing out of the tent as fast as his feet could carry him without full tilt running just yet. He ignored Dwalin and Balin as they called after him, ignored the rest of the Company as he slipped by them (or at least attempted to). But suddenly Bofur gripped his wrist, worry and confusion etched across his pale features.

"Let go, Bofur," he said, more harshly than he intended, but his stomach was tight to the point where he felt nauseous, the fear making his heart beat so fast he thought it might burst from his chest. He needed to go and he needed to go now.

"Where are ya goin', Bilbo?"

"To get some help, for Eru's sake!" he yelled as he ripped his wrist from Bofur's grasp, ignoring the further twisting in his stomach at the surprised (and somewhat hurt) look that flashed across the other's face. "Save me from the stubbornness of dwarfs!" he said as he turned and left, more to himself than to anyone in particular. He nearly turned around and snapped when he heard footsteps trailing behind him, but refrained—they could follow him all he liked as long as they didn't try to stop him.

He wove his way between dwarfs and tents, as fast as he could, surroundings blurring and blending until he was ducking between men, trying his best not to get trampled on. He ignored the curious looks as he hurried by, doing his best to avoid anyone he might recognize and who therefore might try and stop him and slow him down. As he began reaching the end of the men's camp and still he didn't slow down, the dwarfs behind him finally spoke up.

"Bilbo, where do you think your going?" he heard Nori hiss behind him, and he thought he might've made a move to grab him, but Bilbo sped up, hoping over a small log as he did so.

"For the last time, I am getting help," he said through gritted teeth.

Bilbo prayed that the dwarfs kept silent as he made his way through the elf camp, neck craning this way and that in effort to spot his target. Slowly he could hear whispers around him, saw elves trailing them with their eyes, curiosity and disdain clear in their features. He felt the dwarfs around him press closer, and briefly he wondered if they did this on purpose or whether it was some unconscious act. Finally, after what felt like hours, he spotted a large white tent with two elven guards posted on either side of the entryway.

Bilbo picked up his speed until he was standing before them, trying his best to catch his breath before he spoke to them. He watched as they tensed and shifted, hands going to hover over the swords kept securely at their sides. _"I bid you, please,"_ he said once he could breath somewhat evenly, _"to ask King Thranduil if I may hold council with him,"_ he rushed out, ignoring their startled expressions as the elvish words left him. _"Please,"_ he implored when they simply stood there.

They looked to one another before the one on the left faced him, bending forward to better see the hobbit. _"And what need to you have to speak with our king?" _he asked smoothly, the barest hint of a sneer on his face as his eyes flickered to whatever group of dwarfs had followed behind him.

He felt the group behind him tense at the look and the tone in the other's voice even though they could not understand the words. Bilbo felt something snap in him as he glared as the guard. _"The business is mine and your king's alone, if he chooses to see me. I tell you only that it is of great importance and to please tell him that Bilbo Baggins seeks his council and his help,"_ he said, trying his best to reign in his anger, though he could not help the slight rise in volume in his voice.

The guards stiffened at his tone, looks shifting into something colder. The one on the right began to open his mouth, in what was sure to be a refusal when the tent behind them opened. The guard snapped his mouth closed as Thranduil stepped out, head bowing as the elven king came to stand between the two guards.

"_What is going on out here?"_ he asked, cool eyes looking to each of the guards before his eyes flickered to the group of dwarfs, lip curling in the barest amounts as he caught sight of them. "And what misfortune has befallen me that I find four dwarfs in my camp, outside my tent?" he sneered.

Again the Company tensed, a growl escaping one of them. _"It is not them who come to see you, King Thranduil, but myself,"_ he said, stepping over the barest amounts to block some of the dwarfs from the elf's sight.

"Bilbo," he heard someone call quietly behind him (he thinks it might've been Bofur), his voice a mix of apprehension and concern as well as something else Bilbo could not place, but he ignored it as the elven king's eyes came to rest on him.

A look of surprise flicked across his face as he took in the hobbit. _"Master Baggins, what need drives you here? Surely there have been enough talks for one day?"_ he asked, head slightly cocking to the side as he studied the small creature.

Bilbo squashed down the urge to say that it hadn't been so much talking today as it had been petulant insults being flung this way and that, deciding it would hardly help his cause in this moment. He swallowed, eyes looking imploringly at the elven king before he dipped down into the deepest bow he could manage, ignoring the cries and hisses that broke out behind him at the action. _"I beg you, King Thranduil, to help Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrór, son of Thráin, King Under the Mountain. Orc poison runs rampant in his veins that is beyond the skill of dwarvish healers. Your kind has knowledge of what ails him and how to treat him,"_ he said, trying his best not to rush over the words as his fear bade him do, instead he keeping his voice as even and paced as he could manage, pushing all his need as he could into words. _"I beg you to help him, for without your assistance I fear we will lose him,"_ he finished, bowing deeper at the end, hoping they didn't catch the break in his voice as he finished.

There was a heavy silence around him then, oppressive and thick in a strange way. He could feel countless eyes boring into him, and he did his best not to quake under so many intense looks. Whispers started to spread as Thranduil kept silent, Bilbo unable to catch any of what was being passed around as he remained bowed. He heard his name behind him again, soft with something strange mixing in the tone (Ori, his mind supplied) and a tug from his right with a grunting noise that could only have been Bifur.

"_And what do you offer me, Master Baggins, in exchange for my help?"_ came the elven king's response after some time.

Bilbo looked up at the king, straightening the barest amounts so that he could see the other's face and the expression on it. He could discern nothing from the cool features, nothing in the bland expression that told him where the king currently lay. A noise of desperation escaped him then, face falling as he looked back down. _"I have nothing to offer fit for kings, especially one such as yourself. But all I possess is yours if you wish it, though I don't know what that means to you," _he offered, hoping that it would be enough, but stomach sinking because he knew how low of an offer it was. While he was well off by hobbit standards, what he had was less than nothing compared to the riches the elven king was in possession of (from what little Bilbo spied while in Mirkwood, he knew that much), and whatever he had gained from this adventure he had already promised to Bard and his people. Perhaps if he was asking on behalf of men, it would be one thing, but he was asking for for help for a dwarf. And not any dwarf, but Thorin who Thranduil had already imprisoned once and for whom he had been ready to go to war against. It was a bleak proposal, depending far too much on the goodness in Thranduil or whatever pity he might bestow Bilbo, and as the silence stretched on, so did the sinking in his stomach.

"_It means something," _he heard Thranduil murmur at long last, Bilbo's head whipping up at the words, hope and disbelief swimming in his face though he tried to keep his expression at least somewhat neutral. _"You truly offer me everything?" _he asked again, something strange in his voice.

Bilbo didn't even hesitate. _"Yes."_

Something odd swam across the elf's face then, a look Bilbo had no chance of deciphering even though he tried his best. There was another moment of silence as Thranduil regarded him, that strange expression on his features before he schooled his face, nodding a moment later. _"Take me to him then."_

The elves around tensed, one of the guards looking as if wanted to protest. Bilbo's eyes grew wide at the response, nearly sputtering. _"Surely there is someone else?"_

Thranduil raised his brow at this. _"Are my skills not enough? I am no master healer like Lord Elrond, but my skills are hardly something to scoff at."_

If possible, Bilbo's eyes grew wider, a flush of embarrassment spreading across his face all the way to his ears. _"I did not mean—!" _it was then he caught the look of amusement in the other's eyes, and whatever else he meant to say left him in a rush of air.

"Well, then lead the way Master Baggins," he said when the hobbit remained mute and unmoving, the elf's lips twitching the barest amounts.

Bilbo jumped at the voice and the sudden switch into Westron. He flushed again (ignoring the confused muttering from the dwarfs behind him) as he quickly turned around, following the elf's words. He went a couple of feet before turning his head around and looking at the king. "Thank you," he said sincerely. The other did nothing but look at him, that strange expression once again flashing across his face before he bowed his head in acknowledgement. Bilbo smiled the barest amounts before facing forward again, traveling as fast as he could back to the dwarf camp, trusting the other to keep up (though it was hardly a hard task).

* * *

The trip back to the dwarf camp took significantly less time than it had been to get to the elf one (at least to Bilbo it felt like it did). Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief as he caught sight of Thorin's tent in the distance (and the loud group that still crowded around it). It seemed that Thorin was still alive then—if he had passed, Bilbo was sure to mood would be much more sombre (and therefore quiet). He pushed his way through the crowd, only stopping when a wide-eyed Dori blocked his path. "Bilbo, what?"

Bilbo opened his mouth to reply and assure and explain (quickly) everything to the rest of the Company, when he heard a harsh, dwarven curse shouted out above the noise. Bilbo's mouth clamped shut, jaw clenching in annoyance as he made out the voice. He turned to the tent, watching with narrowed eyes as as red-faced Dáin stepped out (in the back of his mind registering Dwalin and Balin following him out—as well as a number of guards).

Dáin's eyes narrowed as they settled on the hobbit before flickering back to the figure behind him. When he realized who stood behind Bilbo, his face turned into a snarl, a low growl slipping through his lips. "And why is a tree shagger here in our camp?"

Sniggers (and some cheers) went out at the question and the insult contained within, and Bilbo could just make out the soft rush of annoyed breath that left the elven king in response. "_King Thranduil_ is here to offer his help and knowledge in healing, Lord Ironfoot," Bilbo replied as evenly as he could manage.

The dwarf's eyes shot back to him, disbelief and anger clear in his face. "Help?" he repeated, voice pitched high in mocking disbelief. "More like poison my cousin! If you think you or that tree shagger is getting anywhere near Thorin, you are surely mistaken _hafling_," he hissed, leaning in closer to Bilbo.

Bilbo bristled at the insult and the insinuation contained in the words—of all things! Undeterred and unflinching even in front of this raging dwarf, Bilbo stepped forward, glaring harshly at the other. "If I wanted Thorin dead, I would've completed the task long ago, Dáin Ironfoot, and certainly not in such a public way. And it is poison that is circling in Thorin now and killing him, a poison far beyond your kind's expertise, but not so for Thranduil and his kin. Now you will _step aside_, Master Dwarf, if you want any chance of Thorin surviving," Bilbo shot back, voice harsh and body shaking with barely contained rage.

He watched as Dáin's face contorted and twisted in rage, veins popping out on his forehead and from what little of his neck that was not concealed by beard or hair. He sputtered for a moment before his lip curled and he was leaning forward in the hobbit's face once more. "I'll have your neck you insignificant, impudent halfling—"

"A halfling's whose armour has seen more wear than yours," Bilbo quipped back before Dáin could finish his insult. He watched as the dwarf's face bled of colour and then immediately flushed with rage as the insult hit home. Bilbo had heard from some of the Company that Dáin had not actually joined in the fighting—apparently by the time he made it through his lines the battle was already done. It was quite the sore spot for him (as it would for any dwarf, Bilbo was lead to understand), and Bilbo couldn't help the swell of satisfaction at the other's response to it's mention.

Dáin struggled for a moment before a single, strangled, enraged sound left his throat. He made as if to grab his weapon when suddenly the Company moved. In a flash at least four dwarfs were standing in between Bilbo and Dáin (Bifur pushing Bilbo even further behind him), with Dwalin and Dori on either side of the dwarf, holding him back and his weapons well out of reach of the hobbit.

"Not another move Dáin or it'll be your neck that'll be had," Dwalin growled, pushing the other back.

"My neck?" Dáin yelled, looking wildly between the Company. "He is the traitor that threatens your king!" and Bilbo was a little heartened to hear the outraged cries from the Company at those words.

Balin stepped forward then and Bilbo nearly gulped at the look on the other's face (so unlike anything he had ever seen from the elderly dwarf before). "We have already told you Dáin, Thorin recalled Bilbo's banishment and all that was said that day before he fell unconscious—it was the gold sickness and the gold sickness alone that spoke that day. If Bilbo says King Thranduil is here to help Thorin than that is what he is here to do and you will step aside, Dáin."

Dáin growled opening his mouth (mostly likely to disparage Bilbo again, the hobbit thought) when Balin cut him off, speaking a single sentence that had Dáin's mouth clamping shut in an instant. Bilbo had no idea what the older dwarf said, but whatever it was set off a firestorm of whispers and mutters around them, all of which Bilbo could not understand the meaning of. Briefly, Bilbo glanced behind him, wondering what the elven king was thinking about all of this. The other just stood there, calm and practically serene (or rather bored) but for the single eyebrow raised as he cooly surveyed the proceedings. Bilbo nearly snorted at the expression, but refrained as he turned forward again watching as Dáin finally withdrew his hand from his side.

The action relaxed the Company, some of the tension immediately leaving their bodies as the dwarf stepped aside, his jaw clenched together so fiercely Bilbo was unsure how his teeth weren't cracking from the pressure. Dwalin stepped in front of him, blocking him from Bilbo as much as he could as the rest of the Company moved out of the hobbit's way and he and Thranduil finally made their way into the tent. Bilbo nodded his head briefly to all of them, unsure exactly what he meant by it but for some reason feeling compelled to do so. He guessed it was the right thing to do as the Company relaxed further, before Bilbo fully entered the tent.

Óin looked up as the two entered, body tensing as he registered the elf. He looked to Bilbo, reading the utter conviction wrought throughout the creature. After a brief moment he nodded, saying something in Khuzdul to the rest of the healers before looking back to Bilbo. "What can we do to help?" he asked, glancing briefly at Thranduil.

"Step back," the elf smoothly replied before walking over to Thorin and beginning to inspect the barely breathing dwarf.

* * *

The next few hours were long and exhausting as they struggled to stabilize Thorin. After Bilbo did his best to soothe the tension in the healers at Thranduil's remark (not being so successful as a few walked out), he mainly acted as a translator between the two, doing his best to keep up with the rapid-fire elven questions and instructions.

It was a slow, painful process that left Bilbo reeling with a massive headache at one point (but he supposed he had not been the only one as Óin finally lost his patience with the other healer's and their refusal to follow the elven king's instructions, barking at them to leave and physically shoving a few of them towards the exit when they remained rooted to their spot). Thankfully, Bilbo had only needed to repeat a few things to the hearing-impaired dwarf, who other than those few times managed to successfully understand the frantic hobbit.

Bilbo wasn't sure what time they finished, or how long it had been only that it was early into the morning of the next day when Thranduil finally stepped back, declaring that Thorin was as stable as he was going to get at this point. Bilbo nearly wept with the news, running over to look upon the dwarf. Something within him loosened and relaxed as he took in the face that was nearly absent of the flush that had been present for the past couple of days, noting how much easier and deeply the dwarf's chest fell and rose than it had been earlier. A sound escaped Bilbo then, something in between a sigh and a sob as he reached out and grasped the other's hand, inside jumping for joy at the much cooler skin that met his fingers this time. For a moment he had the urge to brush away the wayward strands that had fallen into Thorin's face but refrained from doing so, instead turning to the elf as he released Thorin's hand.

"Thank you," he said. The other just nodded in response, discreetly wiping away some of the moisture that had formed across his brow in the hours he had worked over the other.

"I'll tell the other lads of his condition," Óin said as he made his way to the exit, pausing once (turning around and giving the elf a firm nod of his head) before turning around again and exiting. Bilbo couldn't help but smile at the relieved shouts and cheers he heard coming from outside a moment later, chuckling a little at all the noise.

He looked back at Thorin, studying the other's face, noting how much better he looked as he quietly thanked the elf again.

He heard no reply for a long moment before the other stepped forward, eyes intent on the other. "Show me where the others are," he said simply, causing Bilbo's head to whip up.

"Others?" he echoed, confusion clear in his voice and expression.

"The Durin boys; his nephews," he clarified, eyebrow raised. "I hear they too were injured with the same poison."

Bilbo looked at him for a long moment, starred rather, nearly slack-jawed. "You would help them too?" he asked softly, disbelievingly. The other merely nodded in response. Bilbo was quiet for another long moment before he spoke again, voice a little stronger this time around. "You know I have nothing more to offer than what I said earlier, and nothing I am certain the dwarfs will be willing to give."

"You honestly do not know?" Thranduil asked, eyes staring at the hobbit intently as he stepped forward.

Bilbo's brow furrowed in confusion. "Know what?" he asked.

But Thranduil shook his head slightly, eyes resting on the unconscious Thorin. "It is something best said later," he said before looking at Bilbo once more. "Now, the Durin boys?"

Bilbo wasn't sure whether to feel frustrated, relieved, or amused at the other's behavior—elves could always be counted on to skirt around answers (and he thought Gandalf was bad). He shook his head, unable to stop the slight twitch of his lips as he turned on his heel and led the way to Fíli and Kíli.

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**Well, there was chapter four and I hope everyone enjoyed. Also, realized the other day I had yet to thank everyone for their lovely comments on all my stories, so thank you everyone, they really mean the world! I hope you guys leave even more!**

**Again, I'll do my best to have chapter 5 up here pretty quick and thanks again everyone for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Oh my! I don't know how I let a month get away from me with this story! Sorry to anyone waiting for an update (and my thanks as well!). Well, nearly a month later and here is chapter (hopefully it was worth the wait).**

**Thank you everyone for all your lovely reviews and follows and favorites! They really make my day!**

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Bilbo looked up as a shadow was cast across him, squinting against the sunlight to make out the figure. When he did, he smiled. "Bard," he nodded in way of greeting.

He thought he might've seen the other smile, but with the lighting couldn't quite be sure. The man shifted, coming to stand more next to Bilbo rather than in front of him, allowing Bilbo to study the other more easily. He looked better, if only by a little, his shoulders not bunched and tensed quite as much as they had been the other day. Bilbo hadn't seen the man since their conversation, having quite passed out after Thranduil had finished with the boys. He didn't really remember much after the elf had stepped back from them, saying he had done as much as he could for the moment. Bilbo remembered thanking the other and then after that… he wasn't quite sure. But he woke up on a cot in the same tent some hours later, Ori's smiling face greeting him as he sat by the twins. Since then, Bilbo had once again quite preoccupied himself with the injured members of their Company, not leaving their side for even food or drink (which had not pleased the others in the Company one bit). Dori finally at one point had come stomping up to him, shoving some food in water into his hands with an order to eat all of it, such a stern look on his face that Bilbo didn't even try to argue.

He had heard from Balin though, about the continued talks—and the utter lack of ground they had covered in them. Finally the older dwarf had managed to talk Bilbo back into the meetings (how, Bilbo wasn't exactly sure, just that he suddenly found himself acquiescing, much to his chagrin). At least he knew now that the dwarf had been far from exaggerating. Actually, if Bilbo was perfectly honest, he'd say the dwarf had downplayed the lack of progress made in the proceedings.

"Bilbo," the man answered back, along with an accompanying nodd. "I heard about Oakenshield; are you alright?" he asked, dark eyes sweeping over Bilbo's form.

Bilbo quirked his eyebrow at the question, doing his best to stifle the minute quirk of his lips. "Shouldn't the question be whether or not Thorin is alright?"

At this, Bard snorted, gaze going to stare at the tent a few yards away from them which they had been sequestered in all day for the talks. "I heard quite enough about him between the lot of them," he rumbled, the underlying stress and annoyance that was always in him flashing up in mention of their meetings, or rather the people in them. "They did not, however, mention how you were faring," he finished, looking at Bilbo once more.

Bilbo smiled at the explanation, and the concern he heard in it. "I suppose a bit better than I was last time I spoke to you. After I was certain Thorin wasn't about to die at a moment's notice of course." Bard nodded at the answer, sullen eyes roaming across their surroundings now. Bilbo looked at him for a long moment, wondering whether or not to ask what had been playing in his mind ever since Balin had told him how the meetings were going.

Perhaps feeling the other's stare, Bard shifted, his eyes looking questioningly at the other in askance. "What is it?" he asked as Bilbo seemed content to remain mute beside him.

"Why have you not used it?" he asked softly, mindful of the others around them.

There was a shuffle before a heavy sigh left the other's lips. He rubbed a hand down his face, slumping further into himself by the barest amounts. "Honestly? I am still hoping not to have to go to that point," he replies, just as softly as when Bilbo asked his question, eyes roaming aimlessly around them.

"Why not?" the hobbit asked in confusion, face scrunching up as he thought. It certainly seemed like the quickest way to put an end to all this nonsense.

"The elfs have been good to us since the destruction of Dale—their trade with us is the only reason we still live I believe… Thranduil never took advantage of us, which would've been too easy for him. I suppose I am hoping he will continue to show us good will, on his own accord.

And the stone is precious to the dwarfs, on a far deeper level than I probably understand. To send the two bidding over it…" and here he paused, brows upturned and frown deepening as he tried to find the words to express himself.

"It would define our relationship for the rest of days," he said quietly before abruptly turning to face the hobbit more fully. "Besides, an ally you had to force into helping you is not an ally you can trust for long. I want my people to survive this winter, yes, but I also want them to survive well beyond that. We can only do that if we have help, and from those we know we can count on to supply it."

Bilbo was silent for a long moment, not breaking eye contact with Bard. There was truth in those words, a heavy, oppressive, and startling truth. So far, Bilbo had been thinking in the immediate, or close to it, trying to survive minute by minute and trying to make sure his most precious people survived with him. Bard was doing the same, no doubt, but he couldn't afford to think only in the here and now as Bilbo could. Bilbo's eyes left Bard's then, going out to study all those around them, Perhaps that's what the others failed to understand too.

This really was a blip in the lives of dwarfs and elfs, especially so for the latter. The men however—this moment would end up defining the majority of their lives, this one struggle. It did not help that the others had a security the men couldn't hope to have on their own.

Bilbo felt a tendril of guilt work its way through his stomach, wrapping around it until he felt a little queasy at Bard's words and his own lack of understanding.

Bard must've seen something in the other, the sliver of understanding, for he shifted forward again, arms crossing over his chest as he did so. "I thank you, friend, for giving it to me, but using it to barter for sense from Oakenshield had been different than this. Now, it does not seem entirely right to use it, though if it comes between the death of my people and using the stone, have no doubt that I will use it. Only, I'd like to still believe I will not have to."

The silence stretched between them again, before Bilbo felt a smile tugging at his lips. "Tell me again why you refused the leadership of your people?"

Bard pulled a face as the question, Bilbo letting out a huff of a laugh at the expression. "This alone is enough for me, and I am only here because my Master asked me to act in his stead. I am much more suited to the Guard than all of thiese politics," he said, grimacing at the end.

Bilbo just chuckled. "I would not be too sure of that, friend."

* * *

Bilbo and Bard were talking again the next day as they waited for Thranduil and Dáin to arrive. Their talk was lighter today, the same as it had turned after their talk about the Arkenstone yesterday. The topics had started off simple, each one telling the other about their homes (for Bilbo had seen relatively little of Lake Town in the week they had spent there). Soon though, the stories began to grow older and more distant, spilling out the histories of their land to each other. That's how it was today too, Bard telling Bilbo stories the of Dale that had been passed down through his family and Bilbo spinning tales of the Shire and his many relatives. Every once and a while Balin would speak up, adding in his own memories of the now ruined city, or laughing at one of Bilbo's more ridiculous tales, but other than that remained mute. Dwalin too remained silent (though this behaviour was hardly odd for the imposing dwarf). His eyes had yet to leave the two, however, something strange (and not entirely pleasant) in his gaze whenever Bilbo caught it, but the meaning or cause behind it Bilbo could not begin to guess, or try to for that matter.

He was getting quite enough of cryptic dwarfs lately. And not just those in the Company either. He wasn't sure what happened, but ever since The Scare (as Bilbo had come to call it in his mind; also known as the time Thorin nearly died, again), something had shifted and changed, something Bilbo couldn't quite name.

For the most part, after the battle he had been relatively ignored by the other dwarfs, most likely due to the fact that he had sequestered himself to the two tents containing Thorin and the boys for the most part, and also probably due to some influence of the Company. But whenever he had dealt with the other dwarfs, they had been much easier to understand. There had been sneering looks, and muttered insults, and accusations to his character, and some confusion about his presence, understandable. Even rarer where a few, scarce, approving nods from those dwarfs who had seen him on the battlefield. But now…

Now he got cryptic looks, full of far too many things. There was still scorn, and acceptance from a few the longer Thorin and the boys remained alive (much to a good number of the dwarfs' surprise—especially Dáin, though the dwarf wasn't ruling out the possibility of assassination just yet). But coupled with that was a searching look that appeared on some of their faces, mixed with that indefinable something that set Bilbo's teeth on edge. Few had seemed to want to say something, or ask something (Bilbo wasn't sure which), but inevitably, one of the Company would inexplicably appear at his side (not that he was fool enough to think they let him roam about the camp out of their sites), causing the other dwarf or dwarfs to snap their mouths shut, more looks passing across their features before retreating.

It was something that had grown rather tiresome, surprisingly quick.

So Dwalin could sit there, arms crossed with his secret, intense look for all Bilbo cared—if everyone felt like hiding something from him, so be it! Though Bilbo couldn't deny the flash of hurt that raced through him at the thought that all of them felt the need to hide something from him. And were going to some lengths to keep it hidden. Bilbo tried to tell himself it was probably some secret dwarfish thing, he really did, but he couldn't fathom what dwarfish secret he could possibly have managed to stumble into (for he had no doubt he played quite a large part in whatever this secret concerned).

Deciding it was best for him to try and ignore it, he turned his attention back to the man beside him as he began to speak about a king of old, telling Bilbo as much as he could of what had been passed down about the man. It was just another loss the people of Dale had had to deal with with the destruction of their city, a loss the people of Laketown carried with them to this day—the loss of so much of their history. Bilbo smiled, waving away the man's apologies that he knew so little, drinking in what little information the man was able to provide. For whatever reason, the other looked better, though Bilbo was starting to believe the man was fine so long as he wasn't subjected to the presence of Thranduil and Dáin (and Bilbo could hardly blame the man for that).

Bard had left the old king now having told all there was for him to tell, now beginning another tale from his youth. The mentions of a drunken night and something to do with a pig-stye startled a laugh out of Bilbo, a light, long, careless laugh that he had not had in some time. It took a moment for it to sink in, that that sound of amusement was indeed coming from him. When he realized, he stopped almost immediately, having the irrational instinct to cover his mouth as a feeling of guilt washed over him—how could he be laughing so freely when some of his most precious people were still battling to remain alive (though, thankfully, the fight seemed easier for them now). But then Bilbo caught the look on Bard's face, the easy smile that made him look years younger spread across his face and the softness in his eyes (and the echo of understanding in them), that Bilbo could do nothing but give a small, hesitant smile of his own in return.

_Crack!_

Bilbo jumped, spinning around in his chair to the source of the abrupt (and rather loud) sound. His eyes zeroed in on the chair arm that now lay splintered in the curl of Dwalin's fist. Bilbo stared, wide-eyed at the mess before whipping them up to Dwalin's face. What he saw made him shrink though he could not say exactly why. The look on the other's face was not exactly a glare (and Bilbo had seen far worse from the other), but there was something intensely angry in the look and yet at the same time weak that it had Bilbo's heart clenching. He nearly gasped at the feeling, unsure why he should be feeling it as his mind worked to try and figure out what exactly the look the other was aiming at him meant.

"Are—are you quite alright, Dwalin?" he managed to finally push out after swallowing around the words a couple of times.

For some reason, the question only caused the look to grow darker, though, thankfully, Dwalin let go of the ruined char arm now. Bilbo watched the splinters fall to the ground, something sinking and twisting in his stomach at the site. He didn't know what exactly he had managed to do to anger the dwarf this time, but he didn't particularly appreciate the sudden visual of what exactly those hands were capable of.

"Do not mind him, Bilbo," Balin finally said, giving his brother a rather unimpressed look. Bilbo mutely nodded as the other's eyes left him to look at Balin instead. Dwalin said something (or rather, Bilbo think he did, because if he was perfectly honest it sounded more like a growl than actual words), Balin replying smoothly, in a tone Bilbo recognized him often using with the boys and Thorin, the kind that spoke of a long-suffering patience. Dwalin looked at him a moment longer, before his eyes flicked over to Bilbo again (and Bilbo couldn't help the fact that he sat just a little bit straighter in his seat as his eyes landed on him), before flicking to Bard before resting on the other side of the tent, another grumble leaving his mouth that had his brother frowning.

There was silence after that. Bilbo swallowed at the mood before slowly turning back in his seat, sneaking a glance at the man beside him. His eyes were slightly widened, eyes brows raised high as he stared at the dwarf, surprise and confusion clearly written in his features. Before the air could become any more awkward though, sound was heard at the front of the tent that immediately grabbed all their attentions.

Thranduil blinked as he stepped through and was meet with four pairs of staring eyes. He raised his brow as he coolly looked back, eyes sliding over all of them. His look flickered to something the barest hints disdainful as his eyes settled on the broken arm (Bilbo trying his best to ignore the actual low growl issuing from the dwarf in question), before his eyes passed between Bilbo and Bard, eyebrow raised the tiniest bit higher at their new seating arrangement. The look didn't last long before the elf settled himself across the two, bored eyes roaming about the room. "Of course, never trust a dwarf to be punctual."

Bilbo bit his lip at the words, throwing the other a tired look as he refrained from pointing out that Dáin was not the only one late to today's meeting.

* * *

Bilbo groaned as Dáin once again began cursing, and briefly he wondered if that particular shade of red Bilbo saw so often on the other's face was healthy. From the corner of his his eyes he could see Bard slipping further down into his seat, arms crossed over his chest as a breath of frustration left him. Bilbo couldn't blame him.

Bilbo looked to the elfen king, looked at the cold expression that lurked in his eyes and the barest quirk that was in his lips. Bilbo didn't know why, but instead of their inability to stand each other causing him to get frustrated and angry as it normally did, today it only made him tired. Perhaps it was due to the talk he had yesterday with Bard, or the fact that the easiness in his expressions had shuddered and closed off more and more the longer they stayed in this room, but Bilbo felt tired by it all.

He didn't understand it, how it was that Thranduil had been willing to help Thorin, going as far to freely offer help to Fíli and Kíli, and yet so unwilling to engage in a civil conversation with Dáin. Well, Bilbo thought as his eyes slid to the seething dwarf, he could understand the elf's particular dislike for this dwarf. But it certainly didn't make any sense or even seem all that possible that Thranduil thought that better of Thorin. He still didn't know what in his offer the elf king had found so appealing, if that was really why he had helped them at all, but it was a little maddening to think about.

And Dáin. Bilbo couldn't imagine how the dwarf didn't seem the smallest bit grateful that to the other that Thorin remained alive (and was steadily, if not extremely slowly in Bilbo's opinion, improving). Again he looked at Bard from the corner of his eye as the man slumped further, his chest aching at the dark look he saw swimming across the other's expression.

"Enough."

Bilbo hadn't meant to say anything really, hadn't meant to let the quiet plea leave his lips, but it seemed to have slipped past anyways as everyone's eyes turned to him. He felt something shift and sink as they looked at him, and for a moment he felt so inextricably _tired_. "That is quite enough," he repeated, echoing his words from a few days earlier, though without the heat that had been present in them last time.

He sighed as he looked at all of them, trying to find something more to say as his eyes roamed over them. They stopped on Dáin though as he took in the dwarf's pinched expression. "This is all quite enough, and honestly I am rather tired of all of it. I don't know why you are more than happy to bicker and squabble the days away when we are in the situation we are in. Our fight is not with each other, not unless we want all of us to die."

His look sharpened just the barest amounts as he looked longer at Dáin, a wave of frustration seeming to attempt to wash over him, but he was too tired for even that now. "None of us are secure enough to be able to squander what scant time we have until winter is upon on. Your army, Dáin Ironfoot, might've brought some supplies with it as you marched here, but your minds were more set on war and one battle than the lasting that is to come after it. Your food supply is shrinking by the day, and will be completely gone before the month is out. And while Erebor served us fine as shelter, a Company of fourteen and an army are two entirely different things, and the mountain is still far too damaged to safely house all those you brought with you." He stared at the dwarf, letting the words sink in before turning his attention to Thranduil.

"And your forest is foul with whatever sickness those spider's brought with it, or that allowed them to enter in the first place," and here he saw some surprise flicker across the other's face. "We hobbits might not be able to speak to trees as you elfs can, but we were made with a deep love of all that's green and grows in the world. From that love, we can understand a bit of the earth and your woods are sick King Thranduil, that much was clear as we passed through it, so you not only have a fight here, but one in your own home as well. You might not be in quite the same danger of starving as the rest of us are or freezing, for that matter, but you are not without your own struggle...

I thank you, really I do, for helping Thorin and Fíli and Kíli as you did, though it should also be you Dáin, thanking him, unless you care so little for your cousin and his nephews, that you cannot spare gratitude to the one that saved them" and he could not help the glare that he threw the dwarf's way, though it could hardly be called impressive. "_Do not think that I am not grateful, for I owe you more than I can possibly every repay,_" he continued when he looked back to the elfen king, something in him clenching at the thought of what would've became of Thorin had the other not stepped in. "...But if you are unwilling, now, to work with the dwarfs any further than we are done here."

He felt the immediate tensing of Bard beside him at the words and could only imagine what panicked thoughts were running through his head at this moment. "If you would rather argue with an old enemy than help those you claimed as comrade, please state so plainly, and at least give the men the chance to reach another settlement before winter is upon us and they all die, for they are the worst off of us all. You owe them that at least," he said, watching as the elf's eyes widened just a fraction.

"And the same is for you, Dáin, for that kingdom you marched off to war for was won by the men, and they are the ones that paid the biggest price for it. You may tell grand tales of the dwarfs reclaiming Erebor, but the only thing our Company did was wake the great beast up and set it loose upon Lake Town. So if in light of all that, of all their struggle and loss, you still deem them unworthy of help than at least stop wasting their time with the hope of aid that is to never come from your people."

The tent was silent as they looked at him, tense and heavy in a way that made Bilbo want curl up and sleep and never wake up. For all he had thought about this ridiculous journey, for all the grizzly outcomes he had made in his head, this had not been one of them. He had always imagined something quick and startling—_'__flash of light, searing pain, then poof, you're nothing more than a pile of ash'_, he could hear Bofur's voice telling him in his head, that night seeming so far away now. Along the way, especially in Mirkwood, the idea of starvation had come to him now and again, but he had never imagined that that threat would come after their success, if that's what one wanted to call the mess they were all currently in. No, hardships were saved for the journey there, not the celebration that was supposed to come from the end of an adventure. At least, that's what he had thought...

"You speak of our deaths easily, halfling," he heard Dáin begin to say, and Bilbo could not help the exhaustion he felt at hearing the voice as he turned to face the dwarf, "but that is because you have nothing here. What starvation and freezing will meet you when you are traveling safely back to your home in the East?" he spat.

Bilbo felt something snap in him at the words, something cold and dark that he had never felt before. He didn't know what expression came upon his face then, only that it caused the eyes of the dwarf to widen as he shifted back. "I did not leave my friends to fight alone on the battlefield, and so I will not let them fight alone here, Master Dáin. Whatever fate awaits the Company awaits me also, for my lot is with them."

Dáin's eyes widened further at his words before something crossed his features, something disbelieving and searching, though Bilbo cared little for what it searched for at this moment. He wondered if all the others thought the same, that as soon as things began to turn really south, Bilbo would pack up and leave for the Shire. He hoped not, at least he hoped the Company didn't believe so, because that thought left something cold and wretched in Bilbo's chest, making him feel hollow.

Maybe they hadn't, for in the corner of his eyes, he could see Balin's head bow just the barest of amounts as Dwalin sat straighter in his chair, something akin to pride and respect in his features as he looked at the hobbit. Bilbo felt the irrational urge to nearly weep as he saw Dáin begin to open his mouth once more before some commotion from outside caught his attention.

And he wasn't the only one either, as everyone turned to the front of the tent and the growing noise that was coming from outside it. Bilbo's brows furrowed at the noise, before he made out a single curse shouted out above the crowd.

Bofur.

Bilbo felt his insides grow cold as he registered the dwarf's voice—nothing good could come from the dwarf running all the way here like this. In his mind he saw the still body of Thorin, saw the deathly pale, blue tinted bodies of Fíli and Kíli. The thought sent his breath hitching, stomach all at once plummeting and twisting. He must've made some sort of noise for Bard quickly turned around to him, eyes growing alarmed at worried as he looked at the panicking creature.

_Please don't. Please, please don't be._

He could feel his breath coming out faster at the thought of what it could mean that Bofur was seeking them out like this, cursing and struggling with the guards of every race that were stationed outside. Then he heard something in Khuzdul and he felt something in him quiet at the voice.

Ori?

His breathing began to even out as he heard the anger in the other's tone, rather than the grief that should be

there if they had come to tell him what he thought they had come to say. Whatever the lad had said though caused Dáin's look to shift before he barked something to those outside as he stood. There was a pause outside, a stillness that followed Dáin's words. When nothing more happened the dwarf growled, "I said let them in!"

Bilbo nearly rolled his eyes at the reaction—forbid the men and elfs to not understand an order spoken in Khuzdul. There was more shuffling outside before he heard an impatient "Well?" shouted by Ori, causing his lips to twitch.

There was only a moment after that until the two dwarfs were stumbling into the tent, Bofur still glaring at the guards outside as he passed through. When they came in though, Bilbo couldn't help the sudden weight he felt in his chest, though he tried to tell himself the news couldn't be that bad from the looks of the two. They paused when they came before the table, at once seeming to forget why it was they were here when they had the attention of six pairs of eye's on them. But as they caught sight of Bilbo and the two dwarfs at the end of the table, they could not help the wide smiles that alighted their faces. Something in Bilbo loosened at the expressions that he nearly felt lightheaded at the sudden release.

"Well? Out with it lads!" Dwalin barked as the two seemed quite content to stand there and smile goofily at them for the rest of the day.

Bofur laughed at the tone. "It's Fíli and Kíli."

"What about them?" Bilbo asked, unable to make his voice any louder, or keep the tendril of fear out of it.

They both turned to him then, their grins widening and Ori was practically bouncing on his heels as he replied,. "They're awake!"

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**And there's chapter 5!**

**Is it just me, but whenever I read _The Hobbit_, I always pictured an older looking, slightly thinner and gruffer John Snow type guy... I don't even watch "Game of Thrones", but when I saw John Snow's character, I was like 'young Bard?', so I was really thrown off when in the movies they got a weird Orlando Bloom look alike... No? Just me?**

**Anyways, chapter 6 isn't that far away—I felt so bad for letting so much time go by that I dived right in to the next chapter (that and the next one was fun to write!), so best case, I might have it published tomorrow. Also, I didn't realize how many grammatical errors are in my previous chapter s(dear lord how did those slip past me?!), and there's probably a few in this one too even though I checked over it a million times, but I'll also be going back and fixin' all those errors in previous chapters. No content changes, just fixin' my dumb mistakes!**

**Again, thanks everyone for all the reviews, follows, and favorites and for continuing on with me as I write this little story! Hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! **


	6. Chapter 6

**So, like I said, here's Chapter 6! It kinda got a little bit away from me, but I couldn't help it—Fíli and Kíli are finally in the story!**

**Well, I hope you guys enjoy Chapter 6!**

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It hadn't taken long for Bilbo or the other dwarfs to react. There was an initial moment of disbelieving silence before they moved, but that was it. Bilbo shot out of his chair, not caring that it toppled over in the process or that Bofur had to grab Ori out of Bilbo's path lest he bowl him over in his haste. He ran as fast as he could manage, ignoring the shouts from those standing outside the tent as he pushed past them—all he cared about was getting to the boys.

In reality, the tent wasn't that far away from where the boys were, but to Bilbo it still felt like an extraordinarily long distance away. He could make out a crowd in front of the tent as he neared, but in the sea of dwarfs he couldn't make out a single one of the Company—he supposed they must already be inside. For once, his height and slight form seemed to prove an advantage here as he slipped passed and ducked under the dwarfs, ignoring the curses and dark looks thrown his way as he bumped into a few of them.

He didn't hesitate before throwing the opening of the tent aside, rushing in in a flurry of frantic movement. He skidded to a halt as he entered though, trying desperately to gulp in breath as his eyes found the two very awake and alert boys. They turned when they heard him enter, and in the back of his mind Bilbo laughed at the fact that they had already managed to talk the healers into pushing their cots together.

He felt weak all of the sudden as their eyes landed on him, their bright and alert eyes that he hadn't seen for days (or was it weeks now?). His hands were shaking, that much he knew, his heart beating so fast that he didn't know how the thing wasn't giving out. But the boys, _his_ boys were awake and calling his name.

He took a shaking step forward, hand reaching out, some pathetic, desperate sound leaving his lips that in any other situation he would've found mortifying. Fíli, who sat closest to him, wasted no time in reaching back out to him, yanking him forward (with a surprising amount of force for someone who had been unconscious for so long, Bilbo thought), until Bilbo had an armful of two dwarfs.

He clung desperately to them as he felt each of them wind their arms around him. He didn't know what they were saying, a broken stream of Westron and Khuzdul that bounced between them as they shook under his grip. He knew he was crying at this point, but couldn't give enough to begin to care, especially not when he noticed the dampness against his shirt from where they were pressed close to him. His boys were alive, and they were awake, and something that had been missing in Bilbo clicked into place, making Bilbo feel a peace and lightness he hadn't experienced since they were at Beorn's house.

He knew he had no right to really think of them as his own, these two dwarfish princelings. But somewhere along the way their roguish smiles and mischievous eyes, their exuberance and vitality had so endeared them to him, that the thought of them lifeless and dead and scared him far beyond what he had been prepared for.

He doesn't know exactly what he was saying back to them, didn't know if he was even making sense or it was words at all that were leaving him, but he let it pour out of him all the same. It must've been calming in some way, for they both slowly began to relax (though they refused to lighten their grips on him, not that he minded).

"When we saw you on the battlefield…" he heard Fíli's voice speak up after some time, hands gripping tighter

at his jacket.

"We feared you might've died…" finished Kíli's small voice, and Bilbo's heart broke at the sound of it.

The last he had clearly heard them had been at the battle, heard Kíli's pained yell as he was struck down and Fíli's frantic, panic-stricken cry for his brother in return. He dreamed about it when he slept, gasping awake to the sounds of his boys dying, cloaked in sweat. He had nothing to say in response to them, just brought them closer himself. He had no words to express how terrified he had been for them, no words to begin to describe the all encompassing terror he had felt when faced with the possibility of their deaths. Maybe he didn't need to though, because they returned the squeeze, burrowing deeper into him as something hitched in their throats.

And then it really struck him, that his boys were going to be alright. And with that realization he began to laugh, a wet, watery sound, but joyous all the same. And the last bit of his fear for them left him as they held him tighter, feeling their mouths curl up against him as he heard cheers and laughs from the rest of the Company erupt around them.

* * *

He didn't know how long they stayed like that, clinging to each other, but eventually Bilbo pulled back, for as much as he liked it he needed to look upon them again. He ran hands up and down them, a stream of questions pouring out of him as he checked them over. They put up with it surprisingly well, all tired smiles as they continued to answer back that they were fine. When he asked for the sixth time if they were sure they felt alright Fíli laughed—and something in Bilbo soared at the sound—though it was a tired thing. Then he felt two hands on the back of his head, pulling him closer before the two lightly pressed their foreheads against him.

"We are fine now, Bilbo," Fíli pressed softly, eyes bright and warm as Kíli was all beaming smiles next to him.

Bilbo let out a rush of air as he felt as if he might start crying all over again. But instead he just smiled back, nodding in understanding. They let him go then, leaning back as the rest of the Company stepped closer to their cots. There were a round of pats on the back, and discrete turn aways and if everyone's eyes were a bit red when they turned back, no one said a thing.

It was then that Bilbo caught something in the corner. Bilbo tensed as he registered Dáin, almost at once ready to let loose a rush of hateful words at the other's (in Bilbo's opinion) unwelcomed presence, but bit his tongue and refrained at the last moment. It wasn't really a sense of decorum that had Bilbo swallowing his tirade back however, but rather it was the odd look on the other's face that gave Bilbo pause. As soon as they made eye contact though, the look was swept away and Dáin turned his attention to the twins.

Bilbo must've alerted them to the dwarfs presence for soon both their heads were turning in his direction, eyes widening as they took in the other. "Uncle Dáin!" Fíli said in surprise, Kíli calling out as well (and something irrational in Bilbo burned at the moniker that until then he had only heard the two use affectionately with one other).

Bilbo blinked at the smile that alighted the dwarf's face in response, the tired, heavy smile as he stepped closer (though not by much). "It gladdens me greatly to see you two awake finally," he said as he looked them over, a quiet affection in his eyes as he studied them.

"We're glad to be awake," came Kíli, cheeky grin in all.

Dáin chuckled at the response, nodding his head in agreement. He smiled again at them, "I will come back and check on you two later, when you are not as preoccupied," he said, raising his brows.

Fíli smiled in response. "We'd be happy for it." With that Dáin nodded, eyes sweeping over them again before they flickered to the hobbit, a wisp of something appearing in his face before turned on his heel and left.

There was a bit of silence after that, and Bilbo didn't know if something was showing on his face, or they were aware of how tense he had become, or some other thing, but Fíli turned to him, brows furrowed. "You do not like Dáin?" he asked.

"He's fine," Bilbo replied, trying to sound genuine, but it came out too quick and too flat to be taken as any sort of truth on his part.

"Bilbo?" came Kíli before Bofur laughed.

"I suppose that's one way you could say it," Nori replied with a grin that was all teeth, a dark amusement in his eyes as he looked at Bilbo.

The hobbit gave him a heated look when Fíli asked what was the matter. "Nothing. He's fine," he said, gruffer than he meant to.

He felt a pat on his shoulder and he looked up to see Glóin's pitying look (though Bilbo could see the hint of a smile on his lips). "We need to work on your lyin', lad," he said, giving him another consoling pat. Bilbo just glared at him, earning him nothing but another huffing laugh from Bofur.

"What's going on?" Kíli asked as he looked between them.

"Well it goes like this," Nori began, sitting down on the cot with as much flare as he could muster.

"No," Bilbo stated firmly, crossing his arms as he glared at the dwarf.

"Come now Bilbo," Nori said, once again giving his trade-mark grin.

"No is right," Óin huffed as the pushed the other off the cot, ignoring Nori's indignant cry. "The boys need to go back to sleep, which means you rowdy lot need to leave," he ordered, making shooing motions towards the door. Needless to say the boys were not happy with that news.

"Oi! We're fine now!" Fíli cried, scandalous look on his face.

"Yeah, we want to know what happened!" Kíli said, leaning forward.

"And hear about it you will—later," Óin said in a tone that left no room for argument (though when had that ever stopped the boys?). They glared back at the older dwarf, and Bilbo supposed the look would be determined if they weren't struggling to keep their eyes open. He nearly laughed at the picture they created.

As it was he just shook his head fondly as he smiled at them. "Óin's right, you two need to sleep."

Fíli humphed as Kíli grumbled, "You're only saying that 'cuz you don't want us to know."

Bilbo just gave them a sharp look in return. "Bed now, and that's the end of it," he said firmly as he made to get off the cot.

And he would've if not for the sudden grip on his wrist. He blinked as he looked at the hand, curious and slightly worried eyes tracking the hand back to Fíli. Something passed on the boy's face, something the barest amounts desperate as he looked at the hobbit, seeming to be on the edge of saying something, but the words caught in his throat. Instead he looked to Kíli who had leaned forward closer to the two, his face echoing his brother's. They looked at each other for a moment before nodding. "Fine, we'll go back to sleep," Fíli began, turning back to Bilbo, look determined (though Bilbo could still detect the hint of unsurety lurking in his gaze), "but…" and here he broke off, look wavering.

"But only if you stay. Just a little while longer," Kíli finished, voice quiet as he looked at the hobbit beseechingly.

Bilbo felt something warm spread throughout him at the request, and had the urge to pull the two to him again. He flicked his eyes quickly over to Óin for permission, though really it was more as a sign of respect (the dwarf could say whatever he wanted, but the only way Bilbo was leaving now is if the dwarf hauled him out himself). The dwarf gave the barest of nods that had had Bilbo smiling at the boys in response. "Of course," he said softly, turning his hand over so he could grip Fíli back.

They let go of a breath at his answer, shoulders slumping in relief as they smiled weakly back in return. "Well, I suppose that's our cue lads," Bofur said, dropping his hands to the shoulders of the two dwarfs next to him (Bifur and Dori), before he began steering them out. Dori rolled his eyes at the display but complied nonetheless, Bifur throwing out a couple more hand signs before they stepped out of the tent, the rest of the Company following in their wake. Fíli and Kíli smiled at them all as they left, waving as they told them goodbye until it was just them, Bilbo, and Óin left in the room.

Óin did one last check over the both of them before he too left, sending a warning look to Bilbo, though really it was hardly needed in Bilbo's opinion. When he left Bilbo made another move to get off the cot, wanting to give the boys room to lay down properly. It seemed the thought wasn't received well though as they each grabbed for them, startled and alarmed looks on their faces.

He smiled after blinking in surprise a couple of times, trying to calm them. "I'm not going anywhere." But it seemed the two weren't hearing a word of it, refusing to let go of him. And that's how Bilbo found himself spending the rest of the day sitting up against the head of the cots, slumbering dwarfs on either side of him.

* * *

Óin had come in to check on the two every once and awhile throughout the rest of the day, and Bilbo could do nothing but glare, blush staining his face at the dwarf's knowing and amused look. The boys hadn't woken up the rest of the day, and no one else came back to visit them (no doubt due to Óin's influence), but Bilbo had drank them in all the same, hands running through their hair as they slept on. At some point he fell asleep as well, for next he was waking up with a start in the darkened tent (Bilbo judging it to be rather early in the morning, if the blue haze was anything to go by).

He blinked as he took in his surroundings, wondering what it was that could've woken him up when his stomach gave another loud noise. Bilbo jumped at the sound, blushing when he realized what it was as his eyes quickly checked to make sure he hadn't woken the two. When they slept on, he let out a sigh before he heard a chuckle from somewhere, jumping again at the unexpected sound. His startled eyes landed on Óin, his look turning into a glare as the older dwarf chuckled again. Bilbo let out an aggravated huff as his stomach growled again, deciding it was time to get up.

As best he could, and with as little jostling as possible, he tried to disentangle himself from the two princelings, only managing to sit up after a couple of minutes of struggling. Bilbo let out a huff as he sat up, trying his best to ignore the older dwarf's continues chuckles. Then suddenly a bowl was thrust into his vision.

Bilbo blinked at the item, looking at Óin curiously as he accepted the food. "Figured you'd be awake soon and be hungry when you did," the dwarf smiled. "I have food for the boys too if they wake up anytime soon," he said, gesturing to where he had set the bowls down.

Bilbo smiled, thanking him quietly before beginning to eat it, feeling the rush of disappointment (even though he know he shouldn't) when the soup was as bland as it had been yesterday. He and Óin talked idly as he ate, the first thing out of Bilbo's mouth being questions about Thorin. The dwarf assured him he was fine, better than yesterday in fact, before they switched to other topics. Bilbo was nearly about finished with his food when he felt movement at his side.

He looked down as Fíli shifted, smiling when the dwarf blinked blearily up at him. "Sorry, did we wake you?" he asked softly.

Fíli shook his head as he turned back into the bed and Bilbo's side, Bilbo just making out a muffled, "No," as the dwarf continued to wake. The hobbit chuckled at the behavior as he turned back to his soup, Óin shaking his head. There were more muffled noises, though Bilbo didn't bother and try figuring out what they meant. And then Fíli was reaching across Bilbo, shoving his brother as Bilbo could make out a groggy, "Wake up, Kee."

Bilbo looked down at Fíli, stern look on his face even though he knew the other couldn't see it. "Now let your brother sleep, Fíli," he admonished.

Fíli shook his head minutely. "He's waking up, I can tell. I'm just helping him," he said as he shoved his brother again.

"I'm waking up because you keep rattling me," came the sleepy complaint from Bilbo's other side, before Kíli was swatting tiredly at Fíli's prodding hand.

"See, told you," Fíli said as he dropped his hand, though he didn't bother removing it from Bilbo.

"I hate you," came Kíli, and Bilbo supposed it was meant to sound mean, but really it came out more as a whine than anything else.

"Of course you do, brother," Fíli replied, and Bilbo could hear the smug smile in his voice.

It seems Kíli heard it too as he reached over Bilbo, throwing a punch at his brother, though it was a weak thing, even by Bilbo's standards. "Boys," Bilbo tsked as what little remained of his soup threatened to spill over at the sudden jostling movement.

"Sorry," came their immediate replies, Fíl's arm dropping down from where he had been prepared to return his brother's attack with a heavy _thump_.

Bilbo shook his head at the two, though he couldn't keep the smile off his face. "It's fine, unless you want," and Bilbo was about to say hot, but really, the food hadn't been hot for some time, "...soup all over you," he finished as he took another spoonful.

That instantly got the boys' attentions as they both sat up, Bilbo giving a startled yelp as he was jostled (again). Fíli's hand shot out to help steady the bowl, smiling apologetically as Bilbo gave him a mild glare, Kíli asking about food beside him.

"It's right here, lads," Óin spoke up, holding out a bowl for the two.

They accepted the food eagerly, and Bilbo had half a mind to tell them there wasn't a lot to get excited about with this tasteless slop (but refrained). They dug in though, seeming to not mind the tastelessness of it and were soon finished with their helpings, ignoring Óin's warnings that they should slow down. He shook his head as they held out their now empty bowls to him, pleading eyes on their faces that Bilbo could only chuckle and shake his head at.

After leveling a stern look at the both of them, Óin finally relented, snatching the objects from their grasp. "Fine, but you will not wolf it down so fast this time!"

The boys just smiled and nodded their heads as Óin turned to leave. There was noise as he left, and Bilbo smiled as Bofur, Glóin, Dwalin, and Balin trailed in (ignoring Bofur's wink and chuckle at their current positions).

"How are you lads today?" he asked as he flopped down at the edge of Kíli's cot, throwing up his legs beside the boy. Kíli gave a weak glare to the offending appendages as they both replied they were feeling fine.

"That's good to hear," Balin said as he settled himself into a stool besides Fíli, Dwalin giving a sharp nod in agreement.

"Mmm," Bofur hummed in agreement, "seems you slept well enough," he added, giving a wild grin, earning another glare from Bilbo.

Fíli just rolled his eyes, taking Bilbo's bowl when he noticed it empty in his lap, setting off somewhere. Kíli gave a weak glare of his own before he tensed, a wicked grin covering his face a moment later. Bofur raised his brow at the look as Kíli leaned forward. "So about Uncle Dáin and Bilbo," he prompted.

Bilbo groaned as Fíli's head whipped to the side, attention focused intently on the hatted dwarf now. "Yes, Bofur, tell us why Bilbo seems to hate him." Bofur just laughed at the questions and sudden attention as Bilbo groaned.

"I don't hate him," Bilbo huffed as he glared at some random point in the tent.

"Convincing," Dwalin drawled in front of him, giving him a flat look.

"I don't," Bilbo pressed. "Though it's a very near thing," he muttered a moment later.

"Ha! So it's true!" Kíli cried before turning back to the others. "So tell us-"

"-what exactly's going on between our Uncle and our burglar?" Fíli finished, looking between the four other dwarfs.

Bofur opened his mouth, but was cut off by a nervous looking Ori as he stepped through the tent.

"What's wrong?" Bilbo asked, brow furrowing as he took in the nervous dwarf.

Ori jumped slightly at the question, eyes skittering behind him for a moment to whatever was outside the tent before looking back to Bilbo (and Bilbo didn't miss the way they paused on Dwalin or the nervous gulp the young dwarf took). "Bard's here asking to see you?" he replied uncertainly, confusion in his voice.

"Bard's here?" And Bilbo jumped as he heard Dwalin growl, wide eyes landing on the warrior.

Balin just shook his head. "Really brother?"

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kíli lean back behind him, mouthing a question at his brother. "The surly fellow—the one who shot Smaug," came Fíli's voice a moment later.

Kíli made a sound of understanding before they both leaned forward again. "What's he want with Bilbo?" he asked.

Ori shrugged. "He didn't say, just asked to see him."

Bilbo's brows furrowed at the response, worry working his way through him as he wondered if everything was alright with the other man, missing the way Dwalin tensed further and Bofur's look flattened into something that could be called annoyed but wasn't quite right. Bilbo moved to leave, pausing when he felt two hands grab at him again. He turned to the both of them, smiling. "I'll be right back," he said softly, smiling wider when they let go of him (though not before a look passed between them), patting both their hands as he hopped down.

He shot Dwalin a confused look as the warrior made as if to follow him, but stopped as his eyes went over to his brother. As Bilbo stepped outside he heard Dwalin say something in Khuzdul and a confused Kíli asking, "Did we miss something?"

Bilbo breathed in the fresh air as he stepped outside, enjoying the feel of the early morning sun on his skin before he sought out Bard. He paused, though, as he found the man—he was not alone. In front of him, though Bilbo didn't know why, stood Bifur, Dori, and Nori. Bilbo took in their tense forms with worry and confusion, it deepening when he saw the scowls on their faces.

"Is everything alright?" he asked as he approached, a little alarmed when none of the dwarfs spared him a look. He turned confused eyes to Bard, taking in his amused look, and the slight curve to his mouth.

The other smiled wider as he heard Bilbo, greeting him as he stepped closer. "Sorry, Bilbo, for interrupting anything," he said as Bilbo stopped in front of him.

Bilbo shook his head, "You're not interrupting anything."

His answer seemed to amuse Bard as the bowman threw his glance behind the hobbit to the dwarfs that now stood behind him. "Is that so?" he murmured before he brought his eyes back to the hobbit. "They made you seem busy—are you sure I'm not interrupting?"

Bilbo blinked at him, turning his head to study the dwarfs behind him. He blinked at what he saw there too. The dwarfs still weren't looking at him, instead, their heated gazes were fixed on the man, bodies tense, but for what reason Bilbo couldn't fathom. Inside he felt his stomach drop—what had his hot headed dwarfs done now? But as he looked back at Bard, who seemed far more amused than angry, he supposed it couldn't be that bad. "I'm sure."

"So, the Durin boys are awake?"

Bilbo smiled at the question, opening his mouth to reply when he was cut off. "Did you come with an actual purpose, or just to exchange pleasantries?"

"Nori!" Bilbo cried, throwing a scandalized look at the dwarf. He remained apologetic, however, going as far as to deepen his glare directed at the bowman. Bilbo looked to Dori, ready for the dwarf to reign in his misbehaving brother (as he so often did), but Dori seemed content to stand there, arms crossed over his chest (and was that a hint of pride Bilbo could see on his face?). "What is wrong with you lot today?" Bilbo cried, throwing his hands up in frustration.

He turned as Bard chuckled. "Don't mind it Bilbo," he said, and the hobbit could feel the dwarfs tensing behind him at the words. "Apologies, Master Dwarf, for asking after your comrades," and there was something in his voice that Bilbo could not identify.

Nori just grumbled something behind him in response, and Bilbo had to stop himself from huffing in agitation. "So, what brings you here, Bard?" Bilbo finally asked, finally deciding that it was probably in everyone's best interest if Bard left as quickly as possible.

His lips twitched, eyebrows raising as he asked, "I suppose it would be too much to ask to speak to you alone?"

Bilbo was about to reply that of course it was fine—why wouldn't it be?—when the dwarfs behind him moved. He blinked as he felt them press closer, nearly yelping when Bifur laid a hand on his shoulder, pulling the hobbit back towards himself, all of them ignoring his cries of 'honestly now!' as they continued to glare.

"Thought so," Bard replied, and Bilbo failed to see what the man found so amusing about all of this, his mouth twitching with barely contained laughter as it was. But suddenly his look became serious as he leveled his eyes on Bilbo, causing something in Bilbo's stomach to squirm. And then Bard was kneeling on the ground before Bilbo, eyes level with the other before he began to speak. "It seems I am more in your debt today, Bilbo Baggins, than I was even before. Thranduil came to me yesterday, sometime after you left, offering aid to my people, and I know it was your words that spurred him to do so. So thank you, Bilbo, for myself and for my people," he said, eyes serious before bowing his head briefly.

Bilbo blinked before smiling. "You have no need to thank me."

"So you keep saying," the other replied as he stood. "Well, that is all that I came to say. I am glad they are doing well," he added, smiling down at the hobbit.

Bilbo smiled in reply. "As am I."

"Then I will see you later, Bilbo," he said, nodding to him. Then his eyes went behind him, mouth twitching again as he nodded. "Master dwarfs," before turning on his heel and leaving.

Bilbo watched him go, a mix of emotions swimming in him. While he was happy for Bard and his people, and that Thranduil had thought to recover some of his sense, he wondered what it meant that the elf had offered aid in privacy. Was he that unwilling to lend similar aid to the dwarfs? Is that why he choose to speak to Bard outside of the meetings? Or was it simply because the elfen king had come to his senses and wanted to remedy the situation quickly? Bilbo sincerely hoped that it was the last one, but a churning in his gut stopped him from completely believing it.

"Bilbo?"

And with that, the hobbit felt the hot rush of annoyance flow through him. He spun around, knocking Bifur's hand off of him in the process as he leveled a glare at the three. "Don't you 'Bilbo' me! I don't know what's gotten into you lot lately, but it stops now—that was completely uncalled for!" he hissed. "And you were the worst," he said, poking a finger into Nori's chest when the dwarf muttered something under his breath in Khuzdul, not looking pleased in the least. "First Dwalin, now you three! Honestly!" he said, before turning back to the tent.

Bilbo couldn't help but level a glare at Dwalin as he stepped back into the tent, placing his hands on his hips as the warrior rose a brow at him. "I don't know what all this nonsense is, but I know it came from you," he accused, jaw clenched tightly

"Don't know what you mean," he said back, arms crossing over his chest, and Bilbo could just make out the sigh from Balin from where he was standing.

Before he could say more the others entered in behind him. "So what did long-legs want anyways?"

"Bofur!"

The other just shrugged unapologetically, looking to Nori as he said something in Khuzdul. Whatever it was seemed to please him as he smirked, and Bilbo saw Dwalin settle back, a similar expression on his face. "Will someone tell us what's going on?" Kíli whinned from where he sat on the cot.

"Yes, please, fill us in," Bilbo asked in a huff.

"You don't want to know lad," Balin said, throwing Kíli a suffering look.

"Sure we do," Fíli piped back, and Bilbo wondered if he should feel annoyed that he was basically being ignored by all of them.

Ori just shook his head in response. "You really don't—they're just being ridiculous," he said, giving his two brothers a look.

"Plain stupid is more like it!" Glóin said, reproachful glare flying over the other dwarfs.

"You're just making us want to find out more," Kíli muttered, not looking pleased at all—earning nothing but a pat on the leg from Bofur who gave him a fake-sympathetic look. Bilbo just wanted to cry in frustration at that point.

Instead of doing that he just walked further into the tent, coming to sit next to the blond prince before he felt a tug and after a whirl of motion that had him blinking for a moment, found himself back in between the twins. He rolled his eyes as he heard some snickers float around them, giving Fíli and unimpressed look, but the other just smiled back at him. But then his smile turned into something closer to a smirk, an odd light suddenly in his eyes.

"Fine, don't tell us. But I guess that's fine, right Kee? Especially since they've told us so much already."

Kíli nodded in response. "You're right Fee." And then he leaned forward looking closely at Bilbo's face, that wicked smile stretched across his mouth. "Did you really insult Dáin in front of all those dwarfs from the Iron Hills?"

Bilbo's eyes widened before he shot a glare at Bofur, receiving nothing but a lazy smile in return. "I was angry," he muttered, not taking his eyes off the hatted dwarf.

Kíli just hummed in response. "So, is it true then," Fíli began, "that he made to attack you as well?"

Bilbo whipped his eyes back to the brothers, stilling at the look on their faces. They were still smiling as before, but now… Now there was something dangerous in their expression, something dangerous and dark that had the hairs on the back of Bilbo's neck standing up on end. "We are not talking about this," Bilbo said, looking determinedly at the two.

If anything, their looks darkened at the response, smiles instantly gone from their faces. "So it is true then," Fíli said softly, and the calmness in his tone had Bilbo tensing.

Bilbo huffed, reaching out and flicking both their foreheads. His lips twitched at their squawks, rubbing their foreheads as they glared weakly at Bilbo. He didn't mind though—he didn't like seeing his boys in such a state. "I said we are not talking about this. Now put it out of your minds, especially as you're recuperating," he ordered, waving a finger at the two of them.

The two just huffed in response, muttering something unintelligible under their breaths. Just then though, Óin walked back in, carrying two bowls in his hands, as well as some bread under his arm. He stilled as he took in all the dwarfs present before his look darkened. "Out, all of you," he barked. "There are far too many dwarfs in this tent, now out—these two are still recovering."

"Oi, we're not even doing anything but sitting here!"

Óin gave them a flat look, clearly showing how much he believed that. "Out," is all he said again as he handed the two brothers their food, which they received as eagerly as the first time. Óin rolled his eyes at the muttering and sulking dwarfs, ignoring their glares as he shooed them out the tent.

Bilbo looked back to those boys, smiling as the wolfed down their food. "I'll be back," he said. Both their heads whipped up at his words, confusion on their faces. "I'm just going to check on Thorin," and at this they seemed to calm, though they still didn't seem completely mollified. "Besides, it looks like Balin wants to talk to you two," he said as he motioned to the older dwarf who still sat beside Fíli.

"Aye, that I do," he said as the two turned questioning looks to him.

They looked to each other then, something passing between them before facing Bilbo again. "Promise?" they asked, that smallness from the night before back in their voices.

Bilbo just smiled back at them as he slipped off the cot. "Promise," he said, watching the last of the tension leave their bodies before he left the tent.

* * *

He sat next to Thorin now, eyes roaming up and down as he took in the slumbering dwarf. _Óin had been right, he did look better today_. Bilbo smiled at the thought, eyes going up to the dwarf's face. There was more colour to it now, and not the worrying flush that had been present in the beginning, but good, honest colour and life in his face. His brows were still knitted, as they often were when Bilbo looked upon him and as always, the slightly pained expression caused something in Bilbo's chest to twist.

Bilbo sighed as he reached out to the dwarf, running his hands lightly through the dwarf's hair in some sort of effort to sooth him. For a long moment it didn't work, but, eventually, the look loosened and relaxed, if only by a little. Bilbo tried not to let that bother him, but he couldn't push away that small amount of worry that worked its way through him even though everyone told him Thorin was getting better. Though, honestly, Bilbo thought he had every right to be a little bit paranoid with what happened with The Scare.

He shook his head as his thoughts began to go in that direction, pushing some wayward strands off of Thorin's face before carding his fingers through his hair again. He didn't know how much longer he was expected to remain unconscious, but Bilbo hoped that the waking of the twins meant that Thorin wasn't far behind. And with the thought of the boys, Bilbo settled himself in his chair as he began to tell Thorin how they were faring, hoping somehow that the dwarf would hear him and be calmed by the news.

* * *

**And Chapter 6 is done!**

**Hope y'all enjoyed. I should have the next chapter up within about a week or so!**


	7. Chapter 7

**I'll start off by thanking everyone who left reviews and followed and favorited this story since I last updated—they were all incredibly lovely, thank you!**

**Next, I'll say sorry for taking such a long break. I won't bore all y'all with details, but things got a crazy for me not long after I posted Chapter 6, and I wasn't able to do much with this story. And sorry this chapter isn't so long for such a long break. **

**But, I'm not abandoning this story! I don't know how fequentley I'll update, but I'm shooting for a chapter every other week or so (but with 3 studio classes, it could be more like a chapter a month). Either way, thank you guys so much for not giving up on this story after my eight month unintended break! I'm still in the process of going back and editing the previous chapters (no story changes, just grammatical errors that I didn't catch before).**

**Well, here it is, after such a long wait—hope it doesn't disappoint too much!**

* * *

"Shouldn't you be heading off?"

Bilbo blinked, mouth open in mid-word as he registered Fíli's voice. He turned confused eyes to the other, brow raised in question. "What do you mean?"

"The meeting—isn't that about now?"

Bilbo blinked again, something odd entering him at the look on Fíli's face. The dwarf was looking ahead, eyes roaming, but the jerky purposeful way his eyes skittered about ruined the illusion of nonchalance that he thinks the boy was going for. And then his eyes would veer to Bilbo for a moment, and there was such a heavy, earnest look, buried under _something_, that it gave Bilbo pause. Bilbo looked outside, in an effort to gain a better idea of the time. Turning back he shrugged, "I suppose so."

Fíli watched him, seeming to grow upset when Bilbo didn't make a move to leave. "Well, are you not going?"

Kíli looked at his brother, brows furrowing at the strained note in his voice. "What's this now, first I have to talk the two of you into letting me off the bed, and now you seem as though you cannot wait to be rid of me!" Bilbo said, mostly in jest and amusement, but there was a hint of bewilderment there at the sudden change in Fíli's demeanor.

"It's not like that!" Kíli was quick to pipe up, and Bilbo jumped at the string of desperation than ran through his tone. "It's just—" and here a strange noise left him as he seemed to struggle with what to say next. Then there was some Khuzdul, that (as always) was incomprehensible to him, then the whine of, "Fíli!"

The blonde rolled his eyes at his brother's behavior, knocking him with his shoulder in a movement that seemed instinctual to Bilbo. "What he means to say is why are you not going?" and there was an intensity in his eyes as he looked at Bilbo for the answer.

The hobbit felt the irrational urge to swallow at the look, but refrained at the last second (his inner Baggins scolding him for the thought). "Well, Balin's asked me to come along, but I'm not exactly an official member, so I don't seem the harm in not going, especially if it saves me the headaches," he said, muttering the last part under his breath. He jumped a second later when he heard the harsh sound of Fíli's voice, a single, guttural expletive that had Bilbo turning a hard look to the boy. "Fíli!" he scolded. "I will not hear that sort of language!"

Fíli looked indignant for a moment, eyes wide as he squawked back, "You don't even know what I'm saying!"

"I can guess well enough!" he chided, ignoring Kíli's (terribly) muffled chuckles. All the brunette got in response for them was a shove from the blonde that nearly sent him careening off the bed.

The young princeling ignored the glare from his brother and the call of his name from Bilbo as he looked back to the hobbit. "You have to go."

Bilbo stopped what was about to be a long lecture about proper manners, and how it was not alright to shove your recovering brother out of bed, no matter how immature he was being, at Fíli's words. He blinked. "No, I certainly do not."

"Yes you do," was Fíli's immediate reply back.

"I don't," and Bilbo couldn't help the small tendril of annoyance that wound its way through him at the presumption, the practical order.

"_Yes_, you do."

Bilbo opened his mouth to shoot back that, no, he was under no compunction to be there and it's not as if his presence helped any anyways, when something clicked in his brain. "Why is it so important to you that I go?" he asked slowly.

The brothers looked at each other, a whole conversation passing between them in a single look, Bilbo knew, so he sat back and watched as it happened. Kíli was shaking his head, his eyes slightly worried, but Fíli's look remained firm, determined. It seemed to cause Kíli even more worry for now he was speaking, a mix that was Weston, Khuzdul, and a language Bilbo was convinced the two had made up themselves passing between them now. Most of it was lost to the hobbit, but he did catch an odd word now and then, only serving to deepen the furrow in his brow than clearing up any of his confusion. "But Balin," he heard Kíli speak before he was cut off by the shake of his brother's head. That certainly peaked the hobbit's interest—what did Balin have to do with any of this?

It seemed some conclusion was reached between them as they turned, both looking determined (though Bilbo could see the hint of uncertainty in Kíli's face). "Bilbo, you need to go to the meeting."

"And why do I _need_ to go, Fíli?" he asked, leaning back in his seat as he raised a brow at both of them.

Fíli seemed to fumble with an explanation here, looking as if he were crafting his words very carefully. Kíli looked at his brother, an unimpressed look appearing on his face before he turned to Bilbo. "Because you speak for Uncle."

Bilbo's brows drew together at the words, ignoring the hiss of 'Kee' from Fíli and the non-committal shrug he got in return. "... I speak for Thorin?" he repeated, eyes hooked to floor as he tried to work out the meaning of the words. "What does that mean?" he asked, looking back to the boys.

Another look passed between them before Fíli sighed. "It is a long explanation."

* * *

He paid no heed to the mass of guards standing by the tent, brushing past them with such ease for a moment he wondered if he had slipped on his trinket without realizing, but feeling the familiar (if slight) weight in his pocket made him disregard the fleeting thought. He paused only for a heartbeat at the entrance, a voice in the back of his head telling him he might want to wait for less of an audience, but the squeezing in his chest that made it difficult to breathe through the anger made him push through, heedless of the consequences.

As he stormed in, his eyes immediately found the elderly dwarf, and if he thought he had been angry before, it was nothing compared to the indignant rage that now coursed through him.

He nearly laughed at the look on the other's face, the widening of his eyes as he worked out why Bilbo had shown up in such a state and fashion; he would've too, if his jaw wasn't so firmly clenched (he could already feel the ache in his jaw from the pressure, and wondered briefly if Dáin's jaw was always in this painful state—it would explain a lot about the dwarf if so). "Now laddie—" Balin began, but Bilbo wouldn't hear any of it, not this time.

"Don't you 'laddie' me," he hissed, fists clenching at his sides. "And I certainly don't want to hear anything from you either," he shot to Dwalin when he saw the other begin to open his mouth, the warrior just blinking at him and his tone and the fury within it. "And whatever patience I don't have for them, I most certainly do not have for you Master dwarf," he said to Dáin as he saw the other begin to stand, trying to smooth out his tone so it was less biting, not wanting to start anything with him today.

Distantly, he heard a confused 'what's going on' from the bowman, but ignored it as he stared down the older dwarf, waiting to see if the other would say something. When he remained mute, Bilbo had to swallow back the enraged scream he could feel bubbling in his chest. Instead of letting loose the scream, however, he took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment before looking back to the dwarf. "I speak for Thorin?" He watched as the other closed his eyes in a tired sort of way, his shoulders slumping with some weight. "When, exactly, were you planning on telling me, if at all?"

"He did not know?" and for a moment, Bilbo was broken out of his haze of red at the pure surprise in the other's voice. He blinked as he looked over to Dáin, not sure how to place the expression he saw on his face.

"What does that mean?" he heard Bard again. He turned to the man, ready to answer him (or rather, spill into a tirade about secretive dwarves), when he was cut off.

"It means," came the drawling voice, "that Oakenshield declared Master Baggins to act in his steed," Thranduil finished, sharp eyes on the hobbit.

Bard blinked at the information, bewildered eyes flitting through the occupants in the tent. "Do you mean to say," he began slowly, as if working out the concept in his head first, trying to wrap his mind around it, "that any agreements or decisions made on the dwarves behalf must be approved by Bilbo to have any standing?" he asked, voice tight in his surprise, receiving a nod from the elven king in response.

"It does," and Bilbo felt the irrational urge to swallow, feeling suddenly exposed under the expression lurking in the other's face. It was gone in the next moment though as the other stood, wasting no time in heading for the exit.

"Now wait just a moment!" came Dáin's booming voice, slamming his hand down on the table as he stood. "We are not done here, you lazy elf, just where do you think you're going!"

Thranduil just raised an eyebrow at the other. "_We_ are done here—I have no more reason to force myself into your presence any longer. Master Baggins is the only one I must talk to now, dwarf." At the mention of his name the elf looked over to him, ignoring the enraged splutterings coming from Dáin. "_You are welcome, anytime, Master Baggins, to discuss our situation further."_

Bilbo just blinked at the other, managing a slight nod and a muttered, "_Bilbo's fine,"_ that nearly made his ears burn in embarrassment. He thought he nearly saw a twitch in the other's mouth that could've been a smile before he turned and left.

There was a heavy pause following the exit, finally broken by the scrapping of a wood chair as another got up. "I'll just, let you lot sort this out shall I?" came the muted voice of Bard as he ducked out of the tent, leaving Bilbo to stare at Dáin in an attempt to will the other to leave. When the dwarf just sat down, raising an eyebrow at the hobbit, Bilbo threw his hands up, with an exasperated, "Fine!" before rounding on his intended targets. "Well?" he barked, tapping his foot and crossing his arms for good measure.

"I suppose Fíli told you then?" Balin said, looking far too calm for Bilbo's liking.

"I think the better question is why didn't you—or anyone rather," he shot back.

"It didn't seem like something you needed to know."

Bilbo blinked at the answer, nearly going slack-jawed in disbelief. "'Didn't need to know'?" he echoed. "'Didn't need to know'! Thorin left me the fate of his kingdom in my hands, and you didn't think that was something I needed to be aware of?" and he couldn't help the pitching of his voice, or the volume it gained as he continued speaking.

"As long as you eventually agreed to our decisions, there would've been no problem," he answered back, as calmly as ever (and Bilbo had never wanted to become violent with a person as much as he wanted to now—not even that time when Lobelia tried to take of with his mother's bottom drawer!). "It is not something to get this worked up over, lad," he finished with a suffering look not unlike what was often pointed in the twins' direction.

Bilbo clenched his teeth in an effort to stop the explosion that was simmering just below the surface at the comment. "_This_," he said, slow and steady, trying to keep the ripple from his voice, "is not about _me_, but Thorin," he hissed, celebrating the break in the other's composure at his tone and words. "Did you not think what it would look like, what it would do to have the person he practically gave his kingdom to seemingly brush off the entire thing, without a care in the world?" And the more he pressed, the more the elderly dwarf lost that all-knowing and placating look. "It is bad enough he named _me _to act in his stead, a complete outsider, but then add onto that he declared me banished not a day before, and then for me to do nothing with that, it makes him look incompetent, you meddlesome dwarf!" He saw Balin blink and balk at that, opening his mouth to retort, but Bilbo shook his head sharply.

"No. I may know little of politics of this like for we have no kings and royalty in the Shire, but even I know what it must look like to the rest of the dwarf camp, how Thorin looks to them. It could call into question every decision he makes when he wakes up."

"Laddie—" began the soft, careful tone, but Bilbo cut him off.

"And don't you dare say there is a rather great chance of him not waking up at all, or I swear I will throttle you were you sit," and Bilbo had never spoken such hateful words in his life, for although he had said it enough times on the journey here, it had been said with the exasperation bred mostly from fondness, but not this time. And he thinks Balin caught the difference in the threat this time if the startled look on his face was anything to go by (and Dwalin too for the low growl Bilbo could hear in the room in response), could hear (at least a thread) of the intense fury and worry that rocked through Bilbo so strongly at that notion that it left him sick and quivering.

He closed his eyes after a moment of Balin and he just staring at one another, all heavy breath and shaking limbs on Bilbo's part, and took a step back, inhaling in an effort to calm himself. When he opened his eyes, most of the fury was gone, left in its wake but tempered irritation and purpose, and exhaustion. "I am going to try to undo the damage you caused now, to have the rest of the dwarves put some faith back into their king, and I have no doubt I will need your council for that," and here Bilbo nearly laughed at the pleased look of surprise that lighted Balin's face at those words, though it would've been a mocking thing, "but not now, and not a moment before I can see you without wishing I should've stayed put in my hobbit hole all those months ago for the trouble you lot are worth." And he knew he had gone a step too far with that one, knew it by the minute flinch in the other's frame, in the closing of his eyes and the twitch of Dwalin's fingers around the arm of his chair, but for the moment he couldn't begin to care.

He took another breath, finally quelling the shaking in his limbs, before turning and giving a brief nod to Dáin (too tired to begin to try and decipher the look on his face and in his eyes) and leaving the tent altogether. He hadn't made it far, unsure of where his feet were taking him, when he heard a voice behind him.

"Want to talk about it?"

Bilbo paused, nearly groaned at the question, ears and cheeks heating up in embarrassment now that (most) of the anger had left him now. He watched as Bard unfurled his long limbs, uncrossing his arms and pushing away from the post he had decided to lean on. "How much did you hear?" Bilbo asked as the man came beside him, following as Bilbo resumed his aimless walk for the moment.

He saw the man give a shrug from the corner of his eye. "Nothing after I left, except that I heard your voice a couple of times if not the words you spoke." And here the man looked at him, eyes searching the other. "So I'll ask again, do you want to talk about it?"

And the last of Bilbo's rage left him at the soft and worried tone. His shoulders slumped, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. "It's nothing other than that I am tired of dealing with dwarves."

There was a puff of air and Bilbo looked to see the man's lips quirked, amusement and some other thing lurking in his gaze as he stared down at the hobbit. "I hardly think that's true."

And Bilbo's shoulders slumped even more at the words, a tendril of guilt worming it's way into the pit of his stomach. "No. No, of course not. Not entirely anyways. Just that sometimes I wonder why I bother with them at all."

Bard hummed, but said nothing more on the subject, letting them walk in companionable silence for a moment more.

* * *

**Well, there's chapter 7 (finally). Thanks again to everyone that kept up with this story after such a lot break, and I'll do my very best to have chapter 8 up as soon as possible!**


	8. Chapter 8

**So, here's chapter 8. It's rather short, but the tone was so different that when I tried to put it together with Chapter 9, or tack it on to the end of chapter 7 (because it's what happens immediately afterwards), it just seemed weird to me, so I just left it as it's own little chapter. Hope y'all enjoy! **

* * *

"So, you speak for Thorin then?"

"It would appear so," and it was just beginning to sink in, what all this really meant. Bilbo, simple Bilbo Baggins from Hobbiton had say so over the dwarf kingdom of Erebor (not that it was much of one at the moment, but still).

"What will you do?" And Bard looked at him here, hard and searching as they stood at the fringes of the camps, not too far from where Bard had lead them those many days ago. Was it even that long ago? Bilbo was finding it difficult to tell as the days seemed to stretch on and on, the nights slipping into small eternities the colder it got (and the longer Thorin remained asleep—and that's exactly what Biblo was going to call it, his mind shuddered at anything darker—or more permanent).

"My best." It wasn't much of an answer, but in his fatigue and with the sudden weight Bilbo realized he now carried, it was the only honest one he could give.

Bard shifted, his look becoming softer. "Of that, my friend, I am sure," he said as he laid a hand upon the hobbit's shoulder. "I have faith in you Bilbo, even if you have none in yourself."

Bilbo's mouth quirked with a sort of dark humour. "Thank you, Bard; if only the dwarves felt the same."

"I'm sure your Company does."

"If they did, then why did they not say anything?" For this, Bard had no response.

Bilbo's chest ached at the question, wondering if he had truly lost that much in that dreadful business with the Arkenstone. He had been a fool to think all had been so easily forgiven in the wake of the battle, no matter what his reasons had been. Before, they had trusted him. Of course, it had taken quite a lot to get them there, but once they had, their faith had been unflinching, completely leaving their fates in his hands without a moment of doubt or worry. Bilbo desperately wished he had that back, for he didn't know how he was going to get through this without it.

And a small part of him, in the deep, dark, dreadful part of himself he wished didn't exist, Bilbo hated them for it, for not being able to see that all that he had been trying to do was keep them alive. But then Bilbo would remember the look on Thorin's face when he had stepped forward, remembered the look of hurt and utter betrayal and something else that made Bilbo _ache_. Then, he would call them justified.

"Thorin does."

The words were soft, careful, but they still broke something in Bilbo. He wanted to cry and scream at that moment, wanted to slip on his ring and walk away and forget that all of this had ever happened. Wanted to go back to the days were his biggest worry was what book he was going to read that day, or how to get rid of the bugs that were eating away at his garden. But then he could hear the Company's laughter and knew what hollowed places it had filled up inside him. "How can he, after everything I have done?" he asked, desperate, the words hoarse and painful.

Bard stepped around him then, kneeling until he was at height with the hobbit before taking ahold of each of his shoulders. "It is not in spite of everything you have done, Bilbo, but _because _of it."

And his words were spoken so sincerely, with such whispered ferocity that Bilbo wanted with everything he had to believe him.

* * *

It was nearly dark by the time Bilbo even tried venturing anywhere near the dwarf camp. At first, he had thought he might go search out Thranduil in an effort to begin to set everything right, but Bilbo knew he wouldn't be able to manage much in the state he was in, so he let the matter be for today.

Again, it was Bofur who he ran into first, Bifur and Glóin with him this time. And Bilbo thought he must've looked as wrung out as he felt, as scared and tired and as hurt and _stretched _as he was for the looks he put on their faces and the soft, wretched _"Oh Bilbo"_ he caused to fall from Bofur's lips. They stood there for a beat, for the first time in a long time so unsure with one another that it nearly caused Bilbo to be sick with the thought of it and how they got here until Bifur stepped forward, quick and gentle as he enveloped Bilbo. An apology and forgiveness all at once. And Bilbo shook with it and the sentiment it carried, leaning into the warmth and finding some measure of comfort in the soothing tone of Bifur's voice as he spoke though he knew not what he said.

They stepped away from each other then, and as they looked at each other, Bilbo knew something had shifted between them, though he couldn't say in what way, just that it had. He looked over as Bofur came closer, fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach out, but a worry and whatever else it was that caused him to look so lost stopped him, leaving him restless and unsure. Bilbo didn't know how much of what he said to Balin got out, but knew they at least knew some of it. And he remembered the hot, hateful words he had let come out of him then, remembered in his rush of anger how he had attacked all of them and cursed and rued everything he had built with them and the home he had found in them (even if he had never told them what he had found). He didn't know how much of it they had found out, but knew they had at least discovered the emotion in them if not the actual words themselves.

And for the first time since the beginning of all this, Bilbo wondered what trouble he could have saved them and not himself, if he had only stayed home.

He smiled at Bofur the best he could, but it was as weak and brittle as the rest of him. But he tried, tried his best to convey his understanding and acceptance and apology of his own, his regret and guilt and shame, and his desperate, desperate need for everything to go back to the way things were before the Arkenstone. Even though he was scared—terrified—because he knew what he had found in them and knew all he stood to lose if he lost them.

It was then that Bilbo began to feel more steady, began to feel some measure of sure-footedness as a determination so fierce worked its way through him. Whether they liked it or not, whether they believed in him or not, Thorin had given up their fates to him, and Bilbo was damned if he was going to fail them in this.

And perhaps something changed in his face for the next moment Bofur smiled, relief and hope clear in his face as he hugged Bilbo, a laugh that was all release shaking the both of them. Bilbo caught Glóin's eye over Bofur's shoulder, the red head giving him a wink and a warm smile that strengthened Bilbo further.

No, he would not fail them.

* * *

**Well, there it is. A different tone and style than the rest of the story, but hopefully not in a bad way. I've already begun Chapter 9, so hopefully I'll be able to finish it soon. Thank you guys again for all the lovely reviews and follows and favorites. When I started this story, I didn't think so many people would enjoy it, and I'm happy and deeply honored that so many of you do. Happy readings!**


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